You awake the next morning with your head rested on Castillo’s shoulder.
You move away, quickly. You think that he’s probably still asleep. But he was awake all night, watching, protecting you.
“Sleep well?” He asks. You nod. You didn’t dream, which was good. Your dreams are rarely pleasant.
“Were you awake all night?” You ask. He says nothing. “Okay, then.”
“Melanie.” He eventually speaks. “We’ll need to move out soon. This ghost town won’t be safe for long.”
He’s right. You scramble to your feet. You would grab your things but all you have are the clothes on your back and they’re dirty and ripped and torn and sewn together. But it’s more than they have, and that’s what’s keeping you human. You and Castillo decide to scavenge for some supplies before leaving town, and come across a small camping store. You both enter and you find, amongst the strewn debris, a rucksack. Castillo breaks open a glass case with the butt of his rifle and motions for you to take the knife inside. You do and quickly shove it into your pocket. The rucksack goes over your shoulders and you both leave the store, Castillo now towing two small balls of fabric.
Sleeping bags, he says. For when you get to the next town across. They have beds there, he says, but they're not pleasant things to sleep on. You're better off packing your own or sleeping on the floor.
"The floor is better, but not by much." He says.
You agree. The floor was painful.
You hear the pained screeches and it’s too late to do anything. They’re here. They’ve found you and they’re coming for you. Your heart beats. Your arms and your legs start to shake. But you have to run. If you don’t they will find you and killing you is nowhere near the worst thing they will have in store for you.
So you run, hell for leather but your shoes have seen much worse, out of the store, out of the city, and you pray to whatever God let this happen that you don’t run out of time.