A/N: Uhhh so I accidentally uploaded the wrong doc as this chapter earlier and it stayed for like fifteen minutes. So if you saw that I'm sorry, there are no anthromorphized cats in this story. I still swear I selected the right doc and the website glitched, but anyway...enjoy!

Clothing, books, and various personal belongings were strewn throughout the trailer. Lauren sat in a heap between her bed and Jake's, staring with dismay at the mess ahead of her. She'd definitely underestimated how much crap they had. At first she'd tried to do the ethical thing and assort it all between what belonged to who. For a short while, this appeased the guilt she felt at rifling through her roommate's things. Then she realized just how much Jake had been holding back. He must have kept one or two things back for himself on every run they made. A pistol, half a box of ammo, two packs of MREs, and a first aid kit, among other items, were all found neatly tucked on Jake's side of the sleeping quarters.

On one hand, this was great news for the group - Ben's 'stockpile before we leave' plan fell through. On the other hand, Lauren felt a nagging sense of betrayal. She couldn't help but imagine Jake hurriedly hiding his hoard as her back was turned. Still, they were friends, right? Surely he'd understand why she was adding his things to the group's supplies...assuming he didn't turn up in a few days and find a deserted camp.

All of this disorganization gave her a headache. She was questioning herself. She hated questioning herself. Two weeks ago, things were simple; they would go on one good scavenging trip and bring back enough to get them to , the people that went out never came back, and the remaining members of the group were divided...without nearly enough supplies. It should have just been me and Jake. We always came back.

Sleet ticked against the window. The trailer rattled furiously against a gust of wind, sending vibrations up Lauren's legs. Sighing, she climbed onto her bed and pulled the drapes aside. A mixture of snow and ice blanketed the entire camp and everything beyond. When the first flake fell the night before, Ben practically had a stroke, convinced they would be snowed in by morning. Lauren was no meteorologist, but she wasn't that worried about it.

Three knocks pounded against the front door. Before Lauren had time to answer it, it squeaked open and closed. Footsteps thudded against the carpeted floor. Ben came to lean against the doorway. He eyed the surrounding piles of clothes and junk.

"Looks like you could use some help."

"Is that why you're here?"

"Yeah." He picked up a nearby book and gazed down his nose at it. "You're the only one packing alone."

She scoffed. "I think I can handle it. You and Marvin can't be done already."

"My dad has pretty much got it covered. A packrat knows how to pack."

"Okay." Hardly a second passed before the words on the tip of Lauren's tongue came tumbling out. "Do you care about us at all? I mean as people. Carmen was kind of an asshole, but Jake and Samantha were with us for - "

"They're gone." Ben set the book back down heavily. "You're smarter than this, Lauren. You know we can't drive around Fairbanks chasing shadows."

""You know…" Lauren hesitated, pushing herself into a sitting position. "Whenever Keisha or Peggy would get on a 'bitch about Ben' fest, I used to defend you. I'd tell them you were doing your best."

"Okay?"

She forced herself to hold his gaze. "I don't think that way anymore. You're cold and it scares me. Nobody expects you to run out and kill yourself trying to find our missing people, but God, couldn't you at least act like you care? Deny it all you want, but I saw you edging your way towards that bus. You were going to leave me behind, probably Clarence too."

He rolled his eyes, then started sorting through a nearby pile of Jake's clothes. "Obviously you've got your mind made up."

"Actions speak louder than words, Ben. Don't you think it's odd that the only people not linked to you in some way all agree on this?"

"You're free to leave if you think you can survive alone." Ben's tone remained level but his jaw tightened. "You're still here because you know you can't. You might know how to handle yourself but that won't get you far."

"I know I could make it without you," she retorted. "Can you say the same?"

"I never thanked you for pulling that walker off me." He balled up the shirt he was holding and threw it back to the floor. "Is that what you want? A thank you? Well, you're not getting one. I've got enough shit to deal with, I didn't come here to pander to your ego."

Her willpower was rapidly going down the drain. Why did he have to be so difficult? "Don't try to make me out as the asshole. This group carries you when it should be the other way around. Me, Brandon, hell, even Courtney." Heart racing, she pressed on, despite Ben's irritated gaze boring holes through her. "We get the supplies, keep the camp running, and if you need to save your own ass, you can throw us to the walkers." She pointed to Jake's supply stash laid out on his mattress. "Jake must have seen it too."

"Do you really think I'd do that?" Ben inspected the box of ammo. Sadness briefly flashed across his face before he squared his shoulders. "You might not think so anymore, but I'm doing the best I can with the hand I was dealt. My dad and wife had to pick up every straggler they saw and they had no idea what came with it. They were like kids bringing home stray dogs. Their hearts might've been in the right place, but making sure you guys were taken care of? That got left up to me."

"You don't have to be 'the leader' anymore. We can make decisions together, as a group. Everybody agrees Anchorage makes sense."

"Yeah, and it only took a month to get everybody on the same page." He scoffed. "Giving everybody equal say will never work. We won't always have this much time to work with. There has to be one person doing the heavy lifting."

"Take some time and really think about this." She laid a hand on his arm. "Should that person be you?"

For a moment he stood as still as a statue, then he yanked his arm away. He grabbed a nearby tub and swept all of the items on Jake's bed into it.

