"Stiles!" Derek screamed as he fought his way through the waves of zombies that threatened to overwhelm their group. But his panic was making it difficult to calm himself. His wolf howled for his Mate as soon as the other disappeared from sight. He'd heard the other man's war cry as he'd knocked a few zombies back before he was pulled away.

"Where's Stiles?" Scott asked as he broke through the throng and panted. He was coated in things he'd rather not think about.

"I don't know," Derek growled as he crushed the skull of a rotting zombie that was trying to bite him. He flicked the gore off his hands as he turned to the Alpha. "He was pulled away from me," he snarled temper flaring as they fought to make a bit of space around them.

"We'll find him," Scott assured his fellow werewolf. "He's a survivor."

"But we have to get through this mess first," Derek growled as his eyes glowed brightly.

Scott didn't say anything in reply as he let out a roar of encouragement to the whole Pack before knocking several zombies backward. One of them impaled it's head and stopped moving but was quickly replaced by another. Snarling and spitting and reaching with claw shaped human hands.

The fight was terrible, bloody, exhausting and lasted for hours before the horde had either been turned away or lay with a smashed in head. The Pack regrouped, panting and leaning against each other. They tried to take stock of each other.

"Did we lose anyone?" Scott asked, panting as several long gashes slowly healed along his side. His eyes scanned over the assembled group and tried to see through the grime.

"Stiles is missing," Lydia said after a few moments. She straightened her posture and had taken a moment to push her hair back into some semblance of order. Partly for herself and partly for those around her. Her calm appearance and togetherness did seem to be helping her friends. "So is Allison, Jordan, and Kira. They could be on the other side of town or ... I don't know. My power can't really ... it's confused by the undead around us. I didn't feel a scream, but I'm not feeling like we have nothing to worry about. It's almost like a scream is coming, but like there isn't one. It's been like that for a few days," she offered with a small, uncertain shrug of her shoulder. She hugged herself, feeling cold and unsure of herself and her abilities.

"Okay, anyone notice anyone else missing?" Scott asked as he tried to make himself look like he was okay with everything. He stood taller, trying to portray the strong Alpha that he was supposed to be.

"Nobody has seen the Sheriff," Liam offered, voice quiet as he held his side.

"I'm here!" the Sheriff's rough voice called out from a short distance away. He was holding his side but it merely looked like he was dirty and bruised rather than bleeding. He held a shotgun in one hand while his free arm was wrapped around Jordan's shoulder. "Has anyone seen my son?"

Scott pursed his lips together, unwilling to say anything just yet. Hopeful that his best friend would come limping back into view and complaining about them leaving the 'fragile human' behind to fend for himself. He had faith that the other would be able to make it back to them. He had a pretty good habit of making it back. Usually in one piece. For his Dad and for Derek.

"We haven't found him yet," Lydia replied. She gave Jordan a small smile, happy that he was alright but unhappy that one of their friends was missing.

"I'm sure we'll be able to find him, or where he went if we look after we regroup. What about you guys? Are you okay? And can't you smell him?" the Sheriff asked as he rested against a nearby car with a greatful sigh.

"I can't smell anything but the zombies," Scott admitted quietly, feeling slightly ashamed that he couldn't pick out his best-friend; brother's, scent from the mayhem.

"Don't feel bad," Derek offered, still tense with the thought of not seeing Stiles anytime soon. His fangs had receded but his claws were still out, ready for a fight it it should come to that. "I can't barely smell the rest of you. It wounldn't take much in this muck to cover up someone's scent. If he even caved one zombie's head in and got it on himself, it would be nearly impossible to track him over the smell of rot and decay."

Scott sighed in frustration as he ran a hand; filthy as it was, through his hair in an effort to soothe himself. "I just with i knew where he was. And Allison. They aren't immune to the bite of a zombie."

"That's true. But at least we found out that a scratch won't turn you. Only the saliva or the blood of a freshly killed zombie," Jordan replied as he scanned the area around them for signs of the undead coming back for another round. "We should probably head indoors and establish a base before we do much else. We need food, safety and a plan."

The group turned as the sound of someone or something approaching caught their attention. They readied guns and claws in preparation for a possible attack.

"Hello, everyone," Deaton called as he came into view looking a little worse for the wear.

"Thank god it's you," the Sheriff breathed as he holstered his gun again.

"I wish I had good news," Deaton replied as his hand tightened on a piece of cloth. "I found this... I believe it belongs to Stiles."

Derek's eyes locked onto the red fabric that was soaked through with a darker red. He moved slowly as though his body was no longer under his control. He reached out with one shaking hand and took the fabric from the Druid. A trembling sniff of the fabric confirmed his worst fears. "Stiles..." he whined as his legs collapsed under him and sent him to the pavement with a painful thud before he tipped his head back in a mournful howl.

TBC ...