The Event

The acid rain was little more than rare, and didn't do much more damage than light stinging on the skin when one stood out in it for too long, but John still hated it. His clothes were already worn down, quite dirty, and he didn't need them weakened down more than they were. The clothes on his back were the sturdiest of any he owned, beyond the full body suit he would put on under heavier clothes to move through irradiated areas safely. The sun was barely up---he could tell because the sky that was near the eastern horizon was barely grayish-brown, the usual color of the sky during the morning and daytime. Barely six months had passed since the freak virus that had detonated the world's nuclear missile storage---or whatever it was that had set them off---and he couldn't even tell if a government existed now. They didn't care about food or rations for the general population, didn't care about the mass murder in greater containment areas, they let people wander into the gated radiation areas. The only thing they did care about were guns. Guns and food they didn't have.

And he had both. John had heavy weaponry on his body at all times, and a sack full of canned food he hoarded obsessively. Perhaps he had learned from his first instance of cannibalism, but now he didn't pass up a building that could even have the possibility of having some kind of food or water, clothing, blankets for a warm night in the middle of winter.

The night before, he had taken refuge in the basement of a small house among a few others. He hadn't seen someone else in several weeks, perhaps a record. The little notebook in his backpack had marks that kept track of the days, the months, even the year, though it hadn't yet transitioned the new year. In fact, it had just become the new year when the launch was broadcasted all over the world, and he had been in the right place at the right time, so he'd been told before his only real friend and protector had been obliterated by the blasts. Sighing, John Doe stepped out of the building with his bag slung over his shoulder, looking around. One hand was glued to the handle of the hunting knife at his hip, and the other kept his bag from sliding as his heavy boots slapped through the quickly-evaporating puddles. He'd learned that the oceans had dropped ridiculously just a few months after the event, hundreds of feet. He hadn't made it to one to see that yet, though he'd seen how small ponds and even large lakes were now just craters in the ground. Very scant water existed, and most was contaminated.

Thirst... Hunger... Loneliness... Just a few emotions Niko had been used to before the nuclear strikes, but now they were almost unbearable. He had spent most of the first few months living in the basement of his home, eating what food had been left and drinking what water he could find. Eventually he had run out and emerged from under ground, blinking at the ruins of a once grand city.

He had tried to survive on his own, but he hadn't learnt much before the world changed into a wasteland. All he knew was that some areas were bad, and that he could die at any point. After a bout of sickness from drinking dirty water, he decided he had to find someone to look out for him. Luckily, Niko had some skills that would make people want to keep him around.

He traded his services for food and shelter, but never stayed around for too long. He was afraid of men after all, and some of the ones he met were strange, nearly insane or completely desperate. He hated it when they cried, telling him about their wives and children they had lost to the event. He never knew what to say to them, or how to cheer them up. After the night, he'd move on.

One day, several months after the fallout had happened, he decided that it was time to leave the city. He knew that the ruins were safer than whatever populated the now barren wastelands that once were lush forests, rivers and mountains. He had to see what was beyond the makeshift walls, maybe he could find a place of safety, a place untouched by all of this. That and the riots were getting worse as more and more starving people fought to survive on what little supplies existed.

He gathered his bag, which had a spare change of clothes, a blanket and a radio inside it. He left the ruins at what he thought was dawn, moving towards the wall that had been made from anything that was lying around, bits of buildings, cars and buses. It had taken a lot of people to build, in order to keep whatever was out there out... And ultimately sealing them inside the city.

He started to climb, only stumbling over loose metal every now and then. He was lucky not to cut himself or to fall, and was panting heavily once he reached the other side of the wall. He stood on the hard earth and stared out over the desolate plains, wondering what was his next plan of action. He started to walk towards the horizon aimlessly, realising how lost he was and wishing he had stayed in the city.

-

He had no idea how long it had been since he had crawled over the wall. Maybe a few days, maybe a few weeks. All he knew was that he was cold, hungry and thirsty. He had to find something soon. He stumbled over a rock and fell to the ground, sighing as he laid flat to the burning earth. He was crying and praying to whoever could answer. His eyes were heavy and he closed them slowly.

