The trio forced its way through the forest, pushing aside branches and circling around trees and rocks covered in moss and dirt as Pete, full of shame, led the group back toward their camp. Wayne had his arm around Luke's shoulders.

"...and you're telling me that you didn't remember me? At all?" Wayne, crestfallen, put on a frown more for show than it was to represent any genuinely hurt feelings. "Really?"

"Uh, no," Luke said, attempting to push himself away from the overbearing hunter. "I never came over when you were home."

"Is that so?" Wayne grumbled, shooting Pete a narrow-eyed stare punctuated with a noticeable sneer. "Well, that's all about to change," Wayne said, shifting back to Luke as Pete hunched his shoulders in front of the two as Wayne continued rambling.

"So what are you doing in these parts, Wayne?" Luke ventured. "We haven't seen anybody since we came up this way, really. Well, except for one person last week."

"You mean you didn't hear?" Wayne asked, startled.

"It's kinda hard to hear things when there's nobody else around to tell you," Luke said.

"Shit," Wayne said, staring at him surprised. "People are rebuilding. There's a whole settlement around in these parts, somewhere. Lots of people, food, guns, everything."

"Bullshit," Pete accused.

Wayne put his hands up. "If you don't believe me, then fine. All I'm telling you is what I heard. A bunch of people got together and started fortifying this hardware store, a Howe's I think. I was just on my way there when I ran into you two at the rest stop. But now? Now we can all head there together. As a family."

Pete dropped his voice to a whisper, barely audible even to himself. "Jesus, why? Why did he have to survive out of everyone?" Pete's eyes wandered back to Wayne and Luke as the father continued to shout about how good it felt to see them again. "This piece of shit ain't even worth the air the breathes. And Kate's dead when he ain't?"

"Not worth the air I breathe, Pete? Come on, I'm the boy's father, you shouldn't be talking like that about me."

"What?" The confusion in Pete's voice was nearly physical. "You heard… how-"

"Settle down," Wayne cackled. "You can't fool these hunter's ears," he revealed, cupping a hand behind his ears for a brief second before breaking into a fit of twisted laughter.

"Real funny," Luke moaned.

"Wasn't it?" Wayne agreed, clearly unable to comprehend the blatant sarcasm. "Anyway, what was that about Kate? Something happen to her?"

"We've been hiking for over half an hour," Pete snapped, "And you're just now askin' about her? She was your goddamn wife."

"Yeah, I guess she was," Wayne shrugged.

Pete's killing, hate filled stare bounced off of the uncaring man's solid apathy. "She's dead," Pete informed him with an even tone. "Got bit last week. Nick had to put her down." Staring the piece of trash down, Pete looked straight into his eyes and found nothing. No grief, no anger, not even a mild concern. He was blank as a clean slate. Uncaring, devoid of emotions toward others.

Exactly the same way he'd been since the day he married Kate. Wayne hadn't changed one bit.

Wayne didn't even pause to think about it. "Well, shit happens I guess. Damn shame, she had a fine body. Whatever. How's my boy taking it?"

"He's pretty torn up. And he ain't your boy," Pete stated firmly, putting an edged growl into his voice as he finally worked up the nerve to stop walking. "And you ain't going near him. Never again. I'm ashamed I already took you this far." Pete walked over to Luke and stood beside him, crossing his arms. "You ain't comin' with us. C'mon Luke, let's go."

"But Pete," Luke said, pulling the old man back.

"No," Pete said. "Luke, you can't be serious."

"But he's Nick's dad," Luke reminded him.

"Finally!" Wayne cried. "Luke finally made a point. I take back all the bad things I ever thought about you, kid," Wayne apologized with poorly faked sincerity.

Luke turned back to him, annoyed. "What do you mean 'finally?'"

"See Luke?" Pete asked. "This piece of shit doesn't really care. You can tell plain as day. When you were little, you know why we never let you come visit Nick while this asshole was around?"

"Pete, shut the fuck up," Wayne spat menacingly.

"It was because this idiot was drunk. Every. Damn. Time."

Wayne snarled. "I told you to cram it, old man."

"You know what else?" Pete went on. "This… this fucker, he hit Nick. That's right. A little kid."

"You bastard! He ain't your goddamn son!" Wayne shouted, "So you don't get to tell me how to raise him!"

"You were never there for me to say anything!" Pete challenged. "And when you were, you were piss drunk and violent. I got no goddamn idea why Kate made all them excuses for you, but I stopped listening to them the moment you struck Nick."

"Pete, I said-"

"Yeah, you did say," Pete seethed, grinding his teeth while his face flushed red. "And I don't care. I guess that black eye I gave you didn't knock any sense into that thick skull of yours."

"He what?!" Luke, incredulous, turned toward Wayne with a death glare. "Is it true?"

"Well, I wouldn't-"

"Is it true?"

Wayne spit into the dirt at Pete's feet, then extended his middle finger. "Yeah, so what if I did? Fuck you, Pete." He turned his ire toward Luke and the young man felt himself instinctively reach for his machete. "And you know what? You can get fucked too, Luke. I never wanted you hanging around my boy. You're a flake. I can tell plain as day and he deserves better."

