A/N: This is an AU from near the end of the movie 28 Weeks Later with Jeremy Renner's character Sergeant Doyle. Spoilers for 28 Days Later… and 28 Weeks Later…

~Sandy

28 Weeks Later

One More Chance

Chapter 2

The last thing Doyle remembered before waking up in the hospital was pushing the car to get it started so Major Levy could take the kids to Wembley Stadium where Flynn would fly them out of the country. He hadn't wanted to leave them to travel alone. To him it was tantamount to abandoning his post. Something he'd already done. Getting them out of the city by any means possible was the only way he could make up for disobeying orders. If he'd died in the process, it was a fitting punishment, but apparently that hadn't happened.

He remembered hearing the car start, feeling it jump when Scarlet let out the clutch and roar into life as she drove away. Next came the excruciating pain of being burned then nothing until just a few minutes ago. The fuzziness around the edges told him he'd been heavily medicated.

Unable to completely focus his mind on what was going on, Doyle continued to glare at the doctor as if he were solely responsible for Doyle's current condition. The doctor was maybe five ten, dark hair sprinkled with gray and a calm, confident demeanor. Not arrogant like most doctors, but Doyle didn't let that stop him from demanding answers.

"Any questions before I go?"

"Yeah." Crossing his arms, Doyle sent a glare in Max's direction. "Who the **** are you and where the **** are we?"

To Doyle's surprise, the doctor chuckled at the obscenities, not even pretending to be shocked. "Don't let Ruby hear you swearing in front of the younger members of our little group or she'll tell you a thing or two.

"I'm Dr. Max Price, by the way. Call me Max. I'm a doctor of, well, everything at the moment. We're hiding out in the basement of an abandoned hospital about twenty kilometers outside the kill zone I think you military types call it."

"Kill zone? Does that mean…"

"'Fraid so. We got out of London a couple of hours before it was bombed. There's nothing left."

Doyle couldn't find a memory to match Max's story. "I don't…"

"I had to heavily sedate you. Collin, Ruby and I carried you until we found a truck that would start, shoved you in the back while Collin drove. Had to keep hitting you with a combination of sedatives and sleeping meds to keep you under. Every time you started to come out of it, you'd scream in pain. Even now, it must be bad."

Doyle started to shrug, stopping when the skin on his back and right arm stung. Only will power kept him from crying out. Max must've seen something in his eyes because he went to the door. "Ruby'll be in soon with your meal. Hope you're not picky."

"I'll eat whatever she puts in front of me, doc."

Max flashed him a half-smile. "Gonna hold you to it, Sergeant."

The door closed behind him and Doyle took the opportunity to voice the agony he was feeling. "Sonofa*****!"

Throwing the covers off, he forced himself to stand straight as he went to the laundry cart in the corner. Sorting through the clean scrubs tossed in a pile, he came up with pants and a shirt that looked like they'd fit.

With just the pants on, he went into the bathroom to look at his injuries. Most of them were covered with bandages, but some were bright red and exposed. Lifting his right arm, he pulled the bandage off to examine the spot on his bicep. It wasn't that big, but it hurt like hell. He replaced the bandage and turned the tap on cold. The trickle that came out was brown, but he splashed it on his face anyway.

Letting the water drip down his chest, he ran his wet hands through his hair wincing when he touched the back where he'd been burned. "Crap! I just had it cut."

Without bothering to wipe the water from his face and chest, he shoved his head and arms into a shirt, groaning as his sore skin stretched and pulled. Ignoring the pain, he started poking around in the stuff piled against the far wall. When the doc had moved him in here, they'd just shoved everything to one side so the bed would fit. From what he could tell, it had once been storage for the admittance kits the hospital gave to each patient. Down under stacks of towels and piles of folded sheets, he found a pair of slippers. He put them on and had just sat on the side of the bed when someone knocked. "Yeah?"

The door opened to admit an older woman carrying a tray which she set on a rolling table and moved over in front of him. "Good t' see you up and around, love. I'm Ruby. Max asked me t' bring you some supper. Sorry it's not more appetizin'."

