The entirety of the Eight Springs safe zone consisted of what was once the lower half of a mountain resort. Various buildings lay tucked up against the foot of the mountains; a visitor center, a few restaurants, the bar. None of them were as large as the hotel that stood on the western side, with a massive curved wall that faced the road Nick and the others had come in on. The ski lifts and gondolas still hung from their tracks, unused. Maps pointed up trails and slopes to the rest of the resort, but the chain link fences prevented further travel.

Sean couldn't believe that the zone wasn't completely filled with people. They had electricity, they had food, running water, and medical supplies - a doctor! - and yet there were only a dozen survivors inside. It was likely the last place for hundreds and hundreds of miles that wasn't frozen over.

There weren't many people left, he realized. He was one of the unlucky few that had lasted this long.

He'd often wondered, before the apocalypse, at the state of the human species. People in general were terrible creatures, greedy and vicious and territorial.

But that had been before the zombies.

Sean had to admit that the two human beings he had left weren't exactly prime examples of their kind - a tiny, emotional twelve-year-old and a scrawny one-eyed man.

The latter was sitting on the plastic-covered pool table in front of him, hands folded tightly together in his lap as the doctor - who'd introduced himself by the name of Dustin - stuck a thermometer into his ear. His jacket and shirt were gone, threadbare and tattered as they'd been after the attack in the movie theater, leaving him only with the ACE wrapped around his torso. Sean tried not to think about his starved appearance.

Nick had been the last to be seen by the doctor, and even then he was claiming he didn't need it and that Sean had been caring for him anyway. The teenager had to all but drag him into the examination room to get him looked at, tugging at him with the arm that wasn't in a splint and sling.

"Just humor me," Sean had said, goading him inside.

It didn't come as a big surprise to Sean that Nick didn't like the doctor at Eight Springs. He acted a lot like when they'd first met, actually - bristling at the man's touch and shrinking away when he came too close. Sean felt the same way that Nick did about strangers - but the older man didn't even want to be touched by this guy.

Trust was a funny thing, Sean thought to himself, remembering how much he'd had to do to earn Nick's.

The thermometer beeped merrily, and Dustin lowered it to get a look at the reading. His brows tightened down over his eyes when he saw it, and he twisted his mouth in thought.

Sean noticed this, even if Nick didn't, and spoke up.

"What? What's wrong?"

"One-oh-two," the doctor said, shrugging.

Nick stared at the man, and Sean felt his heart jump up into his throat.

A hundred and two degrees?

Immediately his mind went to the gashes - they'd gotten infected, Nick was going into sepsis, they were going to lose him -

Sean panicked and jetted forward, but the doctor waved him off.

"No, go and sit back down. I'll take care of him."

Nick watched the exchange with distant interest in his good eye, masked by a fever-haze that Sean hadn't even noticed until now. He coughed once, screwed his eyes shut in pain, and made a whimpering noise not unlike the ones his dog would make before asking, "Why do I have a fever?" He sounded like he'd all of a sudden come down with a bad cold.

The doctor didn't answer him. He grabbed up the stethoscope and began listening, shutting his eyes in concentration and giving short, brusque orders for Nick to breathe in and out.

"Again," Dustin said. "Deep breath again."

"I think I'm gonna pass out if I keep trying," Nick mumbled, beginning to look a little pale.

The doctor straightened up, grabbing his shoulders to keep him upright. His eyebrows tightened in worry. "Sean, why's he got this bandage around him?"

"For the ribs. He got hit by a-"

Dustin glanced at him. "I don't care if he got hit by a freight train. They shouldn't be wrapped like that." He started unrolling the ACE, studying the dark bruises and awkwardly jutting ribs, the ripped stitching that had scabbed back over again - uninfected. "Broken ribs shouldn't be wrapped," he said, listening again with his stethoscope. He centered it on a particular spot, and Nick watched with detached interest as he offered the ear buds to Sean. The teenager listened for a few seconds, then chewed his lip at the obvious crackling noises drifting into his ears. Kind of like someone twisting a candy wrapper.

"What's wrong?" Nick asked, looking like he really didn't want to hear the answer.

"Fluid in your lungs," Dustin said factually, taking the stethoscope back from Sean.

"Tell me something I don't know."

Dustin went to a supply cabinet and came back with a massive syringe along with a two-inch attached needle.

The older man took one look at it and spat a threat:

"Touch me with that thing and I'll stick it in your eye."

