It had been three days since Curt and Owen had barricaded themselves in the agency's cafeteria. The scratching at the door had stopped after an hour, and Owen had hypothesized that the Infected had heard a noise somewhere else in the agency and had forgotten about them. Still, they waited three days, hoping that the extra time would cause the horde to really spread out and they wouldn't open the door to a cluster of them. On the second day, the power went out. On the third, Curt's cell phone died—not that it had been any use to them in the first place, with the channels jammed from over-use and the power going out.

Those three days had been spent in an anxious silence; Curt and Owen only exchanging a few necessary words or grunts of agreement. Neither knew what to say or what to do. So, for three days, they waited.

Finally, on the morning of the fourth day, Curt spoke. "We're running low on rations." He said, handing Owen a bowl of dry cereal. "We've got the last of this box of cereal, a jar of peanut butter, and some bread. Everything else can't be cooked without the power."

"Great." Owen said. "So we're out of options. We have to leave."

Curt popped the magazine out of his gun. "I have fourteen bullets left."

Owen checked his cartridge. "Seventeen." He clicked the magazine back into place. "Guns have to be an 'emergency only' measure, though."

"What? Why? Guns are the best option for killing these things without having to get too close."

"I agree," Owen started, "However, they're also the loudest. Did you notice how the…the infected people, they didn't even notice us until you started yelling. You created a noise, and since all the other agents were also firing their guns, it was unique to the noises around them. They're attracted to sound. So we have to be quiet."

Curt thought about this for a moment. "OK, so no guns. How do we get out of this place alive, then?"

Owen pulled a hunting knife out of his pocket. "I've got this, and I'm sure there's a knife for you in the kitchen."

Curt walked to the back of the cafeteria and around the counter to the kitchen area. He began to pull open drawers until he found a butcher's knife. "This is all I found." He said, carrying the knife back out into the common area. "But it's impractical. It's too bulky and isn't the best for stabbing." He made a stabbing motion with it.

"You're right. Plus, we need more options in case we drop our knives or it gets lodged in…" He threw his hands up in the air. "Oh fuck it, I'm just going to call them the Infected." Curt shrugged. "We need more options than just these two knives."

Curt snapped his fingers. "The evidence room! It has all the weapons we've ever confiscated from missions. Guns, knives, staffs, even a bazooka."

"We don't need a bazooka." Owen said.

"Well, yes, I know that." Curt said, only slightly disappointed. "But I'm just saying that there's a lot of options for us."

"Ok, so that's stop number one. Where's it at in the building?"

"It's on this floor, but on the south side of the building. Here—" Curt grabbed a napkin off of the coffee bar and searched for a pen. He found one in a different drawer in the kitchen. "This is what the first floor looks like." He made a rough sketch of the corridors and circled the cafeteria. "We're here. We'll have to go through the lobby and it's at the end of this hallway." He circled a spot on the opposite side of the building. "It's maybe a five-minute walk."

Owen nodded at the map. "Let's make it four."

"Three if we run."

"Three it is, Mega."

They'd made quick work of moving the tables away from the door and had put a rough plan in place—they'd make break for the evidence locker, trying to move as quietly as possible and not engaging with the Infected unless they engage first.

"Remember, Mega, no matter who you see out there, you have to keep moving. Keep your eyes on the prize."

"I know, Carvour." Curt said, adjusting the grip on his knife. "In and out." He took a deep breath. "OK. Let's do this."

Owen gripped the door handle, then quietly swung open the door and peaked out into the hallway. "Clear." He whispered. And they both began to sprint down the corridor.

The hallway leading to the lobby was empty, and the two men ran side-by-side until they reached the entrance to the lobby. There, Owen gestured for them to stop. Curt flattened himself against the wall and watched as Owen leaned around the corner to look out into the lobby.

"There's about ten Infected." He whispered. "Spread out in the space, but not actively moving. If we keep along this wall here, we should be able to slip past most of them." Owen changed the grip on his knife. "On three, we run. We won't have time to check the next hallway, so we'll just have to be prepared for the worst." Curt nodded. "One… two… three."

The two spies pushed off of the wall and Curt followed Owen around the corner. Quietly, they began to race towards the south side of the lobby. They were nearing the southern end, when Curt's foot connected with a metal water bottle someone had dropped during the swarm. The bottle made a clanging noise as it ricocheted off the floor of the lobby and skittered to rest in a corner.

The Infected in the lobby snapped to attention and locked their eyes on Curt and Owen. One began to snarl, and they began to walk towards them at a steady pace. Owen rolled his eyes. "So much for quiet." He brought his knife up. "Let's make quick work of this, shall we?" He stabbed the nearest one through the temple. The Infected made a choking sound, then fell to the floor.

