"We shall divide up the Valley," General Washington says to the assembled aides-de-camp and Generals the following morning. "In the north east lies General Huntington's headquarters in need of investigation. We know Varnum's fallen. However, troop could remain from their brigades as well as Generals McIntosh and Sullivan."

His Excellency looks up at General Greene. "You will take men and search the area, find if General Huntington lives."

"Sir," Greene says, staring down now at the map of Valley Forge on the table they all circle around.

"General Wayne." He looks up at His Excellency. "You will lead a larger detachment to the entrenchments in the south east. Find the status of Weedon's headquarters as well as the commissary headquarters, as some may have made use of it as a strong hold. A largest number of brigades are there: Scott, Poor, Glover, Learned, Patterson, Weedon, and, of course, your own, General."

"Will that not also be the most populated area of our encampment of undead, your Excellency?" Wayne asks, though his voice does not bear any hesitancy at such an assignment.

"Yes," General Washington replies then his mouth quirks. "But Colonel Harrison has had an idea to this."

Harrison steps forward. "Once Greene and his men have finished their search in the north, we will create a diversion. The dead are drawn to the living not just by our presence or warmth, but by sound." Harrison points to the Schuylkill River on the far east edge. "Greene's men will cross the river and meet with Captain Gibbs and half of the Life Guard remaining. All the drums and fife, any sound possible, will be made to draw the undead up and away from the main valley. We may corral them as well as able to the north east with the river as a barrier."

Murmurs rise among the assembled men. Laurens and Hamilton glance at each other, eyebrows raised in hopeful surprise.

"You will start your approach south then," General Washington says to Wayne. "With luck there may be less undead in your way."

Lastly, General Washington turns to Laurens and Hamilton. "Lieutenant Colonels, you will lead a small party of yourselves and two others to retrieve General Knox and to make for General Lafayette." His Excellency's demeanor shifts for a moment – real concern instead of just the commander in chief. "Find out if the Marquis lives, and if so, bring him back." The General glances away again to the map. "And any remaining men with him."

"Yes, sir," Laurens and Hamilton say together at once.

General Washington looks up at the whole assembled party then clasps his hands behind his back. "I have no illusions this may be a failing fight and that even this excursion to try and rescue our own men may fail. This may be our last battlefield, but we must act as there is no other to come for us. We are the army and we cannot wait behind walls while our country is overtaken by unholy wraiths."

Silence stretches for several breaths among then, each man watching His Excellency, each man thinking of the likelihood of his own death at the hands of a dead friend.

General Washington drops his arms to his sides again. "I give you leave to choose your men and your path to your respective destinations. General Greene and Captain Gibbs, you shall leave first and then Wayne once the diversion begins." The General looks to Hamilton and Laurens. "Leave as soon as you are able." He looks back to the group. "And keep your parties small. I will allow you all two days and if you are not returned by then, those of us left will leave for Philadelphia."

"Philadelphia?" Meade says, a hollow sound to his voice.

General Washington nods, Wayne and Greene with grim expressions on their faces. "If we here should prove to be the only men left then we would have no choice." The General's face shifts into something grimmer. "Regardless, the British may have begun this but I suspect we will need their force to finish it."

Laurens opens his mouth to object – to fight alongside such monsters as began this? But Hamilton grips his wrist quickly and Laurens shuts his mouth again.

"Now we work to find our men. Clear?"

The room responds with, "Yes, sir – Yes, Your Excellency."

The General nods once more. "Dismissed."

Wayne and Harrison step closer to the General, talking low and over each other. Greene rushes out first, grabbing Wayne's aide as he goes already giving orders to soldiers waiting in the hall. Laurens and Hamilton look at each other as they leave the General's office and turn quickly into the aide-de-camp office. Laurens pauses, staring at the faint stain on the floor. Then he turns back to Hamilton.

"Knox and Lafayette then."

"Yes," Hamilton says. "Two other men with us as the General said, smaller should be better."

"Yes, we might evade notice with more ease this way."

Hamilton pulls another of their maps of the camp from one of the shelves and unrolls it on the table nearer the wall, further from the spot on the floor. "Straight down Valley Road."

Laurens nods. "We should have the creek on our one side then to help with defense."

"We will be near Maxwell's brigade."

"It is not certain to be fallen," Laurens says looking up at Hamilton. "Walker only supposed."

"And Woodford's nearer Knox's headquarters."

Laurens shakes his head this time. "We have no guarantee where any of the undead may wander regardless of the state of brigades. There is nothing for it but to march and see."

Hamilton rolls up the map. "We should look for volunteers first for the mission."

"I will."

Hamilton and Laurens look up to see Meade standing in the door. They glance quickly at each other then back to Meade.

"We thought more an enlisted man," Hamilton explains, "not someone of rank."

"You said a volunteer. How many do you think likely to do so?" Meade counters. "And I have."

"Men will volunteer," Laurens says. "I am certain enough to feel idle and frustrated by such inaction as these weeks have left us with."

"Fine then," Meade replies quickly, "find your two enlisted men but I will accompany you as well."

"Four is enough," Laurens tries, worried at the expression on Meade's face.

"Why should you say no to another man?" Meade insists. "I have offered. I am willing."

Hamilton shakes his head. "Meade, we cannot ask you to do so and should the General need you –"

"I am not asking!" Meade interrupts sharply. "I am telling."

"Meade…" Hamilton hisses, at Meade's fervor or volume Laurens cannot tell.

Meade steps into the room closer to the two of them. "I may not understand a intimate friendship such as between you two." Laurens stiffens and does not look at Hamilton. "But Til…" Meade breathes in sharply. "Tilghman was as close – as dear a friend as I have here."

