Shambles

by Brumeier

When a virus changes the world, Steve does his best to keep things together for Grace while Danny does his best to get back home to them.

Warning: Contains scenes of violence, gore and general ookiness.

Shambles

CENTER FOR DISEASE CONTROL ISSUES VIRUS ALERT

The CDC has issued an alert regarding the SM-9 virus. This virus is highly contagious, transferred through saliva. Symptoms include fatigue, violent mood swings, excessive thirst and/or hunger, fever, and erratic or violent behavior. If you exhibit any of these symptoms please see a medical professional immediately.

To keep from contacting this virus you need to refrain from sharing cups and utensils, and avoid all sexual activity that involves the transfer of saliva. If you have contact with someone who has contracted the virus, or whom you suspect of having contracted the virus, please see a medical professional immediately.

*o*o*o*

"McGarrett."

"Hey, babe. It's me."

"How's Jersey?"

"The pinnacle of civilization, as always. You blow up Honolulu yet?"

"I don't know what Kono told you..."

"Wait! What? Did you really blow something up? I swear, I'm gone for a couple of days –"

"It was nothing, I swear! The warehouse was abandoned."

"You blew up a warehouse?"

"How's your mom doing?"

"Changing the subject? Very subtle. She's fine. Coping."

"And you?"

"Hanging in. I hadn't seen my Gram in a while."

"That doesn't make it any less of a loss, Danno."

"I know. We're packing up her place. Giving a lot of stuff to Goodwill. You want any crocheted doilies for the house?"

"Yeah, I think I'm good."

"You're staying safe, right babe?"

"Doing my best. Kono's been my shadow since you left."

"Oh, well, there's a disaster in the making. Mini Steve trying to keep you in line. How could that possibly go wrong?"

"You're hilarious. Are you coming home soon?"

"Couple more days. I'm hoping to get back before you sink Oahu."

"Your confidence overwhelms me."

"You know I love you, Steven."

"Me too. Call me when you get your flight information?"

"Might call you tomorrow. Just to check in."

"Uh huh. You gonna blow me kisses too?"

"Laugh it up, McGarrett, or kisses are the only things I'm gonna blow."

"No need to be so cruel, Danno."

"I gotta go, babe. Be safe."

"You too. Miss you."

"Miss you too, you big goof. Kiss Grace for me."

"I'll save one for you, too."

*o*o*o*

Every morning, after a session of yoga or an hour of surfing, Kono walks down to a little coffee shop near her place to pick up an eye-opener special. She likes having a routine, since depending on the caseload at work the rest of the day could be total chaos. But as she gets closer to the coffee shop it seems like her morning routine is going to fall by the wayside; people are screaming and running out of the food market next door.

Kono has her gun unholstered and at the ready in a split second. She grabs one of the fleeing patrons and pulls him to the side.

"Sir. Sir! Can you tell me what's going on? I'm with Five-0."

The guy is clearly panicked, his eyes darting around wildly and his muscles tensed to flee. "People. Two, I think. They were…there's so much blood…they killed that kid."

She pulls her cell phone out and speed dials Chin. "Hey, cuz. We've got a possible homicide. I need backup and crowd control." She reels off the address, then pockets the phone and makes her way to the front of the market. Quick surveillance through the glass door shows only a tipped over potato chip display, little bags spread out across the floor.

Kono eases through the door, keeping low, and makes her way carefully to the front register. She can hear sounds coming from the back of the store now, wet tearing sounds that turn her stomach almost as much as the thick scent of fresh blood. There's no-one behind the register but a quick glance at the security mirror shows her where all the action is; she doesn't want to get a better look at it, but she has to do her job.

She clears two aisles, and then heads down the third, weapon up and safety off. "Five-0! Freeze!"

Her keen eyes take in everything and she has to force down the gorge that rises in her throat. There are ripped open packages of steak and chicken lying at the rear of the aisle, near the refrigerated cooler. A body lies further up, sprawled face-down and covered in blood; a pool of red is still spreading out beneath it. The worst part, though, is the two people crouched over the body, their faces and arms smeared with blood and gore. Kono can tell one of them is a woman, but she isn't so sure about the other.

They're using their teeth to rip into the body on the floor, tearing away skin and tendons, revealing muscle and bone. Kono puts the back of one hand up to her mouth in horror.

"I said freeze!" she repeats; they just kept mindlessly tearing and chewing. The woman shoves her hand into a hole in the side of the body and pulls out a mass of…something.

Kono can't see a weapon, and uses that as her excuse to slowly back out of the aisle. When HPD rolls up moments later, followed by Chin on his motorcycle, she's leaning against the side of the market trembling from the effort of not throwing up. Two of the HPD officers lurch out of the market and head for the nearest bush, and even Chin looks green around the gills after he ducks inside to assess the situation.

"You okay?" He takes hold of her hand.

"Yeah. It's just…well, you saw. What the hell makes people do that?"

"It might be the new virus we were told about."

"A virus did that?"

"The CDC is on their way. You didn't touch either of them?"

Kono shudders. "No. No way. I could barely stand to look at them."

"Good girl."

*o*o*o*

In other news, a family of four was found dead in their home late Friday night when a neighbor passing by noticed their front door was open and went to investigate. Local police aren't releasing any details, but sources in the department confirm that Fred and Mary Gall and their young daughters were bludgeoned to death. The suspect in the case, already in custody, was reportedly found sitting in the middle of the kitchen table, eating what seemed to be a part of Mr. Gall's hand. Drug use is the likely cause of this latest incident in a rash of violent acts that have been cropping up around the Twin Cities.

Turning now to sports…

*o*o*o*

Danny's grip on his dad's old hunting rifle is so tight that his knuckles are white, but years of on-the-job training keep the butt of the weapon firmly seated against his shoulder and the muzzle never wavers.

"Get inside," he says through clenched teeth. "Now!"

He hears them moving, tries not to listen to the soft crying of his mother or his sister Julie's hoarse screams. Danny keeps all his attention on the man – no, thing – in front of him, the thing that used to be Grace's uncle and his brother-in-law, who used to help her build pillow forts and organize tea parties. Who used to love her like she was his own.

His dad squeezes his shoulder. "Do it, son. You have to."

Danny nods curtly but still he waits for his dad to join the others. He doesn't want them to see. He wishes to hell that he didn't have to.

"I'm sorry Frank. So goddamn sorry."

The thing that used to be Frank merely gnashes his teeth, saliva dripping down, and glares at him with bloodshot eyes. His muscles tense as he prepares to lunge and Danny takes the shot. The thing's head explodes, blood and brain matter spraying.

Danny doesn't lower the rifle until the body hits the ground and he's sure it isn't going to get up again. Julie's wail from inside the house shoots straight through him like a different kind of bullet. All at once he starts trembling.

God, he wishes Steve were with him. Steve, who would understand what it feels like, to shoot someone you care about; who wouldn't try to take away his sorrow but would share the burden of it. Danny wants Steve there so badly he can't stand it, but at the same time he's so fucking glad Steve is back home with Grace. He's grateful that his little girl wasn't here to see what he did.

Danny turns away and goes back inside, heart hurting. It's time to get out of Jersey. He needs to go home, to make sure the people he loves are still safe.

*o*o*o*

Sally Kapule with Action News 9, coming to you live from the Capitol building in Honolulu. The scene here tonight is one of barely controlled chaos. It's been four days since the travel ban was put into place and as you can see, mainlanders have been flocking to the Capitol to appeal to Governor Denning to let them return to their homes and their families.

The Governor's office has released a statement, apologizing for the inconvenience and offering free accommodations to all stranded visitors. Unfortunately there isn't anything that Governor Denning can do; the travel ban comes down from Department of Homeland Security and the World Health Organization.

HPD officers and the Five-0 Task Force are on the scene, working crowd control. A source within the Governor's office has indicated that a military presence may be called in if the crowds refuse to disperse.

Pressure continues to mount in the face of a national pandemic that has the medical community scrambling to find a cure and local governments struggling to keep residents from rioting in the streets. We can only hope that things get better before they get any worse.

Back to you, Paula.

*o*o*o*

Steve throws his cell phone across the room with a curse. It bounces off the back of a chair and skids under the computer table to come to rest by Chin's foot. Steve wants nothing more than to throw it again. Kono watches with wide eyes from her spot at the window.

"That's not helping, brah," Chin says.

"What the hell am I gonna tell Gracie?" Steve runs a hand over his face. "I can't reach Rachel. The lines are tied up in New Jersey so I can't get Danny either. Why the hell aren't the phones working?"

Chin holds his hands up in a placating gesture. "I know it's frustrating."

"Frustrating? Stan and Rachel could be dead for all I know. And Danny. He…he's not…"

Kono is at his side in an instant, wrapping her slender arms around him. "He's fine, Boss. You know nothing keeps him down."

Steve stands there stiffly for a moment before hugging Kono back. He knows she probably needs the comfort just as much as he does. It's only been four days since Rachel left to visit Stan in Las Vegas, and just over a week since Danny left for Jersey. They all seem so incredibly far away.

"Everything's going down," Chin says. "With so many people infected and everyone else trying to lay low, there's no-one minding the utilities."

"The emergency bands are still working, right?" Kono steps back and wipes discreetly at her eyes.

"I was able to get through to Cath. All naval vessels currently deployed have been ordered not to put into port until further notice."

"But she's okay?" Chin asks.

"Yeah. She's safe. The Lincoln, though…no-one's made contact with it in days. It doesn't look good." According to Cath, there are plans to blow it out of the water because it's likely been compromised. He tries not to think of the sailors he knows on board. Knew on board.

The schools are closed; the ones that tried to stay open had almost no students show up, families too afraid to send them. Two of the local television stations are still broadcasting, and the content is unbelievable: mauled bodies down in Diamond Head, and an insane multi-car pile-up on the H1. Things in downtown Honolulu aren't much better, though the HPD, fire department, and a deployment of soldiers from Pearl are doing their best to keep the streets clear.

Five-0 has been holed up in HQ for the last two days. The Governor has them on standby, but there really isn't much for them to do. No enemy to take down, no-one to put in cuffs and toss in a cell. The military presence is keeping looting to a minimum, and it seems even the local criminals have bigger things to worry about. Chin is trying to find out more about the SM-9 virus online, but someone is going through a lot of trouble to take down any site with references to it other than the CDC warnings that have been going out.

Steve's cell phone rings and Chin bends down to retrieve it. His eyebrows arch when he sees who's calling. He wordlessly tosses it over to Steve.

"This can't be good," Steve sighs, answering the call. "Admiral Waverly, Sir."