Lauren's heart sank. Clearly her message hadn't gotten across how she intended. All she wanted was for Ben to recognize how inappropriate his behavior was for a supposed 'leader'. She wanted him to admit he wasn't cut out for it, admit he was just as scared as she was. And why was working together so unthinkable, anyway? She started tossing clothes, unfolded, into an empty box.

In twenty minutes the two of them had packed up most of the trailer without exchanging a single word.

"I've got it." Lauren shoved past Ben and set her own tub on top of his, then lifted them both. Muscles screaming, she all but kicked the door open. She coughed as cold air seized her lungs. Voices grew louder as she neared the bus and soon enough, she realized people were inside. The doors sat open. She set her boxes on the floor and pushed, following them inside.

Peggy sat in near the back, huddled in a blanket. Crates and tubs surrounded her. The last two seats and the floor around them had become the storage area. "Is that the last of it?"

"Just about."

"Good. My ass is gonna freeze right to this seat if we don't get going soon. Rachel kicked me out of the dining trailer an hour ago, said she could pack without me." She pursed her lips and scooted closer to the window, allowing Lauren to add her luggage to the pile.

Brandon and Adrian sat across the aisle from Peggy. Adrian stared intently at the half-finished tic-tac-toe game on the notebook in his hands. At last, Brandon had found another bandana and had it tied around his head. He caught Lauren's eye and nodded to her. "Hey, do you know how to clean a pistol?"

"I have no idea." She wiped her hands off on her jeans, leaving trails of dust.

Brandon chuckled. "Clarence taught everyone how to shoot, but none of us know how to clean the guns."

"That's not important...is it?"

"Yes." Courtney slipped onto the bus. She had a fat garbage bag thrown over her shoulder. She blinked rapidly as all eyes turned to her. "Um...I just mean guns get a build up if you shoot them a lot. A-and they can rust. That can cause them to lock up and malfunction."

Brandon grimaced. "Yikes. Imagine being face-to-face with a walker and your gun locks up."

"Can you clean them?" Lauren asked, teeming with curiosity. Having good aim was great, but she wanted to know how to take care of a weapon as well. God forbid Brandon's scenario ever happened.

Peggy rolled her eyes. "Please, she doesn't know - "

"I asked Courtney." Peggy didn't have anything useful to say at the best of times. The last thing anyone needed was for her to suck out the last of Courtney's confidence. The kid was, apparently, the last person they had who knew about handguns.

"My grandpa showed me." Her gaze flicked uncertainly to her grandmother. "We did more than hunt, you know. We took his Beretta out and shot tin cans with it all the time. I can show you guys once we get settled somewhere."

"Sounds great." Lauren smiled. "But if you already knew how to shoot pistols, why did you let Clarence teach you with Emma?"

She shrugged. "I didn't want to seem like a know-it-all."

"Girl, what in God's name are you talking about?" Peggy guffawed. Your grandpa was a hick. He knew how to shoot things. That's where his gun knowledge started and ended."

Courtney hurled her bag into the other goods. The neatly stacked pyramid of boxes and tubs collapsed. She marched over to her grandmother, finger wagging accusingly. "You don't know a damn thing about him."

Peggy raised her hand and slapped Courtney in the face. "I've warned you more than once about taking that tone with me. Maybe now you'll remember to watch your damn mouth."

A red patch instantly blossomed across Courtney's ghostly white cheek. Her mouth opened and shut, failing to form any words. Tears formed in her eyes and she balled her hands into fists. Lauren couldn't tell if the girl was going to cry, punch her grandmother, or both.

"What the hell, Peggy?" Brandon said. "That wasn't cool."

"Do you need a smack, too?" Peggy deadpanned. "It had to be done. She's getting too big for her britches."

Lauren shared an exasperated look with Brandon. "I asked her if she knew how to clean handguns. She was just answering me."

"Ah, hell. She's had an attitude for a while. You have no idea what it's like living with her. Always bitchin' about this or that."

"She's lost a lot," Brandon reminded her.

"No more than me."

What kind of wretched woman would treat loss like a contest? Peggy had always been feisty, but this was a new low. Lauren stormed off the bus without another word, realizing the number of cold, selfish people in her group was higher than she'd thought.

The upturned earth of Kate's grave had settled in the months since her death. Grass grew back, then turned brown and withered like everything else. If not for the boulder serving as her headstone, nobody would have ever known there was a body buried just under the surface.

Ben crouched down and swept the snow off her headstone, feeling the jagged letters carved beneath prick his fingers. Kate Wallace. He couldn't even remember who did it anymore; the night she died was such a blur.

"Why did you go?" He murmured. Night and day, that was the question in the back of his mind. Sometimes he thought it was best he'd never get an answer. "I'm sorry. For everything. I should have paid more attention. I should have remembered your condition and got the pills sooner." Fresh grief gripped Ben's throat. He'd never said these thoughts out loud. For the past week, he'd done his best to ignore them altogether. He took a shaky breath and dug his fingers into the cold, hard dirt.

"Most of all, I should have been here. You died alone and I'm so sorry. I hate to think what you went through, coming back as one of those…" He stopped short, too overwhelmed to speak. Imagining how Kate looked after she turned had haunted him long enough. That's not how he wanted to remember her, gray skin and empty eyes. "We're going to Anchorage. I'm not sure I even know why. But I do know I'll never see this place again. I'll never be this close to you again." A stiff breeze cut between them, chilling the tears on his face. "This is goodbye. For a while I thought it would be 'see you soon', but I know now...I'm not ready to join you."