"He was dear to all of us," Hamilton replies softly. "And Fitzgerald."

"And Tench is dead!" Meade snaps again, his voice raw. "He was made one of those." Meade points at the window. "I am supposed to bear this? No. I will not stand here and wait one more minute. I must do something!"

Laurens nods. "I understand." He understands that Meade wants a chance to plunge his sword into something, into the only thing he can.

"I am coming with you," Meade says again.

Neither Laurens nor Hamilton object this time.


Greene and his men leave within the hour, six in total and each armed with bayonets, dagger and sword along with their rifles. Indeed, the steel should prove more useful than the shot.

"It may be fortunate I cannot play," Gibbs says to Laurens as he and the Life Guard gather all manner of objects for the intent of causing noise. He holds up the fife. "Better a loud awful noise, yes?"

Laurens smiles at him. "Just blow hard across the opening, not into it."

Gibbs raises his eyebrows. "I have seen a march before."

"Yet this does not mean you play."

"And I said as much." He examines the fife in some consideration then glances up at Laurens again. "Perhaps I should choose a drum instead."

"Or simply smash some bottles," Hamilton says handing a large empty jug to Gibbs.

Gibbs makes a nonplussed face then nods. He puts the jug to his lips and blows, a noise much like a foghorn issuing forth. He looks at Laurens again and grins. "Perhaps I do play."

Laurens only shakes his head as Gibbs chuckles and walks around the pair of them, heading to the back door. "Guards!" He snaps. "With me."

Laurens turns to Hamilton who shakes his head too as he watches the Life Guards follow Gibbs out the back. He glances at Laurens.

Laurens gestures toward the front door with his chin. "Ready?"

Hamilton purses his lips. "Ready for action perhaps but I think no man ever ready to face the risen dead."

"Perhaps not," Laurens says as he walks over to the cache of weapons arranged hanging or leaning along the wall across from the aide office. "But I will be glad to see more living faces of our army. I cannot believe them all lost."

"Nor I." Hamilton picks up a pistol and powder bag, a short sword already on his belt in addition to his officer's sword. "Knox wrote us so recently and I pray a day still sees their survival."

Laurens buckles his baldric and sword across his chest, choosing a short knife to strap around his opposite thigh. He glances up at Hamilton as he tightens the knife in place. "And Lafayette?"

Hamilton's eyes tick down to Laurens and his hands tighten around the pistol in his hand. "I do not know how I should bear such a sight as his headquarters in ruin, or he himself…" Hamilton cuts off his thought with a sigh. "He will live. We will bring him back."

Laurens stands up straight again, heavier with weapons. "We will."

"Laurens, Hamilton." The two men turn to Meade just stepping off the stairs. He wears a baldric with sword across his chest. In his hand, he carries a saber and an ax. He holds out the ax. "Ready?"

Hamilton looks at the axe incredulously. Laurens, however, reaches out and takes the ax. He thinks of a hessian who came for him at Brandywine, ax in hand and a scream as he swung. Laurens shoves the axe into the belt around his hips. Hamilton gives him a look but says nothing.

"I say so now," Laurens replies.

The three aides-de-camp turn and exit the house. Outside two men wait for them beside all their packs, a Private Ballard and Corporal White.

"Gentleman," Hamilton says as he stops at the base of the stairs, Meade and Laurens flanking him on either side. "The aim of our mission is to avoid unnecessary combat and to pass unnoticed. We are to find General Knox and those with him and then on to General Lafayette for the same. Are you armed and ready?"

"Yes, sir," the two men say at once.

Hamilton nods and the five men hoist their packs onto their backs. Hamilton grins and glances sidelong at Laurens. "Then let us reclaim our army."

The five men leave via the front gate while Wayne's detachment draws the attention of their ring of undead toward the rear of the fortifications. They only need dispatch one slower, dead creature with a slash of Meade's sword due to the former soul missing a foot.

They follow Valley Road south away from General Washington's headquarters. The snow still covers the ground up to their ankles and they cannot avoid some noise from the simple crunch of snow. However, a wind blows which covers much of their sound and fortunately sends any scent they may carry toward Valley Forge Creek and not the cleared land of their encampment. A walk from General Washington's Headquarters to General Knox's would take one man only a little more than half an hour in fine conditions. Their conditions are not fine nor well.

The five keep as brisk a pace as they may, Hamilton in the lead and Meade at the rear. Ballard and White keep to the encampment side east and Laurens to the creek on the west so they have eyes on all edges of their progress. As expected, the large mass of the dead appears to be mostly nearer the inner areas of their camp, likely the brigades and the burial ground. Valley Road, where they travel, lies on the farthest west side of the camp so they encounter only smaller pockets and individual threats.

"Ahead," Hamilton calls quietly as he moves forward, knees bent to swiftly stab his knife into one undead in their path.

Ballard calls, "three inside," as he and White break away to handle three dead who have begun to shamble too close toward their party.

"Are we followed, Meade?" Hamilton asks.

"None close enough for our care," Meade replies

Laurens watches the icy edge of the creek carefully as they march. He sees blood on the snow every so often as they walk. He cannot tell it to be fresh or days past. It has not snowed for at least two days. The creek appears half iced over, though there are pockets of water flowing without ice. A few breaks clearly resulted from a body falling through, be it human or dead it is impossible to say. Laurens sees at least one undead stuck in the ice, sluggishly grasping at the snow as if to pull itself out. It makes Laurens shiver beyond the freezing temperatures around them.

"Laurens?"

Laurens glances up their line at Hamilton looking back at him over his shoulder. Laurens shakes his head quickly. Any undead which moved as far as the creek either turned back or fell into the water to be trapped under the ice.

