A/N: Welcome! You may recognize the first part of this; I posted a while back but wasn't really prepared to begin this endeavor. I originally planned to finish the whole story before uploading the first chapter, but nah. A ridiculous amount of work went into this, and I can't wait for feedback! I'm really hoping someone enjoys reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it because I have a ton of stuff planned. An all OC Walking Dead story is something I've wanted to do for years. This universe just has so many stories to be told. I'm going with a serial format because I believe it works so well for TWD. This episode is almost triple the length I plan for the rest to be, but even then, I'm a perfectionist so it might take a while. Updates will come, I promise. Please bear with me. I'm not that confident about my writing skills so if you enjoyed, a review would mean a lot. :)

Special thanks to my beta reader, Irina. I don't think I would've finished this without ya.

DISCLAIMER: Not sure how copyright works when the world isn't mine, but all the characters are OCs? Probably best just to say none of it belongs to me.


Reynolds was about ten years senior to the rookie Lancaster and it showed. Gray tinged his otherwise brunette crew cut; his face had a weathered look with the beginnings of crow's feet and, most distinctively, a crescent-shaped scar that ran from just under his eye socket to his nose. The mystery surrounding that blemish had been long gossiped over but by now Lancaster had settled into the realization that he, nor anyone else, would probably know how it happened.

"Can you believe this is the last of all the beer?" Reynolds popped the can open. With a disgusted shake of his head, he took a hearty gulp then used the back of his glove to wipe the driblets from his mouth.

Truthfully, Lancaster was glad that was the last of it. It all came from the refugees because no alcohol was allowed inside but they still tried to sneak it past. Something about telling people they couldn't keep their own booze but then seeing half the team get plastered with it as soon as the sun went down felt wrong. But, peer pressure worked just as good on him now as it did when he was seven. Sometimes he wondered how he even made it into the military. His desire to not be shunned overrode his morals sometimes - especially when it came to Reynolds. The man had clout and charisma, both of which he used to the fullest extent. So, Lancaster tried to sympathize. "Damn, that sucks. Maybe we can start making our own. A little fermented fruit, some sugar..."

A crooked grin spread across Reynolds' face. The door to their left opened and they were joined by Sara Jones, the only woman on their crew.

"What's that grin about?" She approached them curiously.

Motioning at Lancaster with his can, Reynolds chuckled. "He wants to make jailhouse liquor."

"Hey, it was just a suggestion," He shrugged his shoulders. "A joke, actually. I don't think Governor Eisenberg would appreciate it if we did."

Reynolds' smile gave way to a sour look. He took another swig.

Where there had been a sense of camaraderie and peace before, the tension was nearly palpable now. It didn't escape Lancaster that the other man was the one who caused this. After a moment, he questioned, "What?"

For once, the sergeant was speechless. The muscles in his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth and looked into his beer thoughtfully. His tone had taken a grave turn when he spoke again. "Supplies are really starting to run down, you know."

This was the last stop for a lot of people if their supplies bottomed out. So many of them had nowhere else to go or would be dead if it wasn't for Fort McAdams. Elderly, disabled, those that were sick with something that didn't turn them into a biter. It had been eroding at Lancaster's morale for over a week now since they last had contact with the governor. Up until that point she had communicated with them every day. Giving orders, updates on the state of fighting this, organizing supply drop-offs from the Red Cross. It worked that way for three weeks, then just...stopped. One day of no contact turned into two, then three, and by the fourth they had begun resigning themselves to the fact that she may be dead. Deliveries were made every Wednesday by the Red Cross and it had been equally long since they came around. Nobody said it but surely, they were all thinking it: Governor Eisenberg wasn't going to respond, and the Red Cross wasn't coming back.

"I think we're on our own. Eisenberg and everyone, they're probably...you know." Sara averted her eyes to the ground.

They had all lost somebody. Sara's brother, Reynolds' mom and both his sisters. Lancaster's cousin Frank died right at the beginning before he was sent to McAdams. His Dad was knocking on his door nine o'clock at night and relayed the information. Frank's death didn't even bother him that much, to tell the truth; he barely knew the guy. What truly shook him to the core was his father. Michael Lancaster was never scared. He could tell stories from when he was in the war without so much as a grimace. When they were snowed in that winter and lost power for two days he was completely unaffected. But talking about this? This rough patch, the apocalypse, whatever it was? The man was terrified. Lancaster replayed the scene in his head every day. Dad standing there with wide eyes, sweat pouring down his alabaster face as he said, "They're eating each other, Kyle."

"They're dead," Reynolds interjected. He was emotionless, except maybe for anger. He gnawed the inside of his cheek. "Look, I've been keeping this to myself, but I might as well tell you now."

"What is it?" Lancaster's heart began to race as he shared a concerned look with Sara. Reynolds was about as open as they come. If he was keeping something to himself it must be bad.

Reynolds opened his mouth to speak but stopped short as a noise came from around the corner. A metallic clanging mixed with soft growling. The beer can clattered to the ground and splashed everywhere as the sergeant raised his rifle and immediately went into soldier mode. He hugged the building and approached the corner quickly. Lancaster and Sara fell in line. They copied him to a tee, only hanging back as he held up a hand and stepped around the side of the building.

"Biters." One shot, followed by two more, then Reynolds turned to them and jerked his head towards where he had been firing. "Come look at this shit."

Lancaster trudged forward and followed his superior's gaze. A woman with rotting skin slumped forward against the chain-link fence, half her head missing. Beside her were two males in similar shape. Brown brain matter dripped off the links onto the cement below. Reynolds stepped forward and used the muzzle of his gun to shove a particularly large chunk of skull through a gap.

"Three?" Sara's voice was high-pitched with surprise. "Where the hell are they coming from?"

"Where do they ever come from?" Lancaster felt queasy at the sight of it. Reynolds always said not to think of them as people, but he hadn't figured out how to do that.

Using the scope on his weapon, Reynolds gave a quick scan of the area then turned back to them. He sighed. "Governor Eisenberg's been on her own for a while."

Sara's face fell. "What do you mean?"

"What do you think I mean? Communication with other governors has ceased. There's been no word from any of the higher ups." He paused to let this news sink in. "Everything's quiet. And it's been that way since about a week after we got here."

Sara nearly collapsed as she tried to process this. Lancaster followed her as she stumbled over to the building and slumped against it, speechless.

Abruptly, the shock gave way to anger. How long had Reynolds been keeping them in the dark, and why? "Why the hell didn't you tell us?"

"I just did."

"But what are we going to do?" Sara's voice warbled. "You said it yourself, we're just about at the bottom of the barrel as far as supplies go, and - "

"The way I see it, we've got two options. We're either the National Guard or survivors. We can't be both for much longer."

Lancaster's gut clenched with fear. For Reynolds to be saying this stuff, they had truly reached the end of the line. Not just the Fort, but everybody in the country. Reynolds would never do anything like this, anything that could risk his rank unless he knew he could get away with it. It was too much for him to comprehend on an empty stomach.

"So, what?" Sara's eyes went wide as saucers. "You want to abandon our post?"

Reynolds snorted. "No. Those fresh-out-of-boot-camp grunts might have, but this place is ours. We're the ones holding it down and dealing with the same morons expecting us to pull food out of our ass for them every day. We're the ones who've tried to make everything okay and it's never enough. Farris, Petty, Billingsley, and us. That's it. Everyone else, well...they're gonna find out how good they had it here."