He pressed his lips to the frosty boulder, then stood and walked away from Katherine Louise Wallace for the last time.

In the brief time it took Ben to walk back to camp, he'd pushed his grief back into the locked box it belonged in. There would be no place for mourning on the road.

Ben paused on his way to the bus so he could say a silent farewell to camp, too. His camp. The place where he'd spent the last few years trying and failing to strike it rich, the place where he'd been just trying to survive for the last few months. All of the signs of life had been stripped away. Nothing was left besides the trailers, picnic table, and sooty logs that used to be their campfire.

Everybody was stuffed onto the bus. Ben stepped inside and the chatter stopped. All eyes went to him as though they assumed he had something important to say. Maybe he should have, but he didn't.

"Lauren, you're driving the car, right?"

"Yeah, we were just waiting for you." Lauren cleared her throat. "Wanted to make sure that's what you wanted to do."

Jerome climbed to his feet from where he'd been sitting in the aisle. All eight seats were taken, be it by people or supplies. He nodded to Rachel and Emma sitting nearby. "We're gonna ride with her."

"Sure." Ben pulled one of the two remaining walkie talkies out his pocket and tossed it to Lauren. "Keep that close."

Peggy grumbled, "Of course they get to ride in the car with heat."

"What of it?" Ben's patience for the old woman was wearing thin. Her knack for finding a problem in every situation had been grating on his nerves long enough...but this wasn't the time to tell her that. Perhaps an explanation would even be a good thing. "I don't think it's a good idea for the whole group to be packed on this bus like sardines, and whoever drives the car should have people with them in case something goes wrong."

"So you're sending them?" Peggy's voice dripped with contempt. "I think - "

Dad piped up from the very back of the bus. "Just let him do his job, huh?"

"If it's that important to you, we'll all take turns riding in the car," Rachel sneered, oblivious to the crude gesture she received as soon as her back was turned. She pulled Emma alongside her and followed Lauren off the bus.

Jerome lingered at the doors, drumming his fingers on the railing. After he and Ben stared at one another for a few uncomfortable moments, he said, "Drive carefully."

For a short while, Rachel forgot the danger that surrounded them on their journey through Fairbanks. It was almost like being on a regular road trip. Jerome drew shapes on the steamy window and Emma called out her guesses. When that got old, they moved on to 'I Spy'. There were some bumps and icy patches, but only in the literal sense; their drive through Fairbanks was half over and had gone without incident. It wasn't until they reached the heart of the city and walkers lined the streets that Rachel remembered the danger just outside.

Emma sang, "I spy with my little eye...some dead guy."

"No," Rachel scolded.

Up ahead, the bus slowed to a stop beside the curb and Lauren was forced to follow suit. The walkie talkie came alive with Ben's voice. "Lauren, Lauren, pick up."

"Hey there," she replied. "What's up?"

"Once we get out of Fairbanks there's not gonna be much until we get to Anchorage. This is our last chance to add a bit more to our stockpile."

"This street does have some potential." Panelled buildings lined either side of the street. A few walkers lingered nearby, but they were thus far uninterested. "Not a bad idea but I don't think we should stick around too long.

"We won't. I don't want to stop again until we get to Anchorage. We're gonna need all the daylight we can get. Oh, and if anybody has to use the bathroom, this is the time to do it."

"Alright, I'll meet you outside." Lauren clipped the radio back to her belt and shut the car's engine off.

Rachel took her daughter by the hand. "I'm going to take Emma for a pee break."

She frowned. "I don't have to -"

"Oh, you always say that." Rachel ignored Emma's groaning and smiled. "Come on."

Jerome watched their every move as they filed out of the car. "Be careful, girls."

"Of course."

The bus doors popped open. Brandon stepped out, leading Adrian by the hand. He spotted Rachel and chuckled. "Pee check for you too, huh?"

"Some things never change."

Ben stood by the front of the bus while Adrian and Brandon headed around the back of the building. He held his gun low and glanced side-to-side like he expected a walker at any turn.

The beginnings of a smile pulled at Lauren's mouth as she joined him. "Now, Ben, what did we learn about loud noises last time we were here?"

"You might like to be up close and person with 'em, but I don't."

"I don't either, but I think we've learned..." Her words became inaudible as they ventured into the nearest business, another grocery store. At least this one didn't have every window broken out, and it was the largest building on the street.

Left alone, Rachel saw her window of opportunity open wide. She'd been trying all day to get a moment alone with her daughter and there was always someone around. That was just one of the many disadvantages to being in a group - though her husband thought the exact opposite. She hurried away from the others, pulling Emma behind her.

"Mom?" Emma's feet scuffed against the sidewalk as she struggled to keep up."Is something - "

"Hush!" One of the nearest walkers alerted at their voices. It departed from its loitering place in front of a travel agency and teetered towards them. Rachel's hand drifted towards the pistol at her waist, even though she was hardly ready to worry. She ducked into the alley between two brick buildings, relieved to see it was void of walkers.

Quieter this time, Emma repeated, "Mom?"

