Noon, March 5, 2005 | Housing Districts, Brooklyn, NY |
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Rick located the source of sound. It was an infected dog trying to enter a well-boarded house not far down the street.
The owner of the footprints must be in the building, he deduced, as Rocky's scent-tracking directed them to the same house.
Whoever's inside may need some help, but I have no idea how many of them are there and what intentions they might have. I will risk exposing our hideout if I make reckless decisions. The two sneaked closer towards the house and hided inside a rundown bus, as the man continued to observe and calculate if they should make contact.
Rick had seen a few survivor groups passing by the neighborhood before. They were usually large crowd of people with plenty of food supplies, military-graded firearms and functioning transports. Rick knew that they would be more well-protected against the undead if they join one of the groups, but he always ended up trying to avoid them as he instinctively thought that there will be much more complications to deal with social relationships. Rick never felt comfortable communicating or working together with strangers; he would rather deal with zombies as they were much more predictable and one blow in the head was all he needed to silence them.
Who's that? He quickly backed away from the window and signaled Rocky to stay put as he spotted a young man with a shotgun closing in on the infected dog.
A young guy with no apparent physical training but seems to know how to handle his shotgun well. He's hesitating on whether to fire the shots or not... maybe he is not one of the group but is trying to help. With the turn of events, Rick decided to wait and see how things would turn out before deciding whether to announce his presence. It would be to his advantage to find out what sort of people were in the house first.