Georgina

Georgina and I lazily swing in the hammock on the porch, drinking up the molasses like heat and slowly succumbing to the hypnotic buzz of the cicadas.  Her body is a comforting weight against my chest and we are content to lie in our own sweat and forget the last few days.  The journey so far has been rough and we've encountered more people than I had planned but luckily this abandoned farmhouse gives us a reprieve.  I softly stroke her head, sighing, when a chill races up my spine. I freeze; eyes closed, I try to sense what could have triggered this reaction.  It takes a minute, but I soon realize that the cicadas have stopped and the still afternoon has become deathly silent.  Georgina shifts and I tell her quietly to stay still. Turning my head slowly toward the trees, trying not to draw attention, I spot him.
His skin is milky white tinged slightly with green.  I can see the blue of his veins from the porch and I shutter, realizing that our reprieve is over.  Gently I shake Georgina awake, pointing to the floorboards, a silent command for her to get out of the hammock.  She pouts and rubs her fist in her eyes, clearing away the sleep.  She's going to start crying soon, angry at being disturbed, but I look into her almond eyes and she understands.  Thrusting her bottom lip out she clumsily complies then sits on the porch, mouth open, and babbles quietly.  She has seen the man and knows her part.
I could tell her that he won't understand our game but I don't know who else is watching.  I have the sense that a Hunter may be near, using this poor creature as bait.
Sensing our movements his head jerks our direction and his whole body spasms.  He makes a sound like someone coughing up water and then starts to shuffle his way toward us. He can't see, his eyes are clouded over with death but his body, through some internal tracker