"I'm afraid I'm in the same predicament you are, mister," she said, scuffing her boot along the wooden floor of the motel. "I rode here all the way from Armadillo, hopin' I could find other survivors, or at least some supplies. But there is little to go around and it's slim pickin's off the undead. So, where do-" Florence was abruptly cut off by the clanking of an empty bottle, just outside the front door of the hotel. With her guards up again, Florence drew her gun and took one step out of the hotel. "Who's there?" she demanded, this time not bothering to disguise her voice, as she now had an accomplice.