Rachel took her by the chin. "Do you remember what I told you a few weeks back? How your place is still to be a kid?"

"Yeah?"

"I know your father and I have told you a lot of things since this all started. About us protecting you, and telling you that you didn't need to worry about anything." Rachel took a deep breath. This wasn't an easy conversation to ever have, let alone rushed. "We were wrong. I want you to forget all of it."

"What?" Her eyes widened.

"We were wrong to tell you not to worry about this stuff. Things go wrong, people get bit, people get attacked. Every time this group has come into Fairbanks, it's been bad news." Rachel reached into her pocket and produced a switchblade. "We're going somewhere ten times larger. I want you to have a fighting chance, God forbid something happens."

Emma tentatively accepted the weapon and stuffed it into her coat's deepest pocket. "Does Papa know about this?"

"This is between me and you," Rachel answered carefully. She didn't want to form some alliance against Jerome, but making sure their daughter could defend herself was more important than the risk of hurt feelings. Her chance at survival was bigger than their marriage, and certainly bigger than his opinion. Sure, he'd made progress. Letting Emma take shooting lessons was a step, but he wasn't taking those steps fast enough. "Your father doesn't need to know. He wouldn't understand."

"Well, what changed? A couple weeks ago you didn't want me to do anything."

The reasons behind her rather sudden change of heart were complicated. Even Rachel wasn't positive what side of the 'right and wrong' line she stood on. Her talk with Keisha had reassured her they needed to do more for their children, but was arming them the answer? "I guess I realized - "

A blood-curdling scream split the air. Icy pricks of horror crept up Rachel's spine. That was a scream of the living. That was a child's scream. She took a handful of Emma's coat and pulled her close, then ripped the gun from her belt. Two gunshots rang out, followed by more screams. The car door flew open and Jerome clambered out onto the sidewalk, melting in relief once he realized the screams weren't from his child.

"No! Oh God, no, no, no…" Brandon hurtled down the street, carrying Adrian in his arms. The boy's beige coat was already ruddy with a blossoming patch of blood. His father's chest muffled his screams. Marvin, Peggy, and Courtney hurried off the bus, all three wielding guns.

Ben reappeared in to grocery store's entryway and had to grab the wall to stop himself from tumbling into the street. He gasped and demanded, "What happened?"

"He was bit!" Brandon shoved past the dumbfounded onlookers and disappeared onto the bus.

Emma's face crumpled and her shoulders began to hitch. Rachel allowed her to run into her father's waiting arms. Jerome grunted as he lifted her up and shared a solemn look with Rachel. "You better go see what you can do."

"Make him comfortable," she mumbled.

Ben pointed down the street, where a half dozen walkers lumbered their way. "Me and Lauren are going to finish up inside. You guys can handle these walkers, can't you?"

Rachel hurried back to the bus, where Brandon had laid his son down on an empty seat. Adrian screeched with every breath, inconsolable despite his father's soft reassurances. A gaping, oozing bite mark on his collarbone gushed. The coppery smell plunged Rachel back to the days where she encountered similar wounds daily. Not bite marks, usually, but gunshots and labor injuries. Nurses knew how to dull their emotions, at least until their shift was over. But this was Adrian, a child, and he was going to die no matter what first aid she administered. She dragged her attention away from the writing boy and got to work, digging through her tub of supplies.

"What do I do?" Brandon crouched in the aisle. His shaking hands hovered cluelessly above Adrian. He looked pleadingly to Rachel. "Tell me what to do."

"Just get him to take two of these. They're painkillers." She tossed him a prescription bottle, then pulled the last three cotton pads from their pack. After swallowing the pills without complaint, Adrian began to subdue. He allowed Rachel to press the pads against his wound and only whined in response. Within seconds, the white fabric was red through and through. "These are all I have...maybe we can tear up some clothes."

"Here."

Rachel flinched at Peggy's voice. The gray-haired woman's hand was outstretched, offering the blanket she'd wrapped herself in for most of their trip.

"Thank you," Brandon murmured. He took the blanket and tucked it around his son, leaving only his head and shoulder exposed. He squeezed himself into the space in front of Adrian's seat.

The bus rocked as something slammed against it, causing all three of them to jump. Just below the window, Marvin had a walker pinned against the side with his rifle. The walker's hands curled around his biceps and pushed forward. For a moment she thought they were about to watch another member of the group bite the dust. Then, Jerome appeared seemingly out of nowhere and blew the walker's head off.

Softer gunshots followed from somewhere down the street. Rachel mentally went through their group's roster and realized what it meant if Jerome was outside and Lauren was in the grocery store. "He wouldn't leave Emma alone…"

"Courtney's with her." Peggy stiffly returned to her seat and bounced her leg. "Neither of them needs to see this." When Rachel's face surely drained of all color, she added, "They'll be fine. Courtney herself is armed and there are plenty of people floating around out there."

Brandon slammed his fist on the floor. "Let's go! We've gotta get to Anchorage, m-maybe somebody there can help, maybe…" He squeezed his eyes closed and rested his head against the wall. "That sonofabitch came out of nowhere. I was right there with him...why didn't I see it? Why?" His voice cracked, then he began to weep. Adrian blankly stared at the ceiling. Between the shock, blood loss, and whatever virus was tearing through his veins, Rachel wasn't sure how much longer he'd be with them.