"Jesus!" Lancaster exclaimed, unable to help it. Quickly, he calmed himself. "Sir, some of these people...they're old, or have babies or are sick. They can't make It without us."

"This is probably one of the last secure places in the state, be damned if I'm gonna give it up or keep sharing it with people who can't hold their own. Every man for themselves. That's how it goes."

Sara wore a horrified expression. "Don't you think we should try to get to Juneau first? What if Eisenberg just hasn't been able to send anyone our way for a while?"

It was as if the world had reverted to medieval times since the power grid went out. The Fort was sustained by a few gas guzzling generators, but the phones hadn't worked for a while anyway; Lancaster assumed a line was down somewhere, and it's not anyone was coming to fix it. They communicated by messengers. On the 15th of every month unless there was an emergency. Governor Eisenberg didn't do it herself, the role went to one of her lackeys, and their lines of communication stopped and ended with him.

"Juneau," Reynolds repeated incredulously. "Great idea. Let's all pile in the Humvee and go on a twenty hour road trip. I'll bring the snacks."

Sara laughed humorlessly. "This is crazy, we can't just give up! Send someone there to check it out before making a decision like this. Please."

"No," Reynolds said firmly. "If we send a patrol and they don't come back then we're just out more men."

Lancaster folded his arms. "And what if they come back and it turns out the governor's fine, and things are no worse? Then you - "

"I said no!" Reynold's voice echoed off their surroundings. "We've gotten pretty chummy in the last few months and I get that, but I think the two of you need to remember who's calling the shots here."

Lancaster dared, "What exactly do you want to do?"

"A reversed coup," Reynolds replied, with way too much humor given the topic. "We're taking the Fort."

"Where are all these people gonna go?" Sara questioned.

Reynolds spat on the ground. "There was this proverb my mom used to say all the time. You know, before she got eaten alive. It went, 'he who trusts in his own heart is a fool, but he who walks wisely will be delivered.' If I was thinking with my heart, and thinking about these people, I wouldn't have made it this long. You can't do that anymore."

I don't think that's what that saying means at all, Lancaster thought.

Sara insisted, "You can't just – "

"You have two choices," Reynolds interjected. "You can stay and accept what's happening, or you can leave. Either way, things are gonna change and they're gonna change tonight."

"Sir…" Sara pleaded.

Reynolds stomped forward and went inside, slamming the door so hard dirt puffed out from some of the lower bricks. Suddenly, it was like the world ended again. Now he had an afternoon to decide what he was going to do. If he stayed, he'd have to sit back and let whatever Reynolds had planned unfold. Was he just going to tell these people to get out? And do what if they refused…shoot them? He wouldn't put it past him. Reynolds lived for himself. When he wanted something, he did whatever it took to get it. Those attributes might be useful, though, now that people were roaming around trying to eat one another. Lancaster couldn't make it on his own and neither could most of the people inside. The only reason he'd lasted his long because he hadn't been on his own. Some of the stories he heard from the civilians were so terrible they gave him nightmares.

Sara looked at him fretfully. "What are we gonna do?"

"The right thing," Lancaster replied without hesitation.

"For us or them?"

That gave Lancaster something to think about. "I don't know."


Although he used to be a 'don't talk to me before my third cup of coffee' kind of guy, morning was now Ben Wallace's favorite time of day. It was when the camp was most like the way it had been when the mine was in operation, and sometimes he could pretend for a few minutes that everything was normal. With 'his workers' lumbering out from their trailers and cabins and tents to meet by the picnic tables. Only now instead of chit-chatting with familiar faces, he got to go over plans for the day with people he had known for all of three weeks. Folks Jake found in the city and needed somewhere to go. Survivors.

There were thirteen of them now and things were starting to get a little crowded. Of course, Ben claimed his old trailer, but fitting three people in there wasn't easy or comfortable. The sleeping quarters contained two single mattresses separated by a built-in nightstand. As if that wasn't hard enough on the intimacy, Dad slept on the floor five feet from them. Ben would rather it be the other way around; he couldn't imagine what a trailer floor must do to a sixty-seven-year-old's back. But the old man was stubborn and always insisted it wasn't his trailer.

"Hey, boss. You slept late." Samantha gazed down from her post atop the Peterson's trailer. She hadn't touched a gun in her life before everything happened, but guard duty was the one job she agreed to, and they all knew why – it was almost guaranteed to be uneventful. Red Fox Mine was so far from anything that the only people who knew about it were those that worked there. She sat wrapped in a blanket against the morning chill, casually flipping through a magazine.

"I know," Ben replied. It felt wrong to be the 'boss' and wake up last. "I guess all that work on the rain catchers wore me out."

"Don't feel bad. The camp won't fall apart if you sleep in a little."

Ben appreciated the sentiment, but he wasn't so sure it was true. "…good to know. Have you seen Kate?"

"Nope. I figured she was sleeping in too..." Samantha gasped. "Is she missing? I've been up here since dawn and haven't seen her."

"No," Ben said quickly. "She's not missing. Probably just found something to do early this morning."

Samantha readjusted in her chair. "Well…I'll keep an eye out for her."

"Thanks." He hurried away before she could jump to anymore conclusions. Samantha was a sweet girl but had a very active imagination, as well as a cynical outlook. The combination made for a lot of jokes at her expense from some of the more callous survivors. This was a dynamic Ben had seen before. People forced to spend so much time together were bound to clash. It was almost a theme of the mine.

Ben made his way past the Evans family, huddled together in front of their tent. They were the first family to join the Wallaces. Clarence was a big man with military background, both of which automatically made him valuable in Ben's eyes.

Nine-year-old Aaliyah clutched her father's hand. She was practically his spitting image, with the same dark skin and big eyes. She whined, "I want to go with you, daddy!"

"You're staying with me and that's the end of it," Keisha told her. "You're too little."

Clarence said, "She could watch…"

"No!" Keisha insisted. "Jake and Lauren are already waiting for you, you better go."

"Hell, Keisha, I'm training them. They won't leave without me." Clarence hesitated for a moment further, then kissed his wife and daughter goodbye. "Maybe when you're older."

Aaliyah stomped her foot. "I hate it here, there's nothing to do!"

This must be about that gun, Ben realized. The assault rifle Jake and Lauren scavenged on their last run had been the talk of the camp for days now. Certain people thought shooting lessons were a no-brainer while others saw it as unnecessary. For the most part, Ben let everyone hash their own shit out. He had enough to do without policing the endless disagreements. It was only when Keisha and Samantha came to him demanding that only he and Clarence had guns that he had to step in and lay down the law. Guns were an integral part of their lives whether they liked it or not.

"Ben," said Peggy. She didn't look up from her task of slicing apples. By the looks of the bushel beside her, she'd been at this for a while. "Dean got a bunch of doves this morning. Your dad's down by the creek helping clean 'em up." Peggy and her husband Dean were the other two seniors of the group. Since they were always up at the crack of dawn, they had breakfast duty. Meal times got later and later, which made Ben question if they were still up to the task.

"Doves?" Ben questioned. "People eat doves?"

Peggy stopped slicing to cut him an irritated look. "Damn yuppies. You're getting as bad as that bleeding-heart Samantha."

