promenade
The runner doesn't know how he got on the boat, or why. It has some strong pros and some strong cons. Being on a boat gets him away from the mainland, where the walking dead things and other unspeakables currently reside. Being on a boat puts an ocean between him and the deadly plagues. Being on a boat is also a little like locking yourself in a cellar to bar out the apocalypse - there's nowhere to run if shit goes south.
With that in mind, however bad things might be back on dry land, he can't imagine why he would have willingly gotten onto a giant old cruise ship. In fact, the details of boarding are fuzzy, now that he thinks on it. It was Halloween, and everybody still alive knew Halloween was definitely a night where you found somewhere safe and stayed there. But a boat? This didn't seem like a one night kind of retreat. He peers through a window at the bow and sees nothing but waves and endless stars. And he thought the landscape on shore was bleak.
He's covered up from head to toe. His face is wrapped in a black scarf, his eyes hidden behind a pair of goggles. He's not prepared to take chances that a fleck of blood or a witch's whisper won't get in his mouth. His leather jacket is zipped to the top. His jeans have leather pads sewn crudely into the knees, and they're tucked into a pair of steel-toed boots with the kind of dents you didn't get from tripping on the sidewalk. That isn't brick red mud on the baseball bat slung through a leather loop at his side, after all.
He moves close to the wall, then peers around the edge of the promenade. Anyone coming? Anyone there?