Nicholas again peeked around the corner, then he shook his head. "I'm not looking for food," he said. "I'm looking for survivors. For help. I've got my sister and my mom down the street." He paused, unsure of what exactly he was going to tell this stranger. He knew he couldn't tell her of his mother's illness because that would decrease the chance of him recruiting her into his "group," as he thought of it. "You can come with us. We're in a warehouse. It's got plenty of tools and a bit of food."

He bit his lip and shook his bag in front of him. "I've got food in here, too. I've been going from house to house looking for people, and I've taken whatever food I found."

Stepping around the wall and holding his hand out toward the young woman, he asked, "What do you say? I'll help you to the building and we can take a look at your wound. I'm Nicholas."