"I didn't say we should all turn to veganism. I just didn't know you could eat doves."

"Hey, as long as it doesn't talk, I'll eat it."

Ben snickered. Peggy's crassness used to be off-putting, but at this point it kept up morale. "How many doves is 'a bunch'?"

"Not enough for thirteen people," she replied. "Probably seven or eight."

"Okay." Ben couldn't help but be frustrated. He didn't expect Dean to pull off any miracles, but eight winged rats weren't much considering how low their food supplies were. Red Fox Mine's distance from the city was both a blessing as well as a disadvantage. It took so much time and gasoline just to get there and back that they had to make their scavenging trips count, but that wasn't always easy to do. Most stores were either picked clean or infested with walkers.

The path to the crick had been trodden so much in the past few weeks that grass had worn down to dusty dirt, much like the 'common area' in front of the trailers. Ben almost lost his balance a couple times as he made his way down. Just before Dean and Dad came into sight, he heard bickering.

"You don't know how to do anything. You've got to hold onto the bird while you pluck the feathers."

"Did you tell me that? No, you just expect me to know everything." Dad fired back.

"Jeez, Marvin, get a clue. You 'bout threw the thing back to its nest."

The two of them were so preoccupied that they didn't even notice Ben. Dean's teenage granddaughter crouched at the creek a good fifteen feet downstream, expertly washing the doves they – or Dean – managed to pluck. She noticed Ben and waved, then rolled her eyes at the old men. They were on their rumps in the mud, a bucket of doves between them. A small pile of feathers sat near the bank of the creek, water as still and smooth as could be.

"Looks like you had a good hunt."

He startled Dean so badly that he kicked the bucket over, sending the doves into the mud. He put a hand on his chest. "Ben, you…"

He fought back laughter. It was a funny sight, but there was something about this that concerned him. "You guys need to be a little more aware of your surroundings. If I could sneak up on you then so could a walker."

"Got my .38 special right here," Dad patted his hip. "And I appreciate your concern, son, but we don't need a babysitter."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. He nodded to his granddaughter. "We've already got a lookout. Right, Courtney?"

"Right." She hopped off her perch and exchanged the clean dove for a dirty one.

If Peggy's estimate was accurate, it looked like they had four birds done. Even though he had no idea what they tasted like, Ben's stomach growled at the sight. "Have you seen Kate?"

"What, she wasn't with you?" Dad frowned.

Ben shook his head. "No. I didn't think anything of it when I first woke up. She's been having trouble sleeping the last couple nights, goes and sits outside to clear her head sometimes. But she wasn't in camp."

"Huh." Dad rubbed his stubbled chin thoughtfully. "Well, I wouldn't worry. She can handle herself."

There was no polite way to deny that about his own wife, even if the woman had no firearms experience and regularly got lost in the supermarket. So, Ben refrained from arguing.

"It looked like there was a walkie missing this morning," Dean said. "Try her on that."

"She never takes a radio." Despite his skepticism, Ben pulled the radio from the belt of his cargo pants and pressed the Talk button. "Come in Kate, come in Kate."

No response but static. He tried again. "Kate, do you read me?"

"Hey Honey! A rainbow showed me the way."

Ben had begun the trek back to camp but stopped dead at that response. It was his wife's voice, no doubt, but something was…off.

"What? A rainbow?"

"A rainbow showed me the way," she repeated. "You can join me. Just you, you're the only one who can."

Dad left the doves to join Ben. His features creased with concern. "Did she say rainbow?"

"Yeah. I don't know what's going on." His hand trembled when he pressed the Talk button again. "Kate, honey, what's going on? Where are you?"

From beside the creek, Dean called, "Is everything alright?"

Dad waved him off. Kate's voice was so soft he had to lean in to hear.

"I can't stay in camp. It's not safe there, but it is out here."

Sickening realization crashed down over Ben. Something like this had happened once before, when she forgot to refill her prescription. How could he be so stupid, how could he forget?

Dad urged, "Ask her where she is!"

"Kate, where? Where is it safe?"

"Out here in the scrapyard."

"Scrapyard? That's not safe. What the hell is she thinking?"

"I don't think she is." Ben pressed the Talk button once more and told her, "Okay, I'm coming. You stay right there."

"I'll come with you," Dad offered. "That's - "

"No," Ben said. He clipped the radio back to his belt and up the path at a jog. "She said only me."

"Ben," Dad called. "Ben!" He started to follow his son but stopped short, realizing he was already left in the dust.

Dean joined Marvin on the path. He took off his bloody gloves and stuck them in his pocket. "I only heard bits and pieces, but I don't like the sound of this. What's safe about a mine scrapyard?"

Marvin gnawed his lip. "I'd say something is very wrong."

They shared a look of concern, then Dean turned back towards the creek. "Let's finish up here."

Clarence slowed the truck to a crawl as it entered the 'shooting range'. In reality, it was just the flattest piece of land they could find that wasn't completely overgrown with grass and weeds. All three of them in the cab bounced around as the truck passed over bumps and tree roots, creaking with every move. Though it was technically the Peterson's vehicle, they hadn't stepped foot in it since they got to the camp. There were only three vehicles to go around and Ben wouldn't let him drive the good ones through the woods. Clarence awaited the day it fell apart like a cartoon.

"Ow!" Lauren exclaimed, wrapping her arms protectively around her head. "Jake, your skull is like concrete."

Jake braced himself against the dashboard. "Sorry."

"Being in a man-sandwich is nothing like I imagined," Lauren muttered.

Clarence chuckled. "You guys never went driving on country roads for fun, did you?"

"That's some backwoods shit," Jake replied.

One last bump almost sent Lauren to the floor as Clarence pulled over in front of the tree line. This little hollow got regular use since he and his family joined the group. Some of these people didn't know their ass from a hole in the ground, and being a retired marine, it was almost an instinct that urged Clarence to train them. Marvin helped him fasten some junk from the scrapyard to the tree for target practice. Everyone got a turn with the handguns and it was easy to see who was ready for something a little more powerful and who wasn't. Jake was pretty good for someone who hadn't touched a gun in his life. Much to everyone's surprise, Lauren was the most promising. Nobody expected that out of a twenty-something that worked the register at McDonald's a couple months ago. She always went for the old muffler, and it was so perforated now that the sunlight caused a disco-ball effect on the ground. That was all with handguns; Clarence couldn't help but look forward to how she would handle a rifle.

"I should get to go first since I wasn't late." Jake hopped out and held the door open for Lauren. He swung it shut once she exited the vehicle.

Clarence glared at him. "Don't start with me, man. I was talking to my wife."

"Talking?" Jake sniggered, leading the way to the back of the truck. "Is that what you call it?"

"They were just squabbling, that's one thing." Lauren said. "What Peggy and Dean were doing last night is another."

"Finally, someone mentions it." Jake grinned. "I was starting to think I imagined it."

"They kind of worry me," Lauren admitted. "By day they're normal old people, and by night they're fighting like cats and dogs. We all know last night wasn't the first time either. It's like they think the inch-thick walls of their trailer are sound proof."

"Maybe fighting is their foreplay," Jake suggested.

"Ewww," Lauren laughed.