*o*o*o*

It's about thirty miles from Danny's parent's house in Trenton to the Lakehurst Naval Air Station. On a regular day this is a forty-five minute trip tops, including traffic. Right now the roads are clogged with abandoned cars and roving bands of the infected, and he's already been in the car for over two hours. Danny supposes he should thank Steve for the lessons on how to drive like an insane SEAL, since I-195 is like an obstacle course. A deadly obstacle course.

"Can't you go any faster?" His mother has one hand on his seat and one on the side window, watching fearfully.

"No, Ma, I really can't." Danny has never been so tense behind the wheel, and given that he's usually in a car with Steve that's saying a lot. He swerves around a Grand Caravan and pretends not to see the blood on the side door.

"We need exit 16B," his dad says.

"I know."

"If you miss it, it'll add too much time."

Danny clenches his jaw. "I know, Pop."

"You don't need to take that tone."

"I don't have a tone."

"Shut up!" Julie screams. "Just shut the fuck up!"

Danny winces, but that definitely puts a kibosh on the conversation. He doesn't mind not talking. He'd prefer not thinking, either, but that's impossible. Especially with the same thought repeating over and over in his head: I wish I was with Steve and Grace.

Exit 16B is only barely passable, and the driver's side of his Pop's Toyota scrapes along an abandoned blue pickup truck, snapping off the side mirror.

Phone service has been down for days, but the Emergency Broadcast System is still up and running. Residents of New Jersey have been notified that Lakehurst has been designated a safe zone for the uninfected, which Danny knows means refugee camp. It didn't take much convincing to get his family to go. Not after he had to kill Frank.

"There it is!" Danny's mother points out the window.

There's high steel fencing topped with razor wire surrounding the base, which Danny doesn't remember seeing the last time he passed this way. A line of cars snakes out from the gated entrance and Danny pulls in at the end of it. He counts eight cars ahead of them. There are armed soldiers positioned at regular intervals and Danny's relieved to see them.

Danny wonders if Steve will take Grace to Pearl. If Lakehurst is taking in civilians, maybe other bases are too. He hopes that's the case. He knows Steve will do whatever it takes to keep his daughter safe, but that doesn't mean he'll keep himself safe in the process.

It's another hour before Danny can pull up to the gate. A doctor stands by with an assistant and an armed guard. The soldier tells Danny and his family to get out of the car. They stand there as the assistant swabs the inside of their cheeks and tests their saliva for signs of the virus. Danny holds his breath, but none of the swabs change color after being dipped in a clear solution. The four of them are clean.

While they're being swabbed, the car is thoroughly searched. The rifle Danny killed Frank with is confiscated and tagged. Danny makes a token protest, but he's honestly glad to have the responsibility taken from him.

Back behind the wheel he's directed to a parking area that's already mostly full. He wonders what will happen when the base reaches capacity, and has an awful image of people desperately beating on the gates while hordes of the infected bear down on them. He shudders.

From the parking lot people are being directed to a hangar on the tarmac, looking brand new as it gleams in the sun. Everyone is sorted by gender and given an embarrassingly full medical evaluation in curtained-off cubicles to give some semblance of privacy. He wouldn't be surprised if mandatory decontamination showers were next, but instead he's given sweatpants and a sweatshirt and pushed along to the next line.

"Name?" A harried looking Naval officer with a laptop sits behind a desk, waiting impatiently.

"Detective Daniel Williams."

That sparks a look of interest. "Cop?"

"Five-0 Task Force, out of Honolulu."

"You're pretty far from home, Detective," the officer notes as he types in the information.

Danny's chest tightens and he finds he has no snappy reply. He's never felt farther from home as he does right now.

Once his information has been recorded, he's free to join the milling mass that fills the rest of the cavernous hangar. It takes him almost ten minutes to find his parents and Julie, and he directs them toward the rows and rows of cots so that they can at least sit down. Julie is weeping again, curled up against their mother, but his father looks completely lost.

"Pop? You okay?"

He shakes his head. "This is wrong."

"Yeah. I know." They stand shoulder to shoulder, giving and taking comfort. Danny's never been good with uncertainty, and that's all that's ahead of them right now.

A shrill whistle gets their attention, and everyone turns to the pretty woman in green BDUs, using a table as an impromptu stage. "Your attention, please! My name is Chief Petty Officer Lauren Bauer. I will be your liaison while you are guests of the Naval Air Station. We have made every effort to accommodate your presence on the base, and would ask that you please remain confined to designated areas."

There's some muttering from the crowd but CPO Bauer rides it out, a stern look quelling most of the noise.

"I know you have questions, so let me tell you what I can. Every secure military base in the US is on lockdown, and they have been designated as safe zones for uninfected civilians. Until we get a handle on the SM-9 virus, this is the safest place for you to be. We are in constant contact with the other bases, as well as officials in Washington, and will let you know when there is news about an inoculation. Rest assured people are working on this and will continue to do so.

"In addition, we are keeping an accurate and up-to-date list of all civilians on base, and will be sharing this list with the other bases, as they will with us. Please be advised that this will take some time, so I implore you to be patient. We hope to compile a comprehensive database of all survivors and will make that information available to you as soon as possible."

Danny feels a spark of hope at that. Surely Steve has gone to Pearl by now, or will get there soon. He'll be fine as long as he can just know that Steve and Grace are okay.

"For the moment, please choose a bunk and stay there. Myself and several ensigns will be going around taking down your information and logging in your bunk number. If you have any skills or knowledge you think might be useful, please be sure to note it. Learn your bunk number, as that is the designation we will be using to set up meal rotations, bathing rotations, and any appropriate work detail."

The noise level rises as the CPO ends her speech, and Danny turns to look at his family, feeling helpless in the face of their fear. Julie steadfastly refuses to look at him, staying huddled beside their mother. He wants to reassure them but the words just won't come. Right now all they can do is wait: wait to hear that someone has found a way to combat this virus. Wait to find out if Steve and Grace are alive.

Danny hates waiting.

*o*o*o*

"Are you finished packing, Gracie?" Steve already has his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He's changed into his BDUs in preparation for returning to active duty at Pearl. The phone call he hadn't wanted to answer was Admiral Waverly recalling him. Most personnel and a large contingent of civilian refugees have been moved to Ford Island, which is a much more defensible position, just one road in and out. Quonset huts have been hastily erected at Hickam for the overflow.

"Yes." She pops out of her room pulling her rolling suitcase behind her. Though she's twelve now and made a big deal out of telling Danny that she's too old for babyish things, she has a raggedy stuffed dolphin tucked under one arm. Steve gave that to her shortly after they'd met at the Kukui High football game three years ago.

"I wish Auntie Kono was coming with us."

"So do I, sweetheart."

The Kalakaua clan are retreating inland, where they have some sort of hunting compound. Kono was torn between helping out HPD and helping out her family, but Steve and Chin insisted that she go. If things get hairy for them, they'll need her steady hand and quick mind. Even so, it feels wrong to split up the team.

"Uncle Chin will be okay, right?"

"He'll be fine. HPD is totally secure, and he'll be helping a lot of people get out of the city and on to the base."

Grace takes his hand, a little awkward with the dolphin, and Steve gives it a comforting squeeze. He's grateful she didn't ask about either of her parents, since he doesn't have anything to tell her. Once they're on base he'll check the survivor list for Danny's name. He doesn't want to think about what he'll do if he doesn't find it.

Steve carries Grace's suitcase down the stairs. He hates the idea of leaving the house, which has come to mean so much more to him now that his own family is living under its roof. He hopes it'll escape the notice of the inevitable looters and vandals.

"I'm gonna bring the truck around, okay? Wait right here by the door."

Grace nods, hugging the dolphin tightly to her chest. Steve pulls his weapon and cracks the door, looking to see that the front walk is clear. He closes the door behind him as he goes out, keys already hanging off his pinky so he doesn't have to waste time digging through his pockets for them. The Silverado is parked down at the curb and he gets to it as quickly as possible.

The distant sound of sirens carries over on the wind, along with the strong scent of blood and rotting flesh. Steve looks up and down the street but doesn't see any movement. He wonders how many of his neighbors have succumbed to the infection. Normally he would've checked on them, but Grace is his top priority. He already has the route planned out, taking the least-congested roads to Pearl. There'll be a roadblock to get through but his Navy ID should make that faster.

He's distracted as he gets out of the truck, his thoughts already five steps ahead, but he's keenly aware of the front door opening and Grace taking a hesitant step outside. He hears something moving heavily through the flower bushes next to the front door and already has his weapon in hand when Grace starts screaming.

The infected thing that bursts out of the foliage isn't very large, but it moves fast, snarling and drooling as it charges for Grace. It grabs her, pushing her back against the doorjamb.

"Gracie, down!" he roars and as soon as she drops he puts two bullets in the target's head. Blood and brain matter splatter against the side of the house and by the time the body hits the ground Steve has already scooped Grace up in his arms and is running for the truck.

They're both in the cab, doors locked and windows up, and Steve feels like he can't breathe. He grabs one of Grace's hands, examines her arm up to the shoulder, moves her sleeve to check the skin underneath. She's trembling and crying without making any noise, but she submits to Steve's manic examination. He pushes her shirt up to check the tender, delicate skin around her midsection, looking for even the smallest scratch that could be vulnerable to any saliva that might've fallen from her attacker's mouth. When he finally determines that she hasn't been infected he gathers her up in his arms and holds her tight.

"It's okay. You're okay."

"It was Charlie Jessup," she says, a hitch in her breathing.

The tightness in Steve's chest worsens. Charlie was a good kid, fifteen years old and already thinking about going into the Navy. He mowed Steve's lawn and always called him 'Sir.'

"I want Danno," Grace says.

"I do too, sweetheart." Steve just holds her closer and closes his eyes. So close, it had been so close, and he doesn't know how any of them are going to survive this.

*o*o*o*

Signs posted around Albany, New York

Looters will be shot on sight by police. Don't be part of the problem.

*o*o*o*

Danny checks the survivor list from Pearl every day. Kalakaua, Kelly, McGarrett, Williams. He tries to feel relieved when none of their names show up. Surely this means that wherever they are, they're together. He trusts his team to look out for his little girl.

Yeah, they're together. Not dead.

But.

Each new group of refugees brings horrific stories with them. Danny hears of an entire town ablaze because the people who lived there tried to burn out the virus. He hears about people so scared that they shoot anyone who comes near them. He hears about looting and body dumps and some crazy asshole running down I-78 with a scimitar of all things, randomly slicing the heads off whoever he found before someone hit him with a semi.

