Long time no see! Which is completely my own fault, I know. So sorry with how long this update has taken; muse went on vacation, other things happened, blah, blah, blah, excuse, excuse, excuse, BUT LOOK! I am back and so is this story! YAY! I hope there are enough people out there still interested in reading it *crosses fingers*

So in the last chapter, we learned that Matthew was forming/had formed a hunting party, because the house doesn't have any meat left in its store cupboard (since it's been so long since I last updated, I would recommend refamiliarizing yourself with the previous chapter) so this chapter follows the events of what was happening *away* from the house, while the hunting party was gathered, as well as other places away from Downton.

Dedicating this chapter to the lovely and *very patient* piperholmes, who I know has been eager for an update for SO LONG to this fic, and I'm so happy I can finally deliver and I hope all of you enjoy it, and like a hungry Walker...it's able to satisfy...at least for the moment ;o)

Chapter Thirty-Six

"Lies"

"Steady…" he whispered in her ear.

She nodded her head, trying to hold her focus, though it was difficult when he was so close. "Like this?" she asked, her voice rather breathless.

"Aye," he confirmed. "But easy with your grip, it doesn't need to be so hard…" his fingers covered hers, in demonstration. "Like that…firm…yes, that's good."

Again, she nodded. "Now?"

"Aye," he confirmed again, his voice low and soft and husky, a sense of anticipation in it. "You're ready."

She took a deep breath…and pulled the trigger.

They both staggered back at the rifle blast. Tom was standing directly behind her, his arms around her frame and his hands atop hers for guidance as they went through the basic maneuvers in how to properly handle and aim a rifle.

The sound of glass shattering echoed in the air around them. "Oh!" Sybil gasped, lowering the rifle and staring straight ahead at the abandoned building which was serving as her target. She turned and looked over her shoulder at him, a tentative smile curling at the corners of her lips. "Did I…?"

Tom nodded his head, looking back at her proudly. "Aye, I think you did."

She didn't hide her grin then, nor did she hold herself back from leaning up on her toes and pecking her lips against his, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

…And it was. At least for him. Perhaps for both of them.

Tom quickly found himself responding, his own lips pushing back against hers, enjoying the wonderful taste and feel that was uniquely Sybil Crawley's lips. Had it really only been since last night that he had kissed her for the first time? Was that possible? Because it felt longer; in so many ways, it felt as if they had been doing this—touching and kissing—all their lives. Any past lover disappeared from memory; all he could see was Sybil. Her kiss, her fragrance, her shape, her…everything.

Everything.

Their lips parted, but they still remained close, their breathing somewhat ragged, even though the kiss had not been as deep as previous ones they had shared. Still, there was an unspoken passion crackling between them, or so it felt to him.

"You…" Sybil began, licking her lips, as if trying to capture whatever taste of his still lingered against them. Tom couldn't help but inwardly grown at the gesture. "You're an excellent teacher, Mr. Branson."

Tom lifted his gaze back to hers, and swore he saw the hint of a devilish gleam in her lovely blue eyes. Was she talking about shooting? Or kissing? "Well, you did tell me that you're a fast learner, milady…" he answered, returning that same, slightly devilish gaze back, and chuckling as he admired the way her cheeks flushed a bright pink.

"Yes, suppose I did," she murmured, still blushing and trying to regain some composure, despite the obvious flirtation that was passing between them. God, what an amazing gift she had; despite what was happening around them, despite what was going on in their lives—she somehow could manage to make him forget, just for a little while, all the horrors that were threatening to destroy them.

"Would you like to try again?" he asked, realizing what he had said when her eyes snapped back his, and a perfect O formed at her lips. "I meant with the rifle!" he quickly explained, though in truth, he wouldn't mind kissing her again. He wouldn't mind spending many uninterrupted hours, just lying beside her and kissing her. God knows it was enough that he could kiss her, and while there was desire that coursed through his blood, into the vary marrow of his bones, he was more than satisfied with this sweet, simple pleasure.

Sybil looked at the rifle (which was still in her hands) and then back at the building which she had been using for target practice. "Perhaps later," she murmured after a moment's pause. "We should be careful with the amount of noise that we make."

She was right, of course. Upon approaching the village, Tom parked the car just on its edge, and instructed Sybil to get out—time for that rifle practice she had been longing for him to teach her. He demonstrated the proper ways to hold, aim, and reload the gun, and she mimicked them back, before finally attempting to lift it and take aim at the windows of some dilapidated, abandoned-looking building. And despite the teasing, it was true; Sybil was a fast learner, just like she had been when he taught her to shoot with the pistol. But naturally, they both remembered what had happened at that shooting lesson, so her being the voice of caution just now, and warning the both of them about being careful with how much noise they made (as well as keeping track as to how many bullets they used) was very wise indeed.

