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'A story about a hunter learning to love, a story about a hunter loseing love, a story about a hunter'
-anikinz12

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He sat on a rooftop, shadowed by the moon and the deep midnight-blue of the night sky. A soft breeze made its way across the top of the dark buildings, ruffling the fabric of his hood as he lost himself in his thoughts. Hunter is frightening, he is angry, a monster. Or so he thinks, for his friends see him as a friendly, sweet guy. He sighed, looking over the expance of the city that stretched before him. He looked down the length of the large building, hordes of undead scattered around the base and through the streets. They were dying slowly, lack of human flesh taking its toll.

A voice behind him made him jump.
"Hoods" said Smoker, using the groups pet name for him, "Me and Boomer are going to the attack the survivors that shacked themselves up downtown". Smoker sat down beside Hunter, looking out over the scene below. "Wanna come?"
Hunter shook his head, "Nah, I'll have some fun with them later.. I guess". He pulled his knees up, resting his chin on them. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath of fresh night air. As if that would help his undead body. Smoker moved his gaze from the zombies below over to Hunter, tilting his head slightly. It was never like Hunter to not want to hunt some humans.
"What's wrong, Hoods?" he asked, his voice raspy and his long extended tongue giving his words a slight lisp. "You always want to go after survivors, always".
Hunters slumped shoulders rose in a jerked shrugging motion. He wrapped his arms around his knees, his hands gripping his legs.
"I just don't feel hungry. Or in the mood", he told Smoker, stretching his legs out and standing. He looked down at his fellow 'special' infected, his friend, and decided he no longer wanted to go into the conversation. He just wanted to be alone. He crouched, outstretching his arms, and leapt of the building and onto the street, losing himself in the crowd of infected.
"Is Hunter okay?" Boomer asked in his deep, slow voice. He scratched at his sickly-yellow stomach. Smoker didn't know how long he had been there. Boomer can be quiet and agile when he wanted to be, despite how stupid he acted sometimes. He shrugged, keeping his eyes on the croweded streets, Hunter already lost among the bodies.
"I don't know. I'm worried about him, Boomer. He said he didn't want to attack the survivors" he explained, saying it like it was blasphemy. He tucked his legs underneath his lean body, pushing him self up so that he was standing. He looked over at Boomer, who was picking at the vile boils and lumps on his stomach. He waited for it sink in because what Boomer gained in physical speed, he lacked in mental speed. Boomers thickly fat-covered head flicked up, looking directly at Smoker.
"What?! He always wants to play with the survivors". His deep voice boomed across the rooftop.
Smoker shrugged, just as confused. He watched as Boomer made his way to the edge of the roof to peer over the edge before turning his own head to look into the horde. His eyes searched for Hunter, and he knew Boomer was looking for the same thing. But Hunter was long gone by now. He was one of the fasted of the group. Smoker sighed. Something had been wrong for weeks now, months even. But no one knew what was wrong with Hunter..

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Hunter slowed to a stop beside a rusty, broken down old truck. He sighed, catching his breath. He didn't need to ofcourse, but not all habits from his human life could be broken. He slumped against the car, sliding down to slump on the ground. He pulled his legs up to his chest, his chin taking its usual place on the knee's of his dirty jeans. He lashed his hand out, striking the side of the car. The metal crumpled loudly at his strength, leaving a deep crater in the rust-covered body. He flexed his hands, his claws glistening with permnant bloodstain.
"What's wrong with me?!" He asked himself. He let out a small sob then cursed himself for showing weakness. His fists were clenched and he knew the area in his chest where his heart is supposed to be should be hurting. He held his breath for a moment, letting it out in a long gush of air. He closed his eyes, leaning his head back onto the car. He let himself drift into a fitful, dreamless sleep.

He was woken by shouting and the unmistakable sound of gunfire. He tilted his head, listening, trying to determine how far away they were. Voices became audible, and there were more than one. He heard humans crying out, yelling to each other.
"Pills here!"
"I'm reloading!"
"Cover me, I gotta heal".
Hunter scratched to tip of his head with the end of the claw on his forefinger.
"...the Hell?" he muttered, crouching and peering over the bonnet of the truck. He caught sight of the survivors, counting four of them. He sniffed the air, picking out their scents. There were three men, and one woman.
"Reloading!" one man yelled over his shoulder, sliding a fresh magazine into his akimbo pistols. Hunter hissed between clenched teeth, glaring at the four figures.
"I hate those survivors" he snarled quietly.
From down the street, towards the dark circle where a few streetlights had been knocked out, he heard Smokers destinct cough. He sneered coldly.
"Smoker" he said to himself, "You really need to quit smoking". He chucked darkly, his eyes still on the humans. He watched them scramble around, searching the darkness for the things nightmares were made of. They were looking out for his kind. He tilted his head to the side, listening intently, his acute hearing flawless. He had heard Smoker but he couldn't pick out the sound of Boomer. Did Smoker come alone? But I thought he was with Boomer, he thought to himself. He can't go alone! What was he thinking?!
The soft, but firm, voice of the female human shook him from his thoughts. "I hear a smoker!" she had yelled.
The group moved towards the Smoker, their flashlights cutting through the darkness. This was dangers, Smoker could get hurt! He couldn't just sit there, waiting for them to inevitably find Smoker and kill him. He crawled over the hood of the car quietly, the clicking of his claws on the metal making the only noise. He pulled himself into a crouching position, his powerful legs positioned underneath him. He used them to spring far distances easily. He would use them now. He pushed off of the bonnet of the car, sending himself through the air. He let out a shriek, a sound that cut through the air. All the survivors turned and saw him. One of the men, the oldest of the group, yelled out, his voice deep but edged with panic.
"HUNTER!!"
The sounds of gunshot filled the air as they all let out sprays of bullets. They seemed to miss him completely. Hunter was ontop of the girl in seconds, his claws shredding at her clothes and skin. She pushed at him and hit him with her gun, trying to pushed him off her. He was suddenly shoved by another survivor, sending him sprawling on the ground. A low growl formed from the base of his throat, rolling deeply in his chest. But the girl had regained herself, taking his moment of weakness to roll herself over and shoot at him. Her face was contorted in pain as she rolled from her back, her cut chest pressing against the gravel of the road. She pulled the trigger and sent a bullet into Hunters shoulder. He let out a shriek of pain, not knowing a single bullet could cause so much pain...