In many ways, Harlow liked Mort's attitude on things-- that carefree recklessness that Harlow himself tended to share. Still, when it came to this particular subject, Harlow was a bit oversensitive. He'd lost the ability to be amused by the infected, and the idea of daring them to come seemed beyond foolish to him. There was a time when he had the same irreverent attitude about them, when he would laugh in the face of the hungry dead, but now he finally feared them. "They'll come," Harlow said, a bit icily. "Eventually. Better hope it's you they get and not someone else." That was the worst part of it all, to him. The fact that if they came, one was just as likely to be left behind as killed. Death didn't scare him. Loss did.
Harlow nodded in response to Mort's question, trying to shake off his sudden blues. "Yeah, sorta. New Jersey. What about you? Southern boy, obviously. You wind up out this way before or after everything went to shit?"