Just as she was ready to haul Ben and Marvin in, they strolled inside. Ben carried a cardboard box half full of canned goods and other provisions. He handed it off to Peggy. "Shove that wherever you can. I can't believe there was anything left in there. We barely had to look."

Marvin sighed. "I don't know that it was worth risking your life over."

"Is everyone okay?" With so many people 'floating around', Rachel wasn't assured they were all accounted for. "You're sureeveryone made it to the car?"

"Yeah, I checked on them myself." Ben joined them at Adrian's seat and took a knee. "I can't tell you how sorry I am, Brandon." The younger man wiped his nose on his coat sleeve. Sunlight glinted off the wetness on his round cheeks. Hesitantly, Ben continued, "What do you want to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"If you want to...get this over with, we can still stop somewhere and do this the right way." If Adrian knew he was subject of his conversation, he didn't show it. Brandon rhythmically rubbed his arm. "It's a long way to Anchorage and we don't know what we're gonna find there, or how long he - "

"It's not finished until he's finished."

"You know what he'll be when he is finished and we can't be trapped in here with..."

Rachel clapped a hand on Ben's shoulder, stopping him from being insensitive any further. The least they could do was be gentle. "Brandon, nobody wants to take this time from you...but you know."

"Yeah, I do. And when this time is over, I will deal with it."

The determination in Brandon's voice told her all she needed to know. They could trust him to take care of this. He wasn't so blinded by grief that he expected a miracle.

The bus halted at a four-way-stop and Lauren was forced to hit the brakes. This time, she snatched the radio from her belt. "Earth to Ben...do you see a way around this one?"

Their exit was jammed with cars, parked every which way and crumpled against each other. Jerome was beginning to wonder who cursed them. A traffic jam was to be expected, but this was the second blocked road that lead out of Fairbanks. They didn't have the fuel to keep doubling back. And apparently, Lauren didn't have the patience. She must've had some serious road rage before if she was this bothered with no other drivers around.

"Not from here. Why don't you go see how bad it is? Most of these cars probably have the keys. I didn't want to waste the time but we can drive 'em off the road."

"I'll take a look." She shut the engine off and unbuckled her seatbelt.

Jerome said, "I'll come too."

"Why?"

He shrugged. "A buddy system seems right."

"Okay. You check it out and I'll be your backup."

Jerome nodded, then turned to face Emma and Courtney in the backseat. All the levity that had been with them on the first leg of their travels had disappeared when Adrian got bit. His heart was as heavy as could be, knowing there was nothing he could do to help Brandon or his son. Both girls had been more or less mute since then. He shuddered to think what was going through their minds. "We won't be out there long, but don't move from this car for anything. And Courtney...keep your weapon close. Just in case." He could hardly believe himself, placing the safety of his daughter in the hands of a teenager, even if it was for five minutes.

"I will."

After having the luxury of a heated car, the frigid air seeped deep into his bones. He lead the way across the intersection. Lauren matched him step for step, readily looking for a walker to stab. As they neared the cars, Jerome slowed to a stop. The jam only lasted for thirty feet or so down the road and consisted of half a dozen or less vehicles, as if the leading car had stopped and everyone following did the same. Something about it seemed unnatural, weird...deliberate.

"It's the same over here." Lauren peered down the road to their left, using her hand to block the sun from her squinted eyes.

Most of the street was clear until a few hundred yards down, where another jam plugged it up. All of the streets heading north were similarly congested, but all of the side streets leading to the main road didn't have so much as a parked car.

"I don't like this." No sooner than the words left his mouth, a pickup truck turned off one of the sidestreets and headed towards them. A tan armored truck thundered down the opposite side of the intersection. Jerome took two steps back before realizing they were already trapped. Even if they ran back to the car and turned around, they couldn't be fast enough.

"Play it cool." Lauren stood with an indifferent look on her face and her hands in her pockets. Ben spoke through her radio, but she made no move to respond.

"There's nothing we can do now but wait. You guys will have to talk to them, we're laying low in case something happens."

The pickup truck slammed to a stop at the stop sign. Two men in fatigues hopped out, rifles already raised.

"Hands up," the driver ordered.

Jerome didn't have to be told twice. He raised his hands high above his head.

Lauren never moved. "There's no need for this. We're just looking for a way out of town."

The stranger took a menacing step towards her. "Are you deaf?"

"Why don't you put your guns down and we can talk?" She gave a strained smiled. "It's just us two and we don't have many supplies."

"Lauren," Jerome hissed. Had she lost her mind? Friendly people willing to negotiate didn't come out with their guns drawn.

"This is the last time I'm going to tell you," the second man warned. He side-stepped away from his companion and set his sights on Jerome. "Three strikes and you're out."

"This isn't baseball." When she finally removed her hands from her pockets, they were wrapped around a pistol. She aimed for the man that had done most of the talking and fired rapidly. Bullets whizzed past Jerome's ears as he ducked and staggered backwards, searching desperately for cover and finding none. The men bore down on their rifles, backtracking towards their truck for cover. One of them yelped and fell to the street. He crawled on all fours to join his partner behind the pickup.

