X.

Food runs out, and soon water as well. The days moved as if like a haze and Katya isn't quite sure where she is moving to anymore. Each night she stares at the north star, still shining bright in the black sky, and repeats this endless mantra to herself.

North, north, north... her words blend into a pile of jumbled words and thoughts, memories of happier times, and of blood, fear, all mixed together. It hurt to think.

She spies a pair of corpses on an old footpath rotting. The stench was unbearable, with flies buzzing around the bodies. Katya wanted to be sick, except she had nothing left to throw up. Stumbling away, she shuddered as the wind blew against her frame. Her once healthy figure had turned skinny, and even the axe she carried felt like a deadweight.

How pathetic. She would never survive a fight with an infected in her current state. Lucky then, for they didn't like the cold and ventured north less.

As she moved sluggishly up the grassy terrain, something cold lands on her nose. Gazing upwards, Katya could only sigh at the white fluff falling from the skies. The air is cold, and she wonders if the dust was hiding behind the illusion of grey clouds.

The act of enshrouding. She would not be surprised if the dust was malicious enough to achieve that.

XI.

Winter comes, but so does luck.

She finds a cabin the middle of the woods, concealed by hills and trees. A good location to hide from. Still, something nags at the back of her mind, warning her muddled brain to be careful, and its only when she moves closer that she understands why.

The cabin was silent, eerily so, and the interior dark. Crows and ravens fluttered about the premises, their caws jubilant as they pecked at unseen scraps of nourishment.

Pushing the door of the cabin apart gently, Katya felt her frame tensed at the scene. Blood stained the walls, and the lingering smell of death and gun powder covered the room like dust. There had been a fight, and infected or not, someone had been hurt, badly.

A sheet of paper on the table caught her eye, fluttering against the chill emanating from the opened door. By Hermine, it read, Papa, Mama and I- the rest of the paper was covered in dried blood, though pieces of a drawing could be seen.

Setting the drawing down, Katya searched the cabin for supplies-please any food would do-and lady luck must have been smiling for she does.

Pushing the dozen or so packets of dried meat strips into her bag, she manages a giddy smile. The tap water still works, so after she has drunk her fill, she swiftly replenished her supply and headed for the door. Stealing feels like second nature to her now, and she must if she is to survive.

The crows' caws echoes long after she has left the cabin, but Katya worries not. The prospect of having food makes her smile, and suddenly winter doesn't seem so menacing after all.

Despite the cold, she sleeps warm and full that night.

XII.

The days only get longer and colder, and Katya finds it harder and harder to travel and gain ground every passing sunrise. Her body numbs, and frostbite pushes up to make the top of her potential danger list.

Infected sightings have dwindled somewhat, but Katya knew better; they were still lurking out there, monsters stagnant in the cold. But it was so hard, so very hard to even think of protecting herself when the cold threatened to suffocate her very being.

She fights, tries to build fires, to gain any semblance to warmth she could find. But the harsh winds blew so hard, and the snow soiled the wood so that even a spark was hard to produce.

For the first time since the day she ran, Katya finds herself wanting to give up.

Every step was pure torture, and the wind, so strong and cold. Her mind coaxed her to stop, to simply cease movement and rest, sleep for an eternity. But her body continued to push her forward, one step and then another and it hurts but why can't I stop..?

Katya shudders-so cold..-and finds herself as a child again, helpless and weak, wanting the tears to fall but no, that would be weakness and I have to be strong for beloved Van-.

Ah, there it is again. An image of her siblings flashed pass her mind and Katya became vaguely aware that she was stumbling, stumbling forward, legs frozen solid but still moving and how could she have thought of giving up when they wouldn't have wanted her to but I'm so sorry and it hurts so, so much-

In her delirious mind she thinks she sees a light in the distance. A fuzzy little orange thing that flickered in and out in size and couldn't seem to focus properly. She makes a last ditch effort for the light, trembling hand stretching for it, and then feels it, the warmth. Gentle warmth. Salvation.

She stumbles clumsily towards the warmth and heat, hands slipping their hold on her axe, and falls. Soft and comfortable, so sleepy. In her last moments of consciousness she thinks she hears someone yelling her name worriedly, not woman or you but her name, her name from long ago.

Ukraine.

XIII.

She surfaces once during the long hours between blackness and dreams. Blurry images and flickering warmth brushed against her tired frame. Barely hanging on to reality.

A hand had brushed against the cloth on her forehead, lightly, comforting.

Sleep, the voice said. Gentle, quiet. Katya slipped back into darkness.

XIV.

She was still warm when she woke up, an extra coat tucked tightly around her body. The fire was out, though its core still simmered with sparks that stubbornly refused to be put out by the chilling wind.

Katya gently shook herself from the coat bundle, hissing at the sting of the cold air. A travelling bag laid on the ground beside her, a sniper rifle placed neatly beside it. An overhang formed and neatly put together by stone sheltered her from most of winter's wrath. Scanning the small refuge, she found her axe and bag in a neat pile beside her.

The sound of crunching footsteps alerted her, and she placed one hand tentatively on the sturdy handle, waiting. Snow fell from the overhang as a person, a man, entered the tiny space, crouching to sit by the fireplace.

You are awake, he smiled at her, familiar and not at all afraid. The tired weary tone in his voice unnerved her, and she swallowed heavily as she regarded him warily.

Do I know you?

He laughed quietly at her unsettled form, placing the rifle he donned down and lifting up the hood of his coat. Don't you remember me Ukraine? She breathed sharply then, hardly daring to believe it. His violet eyes, so familiar from those distant meetings so long ago, blinked at her, weary and happy all at once, and Katya could only whisper out his name as though any louder would result in his disappearance.