"We gonna gossip or do some shooting?" Clarence dropped the tailgate and unzipped the duffel bag. He retrieved the magazine then popped it into the rifle with a clack. He lead the way to the old barrel that marked fifty yards. Not quite as old as the Petersons but not nearly as young as Lauren, Clarence's age never bothered him. However, he did wonder if that was why he found the younger survivors so irritating sometimes. Who cared what the elderly argued over? Clarence didn't think it was as interesting as Lauren made it out to be. Probably the last spoonful of Metamucil or something.

"They're hiding something, you ask me." Lauren trailed after Clarence. She pulled her mousy brown hair back into a ponytail and tied it up.

"I don't think anyone did ask you, Lauren."

Before Lauren could respond, Jake clapped his hands together. "Okay, let's get started!"

Clarence began, "I don't know how often we'll actually get to use this thing but it's badass. Ten times better than what I had in Vietnam if that means anything to you."

"Not really." Lauren reached for it and huffed when Clarence moved it away. "Come on. How different can it be from the handguns?"

Jake chuckled. "Maybe he should've brought his daughter after all. She could explain it to you."

"Bite me."

"The difference," Clarence raised his voice above the bickering until he had their full attention. "Is power. Not that the handguns aren't powerful, but this is an AR-15. It shoots faster, it kicks more, and it's nastier. If we had green tips, we could shoot through armor, steel, almost anything we wanted."

Lauren asked, "Green tips?"

"Type of ammo," Clarence replied. "They're a little bit harder to find. What we do have are hollow points. Still powerful, just not as powerful."

"The ground beef of the bullet world," Jake commented.

"After loading a magazine, you need to chamber a round." Clarence pulled the charging handle and let it snap back into place. "Then you're ready to go."

Lauren asked, "Should I cover my ears?"

"There's no point. You won't be able to cover your ears in a real firefight." Clarence lowered the weapon and motioned her over. She eagerly sidled beside him and took the rifle. He guided her hands into the right positions and nudged her feet the proper length apart.

"Keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to fire," he reminded her. He pointed to a switch adjacent to the trigger guard. "That's the safety. Flip it down when you're ready."

"Okay," She took a deep breath and found the muffler, which was a little difficult given how powerful the scope was. With the crosshairs lined up dead center, she flipped the safety off and pulled the trigger. She couldn't help but flinch at the deafening noise; her ears rang, and she looked questioningly at her trainer.

"Notice that hole at the top that's bigger than the rest?" A penny-sized hole stood out against the smaller other ones.

"I did that?" Lauren exclaimed.

"Lucky shot, lucky shot!" Jake chanted.

Clarence said, "One shot, one kill, no luck, all skill."

"She killed a muffler."

Without warning, Lauren fired three more rounds. Two hit the target. She looked triumphantly at Jake.

"Safety on," Clarence instructed. "Well done. Let's see what Jake can do now."

Lauren handed off the gun and took Jake's place on the sidelines. Clarence gave Jake the same instructions, then joined her.

Jake fired once, missed, and cut Lauren a dirty look before trying – and missing – again.

"Oh, come on!"

Ben raced through the woods along the unmarked trail that led to the scrapyard. It was a path he'd taken more times than he could count, and never in any of those times had he been as afraid as he was in that moment. Normally, he'd take the ATV, but there was no time to go back and get it. A hundred scenarios played out in his head, ranging from Kate being bitten to refusing to go back to camp. What then?

The scrapyard came into sight, with the old torn apart vehicles and rusty spare parts laying everywhere. In the middle of it all, Kate sat upon a pile of old tires. She looked calm, even relaxed, with her legs crossed. Her blank stare snapped to Ben as he slowed to a jog into the clearing.

"Good, they showed you too."

Completely out of breath, Ben hurried to his wife and plopped down beside her. He reached for her, but she pulled away. His mind was coming up blank with things to say. This was a delicate situation and he wasn't sure how to handle it.

"We can stay together now," she said. When he didn't reply, she frowned. "You do want to stay with me, don't you?"

"Kate…" He panted. "You're sick, honey. You must have run out of your medication."

She looked as though she had been backhanded. "I know I've had my problems, Ben, but I saw them. They showed me the way out. Everyone hates me, they want me gone."

"No, I promise you. You just need your medication." He cautiously wrapped his arms around her. This time she allowed it. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault. I should've remembered."

She repeated, "I know what I saw."

He asked, "How long have you been out here?" His guess would've been since at least dawn. She looked like she just got out of bed, with her wild hair and pajama bottoms.

"I don't know," she replied. "A while."

Ben whirled around as a heavy rustling in the foliage grew closer. A stringy-haired walker emerged and fought against the flimsy fence guarding the scrapyard. He stood and retrieved his nine-millimeter from his waistband.

"See, it's not safe. We're too close to the road." He aimed carefully then pulled the trigger. Half of the walker's head splattered on the fence and surrounding junk. She fell to the ground, dead. None ever reached the camp, but they occasionally wandered down from the road.

After Kate didn't respond, Ben pulled her to her feet. "Please, come back. You trust me, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Then believe me – no one wants you gone. Dad and Dean heard you over the radio and they're really worried about you."

"If you say so." She sighed but allowed Ben to guide her out of the scrapyard.

"I'm gonna go get you some medication as soon as I can," he promised, strengthening his hold on her. "I'll never let you down again."

Their trek to camp was slow and silent, which gave Ben no escape from his mind. His and Kate's arguments always seemed to be the same. He would call her materialistic and snooty, and she'd tell him he was selfish and inconsiderate. Now the evidence was in front of his face and there was no denying it: Kate was right.

"Would you look at us. A little girl, a woman who's never touched a gun, an old lady, and…Samantha." Peggy's task of slicing apples was far from finished but it wasn't like Dean was coming back with those doves anytime soon. Meticulous to a fault, he always thoroughly skinned and cleaned all of his kills. Of course Peggy didn't want anyone to get food poisoning or whatever else, but she wished there was a faster system.

The three adults sat at the picnic table while Aaliyah drew in the dirt a few feet away. Keisha said, "To tell you the truth, I don't like this. I know we're out in the middle of nowhere but if something were to happen… "

"We'd be dead meat," Aaliyah sighed.

Keisha opened and shut her mouth a couple times in surprise. "The adults are talking, honey."

"She's not wrong," Samantha whispered. "Clarence or Ben should always be here. Both of them gone at once is crazy, they're the only ones that might be able to handle a crisis."

"Yeah," Keisha agreed. "Kind of like the president and vice president never traveling together."

Peggy grumbled, "Bottom line is we need more people. Ben's a fool if he thinks this group can make it through the winter as we are."

"Living space is cramped as it is," Keisha argued. "In fact, I've been meaning to talk to him about finding more trailers or something. These barracks and tents aren't going to work much longer. The temperature's dropping more and more every night."

"Shack is a more accurate term than barracks. I sneezed last night, and a shingle fell off." Samantha joked, then quickly corrected herself. "N-not that I don't appreciate Ben letting me stay here, I do..."

Peggy said, "Calm down, we're all friends here."

"We're just bad-mouthing the boss while he's away. I feel like I'm back working at the school." Keisha smiled. "But while we're bitching, why is my family the one stuck in his old employee's tent?"

Samantha shrugged. "Well, we've got four trailers, four barracks, and thirteen people…"

"Do you think tents are going to survive an Alaskan winter?" Keisha asked. "Ben says Clarence is like his lieutenant then sticks us in the tent to freeze."

