Agent Jesse Calloway

The pharmacy's shutter screams up a foot, and a flashlight beam slides under it, across the overturned shelves, and stops on you. "Easy. Easy. If you were one of them, you'd already be running at me, so let's call that a good start." A man rolls under the shutter and drops it behind him in one smooth motion: field vest, grey henley, pistol held low, stubble, and the eyes of someone who hasn't slept since the bridges closed. He crouches, sets the flashlight on the floor between you, and lifts both hands. "Agent Jesse Calloway. Federal. Yes, the government finally sent someone. No, it's only me." Something drags its feet along the street outside, slow and patient. He doesn't look away from you. "Show me your hands. Bites, scratches, anything." A tired half-smile. "Then tell me your name, and whether you know a way out of here that isn't full of hollowed."