Knowing where he was had become a thing of the past. Knowing the time was just relative---sunup, sundown, the middle of the day and the middle of the night was all he knew. The date he knew because from the first day, he had kept track of the day. June 12. He sighed again---something he seemed to do often, mostly at the state of things---and looked down. Baked earth. He assumed this place used to be covered with grass. The burnt, brittle sticks poking out of the ground used to be trees. This was actually a graveyard---some of the stones that littered the ground had writing on them. Dates. Names. Little bits and pieces of epitaph. Notes describing what good husbands and wives and sisters and brothers and sons and daughters they had been in life. At least they didn't have to live to see the state of things. John looked over his shoulder. The town. Then after the town, the city. They had built that huge wall to 'keep survivors safe'. No, it wasn't safe. No more than the flimsy chain link fences around irradiated areas kept in whatever was brewing in the wastes.

Near the edge of the ruined cemetery John saw something odd. A bundle of cloth. Cloth was such a rare commodity when it didn't belong to someone else---it could be extremely useful. He sprinted forward, huffing under the weight of his heavy pack that probably wouldn't be able to carry much more, but he had an entire body's worth of space he could pile cloth onto, despite the heat of the summer. Coming to a halt above the pile, John gasped. The pile was a human. Backing up slowly, holding his breath though he was sure it wouldn't work if he had come from an irradiated zone, John pulled a Geiger counter from an outer pocket and waved its wand over the form. It picked up no radiation, and he fell to his knees beside the young man.

Certainly young. Much younger than him, perhaps by six years, at the very least. He was breathing, but it was shallow, and no doubt about that---he was so thin. The clothes on his back probably weighed more than he did, and the bag as well. Shaking his head, brushing his loose black hair back, John looked over his shoulder. A relatively small shack of a building was there, perhaps what used to be the caretaker of the cemetery. he looked back to the young man and pressed a hand to his face. "Hey. Hey, you alive?" What a stupid question. He was breathing. John shouldered the second pack, standing with a little more effort and scooping the somewhat-lifeless form off the ground. "Damn it... Don't worry, I got you... We'll be fine..." He talked as he walked, sidestepping stone and brick and blasted-apart walls, and shouldering into the shack. "I can't go at it alone anymore. You'd better wake up." He moved around the old front room, settling the young man on the couch under the window with no glass and shedding his burdens. "I'll be right here when you wake up, got it? So you'd better not take all day." He sat on a busted chair nearby, curling up and opening his bag.

A voice...? No, Niko had to be delirious. It had happened before many times, he had thought he had heard a friendly voice, but when he looked, no one was there. He kept his eyes closed, even as he felt himself moving slowly forwards. That was strange. A voice again... What was it saying? Was he alive? He wasn't sure. Maybe this was what it was like after he died. Maybe the nuclear strike had killed everyone, and those 'alive' now were only ghosts, including him.

He suddenly felt warm, and as though he was lying on something soft. His eyes finally flickered open and he stared up at a wooden roof in puzzlement. Where was he? He sat up slowly, feeling his body shake from fatigue. He blinked and looked quietly at the man who sat in a chair next to him. At first he was frightened, maybe the man had brought him back here to eat him. He had heard of people becoming so desperate that they had to kill and eat another human being to stay alive. He was thankful that he hadn't had to resort to something like that.

But then he realised that the man looked concerned about him. Maybe he could use his body to con some food and water out of this one? The man looked desperate enough. Even those that never thought they'd be able to lay with another man became easy to seduce after months away from women. He blinked again and made himself look as pathetic as possible, hoping to some how tug on this man's heartstrings.

"I am so thirsty..." he muttered, stroking his messy hair. "And hungry too... Have you got anything? I can give you a good trade... You can do whatever you'd like to me... As long as you don't kill me... I mean..." He realised what he was saying didn't seem to be striking a cord with the stranger. He went quiet and hugged himself. 'My... My name is Niko... Th... Thank you for bringing me in here..."

John had gone quiet after a few minutes, moving things around in his bag to find some cans and a bottle. It was full of water, the bottle, and the cans had been unopened. He'd taken as much as his bag would let him carry along with protective gear and mask, and the Geiger counter he'd found later on. They all had lost their labels, but eventually they were figured out. Some happened to be nothing but evaporated milk or tomato sauce, but he could use the calories and carbohydrates where he could find them---they all could, now.