Dustin stopped. "I'm going to try and aspirate some of the fluid from your chest cavity." He glanced at Sean, then to his patient again. "Buck up. It'll help you breathe easier."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm really gonna have a good time with a bunch of broken ribs."

"I'm not a hundred-percent sure of that yet. I can't tell without an x-ray."

Nick leaned a little forward on the exam table - well, plastic-covered pool table - and spoke through gritted teeth. "I already know what the treatment is for broken ribs, 'Doc. Sean's already been doing it. I don't think I need someone fishing around in my lungs right now."

Dustin sighed and continued to approach, although he kept the needle down. "You wanna know why you're so sick? You have a fever, you can barely stay upright, and you haven't stopped shivering since you got in here -"

"I might be warmer if I got my shirt back -"

"Don't interrupt me. When you don't take deep breaths - especially in the cold - your lungs get all inflamed. Infected. Not to mention you were probably already bleeding into them from the start." Dustin tossed the needle and syringe onto the table, and crossed his arms. "You have a chest infection. Pneumonia."

"What?" Nick hissed, half-hugging his side. "How the fuck did that happen?"

"I just told you. It's a pretty common secondary effect of chest injuries. You'd be surprised. Of course, keeping it wrapped like that -" he gave a pointed look to Sean, who blanched and pressed his hand against his own forehead, "- didn't help. You didn't take real deep breaths, that's what caused it to happen."

"Oh, that's..." Nick blinked and swayed somewhat, "...that's fantastic. Real fucking awesome. Thanks a million, Sean." He coughed into his hand again, squeezing his eyes shut.

The teenager dragged a hand through his hair and shook his head. "No, I... Nick, I was trying to..." he trailed off weakly, and let out a shaking sigh. Why hadn't he thought of that? He caught Nick's fever-glazed, pained stare and averted his eyes. His fault. It was his fault.

"Breathing'll get easier, with time. Try your best." Dustin went to the supply closet and came back with a handful of pills, all rattling around in the palm of his hand. "Quite a collection here, but take 'em. They'll get you feeling better."

"What are they?" Nick asked, tilting his hand into the light to try and identify them.

"Codeine and Tylenol." Dustin went to another shelf, taking down the box of catheters that Sean had dug through earlier. He pulled out a few of the individually-wrapped objects and studied them before finally choosing one. "I'm gonna put you on an IV for a while, like Izzy. Try and get that infection out of your system before you drown in it."

They placed him in the same room they'd put Isaac in - a recovery room that had once been used for storage. There were still shelves lining the walls, but instead of alcohol they held blankets, clothes, and books. Isaac hadn't woken up yet - he still lay on one of the beds, noiseless and pale. Elaine, his mother, was right next to him. She hadn't moved an inch from his side since she'd seen him.

Her familiar eyes were filled with curiosity as she looked at the three of them, Nick shaking with the chills of a strengthening fever, huddling into a donated sweater, and Dustin hooking an IV line into the crook of his arm, and Sean mostly just hovering in the background.

"Dustin. Is Nicholas all right?" Elaine asked, worry heavy in her soft voice.

The doctor was calmly stringing up the saline bag. "He should be in a few weeks, Elaine."

Nick, although he looked rather dazed, still caught the words and spoke up. "Weeks? I haven't got weeks."

Dustin stared evenly at him. "If you'd arrived here any later, you wouldn't have hours."

The older man fell silent at this, staring at the floor. Sean, feeling more useless than he'd ever felt in his life, went to one of the shelves and pulled down a blanket. Nick gave him a weak, hazy glare at his approach, and the teenager stopped short.

It reminded him of the look he'd received all the way back in D.C., before the long winter roads, before the movie theater, before the frozen lake. It said, 'Don't come near me.'

It said, 'I don't trust you.'

Sean clutched the blanket close to his chest with his uninjured arm, and frowned.

"Okay, I think you're about all set here," Dustin said suddenly, straightening up. He put his hands on his hips and looked at Nick, then over to Isaac. "Try to be like Elaine's kid. Get some rest. That'll help you more than anything else right now."

"How long do I have to have this in me?" Nick asked, tapping a finger against the thin plastic line.

"A while," Dustin grunted.

"A 'while.' Real specific there, 'Doc."

"Hey, you should be grateful. This is probably the last place in the state with medical care." Dustin paused for a second, glancing at Sean. A smirk came over his face. "Well. Competent medical care."