"It's fine, ma'am. I'll eat anything that doesn't eat me first." He grinned at her accent and lilting laugh, both broadcasting her Scottish heritage. Picking up the spoon, he proved his statement by scarfing down every last drop from the bowl then cleaned up the gravy with a slice of bread. He wiped his mouth, balled up the napkin and tossed it in the empty bowl then belched.

"Well, I guess that says it all, doesn't it?" Ruby's brown eyes twinkled with humor as she gathered up the tray while Doyle finished off the glass of lukewarm tea. "Want more?"

"I'm good. Why'd we stop? It wasn't because of me, way it?"

Turning the chair around, Ruby plopped into it. "Och, no. One of the lorries broke down and you needed tendin' without all the jostlin' around."

The urge to scratch some of the burned areas was almost more than Doyle could stand. He gripped the edge of the mattress hard until the feeling went away. "How long we been here?"

"Fourteen days. Pricey was gonna let you rest another day or two before bringin' you out. Guess you beat him to it."

Shrugging, he got to his feet. Picking up the tray, he gestured for Ruby to go ahead then followed her out. "Heading for a CDC research center?"

"That we are."

Taking one of the lanterns from the hall, Ruby led Doyle through the break room into the kitchen. He dumped the disposable bowl and spoon into the trash and set the tray on one of the counters while Ruby ignored his protests and poured him another glass of tea. "Even with the IV's, you're dehydrated. Drink as much as you want. We make it by droppin' loose tea into pitchers of water from the stream up the road and let it sit in the sun all day. Got some beer too, but it's not cold. Wouldn't be a good idea for you t' have it what with all the drugs you got floatin' around inside you."

"Warm beer mixed with my first real meal in a couple of weeks? I'd probably ralph it up."

"Aye. And we can't afford t' be waistin'." The older woman leaned against one of the counters with her arms crossed.

Doyle had more than a few questions, but Ruby wasn't the one to be asking. "Who's watching the perimeter?"

"Some of the newbies are standing patrol until the midnight shift change." She moved and that's when Doyle saw that she had a handgun shoved into the waistband of her pants. Her eyes followed his and she smiled sadly. "Everyone carries. Don't wanna get caught unawares, if uninvited guests come callin'."

"Speaking of which, where are the weapons? I should be armed just in case."

Rolling her eyes, Ruby moved toward the exit apparently expecting him to follow. "Baby steps, Sergeant. Get some sleep and revisit the subject in the mornin' with Max."

"But…"

"And don't go lookin' for the weapons and explosives 'cause they're guarded." At the exit, she turned. "And put all but two of the hallway lanterns out before you go t' bed. 'Night."

Back in his room thirty minutes later, Doyle threw a damp towel at the wall. "****!"

Against Ruby's advice, he searched as many of the rooms as he dared. Some he couldn't go into because people were sleeping. He also didn't find anything he could wear aside from the scrubs. I'll raid the local Walmart in the morning.

Putting down the head of the bed, Doyle stared at the ceiling certain he hurt too bad to sleep, but the sedatives and sleep aides still in his system had other ideas and he was soon out for the count.

~~O~~

Voices in the hall woke Doyle from replays of the escape from the rampaging horde of infected people chasing him, Scarlet, Tammy and Andy. One time he and his charges had been caught and ripped to shreds. Another, he was the only survivor, killed by a sweeper team who cornered him inside a pub, shot while he was drinking a beer as if it were just any other day. Each scenario was more horrifying than the last. The worst had to be when they had managed to evade the infected and the sweeper teams. They arrived at Wembley Stadium to meet Flynn and were overrun with infected just a few steps from freedom.

He awoke covered in sweat, the sheets and scrubs sticking to his body. A shower was out of the question, but he did splash water on his face. Turning his head side to side examining the beard, he decided to leave it for now. It wasn't regulation, but nothing about this assignment had gone according to plan. They spent weeks bored out of their minds then in an instant, it had all changed. As far as Doyle knew, he was the only member of Delta Force deployed to London still alive and would proceed as if that were true.

