Snippet #2435710

The stupidity of others almost made Arella ashamed to be human. She had followed the noise and discovered a band of survivors, like her. Still... Trust was a rare commodity, and all of them seemed to be armed. One even had a bow, something that her little dagger would stand a snowball's chance in Hell against. So instead of marching up and introducing herself, like the well-dressed one had, she kept back, watching them from the cover of a nearby building. Of course, when the little kid wandered towards the store, she had to resist the urge to shout. That much food, out in the open like that... It was strange. And the strange was not to be trusted.

As usual, she was right. The store was a trap, though Arella couldn't help but wonder who had the time to set something like that up with all the Zs around. As much as she wanted to help (The poor people were out numbered) she knew that blindly rushing in during an attack was a surefire way to get killed. If one of them mistook her for a Z, she would be dead before she could say "hi". So she did what she did best- she stayed still and waited. But there was just so much food in that store... And you could never have enough. Not to mention that there was a packet of sugar wafers on one of the shelves. God, how long had it been since she's had one of those? As the fight raged on, Arella crept closer, ducking behind several upturned trashcans and wincing as several rats scurried away into the street. But no one seemed to notice.

"You two! We had better make tracks, or else this will become seriously aesthetically unpleasing!" The well-dressed one shouted. Now that she was closer, Arella could see that he was Korean, or something like that. Being politically correct had been dropped to the bottom of her priorities list once the dead began to walk. She moved closer, but at that moment a Z appeared from a nearby ally, it's mouth open and its rotting arms extending towards her. She shrieked and rolled away as it grabbed at her, managing to grasp the back of her jacket. Drawing her knife, she sliced off several of its fingers and wormed away. There was an iron bar on the ground next to her, and she grabbed it, swinging it at the Z's head. It faltered, and she struck again, stopping only when the corpse fell to the ground, unmoving.

"Frickin' Z." She cursed. Standing up straight, she dropped the bar, then turned. Everyone's eyes were on her, and the boy had his crossbow directed at her face. Quickly, she sheathed her knife, held up her hands in a gesture of surrender, and said the only thing that came to her mind.

"It's okay. I'm nice!"