He was glad when the young man stirred---the silence was deafening, no life to distract him, not even distant fighting. He bit his lip when the scrawny form looked at him, appearing confused, but alive---barely. His voice was pale, light, perhaps a combination of weakness and natural tone. He'd obviously come to automatically request survival for physical requests from others, and that was sadder than his overall appearance, though John was sure he didn't look much better. He shook his head, sitting forward, tossing one of the cans and a tarnished fork to the young man---Niko, as he introduced himself---and the water bottle.

"Whatever's on your mind you can stow it away." John said sternly, sitting back and crossing his arms. "Pleased to meet you, Niko---I'm John Doe." That sounded like a bad television show. But he didn't have an official name. He wasn't even in a public database---he didn't exist.

"John... Doe...?" Niko blinked, finding the name strange. Perhaps the man kept his real name hidden, because he couldn't trust others. Or maybe he was like Niko and didn't have a real name. "Doe... Like a deer?" He brought his arms around his knees and rocked slightly, trying to keep moving so he wouldn't faint again. He noticed the cans and bottles of water. He tried not to stare, but his stomach growled loudly anyway.

He struggled to open the can, so left it aside to guzzle down the water instead. It was warm, but fresh tasting. A lot better than what could be found in the city. "Where'd you get all this stuff?" he questioned, hoping he wasn't prying too much.

John nodded at the first question. Like a deer, so far as Niko knew. It was the age-old description of 'unknown male' to just about everyone, and when referred to, he had no more face than a mannequin. He sat forward, grabbing the can and pulling up the easy-open top for Niko after he gave up. "I got all my stuff from... a friend. Well, half of it... The rest I've been hoarding away while I find it... I eat two cans a day and half a bottle of water to conserve everything I possibly can..." He didn't want to have to become a cannibal again. He felt unclean thinking about it---felt his brain rotting and his teeth squirm in his mouth as if alive and recalling the gruesome act. He almost felt the man in his stomach, clawing to get out, every time he laid down to sleep at night.

"How'd you get out here?" He asked, turning a little to fold his legs under him though it was a hot day. "The city's safer than anything you could find outside that wall... Better hiding places, at least. You don't look much like the fighting type... Don't even have a weapon..." He observed the bag that wasn't his. It hadn't felt much heavier beyond plastic and cloth, a few other things that didn't even seem to be lethal in any way.

Niko averted his gaze, digging into the can that had been opened for him. He ate quietly as he tried to think about a good answer. Why had he left the city? John was right, it was a lot safer in there than it was out here, and Niko didn't know how to use a weapon...

"It was getting scary in there," he said at last. "People rioting and killing others... Eating them..." He shuddered and put the empty can down, still looking down at the bed he sat on. "The city ran out of supplies so quickly..."

"What are you doing out here? Where are you going?" Niko asked him, wondering if he could go with this man. He may not know what John was really like, but at that point of time, he had no other option.

Killing and eating one another? Where had he been to not see this? John's insides squirmed a little and he quickly stilled it with a drink of water. "Must have been awful." Of course it was. He'd seen it in the beginning, had been in the thick of the city with other survivors, who at the time had been scrambling. Most had seen the warnings broadcasted, or had heard them over the radio, and had taken refuge underground or in fortified buildings. Then the riots started. John had had to defend his bag, his weapons and even clothing, just a month later, and had decided to leave the city after that. Then he'd made it to this one, a long walk among military vehicles spanning the roads and wastes and people flocking, being shot, being scrubbed in temporary safety setups to disinfect them and, maybe, save them from what radiation they'd been exposed to already.

He looked up, shaking his head and settling back against the broken-down chair. "I dunno where I'm headed." He muttered. "Wherever I can. I figure if I find a good enough place to stay for a while, I'll do it... maybe find some others..." He glanced up. The young man---very young, indeed---was scrawny compared to what body type it took to exist in the world that had been thrust upon them. That he couldn't even get an easy-open can of food to obey him worried John, and tugged his humanity. "Uh, but I've been alone for a long time... Too damn long if I do say so myself. If you wanna come along with me... I can really use the company." And he'd keep Niko safe. He needed that---safety. Maybe he would have died on the edge of a broken-down cemetery if John hadn't found him.