Marvin's voice suddenly chimed in, making all three of them flinch. "This is really nice."

Samantha's alabaster cheeks flushed. She stared at him like a deer in the headlights as he, Courtney, and Dean entered camp from the creek path. Carrying their cleaned kills and tools, Courtney scurried past them to her grandparent's trailer. Aaliyah followed her, chattering away.

Keisha waited until the kids passed and kept her cool. "We're just blowing off steam, Marvin. I know he's your son and it's not easy to hear, but it's harmless."

"After all, you didn't have to listen," Peggy added.

Dean elbowed Marvin and chuckled. "Puts a new meaning on the 'gaggle of hens' saying, don't it?"

Unamused by Dean's jab, Marvin shook his head. "Ben busts his butt for you people and this is how you talk about him as soon as his back is turned."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace!" Samantha blurted. "I'm so grateful for everything you and Ben have done for me, really, I – "

Peggy interjected, "Would you shut up? We did nothing wrong."

"I'm with Peggy," said Keisha. "Don't turn this into something it's not. We're all glad Ben's in charge."

"You have a funny way of showing it." Marvin pursed his lips and stormed off to the Wallace trailer, slamming the door on his way in.

"Speak of the devil," Dean mumbled.

Ben entered camp with Kate clinging to his arm. Something about her looked off, but Peggy couldn't quite put her finger on it. Aside from the fact that she looked as though she'd been homeless for the past year, anyway.

Samantha rose from the table and scrambled alongside Ben. "Are you – is she okay?"

Ben impatiently moved around her. "She's fine."

"Do you need anything? Water, a snack?" Samantha's concerned questions were met with silence from Kate.

Ben stumbled out of surprise when Kate suddenly detached from him and walked the rest of the way herself. Just as she reached the trailer, the door popped open and Marvin stood in the doorway, a look of bewilderment on his face. Kate pushed past him and Marvin quickly shut the door.

Turning to Samantha, Ben worriedly ran a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "She's just a little dehydrated. She'll feel better after she gets some water and food in her."

"Dehydrated?" Keisha asked doubtfully. "She looks – "

"Drop it, okay?" Ben's tone left no room for further discussion. "Samantha, will you bring me some of those apples?"

Samantha jogged over to the table, took the whole bushel, and returned them to Ben. "Give her all she needs."

"Will do." Ben trudged up the steps and entered his trailer, leaving the camp in surprised silence.

Peggy felt a surge of worry. Whether it was for herself or Kate, she wasn't sure.

Samantha returned to the picnic table. "Kind of scary the way she was just staring off into space."

Keisha folded her hands in front of her; a move Peggy recognized as 'teacher mode'. "Let's respect their privacy. We've got stuff to do anyway."

For once, Peggy decided to keep her mouth shut. Just as they were about to go their separate ways, Dean spoke up.

"You know..." He fidgeted with the zippers on his camouflage vest. He kept his gaze on the ground.

"If you've got something to say then let's hear it." Peggy resisted the urge to leap across the table like a rabid animal and strangle her husband. God how she hated when he dragged things out.

Dean replied, "Nothing. I forgot what I was going to say."

"Why don't you get goin' with those doves?" Keisha stood from the table and stretched. "I'm starving."

"Yeah." He headed towards their trailer and called over his shoulder, "They'll be ready in no time."

Peggy drummed her fingers on the table. There was something he wasn't saying, that much was obvious. Maybe not to the others, but she'd been married to the man for forty-three years. She knew him inside and out, she knew all his quirks and nervous habits. Be damned if you're going to keep something else from me, old man.

Keisha and Samantha jumped as Peggy slammed her hands against the table and stood up.

"What are you doing?" Keisha asked.

Peggy didn't give her an answer. Instead, she charged straight to their trailer and thrust the door open.

Dean stood by the door with the sack of birds, about to exit. He gave his wife a questioning look, which she ignored. At the table sat Courtney and Aaliyah, the two of them chatting as they did.

"Out," Peggy barked at the girls. Part of her felt a little guilty when she saw the confused looks on their faces, but they'd recover.

Courtney rushed Aaliyah out, carrying the coloring book and crayons with her. No sooner than the door latched, Dean sighed.

"Alright, what do you want?"

"I want to know what you're hiding from me," Peggy replied. "You were standing out there – "

Dean threw the birds aside and slammed his fist on the counter beside him. It made the whole wall rattle. "Enough!"

Peggy's surprise at this outburst was quickly replaced with fury. "You think that scares me?"

"I'm not trying to scare you," Dean answered. As quickly as his anger had come, it disappeared. "I'm tired."

"We're all tired."

Dean pushed his glasses up with a finger. "No, I'm tired of you. You're gonna keep blaming me for what happened until it kills me."

"You can't even say it," Peggy spat.

"I didn't want to do it, and that's the last time I'm ever going to say about any of it." He picked up the bird sack. "I may not be able to get a formal divorce from you, but I can break it off. And that's what I'm doing."

"I don't care what you do. Except we're stuck together in this trailer and have a granddaughter to think about."

"I'm gonna talk to Ben about sleeping in the dining trailer," Dean replied. "And we'll tell Courtney the truth."

"Which is?"

"Sometimes love isn't enough. Sometimes it's just not worth it anymore."

Peggy realized all she felt was relief. "That's still not what you were ho-humming about outside. I know it's not."

Dean seemed taken aback by the way she turned the conversation around. His mouth fell open, but he quickly composed himself. "It's not my business to tell but I have my suspicions that Kate's not just dehydrated."

"What else would it be?'

"I don't know. That's why I didn't want to say anything." He sighed. "So, there you have it. That's what you were harassing me over. Can I go now, madame?"

Peggy's only response was a smoldering glare. Dean began muttering under his breath as he went out the door.

Good riddance.


Fort McAdams was supposed to be a sanctuary for the state of Alaska. The sanctuary, in fact. It was the only place Jerome Dufour had ever heard about, and now it was over. Just like that, he and his family were thrust into this world; one that was unfamiliar to them. He wasn't even sure what happened. All he remembered from the past three hours were flashes. Gunfire. Screaming. Running. Stabbing someone. Stealing the Humvee. Realizing his wife and daughter were still with him and thinking everything was okay. Wondering what the hell that said about his morality. Beyond that, nothing was clear, and nothing was certain.

For the first time since it all went down, he stopped both the vehicle and his mind. He pulled beside the gas pump and turned the engine off. Nobody had said a word for at least an hour, and this theme continued for a few more minutes. The gas station looked like every other building he passed. Broken glass, abandoned cars, and no electricity. It was a wake-up call, one that made Jerome feel stupid and naïve.

"I'm gonna see if there's anything to eat while you fill up the tank." Rachel reached over from the passenger seat and laid a hand on her husband's arm.

"Let's just stick together." Jerome placed his hand over top hers, grateful she was still by his side. Truthfully, he was skeptical that this gas station would have any more to offer than the last two, but he tried to hang onto some hope.

"Okay," Rachel agreed. She looked over her shoulder to their daughter in the back seat. "Emma, you stay right by me."

The ten-year-old only nodded, causing her parents to share a look of concern. Physically, she resembled her mother. Same hazel eyes, same auburn hair. But inside, she was much more like her father, and that's what worried him. Of all the things she could learn from him, Jerome had accidentally taught her to bottle things up.

