…but at least I'm not alone.

Dawn light pierces her lids, tinting her inner world golden. She opens her eyes, feels for Kevin next to her. Thank any and all gods, he's still there. (She stopped praying to the Christian god a while ago.)

She sits up slowly, to prevent vertigo. Her family still sleeps peacefully around her. Shit, she thinks. Was nobody on watch? No, Greg sits by the window. She stands and goes to him, her bare feet making no sound whatsoever on the dirt floor.

He senses her approach, and turns to her with a smile. "Morning, sweetheart," he says softly, greeting her with a tender kiss. She leans gratefully against him. If not for Greg, she and Kevin would be dead. They would all be dead, if not for Greg. His arm rests casually around her waist—possessive or protective, she doesn't know. Maybe both? She doesn't care.

"Quiet?" she asks. He nods silently in response. Satisfied, she pulls out of his grasp and makes for the gas-powered hot plate that has been their salvation. He catches her wrist before she can leave, gently kisses her palm and wraps her fingers in on it. His touch sends pleasant, warm tremors through her. He knows this, and smiles at her.

"One for the road," he says, and she returns his smile. It's a private joke of theirs.

She checks how much propane they have left—not much. Carla and Ned have volunteered to make a run that day; she'll ask them for propane. Hopefully they'll remember; it's common knowledge that they go on runs together so that they can fuck in the bed of Ned's car. Post-apocalyptic romance is somewhat lacking in propriety, but nobody really cares. Why should they?

Ben stirs at the sound of the pot on the hot plate. She ignores him as she opens a can of beans with her knife and unceremoniously dumps its contents into the pot. "Beans again?" Ben says in a feeble attempt at a joke.

"Yes," she says shortly. Several weeks ago they ran across a Busch's Best truck on the side of the road, both tires blown, driver little more than a head and a ribcage.

Ben rolls out of his sleeping place and goes about helping her: he collects their collection of bowls and cups for dishing up. "Sleep all right?" he asks her.

She shrugs noncommittally. "Well enough."

"How's Dad?"

She glances at the makeshift bed in the corner: their father sleeps peacefully, his frown lines all but invisible. His wound has been well-bandaged and wrapped tightly, and his breathing calmed several hours ago. "He seems good," she says.

"Mom was up most of the night with him," Ben says. "Greg made her go to bed."

"That's good," she says, stirring the beans with a stained wooden spoon.

"We're lucky you found him."

"He found me," she retorts.

"We're still lucky."

She nods silent agreement, a slight smile curving one corner of her mouth. Ben knows that smile. His grin strips away the years, and they're kids again, huddled on the bed talking about their shared crushes. "Have y'all-?"

"No," she cuts him off sharply. "I can't leave Kevin."

"Liv," he says gently, touching her on the knee, "Jake's been gone a year. You can move on. It's allowed."

"I know that," she snaps, removing her knee. "But I can't leave my six-year-old in a world full of zombies so's I can sneak off an' canoodle."

Ben raises an eyebrow. "Can't you?"

"No," she says firmly. "Wake everybody up, yeah? Breakfast's ready."

Her brother moves around the room, gently nudging people into wakefulness. "Get it while it's hot," he says cheerfully. Carla is first to join Liv at the fire. The two women trade smiles, and Carla gratefully accepts the plate of beans that Liv hands her. They have to ration carefully, even with the bounty of the Busch's truck piled high around them. Ned follows Carla closely, keeping a weather eye on her. He knows why her portion is bigger than his and everyone else's, and it's become evident that he didn't have a family before this.

"Good morning, Olivia," Mom says formally.

"Hey, Mama," Liv returns with a smile. "Sleep all right?"

Mom shrugs, glancing at Dad's prone form in the corner.

Kevin is next. Liv gives him a brimming mug of beans; she can't help herself. He needs as good a chance as he can get in this shitty world. "Eat 'em all, " she tells him firmly.

"Yes, Mommy," he says, and tucks in with gusto.

Greg vacates his post to end the line. "Hello again," he says playfully, taking his portion from her with a wink. Despite herself, Liv blushes deeply. He unbalances her like Jake never did.

She sits by the hot plate while her ragtag family eats its breakfast. Her gaze travels lovingly over them all: roommate, brother, mother, son—Ned and Greg, two hunters who saved their lives months ago. She is grateful for them all, grateful they've stayed safe and together this long. Her mind reaches into the future: they have a secure place, Carla's already pregnant, she and Greg…if they could get a better handle on food supplies, they could have a proper colony before long. Survive, maybe even thrive…and make a future for themselves.

Ben's scream interrupts her thoughts. He's in the corner, struggling with Dad. Two plates of beans lie spilled on the floor. She knows instantly what this means.

"Mom, Carla, get Kevin and get the hell out of here," she says, standing up and grabbing the crowbar that is never far offhand. Greg's already on his feet, gun in hand. Liv leaps to her feet and puts a staying hand on his arm.

