The morning sun cast shadows across the abandoned streets of Jackson Township as I walked alongside Mark, both of us moving with the cautious awareness that had become second nature in our post-apocalyptic world. My bloodied hand axe hung loosely in my right hand, dark stains on the blade speaking to this morning's earlier encounters with wandering infected. Between my lips sat a cigarette, the smoke curling upward in the still air as I took measured drags.
Mark matched my pace, the older man's weathered hands steady despite his age as he brought his own cigarette to his lips. We created small clouds of smoke as we walked, our breath visible in the cool morning air mixing with the tobacco haze.
"Smoking really is the best thing to raise the mood, isn't it?" Mark asked with a laugh, glancing sideways at me with the kind of camaraderie that had developed between us over the two months we have known each other.
He became like a noisy gramps for me honestly.
