[b]Ricky - Old Jefferson, Suburbs - Chae, Miguel, Moksha[/b]

Ricky was snapped out of the black by a gunshot that was definitely not the .38 special in his hand. Finding himself back in the red, the chef tried to slow his breathing, tried to take in the situation. The dogs were dead or running. The last of the pack having scrambled back under the fence even as his saviour greeted him. A woman with a gun managed a "sup" as his first impression. The man on the ground couldn't help but wonder if he was going to die. He supposed that it was a possibility, but he was hopeful, especially considering that they were in the middle of a zombie apocalypse. The last thing anyone needed was another zombie. He quietly set his revolver down and moved his hand away from it. He was on his back, on the ground, in no position to be negotiating much of anything, so he supposed there was no need to make any sudden movements.

"How are ya, eh?" he managed with a nervous half-smile, in response to his rescuer's greeting. "Thanks, eh? Dogs went fuckin' nuts when I grabbed that bike..." he added. Meanwhile adrenaline continued to pound through his veins, Ricky did his best to slip back toward a normal state of functioning. He found the orange, and tried to take in the situation. It was more than just the two of them. There was a man with her, and he looked a bit irritated. Probably hadn't been all for saving the imperilled chef. They also had a cat, though it was more of a kitten he supposed.

He wasn't much for cats normally, but in a world where even man's best friend had gone crazy, something as cute as the feline tucked in the woman's grip was a welcome sight. Easily distracted, mostly because he was trying to cope with the fact that he had almost died, and wasn't sure if he was actually safe yet, he began to sit up. He grabbed his piece, carefully picking it up so the web of his hand wrapped around the hammer, and his fingers curled around the trigger guard, making it clear that he didn't intend to hurt anyone with it. "So... You two need a third wheel? Or, I guess I'd make four." he tried, drawing attention to the cat, hoping that might make the fact that he was relatively well-armed a little less prevalent. Anything to stay alive a little longer. Richard was beginning to think it would be safer in the swamp, but still needed someone to run a boat for him. He supposed these two could do that if they wanted. Indeed, with three, they could run a larger boat, and maybe even do well in the swamp. Then again, if he could find Greg, he wouldn't need anyone. None of that mattered, though. He was still on the ground, and still hoping he could get these people to either leave him alone, or let him share in their next exploit. Whatever that might end up being...