Solitude. What a strange thing, isn’t it?

You’d think that by now I’d gotten used to it. After all, day after day after day my sole company is my walls, my food, my tools and those angry shambling piles of greyish flesh trying to turn me into dinner. Solitude becomes your rhythm, your day-to-day, and in this situation, seeing that lonely normalcy disturbed is anything but good news.

I’m no stranger to hearing thumping on walls and windows, those... things, they look unstoppable sometimes, especially when they see you with their rotted eyes. But this wasn’t a fist, or a head impacting a window. It was different. It was rhythmic. tap tap tap, twice or thrice. Was it... one of them? Have they gone smart all of a sudden? Or worse, is it raiders, who’d vaulted over the stakewall and gotten inside? I don’t think raiders are typically polite but you never know.

Creeping around, shotgun on hand, I reach for the door. Nothing. I call out for the tapping stranger. Nothing. I sneak over to the window, and there it is: a person, on the floor, breathing heavily. Has a white coat so I assume medical staff, but the important thing is that she looks alive. But... is she bait? Is someone taking aim at me? What to do what do I do what to do...

In my mumbling, I hear a faint “hey...”. I can’t. Not now. But... this is the only remnant of humankind I’ve seen in weeks.

I grab her by the ankles and drag her inside. If she’s not long for this world she’s not taking me with her. Once inside, it appears I have not been shot at, not yet at least, but what can I do for her? I’m no doctor, she is! So I do the only logical thing: take her coat off and strap her legs to a spare bed. I’m not getting bit, screw that. She doesn't seem to have bite marks on her, but still. She can complain about it if she’s alive.

It feels weird, after all these days, making soup for two. But this’ll go down easy and she looked starved. I bring her a bowl to the sound of angry complaints.

“What the fuck are... you doing?”

“Well, I was gonna see your condition, but seeing that you are still alive and conscious, I’ll untie you and we can have some soup. Also, sorry for... that.”

“Did you... soup?”

“Look, I’m no cook but you look positively starved. Ain’t getting better than this.”

“...Thanks.”

Turns out she’s not a doctor but a nurse instead, she just happened to have a coat nearby and instinctively kept it on. Says she worked at a small clinic, Corman Medical, when everything went to hell. She’s been on the move since then, never finding a safe spot to rest. She was hoping this wasn’t some violent camp of raiders, or worse. I’m immediately moved to tell her to stay, but... is this who she really is? What if this is all a ruse? I have a few guns laying around, where do I hide them!?

But she plans on moving, apparently. Appreciates the help, and if I won’t mind will stay until recovering, but she knows this is all strange for us both.

“You could... stay.”

What on earth am I saying. Why did I say that.

“Are you sure? You seem well off by yourself.”

“You can’t be much worse company than those shambling outside. And an extra pair of eyes and hands could help.”

“Well... sure. Why not. I’m tired of running.”

And she dozed off.

Solitude. It makes us say and do the weirdest things. What a strange thing, isn’t it?