When Gregory Rasputin woke up one afternoon from horrifying nightmares, he found himself oddly safe in his makeshift bed from the nightmares of waking day. His leg was stiff. It always was. Always had been, it seemed like, for long as he could remember. Heavily, like lifting great weights, his eyelids raised, giving way to the dusty illumination abandoned and heavily windowed buildings contained during the day. It was the stiffness in his leg that had woken him; it was drawn up to his chest in a vaguely fetal position. To be fair, it was about the only position that he found comfortable, given the condoning nature of the bathtub.
Bathtub? Maybe not quite; people didn't normally put bath tubs in from of an audience. But with its partially hidden location and it's close proximity, it felt ... safe. As safe as one could feel when alone. Teeth clenched, Greg extended his limbs, trying to work out the ache that more and more looked like was going to be his only reliable companion. Subconsciously, he reached up a hand to feel for his crutch and the bag of tools he kept attached to it. They were his lifeblood, even more than the hunting rifle he had cradled as he slept. Gaining some strength back, he lifted his gaunt figure from the tub. Yes, his crutch was as he'd left it, as were the tools that accompanied it. They were maybe the only blessing he had. Bathed in the multicolored lights of the colored glass windows, they certainly looked like it. Funny, to be reminded if a blessing in a damn church.
Irony of ironies. It took the fuggin' end of the world to drive him back to a church. Greg smiled, despite himself. He was in church, and it wasn't even Easter. His momma would have been proud. Maybe not proud of why; in the wake of invading demons and God knew what else, taking shelter in a church seemed like an obvious choice. Funny, then, that no one else had thought to do the same thing. He looked back to the front door, grateful that at least his eyes hadn't failed him. Yes, it was still secure, deadbolted. It-
The door knob shook. It wasn't hard; just like someone was expecting it to be open. In his normal life, Greg wouldn't have thought much about it. Post-apocalypse, it was terrifying. His heart rate spiked, eyes wide in fear as he ducked back down into the baptismal tub. The church's interior, previously so secure and even peaceful within the chaos of the world at large, had suddenly become a cage, with creatures of some unimaginable form clawing at its gate. Hands shaking, he raised his rifle, completely unprepared to fight for his life. A silence fell over the world; the door didn't rattle again. Perhaps the demons had left. But Greg was frozen in place, fear freezing his heart the color of his cold blue eyes. Seconds turned into minutes, though it seemed as though another two years of hell drug past, and it seemed as though he'd be left alone.
With a piercing crash like a gunshot, a beautiful window shattered, giving way to a weathered piece of wood. He felt his heart skip a beat, and hunkering down into the tub even farther, he trained his rifle on the window. An arm reached carefully through, unlocking the only barrier against the outside. The door swung open, and as a figure stepped through the doorway, Greg managed a yell.
"Hey!" he managed, voice strained and weak and very obviously frightened. "Geddout! Leave me alone!"