"It is quiet," Meade says.

"Except for our feet," Ballard interjects with some dark tone.

"You mean we should be better heard by… them?" White whispers toward Meade.

"I mean, there are no birds," Meade replies.

Laurens cocks his head as they walk. Winter is certainly not the most active time in nature, no bugs and many animals in sleep or gone for warmer quarters. Yet Meade is right; Laurens sees not a single bird in the trees nor hears any song or call in the air. He hears only the sounds of their own feet, the movement of the creek.

"The birds know to leave a place that is damned," Meade says.

Laurens thinks how only yesterday morning Meade joked and laughed and attempted to raise all their spirits. He wishes fervently that they could bring this Meade back.

"But they left together," Hamilton says in response to Meade and drawing Laurens' eye. "We aim the same now."

At one point, some half way through their trek, they are forced to retreat into a safer patch of wood between the creek and their road when a group of at least twenty undead appear from the west. The men hide themselves behind trees, waiting for the creatures to pass. If they are lucky any smell or sign of them may go undetected.

"We are five men," Meade hisses with his sword held tight in hand. "We may well remove the threat."

"It is a risk we need not take," Hamilton whispers back.

"You should prefer to leave them for another more unsuspecting and less well armed?"

"Do not discount my intentions, Meade, you know them not so."

"Are we not the army?" Meade say too loud as the line of undead walk closer. "Should this not be our task now?"

"We have a larger task."

"Lower your voices," Laurens hisses back, he nearest the road.

One undead turns toward Laurens at his words. It groans low as it steps in his direction, outstretched hands black from frost bite. Its uniform hangs to near falling off its shoulders but its legs are sound and quick.

"Damn," Laurens hisses. One shall quickly draw more.

Laurens twists out from behind the tree and rushes toward the creature, quiet as he may in the lighter snow here. He pulls the axe from his belt, swings it high and around to slam into the side of the undead's head just as its hands touch Laurens' chest. It falls, chunks of flesh flinging off Laurens' ax as he turns once more back to their cover. He hears Hamilton and Meade arguing quiet and fast as he nears.

"– and Laurens dispatched it quickly."

"One is enough, more is a swarm!"

"And we are not helpless!"

"It is a risk!"

"Here," Ballard says suddenly.

Ballard shifts his pack around, pulls something out of it then runs from behind their trees. They all watch as he stops at the road and flings whatever is in his hand over the heads of the undead. It arcs high and lands with a splat, rolling twice down the hill and leaving a red line. It was meat, some kind of bloody meat. Ballard runs back once more as a few of the undead follow the drop of Ballard's throw. The others begin to take notice and shamble with them toward the waiting meal.

"And now we should make our escape, yes?" Ballard says as he stops before them.

Laurens grins, Meade looking more stunned and White unsurprised.

Hamilton nods once. "Good man."

The five of them hurry on in the direction of their mission, not turning back for a full five minutes on their way.

They continue in silence listening to the stillness made more oppressive from the muffling snow. They pass a broken wagon, blood on the spokes of one wheel and no bodies inside. White checks it quickly for any supplies but it is picked clean. Their formation grows tighter as they near their objective until Laurens and Hamilton walk side by side with White and Ballard just behind and Meade after.

A sound becomes apparent gradually, a low tone at first unnoticed, as if something merely in the background. It rises slow and steady like a hum, like anticipation. Soon they glance at each other, questioning if the other men hear.

Laurens speaks first what they all know. "The undead, a mass of them. We must be close."

General Knox's headquarters lies down its own lane after a break in the camp roads. The line of the lane, one side eventually flanked by a low stone wall, remains visible despite the snow from old wagon lines and the indentation of many feet. The sound they hear, the low moan and groan and movement of packed bodies, reveals its source down this lane.

"Sixty or seventy," White says as he creeps back up next to their party higher up on the hill looking down through trees.

"Not a hundred though," Laurens says. "There is that."

Hamilton gives him a withering look. It makes Laurens smile for a brief moment.

"Fourteen each," Meade says as he looks at Hamilton. "And this risk we must take."

Knox's house is a long white building, two stories high and twice as large as General Washington's. As they move carefully closer, they see some fortifications around the house, stone and wood combined in a hodgepodge that is not as strong as it should be. Spots which failed can be seen, one using stacked bodies of the dead speared on sticks to patch it. It should be horrific, enough to turn any man back, but they remain. A few windows of the house are broken and blocked up with the wood of tables and barrels. The fortifications around the house are tighter than at their own headquarters, maybe only three yards from the house itself and Laurens sees much of it beginning to lean. Knox was not alarmist in his fear that they should not hold out much longer.

"We need to remove the threat first," Hamilton says. "It should prove impossible to get any large group free through those undead."

"Do not say a frontal assault," Laurens interrupts Meade as he opens his mouth.

"Why do you think I would say so?"

"You are too eager," Laurens hisses.

Meade frowns darkly. "No better than you who ran from our house alone forcing men to follow you?"

Laurens raises his eyebrows high and his mouth drops open at Meade's clear implication.

"We face the now," Hamilton snaps giving each man a pointed look, "And we all mourn lost friends."

Meade and Laurens glare at each other. Laurens wants to shout at Meade, to shake him, to apologize until he turns hoarse, to bring both Tilghman and Fitzgerald back alive and real – not undead, to admit his folly.

"Now we need a plan," Hamilton says.

"We should know if they ring the whole house," Meade says, ending his standoff with Laurens. "Could there be an access point we do not know?"

Ballard stands up straighter from where they crouch near some trees and takes off wide around the left side of the house.

