They'd been evacuated.

Finally, they could rest without worrying about zombies clawing them up, or the tell-tale growls, or a slippery tongue cutting off their breaths. No worries about finding first-aid kits, defibrillators, no need to worry about dying. Of course, they still had to be on their tiptoes, because all around the seemingly fort-like evac-station, the screams and cries from those unlucky enough(or lucky enough..?) to get infected were still heard everyday. Gunshots were still heard every day. Death was not done yet.

But that didn't matter now. They were safe, and that's all that mattered to them right now. They would be okay.

Or so they thought. Not even hours after they'd gotten 'saved', one of them disappeared. Vanished. Probably never meant to be seen ever again. The remaining three had been questioned, interrogated, because they had known him. They could've known what could've driven him to do it. Perhaps he'd been a carrier? Perhaps he knew more about the flu? But none of them could give the answers they sought. None of them knew. And all of them wondered why he'd done it.

Had he really been a carrier? And if he'd been, had he known for long? Maybe from the very beginning? Maybe just a few moments ago, before he took back the gun they'd taken from him and shot himself through the head?

Ellis was the last one they'd questioned, and almost every single question they'd asked him had gotten answered with a shrug and a "I don't know.". They'd left him in the small room, left him to his own devices and his own thoughts. And being left alone with your thoughts after such a thing was never a good idea. The originally so cheerful and optimistic mechanic stared dully at the table he was sitting behind, before his remaining .. 'family' members came to get him out of that room. To get him to sleep, forget about the pain from losing almost everything for just a small moment. To forget the question of 'why', while the two elders stayed awake and remained silent throughout the entire while as they remained in their own tent, people moving about outside; Helicopters arriving; Family reuniting, or getting torn apart. It became part of their life, as if they'd never known anything else. It was how it was.

His body had been taken away, burned to ash out in the desert-like surroundings, the ash collected and isolated away, in fear of contamination, for more infected. Men with gasmasks returned after that, never taking off their gasmasks as they collected the new load of people they would most likely shoot and burn as well. Carriers were not appreciated, and Coach had once muttered to his remaining dysfunctional family that they, too, might be taken away sooner or later. Rochelle had waved it away, casting a glance in Ellis' direction.

It had been five days since Nick had died, and they still hadn't gotten over it; Still hadn't accepted it; Still didn't know the answers to all the 'why's.

Maybe they'd never know why he'd done it. Dead men don't talk, after all.