Day 1,635

For a severed hand in a jar, she was a damned good navigator. Her manicure-tipped finger pointed him towards half-hidden supply caches and scribbled safety tips on the old notepad she kept with her. She kept him out of danger and away from other survivors and all she asked for in return was to be placed in fresh blood every now and then.

She claimed that uninfected blood worked best, helped her keep her thoughts in order. Whether or not this was true was less important to him - survival came first and logic trailed after it in the small hours of the morning when she was resting and he was questioning everything that had led him there.

If he hadn't heard her tapping patiently on the side of her jar, tied to the waist of someone who thought they knew better, he probably wouldn't have survived past the first few days. Within minutes of holding her, she managed to save his life and he tried not to look back ever since.

Lately though, things haven't been quite right and getting uninfected blood is slowly becoming impossible. She's suggested that he could give her some of his blood but something in the back of his mind said that if he did this, she wouldn't keep her mind to herself and he'd soon find himself inside the jar instead.