"This does not change the need for an exit," Laurens counters as Ballard disappears. "Even should we get inside we must all get out again and are likely to be noticed in either event."

"And how many are inside?" White says, craning his neck as if he could see at their distance.

Laurens frowns and glances around the area. The undead all cluster around the walls, moaning and the wood creaking. The largest grouping appears to be toward the front entrance, an overturned wagon in the center where a gate was once attempted. Laurens wonders how many days Knox and his men have remained now trapped inside. Some trees cluster around the edges of the house surroundings, not enough for proper cover. He looks behind him and sees two cabins, possibly guard cabins or some of Knox's officers. Laurens looks back at the slowly writhing mass of creatures at the fortifications. He wonders why Knox did not make use of the wood from the cabins. Perhaps they did not get the chance.

Suddenly Laurens grins. "But we could make use of them now."

Hamilton turns his head to Laurens. "Make use of what?"

Ballard appears again beside them, panting and kicking up snow as he skids to a stop. "Not as many but some more around the back, yes. Part of their wall is broken down in one spot, so a few dead are right against the house."

"No time to waste then," Hamilton says grimly.

Laurens grips Hamilton's arm. "I have an idea."


Laurens and Meade stand at the peak of the ridge looking down at Knox's headquarters. The smell of fire comes across the wind from behind them. They walk through the snow with no attempt at subtlety until they stop approximately twenty feet from the crowd of undead soldiers and civilians. Laurens glances at Meade, Meade's sword out in one hand and his dagger in the other. Laurens fists his own hand around his axe and knife. A few of the creatures turn at the fresh sound or scent but most do not notice them yet.

Laurens purses his lips and begins to whistle, high and loud. The sound quickly forms into a familiar tune. It is Yankee Doodle Dandy.

The undead all begin to shift and move, turning away from the resisting wood to the insistent and alive sound behind them. The mass moves then like a flock of birds, turning together and deciding to shamble up the hill. Laurens and Meade walk backward as the undead begin to make for them. Laurens keeps on whistling, Meade joining him, their pitches flat but continuous. The dead move quicker, closing the gap so Laurens and Meade finally turn and start to run up the hill.

"Yankee doodle keep it up!" Laurens sing-shouts as the two of them run, the two cabins with smoke issuing from their chimney's ahead of them.

"Yankee doodle dandy!" Meade echoes.

One undead gets close enough to grab at Laurens' one arm so he swings the ax in his other hand around to slash at the creature's face, dropping it to the snow.

"Mind the music…" Laurens keeps singing as he pants, the huts close now.

"And the step!" Meade joins him as he slashes toward the creatures on his heels.

Then pair of them shout together just barely on a tune, "And with the girls be handy!"

Laurens jumps into the hut, slamming the door closed behind him. He knocks the long table in the middle of the space down toward the door as a preliminary defense. He puts his ax back into his belt and knife in the holster on his thigh. Then he runs to the fire, well stoked and high now, and pulls out one burning log. Then he moves around and props the table up long ways in front of him like a shield with his back to the one small window of the hut. Most huts at Valley Forge have no windows but, as it appears this hut was meant for defense of Knox's headquarters, this one fortuitously does.

A second after Laurens secures his position, the door to the hut breaks open. The undead begin to swarm inside, reaching for him and filling the space. Laurens plants his feet and holds the wood table fast in front of him against the tide. The creatures groan and shuffle, teeth gnashing as they come closer and closer, more pushing through the door to get to the flesh they wish to tear and eat.

"Yankee doodle…." Laurens sings again off key then returns to whistling.

He uses the fire in his one hand to keep the undead just far enough way, not quite able to get their teeth on him. He counts the bodies inside the hut, ten, twelve, a few more. The weight on the table pushes him, his elbow bent and his back nearly against the wall.

"Now!" Laurens shouts toward the window and the door behind the tide of undead slams shut.

Laurens shoves the end of his burning log into the face of one undead. The former man catches fire, his lanky hair igniting at once and spreading to his hat. Laurens lights the uniform of another, the cracked skin on the hand of one more then he shoves the table on top of half a dozen of the creatures, throwing the log on top of it so the table begins to burn too. Laurens turns and grabs the edge of the window. The space is small, but he tested it earlier to know he may fit through. Laurens hoists himself up, twisting his shoulders to manage through the gap. He feels hands grabbing at his boots and his hips. For one sickening moment he thinks they may actually pull him back inside. Then Laurens kicks out hard, feels like a horse, until he hears a crunch. His weight tips forward and Laurens spills out the window into the snow, his hat rolling away.

Laurens flips onto his back, grapping his hat and pulling his ax out once more at the ready. Smoke begins to issue from the window and Laurens feels the heat from the spreading fire.

"Stand, Laurens!"

Laurens turns his head at the sound of Hamilton's voice. He jumps up just in time to swing his ax up from down low and catch under the chin of a dead Captain with its mouth stretched wide. The creature spins with the blow, its jaw bone cracking and breaking free. Something knocks into Laurens' back and he turns to strike a blow.

"It is I!" Meade says quickly, blocking Laurens arm. "Only I!"

They hurry then around the burning huts, Meade's matching Laurens' with the rising smoke.

"How many?" Laurens asks Meade as they move forward toward the remaining undead.

"I'd say fifteen at least, yours?"

"A dozen or more."

Then they both unsheathe their swords. On the snowy lawn between the cabins and Knox's house are the remaining undead. Ballard works from the left, White from the right and Hamilton at the rear nearest the house. The three men move quickly and methodically, stabbing at the heads of the undead as they push them into a box. Laurens and Meade join in at the last edge, a weapon in each hand. The cold certainly makes the creatures slower which works to the soldiers' advantage. With almost thirty taken care of in the burning huts, long planks of wood used to secure the doors shut, far less remain for them to dispatch.