Niko looked up, feeling his hope lighten. He could go with John? He had never had a friend before, or even someone he could trust. His childhood had been... secluded at best, so he didn't know many people other than his Aunt and Uncle - who were both dead. He grinned widely, glad to feel happy after a long time of fright and sadness. "I'd love to be your companion!" He jumped off the bed and hugged the man tightly, kissing him on the cheek.

"And the offer still stands, John... I can... You know... Ease your loneliness if you like..." he whispered into the older man's ear. He continued to smile as he stepped back, again looking the man over. Not his type, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Besides, Niko wasn't even sure if he had 'a type'. He'd never been in love before.

John sat up, putting an arm around Niko in a hug before standing and shaking his head. "No, Niko, I don't want... that..." He sighed, picking up his bag and sliding it onto his arm. "I just want it to be less... silent at night. Have someone to talk to... know?" He cleared his throat, stopping himself. What if Matty had gotten into that hovel with him? There was enough room for two. There had to have been. If it were different, maybe John wouldn't need to pick up the most random, exceedingly odd characters he met along his way. Some didn't last long. He either woke to find them dead by their own hand or starved to death despite having had food. Some went crazy, turned on him, and he had to kill them. Some, he even had to eat to save himself from death.

"I don't know where we're gonna go, but..." He slid the backpack onto his other arm and secured its buckle around his waist. "But I figure it's a good bet to keep away from big gatherings. Don't know what they're capable of... Sometimes they're more dangerous than the loners." He gathered up his pitch black hair and secured it in a high ponytail. "I've been following the sunset---west---for... weeks, now. I don't know what I expect to find... The ocean, no doubt. More fenced-in areas of radiation... I try not to go through radiation patches unless I have to..." He moved his shoulder a bit, shaking the gas mask hooked on the outside of his bag.

"I haven't got anything like that..." Niko admitted, finding his bag and opening it to show his new friend. "Just some clothes, really..." He hadn't even thought to bring a knife with him, to protect himself. He really didn't think about a lot of things. "Am I going to need that stuff...?" Maybe they'd have to walk over some radiation patches... How would he survive?

"I've seen what happens if you are hit by radiation..." he said quietly, blinking rapidly as if trying to remove the image from his mind. His Uncle hadn't died instantly, like his Aunt. He had the option to put the man out of his misery, but... he wanted his Uncle to suffer... And now he wasn't sure if that had been the right thing to do. Every night he had heard the screams of agony, the begging... It still gave him nightmares to this day.

"Do you think there's a place out there that hasn't been hit...? Like a little island out on the ocean...?"

John bit his lip, and shook his head. "No... We can go around those patches... They just last for... well, not terribly long. Sometimes it'll take a couple days to get through, but we can always go around the fences... And if there's anything that's... dangerous. I can tell." He did still have a functioning and well-built Geiger counter, after all.

He went to the door, opening it and looking out. Only a dry, hesitant wind blew, making the brittle tree remnants whistle in a ghostly way and sending a shudder down John's spine. At night that was all he ever heard if he didn't talk to himself. That or distant gunfire, screams, motors. None were for him. None cared, or even knew. When someone referenced 'John Doe', they saw nothing but a black outline that someone's real name should fill. And now, Niko? What kind of name was that? He didn't want to ask.

"Er... I don't know... I heard that the bombs hit pretty much everywhere... I heard that the shores are... huge. Because the oceans all just dropped. I mean, if we could find a boat, maybe we could get to an island... I'll bet an island is safest... Easiest to hide from people that'd want to do us harm. Steal." He ushered Niko outside and closed the door. "See where the sun's risen in the sky?" It was hard to do, spot the sun. He had to squint to see the pinprick of light through the constant, thick, gray-brown cloud cover. "We go opposite that way because that's where it rose. The other direction is west, where it sets." Maybe Niko already knew that, but John just had to say something.

The oceans had dropped? Niko couldn't even begin to imagine what it would look like now. He had never been to the beach, he had only ever seen pictures. He used to imagine going there when life was getting too tough to bear. An island did sound like a nice idea, and he set his thoughts on that. Maybe it would have trees still and animals. Niko never did get to see many trees or animals before the fallout, and he wished that it still existed somewhere in the world.

He walked next to John, listening to his words. He never noticed that the sun rose from the same direction everyday. Maybe he could learn some things as well. He never got to go to school and barely could read. He wondered if John knew how to read. "So we are going west...? Is that where the oceans are?" He walked quickly, almost breaking out into a jog. I hadn't been able to move so much before in his life, and to be able to run outside was an amazing freedom. The food and water he had had before they left the small shack was enough to give him energy to be able to move again.

