"Hold on, Jacob! We're almost to the helicopter!" Helicopter? Jacob thought idly as he ran, legs pumping, Jessica hugged to his chest. Where the hell did Wraith get a helicopter? The wound in his side stabbed a jagged shard of pain into him every time to took a step with his right foot, but he grimly ignored it. This time, he was fighting for more than just himself.

Their pursuers had all either been killed or had taken cover, and no bullets flew around the fleeing trio as they burst out of the building, running across the asphalt towards the sleek helicopter that crouched out in the open, behind the big building and away from the rest of the camp. The blades whirred to life as Wraith and Jacob neared, and the pair clambered up with difficulty, Jacob reaching up to set Jessica safely in the passenger bay before clambering up himself. The pilot, a man of medium height with a thin layer of brown hair and a well-groomed mustache, turned to look and practically jumped out of his seat, fumbling for the pistol at his hip. "What the hell¸ Wraith? You didn't say you were bringing a Witch on board!" Jacob got in between the pilot and Jessica, arms folded over his chest, and growled "You want to get to her, you go through me." Wraith put a hand on the nervous man's shoulder, and said quietly "Just get us out of here. I'll explain later." The pilot, still not looking entirely content with the situation, still lifted off, pulling away from the Special Handling building just as another squad of soldiers burst from the door and started shooting at the rapidly disappearing helicopter.

"Holy shit…" Jacob said, leaning back against the wall, Jessica crawling over to curl up beside him with her head in his lap. Looking up at Wraith, Jacob blew out a long, relieved breath, and said "We did it." After a long pause, Jacob held out a hand, and said "Thanks, Wraith." Taking the hand and squeezing, Wraith said "Any time, Jacob. Now let's get you patched up."

"So, I heard there's supposed to be more camps like Hephaestus out there," the pilot – who Wraith had introduced as Hank, an old compatriot from his "war days" – said, glancing back at Wraith, who was in the process of dabbing at Jacob's wound with a piece of cotton wool soaked in disinfectant. "So I hear," Wraith said, ignoring Jacob's occasional winces. "They're all over the country. One's even up in Ohio." "Ohio?" Jacob said, running an idle hand through the sleeping Jessica's hair. "I thought that place was full of zombies." "They apparently cleared out a 'safe zone', and are beginning re-colonization." Jacob grimaced, and said "Why did they think this was a good idea?" "Who knows?" Wraith said, then paused and added "And this one in Ohio… I hear it's run by CEDA."

Jacob's gaze locked with Wraith's, and there was silence for several long moments. Then Jacob growled "Who the hell thought it was smart to put those bungling assholes in charge of a camp in the middle of zombie country!?" Wraith shook his head, and muttered "Imbeciles." "Uh, guys?" Hank said, voice trembling with nervousness verging on panic. "What now?" Wraith said, standing up and walking into the cabin. There was a long pause, then Wraith said "Jacob… you might want to see this." Giving Jessica's hair one last stroke and whispering "I'll be right back," Jacob gingerly stood up, stretched, and walked to stand beside Wraith. "What's the problem-…" Jacob's words died in his throat as he stepped up to the window and looked out.

They were flying over a gentle rise in the ground, surrounded on all sides by chain-link fence topped with razorwire. A freestanding concrete wall stood in the middle of the grassy hillock, and before it stood a row of people: men, women and children, dressed in everyday clothes, their hands bound behind their backs. Standing a good ways in front of them was a row of soldiers in desert-colored fatigues and body armor, holding M16 assault rifles. Jacob's blood ran cold as he immediately recognized the situation: a firing squad.

Jacob could just barely make out someone's voice over the loudspeakers mounted around the camp, a hard, cold female voice that seemed as emotionless as one of the legions of infected that Jacob had slaughtered. "All US Army personnel are to report to General Hoffman for re-deployment. New orders are to purge camp Hephaestus of any infection threat, namely un-immunes." "Shit," Jacob growled, fists balling at his side as the message began to repeat. "This is not happening." Turning, he grabbed the back of Hank's chair, and snarled "Land this thing. I'm saving those people." "What!?" Hank said, looking back at Jacob with incredulity written on his face. "That's tantamount to suicide! In case you hadn't noticed, there's ten soldiers with assault rifles down there!" "Hank," Wraith said, and both Hank and Jacob turned to see the government operative opening a compartment in the back of the plane. "We've faced worse. Land the helicopter." Turning, he tossed something in Jacob's direction. Catching it, Jacob sucked in his breath as he recognized the battle-scarred, bloodstained fire axe that had taken him through hell. "Where did you find this?" Jacob said, caressing the nicked wooden haft. With a coy grin, Wraith said "I'm in the government, remember? I have powers." Grinning back, Jacob slapped his companion on the shoulder, and said "Okay, let's do this."