Another thing puzzled him. Why had the doctor bothered saving his life? By Max's own admission, he and the others had to carry him out of the city, which would've been difficult under ideal circumstances. And their lives right now were nowhere close to ideal. Doyle had seen the reports of the events immediately after the first outbreak. The entire island had been cordoned off leaving those still alive and uninfected to believe they'd been abandoned by their country and the world. And into that world arose petty tyrants. Men and women who thought that the breakdown of society had given them carte blanche to do as they pleased to those without power, influence or the stones to stand up to them.

Shoving his feet into the slippers, he left his room and followed the group into the dining room. Breakfast of oatmeal, coffee, tea and not much else waited to be eaten. But instead of serving themselves, they stood in a circle holding hands. When he hesitated, a young woman with long blonde hair in a ponytail smiled and took his right hand, Ruby doing the same on his left. They all bowed their heads, and just to keep the peace, he did as well, listening as the voice of a middle-aged man spoke softly yet with conviction.

"Thank you, Lord, for being there for us and allowing us to cry out to You in our time of need. It is amazing, Lord, that You would take time to listen and to care about what we say.

"God, there are things happening right now that we do not understand. Some of these things make us feel weak, helpless and afraid. Even in the midst of this, we know that You are the Lord, that the situation is in Your hands. We trust You and beseech You for strength, for wisdom and for courage that we will be able to endure in a way that will bring glory to Your name.

"In name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. Amen."

Taking his place at the end of the line, Doyle picked up a disposable bowl and plastic spoon. When he turned to find a place to sit, all the tables were occupied with only a few empty chairs. So far he'd only been introduced to Max and Ruby. The rest were strangers though he did recognize a few from the night before. Pulling out the chair next to Max, the only one facing the door, Doyle sat down, automatically reaching for the sugar and cinnamon. He sprinkled some of both in his oatmeal and stirred, his head down watching the dark brown of the cinnamon swirling around until it disappeared.

"How're you feeling this morning, Sergeant?"

Doyle looked up and found watery brown eyes in a lined face watching him boldly. Resisting a shrug, the soldier kept poking the spoon into his food. These people obviously knew who he was, had been taking care of him for the last two weeks. No reason he shouldn't answer. "Sore. Tired. Didn't sleep well."

"Understandable," Max put in from his right. "I know you don't want the drugs any longer, but if you change your mind…"

"I won't, but thanks."

Max lifted one shoulder and reached for his coffee, using one finger to point out the others as he introduced them. "Jasper King, Lucy Hamilton and Alfie Middleton."

Lucy smiled blandly at him and went back to eating. Alfie, on the other hand, barely looked up. No one offered to shake hands, and Doyle understood their reticence. What he didn't get was why the others in the room were whispering behind his back, so to speak. Furtive glances kept coming his way. He'd feel someone staring only to look away when they were caught. Their intense scrutiny came out of curiosity, not fear, and Doyle guessed it had to do with the drama of his rescue and their exodus from London before it was bombed.

They hadn't had to tell him about the bombing. As part of NATO, Delta Force had been informed of the contingency plan should another outbreak occur. The first one they handled by cordoning off the city, rounding up the uninfected and shipping them off to refugee camps in Spain, Portugal, Italy, and Greece while they waited for the infected to die of starvation. Once infected, a person's sense of self-preservation and will were overridden by the compulsion to infect others. It became the main driving force, so much so that someone afflicted with the rage virus ignored the body's need for nourishment, water or even shelter. They became driven by instinct alone, filled with rage, aggression and extreme anger. Adrenaline would pump into their system giving them heightened mobility and endurance enabling them to cover vast areas of open countryside in a short amount of time. At this point, Scotland was still under quarantine, had been since it was discovered that a multitude of infected had traversed the distance, infecting more as they went. At the last briefing, the troops sent in to dispose of the infected still hadn't found them all.

