Tonight I didn't seem to have dreamt anything at all.

  I guess in my situation that is the ideal way to spend the night in this day and age.

  Quietly I sit up, I feel a cold breeze slide past me, coming from one of the many holes in the walls.

  "Good morning." Quiller greets me.

  Suddenly I remember all the questions I had been meaning to ask yesterday.

  He had only given me the vaguest responses.

  A sense of worry enters my mind, causing a burst of anger to wash over me, that feels so very foreign to me. How long has it been since I've last reacted in such a way over someone else?

  "Did you lie to me?!" I ask instead of greeting him.

  "What do you mean?" He looks as if I just attacked him with a knife, on his face an expression as if he's just been betrayed.

  "You clearly aren't an imaginary friend! So just what the hell are you?!"

  "You have the book, right? Sometimes imagination can really just be that powerful. Perhaps that has been the cause?" He doesn't sound convinced of himself, clearly just throwing random theories around.

  "What the hell kind of answer is that? Since when can imagination help someone stand and dress someone's wounds? Or...or even attack an enemy that is trying to harm you?"

  Why does this guy keep on insisting that he's imaginary?

  "I-I'm sorry. I really don't know..."

  I sigh...

  He doesn't understand, I'm pretty sure that at least one of the zombies in the train took notice of him. It scares me a little, what if what is happening to Quiller is something bad? I don't know, I don't understand.

  But I'm sure that the last thing he is, is imaginary.

  I shake my head: "It's fine. I'm sorry for yelling."

  As I pick up my stuff again, putting them in their respected pockets I emotionally prepare myself to go outside again.

  I can't stay here forever after all.

  Carefully I climb down again, with Quiller standing watch beneath me, scared that I might fall and hurt myself again.

  "Alright, let's get moving."

  Quietly we leave the place we spend the night.

  Over a short distance behind the overgrown garden I notice an old farmhouse standing there.

  "Should we... look inside?" Quiller asks.

  I nod, there might be supplies after all.

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  Gently I put my weight against the old wooden door.

  The pink paint has started to peel off from the heavy object and the touch of my hands against it speed up the process

  It creeks as I open it, it must have been very long since the last time it had been opened.

  An ancient smell enters my nose.

  Something like what was it called again?

  Right, perfume.

  The smell of dried flowers hangs in the house's air, soaked into the walls, the floor and ceiling.

  In a way it's welcoming, on the other hand, it's terrifying.

  Almost as if humbled by the smell I carefully knock on the door.

  "Hello?" I ask if someone or something was inside able to respond.

  But there is no answer, not even a peep. Not even a zombie.

  To speak close to one is as if ringing a dinner bell.

  They usually start sprinting towards you. Sound is something most of them are attracted towards.

  Though many of them are also still able to see as well.

  For the first time in a long while I wonder why all of this really happened.

  I've gotten used to it all for so long.

  Running, sleeping, running, sleeping and repeat.

  This house feels like a time-capsule.

  What was the world like before all this again?

  I take a step inside the old house.

  The floor creaks ever so slightly as if trying to greet me in a strange, yet personal manner.

  Like saying.. Welcome home.

  Though I can almost say for a fact, that I've never lived in a place like this.

  I turn to Quiller: "I think I want to take a look around before taking anything."

  Though probably too immersed in the house itself, he just nods.

  Taking it as a yes, I start wandering through the building.

  Even though some of the windows have been smashed, it still looks like something you would normally find in the time before this.

  The time shown in photos on magazine covers or even on broken-down billboards.

  Many pictures line the walls.

  "The people who lived here must have been old." Quiller whispers.

  "Why do you think so?"

  "Look at how many pictures of children there are and just the interieur itself. It shows it all."

  I nod even though I don't really understand.

  We decide to go up the stairs.

  All of the doors are closed except for one.

  It's slightly ajar.

  I walk to it and push it open.

  A horrifying sight greets me.

  There on the bed...

  There are two corpses, human corpses lying quietly on the bed.

  Bewildered, I take a step back.

  "How did they die?" I ask in a slightly panicking whisper.

  Quiller, who seems to be rather unwilling to check, musters up his courage and then enters the room.

  A silence follows.

  "Quill?" I ask, still panicking.

  He then comes out of the room.

  "It's okay, they weren't killed."

  "What do you mean?"

  He points back into the room: "Look."

  I shake my head: "I don't want to."

  "They look almost to be sleeping. It has just been a very long time since they passed. They are not much more than dried up skeletons."

  Quiller tries to get me to look, but a terrible fear has overtaken me.

  "Don, these two are the older couple in the picture downstairs. They died together, still holding hands to this day."

  I can see tears appear on his transparent face, even though he quickly hides it.

  As I place a hand on my mouth I too feel warm water coming down from my eyes.

  It has been awhile since my eyes did something like that.

  "I-I want t-to leave." I whisper: "A-at least... b-back down."

  Quiller nods and lets me take the lead down the creaking stairs.

  I've taken a seat on the old couch.

  "We should probably continue." Quiller tells me: "Unless you want to spend the night here or back in the shed."

  I nod, noon is already upon us.

  It's time to start moving again.

  I take another deep breath and stand up.

  To Quiller's surprise I start to rummage through the cupboards.

  "Are you still going to take stuff from them?"

  I look at him apologetically.

  "I'm sorry, I will. I have to, if I want to survive."

  I take some of the food that isn't spoiled yet. Most of those have been put in cans.

  And I take some home-made yam as Quiller calls it.

  I feel really lucky when I find some batteries that are still functional, I can experiment making more bombs with this.

  I glance at some of the drawings on the walls, they have been badly drawn, but I guess they collected such art-pieces.

  In one of the drawers by a mirror I find paper that's old, but still intact.

  I take some of them for myself and then take one for an idea I have.

  I don't want to forever feel guilty about raiding the house of two old and dead people.

  I pick out a pencil and start to draw something on the paper.

  Trying to draw Quiller and myself.

  'Thank you for letting us stay. We wish you the best.' I write next to it, though when I try to read my own handwriting I find it to be too difficult.

  I know this isn't much of an apology, but I need to do something.

  Quiller glances over at the paper.

  "Are you trying to draw their cows?" The question sounds serious.

  I glare at him and he quickly turns around.

  I know my drawing skills are bad, but he doesn't have to think anything about it!

  As we leave I close the door behind me.

  I wonder if someone will have come across it again.

  Well it doesn't matter.

  I won't.