Sergeant First Class Nathan Harper stood in the middle of the line his squad had formed, staring down the barrel of a trembling assault rifle at the people lined up against the wall. He was a hardened veteran of five years of warfare, but shooting unarmed civilians – and fellow Americans even – was not something he was particularly fond of. Especially after most of the country had been killed in the horrific plague known as the Green Flu, it seemed somehow wrong to further reduce the numbers of Americans alive in the country. But orders were orders, and Nathan had to admit there was some logic behind these executions: the last thing he wanted was for an outbreak of the Green Flu in Camp Hephaestus. Flipping his weapon's safety off, Nathan yelled "Squad, aim!" Nine rifles snapped up into position, and Nathan swallowed, opening his mouth to shout the final, deadly command. The order never left his mouth, however, as the thrum of a helicopter flying overhead grew suddenly louder, and the chattering roar of a heavy machine gun added to the cacophony.

"Suck on this!" Jacob roared, the XM312 HMG bucking in his grip as it pumped out a steady stream of high-caliber ammunition, a strident lance of flame jutting out from the barrel as the weapon roared. His heavy boots were braced against the floor, the muscles in his arms bulging and standing out as he strained against the jarring recoil. Jessica lay on the floor, curled into a ball with her hands over her ears. Wraith knelt on the other side of the passenger bay, sniper rifle held at the ready. Jacob watched as the soldiers scattered, and a feral grin split his features as he released the trigger, feeling the big weapon relax in his grip. Dropping the HMG, he unsheathed the axe on his back and took a running leap out of the helicopter.

The elastic cord securing him to the vehicle grew taut as he neared the ground, and just before it tugged him back up he unhooked the clasp linking the cord to his newly-acquired Flak vest, dropping the remaining ten feet to the ground and rolling as he landed to absorb the impact. Standing up, he brought the axe up and delivered a crushing blow with its pommel to the face of a nearby soldier, who was just standing up from his cower. Grabbing the soldier's rifle with his free hand as he fell backwards, and training the weapon on the other soldiers. Snapping off three quick shots, he hit one in the leg, sending him back to the ground with a cry of pain, hit another in the arm, sending his rifle dropping from spasming fingers, and hit a third in the thigh, causing him to collapse. Grabbing the soldier next to him before he hit the ground, Jacob swung him around with an arm on his chest, placing himself behind the soldier and using the unfortunate man as a human shield. Resting the purloined assault rifle on the groaning soldier's shoulder, Jacob yelled "Everyone stand down, unless you want me to shoot those of you lucky enough to lack a bullet wound!"

Nathan gritted his teeth against the pain in his leg, pressing his hands to the bleeding wound and staring at their assailant. The big man was standing behind Private Hayes, a muscle-bound arm around the smaller man's chest. His long, dark hair partially obscured his eyes, but Nathan saw a feral glint in the steely orbs, a fire straight from hell that sent shivers up his spine. This was a man who was clearly ready, willing and able to kill, and Nathan did not want his soldiers dying for a cause such as this. "Stand down!" he managed to get out, and glanced down at the blood welling from between his fingers. "Stand down!" he repeated, and his soldiers grudgingly lowered their weapons. Pushing the unfortunate Hayes away, the big man stalked over to the captives, going along the line and removing their restraints. Coming back after this task was done, he stood before the soldiers and growled "I'm going to need your weapons. Now." The soldier closest to him, the hot-headed Corporal Jenkins, raised his rifle, yelling "Go to hell!" Poor Jenkins didn't even see it coming. The newcomer slammed a fist into Jenkins's face, grabbing the assault rifle from fingers startled into placidity, twisting the gun around and driving its stock into the unfortunate soldier's gut. Doubling over, his breath whooshing out, Jenkins received a triphammer blow to the side of his head and went down, curling up and groaning. Turning his withering glare on the rest of the squad, the big man snarled "Anyone else want some?"