None of the base personnel will confirm or deny anything, and whatever news they get isn't passed around. Danny's never been so scared or frustrated in his life.

It's impossible to find out a damn thing from outside the state. Danny can't sleep at night, wondering if his team's been separated, or if Grace is still with Steve. Or if one of them got infected. He tries to imagine having to shoot Chin or Kono and he just can't do it.

He can't even think about Steve or Grace turning into mindless, slavering animals. It makes his whole body ache. And he still doesn't see their names.

The night he has a nightmare about Grace showing up at the base, half her face rotted off and dragging along an arm etched with Steve's tattoos, Danny knows he can't stay in Jersey another day. He needs to go home.

*o*o*o*

Steve thanks God for Gracie every day. He makes sure they have some quiet time together in the morning, sharing breakfast in the kitchenette of the room they're living in at the Navy Lodge, before he goes out with Seal Team 7. He needs that time to ground himself, to get in the right mindset for the work ahead. And it's gruesome work.

His team is clearing neighborhoods in Honolulu, bringing survivors back to Pearl, and taking out the infected. It's a familiar type of work, though he'd been accustomed to doing it in other countries. It was easier, running missions on foreign deployments. The awful things he'd seen had a context. And he knew he could go home.

But this is his home. These are the people he's supposed to protect, and most of the time he can only kill them.

Two days in there's a girl, no older than three or four, elbow-deep in the carcass of a dog. He puts a hole in her head.

Another time his team isn't fast enough to stop a pack of infected from running a man to the ground. They save him from being torn apart, only to shoot him along with the other infected. He begs for his life. It's days before Steve can close his eyes without hearing the poor bastard screaming.

Every evening Steve returns to base sweaty and spattered with blood. He makes sure to shower in the barracks and change before he goes home to Gracie for dinner. Then they watch movies together, or Gracie reads aloud from one of her books, and Steve holds her and reminds himself that what he's doing is right and necessary, no matter how it feels like every bullet carves out another piece of his heart. He never tells her what he does, but she's Danny's daughter and she's smart enough to figure it out. She hugs him a lot, and rubs his back when they sit close, as if he's the kid in need of comforting.

Gracie never talks about her parents or her school friends or how she almost died. But she crawls in bed with Steve most nights, even though her own bed is less than three feet away. Steve felt weird about it at first, like any second Danny would burst in to punch his lights out. But she obviously needs it, and it's so much easier for Steve to sleep with her curled up next to him, warm and breathing and alive. He'll worry about getting her back to sleeping on her own after…just after.

Steve checks the survivor lists every evening for every base in New Jersey, Pennsylvania and New York. And one day, just like that, there he is: listed under Lakehurst Naval Air Base. For several long minutes Steve just runs his finger over Danny's name again and again, until someone politely asks him to let them use the computer.

He runs all the way to the room he shares with Grace at the Lodge, yelling "Danno's safe!" the instant she opens the door.

Grace screams in joy and hugs him, and they're both laughing and crying at the same time. "Can we call him, Daddy Steve? Please?"

"Of course we can," Steve says, even though he doesn't know for sure. Right then it feels like he can do anything.

It takes him most of a day, and a marker called in, before he's able to utilize a satellite phone and place his call.

But when he finally gets through, it's not Danny who answers the phone. Steve? Is that you?

"Mrs. Williams?"

Oh, thank God! We were so worried about you. Is Grace okay? Is she with you?

"She's fine. She's here at the base with me. Where's Danny?" Grace, who's sitting next to him, tenses up, looking fearful.

I love you, Steven, but I could strangle you right now.

"Ma'am?"

Don't you ma'am me! Why didn't you put your name or Gracie's on the survivor list?

"What? No, I did. As soon as we got on base I did." Steve thinks back, clearly recalls filling out the form for Grace to be registered. He didn't do one for himself because active military aren't included; it's a stupid rule, and so out of place under the circumstances. "I know I turned the form in."

We check the lists every day. She's not on there.

And then he remembers there was some sort of trouble at registration a day or so after they got on base. Civilians brawling over computer time. A couple machines got broken. Steve's stomach drops as he realizes that Grace's name, and who knows how many others, must've been collateral damage. Grace never got listed. Danny never found her name.

"Where's Danny?" he asks again. He feels sick.

He left. Two days ago.

Steve doesn't need to ask why, or where he's going.

It's five thousand miles from Jersey to Hawaii, and Danny's alone.

Grace takes the phone from him. "Gramma?"

He sits next to her and stares at his hands. Danny was supposed to be safe. He was safe. And now Steve might've killed him, all because he didn't think to ask about the fight, if any names were lost.

"Daddy Steve's taking good care of me."

Steve buries his head in his hands. He feels like he's going to come apart. Every instinct he has tells him to get out there and find Danny. But he can't. He has his duty, he can't – he won't – leave Grace with strangers. And where would he even start looking?

"Danno's tough, Gramma. He'll find us, I know he will. He's like the dad in Finding Nemo. He didn't give up either."

Steve looks up, sees the fierce expression on Grace's face. There isn't a shred of doubt in her voice. Maybe she can believe enough for the both of them.

*o*o*o*

Danny finds the driving a bit easier on the long stretches of I-70. There are still abandoned vehicles littering the highway, more the closer he gets to populated areas, but it's not as much of an obstacle course as it was in Jersey. He's in his father's Toyota, rifle on the seat within easy reach. CPO Bauer had been good enough to give him some additional ammunition for it, apologizing all the while that she couldn't outfit him with something better. It's not ideal, but he'll take what he can get.

There's only one working radio station, which he leaves on more to combat the unnatural silence than because he actually wants to listen to it. It's a religious channel and the guy on the air is saying how the zombie apocalypse was foretold in the Bible, how humanity is being punished for its many transgressions. Danny knows that's a pile of crap but he still can't make himself turn off Pastor Suckass because then he'd be completely alone.

It should take him about nine hours to get to Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Ohio. His plan is to make his way cross-country via a series of layovers at secure military bases where he can log in his name, which will either serve as a trail to anyone who might come looking for him, or let Steve know he's getting closer. Or the last place he was if he vanishes.

Danny's just outside of Bedford when he sees someone walking along the shoulder of the highway. He immediately tenses and darts a quick glance at the rifle, but the closer he gets the more he's convinced it's not one of the infected; unlike healthy people, they're less coordinated and jerkier in their movements.

Despite second thoughts he pulls up alongside the walker and lowers the passenger side window. "Hey!"

It turns out to be a young girl, her hair dyed pink and pulled into ponytails that hang over her shoulders. She has a big backpack strapped on, the kind with an aluminum frame, and she's wearing two revolvers in hip holsters like some kind of modern-day cowgirl.

"You clean?" she asks. Danny doesn't think she can be more than fourteen or fifteen years old.

"Yeah, but you'll have to take my word for it. What are you doing out here by yourself? It's dangerous."

"Places to go." She keeps walking, one hand on the backpack strap across her chest and the other on the butt of one of the guns.

"Let me give you a lift. You shouldn't be walking out here."

The girl stops and gives him an assessing look. She's wearing too much make-up, especially the smudged liner that makes her look like she has two black eyes.

"I'm a cop," he says. He still has his badge on him. It's become a talisman for him, a piece of home he can carry in his pocket.

"You are?" she asks uncertainly. She makes a complete circuit of the car, looking for what Danny doesn't know, before she agrees to get in. It means the rifle has to go in the backseat with the huge backpack, which makes him a little nervous, but he doesn't want her having easy access to it either.

"Where you headed, Jersey?"

"My name is Danny," he says. "Don't be a smartass."

"Yeah. Right."

"What's your name?" Danny puts the car back in gear and gets underway, stomping on the gas with a bit more force than necessary.

"Jem."

"Well, Jem, I'm headed for Ohio. There's an air force base there, a safe place you can wait out the virus."

"Balls to that. I'm going to Denver. My dad's there." She gives Danny a look daring him to disagree.

"I'll get you as far as I can," he says, which is an easy promise to make. "Buckle up."

Another glare from the passenger seat, but Jem dutifully puts on her seatbelt. "Can we turn this crap off?"

She doesn't wait for approval before hitting the power button on the radio. She pulls out an MP3 player with attached speakers and thumbs through her playlist, settling on some angry girl music with a lot of screaming and a heavy back beat.

"Way better," Jem says, bobbing her head.

Danny sighs. It's going to be a long ride.

*o*o*o*

Steve has a hard time keeping his head in the game. All he can think about is Danny out there somewhere, trying to get home. Is he alive? Dead? Shambling down a road somewhere, driven by a terrifying hunger? Steve can't bear thinking about it, but he can't stop.

He snaps back to attention at the sound of weapons fire and sees that a group of infected have been moving in on them. He whips his own gun up in time to put a bullet through an infected that's almost on top of him. It used to be an old woman, her house coat stiff with caked blood, and she joins the eight infected lying in the street like broken dolls.

"Sir." Brovetto claps a hand on Steve's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I'm good. Tag them and let's go." He mentally shakes himself. He has to put Danny in deep storage while he's out on the streets before he gets someone killed. He reminds himself that right now he's all that Gracie has. He can't lose it while she needs him. It was easier doing the job when he was alone. Steve tries not to see that as a weakness; his life is so much better than it was then.

When he gets back on base that night he takes twice as long in the shower, just lets the hot water pound against his bowed head and back. They haven't found any uninfected in the last few days and it hasn't been good for morale. The forays out feel more and more like target practice instead of search and rescues.

He slaps a smile on his face when he picks up Gracie for dinner in the mess, but she greets him at the door with a real smile, bouncing up and down on her toes.

"What's up, Grace Face?" Steve asks, giving her a hug.

"Daddy's in Ohio!"

Steve just stares at her for a minute, not comprehending. "What?"

"I've been helping Mrs. Beeman with the survivor lists, trying to find people's families," she reminds him. "And I saw Danno's name!"

"Sweetie, your dad's name isn't that uncommon." Steve doesn't want to take away her happiness, but she has to face reality. And he doesn't think he can take having to talk her down every time a Daniel Williams shows up on a list somewhere. But Grace just gives him an exasperated look.

"It's him, I swear! The name was Danno. Danno McGarrett Williams."

Steve's breath catches in his throat. It's Danny, there's no-one else it can possibly be. "Come on, Gracie. We'll eat later."

Twenty minutes later he has a sat phone to his ear and he's desperately trying to hold on to his patience.

"This is Lieutenant Commander Steven McGarrett, Pearl-Hickham," he says for the third time, his call getting passed around. "I'm looking for information about a recent refugee that arrived at your base. Danny McGarrett Williams."

