Somewhere in the sewers there's a sound of water dripping. Iceland will have to be careful not to touch it.

Denmark paws through his bag, and pulls out a headlamp. "This has fresh batteries," he says. "It should last us for a while."

They walk in silence, not wanting to call any unwanted attention to themselves. Zombies can hear, after all. So Iceland thinks a lot.

Ever since Sweden died, since he smiled that one last smile at Finland before closing his eyes for good, Iceland has realized exactly how mortal they really are.

He knows that in the past they wouldn't have been able to die. They were countries, for Pete's sake! But the rules had changed ever since the attack.

There was no more country to run. Borders were blurring. And the nations had become mortal.

All around them, in the almost tangible darkness that presses against the narrow beam of Denmark's headlamp, Iceland can hear raspy sounds.

It scares him.

Obviously there are zombies down here, in the opacity, but down in the sewers, Iceland can't see them coming. He can only rely on his hearing.

That scares him as well.

"Shall we eat something?" Denmark says, murmuring. Even so, his voice is loud, way too loud. It echoes off of the walls of the sewer.

"Sure," Iceland says.

They sit, unwrapping packets of crackers and nibbling on them. No one really has any appetite, though they force themselves to scarf down the food anyway.

"I guess we should keep moving," Denmark says. "But I'm not really sure where we're going."

"Anywhere where we're safe from both the undead and the living," Norway responds. "Which isn't any place that I know of. So I suppose that we're just going to wander."

They do just that for a while, wandering around in the darkness.

At one point, Iceland is positive that he hears Prussia's voice coming from near the manhole cover above him. He can't make out what the ex-nation is saying, but the general tone is pleading and afraid.

Iceland moves quickly beneath that. He doesn't want to think about what might be happening.

In the darkness, there are things that Iceland has never noticed before. Things that he doesn't want to hear. Whispers and murmurs seem to be echoing all around the tunnels, and Iceland is constantly getting a shiver up his spine.

He gets the feeling that he's being watched, and he whirls around. There's no one there, only inky opacity that seems to stretch on and on for miles.

Iceland's breath starts to come faster, and he finds himself walking closer to Denmark for protection. Denmark doesn't complain, instead, he clasps Iceland's hand with his own.

"It's gonna be alright, okay?" he whispers. "You're going to be fine."

But what about you? Iceland wonders. He doesn't say voice thoughts out loud though, and the day passes on in silence.

Iceland stops short when he hears a soft thud behind him, and he whirls around with his hand on the trigger of his pistol.

Norway's tripped, though he soon pulls himself up to a standing position. Iceland notices that Norway's being extremely ginger with his bad leg, walking softly and putting as little weight as possible on it.

"Are ya okay, Nor?" Denmark asks, worry tinging his voice.

"I'm fine. It just hurts," Norway says, gritting his teeth. "I don't want to talk about it."

Iceland is almost one hundred percent sure that Norway's wound is infected, but he knows that Norway won't let anyone look at it now that Finland's gone mechanical.

Iceland can tell that night is falling when the hoarse scraping sounds around them start to become louder and more frequent. They all move closer together, forming a little pack. Iceland grips his pistol tighter. The assault rifle is a bit impractical to use down here, being far too big, but the pistol is sized just right.

"We should stop walking," Norway murmurs. "We're making too much noise."

Denmark agrees reluctantly. He'd rather keep moving, but he sees Norway's point. They sit down, pressed up against the wall of the sewer, in a huddle.

"Try and get some sleep," Denmark says, ruffling Iceland's silver hair. "We'll get the hell out of the sewers in the morning."

Iceland nods, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. Sleep doesn't come easily, and he doesn't move his hand from the trigger of his pistol all night.