Author's Note:

Things begin to pick up pace. No rest in the apocalypse.

Disclaimer: Again? Yeah, Valve owns the things I don't.

Chapter 3: The Supply Run - in which it is discovered that snow globes can be used as melee weapons.

It took three days for Carter to manage walking again, and they all figured that was about as good as they were going to get. He had been able to move around sooner, but Steven didn't want to risk them not making it to a safe house at night. Once he could manage a quick walk without doubling over, it was a unanimous decision to move out. A lot of it was due to the fact that all of them got easily tense when they couldn't be on the move.

It might be a slower pace than before, but it was far better than staying cooped up in the same room for much longer. Steven was speaking again, although he hadn't mentioned Katie since bringing the name up in the safe room. Though no one mentioned it, Carter could tell the other two were surprised at how quickly he had healed. The slashes across his chest were still painful but they wouldn't break open if he twisted too far. They had managed to ward off any infection in every cut but his hand. There the wound was still swollen and throbbed continuously; Carter assumed the diseased spit of the Stalker probably aggravated something or other. An immunity to the disease didn't guarantee an immunity to normal bacteria. That hand remained wrapped and he was grateful that he wasn't left-handed. It had taken a bit of practice to successfully wield his crowbar with one hand, and though the weight prevented him from using it for extended periods of time, he could at least hold his own against an attack.

They city hadn't changed much since they had left it for the safety of that brick room. Various moans and screeches still echoed around the buildings. Carter kept an ever-paranoid ear listening for the predatory shriek of that light-blue blur. He would never have expected an infected to search for the prey that had escaped, but that was before he had seen the thing grinning as it sliced at him, shadowed eyes glinting with the thrill of its kill…

He shook his head to clear it of the thought, wincing at the throbbing headache that it exacerbated and turning his focus to his hand for a moment. Though the initial bite hurt the most, it seemed like his fingers were getting the remainder of the pain. They felt rather like someone was purposefully crushing them between a door, but taking their sweet time with it. Come to think of it, even his right hand was rather sore…but that had to be from suddenly using it for everything. Other than the expected soreness of his cuts and a headache that had appeared the previous night, he felt fine.

"Got a store up ahead," Hank called back quietly, shaking Carter out of his brooding. "Doesn't look too bad." That, of course, wasn't very assuring. The stores were either fairly safe and completely looted or surrounded by zombies with a decent amount of goods. Not exactly a win-win situation.

"How many, do you think?" Steven muttered, peering around the corner.

"Maybe ten outside. No tellin' how many are sulkin' around in there."

"You call that 'not too bad'?" Hank chuckled softly, shrugging.

"I've seen worse," he defended. "You shoulda seen Walgreens." Carter joined them at the wall, leaning out to get a better look at the small corner store. The sign had fallen and every window was smashed. He squinted at it, frowning slightly at the sight of shuffling figures in the interior shadows.

"Looks like at least five inside," he told the others. "At least that I can see. There could be more further back…" Trailing off, he coughed twice into his elbow, wincing as it sent a stab of pain spiking through his chest. He didn't actually mind the sweater at that point, as his old shirt would have been crusted with various dried blood, grime, and filth. This was at least reasonably clean still. His companions glanced at him quickly but didn't comment, turning their attention back to the building.

"Think it's worth it?" Steven asked, rubbing his gun's barrel idly. Hank considered the area carefully, brow furrowed before he grunted.

"We can go around. Avoid the crowd at the front and slip in the back door. Carter can take out the ones inside more quietly than us with the guns, so we may not even alert 'em. If we do, at least there's somethin' to our backs." They considered it for a moment before shrugging in near-unison.

"Worth a shot," Carter agreed, lifting his crowbar to rest on his shoulder. Steven simply nodded and they turned the corner onto the sidewalk, keeping a careful watch on the milling infected across the street. None of them seemed to notice the small band of survivors lurking in the shadows, and that wasn't something they were complaining about. A sudden screeching made all three jump, but they managed to relax slightly as they spotted two zombies suddenly decide to attack each other while a few others stood by as if watching some sporting event. After a minute or so one of them collapsed and the other shrieked its victory before returning to its shuffling.