Commander McGarrett. Staff Sergeant Meissner. I can confirm that Detective Williams was here.

"What do you mean, was? You let him leave?"

We don't detain anyone that doesn't want to be here, Commander. And Detective Williams made it very clear he was only staying the night. He and his daughter left two days ago.

"Did he say where he was going?" Steve silently curses Danny for not staying put. And who the hell is with him? Whoever she is, she better not get him killed.

He said he was going home.

*o*o*o*

Arnold Air Force Base is over-full, and they can't give Danny or Jem a proper bunk to sleep in. Instead, they hunker down in a corner for the night. At least they were able to get a hot meal and clean up, for which Danny is grateful. He made sure to register their names, and put in search requests for Steve, Grace and Jem's father. It's becoming a familiar routine.

Danny offers his shoulder as a pillow, but Jem stubbornly refuses. He doesn't understand her need to be so self-sufficient, but he's not going to argue with her about it.

It doesn't matter anyway. By morning, Jem has migrated and is using Danny's thigh as a pillow. With her face relaxed in sleep she looks every bit the child she still is.

They share a breakfast of reconstituted eggs and canned ham in the crowded mess hall, neither one having much to say. Danny's nervous. Another base means another chance to find Grace's name on the survivor list. Or another disappointment when he doesn't.

As soon as the clerk's office opens they get in line, waiting their turn to see if the names they're looking for have been found. Danny keeps his hands shoved in his pockets, the only way to keep from fidgeting. Jem, on the other hand, can't stop twisting her pink ponytail around her finger.

"His name probably won't be there," she mutters. "He won't go to a base."

"Yeah? Why not?"

"He doesn't trust the government." Jem shrugged. "I hope Grace is there this time."

She isn't. McGarrett, Williams. Another check-in, another disappointment. Despite having told himself this would be the likely outcome, Danny's eyes still burn and he has to turn away and take a moment to collect himself.

"Peter Markus Ericson," he hears Jem say to the clerk. "Colorado."

"I'm sorry." The clerk sounds apologetic. "That name showed up on the red list."

Danny sucks in a breath and turns around in time to see Jem biting her bottom lip, her eyes shining with tears. The red list. It's worse than not having a name show up at all. It means Jem's father was turned away because his test came back positive for the virus.

"Jem."

The look she gives Danny is full of despair, but she dodges his outstretched arm and runs out of the clerk's office.

Fucking virus.

*o*o*o*

The car breaks down in Tulsa. The radiator is shot, the engine overheated. Tinker Air Force Base is a good two day's walk, in the overwhelming heat. It's not even noon and already Danny is sweating through his t-shirt.

"This sucks," Jem complains. She's been complaining since Tennessee, though Danny can see it for the smokescreen it is. Jem's having a hard time coping with the fact that she's an orphan. She refuses to be coddled, despite frequent mood swings and nightmares. Danny would love nothing more than to offer her the comfort she so obviously needs, but the best he can do is keep things as normal as possible.

"Put a lid on it, kid. You don't want to be here, and neither do I, but we don't exactly have a choice do we?"

"Are we supposed to walk all the way there? It's like, a hundred miles."

Danny rolls his eyes. "We'll find a car."

"Can we get something cooler? Like a Hummer or something?"

"Not looking for cool, looking for dependable. We need something that gets good gas mileage."

"It's the end of the world, Jersey. Live a little."

"You know, if you were twenty years older and a Navy SEAL…" Danny can't finish, not with his throat getting tight. He misses Steve and reflexively touches the cell phone in his pocket. There's no service, and he's been keeping it off to conserve the battery, but he can't leave it behind. There are pictures on there of Steve and Gracie, Kono and Chin. And a highly inappropriate voicemail from Steve that he's never quite been able to delete, especially since maybe that's all he'll have left of him.

"That's who you're looking for?" Jem asks, briefly dropping the cocky attitude.

"And my daughter, Grace." She'd shown up on the list from Pearl finally, for which he'd nearly gone down on his knees and thanked God. But no Kono or Chin. Steve might be there, but Danny has no way of knowing. They told him in Ohio that active military aren't listed, some outdated convention of secrecy that makes no sense under the current circumstances.

There are plenty of abandoned cars on the main drag but Danny doesn't give them a second look. Chances are they were left running and are now out of gas. Better to check parking lots, driveways.

"Stay close and keep your eyes open," Danny says. "We're about to commit grand theft auto and if the owners are still around they probably won't be too happy."

"Just flash your badge."

"Are you ever not sarcastic? I just want to know if I need to pick up some duct tape for your mouth on the way out of town." Danny sees a sign for a municipal parking lot. "This way."

Downtown Tulsa is eerily silent. Glass and concrete buildings rise up on either side of a street clogged with abandoned cars. There are bodies here too. He can smell them rotting in the sun and has to force his bile down. Jem isn't as capable and he rubs her back as she heaves.

"I'm fine," she says after. She wipes her mouth on her sleeve and marches forward, pale and shaky. Danny knows better than to push. "Traffic lights are still working."

The lights at the intersection flip from red to green with an audible click. Danny is on edge, every sound making him twitchy. They're too exposed out here, in danger not just from the infected but also from any frightened person with a gun.

"There!" Jem says, pointing to the sign for the parking lot. Only it's not a lot, it's an underground garage, and Danny hesitates at the entrance.

"This is a bad idea. Trust me, I have plenty of experience with bad ideas. And this? Is not happening."

Jem pulls her revolvers and gives them a practiced twirl. "Well, good for you. But I'm not walking all over Tulsa looking for a car. I'll be right back with some wheels."

"The hell you will!" Danny grabs for her but his fingers slide off the backpack and Jem is gone, melting into the shadows of the parking structure. "Goddamn it!"

He tightens his hold on the rifle, fuming. How's he supposed to look out for her when she clearly has a death wish? It's all horribly familiar, as if the universe has taken Steve away from him and given him instead a girl that could be his clone.

"Fuck you," Danny says to no-one in particular, and then follows Jem into the parking garage.

The fluorescent lights flicker, several of them dark altogether, and there are too many shadows for his liking. Too many places for the infected to hide, not to mention one young girl with pink hair.

"Jem!" he hisses. "Where are you?" He doesn't dare raise his voice any louder, his own ears straining to hear even the slightest sound, rifle loaded and at the ready. When the car alarm goes off he very nearly screams in surprise.

"Jem!" he shouts. No need to be quiet now.

"Hang on!" she shouts back, her voice echoing.

The wailing alarm is abruptly cut off moments later, and it takes Danny another few precious seconds to hear the sound of multiple footsteps heading his way.

"We've got company!" he yells. He backs up toward the entrance, his eyes fixed on the gloomy shadows in front of him. Five infected come shambling out of the dark, some moving faster than others, all of them gnashing their teeth. He tries not to look at their faces. He doesn't want to see the ghosts of who they used to be, it's easier that way.

When the infected get too close Danny starts shooting. He takes down two but has to turn and run because they're only an arm's length away. He's fast – lots of practice – but one of the infected is faster. Its grasping hands catch the back of his shirt and tighten into fists, dragging him back.

Danny switches his grip on the rifle so he can swing it like a club, up and back, into its head. It doesn't loosen its grip on his shirt and when it goes down it takes Danny with it. He scrapes a good chunk of skin off his arm in the process. The open wound terrifies him, so close to the infected's dripping mouth.

"Get the fuck off me!" He bucks up, the infected's slobbering mouth close to his neck, then rolls. His shirt tears enough that he can get away, scrambling to his feet. Danny puts a bullet through the infected's brain before it can come after him.

There are still two infected left standing, and Danny can hear more coming, but then there's a racing engine and squealing tires. Jem drives up in a sleek black Challenger with white racing stripes, mowing down the infected and screeching to a stop right in front of Danny. He doesn't even want to know where she learned to hotwire a car.

"Get in!"

"You're too young to drive."

"No time. Let's go, Jersey!"

Danny doesn't bother arguing. He's certain he can feel infected saliva all over his arm. His heart is pounding so hard he feels dizzy with it, and fumbles with the door handle for several precious seconds before he can get it open.

Jem stomps her foot on the gas and the car lurches forward. Danny yanks the remains of his shirt off and frantically swabs at the moisture on his arm. It burns where he rubs it on the scrape, blood oozing from the wound.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" Jem shoots him wide-eyed looks, her hands white-knuckled on the steering wheel.

Her words are a buzzing in Danny's ears. All he can hear is his own approaching death.

*o*o*o*

Steve tacks a map of the US to the wall in the kitchenette. He has Lakehurst marked with a pin, and then a line drawn between it and Wright-Patterson. Danny is headed cross-country but Steve can't predict which route he'll take, or what obstacles might force him in another direction.

Steve calculates drive times, tries to figure out Danny's next likely stop. There are several bases in Oklahoma: Vance AFB in Enid was lost early on, but there's still Tinker AFB, Altus AFB, Fort Sill.

The calculations are almost impossible. Steve doesn't know how congested the roads are, for one thing, or what Danny's driving. Getting gas won't be a problem as long as the electricity is working and the pumps are unlocked. He also has to factor in armed civilians who are too spooked not to shoot on sight, and roving bands of the infected.

"Which one do you think he'll go to?" Gracie asks. She's been studying the map just as hard, and spending extra time poring over the survivor lists looking for her father's name.

"Well, if it was me I'd head to Tinker. It's right along his route and it's a good-sized base. Lots of resources."

"How will he get here, though?"

Steve drops an arm across her shoulders and gives her a squeeze. "Military transports are still running as needed. Remember the plane that came in last week with supplies? If he can get to California he might be able to talk his way onto one coming here."

It's a long shot. Danny is a civilian, and the military isn't going to care how much the Governor vouches for him. Steve is going to have pull some strings, possibly sell his soul. But he'll gladly do it if it means having Danny safely returned home.

"Daddy Steve? What if Danno doesn't come back?" Grace doesn't look at him when she asks, just stares straight ahead at the map, but Steve can feel the tension in her shoulders and see it in the way she keeps her lips tightly pressed together.

"We have to stay positive. Okay sweetheart? Your dad is smart, he'll know how to stay safe."

"But what if he doesn't?" she asks stubbornly.

Steve sighs and drops into a chair, pulling her into his lap. "Then we'll have each other."

Grace hugs him, tight and a little desperate, and he hugs her back. He'd never be a replacement for Danny, wouldn't ever want to be, but Grace has become just as much his daughter. He won't let anything happen to her.

"Come on, Grace Face. We have to meet Uncle Chin for dinner, remember?"