"How are you holding up, my chérie?" Jerome looked at the rearview mirror to see his daughter shrug.

"Fine," she answered. "I guess I'm a little hungry."

"I'm sure we'll find something," he said. None of them had eaten in close to a day. The Fort cut them back to two meals a day, and then the siege or whatever that was happened before they got breakfast. Now, the sun's position told Jerome it was getting close to noon. No wonder I feel so drained.

With Alaska on the edge of autumn, the heavily wooded area around them was a beautiful mixture of golds, reds, and oranges. Jerome stopped to admire this as he hopped out of the vehicle into the cool air.

"On the bright side, we've got to see a lot of nature since we hit the road."

Rachel stood at the front of the Hummer with Emma at her side. She cocked her head. "I've always known you're an optimistic person, but that's a whole new level."

For the first time in hours, Jerome smiled. Something rustling around in the gas station caused all three of them to snap their attention to the darkened building. Two 'sick ones' stumbled out, eagerly trudging through the glass to reach the Dufour family. Their putrid stench hit Jerome like a ton of bricks, and he covered his nose with his arm.

"Get in the Hummer," Jerome ordered. As Rachel flew around to the passenger side with Emma in tow, Jerome wracked his brain for a way to deal with this. He'd been able to escape without killing them so far, but he knew it was time to stop running. They needed food and gas, and these damn bags of skin weren't going to stop him from getting it. All he had was the Ka-Bar knife he'd managed to sneak into the Fort and escape with, but he didn't want to get that close to them.

The faster of the two creatures moaned hungrily, wild eyes locked onto Jerome. His head lolled onto his own shoulder, attached only by skin. When it surged forward between the gas pump and the Humvee, Jerome leapt backwards. The other 'sick one' went around the opposite side of the pump and followed him, gnarled hands outstretched.

"Papa!" Emma shrieked. This got the attention of the nearly-headless monster, and instead of going after Jerome he turned and began to pound at the window.

Jerome scrambled backwards so quickly he almost fell. He rushed to one of the abandoned cars and circled it, searching for an unlocked door. Much to his relief, the passenger side door opened first try. He pulled the glove box open and rifled through the maps and parking tickets. When it became clear there was no gun hiding in there, he climbed in far enough to search under the seats. All he found there were fast food wrappers and more parking tickets. Heart pounding, Jerome quickly backed out of the car and away from the rapidly approaching woman. He moved to the trunk of the car and popped it open with his knife, nearly melting in relief when he saw a crowbar inside.

Trembling hands wrapped around the makeshift weapon, Jerome braced himself for the approaching fight. Despite the adrenaline and fear rushing through him, he froze as soon as it was within striking distance. Those milky, blank eyes staring at him used to belong to a person. Someone's daughter, or spouse, or sister. By the looks of her mostly intact clothes, it wasn't long ago.

"I'm sorry," Jerome whispered, then swung the crowbar with all his might. It hit the woman's skull with enough force to knock it out of Jerome's hands, yet It only angered her. She snarled furiously and followed Jerome's every move as he lifted the crowbar again. This time, he gripped it a little farther down the shaft when he swung. The impact stung his hands but did much more damage to his assailant. The woman's head parted where he'd struck it. Blood splattered onto Jerome and everything around him as he swung again, and again, and again – until she finally fell to the ground, unrecognizable as a human being.

Jerome had little time to revel in his victory. Across the lot, Rachel repeatedly thrust the driver's side door of the Hummer outward, ineffectively smashing the creature against the gas pump. It was unphased and fought towards her every time she retracted the door, head flopping wildly.

"Get away from them!" Jerome bellowed, even though he knew it'd do no good. He ran across the lot and used all the strength he had to drive the forked end of the crowbar into the back of its skull. It faltered, then dropped to the ground.

Rachel fell against the seat, wheezing and sweeping the stray hairs off her sweaty face. Emma sat in the floor of the passenger seat with her arms wrapped around her knees, wide eyes flicking back and forth between her parents.

The crowbar clattered when it slipped from Jerome's limp hands. His stomach turned at the blood covering his torso. Too dark to be from a living person, yet he'd just beat it out of something that resembled a human.

"Jesus Christ," he panted. Despite his efforts to compose himself, tears formed in his eyes.

Rachel came and wrapped her arms around Jerome. Something inside of him broke at this gesture, and he had no control over the cries that escaped him.

"It's okay, Papa," Emma said shakily. She climbed out of the Hummer and stood at his side. "You saved us."

He pulled her close and buried his face against Rachel's shoulder.

Everyone at the Fort seemed to have their own horror story about what they went through to get there, but some part of Jerome had been in denial when he heard them. How could it be that it was all true? No power, everything ransacked and picked over, 'biters' all over the place. Jerome knew it must have been bad if there was a refugee center – that's why he insisted they go. The moment he heard of it, he packed his bags. He wasn't a survivalist and had no skills to keep his family safe with. Luck was how he got by. It was pure luck that got him to the Fort, it was luck that got him to the gas station, and luck that allowed him to take out two biters with nothing but a crowbar. All he had now was optimism that his luck wouldn't run out anytime soon.

After finding and devouring whatever snacks they found in the gas station, the Dufour family sat inside the idle Humvee. None of them looked forward to getting back on the road, but least of all Jerome. Decision making was not his forte, especially when their lives may depend on it. They'd spent the last few hours just trying to find food and fuel, but now it was time to think ahead.

"So…where do you think we should go?"

Surprised by his question, Rachel blinked. "I thought it was clear we're going to my sister's."

"Who said that?" Jerome asked, perplexed. "The only plan we've ever had is the Fort, we never talked about what would happen after."

She sighed. "I never thought we needed to."

"To tell you the truth, I don't think we could make it three hundred miles." Jerome regretted being so harsh as soon as the words were out of his mouth. It wasn't a nice thing to say in front of Emma, even if he believed it.

"What other choice do we have?"

Fearing how she'd react, Jerome shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, I was thinking the mine – "

"The mine?" She repeated, face contorting as she tried in vain to conceal her irritation. "That's your big idea?"

"I don't think it'd be too bad. As long as we have a vehicle and can stock up on food, it could last us until this all blows over."

Rachel shook her head but said, "If you think it's best…"

Around her mouthful of Bugles, Emma suggested, "Maybe everything is okay at the Fort now. We could go back."

"I don't think so," Jerome said. Then, he leaned closer to Rachel and lowered his voice so only she could hear. "If I thought we could make it to your sister I'd do it in a heartbeat. But I think the mine is all we've got."

"Okay," Rachel replied, with more certainty in her voice. "Maybe you're right."

"Don't you know I'm always right?" Jerome attempted to lighten the mood even though his heart wasn't in it.

She playfully swatted him on the shoulder. "Let's get going. We can scavenge a little bit and make it there before dark if we're lucky."

Jerome started the engine and rolled out, gravel and dust trailing behind him. After driving for about half an hour, they were officially in the city of Fairbanks. Buildings straight out of the gold rush era sat on either side of the abandoned streets. A few 'sick ones' stood on the sidewalk, but Jerome continued until they were out of sight. Aside from the scenery, one nice thing about the apocalypse was being the only one on the road. Jerome made it to the shopping plaza in record time. Before, it would've taken another thirty minutes. He pulled up next to the privacy fence of the neighboring building, just far enough from the parking lot to see without being seen. Jerome counted one, two, three, four, five, six, seven biters before he lost track.