And what did he do for a living before the Flu hit? Carter found himself musing before he pushed the thought away. That didn't matter anymore. Perhaps they were normal people before, but now they were normal zombies who wouldn't hesitate to tear any survivor to shreds.

It took them at least three times longer to get around the store than it would have in normal circumstances. Carter took the lead, his weapon poised to take out any stray infected that might give away their position. Guns were far more efficient, but the sound of one going off would alert anything nearby. They got to the back door without any incident, however, and Steven examined it carefully.

"Alarmed?" Carter asked quietly, and the other man shook his head.

"Supply door. Should be alright." He picked up the padlock that held it shut before stepping aside and gesturing to Carter. "You have the honors." The crowbar made short work of the lock, though they all winced at the sound of metal on metal before shoving the door open. A single figure in the shadows looked around with what could've once been a "Huh?" before the sharp crack of steel to skull cut it off and it crumpled. The three ducked inside quickly, swinging the door shut behind them and cutting off almost all of the light.

"There's a door that leads to the bathroom hallway," Hank hissed. "Should be on the left past some shelves." Carter hadn't even noticed the shelves at first, but his eyes were adjusting to the dark quickly and their shapes loomed up in front of him.

"How do you know that?" Steven muttered, and Hank almost laughed.

"Worked here in college. Can't tell ya how many times I swept these floors."

"Have to wait a second, anyway," the black-haired man said. "I can't see a thing and I'd rather not start knocking things over." Carter glanced at him a bit curiously, blinking once.

"You can't see them?" he asked, gesturing at the shelves with various boxes stacked on them. Steven looked over, though he seemed to be peering about three feet to the left.

"Too dark. It's-" He cut off, frowning and turned in Carter's general direction. "Can you see them?"

"Yeah, they're about five feet in front of you…"

"Quiet." They both fell silent at Hank's command, Steven blinking quickly as he tried to see past the darkness. The boxes had been muffling their voices, but apparently something had been close enough to hear and curious enough to investigate. A soft shuffling and grunting was making its way down one of the rows and two guns lifted impulsively. Carter stepped to one side, glancing down the row nearest to him before turning to peer past his companions. Steven was, of course, standing directly in front of the approaching infected, though his gun was still pointing toward a box labeled 'mop heads'. Though the intruder wasn't moving quickly, it was definitely headed toward them. Apparently this one didn't have eyesight any better than Steven's, or it would have been rushing at them already.

If one of them managed to shoot it, it would be a dead giveaway to anything else in the store. It would be far easier to just take it down with the crowbar. Sighing softly, Carter slipped up to the shelf, whispering a quick "Don't shoot me," to the taller man in case he felt any sudden urge to whip that gun around. Another few steps and he swung with a slight grunt, hitting the zombie square in the neck and stepping back as a decent amount of blood and other unidentifiable fluids went airborne. The young man winced as he felt his cuts pull at the sudden movement but kept his eye on his target. It fell with a thud just as Hank and Steven looked around.

"Nice one, kid," Hank muttered, glancing down at the still figure before slipping carefully past it toward the far end of the storage room. "It's out here." They ducked through a swinging door into a short hallway. The bathroom door was broken down and there was a long smear of blood on the wall inside just visible in the slightly-brighter light. Carter looked away quickly, not bothering to imagine what had happened to whoever attempted to barricade themselves in there.

The store had been looted, of course - all of them had to some degree - but there was actually still things on the shelves along with a few boxes on the floor. Typically, half of the floor was covered in dirt, blood, and various kinds of grime, but it only seemed to reach the first shelf levels and those were already empty. Hank glanced around before nodding to the others, gesturing at individual rows as a cue to split up. They could hear the infected in the front of the store growling and staggering around, but they didn't seem too interested in the back.

Each survivor claimed a row, walking down it slowly as they scanned for anything useful. Carter managed to snag an unopened can of peanut-butter that had been shoved behind some napkins and he stuffed it into the pocket of his hoodie. We'll need bags…Hank was the only one with a backpack and it was mostly used for medical supplies and extra ammo. He glanced around quickly in search of some carrying container nearby, but went back to the shelves when there was none to be found. A small box of basic band-aids and one can of microwavable ravioli joined the peanut butter and he vaguely wondered if the store had ever been organized in a way that made sense.