Luke muttered a threatening growl as he took a step toward Wayne. "Don't dress it up like you care about him! I always heard the things Pete and Kate said about you, but I didn't think anyone could be that bad. Were you trying to be an asshole, or is it just who you are? What kind of piece of shit acts this way?" Slowly, Luke drew his hand away from the machete's hilt and let his arm fall to his side. "Let's go, Pete."

Wayne wrestled the crossbow off its sling and brought it up to bear on the two men. "You ain't leaving me! You can't keep me from my son!"

Pete's rifle came up in a flash, his old army training kicking in like a machine. The sights of his rifle were positioned at Wayne's head before the other man's crossbow could come all the way up. "I'd put that down, Wayne, or I-"

"Shit, lurkers!" Luke's machete flew from its sheath as the young man sliced down through a lurker's skull.

Wayne spun around, putting an arrow cleanly through the eye of one of the lurkers that had snuck up on them. He loaded another arrow as Pete's rifle cracked out a bullet directed at another member of the horde. "How the hell did they get the jump on us?" Wayne demanded as nearly a dozen corpses surged forth from the brush.

Luke brought his machete up and stabbed through the jaw of one of the corpses, severing its spinal cord as his machete punched through the other side of its body. "The shouting!" he yelled, swinging downward and sending another lurker back to hell. "We didn't see them because we weren't payin' attention!"

Pete's rifle thundered again. Before him a lurker's head jerked violently backward, throwing flecks of diseased blood all over the vegetation as it fell to the forest floor. Another walking corpse immediately emerged from behind a tree and lunged as the dead began to swarm over the men like ants.

It bowled into the old man from the side. Caught by surprise, Pete's rifle fell from his hands as he plummeted toward the dirt with the demon's fingers tightening around his throat, the yellow teeth opening wide and craning down for a bite. Still acting on an instinct honed by training, Pete grabbed for the knife at his belt and yanked it out of the sheath in the same motion as he rolled to the side, taking the lurker with him. As he drew in deep, heavy breaths, the strain on his aged body made itself known.

But now the tables were turned. Pete's roll put him on top of the lurker with a knife in his hand. The creature snapped at him once before Pete took hold of the knife's hilt with both hands and plunged it downward, putting an end to the monster's miserable existence.

A small pain emanated from Pete's knee as he attempted to rise from the ground, but failed. The knee was an old wound, one he had lived with for decades, and now it was acting up. He must have fallen on it wrong. He did his best to ignore it, push the pain away, but exhaustion was beginning to set in. Panting, muscles on fire, he tried to rise again but the unforgiving specter of old age was determined to keep him down. That was when a dirty hand appeared at the edge of the old man's vision.

He looked up to find Wayne standing above him, crossbow in one hand while he waited for Pete to grab the other. "Enjoying that mouthful of dirt," Wayne growled, "Or do you want to get up and help for once?" Scowling, Pete took his hand.

As Wayne ran off to retrieve one of his arrows, Pete tried to catch his breath. Several feet away Luke effortlessly brought his machete in a horizontal slash that beheaded a lurker. Before that one even collapsed completely to the ground Luke dodged the death grasp of another and stabbed his blade cleanly through the side of the thing's head as a third lunged, missing Luke by inches, before the energetic warrior kicked it to the ground and stabbed his weapon into the back of its head. Without so much as a backward look he was on his feet again, machete blade dancing in the air before him cutting down even more of the abominations.

The display made Pete feel even older. His bones ached and sweat poured from him like a river after fighting off one of them with a knife. The youthful Luke had dispatched three of them in half the time with a fraction of the effort.

Then he heard Wayne. Rifle in hand he found the man almost immediately. A lurker from behind him, unnoticed during the battle, had grabbed Wayne from the back and was even now caning its mouth down to take its first bite. The thing's mouth was positioned inches away from Wayne's neck, wide in anticipation and deadly intent.

Wayne's eyes were desperate. Begging. His mouth bent in a primal scream for help, one hand reaching toward Pete even though they were so far apart. The world went into slow motion as the sights of Pete's rifle settled over the lurker's head. It wasn't an easy shot but he could make it. His finger hovered over the trigger, ready to fire as he had so many times before.

But he didn't. Instead, he hesitated with a single thought. The thought was powerful, overbearing, clearing his mind of all else but its presence, a question that demanded an answer before action would be allowed.

If it were Nick in his place, and Wayne in mine, would he do this for him?

It was only a moment. A second. A fractional, finite amount of time beneath notice. But it was all that it took.

Wayne's scream echoed through the trees as the lurker bit into him and tore away the side of his neck. Blood spurted from the wound like a miniature fountain, spilling into the man's clothes. The corpse bit into him again, widening the wound and causing Wayne to spasm with agony in a futile attempt to push the beast away.

Pete's rifle barked. It tore through the lurker's skull as the corpse prepared to take a third bite, jarring the decayed cadaver off of its victim before crumpling to the ground without so much as a spiteful hiss. Wayne stood on wobbling legs, pressing his hands against the wound as it sprayed a steady stream of blood before he collapsed as well, lying on his back in the dirt as the ground beneath him steadily darkened from the tide of crimson spilling out of him.

Pete stood speechless. He never hesitated. Hesitation was death, for you or the man next to you. It was the very first thing they drilled out of you in boot camp. Action, always action. That was survival. Acting, reacting. But he hadn't acted. And one errant thought had cost Wayne his life.

The only thing on Pete's mind was the horrifying realization that this was his fault. He had killed Nick's father.