Steve's team had helped extract what was left of the HPD just days ago. Chin was in bad shape: they were out of food, and he's acquired some new scars since Steve last saw him. The worst is his spirit. Leilani succumbed to the virus, Chin told him in a broken voice. She'd been working at the hospital long after she should have evacuated, trying to help those who had been infected but hadn't yet shown all the signs of the disease.

Chin won't be hanging around long. They haven't talked about it, but Steve knows. He only stayed with HPD to be close to Leilani, and now that she's gone he'll go find Kono, help her with the family.

"I wish there was some way to cheer him up," Grace says, sniffling just a little.

"I think just seeing you will help." Steve presses a kiss to her forehead. "Why don't you go get ready, okay?"

Grace runs off and Steve turns his attention back to the map.

"Where are you, Danny?"

*o*o*o*

Danny's sure he's sick. He feels flushed, and his stomach is in knots.

"We need to find a place to hole up," Jem says. She looks as bad as Danny feels, the guilt fairly spilling from her pores.

"You should leave me. It'd be safer for you."

"No way."

"It's too dangerous for you." He tries to make her understand. If he did get infected in the parking garage they don't have much time.

"No!" Jem shakes her head. "Don't say that! You don't even know if you're sick!"

"Jem –"

"No! Look, maybe you're immune. You could be fighting it off, I heard that happens."

She so earnest, so full of desperate hope, that Danny can't bear to argue with her about it. They get off the highway at the next exit and Jem drives around until she finds a nice neighborhood.

"This one looks empty," she says. Danny agrees. The windows are broken but not boarded up, and there aren't any signs out front warning people away.

"Let's take a look."

He goes ahead of Jem, who has her revolvers out. It doesn't take long to clear the house, and reinforce the entrances. Danny's just going through the motions. He knows what comes next. Flu-like symptoms, extreme hunger, and then he'll be another one of the mindless infected. No more Danno, no more being Grace's dad or Steve's partner or a member of the human fucking race.

"Come on, Jersey. You'll feel better after some sleep."

Danny lets Jem lead him up the stairs to the master bedroom. There are sailboats on the wallpaper and sailboats on the sheets, but none of it really registers.

"You're fine, you'll see." Jem hovers, turning down the blankets, readjusting the pillows, until Danny gets in bed. Even then she refuses to leave the room, sitting on the padded window seat. "Get some sleep. I'll keep watch."

Danny wants to make her go. He can't stand the thought of hurting her. Of hurting anyone. He can't stand the thought of never making it home.

All he can do is wait. And pray.

*o*o*o*

Danny has no idea how long he slept, but he wakes up groggy and confused. When his head finally clears he looks at his watch. How long was he out? How much time does he have left?

To his surprise he was out for a good fourteen hours, the most sleep he's had since before he left Hawaii for his grandmother's funeral. He should be feeling sick by now, there should be symptoms. But all he feels is rested.

He scrubs his hands over his face, choking back a sob. He's still healthy. He's still Danny Williams. He can still get back home.

"Jem!" he calls, his voice rough. Her lack of response is enough to get him out of bed. He tells himself she's probably sleeping.

Necessity dictates a quick stop in the bathroom, and then he does a quick search of the upstairs rooms. No sign of Jem.

"This isn't the time to be funny!"

She's not downstairs either, and Danny sees that she's taken the car. There's no note, no indication of where she went or how long she's been gone. He's almost certain she didn't ditch him, but he doesn't like the idea of her out there on her own any better. She's too reckless by far, too reliant on her own sense of immortality and those stupid guns she wears.

Danny raids the kitchen while he waits. He knows better than to open the fridge; there's still spotty electricity but it's a safe bet that any food inside is spoiled. Instead he goes through the cabinets, sees what's available. There's a big can of baked beans and a box of crackers. It's not exactly gourmet cooking but it'll do well enough.

Danny's just started eating when he hears the car pull back into the driveway. He breathes out a sigh of relief and has to keep himself from rushing to the front door to make sure the teenage albatross around his neck is still in one piece. At least she has the decency to look guilty when she finds him at the kitchen table.

"Oh! I didn't think you'd be up."

"Which in no way excuses you from leaving without telling me where you were going. Not even so much as a note." Danny waves his spoon at her. "What if something happened to you? I wouldn't even know where to start looking!"

"Geez, chill out Jersey. I went on a supply run, it was no big deal." Jem sets the cloth grocery bag on the counter and starts pulling out medical supplies, boxes of cereal and Pop Tarts, and ammunition in neatly labeled boxes.

"No big deal, she says. What'd you do, rob a mini mall?"

"The stores were looted. I hit up some houses in the neighborhood."

Danny closes his eyes and counts to ten, but it doesn't do much for his rising blood pressure.

"You could've been killed! Don't ever fucking do that again! Stupid, stupid kid." Danny's building up a good head of steam, all his fears coming out as angry words, but then he sees that Jem is crying. Her shoulders jerk as she covers her face, her back pressed against the kitchen counter.

Danny hates girl tears.

He abandons his meal and goes to her, pulling her into a hug so tight he can feel every hitch in her breath. "Hey, it's okay. I'm not really mad, you just scared me."

"My mom used to get mad at me like that," Jem sniffles against his shoulder. "I miss her so much!"

"I know you do." Danny rubs her back. Jem hasn't talked about her parents. He assumes they were divorced.

"I called her a bitch. That's the last thing I ever said to my mom. I called her a bitch and slammed the door in her face, and then she was gone." Jem's voice is still thick with tears. Her arms are tight around Danny.

"What happened?" he asks softly.

"Looters. I stayed the night at my friend Lila's, and while I was gone looters came. They trashed our house. Took everything they could sell and destroyed the rest."

Danny doesn't want to hear the rest, he can imagine all too well what happened. Mob mentality can be a horrible thing, and people under the influence of it have been known to do things they'd never have considered if they were in their right minds.

"What happened to your mom?"

"I found her when I came home. She was on her bed. N-naked and bloody, all beat up. She died alone, thinking I h-hated her."

There are more tears. Danny can feel them soaking through his t-shirt. "She didn't think that, trust me. She knew you loved her, even when you argued. I'll bet the only thing she felt was gratitude that you weren't home, that you were spared what she had to go through."

They stand there a long time, Jem clinging to Danny while he silently rubs her back, and he hopes to hell that Grace has someone there to do this for her. Rachel and Stan haven't shown up on any of the survivor lists, and the rest of his team's whereabouts are unknown. He prays she's with someone who knows her.

Finally Jem pulls back and she looks like a deranged clown with the way her mascara has run. "Grace is lucky you're her dad."

Without another word she turns back to the task of unpacking. Danny reheats the beans and gets her a bowl. They'll eat and resupply, take a day or two to get some actual rest, and then make for Sheppard Air Force Base in Texas. Another opportunity to check the lists and get his name out there so his daughter knows he's still alive, still coming to be with her. Nothing can stop him now.

*o*o*o*

Steve sits in the bathtub under the shower, heedless of the hot water pounding down on him. He's not only in violation of his own three-minute shower rule but the rationing that's been instituted along with the rolling brownouts. And he doesn't give a damn.

He cradles his right hand, knuckles bruised and bleeding, possibly fractured, given how it's hurting. The shower tile he punched shows less damage. He doesn't know how he's going to explain this to Gracie.

It's been a week and still Danny hasn't shown up on any of the survivor lists out of Oklahoma. Grace insists that he just had to go in a different direction, and that he'll show up soon. Her faith in Danny never wavers. Steve wishes he could share that strength of feeling, but he's seen so much more than she has. He knows about the hopelessness of faith.

More importantly he knows Danny, and he would've checked in by now if he could. He knows how important it was that Grace knows where he is, which means something pretty bad has kept him from checking in, and none of the scenarios running through Steve's head are the least bit comforting.

There's a tentative knock on the bathroom door. "Daddy? Are you okay?"

Steve flinches guiltily at the sound of Gracie's voice. "I'll be out in a minute," he calls back. He needs to pull himself together. He has responsibilities here: to Grace, to the people on this base. He promised Danny he'd take care of his daughter and he has to man up and do it. Because if Danny can't be here then the only person she has is Steve.

He turns off the water and gets out of the tub. Drying off with one hand is difficult and he doesn't care about doing a good job. He remembers showering with Danny, something they don't do often because Steve's shower isn't really big enough for the two of them. The best part was always Danny toweling him off after, taking his time and handling Steve so carefully that the experience was almost more intimate than the sex that inevitably followed.

There's been a lot of loss in Steve's life. It kept him from getting too close, kept him from wanting anyone to be too deeply enmeshed in his life. But Danny…even from the first day, he'd burrowed in, made himself at home. And no matter what Steve did, how crazy he acted, it was never enough to chase Danny away.

Steve rests his forehead against the mirror and tries to swallow around the lump in his throat. He doesn't want to leave the bathroom, doesn't want Grace to see what he did to himself. And she'll see. He's pretty sure he needs medical attention for his hand.

Wild horses couldn't drag me away, Danny said once. Well, there were worse things than wild horses.

*o*o*o*

Sign on the outskirts of Des Moines, Iowa: Why have You forsaken us?

*o*o*o*

Danny's never been much for sleeping outdoors, especially at the age he is now, when stretching out on the rocky ground holds such little appeal. He doesn't have a choice this time, because the little town he and Jem were hoping to stop over in had been nothing but smoldering ashes. And driving at night is a dicey prospect because sometimes there are traps or obstacles that might be missed.

"You ever been camping before?" Jem asks. They'd picked up sleeping bags back in Lawton and she's stretched out on hers, arms behind her head as she gazes up at the night sky.

Even Danny has to admit that the view is amazing. The power outages are becoming more wide-spread, and so there's very little ambient light to detract from the vast star-swept expanse over their heads. There aren't any airplanes. The only lights in motion that Danny can see are from a satellite making its way around the Earth, beaming back information that no-one is probably even looking at.

"Yeah. My parents took my sisters and my brother and I when we were kids. It was a cheap vacation, especially for a big family." He pokes at the little campfire he'd made, which is mostly embers now.

"My dad wanted to take me once," Jem replies in a hushed voice. "I went skiing with friends instead. I wish I'd gone with him."

"Kids are selfish. Don't beat yourself up about it." Lord knew she had enough regrets for someone so young.

"I bet your daughter isn't." There's a tone to Jem's voice that Danny can't quite decipher.

"She can be, sometimes. When you're young it's hard to take the long view of things. You live in the moment. You want instant gratification. It doesn't make you bad, just…a teenager."