The next aisle proved to be more helpful. He actually found a backpack, and though it bore the all-too-happy face of some cartoon character he felt like he should remember, it was big enough to hold a decent amount of supplies. Carter leaned his crowbar against the end of the shelf, moving to the middle of the row and kneeling to grab the bag. He had to hold it between his knees in order to unzip the thing, as his left hand wasn't worth a whole lot at the moment. He shoved his gathered supplies into the main pocket, pausing at the soft sound of footsteps. Hank and Steven were nearby, but paranoia won over and he looked toward the end of the aisle cautiously.

The paranoia was warranted. He could see one mangled shoe and a grimy leg of what was probably once a business suit. Whatever it happened to be, it was certainly neither of the men he was with. Of course - stupid, Carter - he had left his only weapon at the end of the shelf. Right where the infected was now standing. It hadn't noticed him yet, but it was making curious-sounding grunts and apparently examining the crowbar that it had found. Carter got to his feet slowly, careful not to aggravate his wounds, and moved toward the grunting slowly. That thing was interested in his crowbar. Maybe because it was shiny, or perhaps it was the smell of disease-free humans on it, but it had definitely taken an interest in the piece of metal. For some reason he felt a brief surge of possessiveness bubble up, but that was overpowered by an odd, unexplained anger.

Mine. It was only one thought, but it seemed to propel him forward. Carter grabbed the nearest hard object he could - some sort of snow globe - and covered the last few feet quickly. The glass didn't shatter on first impact with the head, but as he went after the infected when it staggered back it cracked and sent a small burst of water and plastic 'snow' over the almost-surprised face. The man dropped the snow globe and snatched up his crowbar again, swinging it at the zombie fiercely. His pulse had spiked and he fought to keep his breathing fairly normal, hitting the thing again for good measure as it collapsed. Oddly-tinged blood was pooling on the floor and Carter found himself staring at it before shaking his head quickly, cringing at the headache that still twinged there.

The anger had vanished as quickly as it had come and he was left panting slightly, his hoodie now speckled with drops of blood. A few rows down, Hank stepped out briefly to raise a brow in his direction and Carter nodded toward the dead zombie at his feet with a shrug. He turned away from the blonde man quickly, bandaged hand going to his head as he fought to push the headache back. They had yet to alert the crowd near the front of the store, but they might have to if they couldn't get many supplies back here. Retrieving his backpack, he swung it onto his right shoulder, ignoring the stabs of pain as he had to twist to get the other arm through.

The store was small and the back area didn't take too long to comb through. By some unspoken agreement, the survivors met in the far corner next to the fridge that used to hold milk - now there were multiple piles of congealed dairy products. The rancid smell was already distinct in that corner and Carter was glad the doors were close. It was bad enough just squeezing through the cracks. He wrinkled his nose slightly before pushing it to the back of his mind.

"Nice backpack," Steven commented with a smirk, and Carter shrugged.

"Always wanted one just like it," he replied. "I've still got room if you wanted to drop anything in." He could distinguish a few packages of chips and one bag of beef jerky among the things that joined the rest of the various items in the bag and Steven zipped it up again, pulling his gun from his pocket.

"What's the plan?" Hank had been peering over a shelf toward the front and turned back to them with a small frown.

"Depends. We can probably hold out with what we got, but there's always the chance of findin' more stuff up front…we'd have to fight through that lot up there, of course."

"I'm up for it." They glanced at Carter curiously and he blinked once before shrugging. "There's not too many and they're not exactly brilliant. None of them have even noticed us yet."

"I'd like to keep it that way," Steven muttered. "Better safe than sorry, right? We've got enough to get to the next safe room, I think. Might as well move out while we still can." They both looked at Hank who seemed unused to having the deciding vote. He finally sighed, hefting his own backpack further onto his shoulders.

"Better safe than sorry," he agreed. "Let's go." He turned back toward the rear entrance, Steven following closely. Carter paused, looking back at the front door where the infected were still milling around. He wondered vaguely what exactly they did all day. Any that he had seen didn't seem to do much but shuffle around muttering to themselves and occasionally getting into fights. The only time they really looked engaged was when they spotted potential prey.