In some ways, it was amazing that no Walker had come upon them, especially after the herd they had come across at the hospital the other day. Good God, had that only been yesterday as well? How much had happened within that twenty-four hour span? This time, yesterday, he had come into the village with Sybil and Matthew and…and William, as well as William's girl and Miss Swire, in search of his brother, who he had also only just learned, had been left to die in the village, after a confrontation with Thomas. Somewhere within the last twenty-four hours, he had learned that Kieran had cut off his hand, had been hiding in the hospital, and was now somewhere in the village—possibly dead, for all he knew, due to either blood loss or crossing paths with a hungry Walker.

And then also, somewhere within the last twenty-four hours, things had escalated between him and Sybil. She had clung to him, and let him hold her and offer her whatever comfort he could supply, as they gathered around William's dying form. And then later last night, she came to him, asking him to kiss her, kissing him back, begging him to let her stay the night and share his bed, sleeping side by side with her in his arms (it was far sweeter than any dream he could ever imagine) and then…and then…

And then he was forced to wake up.

Robert Crawley had come to him, emotionally blackmailed him knowing that he cared for Sybil (though to what extent, Tom wasn't sure) and using those emotions as a means to get him to drive Lady Grantham to some mysterious farm beyond the village, and leave her there under the hope that some sort of "miracle cure" would keep her from turning into…

A monster.

"Tom?"

He was shaken from his thoughts and he looked back at Sybil. She was looking up at him with concern, and even reached out to touch his cheek with the soft warmth of her hand.

"Don't worry," she assured, her fingers stroking the skin of his cheek in a tender, and dare he hope, loving manner. "We'll find him, I know we will."

Him? Kieran, of course. Tom closed his eyes, feeling shame once again course through him at the careless way he sometimes "forgot"—no, not forget, but…allowed himself to become…distracted.

His brother would blame Sybil; it was Kieran's voice that once filled his head, warning him to keep his distance, telling him to leave and not get involved with her or "her kind". But he was involved, and in many ways, he was too far gone not to be involved. Because it wasn't thoughts about his brother than had caused his heart to sink with worry and anxiety, which clearly had shown on his face, hence Sybil's reaction to reach out and offer him some gesture of comfort and assurance…

No, he had been thinking of Lady Grantham, of Sybil's mother, and the burden he was now bearing, thanks to Robert Crawley, who had thrust it upon him.

"If you care for her, for Lady Sybil…then you will do this for me, to save Cora…"

If there were still doubts in his heart for what he felt for Sybil Crawley, they were all gone completely now, because it was love that he felt for her, that drove him to take Lady Grantham to that farmhouse, so that she might be saved...for Sybil's sake.

And it was because of the love he felt for her, that he was now cursed to remain silent, to keep her safe, because despite what Dr. Clarkson had told Lord Grantham, Tom didn't believe for a second that some "miracle cure" existed. And he couldn't bear the thought of harm coming upon Sybil, should she try to intervene…or the sorrow she would face, at seeing her mother like one of those creatures that had killed William, or her friend Gwen.

"Do you think it would be safer to search on foot or by car?"

He was shaken from his thoughts again, and looked back at her, to see her still holding the rifle, looking ready to use it if necessary, but also looking expectantly at him, awaiting his answer on what he thought they should do next. She hadn't been kidding when she had told him that she wanted to help him with finding Kieran, not that he would think she would make light of something like that. But looking at her now, and hearing her question, it was plain to see that she was determined to save at least one life today, if she could. An admirable task, especially in a world like this.

"I imagine it would be safer to stay in the car; drive through the village and its perimeter—but then again, the engine may make too much noise, and attract more Walkers…and your brother is most likely in hiding, so we'll have to inspect several buildings—

"Or maybe he's already gone?"

He spoken in a soft voice, but Sybil had heard him, looking at him in surprise, perhaps a little shocked by the apathetic tone of his voice.

"I don't mean…" he paused, not wanting to finish that sentence, though it was a thought he often had. "What I mean is…maybe he's already gone…from Downton? Maybe he's no longer here? Maybe…" he paused again, remembering the promise both he and Kieran had made, should anything happen to separate them. "Maybe he's kept his end of our promise, and has gone to York?"

A promise which he had broken, though looking at Sybil, he couldn't say he regretted it.

Sybil bit her lip, not looking sure on what to say to that. She clearly had more faith that Kieran was still alive, somewhere in the village of Downton, than on the road to York. Or was it something else? Was it the indication to what he was saying? And what was he saying, exactly?

Don't ask yourself stupid questions; you know what you're saying…and you know what you want to say to her…

If he were honest with himself, it was true, he did. And just like that, the words suddenly spilled from his mouth.

"Come with me."

Sybil looked up at him suddenly, her eyes wide and her lovely, blushing cheeks from earlier suddenly turning pale at the meaning behind his words.

"Come with me," he repeated, reaching for her free hand and grasping it tightly in his, pulling it to his lips and letting them run over her knuckles, before tugging her hand and holding it against his heart. "To York; I know you're curious about it, I've heard you ask. Come with me, Sybil, let's go and find out together—"

"I can't."

