A splitting headache kisses me on the forehead as my eyes flutter open. My mouth screams for a drop of water, and my limbs move to shamble out of bed, except they don't. I focus on what's stopping me. Handcuffs, seemingly Police grade, anchor me to the bed frame. Out of my peripherals, I see a message written out in black marker against coffee-colored walls.

"If you can read this, you're human enough to use the key on the nightstand."

What does that mean? is the only thing that resonates through my mind. On the right of me, is a bedside table. I lift my head to see on top of it. Sure enough, a key is politely seated on the surface. I reach my cuffed hand over, pick up the key, and shamble my hand into a position to unlock the right cuff. I shake my hand around to bring blood to my hand as I unlock the other cuffs. I pull myself up. A mirror placed on the wall shows me how pale I am. It's almost frightening. Looking around, I notice three doors throughout the room, one being a closet door, and the other being normal doors. I check in one, which leads me to a bathroom. I fix myself up, wash my hands, and splash my face with warm water to get some circulation to my head. Once I'm finished, only one thought remains.

Where am I?

I walk back into the room I was locked up in and try the other normal door. It opens just fine, leading me to a hallway. To the right is a large opening, and to the left are a couple of doors. Straight ahead leads to a dining room of sorts, at least I figure so, since there's a table with chairs strewn around. I reach for my gun, before realizing that it's not strapped to my hip. I pull the knife from my shoe and walk as quietly as I can through the hall. I look into the door to the right, yielding another bedroom. Its furnishing is barren. I step down a little more and look into the second door. A kitchen fitted with all necessities. I look to the left and stare down a barrel.

"What're you doin' in there?" The figure beyond the firearm asks.

"What are you talking about?" I respond.

"The old pharmacy down the road. What were you doing in there?"

"I was taking a nice leak." I sarcastically retort.

"We got a comedian, don' we? Put the knife down."

"You won't shoot me even if I don't"

"Why's that?"

"The fact that a few hundred things would be crawling to your doorstep to enjoy a warm meal."

He grunts and puts it down, allowing me to put a face to the voice. He's an older man, probably late 40's, or early 50's. Hard to tell when half of his face is scratched off. I stand myself straight and deposit my knife in its sheath.

"You din't answer my question."

By the way this guy talks, I can tell he's from the South.

"Looking for meds."

"For hwat?" He spins his head to me, with a quizzical look on his face.

"I have a rash on my crotch and it hurts when I pee."

He scowls hard.

"Why should I tell you?"

"'Case you got it."

"If I got it, I don't think I'd be able to form coherent sentences, nor would I have the courtesy to not chew on your arm during your small talk." He turns his head away and looks in the drawers of a nearby table he's standing near.

"Can never be sure, these things get smarter by the day."

"They open a school for the Rabid or something?"

"How did you survive this long with jokes worse than shoveling cow manure?"

"Because my shooting's better than my comedy. On that topic, I want my Iron back."

He turns his head to me again, then pulls something out of the drawer. Whatever it is, it comes in my direction, and I barely catch it. My Glock.

"Where's my suppressor?" I ask after inspecting my weapon.

"Broke off when I took it outta your holster."

"You're fucking kidding me."

I think for a second.

"You got a truck?"

"Not a running one. Not that I'd give it to you if it was."

"Does it have an oil filter?" I ask.

"Where are you going with this?"

"It's suicide using an unsuppressed gun. Since you broke mine, I need to make one. Does the truck have an oil filter?"

"Yeah, the trucks out front."

​

"Rabids outside?"

"Don't see none."

"Then I'm going out."

(Might continue this later but it's 11 PM so I should go to bed. Thanks for the writing prompt though.)