"C'mon, kid, or I'm leaving you behind." He glanced around at Steven's voice and followed the other two into the back room again. The young man had to fight a sudden urge to turn around and walk straight to the front of that store, swing his crowbar into a few of the infected's heads, watch them crumple…He shook his own head quickly, once again wincing at the throbbing that persisted and ducked out into the evening air. Hank nodded down a side alley toward a spray-painted red house and an arrow pointing down the street. Though he hadn't seen the signs leading to their last resting place, it was fairly obvious what they meant. With a grim determination, the three set off again.

Carter still had to rest occasionally; he found himself short of breath faster than he had before getting shredded, but that was to be expected. Neither of the others complained though they glanced around the area warily when they had to stop. The one time he had muttered an apology, Steven simply waved it away and shot him a quick look.

"Doesn't matter. As long as you're not trying to take my throat out, I don't care." The black-haired man seemed to have finally accepted the fact that Carter wasn't some shuffling and groaning zombie, though he still raised a brow anytime a brief coughing fit would come along. The constant paranoia wasn't unwarranted, but it would almost make Carter nervous every time he caught one of those glances.

You're fine, idiot, he growled to himself. It's been three days. Nothing's happened and nothing is going to happen. He flexed his right hand idly, trying to relieve the stiffness that had appeared there. Besides, a headache and a cough weren't exactly symptoms of the Green Flu. He had yet to start puking or mumbling incoherently or attacking his companions. They were still able to move at a fairly steady pace through the city. The evacuation center, of course, was in the suburbs past the general downtown area. Apparently the Army had set it up on a large soccer field behind the junior high school. Hank estimated, at their rate, it might take a few more days to get there. They had no way of knowing whether the Army was still there or not, but there weren't exactly many other options.

He earned another glance from Steven as another short bout of coughs emerged and the younger man pressed his left hand to his chest in an effort to dull the stab of pain. Perhaps the Stalker had cracked a rib or something on impact…The bite mark throbbed in protest at the pressure and he let it fall again with a slight sigh. Knowing his luck they would have to get the hand amputated or something once they got with decent doctors. There was no telling what kind of bacteria resided in the wound now, and they only had a tube of some sort of antibacterial cream to try and fight it with.

Pain. Painbadneedtostop…

What? He shook his head once, blinking as the muddled thought faded again. Keep it together, Carter; Steven already thinks you're insane. It does no good proving it to him.

He hadn't noticed the overhead clouds until the first few drops of rain began to fall. Glancing up, the young man winced when one managed to land in his eye and he wiped at it quickly.

"Just what we need," Hank growled, hunching over slightly to cover his gun. "That safe room better be close." He glanced behind him at the other two and nodded to Carter. "You're lucky, havin' that hood." Right, he actually had a hood…Carter considered flipping it up, but the image of eyes glinting out from beneath the shadows of a similar hood held him back and he shrugged.

"I'm good. Maybe it'll get my hair clean for once." The blonde man grunted, wiping water out of his eyes even as the rain fell more quickly. Steven paused in order to fall in step beside Carter, glancing at him quickly.

"We'll have to change that bandage when we get there," he muttered, nodding at the wrapped hand. "Still hurting, is it?"

"Somewhat. I figure having a Stalker try to gnaw it off wasn't exactly the best thing to happen to it." Steven blinked, one eyebrow lifting.

"'Stalker', huh? Is that what it's called?" Carter chuckled, lifting one shoulder in a half-shrug.

"It's what I'm callin' it. That's what it does, at any rate. I figure it's better than 'pouncer' or something. Much better than having to scream 'it's that weird hooded thing that enjoys ripping my stomach open' when we see it again." The taller man managed a grin, shaking his head.

"Touché, kid." He clapped his free hand on Carter's should briefly. "I'm just glad you're alright." As Steven lengthened his stride to catch up to Hank, Carter glanced down at his right hand. Tightening his grip on the crowbar quickly did nothing to alleviate the stiffness and he frowned.

"Me too…"