Finland?

It's just Tino now, he smiles sadly.

XV.

It was those days when winter was harshest, and they stayed in the overhang all day, it was those days when Tino could not hunt game and they had to live off her dried meat that Katya found out about his circumstances.

He had been with Sweden-Berwald when the pestilence came. The attack was fast, swift. By day's end half of the Nordic regions had been affected. They had run, footprints leaving the stench of sickness behind them.

It takes three days for him to feel himself starting to break apart. The day Finland was no more, he lost Berwald to a surprise wave of dust. Separated, alone. He had wandered the land for his brothers, for any resistant. The next time he laid eyes on the former, it was on Iceland's rotting corpse.

He had lost himself then, turned away from civilisation and went into the mountains. Killing sprees, massacres, he'd done them all. An one-man army. It was only weeks after then could he get any coherent thought into his head. There had been news, rumours that the East had a refugee camp free from the pestilence. He would go there, attempt to find any nation that had made it.

Tino's eyes had been broken, so broken as he relayed his tale. But Katya's had mirrored his as she did the same. At the end, the shelter beneath the overhang had been silent, the both of them full of words too heavy to ever speak them aloud.

Their hands found each others' that night, the clothed digits subconsciously curling around the other tightly. Reassuring, to comfort for things too late.

It happens again the night after, and the ones after that. If they are aware, they do not speak of it.

XVI.

They leave once the coldest days have made their mark. Snow, fresh, still falls, but lighter now, different from those previous that had darkness and heaviness tinged on the tiny flakes.

Dried meat was long gone, so they resolve to eating bark of the thin pines. At night Tino builds fires, and Katya falls asleep to the comforting crackle. In day, their bodies buckle under the weight of their cloaks and coats as they trekked, their weapons slung over slumped shoulders.

They never stopped moving.

Katya spots them sometimes; tiny slivers of gold and ugly yellow staring at them from high above the green, between rocks and stones that form cliffs arcing into the mountainside. She keeps her axe close as the evasive gazes glittered at her, watching, waiting. The predator and the supposed prey.

When they come during the night, invisible limbs rustling the leaves softly, she pounces. The tables turn, and the creatures retreat, hungry and defeated. That night, the both of them feasted on wolves. They did not stay long enough to linger, the traces of blood and echo of gun shots still in the air enough to attract others, whether animal, survivor, or infected.

When dawn comes, they find a crack in the cliff wall to rest in. They sleep, shoulder to shoulder, one hand on their weapons. Katya doesn't wake up until the sun rises again, a ball of dusty yellow in the dust-covered sky.

XVII.

They reached Germany's borders one week later. Houses were long deserted, abandoned for ruin, and nature had begun to reclaim what once was hers. Katya couldn't begin to imagine what the cities look like. They search for nourishment, and though the notion of eating stale grain would have, once upon a time, made her sigh, she is nothing but thankful now.

Tino didn't like the thought of them going further into Europe, but his insistent pleas that they leave fell on deaf ears.

It will get worse, Katya. If any of us had a good sense of mind, they would move as far away from here as they can.

We still have to try. I cannot leave without making sure... I don't want to regret it. The thought of anyone else trapped and cornered by infected made her stomach heave.

The smell of the decayed grow even stronger as they persisted. By day four Katya has lost count of the amount of infected that met the end from her curved weapon. She was tired. Tino wasn't doing too well either.

As she waits for him to gather up spare ammunition in a warehouse, she presses her forehead against the cool surface of the helve and closes her eyes.

She starts breaking.

XVIII.

The cry had attracted them at first, pained and woeful.

By the time Katya and Tino had reached the hills, the silhouette stood stark against the white sky. The figure turned slowly, tears dripping from his cheeks and arms cradling a body, and she had to suck in a breath to prevent her tears from spilling.

Even from a distance, the personification of Switzerland looked impossibly heartbroken. His hair was matted, and clothing dirt-streaked and bloodstained, but it was what Katya saw in his eyes that made her freeze up and hesitate to call out.

His eyes burned with anguished fire, glittering pinpricks of starlight hardening the emerald orbs. Vash gave another agonized cry as he placed the load in his arms gently on the ground. He looked up once, emerald meeting blue, before turning tail from his spot.

The next moments were a blur.

Katya was dimly aware she was running, the figure of Vash disappearing within her view. The hill felt impossibly steep, and no matter how fast she moved, she could not move fast enough. Her cry came out hoarse, desperate, but the pursued showed no sign of stopping.

Higher, faster, Katya ran until she reached the top. Her eyes dropped to the body lying on the grass, and her head instantly spun. No, no, no! Feet grounded to a halt behind her, and she heard Tino biting back a curse.

Knees buckle as a pair of footsteps started again. Katya refused to acknowledge the sleeping figure beside her. Because she's only sleeping right? ...Right?

Dull white stare up at her in a glazed fashion, foam at the mouth and wound on the chest. Blood continued its path to stain the fabric red. One look at the deathly pale skin and the familiar soulless eyes, one glance at dust-crusted fingernails, and Katya knew. Knew and yet...

Beyond the incline, she hears rustling and muffled shouts, and lifted her head up warily. A gunshot echoes, and her whole world turns grey.


A/N

So, cliffhanger haha.

Do you love Finland? I sure do. Do you love Switz? Yup, I do too. Will they die? Eh, you will have to wait and see hmm? B)