The teenager felt his jaw dropping, and anger rushing hot to his face. "Hey, that's not fair! I -"

"I'm just messing with you, Tiger. Nobody's doubting your surgical skills, at least."

"It was an honest mistake," Sean said. "I was more worried about him being able to breathe than I was about him getting a cold."

"Pneumonia. Not a cold. Big difference there."

"He's still going to -"

"Nope, that's about all the arguing I'm up for at this hour." The doctor shrugged. "I got up too early. Wake me if anyone goes into cardiac arrest," he said, and left.

An awkward silence settled around the room, filled with only the raspy noise of Nick's breathing. Sean turned slowly; the man had his back against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him, eyes shut. Elaine continued to stare at her son, as if she expected him to vanish from sight at any second.

The teenager went and sat in the only other chair in the room, at the foot of Nick's bed.

Elaine spoke up softly without turning.

"Don't worry too much about his attitude, Sean. He's like that almost all of the time."

He scoffed. "Bastard's acting like he's the only person around with experience."

She turned her head slightly and smiled at him. "I don't think he knows what to do with another doctor around. Please don't take it personally."

The teenager frowned at her, having a hard time doing so.

Elaine was stroking the top of Isaac's head. "He'll warm up to you. You'll s -"

Underneath her, the little boy jerked and mumbled. Elaine froze up as if she'd been shocked, reaching down and grabbing his hand tightly.

"Isaac," she whispered. She started crying again. "Isaac, baby, it's mommy, she's here now."

His bruised eyes opened slowly and flicked around, taking in the room, the lights, the pictures on the walls. Sean sitting in the chair and Nick reclined across from him. Then he looked over and saw her, and his mouth dropped open. Only small noises came out.

"It's okay, I'm here," Elaine breathed to him, brushing his hair from his eyes.

"Mom?"

"Yes," she whispered, voice breaking. "It's me."

"Mom," Isaac wailed. "Mom. Momma." He pawed at her, and she pulled him close and held him to her chest, heaving with sobs, digging her fingers into his hair and clinging to him as if he'd fly away if she so much as loosened her grip.

"Isaac, oh God, Isaac, I thought I'd never see you again."

Isaac could only say the word 'momma,' though it was hard to hear with his face buried in her shoulder. Sean watched with a strange pang of jealousy stirring in his chest, and remembered the last time he'd seen his mother, getting dragged off by that first horde, shrieking at him to run, run away Sean. He only wished he'd gotten to tell her how much he loved her, and missed her, just one time.

But that world was over now.

Sean looked at Isaac and Elaine, gripping tight to each other, sobbing. Then he turned his head and looked at Nick, who had his eyes half-open, surveying the scene with that same distant look he'd taken on since they'd gotten here. The man shivered again, and coughed.

Now he was all Sean had left.

Mother and son held each other for a while, rocking softly on the small bed, before she drew back and looked Isaac over again. He stared up at her, wiping at his eyes and sniffling, then looked over at Nick and Sean.

"You guys are okay?" he asked, voice its usual soft tone and slurred by his crying.

Sean shrugged. "We'll live."

Isaac smiled - and started crying harder.

Elaine held him close, rubbing his hair, and turned her eyes to Nick. They were full of joy; bright, grateful and soft, wet with tears. "Thank you, Nicholas. Thank you." She looked at Sean. The expression on her face was unlike any look he'd ever gotten before. "Thank you so much."

He forced a smile onto his face and nodded.

A recovery period was a privilege that Sean was not used to having. There was no impending food shortage or snowstorm pressing them to move on, no zombies at their heels to give them more wounds to tend to, just warmth and time. They needed it.

It had come too late for Terrence.

On that first night, Sean barely slept, but by the time dawn was beginning to approach on the horizon, he was all but collapsing from exhaustion. He'd gone to the tattered armchair in the hallway and sat in it, and within minutes he'd fallen asleep, despite the dull throb in his arm.

When he woke up, it was mid-afternoon, and he was starving.

Elaine took him to the cafeteria - an old restaurant - and the sight that greeted him there nearly gave him a coronary. Food; actual cooked food made in ovens and griddles with power, not half-frozen peanut-butter or stale popcorn or potato chips. Eight Springs even had a cook, a squat black woman whose job was to feed everyone else.

Sean was given a tray and directed to the end of a short line. There were four other survivors here, getting food piled onto their own trays, chatting softly amongst each other. One of them, a young woman with choppy brown hair, saw them and gave a slight wave. Her face was bruised.

