Jerry tinkered around with the generator. A rolled up map stuck out of his back pocket; he found it in the main office. Every inch of the hotel was covered, and good thing he found it, because he'd never have found the generator otherwise. The room was out of the way and could easily be mistaken for a closet. Even if one did happen upon it, he or she might hesitate to go inside. It was mostly dark. It had the sort of abandoned hollowness that made his arm hairs prickle. Had the label on the map not let him know he needed to go in there, he certainly wouldn't.

Being without hot showers and stovetop meals was just fine for a fellow accustomed to camping, but after months, Jerry was sure, any man would give in. Trying to keep clean in this crazy world was a heavy task, but a necessary one. The stronger you smell, the easier you are for the forsaken to find.

That's how Jerry liked to think of those infected: the Forsaken. As a somewhat spiritual man, he figures that something must have gone wrong with Death. Souls were still being harvested by heaven, but the dead weren't being claimed. Their essences gone, the bodies were just roaming the earth as monsters. Forgotten by Death. Forsaken.

But Jerry's beliefs were neither here nor there. The current task was fixing the generator for his group. Goodness knows, if he didn't fix it, nobody would. He was the only handyman in the bunch. He suspected that maybe Zora could rig it up just fine, but he wasn't sure if Zora was still in their group or not. She'd disappeared on the mission and hasn't showed back up. Maybe she'd switched teams, become forsaken. He saddened at the thought, wiped a bit of moisture from his old tired eyes. He should be used to losing people by now, but damn, he'd come to love his little crew.

He tried to focus on his work, twisting bolts and banging about, when he heard the sound of someone dragging their feet across the floor. The gentle swish of a bare foot, followed by the soft thump of a shoe. And again. A rush of alarm swept through him as he realized he wasn't alone. He turned away from his work, cautiously looking beyond the dark pipes that controlled the hotel's water supply.

Out of the darkness, a foot came into view. It was a female's and it was dirty. Jerry's thick fingers, used to gripping many tools throughout his long life, tightened on his monkey wrench. The figure's other foot slid forward, a scraped high heel. Her legs were slim and splattered with dark spots. As she moved forward, her dress came into view. A few big purple tulips on a stained white background. It was tinted brown now, with old blood. The bottom was ripped above the hem, a frilly slip showing beneath, like muscles exposed beneath torn skin. Jerry squinted into the darkness. He knew that dress.

"Marla? You look like you've been through hell, little gal," he said, concerned, hoping he wasn't talking to a corpse.

She didn't speak. Just kept coming. When her face came into view, Jerry wanted to shout. Dark maroon caked the side of her face, blood that had oozed down from a head wound. Deep bruises stood out on her milky neck. Her lips pulled back.

Jerry fell into the generator and it kicked on, sending out a sound that drowned out his surprised outcry. She grabbed the sleeve of his polo, tried to bring him to her mouth. He whacked her hard with the wrench. It was heavy, and he was sure to land the blow on the weak part of her skull. It did damage, but she had no reaction to the blow. He might as well have thumped a tree with it. He clobbered her again, this time she fell. He threw some more swing in, just to be sure she wouldn't get back up.

Jerry didn't know whether to give into anger or sadness. He knew someone did this to her, that she hadn't just keeled over and woke up undead. Someone whacked her in the head and choked the life out of her. Was it their own, or was someone else in the hotel? Someone evil?

As Jerry contemplated the possibilities, he didn't hear the person sneak up until they spoke.

"I was wondering where she got off to," the person said.

Jerry's blood ran cold.