[She opens the door and he flinches back. He wanted to ask if she was hurt first. He wanted to be sure she was safe. He doesn't want her to also be covered in zombie blood.

But she doesn't launch at him and he's grateful for that. She's safe. She's here, she's alive, she's safe.

She's crying. He wishes he could do anything about it.]

Sshh... it's okay...

[It's not, but it just seems like the right thing to say.]

They'll come back... but so can we... leave the books... bring the necessities... we'll come back... when it's safe again... I can find you... a new place... or... that old car... leave the city... your choice... we'll come back... Nothing wasted... Um...

[He reaches into his jacket tugging a paper bag from an inner pocket. The movement jostles the gunshot wound that's gone through his hoodie, but he only hisses. He holds the paper bag out gingerly, not wanting to coat it in the gore of his hands.]

I got your things... I'm sorry... I was away long...