Ballard stumbles at one point, an undead pushing him down but he stabs up with his bayonet and kicks its feet to bring his quarry down to his level in the snow. Hamilton moves so quickly he kills five of the creatures in less than a minute, striking with his short sword as if planting seeds in a field. Laurens chops two more with his ax and strikes so hard in a clean sweep with his sword that he takes the head off an eyeless former woman. Meade reacts particularly violently, elbowing one in the chest, slicing off the hands of another, grabbing the lapel of one undead so he may strike it through the eyes.

Once the huts are ablaze, it takes the men less than ten minutes to herd the undead and destroy every one of them. White and Ballard run back down around either side of the house, checking the perimeter for any undead that did not give chase. Meade takes off into the trees to catch two monsters which came from elsewhere, attracted by the sound no doubt. Fortunately, they were able to complete their task without any use of their rifles or pistols which would have made undue noise.

"I cannot believe such a scheme succeeded," Hamilton says to Laurens.

"Fire makes quick work of the living or dead."

"Yes," Hamilton says, his tone grim. "But you as such bait to set it?"

Laurens reaches out and touches Hamilton's cheek briefly. He sees the concern still on Hamilton's face even with the success of their plan. He wishes he could kiss Hamilton now and put him more at ease.

"It did succeed," Laurens says, "I am well."

"Yes." Hamilton looks unconvinced.

"We knew a danger to this mission; a danger to our very lives now."

"I know."

"It was a risk we agreed likely to succeed."

Hamilton sighs and looks away at Meade returning, some blood on his lapel and two of their packs in his hand from where they had been stowed away.

"I know all this." Then Hamilton looks back to Laurens. "I simply would wish no risk to you at all."

Laurens smiles fondly and squeezes Hamilton's upper arm. He wishes greatly to kiss Hamilton, to lie down in the snow despite the cold and hold Hamilton close.

"Done," Meade says, glancing between the two men. "And you?"

Hamilton looks down at the pile of bodies near them. "None have stirred once more."

Meade makes an undignified noise. "Rising from the dead once is far enough for my senses, a second should be considered rude."

Laurens and Hamilton smile at once.

"Meade," Laurens asks. "Should I call that a joke?"

Meade glances up at Laurens, his lip quirking for a moment. Then his expression falls, his lips pressing tight. "No," he says firmly. "I call it fact." Meade turns back toward the house, White and Ballard now both waiting near the over turned cart in the fence. "Well?"

Hamilton and Laurens glance at each other then begin to walk down the hill. White hands back the rest of their packs once they reach the two men, only somewhat wet from their brief time in the snow. Then the five of them climb and pull each other carefully over the fortifications, avoiding sharpened logs and pulling out some looser sticks or broken furniture to allow them through. They walk briskly across the short gap between the wall and the house. Then Laurens knocks sharply on the front door. The door opens three seconds later to reveal a Corporal in a torn uniform.

"We have come to call upon General Knox," Hamilton says.

"With compliments from General Washington," Laurens adds.

"And with a purpose to bring all within to see him at once," Meade concludes.

The man looks very much as if he would wish to start crying.

Inside the house, the aides find General Knox and twenty men under his protection.

"We had more a week past," Knox explains as the men gather up the remaining food and weapon supplies for their exit. Once a man of some ample waist and chin, Knox appears thinner now, the weeks of their siege made plain upon his figure. "But no doubt you saw the break in our wall and house."

"Indeed," Laurens confirms.

"This half of the house fell and ten men with it." Knox gestures to several tables nailed into doorways. "I suspect, despite your good work, many of those undead still wander the rooms within."

"General Washington has decided upon action instead of fear behind walls," Hamilton explains. "We go to gather what men still live and reform our army."

Knox's lips twist into a smile. "Better to die and fight than wait?" He laughs once with an ironic tone. "Just as the revolution itself, is it not?"

Meade raises his eyebrows but Laurens nods. "I think a simpler goal in this fight perhaps."

"Sirs?" The ranking men turn to Ballard behind them now. "Your men are readied."

Laurens and Hamilton turn back to Knox. "Meade and Corporal White shall see you back. Hamilton, Ballard and I are to seek out Lafayette."

Knox nods. "He sent a rider a week past, but we have been too besieged since then for any messages in. It is a wonder our own was able to make it out to you."

Laurens and Hamilton glance at each other. Meade looks away and busies himself with gathering paper and correspondence from Knox's desk. None choose to mention how the horse lacked its rider.

Hamilton and Laurens walk with the party out to the main road, then split off in a southernly direction while Meade takes Knox and the larger party back north toward their own headquarters. Laurens wishes them luck as they go and hopes for no loss of men along their way. It is not a long journey and the light still favors them.

"Gentlemen," Hamilton says to Laurens and Ballard. "We make for General Lafayette now."

Ballard blows out a breath. "Less a walk at least."

The three men turn down the road and toward the covered bridge. Lafayette's headquarters lie at one of the far corners of the camp and only fifteen more minutes of a journey from General Knox's house. With so many undead formerly clustered around Knox, they may be lucky to not meet any more of the creatures before they come within sight of Lafayette's own house.

"If they all still live," Laurens mutters to himself as they walk.

"The Baron's house had word from him not long past," Hamilton says. "I think it reason to hope."

"But Knox's own house half lost. The Baron's fallen. Varnum, Maxwell…"

"We must maintain some hope or what have we?"

Laurens looks down at Hamilton, Ballard walking at least a yard ahead of them. "You," he smiles. "I have you, Hamilton."