Heat singed Jerome's arm as one shot came a little too close and he finally had the presence of mind to raise his gun. He tried to find them in the sights but the shaking of his hands wouldn't allow it. He aimed for their general direction and pulled the trigger whenever they poked their heads up. It didn't take long for him to understand they weren't going to win this battle with a firefight. These men had rifles, holding twenty or more rounds each. Lauren and Jerome had handguns.

"Son of a bitch!" Lauren dropped like a bag of bricks, cradling her leg. A red spot bloomed across her thigh.

Walkers came from every direction, and for a brief moment, the men turned their attention to the undead. As much Jerome longed to run to his family, he knew that couldn't happen. They'd stayed in hiding so far; he'd be leading these men right to them. He grabbed Lauren by the arm and pulled her up. Fear propelled him forward with a speed he never knew he possessed. He dragged Lauren along as she struggled to do anything with her right leg. They tore down the street, feet pounding against the asphalt.

"Where you think you're going?" One of the men called, and bullets once again rained around them.

Jerome turned onto the nearest sidestreet. The two of them tripped over the curb and fell onto the sidewalk in a tangle of limbs. Lauren wheezed through grit teeth, hand wrapped around her wound. The rumble of an approaching vehicle filled the absence of gunfire in an otherwise silent, abandoned city. He heaved her upwards once again.

She clutched his shoulder death-grip and cursed like a sailor, only stopping to point at an auto shop across the street. "There."

There was just enough room under the partially open garage door for them to slip inside, and so they did. Tool chests, tires, and jacks sat throughout. Jerome and Lauren hobbled behind the sales counter and slid to the floor. Their breaths came in ragged puffs, somehow louder than the gunfire ever was.

The truck's rumbling grew louder, then stopped. Two doors thumped shut. Footsteps trudged along the sidewalk. Muffled voices grew nearer until words were audible.

"They're here somewhere."

"We should spread out and look for them."

"Wait."

Jerome peeked around the desk. Two sets of boots stood just outside the shop, still as a statue on the sidewalk.

"We'll let the walkers take care of them." Just as quickly as they appeared, the men turned on their heels and ran back to the truck. The engine rumbled to life then faded as they drove away.

Guttural groans echoed outside. Five or six pairs of feet scuffed along the concrete.

Lauren whispered, "Get the door."

Jerome crept out of hiding and slunk over to the door. He slowly pulled downward, cringing at every creak and whine. He allowed it to glide to the ground and, to his relief, the walkers outside paid no mind. "Good call."

The clacking of teeth echoed through the garage. Jerome pressed himself against the door and pulled out his knife. A scantily-clad walker stepped out from behind the car, pallid skin taut against its ribs. The corpse stalked towards him, gnarled hands outstretched.

Jerome antsily waited for the opportunity to strike. He shifted from foot to foot, then lunged forward and slammed the walker against the side of the car. A snarl tore out from its blackened mouth. Hands slithered up Jerome's side. He swiftly stabbed his blade into its temple and it slid down the car, taking his knife.

"There's another one," Lauren said.

A second walker appeared in the doorway to some back room. Jerome pressed his foot against the downed walker's chest and attempted to jerk his knife free, to no avail. Lauren's hands slapped against the counter as she shakily tried to pull herself up. She cried out and crumpled back down. The walker snarled madly and started towards her.

Jerome charged forward and kicked the walker's legs out at the knees. It floundered to the floor and wasn't stunned for more than a second before trying to stand. After frantically looking for a weapon besides his gun and not finding one, he kept it on the floor with a foot to its chest. Hands clamped around his ankle. He gasped and tried fervently to jerk his leg free. When it wouldn't release, he reached for his gun.

"Don't." Lauren's knife clattered onto the granite countertop.

His hand desperately reached for the weapon, just inches out of his grasp. He faltered and joined the walker on the cold tile floor. The hands climbed higher and higher up his leg. Teeth gnashed inches from his calf. The hollow eyes locked with his. He ripped the revolver from his belt and fired a single shot. Half of the head splattered against his face.

"Oh God, did it get you?" Lauren shakily gripped the counter and peered over the top.

Jerome wiggled out from under the dead weight and checked his legs just to make sure. "No, I'm good." He climbed to his feet and hurried to her side. A tear in her jeans exposed the jagged wound underneath. Blood drenched most of her leg above the knee. "Let's get that wound cleaned up and find a way out of here."

"God, our group." She ignored his outstretched hand and buried her face in her arms.

Shambling silhouettes pounded against the garage door, making the hinges scream. Their hands beat a desperate tune, demanding to be let inside.

"Hey, this is our group we're talking about." By running away from the group rather than to them, maybe the men would miss them altogether. In any case, they were armed to the teeth. They would protect each other, they would protect themselves. His throat constricted against his suddenly suffocating coat. He croaked, "They're fighters."

She pulled the radio from her belt and handed it to Jerome. "Maybe they managed to hide the whole time."

He hesitated to speak, careful to keep his fingers from the buttons. What if no one answered? What if someone did and he had to hear their dying moments? Taking a deep breath, he finally called, "Hello, hello? Ben?"

A gruff voice replied, "Ben can't talk right now."

The radio slipped from his hands and he caught it before it could hit the floor. His voice steadily rose as he demanded, "Who is this? What did you do? Listen to me, whoever you are...don't you dare hurt them. You hear me?" If they did hear him, they didn't respond. His pulse roared in his ears, drowning out whatever Lauren said. They got them. His little girl, his wife, his friends, however many innocent souls, they were all at the hands of people who shot first and asked questions later.

