Scotty cringed as the gun went off, flinching towards his new-found savior. Guns were so loud -- didn't the man know these zombies were attracted to noise? He was trying to get them both killed. Then again, a bullet between the eyes was an easier kill than a knife, but still. Small space, tons of zombies... didn't the man understand?
Outside was hardly any better. Actually jumping from a window was scary enough, but leaping into a horde was downright terrifying. Scotty clung harder and pressed his forehead against the man's neck so he wouldn't have to look. Just knowing they were going to die was good enough for him. He didn't need to actually witness it, or know the exact moment that teeth would tear into his flesh.
The steady rhythm of footsteps on pavement assured him that, for the time being, they were safe. But then the man began to speak, and panted as he did so, and suddenly Scotty felt frightened once again. What would happen when the man ran out of steam? What if the zombies caught them first? What if he tripped and broke something? Or-
"No," Scotty answered. "I've never been bit." Then: "I'm Scotty."