Bea was clearly a realist, and Noah thought that would serve her well. He could relate, because he was the same way. Painting a rosy picture of anything wasn't his deal, and it probably never would be. Being stupid gets you killed was the best assessment of the life they lived that he could think of.
He nodded when she said he made it sound like he didn't think he was immune. "Yeah, I can't explain it," he told her. "I just have a feeling, and I've learned to listen to those." If he turned, he would want someone to shoot him as quickly as possible, and he knew there were people at the compound who wouldn't hesitate to do that. It was reassuring in a strange way, but he thought the best alternative was for him to stay clear of zombie teeth. Their existence these days might suck beyond the telling of it, but still, Noah wasn't ready to die just yet. There were at least a few bright spots.
Noah had smoked his cigarette as far down as he could get it, and he pinched it out and placed the butt next to him on the floor. He chuckled softly at her assessment of city living. "Believe me, I know what it's like to grow up in the ass crack of nowhere. Before all this happened, I decided never again." LA had been a great place to live, definitely more laid-back than New York, but he'd figured he'd found his place of permanent residence when he'd moved to the city after his marriage broke up. So much for that.