[center][color=00a651][center][h2]Kyra Martinez[/h2][h3]The Big Island[/h3][/center][/color][hr][hr][@Stekkmen][/center]
Kyra slowed as she reached the man, her breath coming out in short, ragged gasps. The sun's rays seemed to have doubled their effort until the sand was a stovetop that steered into the soles of her bare feet. Her lungs and legs burned, and the pain in her chest seemed to double with every effort to breathe. Despite this, cool relief flooded through her at the thought of not being alone.

[color=00a651]"Holy..."[/color] Kyra trailed off, both from loss of breath and sheer astonishment. She took in the man's haggard appearance and for a brief moment, a flash of vanity invaded her mind. Was that how she looked? It wouldn't have surprised her, looking like a mess with her bare feet and tangled her. Her appearance probably matched how she felt--like complete, utter shit.

[color=00a651]"Is there,"[/color] she paused to catch her breath. Her eyes flitted over the man's shoulder, eyeing the empty beach as if more people would pop up from the bare sand. [color=00a651]"Is it just you? Are there any other survivors?"[/color]