"They see us, Carvour. Why don't we just shoot them?" He stabbed an approaching Infected and reached for his gun as it dropped to the floor.

"Because, Mega," Owen side-stepped an Infected that had lunged at him, planting his knife in its skull and watching it fall. "We don't know how many are in this building. I'd like to avoid bringing down a whole swarm on us." He kicked one that got too close and knocked it into two others. The three Infected stumbled backwards and through a glass coffee table—killing two and spearing one on a table leg, immobilizing it. Six down, four to go.

"I'm just saying," Curt said, walking forward and driving his large knife into the skull of another Infected. He had to shake it to dislodge the weapon, and once it was free, he barely had time to recover before the next one was nearly on top of him. He stabbed this one, too. "It's not like we're bad shots. We could've had this done in a jiffy." He watched as Owen took down the last two. The lobby was silent again.

"Mega, you're going to be the death of me, I swear." Owen rolled his eyes and turned to walk down the hallway towards the evidence room. As he looked back to speak again, an Infected stepped out of the dark hallway and grabbed Owen by the shoulders. "Shit!" Owen yelled, stumbling backwards. He lost his footing and fell backward, hitting the linoleum hard. His knife scattered out of his grasp and slid towards Curt. Owen put a hand on the Infected's throat and held on tight as the Infected snapped its teeth only inches from Owen's nose.

"Fuck." Curt said, grabbing Owen's knife off of the floor and driving it through the Infected's temple. Immediately, the Infected stopped moving, and Owen pushed it off him and clambered to his feet.

"What was that about me being the death of you?" Curt smirked as he handed Owen his knife back.

"Thanks." Owen said, using his pants to wipe the blood off his knife. "Let's keep moving." He turned and started walking down the hall again.

As they neared the evidence locker, it became apparent that they weren't the only ones who had thought of gathering weapons from the locker. The door was ajar and there was blood and bodies on the floor. "Shit." Curt whispered. "That's Larsen." He pointed to a man lying slumped against the wall near the door.

"And Callum." Owen pointed to another.

They were silent for a while, taking in the shock of what they were seeing.

Finally, Owen said, "We should gather our supplies and get out of here. We need to find somewhere safe."

The spies grabbed two backpacks off the wall and began to stuff them in silence. Curt grabbed three guns with silencers and stacked 10 boxes of ammo inside the backpack. He slung a compound bow onto his back and tucked an axe into his belt, then put two hunting knives in his pocket. Owen picked up a second hunting knife and loaded his backpack with ammo for the guns. Next, he picked up an aluminum bat and tested the weight of it in his hands. The bat was blue and had "Red" spray painted on the side…in purple. "What master criminal had a bat confiscated?"

Curt looked up from the rope he was inspecting. "Oh. Sergio Santos. Not really a 'master criminal'. He's not too bright and is mostly harmless, but he makes it a point to always have a weird weapon on him whenever we run into him. He says it's because he wants our logs to look crazy." Curt shrugged. "He's a weird guy."

Owen nodded and decided to take the bat with him. He also slid a crowbar into his belt and tossed an extra set of arrows for Curt's bow into the backpack. A box of grenades was sitting on the floor and Owen bent down to inspect them. "Who just tosses a bunch of grenades into a box? This is one of the most dangerous things I've ever seen. And I'm a fucking spy for a living!"

Curt looked over at the box. "Oh yeah. The Boom Box. We've just always had it."

Owen looked at Curt in horror. "You Americans… you're something else, I tell you." He reached into the box, picked out one of the grenades, and slipped it into his pocket.

"Carvour, why do you need a grenade?" Curt asked, setting his pack down.

"Huh?" Owen looked up from counting the boxes of ammo in his backpack.

"I watched you put a grenade in your pocket just now. What could you possibly need a grenade for?"

"Mega, in our line of work, you must know how important it is to stay one step ahead at all times. One step ahead of your enemies, your fellow spies, and especially ahead of undead flesh-eaters." Owen grinned. "I figured it might come in handy. Maybe it'll save our asses. And if I'm backed into a corner, then at least I can go out on my terms. And take a bunch of them with me."

Curt was silent for a moment. "It won't come to that."

Owen shrugged. "You have to be prepared for every possibility." He zipped up his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. "Where to next? We can't stay here, but we also can't leave without an objective."

"We should go to my mom's. She's in a safe house on the edge of the city—it's close to the woods and is supposed to be stocked to withstand siege if needed." Curt shouldered his pack, too. "We can hide out there until we formulate a plan."

Owen gestured to the door. "Mom Mega's it is."