[color=00aeef]Triss looked around, her heart pounding in her chest as she listened for anything that might hint at either people or reanimates. As she walked down the small aisles in the convenience store/gas station she grabbed a package of batteries that hung on the shelf among a few other things. She lowered her back for a second, picking up and examining an old pack of gum on the ground before pocketing it and moving on towards the checkout counter.[/color]

[color=8dc73f]Hunched forward in the women’s restroom, head on her knees, Emmie glanced up: she’d definitely heard movement. Rustling, perhaps the gathering of supplies, in the front of the convenience store. She often marveled at just how quiet things were, now: even the slightest noise seemed to echo and reverberate.

Then again, maybe it had just been the wind.

She wiped her eyes, only succeeding in smearing more of her mascara - great streaks of the stuff marred her cheeks, evidence of her crying fit. She had been so close, it seemed; traveling with Alex and her friends had been difficult, and roughing it in the wilderness was a chore Emmie had been unaccustomed to - but they had almost made it to the military base, where surely there was a safe zone of sorts. Marines, maybe. That’s what Alex had said.

Then, without warning, they’d been drawn into a horde of the shamblers. In the ensuing chaos, Emmie lost track of Alex and her friends and was forced to flee, uncertain of her heading and completely lost. Waynesville was a reasonably large city, and as she had hunkered down on the bathroom floor and completely lost her shit, Emmie was certain that there was no hope of locating Alex.

Yanking the worn, stained knife out of her pocket, Emmie flicked it open with her thumb and proceeded towards the hallway leading out of the restroom. She glanced out into the dim, unlit store, rays of daylight filtering in through the shattered store windows. Emmie knew better than to call out to whoever might be in the lobby - there was every chance that it was a biter, or worse, some sort of bandit.[/color]

[color=00aeef]A small click, perhaps just a shift in the building, but perhaps it wasn’t. A biter, a runner, a bandit. She tensed up, her hands clutched tightly around the leather wrapped handle of her baseball bat. 

It was 2009 when she had gotten it. Pristine condition. She remembered the moment like it was yesterday. 3rd inning, the Yankees were down 3 points to Philadelphia and Brett Gardner was at the plate. First pitch, strike. The crowd groaned in protest and Triss sat on the edge of her seat. Second pitch, strike. She swore to herself, praying that the last pitch was a good one. Third pitch. The crack of the bat colliding with the ball caused a massive cheer from the audience as the ball soared through the air. Had Triss not had experience in baseball she wouldn’t have been able to catch the bat flying through the air at her, having slipped from the batter’s hands.

Now, she clutched it not as a tool, but as a weapon, every nerve in her body screaming “Run!” But she stood her ground, rounding the corner as the outside light began to dim. She walked out from the aisle, her back to where Emmie would be. The bottle on her backpack would glisten lightly in the fading light, clinking against the zippers as she approached the counter.[/color]

[color=8dc73f]Emmie bit her lower lip as Triss came into view, bending her knees ever so slightly. She considered her options: retreat, hide in the bathroom, hope the intruder left. Seemed unlikely - they were on the prowl. Both parties knew of the others’ existence in this tiny space. She could lunge and strike with her knife - but the knife was sort of a last-ditch weapon. Truth be told, the .22 in her backpack was her real contingency plan, but she’d run out of ammunition days ago.

There was, of course, the chance that the stranger wasn’t out to brain her with that bat - that she only had it to protect herself, from threatening humans and biters. She could try to reason with the stranger, hope for peace. If she was wrong, however, she could be in for a world of trouble. Perhaps she could retreat into the restroom if things went south… the hallway was narrow; it would be difficult to utilize the bat, in the cramped space. She’d be at an advantage, for sure.

Oh, fuck it. Emmie was tired of running. Let the girl bash her brains out.

“Hey!” she stage-whispered, watching Triss. “Wh-what’re you doing here?” she went on, clutching the knife to her thigh; it wasn’t particularly visible, considering Emmie’s position half in the shadows, but she could bring it to bear quickly enough in an emergency.[/color]

[color=00aeef]Triss stopped dead in her tracks, partially glad it wasn’t a reanimate, but equally scared of what another person could do. She turned around, her knuckles white, having a death grip on the bat. She looked at the stranger, seeing they weren’t much taller than herself, if any taller at all. She was at a loss for words. It had been months since she had seen someone else that hadn’t tried to kill her.

“...I...I was looking...f-for supplies.” It was obvious she was just as nervous as the other girl, a slight tremble in her voice. She thought of the knife clipped to her own belt, wondering if she’d have to use it or if the stranger would prove to be friendly. She examined the stranger. No obvious weapons, fairly slim build from what she could see, slightly older than herself. She thought to herself, debating whether it was worth trying to bargain with the stranger.

“My name’s...Beatrice.” she’d remembered reading somewhere that if you introduce yourself and explain who you were, an attacker was less likely to kill you.[/color]

[color=8dc73f]Emmie gulped, clearing her throat. “I’m Emmie,” she offered, eyeing Triss. “Uh… how old are you, Beatrice?” she asked. The age divide could be stark, when it came to teens: it meant a world of difference if the girl was even a year or two younger than her. Adults had no such qualms, but to the youthful, it seemed important.

“Isn’t there anybody else with you?”

Triss seemed awfully young, to be alone. Maybe Emmie was, too. Then again, Emmie hadn’t been alone a few hours ago… and, then again, she wasn’t now, either. Emmie shut her knife and slid it back into the pocket of her jeans, stepping out into the light; she hadn’t left the hallway entirely, deciding it best to give herself some room to flee back into the cramped confines of the restroom, should Triss start swinging for the fences.

Emmie splayed her arms at her side, as if to indicate that she was unarmed; her backpack dangled from one shoulder, though no weaponry was visible upon its mesh exterior. She hoped to display some sort of truce. It wouldn’t do either of them any good to be caught by some sicko with a gun, or a half-dozen biters, in the middle of the gas station.[/color]

[color=00aeef]Triss relaxed, bending down slowly to lay her bat on the ground, as if silently accepting the truce. She looked to Emmie, her eyes now calm and more relaxed. She took a slow step forward, holding her hand out “I’m here alone, I swear on my life. Maybe we could work together?” she said, hoping to finally have someone to walk through hell alongside her. 

Triss’ heart pounded, having put down her only main defense. What the hell was she doing? When did she start trusting absolute strangers at first glance? She gulped, remembering the small folding knife on her belt and wondering how long it would take her to draw it if the need arose.

“I’m thirteen…” she said quietly. “I...I have food, if you’re hungry…” she offered, watching Emmie carefully, hand still outstretched.[/color]