Hamilton smiles back at him. "Am I all you should need to persevere in a state such as this, our friends dying and then standing once more?"

Laurens sighs but keeps his cheer. "You are the brightest point among all such darkness to me."

Hamilton's lips twitch as they walk under the arch of the covered bridge, the light lessening. Ballard is far enough ahead now that he steps off the bridge back into the light. Hamilton side steps close to Laurens and kisses him once firmly on the lips. He pulls away again just as quickly, Laurens leaning after him so Hamilton grins. Laurens sighs and wishes they could linger here, stand under the false security of the little bridge, watch the water and kiss until Laurens loses his breath and Hamilton stands slack against him, nothing to fear but discovery, no dead walking, no desperation, only this beautiful man in his arms.

"My dear Alex…" Laurens murmurers.

"Darling John," Hamilton replies.

Then they hear a shout ahead of them. Laurens swings up his sword in the same moment that Hamilton unsheathes his short sword and pulls his pistol. They rush forward as they see Ballard fallen into the snow with three creatures set upon him.

"Ballard!" Hamilton shouts.

As they near, however, Laurens sees these are not undead. They are living men. They wear torn civilian clothing, bodies thin, with one holding Ballard's rifle and the other two some short clubs. The one man slams his club into Ballard's head as Ballard attempts to stand.

"Stop!" Laurens' shouts as he and Hamilton run to assist. "Unhand him!"

The man with the rifle yanks Ballard's pack off him, spilling half the contents as he rips it open. Another tries to pull Ballard's coat from his back.

"Stop, I say," Hamilton says holding up his pistol toward the men. "Leave him be. You need not rob him!"

"Good… god…" Ballard moans trying to twist away from the man grabbing at his coat.

The wild men do not reply to Hamilton, two still digging through the contents of Ballard's pack while the other beats Ballard again and gets one arm of Ballard's coat off. Laurens finally reaches the party and shoves the man accosting Ballard back.

"Enough!"

The man swings wildly at Laurens with the club, just missing his chest. Laurens jumps back, nearly tripping over Ballard on the ground.

"Back sir!" Hamilton says, moving around in front of Laurens and Ballard with his pistol out. "I would not shoot you, but you must desist."

Laurens helps Ballard to his feet, checking the bleeding wound on his head. Then he moves quickly to the men ravaging the pack. "Stop!" He reaches them and grabs one man by the collar. "Leave this!"

The man knocks his head up into Laurens' chin with a crack as Laurens pulls him. Laurens chokes back a swear and tastes blood in his mouth. He stumbles to the side and holds out his sword between them. The man's eyes appear mad, wide and blood shot but still clearly alive. He growls low and rushes Laurens. Laurens tries to back pedal, to not hurt someone that still breathes but the man grasps at Laurens' hat, his hair, his coat. Laurens finally hits the man in the head with the pommel of his sword, so he falls down into the snow.

"Please, stop!" Laurens hears Hamilton cry.

He looks up and over in time to see the man who accosted Ballard now running toward Hamilton. Ballard grips Hamilton's coat, huddled behind Hamilton without a weapon. Then Hamilton fires his pistol, a sound loud and ringing in the still winter around them. The man pinwheels his arms then falls onto his face in the snow, a sprinkle of blood on the white. Laurens stares for two harsh breaths – they were alive, these men were savage and alive. Then Laurens turns as he hears the sound of feet running. The third man races off into the trees, Ballard's pack clutched in his hands. The three conscious men stare after him, none giving chase.

"Ballard?" Hamilton asks, turning around putting his hand to Ballard's head. "Are you well? Dizzy?"

"Some," Ballard mutters. Hamilton holds up three fingers. Ballard nods slowly. "Three."

"Good," Hamilton replies.

"Are you well to walk?" Laurens asks, still eyeing the blood and forming bump on Ballard's head.

"I would rather do so that than stay," Ballard says, wincing as he picks up his hat.

Hamilton nods then moves to retrieve Ballard's rifle, forgotten by their attackers in the snow. Laurens looks down at the unconscious man. He knows they should not leave him as an easy meal for any undead. Yet they cannot waste time to carry him.

Laurens sucks in a sharp breath and turns away, leading Hamilton and Ballard on down the road. "Perhaps we should hurry."

They walk ten more minutes in silence, Ballard with a handkerchief to his wound in–between Hamilton and Laurens should he need assistance. The woods remain quiet as they walk, no animals or birds but neither do they see any dead. Laurens' spies the remains of a campfire and the shell of a cabin, picked clean of most useable wood. He hopes this means the wood taken to Lafayette's headquarters for defense.

There is no warning as they come over the rise of the hill. In one moment, they walk alone in the snow, in the next they stand face to face with a swarm of more than a dozen undead soldiers – ragged uniforms with blood stained cloth, gaping mouths, broken arms with reaching hands, missing hats and dirty hair twisted over their features, groaning and moaning and howling for their surprise meal.

"Shit!" Ballard shouts as he tries to swing his rifle around and stumbles backward.

Hamilton jumps to the left to avoid a pair of arms and snapping teeth.

"Alex!" Laurens shouts, reflexively stabbing his sword to slice through the arm of one undead.

Laurens tries to escape toward Hamilton but two of the things stagger into his path. Laurens pulls at the ax in his belt as he plunges his sword into the skull of one creature but the ax catches on the leather. Laurens pulls with both hands, his sword coming free of the corpse, but he staggers backward as two more undead start to grasp at his ax hand.

"Laurens – John!" He hears shouted.

Laurens slashes his sword in front of himself again, catching two undead but slaying neither. He stumbles, trying to look for his companions. He sees Ballard rushing at all speed through a gap in the lines, his pistol in one hand, rifle gone.

