Snippet #1714045

Gabriel raised his eyebrow at the first survivor he'd met. He certainly wasn't expecting for him to start yelling at him to take off his shirt. Was this guy crazy? He laughed nervously and ignored him, until he realized that this survivor wasn't going to be happy until he'd taken his shirt off.

"Okay, dude, chill!" Grabbing the end of his shirt he lifted it over his head. He held it out towards them, inside out. "Look, it didn't even soak through," he mumbled as goosebumps appeared and raised the hairs on his arms. There was only a slight breeze, but it was chilly enough.

Ignoring how awkward he felt to be the only shirtless person in the group, he found himself thinking it through. Perhaps they had a point. Even if the blood wasn't enough to soak through the shirt, it was dangerous. Gabriel was lucky that he had no open cuts or scrapes on his torso. This survivor may take this disease ridiculously more seriously than Gabriel did, but he couldn't deny that the infection rate was higher than ever. He wasn't sure how exactly but he decided to be more careful with his actions. He'd try to think of things like this before they had to be screamed at him.

Gabriel spit at the concrete, uncomfortable with the way it had turned to foam during his exertion with the undead, and uncomfortable with admitting that he had been wrong about something. Whatever. "I'm going in to see if I can find another shirt," he mumbled before slouching off to go around the back to pick up his black backpack again. But as he started to walk away he spun back around to the sound of a man questioning the trio. His hand clutched tighter around the handle of the mallet he still held. "Where's Terry? His Family? Who are you? You? You?"

Choosing to keep his mouth shut for once, he waited for one of the others to answer his questions first.