Silence spills between them for a while, and it's surprisingly comfortable. The dark is quiet – no traffic sounds, no electric hum from the nearby power lines – just the occasional chirp of a bat. It'll make it easy to hear any infected that might wander their way, though Danny hasn't seen any for more than a hundred miles or so.

When Jem finally breaks the silence her words take Danny by surprise. "What's gonna happen to me when we get to Hawaii?"

He knows what she's asking, and he's not certain how to answer. They've been through a lot together, and he can't imagine not having her around. Danny and Jem haven't talked about it, the fact that she's still traveling with him. All he knows is that he couldn't just dump her with strangers. He wouldn't want that for Grace, and he can't do it to Jem.

"I guess that's up to you," he says. "Grace would love to meet you."

"And your SEAL?"

"Definitely not. You're already too much alike, having you both together would probably kill me." Danny looks over at her and grins, so she knows he's just joking around. Jem smiles back, but it's tentative.

"It would be a shame to have to break in someone new," she says.

Danny hears what she doesn't say and nods in agreement. "Yeah. And where else am I going to get such quality traveling music? You've got me all hooked on…what's their name? Hole?"

That surprises a real laugh out of Jem, something Danny realizes he hasn't heard before – an honest belly laugh that's like the sun cutting through the darkness. It's a visceral reminder of how their lives have changed. There isn't much to laugh about these days.

"Get some sleep, kiddo. I've got first watch."

"Sir, yes Sir," Jem mouths off. She throws Danny a sloppy salute and turns on her side, back to him, and makes exaggerated snoring noises.

Danny throws a little stone at her, which bounces off her shoulder. Jem lets out a little snort of laughter.

"'Night, Jersey. Don't let the zombie bugs bite."

Danny rolls his eyes at the joke. Jem is full of sass, has been since he first picked her up on the side of the road, and he's grown accustomed to it. She's ohana now, and Danny wishes he could tell Steve about her.

"I love you, babe," Danny murmurs at the night sky. Maybe the warm Texas wind will carry his words to Steve.

*o*o*o*

Found painted on the side of a house in Detroit, Michigan

Former home of Kendra & Lionel Thompson & their sons Dante & Edward. We lived here, loved here. Died here. Don't let us be forgotten.

*o*o*o*

Steve runs past the look-alike houses on the base, differentiated only by their numbers. Families have doubled up as space allows, strangers forced to share the same homes. The MPs already have their hands full breaking up fights. Tensions are running high for everyone.

But in the early morning hours it's mostly quiet. There are others out there, the soles of their sneakers tapping a light cadence on the concrete as they loop around the island, but they don't talk to each other. He can't speak for the others, but Steve runs with the hope that physical activity will combat the dark thoughts in his head. It's not working very well.

Danny is still a no-show on the survivor lists. It's been over a week. Grace remains optimistic, but there's an almost manic edge to it that has Steve worried. He doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to hold her together when he's unraveling himself.

Steve stops to catch his breath. He's been pushing himself hard. He can see the Arizona Memorial from where he's standing, a familiar sight; his father used to bring him and Mary for regular visits, and tell them stories about their grandfather. The man Steve was named for died in battle. It always seemed so heroic, going down with his ship. Certainly preferable to the way Steve feels right now, dying by inches.

He takes his time walking back to the Lodge, nodding at the people he passes along the way. The island is waking up, the residents facing another day of uncertainty. The adults worry about rationing and power outages and over-crowding. But the kids come out to chase each other in games of tag, or toss a ball around, or tell each other silly jokes. Life goes on.

Steve's almost back to the Lodge when Laura Beeman calls him over to the admin building where she volunteers her time. He hesitates to attach any significance to her wanting to talk with him. She's probably just being friendly, or wanting to ask about Grace's availability since Grace often helps Laura with family searches and database updates.

"Commander!"

"You're up early," Steve says, offering the woman as much of a smile as he can.

"I found him. Your husband."

Steve just stares at her, and then looks around like Danny might be hanging back to surprise him. He's having a hard time remembering to breathe.

Laura puts her hand on his arm. "He showed up again, on the list from Sheppard Air Force Base. I wanted to let you know as soon as I saw it."

"You're sure?"

"Positive. I wouldn't tell you otherwise."

"Thank you." Steve pulls Laura it a hug, which makes her squeak in surprise. He holds on long after he should've let the poor woman go, trying to blink back the tears that are running down his face.

Danny's still alive. Nothing else matters.

*o*o*o*

Danny sees the stinger too late. He swerves but the right front tire catches on the spikes and punctures. The car skids off the road and onto the sandy shoulder. He automatically throws his arm to the side, bracing Jem in her seat as the Challenger bumps to a stop.

"Lock your door!" he snaps at her. He's reaching for the rifle when the passenger side window implodes.

"Get off me!"

All that Danny can see is a pair of arms coming through the broken window, one hand clutching a large knife. Something thuds against his own window, not quite hard enough to do more than crack it, and Danny uses those precious few seconds to grab the rifle and point it at Jem.

"Down!" he shouts. Jem grabs the lever and pushes her seat back. As soon as she's clear he fires. The arms withdraw but if there's any noise Danny can't hear it. His ears are ringing from the gunshot. He's aware of his window breaking as he's peppered with chunks of glass, and he can feel the knife that presses against his throat. The rifle is pulled from his hands and catches him painfully in the collarbone as it's yanked out the window.

"Out of the fuckin' car!"

That Danny can hear well enough. He sees Jem's hand drift down to her revolver and give her an abbreviated head shake. The worst thing she could do right now is to start shooting.

"We're coming out," he says loudly. "Don't shoot!"

Danny takes a moment to reach over and squeeze Jem's hand. She's visibly shaking, and he remembers what she told him about looters killing her mother. He mouths stay calm and she nods tremulously.

There are three men standing outside the car, and the one Danny shot is lying half in the road, bleeding out. They're all dirty, with scraggly facial hair and each wearing several layers of raggedy-looking clothes despite the heat. The tall, lanky one in the red flannel shirt has his filthy hands on Danny's rifle, and he's the one who speaks for the group.

"Where y'all going?" the guy asks. He sounds pleasant enough, as if he wasn't holding them at gun point.

"We're on our way to Cannon Air Force Base, looking for a safe place to crash. We don't want any trouble." Danny maintains eye contact, keeps his tone nice and even.

One of the other guys, built like a fireplug and wearing a long-sleeved camo shirt, is eyeing Jem in a way that makes Danny want to kick his teeth in. She slides closer to him and takes hold of his hand.

"Nice day for a drive."

"Until the flat tire."

"Sorry 'bout that," Lanky Guy says. He sounds almost apologetic. "This is a toll road now. People weren't followin' the signs, so we had to try somethin' different."

Danny doesn't like the sound of that. Luckily they'd stocked up in Wichita Falls and, while he'll hate to lose it all, it's not like they'll starve before they get to New Mexico.

"We have a lot of food," he says. "Trunk is full, if you want to check it."

"That's very kind of you." Lanky Guy nods. "Errol?"

The guy who'd been leering at Jem nods in her direction.

"My friend wants to know how much for the girl."

Jem moves closer to Danny until she's pressed up tight against him, her eyes wide. Danny shakes his head.

"No sale. You can have anything else."

"I want her," Errol says.

He grabs, Jem screams, and everything goes to hell. Negotiations are over. Danny taps into his inner McGarrett.

He charges Lanky Guy. He gets both hands on the rifle and they have a tug of war until Danny lifts his elbow and cracks the guy in the face. When his grip loosens Danny yanks the rifle out of his hands and smashes it in his face, right before sweeping his legs out from under him.

The third guy doesn't have a gun, but he does have a bat which he swings into Danny's back. Danny goes down on all fours, Jem's screams ringing in his ears. He tucks and rolls, bringing the rifle with him, and comes up firing, taking the guy in the leg and dropping him.

"Jersey!" Jem screams.

Danny whips his gaze around in time to see Jem hit the ground, blood streaming from her forehead.

He loses a bit of time after that.

When he comes back to himself he's breathing so hard his chest heaves, and his hands are bloody and sore. Two of the men are dead. Lanky Guy isn't, but he won't be going anywhere anytime soon.

"Jem?" Danny crawls to her, his bad knee screaming in protest. "Hey. You still with me kiddo?"

She starts to stir, which is a good sign, and he pokes carefully at the wound on her forehead. It's swollen, which he thinks is a good sign because that lessens the prospect of bleeding in her brain, but he doesn't know how hard she was hit, or with what. She probably has a concussion.

"That's right. Nice and easy."

Jem blinks up at him, eyes glazed. "Daddy?"

Danny's heart hurts. "No, sweetheart. It's me, Jersey."

"Jersey?"

"That's right. You hit that guy pretty hard with your face." That gains him a wavering smile. "I want you to stay put, okay? I'm going to get the first aid kit and patch you up, and them I'm going to see about changing that tire. Okay?"

"'kay," Jem says. She lifts her hand to the wound on her head but Danny pushes it back down.

"Don't touch. I'll be right back." He retrieves the first aid kit from the car.

"See? It's not so bad." Danny cleans her wound, internally wincing with every swab. It's swollen, the edges ragged, and blood is still weeping out of it. Jem barely reacts to it, which is also worrisome.

"Okay, let's get you up," he says as he applies the last butterfly bandage.

Jem clings to Danny, swaying and unsteady on her feet. He practically has to carry her back to the car, where he props her up long enough to brush the broken glass off the passenger seat.

"Okay, in you go. That's a good girl." He gets Jem situated, reclines the seat to make her as comfortable as possible, and then it's time to tackle the tire. There's no spare in the trunk, but there's a donut buried under boxes of supplies and that'll have to do until they get to the next stop, or a town where Danny can look around for a tire the right size.

"Just a few more minutes," he calls to Jem. "You still with me, kiddo?"

"Tired," is the weak response.

"I know. But try to stay awake for me, okay?"

"'kay."

Danny knows he's fighting a losing battle there. He hopes there's a decent medic at Cannon, because if anything happens to Jem he doesn't know what he'll do. She's his responsibility now.

He gets the donut on in record time, but Jem is passed out when he gets back in the car. He backs grimly out onto the road and gets them on their way again.

"Hang on, Jem," Danny says. He's holding her limp hand in his as he drives so he can make sure she still has a pulse. "Don't punk out on me now."

He thanks God that Grace is safe at Pearl.

*o*o*o*

Halawa was a clusterfuck.

Steve went in with a five man team, to assess the facility as a possible relocation site for the refugees at Hickam. The presence of the Navy wasn't welcome by the survivors inside the correctional facility, to say the least, which Steve had told Captain Erskine and Admiral Waverly was a strong possibility at the preliminary briefing.