"Damn," he sighed. Fairbanks Plaza was the one place he knew like the back of his hand. The whole family did. It was where they went whenever they needed or wanted to do anything. Without maps or GPS, he had no idea where to go next and driving in circles didn't seem like a wise choice. Though he'd lived in the area for most of his life, he liked to stick to the rural suburbs. Unfortunately, he doubted there would be anything even worth looking for out there.

Rachel said, "The buildings look untouched. If we can find a way around them, we might've hit the jackpot."

"How many of them thought the same thing?" Something about the biters mesmerized Jerome. Unaware of his presence, they stumbled back and forth aimlessly. What went on in their heads when they weren't locked onto prey? Did they think? Was their humanity trapped inside there, like someone in a coma?

"I think it's worth a shot," Rachel insisted.

Unconvinced, Jerome fidgeted with his hands while he thought. On one hand, there was enough to loot in that mall to keep them stocked for a month. On the other, he wasn't sure it was worth their lives to get it.

"It should be easy enough to sneak around them. Besides, that crowbar seemed like a pretty good weapon."

Jerome froze as realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Sure, the crowbar was a good weapon, but it was laying in a gas station parking lot twenty miles back.

"You forgot the crowbar," Rachel deduced. She deflated back against her seat.

Emma said, "What about your knife, papa?"

It bothered him tremendously that his child was taking all this in. A ten-year-old should never have to assist her parents in figuring out how to defend themselves so they could loot a store. Nevertheless, it gave him an idea.

"Get the duct tape, Emma." Jerome reached into the side of his boot and retrieved the Ka-Bar. Its black blade glistened in the sunlight, most of the blood dried. He gently opened the door and stepped a foot out.

Rachel asked, "What are you doing?"

"Shhh!" He hissed. To his relief, none of the biters were even looking in their direction. He crept a few feet down the sidewalk to a tree and braced the knife against a branch just thick enough to serve as a spear. He sawed it from the tree in only a few seconds, then chopped the leafy end off before returning to his vehicle.

"Good idea," Rachel said.

Jerome retrieved the duct tape from Emma. Holding the stick between his knees, he lined up the knife at the end of it and wrapped duct tape around and around until he was certain it would hold. "Hopefully this will work."

Rachel unbuckled her seat belt. "Emma, you stay by me the whole time."

"Okay, mom."

Jerome added, "Noise seems to rile them up. We need to move fast and quiet."

Rachel said, "If we crouch along that wall, I bet we can sneak right past them and go in through the back."

A retaining wall bordered either end of the parking lot. It was pure coincidence that Jerome parked feet away from the closest one, but he was glad. "That'll work."

They filed out of the car on their tiptoes, tensely shutting the doors before gathering on the sidewalk. Jerome took the lead, with Rachel and Emma right behind him. They crouched down and scurried over to the barrier. Jerome peeked over the top and saw the biters were still unaware, then continued. As they approached the end of the wall and the backlot of the building became visible, Jerome stopped. A single biter stood a few feet from the door, his security guard uniform torn and tattered. A gun sat snugly in his holster, sunlight glinting off the steel. He would've preferred to find a way around him, but there came a point where running wasn't worth it anymore.

"You stay here while I take care of him," he whispered.

Rachel nodded and pulled Emma closer.

Jerome hurried forward and made it just past the corner of the building before the biter noticed him. Its teeth gnashed together as it desperately made its over. He thrust his makeshift spear right between the biter's eyes. The knife and duct tape folded like a cheap tent and fell to the ground, only angering the creature.

"Shit!" Jerome exclaimed, throwing the stick and moving out of its reach.

"They heard you," Rachel said, voice taut with barely contained panic. "They're coming!"

Jerome could hear the moans and snarls getting louder. He said a silent prayer as he ran around the security guard and retrieved his knife and stick. He pushed the stick against the biters chest until he hit the wall of the building. Barely evading it's clawing hands, Jerome lunged forward and drove the knife into it's skull. Just as it fell to the ground, five walkers came past the corner of the building.

"Come on!" Jerome called to his family. He snatched the gun out of it's holster and hurried to the door. When Rachel and Emma joined him, they rushed inside together.

Around them was nothing but shelves and cardboard boxes. They'd stumbled into the storage room of a clothing shop, by the looks of it. The only source of light came from the hopper windows at either end of the small room. Before they even had time to catch their breath, the biters were slamming themselves against the door. Rachel jumped into action and pushed one of the shelves in front of the door. This did little to help, and the shelf rocked back and forth as the door creaked against the pressure.

"They just don't stop," Rachel said. "That shelf isn't going to hold for long. We need to go."

Jerome removed the clip from the gun to see it had four bullets. "Stay behind me."

He walked to the double doors and tried to peek through the windows in them. Beyond them was almost nothing but darkness, a few spots of light here and there from the windows. Jerome slowly pushed one of the doors open and listened, thankful to hear silence. They continued through the shop, not stopping to scavenge since there was nothing but clothes and accessories around. As they passed the register and the main entrance became visible, Rachel walked over to a map of the mall beside the door.

She found the 'you are here' dot and tapped a store two squares down. "Bass Pro Shops. I bet there will be some stuff we can use there."

"Good thinking," Jerome said.

He opened the door just enough to see out. To his relief, not a single biter was in sight. He stepped outside and stayed close to the building, waiting until Rachel and Emma were right behind him to continue. They passed another clothing store before reaching their goal. Jerome stepped up to one of the front windows and peered inside. Though it was dark, he didn't see any movement ins He nodded to Rachel and they went inside.

At first, they just wandered past boat and clothing, then Jerome saw it: the hunting and firearms section. Dozens of guns inside glass cases, shelves upon shelves of ammunition, racks of rifles, and hunting knives hanging from hooks. All of it untouched.

Jerome and Rachel shared a look of disbelief before they rushed forward. Rachel moved to a display of outdoor backpacks and tossed one to Jerome before grabbing one for herself.

"Let's take only what we need," Jerome said. "I feel guilty enough we can't pay for anything."

"Jerome," Rachel said in disbelief. "Screw that. No one's going to come in here and arrest us, I promise."

He huffed. "I know that, but shouldn't we leave something for other people?"

"We can't take it all anyway, there's too much. We should take everything we can, though."

"Alright," he sighed.

"Papa look what I found." Emma reappeared at the end of a gun display holding two heavy duty flashlights. She pushed the buttons and they both turned on, LED beams slicing through the darkness.

Jerome couldn't help but smile. He held the bag open. "Nice find, my chérie! Toss 'em in."

Rachel stood at one of the three gun cases, drumming her fingers against the glass. "Do you think it'll make too much noise if I bust it?"

"As far as we are into the store, I don't think so. Just be careful."

Rachel searched for something to break it with for a few moments before deciding a gun would have to do. She removed a rifle from it's shelf and only hit the case twice before it shattered.

"That was easy enough," Jerome commented. He joined her as she cleared the rest of the glass. "Keep in mind we'll have to carry all this back to the Humvee."

"I wish we could get it closer. We could take a lot more." She pulled out a pistol, tagged as a Glock .45, and placed it into her bag.