"Hi, Elaine," the woman said. "Who's this?"

Isaac's mother smiled and patted her small hand on Sean's shoulder. "Sarah, this is Sean. He helped bring my son back."

"That's him? Wow, you sure are young." Sarah had a wide smile that reminded him of Terrence. It made his chest hurt. "How old are you? Fourteen?"

"Fifteen," Sean corrected, trying not to sound too proud.

"Wow," she repeated. "You brought him in yourself?"

Elaine shook her head. "There's another one. He's at the infirmary with Isaac."

"How old's he? Eight?"

"Thirty-five," Sean supplied quietly.

Sarah raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sure you'll meet Nicholas eventually," Elaine said. "He is a nice man."

Sean blew air threw his lips in surprise, making a harsh noise. "What? Are you kidding me? I don't think you know him very well yet." She gave him a hopeful, serious look and he laughed. Hard. "He's a total douche, Ms. Elaine."

"Well, he seems very nice," she huffed, as they shifted up the line.

"Probably 'cause he's got a fever and doesn't know what the hell's going on. Wait 'till he feels better. You'll be sorry you said that." The smell of food made his stomach twist crazily beneath his ribs. He caught sight of what there was - stacks of grilled sandwiches and a massive vat of what looked to be tomato soup. "I think I could eat like twelve of those," he said.

"Get some for Nicholas, too. We're going to bring some back for them."

Sean nodded, carefully piling four sandwiches onto the center of his tray, knowing he'd have to carry it with one hand. He thought for another second, and then added a fifth one. Elaine asked the cook to seal the soup up in something and they were handed a huge Tupperware dish full of it. As they were leaving to head back to the infirmary, the young woman, Sarah, called out again.

"Good to hear about little Isaac!"

"Thank you, Sarah. Come and see him soon, okay?"

Returning to the infirmary brought Sean back into the path of the doctor. Dustin saw him in the main room, gave him that stupid shit-eating smirk, and waved.

"Your dude's feeling better," he said, jerking his head toward the recovery room. "Fever's down."

"Nick. His name is Nick," Sean said.

Dustin ignored him. "Make sure he doesn't throw that up."

The teenager shook his head and hurried to catch up with Elaine, who'd steadfastly ignored them, moving straight down the hall to where her son was. She opened the recovery room door and held it open for Sean.

"Oh! Hi, Sean!" Isaac sat up on the bed, hair sticking every which way. His new, clean clothes actually fit him, the long sleeves hanging at his wrists instead of over his hands. He grinned. "Hi, mom!"

"Hey, baby."

Nick was reading something - a magazine that looked to be twenty years old. Rob had been brought inside and lay on the linoleum next to his bed. The man looked up and blinked as Sean brought over the tray. Dustin had been right about the fever at least - Nick's good eye was clear and lucid. In the sterile white light of the recovery room, it looked to be a bright green, lit up when it caught sight of the food on the tray.

"Is that grilled cheese?"

"I think so."

"Gimme. Now."

Sean sat in the chair at the foot of Nick's bed as they ate, avoiding the man's gaze, unable to forget the look he'd gotten the night before. For a while the only sound in the room was that of chewing and a few intermittent coughs.

"You should dip it in the soup. It's better that way," Isaac said around a bite of cheese and bread.

"Don't talk with food in your mouth," Elaine scolded.

Halfway through the second sandwich and Sean felt full. Too little food over too long a time, he figured. Nick couldn't eat much, either, but they at least got more calories in them - likely more than they'd had at one time in weeks. The crusts and leftovers he gave to Rob, who was already drooling all over the place and nearly bit Nick's fingers off to get the scraps.

"You gotta stop doing that. I want to keep my fingers, Rob."

Elaine swallowed and gave them a smile. "You know, Nicholas, there used to be another dog living here. I'm sure we could give some dog food to you." She glanced down at Rob, who was pawing at one of Nick's feet, whining. "Although there's probably not much left... and that is a very large animal."

"Yeah, they better have a truck full if they want to keep Rob in kibble."

Isaac stared over at them and spoke up. "Hey, Sean. Isn't it cool? Nick and me are sick room buddies."

The man rolled his eyes.

The boy thought for a second, and then, "Hey, Nick."

"What?"

"Did you hear about the guy who drank a gallon of food coloring?"

The older man narrowed his eyes, glared, and didn't speak.

Isaac finished without being prompted. "He dyed."