A five man team, but only Steve and Wallace made it out alive.

He sits out on the beach, watching one of the patrol boats do a sweep. The rhythmic lapping of the water does little to soothe him, another comfort lost. He hasn't been back to the Lodge, isn't able to put on a brave face and pretend like everything's okay.

Steve wishes he'd fought Erskine harder, refused to let his team take part of the mission. He'd had a bad feeling about it from the beginning, but orders were orders.

He's tired of following orders that get good people killed. He's tired of all of it, exhausted down to his bones, and he doesn't think he has much left in him.

"Daddy Steve, are you okay?" Grace sits next to him, presses up close. He should've known she'd find him.

He shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak. He feels numb all over, except for the points of contact with Grace. He can't even look at her, and he tells himself it's because he doesn't want her to see the hopelessness in his eyes.

"Did something bad happen?"

Steve nods, his thoughts still inside Halawa, until Grace asks her next question in a tremulous voice.

"Is it Danno?"

"No! No, sweetheart. It has nothing to do with Danny." Steve finds his voice, wraps his arm around Grace's thin shoulders and holds her tight. She curls against him and he can feel her tears through his shirt. His own eyes burn with them.

They sit like that for a long while, the only sounds that of the patrol boat, and a distant pick-up baseball game being played in the park. It's all so normal, so removed from what's happened, that it leaves Steve feeling outside his body in a way that's a little scary.

"You need to find Danno," Grace says finally.

Steve wants that, more than anything, but as always it's his job to keep Grace rooted in reality. "You know I can't –"

"Yes you can! You always find each other. Don't you remember?"

Of course he remembers. The image of Danny peering under that tarp in North Korea would be forever branded in his mind, proof positive that Steve could trust the man with his life. Truth is, he's trusted Danny with so much more than that. So much so that he's felt completely untethered without him all these months.

"We need him," Gracie says softly, her hands fisted in Steve's shirt. "You're the only one who can do it."

She has so much faith in him. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat. Grace is right, of course. He doesn't know how much longer he can do the work he's supposed to do.

He'll talk to Waverly. Get himself on the next supply plane before it heads back to the mainland. He'll do what Grace has asked, for both of them.

"I'll find a way," he promises. "No matter what, I'll find a way."

*o*o*o*

Danny is exhausted. He feels it in under his skin, deep in his bones. The temptation to stop and hole up somewhere for a while is overpowering. A rest, a chance to drop his guard just a little and get out of the damned car. He'd sell his soul for a hot shower and a chance to shave off the full beard that's grown in.

The Challenger got left behind in New Mexico. Danny chose something sturdier, a tank of a truck with a covered bed and dual rear wheels, plus a brush guard on the front.

"God, I hate it out here," Jem complains from the passenger seat. She has her feet, clad in bright green Converse, on the dashboard and Danny can't remember ever being that flexible. "Why is everything so flat?"

"We have a good sightline," Danny points out. "We can see trouble coming."

"Whoopee for trouble." Jem rolls her eyes, but her hand snakes over to touch the barrel of the semi-automatic tactical rifle they picked up after the incident with the roadside bandits. She still wears the two revolvers, but the rifle makes her feel a bit more secure.

Danny rubs his eyes with one hand. He's been sleeping for crap, plagued with nightmares every time he closes his eyes. Worrying about Jem hasn't helped. He keeps telling himself that all that matters is she's still with him, and they're still heading west. Still heading home.

State Route 40 has been mostly clear since Winslow. There isn't much out here besides rocks and dirt, though in the distance he can see the mountains which hold their next destination: Flagstaff and Camp Navajo, where they can hopefully resupply before the last leg of their trip. Once they get to Edwards AFB Danny just has to talk his way onto a transport bound for Hawaii.

"So close," he mutters to himself. And yet it feels as if he'll never get there, that he might just be driving from now until the end of time, and given the state of things these days that might not be too long.

"Anything you want to share with the class, Jersey?"

"Zip it," Danny snaps back. Jem might not be the only one acting out.

They drive another hour or so in silence; the MP3 player finally gave up the ghost days ago, and listening to Jem hum under her breath is preferable to the crazy people still broadcasting on the radio.

Danny's pretty much driving on autopilot, his thoughts miles away, when Jem suddenly sits up, feet dropping off the dashboard. "Trouble," she says grimly, pointing.

One mile past signs for an RV park the road is littered with RVs, campers, trucks and cars, scattered around like children's toys dumped out of a box. As Danny gets closer he sees there's an off-ramp, likewise clogged with abandoned vehicles.

"Shit!" Danny curses and brings the truck to a stop.

"Can we go offroad?" Jem asks, hanging out her window.

"I don't know if we can risk it, even in a dually." The terrain is rough and rocky, and littered with scrubby brush.

"Can we risk checking out those RVs? We could use a resupply." Jem already has the rifle in hand, an eager look on her face. If Danny didn't know better, he'd swear she was spoiling for a fight. Maybe she just wanted to get back a little of the confidence those assholes in Texas took from her.

"They've probably already been looted," Danny says.

"Maybe."

"Could be infected roaming around in there."

"Probably."

Danny taps his fingers on the steering wheel. It's true they need supplies. He doesn't anticipate that the next base is going to have anything extra to give them, not with everyone rationing. Electricity is spotty, which means that gas is getting harder to come by. What are the chances that some of these vehicles still have gas in the tank?

"Come on, Jersey." Jem makes puppy dog eyes at Danny. "Maybe we'll find some beer."

"You're too young for beer."

"It's the end of the world and you're still trying to be a cop. Do you realize how ridiculous that is?"

Danny jabs a finger at Jem. "First of all, it's not the end of the world. Second of all, I'm not being a cop, I'm being a dad."

For the briefest moment all expression slides right off Jem's face, but before Danny can say anything she's unbuckling her seat belt and climbing out of the truck, rifle in hand. "Let's go."

There's no sense calling her back, she wouldn't listen anyway. Danny sighs and turns off the engine. He pockets the keys, checks the clip on his Glock, and hurries to catch up with Jem.

"Hey." He grabs hold of her elbow and swings her around to face him. "We stick together, or did you forget that rule already?"

Jem scowls at him. "You're not my father."

"I'm well aware of that." And really, are they having this conversation again?

"Then stop acting like it!" She wrenches her arm out of his grip, pink ponytails swinging. "My dad may have been a deadbeat jerk, but he was mine. Got it?"

"I'm not trying to replace your dad," Danny says patiently. "So drop the attitude, and stay alert. We can talk about this later."

"Nothing to talk about," Jem mutters. But she sticks with Danny as they approach the first RV, one of those oversized house-on-wheels things with the retractable rooms. It has Idaho plates – famous potatoes – and both side doors are hanging open.

"Nice and easy," Danny whispers.

He goes in first, Glock up and braced as if he's clearing a crime scene. The inside of the RV is trashed, cabinet doors hanging open and everything of value clearly removed. There's a body sprawled face-down on the floor in an advanced state of decay, though the huge hole in the back of skull is a pretty good indicator of cause of death.

"Nothing here," Jem says, looking everywhere but at the body. "Scavengers picked it clean."

The next two RVs are the same, and now Danny's worried. Going farther into the snarl of vehicles is a calculated risk. There could be infected in there, or more crazy people who are likely to shoot first and ask questions never. Then again, that's exactly the reason why the campers closer to the middle of the cluster could contain the supplies they need.

"There could be Twinkies," Jem says. "Or cheese curls. I miss cheese curls."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, junk food girl." But Danny presses on anyway, alert for the slightest sound.

It's hot out on the blacktop. The air shimmers just enough to be distracting. There's no hint of a breeze, but the smell of dead flesh carries anyway. Danny wonders what happened here, how all these campers and cars ended up stranded. They couldn't all have run out of gas, but maybe at the front of the pack there was an accident or something.

Jem approaches the next camper, this one a shiny silver Airstream attached to a matching silver pick-up. There's only one door and she nods to Danny before she yanks it open, using the open door as a shield. It's a good thing she does.

Two infected come tumbling out. Danny's sickened but not surprised to see that they're kids. They look like mummies after being sealed up in a hot box for God knows how long but they're quick on their feet regardless. Danny is faster. He gets off two quick headshots and drops them before Jem can even get in position to fire.

"Fuck," Danny says. The shots woke up other infected, he can hear them coming. "We have to go!"

"What about –?"

"No time! Come on, move it!"

But it's already too late. There are four infected behind them, blocking their path back to the truck. Jem shoots at them with the semi-automatic, and Danny winces at the sound bouncing off the metal of the RVs and trucks and echoing incredibly loudly. She only takes one down. The rest are body shots. She's better with the revolvers.

"Aim for their heads!" Danny yells. He takes two down, but now more are coming behind the fallen and it sounds like others are headed their way from the left.

"Go, go, go!" Danny grabs Jem and shoves her ahead of him. They run, dodging around a minivan and a Jeep with kayaks strapped to the top.

There's no way to get a good visual from the ground, no way to plot a path around the infected and back to the truck. Danny pops another one in the forehead, an older man whose skin is burnt and cracked from the sun.

"Up! We need to get up!" Danny scrambles onto the bed of a pickup then grabs Jem by the hand and hauls her after him. It's not high enough, even when he stands on top of the cab. But up ahead there's a huge luxury land yacht with a ladder bolted to the back. "There!"

They make for the RV, picking their way from vehicle to vehicle because the infected aren't coordinated enough to climb. Which doesn't mean they can't grab. One latches on to Danny's ankle and sends him sprawling across the burning hot hood of a Subaru.

"Stay down!" Jem fires, reducing the infected's head to pulp. Danny's gorge rises when he feels the spray of blood and brains splash hot on his jeans, but there's no time to waste on feeling disgusted.

They scramble across two more cars before they finally reach the RV. Jem makes a leap for the ladder like she's in some damned action movie. For a second it looks like she'll fall, and Danny's still choking on his heart when she manages to pull herself up. But the rifle clatters to the asphalt.

"Shit! The gun!"

"Forget the gun! Start climbing!"

Danny races up the ladder after her onto the roof of the RV. There are vents for the AC and the stove, but it's flat and high enough to give Danny a better view of the surrounding area. He's almost sorry to have such a good vantage point now.

The area is lousy with infected. He's never seen so many outside of a city, and they're all converging on the RV. Every pathway they have back to the truck has been cut off. They could try going from RV roof to RV roof, but most of them aren't close enough together. Jem wouldn't make it.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I dropped it!" Jem has her revolvers out, but the distress on her face is clear.

"There're too many of them anyway," Danny says.