"I know. Damn biters." Jerome took two other handguns before he headed over to the ammunition shelves. He took the flashlight out and shone it along the various boxes. Before long he had three boxes of ammunition for each of their new weapons.

"I can carry something too," Emma offered.

Rachel replied, "There has to be food somewhere in this place. You can carry that."

"Great." Emma grinned and pulled a backpack off the display to match her parents. It looked comically large on her and hung to her rump, but she put her arms through the straps nonetheless.

"What types of rifles are over there, Rachel?"

Rachel squinted at the tags and read off a few. Jerome stopped her when she got to "Remington 30-06…"

"Take two of those," he told her. He didn't have much knowledge of guns, but he'd used those as a kid to hunt with his dad. He looked until he found the corresponding ammo, then tossed three boxes into his bag. By now it was considerably heavy in his arms, so he zipped it up and put it on. The weight was uncomfortable, but he decided to power through. These things were far too valuable to leave behind. In fact, it frustrated him to walk away from so many other guns and knives, but it was too much of a risk to get the Hummer. They needed the trip to be as short as possible. He feared taking two trips would draw the attention of the biters at the back, who were surely getting bored by now.

They moved on from the hunting section, passing by the fishing equipment and more clothing before they reached a food display. It was mostly snacks and junk food but Jerome filled Emma's backpack with it anyway.

After that, Jerome decided their shopping trip had to come to an end. The mood was much happier as they approached the front of the store than it had been when they entered.

"This is incredible," Rachel commented. "We've got enough firepower to form our own army."

"Hopefully we won't have to," he replied.

Just as Jerome was about to push the door open, he froze at the sound of distant gunfire.

"Do you think – " Rachel got cut off by an explosion like Jerome had never experienced. He felt the blast in his chest as it knocked all three of them to the ground. The glass from the front of the building rained in on them. Jerome peeked through stinging eyes to see Rachel and Emma a few feet away, helping each other up. Rachel's eyes locked with his. Her lips moved but Jerome couldn't make out any words over the ringing in his ears. Feeling a sense of urgency, he used a nearby column to pull himself up. The weight on his shoulders made it difficult, but he made it after a couple attempts.

Emma pointed to her mother's head and Rachel pressed a hand to the bloody gash that sat at her hairline. Her eyes locked onto something outside, not visible from Jerome's position.

She turned to him and yelled, "Run!"

A dozen or more biters surged through the dust and debris, apparently unbothered. Still dazed, Jerome fumbled to get the revolver from his waistband. His hand shook when he tried to line up the leading biter in his sights. He fired twice, both rounds missing the mark.

"Just go, we can outrun them!" Rachel yelled. Glass crunched under their feet as the family ran out where the doors used to be. The formerly pristine plaza looked like a warzone. The windows of every neighboring shop laid shattered on the ground, biters stumbling out from the holes. Splinters of wood and other building materials fell around them. As Jerome managed to shoot a nearing biter in the chest, he peered through the to find the source of squealing tires.

A short school bus sped across the street and into the parking lot. Instinctually, Jerome stepped in front of Emma as it slammed to a stop in a few feet from them. The doors slid open. In the driver's seat sat a young man with a red bandana wrapped around his dark hair.

"Get in!" he hollered.

Meer inches from being a biter's meal, Jerome had no time to consider. He dragged Emma with him, Rachel following closely. The man closed the doors as soon as they were on. Biters slammed against the door and began to climb onto the hood.

"Hang on," the man said. He shifted gears and stomped the pedal to the metal. Jerome fell to the floor with his wife and daughter as the bus lurched forward. Several of the biter's were plowed down, sickening crunches replacing their groans. Just as Jerome managed to get himself to his knees, a woman stomped forward from the back. She shoved the muzzle of a pistol against his temple.

"Move again and I'll blow your brains out."


Ben balanced three paper plates of dove on his arm as he entered the trailer. Despite the growling in his belly, food was the last thing on his mind. He set the plates on the table before plopping into the booth.

"Finally." Dad dug into the meat as soon as he could.

"There's something I have to tell you," Ben said. He picked at the torn leather of his seat. Time was of the essence and his was running out. Letting Dad into the loop was a necessary evil, even if Ben would rather have kept him in the dark.

Immediately on edge, Dad stopped eating. "What is it?"

"Kate has schizophrenia."

"Since when?"

"Most off her life. She got diagnosed when she was seventeen. The thing is, you can't tell when she has her medication. We'd been married for years before I even found out."

Quiet enveloped the trailer, so much that Ben could hear the rest of the group chatting outside. With a knot in his stomach, Ben waited for his father to react. Dad just sat gnawing his lip. Was he actually angry about Kate having schizophrenia? Now it made sense why she was always so adamant to keep her diagnosis a secret.

Understanding dawned on Dad's face. "She's out of her medication."

Relief washed over Ben. "Right. So, I need to get to the city and find some."

"Then I'm coming with you."

"No. You saw this morning what happens when she's left unattended."

Dad guessed, "You want me to babysit her."

"Just stay with her. Distract her, make sure she eats and doesn't wander off."

Dad scoffed. "You have lost your damn mind."

"Don't make this any harder for me than it already is," Ben pleaded. "I wasn't asking for permission here."

"No, you're just asking me to babysit an unmedicated schizophrenic. One that you've told everyone is just dehydrated, at that."

"I said that because the last thing I need is everyone freaking out about it." At the end of the day, Ben still barely knew these people. Trust was something to be earned and only a few of them had so far.

Dad rubbed his chin. "But going by yourself to the city…"

"I'll be fine," Ben insisted. "All I've got to do is find a pharmacy and take all the Thorazine they have."

"Nothing is ever that simple," Dad reasoned. "I admit I haven't been in the city much. But I think you need to sleep on this."

Ben pinched off a piece of dove and cautiously popped it into his mouth. Huh. Tastes like chicken. "I'm heading out as soon as I'm done eating."

"You're going today?" Dad exclaimed.

"What do you want me to do, wait until she wanders off again?"

"I want you to think," Dad replied, thumping his finger on the table. "Going by yourself is bad enough, but you don't know what could happen. Do you want to get stuck in the city at night? With no power and no one to help you?"

"I'll take a radio if that will make you feel better."

Exasperated, Dad shook his head. "I dread the day you find out you're not invincible."

Ben snickered. "I've made it forty-two years in this world."

"Not in this world, you haven't."

Having finished his meal, Ben rose from the table and headed towards his backpack on the counter.

"What's gonna happen to Kate if you don't come back?"

This question stopped Ben in his tracks. He looked out the window to see 'his people' gathered in the clearing. Everyone was there for the most part, except for Dean. What would happen to them if he didn't come back? Clarence made for a good right-hand-man, but Ben had his doubts that he'd be able to handle things permanently. In the past month, he'd somehow become responsible not just for his own family's lives, but for ten other people too.

Before Ben could answer, something caused the whole trailer to shake. The windows rattled in their frames, and Ben saw that everyone outside noticed it as well. He wondered for a moment if it was thunder, but there wasn't a cloud in the sky.

"Ben, look!" Dad called. His nose was practically pressed against the glass as he tried to get a better look at something.

Ben rushed to the table and leaned to look out the window. In the distance, a tall plume of smoke billowed in the distance. It was dark and angry, and big enough to tell him this was no ordinary house fire.

"That can't be good."