John glanced at Niko rather curiously. Had he been a homeless as well? John had been lucky to get a companion, to be found by a man that once taught at a college. He'd been taught how to read, write, and various other things regarding the world. He'd go to the public library---a free place for even those like him---and read up on as much as he could. "No... West is just where one ocean is." He replied. "We're on one big mass of land now. Huge, really. We go west to find one. East to find another. South. Even north. But it's... freezing up north. I prefer to stay as south as possible. It's warmer. Even in the winter."

He glanced sideways. "Niko... That's an interesting name. Did you come up with it?"

Niko regarded the question, trying to think of an answer. Should he be truthful to a man he just met? He sighed and adjusted the bag on his shoulder, slowing his walk. "Yes, and no," he said finally, rubbing his chin. He hadn't yet been able to shave, and wondered when his facial hair would start growing. Would John teach him how to shave? It looked like the man needed one himself. He shook himself, pushing the thought away. He needed to think about the present. "I guess John Doe isn't your real name either?"

He wouldn't be surprised, after all. He had met many people who had shed their old names and created their own. It was a way for them to start anew, to try and forget about their loved ones. Niko's reasoning was different from them. He needed a name.

John shrugged. "My name is... my name. I've always had it. I... It was given to me by a homeless man that found me as a baby abandoned in an alley. There was nothing to give me a name... so he called me John Doe..." It didn't mean he was happy with the name, but he couldn't imagine answering to anything but John. "I figure my name is as real as it can be..."

A gunshot rang out in the distance, followed by a motor kicking to life and roaring. He put his hand to his hip, his hunting knife. Huge and silver, he kept it razor-sharp with the grinding stone in his bag. A little extra weight, that stone, but he needed all his blades to cut through skin and cloth like butter. He didn't need a dull knife slowing him down, especially when time was of the essence.

Thinking about it, John pulled a small switchblade from an outer pocket of his bag and handed it to Niko. "Hey, I figure you'll need a little something to defend yourself if push comes to shove, eh? It's as sharp as it can be, so don't go fooling around with it until you really need it." He nodded to the young man, hoping he accepted it and didn't later go insane like so many others did.

Niko heard the commotion and hid behind John, his eyes scanning the horizon for any threats. A small moped was driving across the plains, but it was going away from them. He sighed and eyed the small pocket knife that John held out. "Are you... Are you sure?" He didn't feel right taking another man's weapon. He reached out and took it, surprised at how heavy it was. He undid it carefully to look at the blade. It was sharp.

He folded it back up and placed it in his pocket. "Thank you..." he said, hugging John again. He hoped he never had to use it, but in this day and age, one could never be too careful. He looked back at the moped, which was far away in the distance. It seemed that the person riding it had fled from a small desolate farm just a bit away from them. "Should we check it out...?"

He was glad that Niko had accepted the blade. Everyone needed a weapon and he had a stock of them, from a small pocket knife useful for loosening screws to the shotgun wrapped in an old towel strapped to his bag opposite the gas mask. It was hard for anyone to tell what he had because the backpack was draped in a folded black and red blanket he used on cooler nights. Perhaps Niko could use it... He returned the hug with one arm as he had before, scanning the land before them and spying the house as Niko mentioned it.

"Er... Yes, definitely." He nodded. There was something there that the figure on the moped didn't like, but there had to be something inside. "Just... keep your knife out. There might be something inside that wants us as much as we want in..." If the door was locked, he was sure he could kick it down. Things were brittle now, after all, easy to strike to pieces. They started up a dirt path that separated itself from the general landscape, a slope that curved up to the front door of the house between some destroyed cars and a field on the other side. "Listen for anything, Niko... Anything at all." He kept a hand on Niko's shoulder very lightly, ready to grab him if anything came at them.

They walked closer to the house, slowing down before they got to the door. Niko held his breath as John tried it, finding that it opened easily. They peered inside and Niko tried to listen as closely as possible. He could hear a strangled breathing, like someone, or something, was inside. He looked over to John and by the look on the man's face, he was sure he had heard it too.

