Helen

Helen’s blonde. Her mouth is small, and her eyes clear, and she can shoot a fly off a corpse at 300 yards. Her boyfriend got eaten right at the start, but she still catches herself thinking about him, about the way he smiled and how he held her hands when they made love.

The big hulking guy from the woods looks nothing like him. He’s sitting on the other side of the fire, watching her warily, his axe propped up against his knee. It’s taken her six days to get him this far. But that’s ok. She has lots of time.

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