Snippet #2476757

The other side of the street echoed with the sound of a shaking backpack, the thing about apocalypses was that noise attracted more than animals, and Vlad had ran in enough groups to know better than to run towards them. They could be bandits, psychos or worse... He'd certainly met a few colorful types on his way to Kansas.

Vlad saw the car, and the group of people around it and lowered his hunting rifle, raising his hands in a surrendering gesture and letting the rifle hang from its strap on his shoulder. If they knew he was friendly, they wouldn't kill him, right? Then again, if they made a move for guns, he could probably bolt back off down the road.

"Opa! Ya druzhelyubnyy!" Vlad shouted, hands above his head. "I friendly! Amerikanskiy."