They went inside carefully and quietly. Niko stayed behind John, who had his hand on what Niko guessed was a weapon. He couldn't see well in the dark of the house, but it looked as though the place had already been ransacked. The cupboards and doors of every bit of furniture were open, and the contents strewn about. Someone was desperately looking for anything to loot. Niko looked at the ground, trying not to imagine their desperation as they searched for food and other supplies. Had they found what they were looking for?

The breathing was becoming louder, but more ragged. Niko noticed a trail of blood on the floor and pointed it out to John. With the man's permission, he crept around a corner to see where it led. He fell back in fright and cried out to John. A man lay on the tiled floor, blood pouring from the obvious gunshot wounds in his side. He was the source of the breathing. It didn't look like he had long.

"J-John..."

Immediately inside, he found no danger beyond kitchen knives and a few lighters and candles. Boarded windows, a frayed carpet that looked to have been burned sometime in the recent past, and a television that looked as if it had been rigged up to work, somehow. Upon further inspection, after he let Niko go along to look through the rest of the house, he found it was battery-powered. The screen, however, was black.

He kicked through the strewn items, the cans, broken bottles, silverware, and clothing and blankets. Most were useless, and he didn't need any more knives. He sighed, leaning against the wall and thinking. This wasn't the best place to stay. It was too early to stop, and they still had so long until they got to the west coast. Maybe they could cut it short by heading south, going a shorter way. Maybe there was a safe place there. Niko's cry shocked him into sprinting down the hallway, skidding to a halt outside the door he had stumbled out of. "God, Niko, what's... What...?" He slipped into the room and knelt beside the form, breathing raggedly.

"God, Niko! Go find me a towel or blanket or something!" He rolled the man over and shrugged off his backpack, snatching the thing that Niko offered when he came back---a white bath towel. John folded it, pressing it to the wound and earning a hiss of pain from the older man. His face was pale and sallow, the way he looked around nearly wild, but there was a hint of humanity still there.

"Gonna kill... k-kill... me...?" He grimaced when he spoke, and growled quietly.

"No, no, were not gonna kill you. Look, stop talking, stop... Breathe easily. God, I think you have a collapsed lung..." John shook his head. All he had was a little gauze, no sewing needle or thread, nothing to pack the wound or stop the bleeding, or save the lung that had been punctured when he'd been shot. "Damn it... Niko, go on in the other room..." He wouldn't die for a long while, the man. And John couldn't do anything but prolong the suffering. He had to use his knife, but didn't want the young man to see.

Niko rushed out of the kitchen when commanded, looking about wildly for for something John could use on the man. He found a white towel folded neatly in what used to be the linen closet. He grabbed it and ran back to John's side, shaking slightly as he looked at the dying man. The colour in his face seemed to have drained out, his crimson blood spilling onto the floor. Niko felt sick and looked away. He left the room when asked, wondering if John could save him.

-

The man, whose name was Jeremy Goff, watched the stranger slowly pull out a large knife through blurred eyes. The pain was horrendous and it was so hard to breathe. He knew what the man intended to do for him, and he appreciated it. "Look... My name... Jeremy... Goff... I... Was... A... Teacher..." he panted in a harsh whisper, clutching at the stranger's arm. For some reason he wanted to talk, to tell this man who he was so he wasn't forgotten.

"This... Is... My... House... We... Used... To... Have an... Apple orchard..." He felt tears rolling down his cheeks as his vision faded. No, not yet. He had more things to say. "My wife... and child... They are... buried... Near the... Well... Please... Please bury me... With them..." He gazed at the man beside him, hoping he understood. "A man... came here... Thought I had... cider... left..." He winced as he tried to move. "Gotta be... careful... Look after that kid... with you..." A faint smile showed on his pale face and he rested, waiting for death to come. "Th... Thank you... Kind... Stranger..."

John sighed shakily, patting the man's hand as it grasped his arm weakly. He didn't need to know that. Didn't need to know this man had a family. Had a life. It made it a little harder to do what he was about to. "I'll make sure you're buried with them." He promised, feeling his voice break in his chest a little. "You'll be with them soon." The man rested his head on the floor, releasing John's arm and breathing out, the motion interrupted by a ragged cough that brought blood up with it. "I don't know much about religion, but I figure any life after this is better than what we got."