Blocked exit roads reeked of a set up and Ben didn't see that until it was too late. Now they were boxed in, trucks speeding towards them like bats out of hell. And there he was hunkered down between the seats while Jerome and Lauren stood out in the middle of the street.

When the shootout started, he said a silent prayer his guys were winning. He slowly raised his head to peer out the window. Bullets flew back and forth, dotting everything on either side of the street full of holes. The men wearing fatigues were crouched behind their vehicle while Jerome and Lauren had no choice but to stand their ground. He stood, ready to shoot or be shot. He flew towards the doors and ignored his father's protests. As soon as his feet hit the ground, an arm wrapped around his throat.

"Drop it," an unknown voice growled. Defeated, Ben let the gun slip from his hand. The stranger released his throat only to ram the barrel of a gun into his back. "Back on the bus. Now."

Ben stumbled back up the steps and caught himself on the driver's seat. The group was a sea of slack jaws and eyes as big as saucers, hunched down on the floor. Dad glared daggers at them while his captor motioned with his free hand.

"Get in your seats and throw your weapons down." The aisle quickly became dotted with handguns and knives.

Outside, the gunfire ceased. Jerome and Lauren were running up the road, rapidly disappearing from view. Their attackers piled into their truck and sped after them. Ben swallowed dryly, unable to moisten his mouth.

"Assholes."

Courtney and Emma filed onto the bus, followed by yet another man. He shoved Courtney as she stepped around the discarded weapons, telling his colleague, "Little shit tried to pull a gun on me."

"What do you people want from us?" Peggy wrapped a protective arm around her granddaughter.

"Things have gotten a little out of hand." The man let up on his gun, allowing some feeling to return to Ben's back. He guided him forward and allowed him to move away. "This wasn't supposed to be a hostage situation."

"Fuck what it was supposed to be," Ben spat, squeezing into the seat with Dad.

"I'm Lieutenant John Arnold." He motioned to the shorter man at his side. "This is Sergeant Charles Petty. The two dipshits that came out guns a'blazing are civilian trainees."

"So, what?" Dad groused. "You're military?"

"National Guard," Lieutenant Arnold corrected.

Rachel shook her head. She gripped Emma's hand tightly. "That can't be. I was at Fort McAdams, I watched the place go down."

"Really?" Petty tipped his head. "You get it then. We're on the same side."

"Her husband was there too. The guy your 'dipshit trainees' are trying to kill," Ben said. "I bet he doesn't think you're on his side."

The pickup truck zoomed towards them. The tires screeched against the road and left black streaks as they slammed on the brakes, pulled a u-turn, and sped out of sight up sidestreet.

"Oh, perfect," Petty griped. "Screw 'em, then. Let's go."

"I'm not going anywhere," Ben retorted, nodding towards the intersection. "Not without them, and sure as hell not with you."

Petty waved his pistol. "The guy with the gun makes that decision, pal."

"It's not how you think," Arnold tucked his pistol into a holster on his leg and slipped into the driver's seat. "We just need to get back to the base and everything will make sense."

"Don't you get it?" Ben fought the urge to stomp down the aisle and gut-punch him. Their own men had just left them, and possibly killed his friends. Whatever their mission was, it couldn't be that good. "We want to leave."

"I don't think they want people leaving." Dad curled his lip. "I bet that's why they blocked the road."

The men shared a bashful look, then Arnold sighed. "Our job isn't to explain this, that's up to our Captain. We just transport people back."

Peggy said, "Back where? What is this, what's the point?"

"It usually doesn't go down this way. In fact, this is the first time it has...it's also the first time Richards and Mayer have been on sentry duty." Arnold peered out the window and shook his head. "We're building the National Guard back up, into something to help the people. Something like government, since there's none of that left."

"Sounds about right." Dad scoffed. "Government ambushing people and taking them against their will for their cause."

"Give it a rest, Grandpa." Petty rolled his eyes. He remained standing while Arnold started the engine and drove forward. "What about the truck?"

"We'll have to come back for it later. I'm not gonna be alone with my back turned here."

Ben's couldn't drag his gaze away from the left road of the intersection, scanning every nook and cranny for signs of Jerome and Lauren. The bus turned a corner and any hopes of knowing disappeared.

He almost jumped out of his skin when the walkie-talkie at his hip crackled to life and Jerome called, "Hello, hello? Ben?"

"Papa!" Emma cheered, quickly shushed by her mother.

Arnold slammed on the brakes. He held his hand out expectantly. "Give it."

Ben smiled despite himself, shamefully surprised his friend had managed to not get gunned down in the middle of the street. He wished he could respond and ask about Lauren or let him know his family was okay. But Arnold was growing impatient, his face quickly morphing from neutral to pissed off. Ben tossed the radio towards him but Petty intercepted.

"Ben can't talk right now," he replied, then switched it off.

"Come on man, why'd you do that?" Arnold drove onward.

Petty huffed. "Should I let them chat?"

"You're not going to get them?" Rachel's voice was quickly rising to a screech. "I thought you're supposed to help people! He's alive, he could tell you - "

"Look around, this whole street is crawling with biters."

"Because of your men," Dad barked. "Deal with it."