Elaine laughed delightedly.

Nick groaned and pressed his hand to his forehead. "Get me out of here. Let me recuperate in a cellar or something, please."

"Oh, Nicholas, don't be such a stick in the mud," Elaine said to him, smiling. "Even Dustin says that laughter is the best medicine."

"...No, I'm pretty sure medicine is the best medicine." Nick fiddled idly with the plastic line in his arm, and coughed harshly. He clutched hard at his injured side when he did so, but Sean knew it wouldn't do anything for the pain - likely just a reflex.

"You sound like Mr. Tongue," Isaac said.

"Ugh. Shut up." He coughed again, squeezing his eyes shut.

Sean came over to him and reached out tentatively, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey -"

Nick shrugged him off. "I'm fine," he spoke, voice breathless. "I don't want your help, Sean."

The teenager recoiled as if he'd been burned. "Nick, the wrap - I was just trying to help you. I didn't know it would make you so sick. I..." He frowned. "I'm sorry."

"You can apologize when I'm out of this bed."

Sean sighed, but nodded. "Just let me know if you want anything."

"Earplugs," Nick muttered, leaning back against the wall.

Isaac grinned. "Hey, Nick."

"No."

"Did you hear about the guy who got his whole left side cut off?"

Nick groaned.

"He's all right now."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Izzy."

Elaine's jaw dropped open and she turned in her chair. "Excuse me, Nicholas?"

He blinked at her. "What?"

"I don't appreciate that sort of language around my son."

Nick looked bewildered for a few seconds, glancing about rapidly. "Uh... yeah. Because he's never heard it before," he said with a weak, but sardonic smirk. "We only spent, like, what, four weeks together? How long was it, Izzy?"

"Uh. Four weeks." The boy had turned sheepish, twisting his hands in his lap and staring at them, face red. "I never said any bad words, Mom."

Nick spoke again. "It's a pretty fucking weird thing to be worried about, isn't it?"

Elaine glared. "Nicholas -"

Sean watched the argument with the same curious, awkward look that Isaac had, wondering if Nick had always been this antagonistic or if it was just being hospitalized that put him in a mood like this. It was strange seeing Nick argue with someone that wasn't half his age.

"Yeah, it's definitely the Goddamn language that's gonna do him in."

Elaine stood up and marched over to him. She brought her hands down on the guardrails meant to keep people from falling out of the bed, and glared down at him.

"Nicholas. Please keep a civil tongue."

Nick gazed evenly up at her. "You're welcome, by the way. For saving your kid's life. You know, the whole Washington D.C. thing? Breaking out of a military-controlled zone? Starving to death out in the middle of nowhere? It's a lot of fun, you should try it sometime. Also, kiss my ass."

For a few seconds, Sean was certain that Elaine was going to slap Nick in the face.

But she instead bent down, getting close to him, really close, and Sean watched him shrink back uncomfortably. There was a sweet, innocent smile on her face.

"Nicholas. I do realize how much I owe you, and I do intend on giving you repayment..." she came even closer, and Isaac let out a worried noise, "...but you don't seem to understand that I'm his mother. You're just a man that stumbled upon him. I lost him for a few months; that doesn't mean I intend to stop raising him now." She twisted his IV line idly. "Unless you think you'd rather take over for me?"

Nick was pressed back against the wall. He'd fallen quiet, suddenly looking more timid than Sean had ever seen him. The man's antagonism abruptly shifted into something like sorrow. "I don't think so." His eye searched her face. "I'm not that good at taking care of people," he said. "Obviously."

Elaine's smile fell away. She retreated a little bit, but kept her hands on the guardrail. At the look on his face, her voice softened. "Why do you say that?" she asked.

"Because there used to be four of us," Nick said, and he looked away from her, instead staring hard at his IV line. "Another kid."

Sean felt the coldness in his gut, and the prickling heat gathering up in the corners of his eyes. Terry wouldn't have wanted you to cry, you baby, he told himself vehemently, he would have wanted you to move on. The memory of what happened flooded his mind.

He'd never forget how cold it had been.

"What happened?" Elaine asked, and the question hung heavy in the air.

Isaac was sniffling in his bed.

"A zombie," Nick said, simply, as if that singular word were enough to answer all her questions.

Apparently it was. A mixture of sadness and shame flitted across Elaine's face. "I see," she whispered. "I'm so sorry to hear that. Do you need some time alone?"

"Please," Sean said, and the woman nodded.