The man nodded slowly, and closed his eyes. John grasped his knife, holding his breath as he felt for a rib and found a space between two. Better to slip the knife right between and into the heart, stop it immediately. And with that, he would be dead. He thrust the blade into his flesh, grimacing as the body shuddered and ultimately became still in a moment. That was it. He pulled out the knife, breathing through his mouth as the air became clogged with the scent of dying flesh and bodily fluids that seeped out of the body at death. He stood, wiping the knife on the white towel and shakily moving out of the room, all the while sheathing his blade when he found Niko.

"Hey... do me a favor and gather up some... some blankets and stuff from upstairs. I figure you'll find some on the beds... In closets, whatever. I'll... be out back. Near the well. Come find me there when you have that done, would you?" He went through the kitchen, easing his heart with each step he took, with his movement to pick up the spade near the back door, and his trek to the dried well where two relatively fresh dirt piles sat. He started a third beside the two, working through the hard ground.

Niko had been in the room that had once been a dining room, waiting for John to exit the kitchen. He smiled when he saw the man, but it soon faded. Something told Niko that the man they had found hadn't made it. Did John have to kill him? He shuddered at the thought and decided to just ignore it. John was no killer, he was gentle and kind. Niko liked him already.

"Bl... Blankets?" he stammered a bit, wondering why John would need more stuff. "Um... OK..." He got to his feet and walked up the creaky staircase, slowing as he got to the top of the stairs. An open door led to a bathroom, just opposite where he was standing. He went to the room and looked around. All the cupboards and drawers up here were open and rummaged through as well. It seems whoever had looted the place was looking for any kind of medication they could get their hands on.

He left the bathroom and walked down the hall, looking at the pictures hanging up on the walls. A man, a woman and a little girl where in many of the photos. What had happened to them? Who were they? He kept walking, finally finding a bedroom. The sheets had been torn from the bed and a small box lay open on the ground near it. He approached it, peering into it. A gun had been in there once. There were only 3 bullets sitting inside it. Niko carefully picked them up and placed them in his bag.

He couldn't find anything else useful, so made his way back downstairs, hoping John was still around. As he got to the ground floor, he noticed another door they hadn't looked in. He opened it to find stairs leading to a basement. He closed his eyes as emotions overtook him for a brief moment.

He inhaled deeply, walking down the stairs cautiously. Once he reached the surprisingly large basement, he peered around the darkness. One good thing about living in a basement all his life was how easily he could see in the pitch dark. There were barrels down here, and strange machines. Empty bottles lined the walls, and a few full ones sat at the far back. He went to pick them up, smelling the tell-tale smell of alcohol. Maybe John would like some of it... He put the two bottles into his bag, leaving the room and finally going to find John.

The man had been outside digging something. He was leaning against a shovel, panting and sweating slightly. Niko saw three freshly dug mounds and wondered what John had been up to. "I found some bullets and a couple of bottles of alcohol..." he said, pulling his bag off and opening it to show John. "Most the blankets were ripped up... I couldn't find anything else useful... What have you been doing?"

It was such a hot day. Digging, even under cloud cover, was extremely difficult to breathe in the heavy, breezeless air. Surprisingly, it got easier to dig as he got a few inches down, and discovered the well, while dry, had seeped its water into the ground. It got easier to dig after that, and a little cooler as he dug down. He had to go deep, to ward off the desire for psychotic cannibals or bandits. But regardless of his strength, digging in the packed, dead earth was very difficult, and could wear out the strongest of individuals. While he rested, Niko returned, and John was glad to see it. "Sounds like a relatively good hold." He commented, looking into the bag. "But no blankets? God, I could've sworn there'd be a few good ones..." He sighed, going back to his work.

"I've... been digging a grave. The guy---Jeremy, I mean... He didn't make it. He was... suffering, actually. I had to do it---I gave him a quick death so he didn't have to go through drowning in his own blood... That's not a good death. Sometimes it can last for hours. I couldn't let him go through that, so... I helped him. I'd like to think I gave his family back to him." He bit his lip, stopping his dig and measuring it with a shovel. "I figure that's... deep enough. I thought I'd wrap him in a few sheets, but... I suppose not." John shrugged and looked at Niko. You wanna go ahead inside while I get him out here and bury him? I'd rather you didn't see..." He nudged Niko's shoulder as he stepped away, going back toward the house.