Petty smirked. "The girl fired the first shot. We saw the whole thing as we were driving up."

"Then you saw your men jump out and shove guns in their faces," Dad replied.

Arnold slammed his fists against the steering wheel, rattling the whole dash. "Enough! Shut the hell up, all of you." For the next few blocks they traveled in silence. Arnold had turned around and was driving them back into the heart of the city. Brick and paneled buildings flashed past the windows, along with the occasional walker. After a while, Arnold launched into an explanation. "The National Guard supports the greater good. You join us and we survive together, with order and organization. You're either with us or against us because everything you take from the city, you're taking from us."

"We want to leave," Ben repeated through grit teeth. "You can have the city. All we want is to go somewhere else. Our goal is Anchorage. Hopefully there's somebody left that's hasn't decided tyranny is the way to go. And if not, we can live on our own like we've been doing."

"What if Anchorage has a reserve like ours? What if we grow large enough to expand and set up another base there?" Arnold emphasized his points by tapping his fingers against the wheel. "Long. Term. Stability. That's our goal."

Petty added, "And we can't reach it when scrappy little rogue groups like you are out here sucking up our resources."

They were full of themselves. Nothing more than egotistical little boys playing Army Man. Whatever power they'd been granted during the outbreak had clearly gone to their head. Ben wondered if that was isolated to this group, or if every surviving person in a position of power had decided they were important.

Arnold pulled into the Fairbanks City Hall parking lot and stopped near the back. The building stood three stories high, with a pale gray exterior and many windows. Most of the windows on the first floor were boarded over, as were the front doors. Two guards stood on either side of another set of doors at the back of the building. The parking lot was more like a parking garage, with various vehicles including a second armored truck.

"Here's how this is gonna work." At last, Petty tucked his pistol away. "You're going to get off this bus in a single file line and follow me over to the doors. You're going to go through those doors one at a time, and yes, that includes the kids. Lieutenant Arnold and I will frisk you, make sure you're not hiding any guns, bites, or other funny shit. Then, you will be transported to a holding room while we wait for Captain Lancaster. Am I clear?"

Brandon had remained silent for the entirety of the trip, huddled underneath the blanket with Adrian in his lap. He wrapped the blanket tightly around the boy and held him close.

Arnold switched the doors open. "Richards and Mayer aren't here yet."

"Like I said, screw 'em." Petty pointed to Ben. "You first, then the Fort McAdams survivor. I want to get you out of the way first, you're the mouthy ones. Everyone else just line up, and don't pull anything."

Ben trailed after Petty, following him across the cracked parking guards greeted their superior with smiles and held the doors open. Petty stepped inside, pausing to wipe his boots on the welcome mat.

Arnold took a seat on a nearby desk. He lifted a clipboard into his lap. "Name?"

"Why?"

Petty glared down his nose. "Name."

"Ben Wallace."

"Age?"

"Forty."

"Height and weight?"

What, were they going to sell him as livestock? "Five-foot-eleven, one hundred and sixty four pounds...last I knew."

Petty said, "Feet apart, arms out." He patted Ben from head to toe, turned out his pockets, made him take off his shoes - everything short of asking him to squat and cough. Once he was content Ben wasn't hiding anything, he jerked his head towards the back of the foyer. There was a wooden staircase and three doors. "Stand over there."

Ben trudged across the carpet and crouched down to retie his shoes. Rachel and Peggy paid their dues and joined him, then Brandon stepped inside. He held Adrian against his shoulder, still wrapped in the blanket.

Petty snapped, "Does this whole group have hearing problems? When did I say 'carry your kid in here wrapped in a blanket'?"

"He's just a kid." Brandon licked his lips. "F-five years old."

"The rules still apply to five year olds," Petty replied. "Put him down and step back."

Brandon lowered him to the ground, carefully holding the blanket in place. Adrian slumped against his father. His face was ashen and he blinked slowly at the soldiers.

Petty's already beady eyes narrowed further. He stomped forward and snatched the blanket away, revealing the nasty wound and blood sprawls. "Oh, shit! Arnold, he's bit!"

"He's just a kid," Brandon repeated, holding Adrian by the shoulders. "I know - "

"Look at him, he's as good as dead already," Petty threw the blanket aside. "And you brought him in here, where he could take us all out."

"Stop," Brandon snapped. Adrian groaned and hid his face against him. "You're scaring him."

"He's scaring me," Petty retorted. "Biters and biters-to-be are not welcome."

Arnold slunk over to them, one hand on the back of his neck. He gave a sidelong glance to the child and shrugged. "What can we do, man? He's a kid."

"I'll show you what we can do." Petty grabbed Adrian by one arm and Brandon grabbed him by the other. Petty's free hand flew to his holster.

"Charlie, don't!" Arnold dove forward and attempted to knock the gun out of his hands, but he was too late. Petty fired a single, point-blank shot and it was all over. Rachel screamed and shrank back against the wall. Ben snapped his eyes shut to block out the nightmarish scene before him.

Brandon wailed, "No!" and lunged forward. He wrapped his hands around Petty's throat. The soldier's eyes bugged and he gasped, clawing desperately at Brandon's arms. They crashed into the desk. Arnold grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back, just in time for Petty to clobber him in the face. Blood poured from Brandon's newly curved nose. He staggered backwards a step and collapsed beside his son.