"There!" Hamilton says and Laurens sees a flash of orange-red hair, nothing like blood – soft, beautiful, alive. "Lafayette's!"

Laurens sees Hamilton's point around the crowd and indeed the building is within sight now, still standing as far as he can tell. Yet the undead mass lies in their way, not just a dozen but more like twenty, twenty-five around them. Laurens tries to run around, left where Hamilton was on the other side of the mass, but the bodies tighten toward him, pushing him back.

"Away!" Laurens shouts, stabbing out again with his sword, felling one monster who was once a Private.

An undead grabs at his neck, tearing away a button at Laurens' collar. Laurens chokes and jolts away, knocking into another undead beside him. He smells the foul odor of decay as one mouth bites toward his cheek. Laurens jerks back again, his hat falling and his elbow cracking on some dead bone. He finally pulls his axe free and tries to swing it up but the undead are too close, so he cannot raise his arm high enough. He shoves forward into the stomach of one creature, but it sticks in the mess of bone and rotting flesh. Laurens jerks his hand back, losing the weapon. He sees three mouths before him now, too close to his, only his sword up between them as defense. He feels hands pulling at his pack until the strap on his sword arm breaks and it falls off his other arm for the undead behind him to tear apart.

Then Laurens feet slip on the wet snow. Laurens falls hard onto his tailbone. He manages to keep his sword up to one side – black flesh, torn breeches, missing shoes and reaching hands. A mouth suddenly closes around his arm, teeth biting into his wool coat. Laurens shouts in alarm – no, he cannot die, not yet.

Then the shine of metal stabs into the top of the monster's skull on his arm so it cracks and oozes. Laurens pushes the face off and away, kicks out at already decaying knees in front of him. Another undead falls and then another with the sing of a blade. Suddenly, a hand grabs Laurens under the arm hauling him back up to standing.

"Laurens!" Hamilton lips brush his cheek in their proximity, Hamilton hugging Laurens against his chest then pushing Laurens behind him. "Go, run go!"

"Not without –"

"I am running!" Hamilton snaps as he fires his pistol into another of the undead so it falls and sends a second falling with it.

Laurens grasps Hamilton's hand as they both start to run, shoving two undead away and making a gap. Laurens keeps his sword up as they go, slashing across some flesh almost blindly. He feels Hamilton smash the butt of his pistol into something but he cannot see. He focuses on the building ahead of them across the snow. He keeps his hand tight in Hamilton's, forces himself not think about the teeth around his arm.

"How far?" Hamilton cries, his head turning to look behind them at the undead who pursue.

"Ten yards!" Laurens cries seeing now the tall rise around the building looking much like a redoubt – something safe, something they can make. He wonders if this is what Walker and North felt as they ran toward his Excellency's house, hope and fear and the pounding in their ears.

Then Laurens hears a shout, "Fire!"

The sound of gunshots explode into the air around them. Laurens ducks instinctively but nothing hits him nor Hamilton. Laurens hears the thud of bodies falling behind him. He chances a look back and sees ten creatures fallen or dropping to their knees.

"Encoure!" the shout comes again as they near the gate.

Another round of gunshots split the air and Laurens hears guttural sounds, crack of bone and answering thumps. An opening suddenly appears in the wood wall, swinging up on ropes. Four men spill out, two on either side with their rifles drawn.

The voice cries, "Fire!"

The four men shoot on either side of Laurens and Hamilton as they all but fall through the gate, skidding to a stop in the mud. Laurens turns back. Through the gap in the wall he sees none of the undead remain standing. They litter the snow behind where the two of them ran like a clear marker of their path, body after body in a curving line. The four men outside the gate pull their rifles down, slinging them onto their backs.

"Check for supplies," someone says from inside and the four men walk out into the snow, stooping over the once again dead.

"Bonjour, mon ami."

Laurens turns back and looks up at the voice. The Marquis de Lafayette stands on the top of what appears to be a watch tower. Five stairs lead up to a platform with a cloth awning stretched above it. The wood looks to be once part of cabins, the cloth canvas like their tents. Lafayette grins down at them, hand on his sword pommel. His aide-de-camp, Gimat, stands beside him with a rifle in hand, still pointed out toward the snows.

Laurens notices now how far out the fortifications are from Lafayette's small house, at least thirty yards all around making the area much like a fort. The guard tower is positioned close to the wall but behind it stand ten cabins encircling the house, most poorly or quickly built but secure. A lean–to covers a pair of horses, both with blankets over them and tied to posts, as well as some crates of supplies. Men walk among the structures carrying food, a group working on repairing uniform pieces, twenty more drill in a far corner beyond the house.

"My God," Hamilton whispers in awe beside Laurens.

"C'est si bon de te voir!" Lafayette says as he hurries down the stairs. He stops before them, taking the sword from Laurens' hand then grasping his fingers.

It is only then that Laurens realizes he still holds Hamilton's hand in his. He lets go with some reluctance as Lafayette shakes his other hand.

"You are alive!" Lafayette says back to English with his excitement dying down. "You are here and alive."

"And your fortifications are impressive!" Hamilton says. "Your men… so many men!"

"And how well they shot," Laurens adds.

Lafayette laughs once. "Do you think the Baron's instruction for naught? Non, non. We may fight these beasts in just the same manner."

Laurens notices Lafayette wears a leather vest of some kind across his chest and under his coat. The vest has three holsters, each holding a pistol in alternating positions. Clearly the purpose allows Lafayette to draw and shoot more rapidly with less need for reloading, three shots at once instead of one. He appears much like a pirate.