And after this second occurrence…Doyle scoffed. Occurrence was too mild a word, but try as he might, he couldn't come up with one bad enough he could say out loud. FUBAR, SUSFU, TARFU and BOHIC were more like it, but he would hold off on voicing his opinions until he got to know his companions better. After this occurrence, NATO wouldn't have hesitated to drop a few skillfully place bombs on Zombie Central.

One and two at a time, the rest of the group finished eating and stopped to introduce themselves to the soldier. The men nodding, one or two flipping him a salute, and the women giving him bold once-overs. All but a pair of shy teenage girls. Just to make them blush, he winked at them only to receive glare from Ruby. He'd looked to the right when the kitchen door slammed to find the older woman standing there, hands on her hips and a death glare that rivaled the one bestowed upon him by his DI at least once a day every day all during BCT. When he'd moved on to AIT, that same DI had nodded once in approval.

But now, the man was long dead, felled by a stroke not three months into retirement. If Sergeant Ryland could see him as part of a ragtag group of survivors left over from a plague the likes of which had never been seen in the world, he'd just shake his head and pitch in without a word.

Thinking of Ryland made Doyle realize how lucky they all were. They'd been given one more chance to live. Almost as if God was telling them "You better not screw it up this time."

"Sergeant?"

Max's voice broke into Doyle's thoughts startling him. "Yeah?"

Pushing away from the table, Doyle followed the doctor down the hall and into one of the rooms that had been occupied during the night. They were joined by another man, both watching him as if he had all the answers. "Sergeant Doyle, this is Archer Young. He and I have been trying to lead this group while you've been out of action. Now that you're up and around, we'd like you to take over as our leader."

"Me? Why?" Too restless to sit, Doyle paced in front of the closed door. He waved an arm. "They don't know me, but they do know you."

Shifting in his seat, Max crossed his arms. "But I'm a doctor. Sure, I can issue orders with the best of 'em, but they…we need someone for whom leadership is the job."

"But I'm just a grunt. A guy who takes orders from someone else."

Max and Archer exchange an indulgent smile. "If that were true, you wouldn't have abandoned your post to save innocent civilians from being slaughtered like herds of cattle suspected of having Mad Cow disease."

The other man, bald as an egg though he wasn't more than forty, and muscular, added his voice to Max's. "It'd be a right ol' favor you'd be doin' us, Sarge."

Looking from one to the other, Doyle only saw sincerity and candor. They honestly thought him the best person to lead them to safety, if there was such a thing waiting for them over the next hill or the one after that. It was true that they needed someone to keep them focused and motivated. To make sure they believed what he believed. That they'd make it out of this, to live without worrying that they'd be killed or worse, turned into murderous rage monsters. Stopping his aimless pacing, he faced the men, arms crossed and feet planted shoulder width apart as he jumped head first into his new role. Mentally making a list, he reached to open the door, stopping when Max asked, "What do you want to do first, Sergeant?"

A long-suffering sigh whooshed out, his hands gesturing at his attire. "Get me some real clothes. No one's gonna take me seriously in this get-up."

"And second?"

"A 'family' meeting." He didn't bother with finger quotes, letting his tone do the work for him. "You can announce the change in command then."

Archer grinned at Doyle's take-charge tone. "You have a plan, don't cha?"

"I do." Opening the door, Doyle stepped out almost running into Ruby, Lucy and a man in his sixties who had been listening at the door. While Lucy and the man were embarrassed at getting caught, Ruby actually seemed proud of herself. To the man, Doyle said, "We haven't met. I'm Sergeant Doyle."

Incongruous in khakis and a T-shirt advertising a popular heavy metal band, the white-haired man just stared. Fortunately, Ruby came to his rescue. "Lukas don't speak much English. Just enough to be helpin' me in the kitchen."

A half-grin turned up one side of Doyle's mouth just before he spoke to Lukas in halting German. "Sprechen sie, Deutsch?"

