The crunch of gravel underfoot was the first sign that someone was nearby. Legs, walking swiftly and with purpose, were the second sign. Helena turned her gaze away from the broken log she’d been inspecting and trained her eyes on the shrubbery that kept the rest of the approaching figure from view. No telltale limp or stagger indicated that it was a shuffler. The jeans actually looked too clean to belong to a zombie.
Expecting a runner, Helena unshouldered her rifle, holding it casually as she calmly waited for the figure to emerge. When it — he — did finally come into view, the Latina relaxed, letting the gun dangle from her arm. Vet Guy. That’s who it was. They’d never formally been introduced. Helena didn’t know his name, but she knew that he was Rae’s boyfriend’s brother and Sing Sing’s resident vet.
When he nodded his greeting, Helena jerked her chin upward in a return greeting. His arms were laden with a large box that tipped off balance occasionally as something heavy shifted inside it. Not exactly the smartest idea to be out and about in zombie territory with your hands full. Helena had learned that lesson the hard way, but she knew by way of the grapevine that a lesson like that would be learned a lot harder by someone like Vet Guy, who wasn’t as proficient at combat.
Brown eyes tracked him as he came even with where she was standing, and she would’ve been content to let him keep going on his way undisturbed, if it weren’t for the high-pitched whines coming from the box. Helena’s brows rose. All that time spent living at Castle Clinton with its massive array of guard dogs had made those sounds familiar to her. She knew puppy sounds when she heard them.
“Hope you’re not planning on bringing zombie dogs back to the compound,” she commented, a small smirk in place to soften any gruffness that might’ve been in her tone.