The RV starts to rock as the infected pound against the side of it, growling and moaning and gnashing their teeth. Danny thinks this is how they're going to die, stuck up on the roof in the blazing sun with no water. He can feel the hot metal through the soles of his shoes.

"What do we do, Jersey?"

"We wait."

He thinks maybe the infected will shamble off once they realize they can't get at the fresh meat. And as the afternoon crawls into evening, some around the fringes of the crowd do wander off. But the bulk of them stay, scrabbling at the sides of the RV. Danny keeps a close eye on the ladder, and shoots one infected that looks like he's trying to work out the whole climbing thing.

By the time the sun starts to sink over the mountains he's completely wrung out. Exhausted and heartsick. They tried breaking into the RV, through the vents and then through the windows, but they might as well be camped out atop a Sherman tank.

Danny kept Jem from stripping down because sunburn is just as big a threat as the heat itself, and now she looks thoroughly defeated. She sits on one of the vents, elbows on her thighs and guns dangling in her limp hands.

"This is where it all ends, isn't it."

Danny wishes he had a handy platitude to offer, but it would just ring false. They were so close. A day's drive from California, at the most.

"I'm sorry you won't get to see Grace again."

Danny drops down on the same vent, so they're back to back. He doesn't want to think about that. "It's not over till it's over." Maybe the infected will wander off when night falls.

Jem just sighs.

Silence falls between them, broken only by the groans and moans and growls of the infected as they continue their assault on the RV. But after a while something else seeps into the edges of Danny's awareness, a buzzing like a bee or a gnat. He absently runs his hand through the air next to his ear, but the buzzing only gets louder.

It's Jem who recognizes the sound for what it is and jumps to her feet. "Jersey! A helicopter!"

"We need to get their attention," he says, looking around. Like he's going to see anything other than an RV roof and Jem.

"Can you shoot a gas tank?" Jem asks, her face alight with excitement and hope once again. "That would definitely get them to see us."

"Won't work. I saw it on Mythbusters." Still, she might be on to something. "Give me the Zippo."

Jem produces the silver lighter from her pocket. "What are we setting on fire?"

"Ourselves." Danny pulls his shirt up over his head and yanks off his undershirt as well. He's thankful for the dry heat, since it means their clothes aren't soaking.

Jem unbuttons the flashy purple top she was so proud of finding and hands it over, completely unselfconscious standing there in just shorts and a bright pink bra. Danny knots everything together and then holds out a bit of the end.

"Light it up," he says.

Which, had this been an action film, would've resulted in an immediate and very dramatic blaze. Instead, the cloth starts to smolder. Jem blows on it, little puffy breaths, until a flame finally catches. The smell isn't great, but the excessive smoke is just what they need. Danny sets the burning shirts at the front of the RV roof, standing as far out of the smoke cloud as possible.

"Come on. See it. See it!"

They lose visual on the chopper as the smoke cloud thickens, but Danny can hear it still coming closer and prays harder than he'd ever prayed in his life. Jem reaches over and takes hold of his hand, eyes squinted against the smoke.

If they were in the movies, Ride of the Valkyries would be playing as the chopper opens fire on the infected. The .50 caliber rounds are a bit too close for Danny's comfort, but he appreciates the gesture even as the RV sways violently as it takes a hit.

The chopper flies overhead, blades sending the smoke from the clothing fire into a swirl that has both Danny and Jem choking. Still, Danny keeps an eye on it – he's pretty sure it's an Apache – and watches as it banks left and comes back around again. A rope ladder drops out and dangles below it as it draws closer.

Grab on and climb up, a voice calls out over the speaker. Even tinny and echoey as it is, Danny would recognize it anywhere. He just stands there dumbly, staring at the incoming chopper, his heart pounding in his chest.

"Jersey? You okay?"

Danny shakes his head, or thinks he does. He hears himself say, "Steve. It's Steve."

"Steve the SEAL? That Steve? Holy crap."

Danny can't argue with that sentiment. Steve, alive and well and pulling Danny's ass out of the fire.

He snaps out of his fugue when the ladder comes in range. He pushes Jem at it first, and it's hard to see with the chopper hovering there buffeting them with wind and smoke, but somehow they both make it up the ladder. There's a guy in fatigues waiting to help them in, but when he tries to direct Danny to one of the bench seats he just shakes his head and makes for the co-pilot seat.

"Sir, you need to –" Steve starts to say, but then he looks at Danny and his eyes widen comically. "Danny?"

"Thanks for not shooting us," Danny says, and he leans in and kisses Steve, heedless of the bulky helmet or the little mouthpiece that gets pushed up and pokes him in the cheek.

He thinks maybe this is a dream, a hallucination brought on by dehydration and inevitable death, but then Steve is kissing him back and making broken noises in the back of his throat.

"Danny, Danny," Steve says, pulling back. "Jesus. I can't believe I found you."

"You're a bonafide God-damned hero, McGarrett." Danny clutches at him. "Can we please go home now?"

Steve smiles at him, bright and beautiful despite the tears in his eyes. He readjusts his mic. "Oren! Get these two secured. We're heading out."

Danny lets himself be pulled back, strapped in. Jem already has a bottle of water she's greedily chugging, and Oren gets him one, as well as a Power Bar, which just might be the best thing he's ever eaten. He shares a wide grin with Jem.

He's finally going home.

*o*o*o*

Message relayed over the Emergency Broadcast Network

A vaccination has been found for the SM-9 virus. Supplies will be delivered to secure locations in each state and inoculations provided to all uninfected citizens. If you are not at a secure location now, please get to one immediately. Further details will be provided for each state. Stay tuned.

Repeat. A vaccination has been found for the SM-9 virus. Supplies will be delivered…

*o*o*o*

Epilogue

Steve jerks awake, a cry on his lips and his heart pounding in his chest. His disorientation is only momentary, because in the next second Danny has a hand splayed across Steve's chest and is murmuring comfortingly in his ear.

"It's okay. You're okay. Breathe for me, babe."

His turns his head to see if he's woken Gracie, and the disorientation swirls back in, making him dizzy. Her bed isn't there.

"Grace?"

Danny lays his hand on the side of Steve's face, turns his head back. "Look at me, Steve. Do you know where you are?"

Steve licks his lips, and finally the noise in his head starts to subside. "Home," he says finally.

"That's good. Keep breathing."

He does as Danny asks, pulling in deep breaths until the fear melts away. They've only been back in their house ten days, most of that time spent cleaning and airing it out. Steve washed the blood off the siding while Danny watched and asked questions, and listened.

It's been hard, readjusting to life off the base. Even though no-one's spotted an infected person in over a month it doesn't make Steve any less jumpy when the girls are outside, or when he doesn't have Danny in his immediate sightline. The thing that makes it bearable, besides the fact that they're all together, is that he's not alone in his struggle.

Danny suffers less from nightmares, but he's become even more tactile than he ever had been before the world went to hell. Sometimes he's downright clingy, not that Steve would ever say anything about it.

"You want to talk about it?" Danny asks once Steve has himself more or less under control.

"No."

"Okay. We can save that for later."

Steve knows that they will. Danny doesn't let him get away with anything, and until they can get some proper counseling all they have is each other.

"Go check," Danny says. "I'll wait."

He leans over and gives Steve a quick kiss before Steve gets out of bed and pads down the hall. It helps, after the nightmares, to check in on the girls and make sure they're really okay.

Grace and Jem are bunking in together, though the room really isn't big enough to accommodate the both of them. The bunk bed they acquired is just a temporary fix until they can take down the wall between this room and the bedroom that used to be Steve's when he was a kid. The girls don't want to sleep alone.

By the weak light from the solar-powered lamps he can see that Grace is curled up on the bottom bunk, only the top of her head visible under the blankets. Jem, not surprisingly, is sitting up on the top bunk with her arms wrapped around her legs. She blinks owlishly down at Steve until he motions her to come out so they can have a hushed conversation in the hall.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

Jem shrugs. "Can't sleep. You?"

"Bad dreams." Steve tries to sound nonchalant about it. He and Danny decided not to pretend with the girls, no putting up a false front, so they'd feel comfortable expressing their own fears. It's not a weakness, trying to come to grips with what's happened.

"Yeah." Jem looks so young with her pink hair in pigtails and all the makeup scrubbed from her face.

"You still want to start surfing lessons tomorrow?"

"You don't have to." Jem shrugs like it doesn't matter, though even Steve can tell how much she wants to learn. She's still on her best behavior with him, like he'll throw her out if she makes too big a nuisance of herself.

"I want to." Steve tugs on one of her braids. "If Danny teaches you he'll make sure you never get off the beach."

That gets a little smile out of her. She constantly sasses Danny, teases him, but Steve can see how much she cares for him, how her words hide the hero worship that lives in her eyes.

"You want to talk?" Steve offers. "We could sit outside."

Jem shakes her head. "Nah, I'm good. But thanks."

"Okay. Try to get some sleep, I don't want you falling off the board because you're too tired." Acting on instinct, Steve leans in and presses a kiss to her forehead. Jem stares at him with wide eyes and blushes before hastily retreating back to the bedroom.

"Jem?" Danny asks when Steve slides back under the covers and curls up next to him.

"Yeah."

"She'll settle in. It's an adjustment." Danny sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

"She will. She's ohana now, Danny. Even if she wanted to leave, I don't think she could. Not without you."

"Well, good." He curls his arm around Steve's shoulders. "We'll be okay."

Steve knows they will be. There are only two other families in the neighborhood right now, electricity is still spotty, and it's going to take the country a very long time to recover from the devastating effects of the SM-9 virus. But it will recover, they all will. Tomorrow there'll be surfing on what's likely to be an empty beach, and as soon as Kono and Chin finish bringing their extended family out of the jungle Five-0 will be back in business to make sure that, in Hawaii at least, the transition back to normal life goes as seamlessly as possible.

"Love you," Danny murmurs, already half asleep.

Steve curls in even closer, one leg thrown over Danny's, the comforting thump of Danny's heartbeat in his ear.

"Love you too."

---

AN: This fic has been a long, long time coming. I've worked on it in fits and starts, and then decided that, in honor of Monster Fest on the You Should Be Writing comm on LJ, it was time to finish this bad boy up.

Thanks to wrathchilde for his help with plot points and zombie details, and for inspiring this story after having spent a day listening to him and my son discuss their in-depth plans for the zombie apocalypse.

Super special thanks to Taste-is-Sweet for her beta work on this. Some of her recommendations were difficult – so many words deleted, you don't even know – but as always, she helped make this a better story and I'm incredibly grateful for her assistance.