Lukas' face lit up. "Ja! Ja!"

Doyle and Lukas continued speaking in German until Doyle patted him on the shoulder and pointed. Lukas nodded and hurried away. Feeling like he was being watched, Doyle turned to find Max, Lucy, Ruby and Archer watching him with awe. "What?"

"You speak German?"

Blowing off their disbelief, Doyle opened the door to his room. "Frankfurt was my first duty station. I was there about six months. Learning the language was the easiest way to get a date."

Max led the others away as he closed the door on their chuckling. What he said was true. He'd purposely chatted up women who didn't speak English. That in turn had gotten him many dates. All women who wanted to teach him a thing or three about the German language. He returned the favor…and a lot more.

His fond memories of those months were pushed from his mind as he mentally prepared himself to take charge. Ruby knocked on the door a few minutes later carrying a bowl of warm water and a bar of soap. Without a word, she set it on the table and left him alone.

Lukas returned just as Doyle finished washing up as best he could. He thanked him in both German and English then Max came in to check his wounds. Every time Max touched the area surrounding the deepest burns, he hissed in pain though it didn't feel as bad as it had the night before. He guessed that knowing the onset of withdrawal symptoms could happen at any moment had taken some of that soreness away.

With the fresh bandages pulling at the skin, he got dressed. He topped off the jeans, a black T-shirt, boxers and hunting boots with a denim jacket. Lukas had also included a razor and comb making Doyle wonder if it was the German's way of telling him the beard had to go. Taking the not so subtle hint, he used the brown trickle from the sink to shave then combed what was left of his hair, careful not to bump the burned area at the back of his head. From the feel of it, hair was already starting to grow through the damaged skin. In a couple of weeks, most of the burns would be healed, but the worst hit areas would take months. Nothing could change what happened, so he didn't dwell on it.

Stepping out of his room, he had no idea where to go or what needed to be done. Sitting around had never been his MO. He wouldn't be able to do much heavy lifting, but he had to do something to keep busy. Going into the kitchen, he watched Ruby and Lukas work together like they'd been doing it for years instead of just a few days. "Give you a hand?"

"Of course." Ruby drew him to the set of three sinks at the far end. Inside were three chickens with their head and feet chopped off. A slit had been cut across the bottom of the belly leaving a gaping hole. "You can pluck these while we get the pots boiling and the vegetables cut up."

Having seen more dead bodies in one day than he had in all the years before, Doyle became annoyed with himself when his stomach heaved at the idea of plucking the newly killed chickens. Logically, he knew that the chicken in his Thai food had once been a living, breathing animal, but he'd never been brought in this soon in the preparation process.

A pair of work gloves came into his sight. He took them from Lukas, slipped them on, held onto one of the birds by the leg, grabbed a handful of feathers and yanked, doing it again and again until the first one was done. With a long sigh, he wiped the back of one hand across his brow. Some days you just do the work whether you like it or not. Today was an "or not" day.

~~O~~

Singly or in small groups, the rest of the troops wondered in. Some were drawn by the smell of the food cooking and others just because they knew it was lunch time. Instead of setting up the food line in the crowded dining room, Doyle had suggested they leave the pots of hearty chicken and vegetable soup on the gas stove to keep it warm. Bread was replaced with a variety of crackers. And again, iced tea to drink rounded out the meal.

While the others ate, Max called the group to order. "I have an announcement, everyone. If you're all agreeable, I'm going to turn the burden of leadership over to Sergeant Doyle. This will free up my time to work in the lab with Sunny. We're hoping that we can find something to give to the CDC that will help them create a cure for the rage virus. Sergeant?"

Getting to his feet, Doyle nodded a greeting to everyone before beginning. "Thanks, doc. I've been thinking about our situation and don't think we should wait here in hopes that rescue will come to us."

One of the men whose name he didn't know raised his hand. "What you got in mind, Sarge?"

Doyle confidently met the eyes of each and every person present. "We're gettin' the **** out of England."

TBC