"Don't shoot him," she pleads—but he ignores her. He thinks she's asking out of sentiment, but guns are loud, and they can't afford to have a swarm on them. Not now. Not here. It was safe here, it was—

The shot rings out, and Carla screams outside. Ned sprints for the door. Liv goes to Ben, holds his head against her chest as he sobs. Her tears dampen his hair. Then she notices he's bleeding.

"Ben?" He ignores her. "Ben, did he get you?" He won't show her his arm; he has his other hand closed firmly over it. Greg yanks the hand away and draws back.

"He's bit!"

"Ben!" Liv cries out, clutching him even tighter. "Ben, no, don't you do this to me—Ben—"

"Olivia!"

"We hafta go," Greg tugs at her. "There's shit goin' down out there."

"I'm not leaving him," she says. "Ben, can you stand up?"

He struggles weakly to his feet, eyes unseeing. He lost his father and his future in a short span of time—but she's about to lose a father and a brother. "Ben, can you hear me?"

"I'm bit, I'm not deaf," he says with a hint of his verve.

"C'mon, Ben, let's get outside," she urges. He clutches his bitten arm to his chest and shuffles for the door. She follows him closely; Greg is already outside.

"Olivia!" It's Mom. Mom backed against a tree, Kevin tucked behind her, lashing out with a broken-off branch at four undead who close in eagerly.

"Mom," she breathes in shock. "Kevin." Greg is shooting undead crouched over Carla, who's screaming shrilly. Ned writhes on the ground nearby, clutching his spilled intestines. Bile rises in Liv's throat, but she shoves it down. Kevin needs her.

She wields her crowbar, smashes off two heads in one blow. Blood sprays all of them. Kevin is crying. She kicks another undead in the chest, and it goes sprawling. The fourth gets the crowbar straight through the eye. She's never fired a gun in her life, and she doesn't intend to.

"Mom, Mom—are you all right?" She examines her closely; she appears to be unscathed, if covered in gore. "How's Kevin? Kevin, sweetie?" Liv peers at her small son, who is still whimpering. "Kevin, it's Mommy."

He clings to her, and she rubs his back soothingly. "It'll be okay, sweetie, I promise." She looks at her own mother. "Take him. Get out of here. I'll come find you."

Mom grabs her fiercely into a hug. She returns the hug as best she can. "I love you, Mama."

"Love you, brave girl," she says—and they disappear into the undergrowth. Liv turns back to the carnage. Ned is dead, Carla nearly so. Greg is surrounded by undead.

She plunges in, all but heedless of her own safety. Limbs fly off as she swings wildly with the crowbar, which she filched from Dad's tool bench as they were pulling out. She falls to her knees beside Carla. "I love you," she says dumbly. It's all she can say.

Carla knows; blood seeps out of her mouth, and her eyes are glazed in pain, but she nods slightly, and her hand closes tightly over Liv's.

A corpse falls across Liv, knocking her on top of her best friend and knocking Carla's last breath out of her lungs. Carla's blood bubbles in Liv's face. The weight on her back vanishes abruptly.

She whirls around and springs to her feet. Greg bashes in the undead's skull with a rock. He's bleeding.

Her heart stops.

"Are you-?" she can't finish the sentence.

"I'm all right."

"Answer the question, Greg."

"You don't have much time," he says, avoiding her gaze. "Get in there, grab some stuff, get out. Your mom and Kevin went that way." He points.

"Greg—"

"Don't argue with me," he says sharply. "You have to get out of here! I'll take care of Carla and Ben."

"No." It's all she can think to say. It's not a refusal of his order; it's a rejection. This cannot be her life, this cannot be real. "No."

"Yes, sweetheart," he says. His eyes go in and out of focus. He grabs her by the back of the neck and presses his lips firmly to hers. He tastes of blood, but she responds fervently.

"I love you," she tells him when he releases her. "I'll never forget…"

"You can say my eulogy later," he says. "Get your stuff and catch up with 'em. I told you, I'll take care of—"

Ben has staggered to his feet, but he's not Ben. Not anymore. Snarling wordlessly, he lunges at them both and takes an enormous bite out of Greg's shoulder. Greg screams.

"Ben!" It's all the memorial she has time to give her brother and best friend. She smashes his skull with her bar, and he crumples to the ground, taking Greg with him. She clutches at her almost-lover's hand, tears streaming down her face. She brings his hand to her lips, kisses his palm gently. She folds his fingers in, and he smiles at her through his pain.

"One for the road," she says—and then she runs.

The bunker is vacant, where less than ten minutes ago it held her family. She grabs what she can think of: her backpack, Leaves of Grass, Kevin's teddy bear, a sleeping bag, a few cans of beans, three knives. A rolled-up tent occupies one corner, and she hoists it grimly onto her back.

"Where in the dirt my family lies, fallen cold and dead," she says quietly.

She shuts the door behind her when she leaves.