She went and kissed Isaac on the forehead, wiping the tears on his cheeks with a thumb. "I'll be right back, baby." When she left, the soft click of the door shutting was like a gunshot in the silence.

They didn't talk for a while. As if they were afraid to shatter the quiet.

Eventually, Sean spoke. "He distracted it."

Nick turned his head to look at him. "What?"

"He... he told me to run, and said he'd distract it." Run, Sean! Run! "I... so I... I did. I ran away." You and me, Destruct-O, come on! "God, I shouldn't have. I should have stayed with him. Then maybe he'd..."

Nick blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear his eyes of dust. "No. You did the right thing, Sean. If you'd gotten killed, none of us would have made it here alive." He let out a shaky sigh, like the time he'd told them about how he'd lost his eye. He coughed once, and took a few seconds to catch his breath. "God, another couple of days and he would've fuckin' made it."

"I miss him," Isaac sobbed. "And it's my fault."

Nick had started chewing at his cuticles. "It's not your fault," he said, softly.

"Yes, it is. I... the train horn... if I hadn't..."

Sean didn't say anything, although he wanted to. Yes, it's because of you. If you hadn't been pressing every button you saw and -

"And what if we'd been outside the train when that thing had spotted us?" Nick asked, catching Isaac's gaze. "If we'd been out in a field or on the road? Do you know what would've happened then? Trust me when I say we wouldn't be nice and warm in a safe zone with IV's in us."

Sean stared at the floor. It was a strange way to see things like that, but he couldn't help but find truth in the statement. Whether or not they'd been in the train, the zombie would have still been there. They had been lucky. So damned lucky that it had attacked them while they were inside it.

It didn't help to stop Isaac's wailing, though. Sean wondered if Elaine could hear him.

"I miss him. I miss him," the little boy cried, rubbing continuously at his eyes. "What'd Terry ever do wrong? What'd we ever do wrong, Nick?"

"I did plenty wrong, but you..." the man pinched the bridge of his nose. "You just won the fuckin' lottery, that's all. You're one of the lucky ones."

"I don't want to be lucky anymore."

"Not just that. We're important, Izzy."

"Important? Why?"

Nick let out a fragmented sigh through his nose, and his voice became low and quiet. He brought his hand down and rolled the IV line between two fingers like some kind of nervous habit. "Isaac, do you remember what you told me? That day after we first met, in D.C.?" He gazed at the wall, deep in thought. "You said that the world was supposed to break. So we can make it right again. Do you remember that?"

Isaac sniffed. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, you were right. Iz, you were right."

Sean awoke early the next morning. He picked himself up off of the armchair in the hallway, and padded silently to the recovery room. The windows showed how overcast it was outside, gray and silver and dull. It was early yet; Eight Springs was still sleeping.

He listened at the door for a second, just to see if anyone was awake, but all he could hear was soft snoring. Carefully, he turned the door handle and inched it open.

Isaac wasn't in his bed.

Sean felt panic for a second - but only for a second, because by then he'd opened the door the rest of the way, and saw that the boy was still here.

Nick was curled up, partially upright - it was more comfortable for him to sleep this way - and leaning against the wall. Isaac was tucked against his chest, with the boy's splinted leg out straight on the bed in front of him. One of Nick's arms was pillowed under his chin; the other held the boy loosely to him. There was a thick blanket tucked around each of them.

They were both asleep.

Rob was curled up at the foot of the bed. His remaining ear perked up as he saw the teenager.

Sean went to creep the rest of the way inside, and then thought better of it.

He backed up and left the room. The door clicked quietly shut.

(A/N: Happy Birthday to me!

This chapter marks the beginning of the 'Eight Springs' arc, which, again, I thought would be quite small and ended up being a fair bit bigger. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, but only time will tell, I suppose. If you've ever had broken ribs and/or pneumonia I hope you know what Nick is going through right now. It's horrible. You better hope you never sneeze again for the rest of your life, because damn.

Thanks to my beta-reader, Kit. Don't chew with your mouth full.

I have recently started playing L4D2 on Expert mode with Realism enabled, thanks to Sanima. I'm having more fun than I thought I would. I'm ridiculous. Two Step references, Two Step references everywhere. Haven't been able to beat Dead Center yet, but we at least got to the third chapter, and that's something.

Coming up next: The Pariah, Part II. Nick meets a survivor that has more in common with him than he'd like, and finds something that changes everything.)