User:Ray Gauquin

        "HELP US!"
            "We have wounded!"
      "We have infected!"
                      "We're dying!"
"My wife! She's dead!"

The screams were echoing the moment he emerged from the darkness. It's funny, he thought, how people seem to cling to that which is familiar to them. He was still in his fireman's uniform. It's the more protective thing to have. This is what the people see. Not the person within the clothing but the clothing themselves.

They really think he's a fireman.

But you never really know, do you? If he had come in with stolen scrubs from a hospital they'd assume he was a doctor. In time like this no one really seems to care to ask. "Are you really a fireman?" Everyone's nerves are shattered. They don't care. They just want help.

Fortunately for them. That's exactly what he's here for. He dusts himself off. Digs through his duffel bag. Hands out food and first aid kits. Toys for the kids, books for the teens, misc. weapons for those who are fit and able. He uses loose furniture spare wood and helps the survivors barricade their surroundings.

He is a man of few words.

         "Everyone stay quiet."
   "I'm here to help."
          "I'm not here to hurt you."
        "stay down."

They always hope he'll stay around...

he never does.

He always wants to say "I'll be back" before he leaves. He used to. But sometimes, there was nothing to come back to. Just broken buildings, blood smeared floors, calls for help spray painted on walls, and the urban dead prowling the halls.

Now this weary traveler wanders the streets of Malton, helping wherever he can.