"Laurens! Your arm!" Hamilton gasps with sudden concern. "Oh Laurens… please no." He grips Laurens' arm and they both look down to where the undead bit Laurens out in the snow.

Laurens sucks in a breath. "Hamilton…"

Hamilton pushes at the ripped cloth, searching for Laurens' wound. Laurens feels no pain at the press of Hamilton's fingers, no wet blood. The both peer closer and see Laurens' shirt not even ripped – no blood, no cut skin, no bite to injure him. The undead only managed to tear through the wool.

"Ha!" Hamilton cries, high and breathless. "You are not bitten. There is nothing." He grins wide and grasps both of Laurens biceps, pulling him close enough to kiss. "You are not bitten!"

Laurens smiles wide back. "I am not."

"Bien," Lafayette says quietly.

The two men look at Lafayette again. He smiles at them and claps them both on the shoulder.

Suddenly Laurens' face falls and he steps back from Hamilton. "Ballard. There was another man with us." He looks about. "Private Ballard."

Lafayette points over Hamilton's shoulder. "He runs far faster than you two."

Ballard sits on an over turned barrel, another man holding a bandage up to Ballard's head. Ballard glances at them and smiles in a grim manner.

"Well," Hamilton says, turning back to Lafayette. "I say he had less undead desiring to eat his person once away than we two."

Laurens laughs hard, the tone on the edge of hysterical. Then he breathes in deeply, calms the beat of his heart. "Lafayette, we are well pleased to see you. How many men have you?"

"How have you made this…" Hamilton huffs. "This fort?"

Lafayette grins at them. "We built the walls soon, not a few days after the first dead man." Lafayette makes a face. "I confess some superstition and fear on my part that proved correct. Then many men from Woodford's brigade joined us here as situations worsened, the more able men, the more parties we were able to secure, the more we could build as needed." Lafayette gestures to indicate his men at work. "And we attempted several missions beyond this to find more men to bring to safety."

"How many?" Hamilton asks. "How many men have you here?"

Lafayette glances up at Gimat. Gimat does not look down from his sights as he answers, "At least two hundred."

"Two hundred!" Laurens gasps.

"Ten or twelve per cabin," Gimat says. "And the rooms of our house full beyond."

"With twenty men on shifts to watch our walls we make space enough," Lafayette says proudly. "I would take in more." He looks significantly at Hamilton and Laurens. He swallows and appears afraid as he asks. "Does your arrival mean what I should fear? General Washington…"

"No," Laurens answers. "Not as you fear."

"The opposite," Hamilton continues. "Despite our own need for rescue, the General's headquarters still stand and his intention is to bring all to him."

"Oui?" Lafayette says with eagerness in his tone.

"Yes," Laurens repeats. "As he said, 'fight or die.' We have been sent out around camp to gather those that live to His Excellency."

"Tres Bien!" Lafayette explains, making Gimat above chuckle. "And what is our plan?"

"Either we retake Valley Forge or make for Philadelphia," Hamilton answers. He glances around the camp. "I cannot say our fortifications quite as well as this however…"

"It does not matter," Laurens says, drawing both men's eyes. "Once reformed we will fight, not just defend. Can your men be prepared to leave? Do you think them able to make the trip? It is short but still one of danger."

Lafayette smirks. "Mon Cher Laurens, we shall all be glad of such a purpose."

"We may wait until tomorrow morning," Hamilton says. "Give your men time to ready and all supplies possible to be gathered."

"Oui." Lafayette looks up at Gimat. "Donne ordre pour de telles preparations. Je veux tous les aliments, vêtements et munitions." He looks down at Laurens and Hamilton once more as Gimat descends the stairs, trading his rifle to another man. "And you both? Êtes–vous bien?"

"We are now," Hamilton replies, his eyes shifting to Laurens and his hand straying over the ripped cloth on Laurens' arm.

Suddenly Laurens notices a sound; it is faint but it carries over the winter stillness. Laurens begins to smile as the sound grows, far off but continuous.

"What is that?" Lafayette asks with a frown. "It sounds…"

"Like drums," Laurens finishes for Lafayette.

"And fife," Hamilton adds.

Lafayette stares at them still in confusion. "What does it mean?"

It means General Greene has completed his mission. It means Gibbs and his men have secured the north. It means more of their men wait across the Schuylkill River.

"It means," Laurens says. "We are not alone."


The following day, Laurens, Hamilton and Lafayette travel with their troop of two hundred back along Valley Road to General Washington's headquarters. They avoid any large mass of undead along their way, snipers and swords guarding the outsides of their column to pick off any dead staggering near. When they arrive at the His Excellency's gates, Harrison meets them there grinning wide. General Washington marches out almost immediately, grasping Lafayette's hand with such elation on his face.

"It is good to see you back and alive!" Harrison gasps as General Washington leads Lafayette inside the house, still holding fast to Lafayette's arm. "And you will be amazed at what you shall find beyond the river."

"All returned alive?" Hamilton asks.

"Wayne and Greene?" Laurens continues.

"How many?"

"What is our plan?"

"What does the General say?"

Harrison holds up his hands so they quiet. He smirks at them. "More than two thousand men."

"What?" Laurens gasps in surprise – a sight less than their army had been but more than they could have hoped for with the decimation from such undead attacks.

"Fort Huntington, the Commissary, even some of the entrenchments." Harrison grins. "More men finding more endurance than we would believe. They are here, more behind you I see, and we have a chance."

"A chance at what?" Hamilton asks. "Do we think to clear our encampment?"

Harrison shakes his head, glancing back at headquarters. All three men look at General Washington standing tall and resolute in the door. Harrison says, "We make for Philadelphia."