A/N - I am having an ablute blast writing this story (as you can tell from the fact that I've written and posted three chapters in the last three days) which originated from a rather pleasant dream I had... I applaude all those who have read along so far, and to those wonderful people who have added this story to their favourites I give my deepest thanks. I ask only one thing from all of you, please, oh please, oh please submit a review or two... I adore hearing what everyone thinks, and welcome all constructive criticism. SexySadie88, as my very first ever reviewer I pledge alliegence to you and all that you do! When I saw that lonely little 1 sitting up there beside 'Reviews' my heart actually skipped a beat. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, and I hope to hear from you soon. Anywho, please enjoy this next installment, and please pretty please let me know what you think!

Blessed Be XOXOXOXO

We made our way down eight flights of stairs, with only a torch and memory to guide us in the hollow darkness of the stairwell. Counting each step in my head, a nervous habit from before the End, I tried not to think of the arduous climb up we faced when we returned at dawn.

Reaching the ground floor, we walked through to the lobby where everyone had gathered around the glow of several Coleman lamps. The grandeur of the Hotel had been diminished by our need to survive. The full length, plate glass windows that would usually have offered glorious views of the front gardens had been bordered up with enough wood to rival even the biggest of Amazon forests. The first floor had been similarly fortified for added protection in the happenstance the Infected worked out how to use ladders.

"We're ready to roll, boss" Fletch called, his tall, lanky frame folded into a plush red armchair. He had a bandolier slung across his chest, a chunky rifle at his feet. Tapping his fingers against the arm of the chair and bouncing his feet, he was full of boisterous energy.

Beside him, Orla, a young woman with a mocha complexion and closely cropped black curls, sat cleaning her gun. Just like Fletch, she showed no fear.

We had learned long ago to be strong in the face of danger, even if, on the inside, we were whimpering like six year old girls. Weakness was a death sentence.

"Here, sweetness" a gentle voice said as middle aged Ruth handed me a chunk of homemade bread. The mother of our rag tag group, she was always looking after us, working herself to the bone to provide us with hearty meals from the scraps we were able to scavenge.

"Thank you" I said gratefully, tearing it in half and handing the larger piece to Dean.

He nodded his thanks to Ruth, walking across to the burly Manny, a former truck driver with almost every inch of his pale flesh covered with an array of tattoos. He once told me that each piece of ink carried a memory, but I was yet to hear about them.

Ruth patted my cheek with a motherly affection, her tired eyes full of concern.

"You be careful out there, child" she said, leaning in to press her lips gently to my forehead. "God be with you"

I smiled politely. I loved Ruth, but I was a staunch agnostic. Her devotion to God and continual blessings of our group sometimes made me uncomfortable, but I wasn't the one to challenge her beliefs. We only had each other these days and nothing was worth breaking the close bond we had all formed.

"Alright, let's head on out" Dean called, rallying the troops.

All five of us. Including Ruth, that made six.

In the whole of the city, the state... Hell, maybe the World, only six of us remained.

It had never been spoken of, but Dean was the unofficial leader of our little survivors group. Before the Infection set in, he had been a Hunter of the Supernatural, one of the best in the business if we were to believe his wild tales of paranormal adventures. Of all of us, he was better equipped to deal with this. That he become the Alpha male was natural.

"You all come back to me, you hear" Ruth called as we made our way out of the building through the hidden entrance. "God bless you with the strength to make it back to me"

Outside, the night was depressingly quiet. Hollow, and empty, and bone achingly cold.

We walked across the car park, weaving through the maze of rusted cars to our own convoy.

Two Army lorries, dubbed Romero and Tarantino, a yellow pick up truck Manny had taken to calling Sunflower, and Dean's beloved black Impala. The classic car looked a little worse for wear but Dean would rather take another trip to Hell than lose her.

I knew he loved her more than me, but I was happy coming a close second. Besides, the car was just about as sexy as a car could get, and Dean looked fiercely gorgeous behind her wheel.

"We're heading to Langley Falls, small city about a half hour North of here" Dean started, spreading a map across the hood of the Impala. "We know the highway's pretty clear so stick to it. Any sign of an Infected, radio it in and hightail it out of there. Clear?"

"Yes, sir" Fletch saluted.

Dean rolled his eyes good-naturedly, more than used to Fletch's antics.

"Manny, you take the pick up" Dean started, folding the map up and tucking it into his jacket. Manny nodded, adjusting the black Stetson that held back his silver locks. "Fletch, take Romero. Lulu, Orla, think you two can handle Tarantino?"

"Like a pro" I grinned, linking arms with Orla. "Sisters are doing it for themselves, cowboy"

"Damn straight" she declared. Truth be told, she was like a sister to me. We were both twenty-two, shared similar tastes in music, and for all we knew, we were the last two young women on the face of the Planet. That kind of thing had the tendancy to lead to a BFF relationship.

"That's my girl" Dean smiled proudly.

Everyone headed to their respective vehicles. I walked across to Dean, my hands in my pockets. I hated this part the worst.

Leaving him, even for only a short while, was torture.

"Things get hairy, you run" he said, brushing a loose curl behind my ear. "Don't look back, just run"

"Ditto" I smiled sadly.

He pressed a quick, soft kiss to my lips, then slipped in behind the wheel of the Impala. His eyes met mine for a moment, and the concern burning in them touched me.

Taking a deep breath, I walked across to Tarantino and climbed into the cab. Orla sat in the passenger seat, flicking through a small selection of CD's we had liberated from a broken down sedan several weeks earlier.

"Greenday, or Fall Out Boy" she asked as I gunned the engine. It roared to life with a defiant bellow. Luckily, the Infected were heavy sleepers. We could drop an A-Bomb out here and they probably wouldn't even notice.

"Fall Out Boy" I answered without hesitation, easing the truck into gear and following the others down the street. "Something with a good beat"

"Hell yeah" she laughed, slipping a disc into the CD player and within moments, She's My Winona blared from the speakers.

As Orla sang along loudly, albeit badly, I glanced in the rear vision mirror at Dean, who was following closely behind us. His face was set in a hard line, clearly anxious about the night ahead.

I hoped we would make it through the night without incident. I hoped we would find enough supplies to last another few months.

I hoped with everything I had that I would be able to slip into bed with him in a few hours.