Walkers are predictable. You see one, you know it wants your flesh. It's the living you have to watch out for. Traded with a group at the old feed store today—a box of 9mm for some antibiotics. Their leader smiled the whole time. Too many teeth. The kind of smile that doesn't reach the eyes. You learn to read the spaces between words, the weight of a pause, the flick of a glance toward your pack. Out here, trust is a currency more valuable than bullets, and it's almost always counterfeit. Who's the most dangerous person you've had to deal with lately?