Such simple words, and yet they were enough to bring the harsh reality of where they were back. Because just briefly, when asking her to join him, his imagination got away from him, and he envisioned the two of them somehow…finding peace in York, making a life for themselves (or as much of a life as someone could make in this hellish world), but doing those very things, and…and as mad as it sounded, just…being happy. Together.

It was a naïve thought, but God, how he wanted it to be real.

"Tom, I…I'm terribly flattered—"

He dropped her hand from his grasp then, feeling as if he had been stung by something sharp and cold. "Don't say that," he muttered, attempting to turn away from her.

Sybil frowned in confusion. "W-w-what?"

He closed his eyes and sighed. She wasn't the sort of posh girl who took pleasure in playing with the hearts of young, foolish men, but she clearly didn't realize either how those words could hurt.

"What you just said…about being 'terribly flattered'," he repeated, grimacing as he spoke. "I know what that means…it's something posh people say when they're getting ready to say 'no'," he muttered. "And I'd much rather you be plain and honest with me, than…than play a certain part."

He half expected her to slap him then. He had just accused her of not being honest with him, and while she was the daughter of an earl, it was clear to him in the short time he had known her, that Sybil Crawley didn't care about any of those distinctions or rules or barriers that were meant to keep people like her and people like him, separate.

But she didn't slap him, though she still looked somewhat taken aback by his words. She swallowed, glanced down at her feet, and murmured in a soft voice, but one that seemed to be trying to find something light-hearted to say, "That sounds more like you…"

He groaned and shook his head. "Please don't make fun—"

"I'm not!"

He looked at her and saw her staring back at him, her face still somewhat pale, but her eyes locked with his, unblinking, and revealing every honest emotion.

"I'm not making fun," she insisted again. "But…but I can't go with you, Tom…not while Mama is ill."

Her mother. Of course. He closed his eyes, not wanting to reveal what he knew. Oh the irony of their situation; he wanted her to be plain and honest, whereas he couldn't be that with her, and he hated himself for it.

"I mean…I know that Papa has insisted that we, for the moment, keep our distance, but…but she may still need me, and I can't leave when there's a chance—"

"But what if there isn't a chance!?"

He regretted the words the second they left his lips. Sybil stared at him, her face pale once more, her eyes wide with shock and horror—an expression he had never wanted to be the cause to put on her lovely face.

She stared at him for a long moment…and then whispered his name in the way a person would whisper a stranger's name. And then she murmured, "How…?" before turning away from him, without finishing the beginning of her sentence…but she didn't have to. He knew what she was asking…

"How could you say that? How could you think that? You have lost someone close to you, you who are trying to find them and hoping and praying that they're still alive and out there, despite what others around you think…how could you now be so pessimistic? How could you say that…to me?"

"I'm sorry…"

She still had her back to him, but her shoulders slumped slightly at his whispered apology. She took several deep breaths, before turning and facing him once again, unshed tears glistening in her eyes, but she quickly lifted her hand to wipe at them, before straightening her shoulders and lifting her chin in determination. "Let's go find your brother," she murmured, nodding her head towards him as if he had said something back, before turning and leading the way down the abandoned looking street, the rifle grasped tightly in both hands, ready to be used if necessary.

He watched her for a moment, watched her retreating figure, his own arms just hanging uselessly by his sides. He admired her strength, her courage, and her optimism that not only would they find Kieran, alive and well, but that her mother would recover from her illness.

…But her mother wasn't ill, at least not with the disease Sybil believed her to be ill with.

She wasn't lying in some unmarked room at Downton Abbey, being treated for Spanish Flu; she was lying in some farmhouse, infected by whatever it was that turned people into monsters, and was quite possibly one of them, as they spoke.

…And there was nothing he could do about it.

"This is what happens when you overstay your welcome. This is what happens when you allow yourself to feel for others. I warned you about her, Tommy; I warned you not to get too close, but you didn't listen. Now you're trapped. You care too much for this girl to just let her go and walk away. And yet you'll wish that you had, because when she learns that you lied to her…"

The pain of hearing her use those posh words against him would be nothing compared to the pain of seeing her eyes fill with hatred and agony at the betrayal of her trust.

And yet God help him, his brother was right. Despite the forgone conclusion that this would only end badly…he cared far too much to walk away now.

Matthew let out a frustrated sigh as he reentered the Hall, securing his pistol to the holster at his hip. Lavinia and Capt. Napier were there, waiting for him, and upon seeing him enter, rose to their feet, looking at him expectantly.

"I can't find him," he muttered, trying hard not to show his annoyance, though annoyance was what he felt, he could not deny.

"Lord Grantham?" Capt. Napier asked.

Matthew sighed. No, he had no idea where Robert was, that was true—though most likely, he was somewhere in the East Wing of the house, wherever Cousin Cora had been placed to recover from her illness, but where that was, he had no clue. But Robert wasn't the person he had been searching for.

"Tom," he explained, answering Capt. Napier's question.

Capt. Napier still looked a bit confused, but Lavinia quickly clarified, "Tom Branson—Lord Grantham's chauffeur," she explained.

Matthew snorted at the job title. "Not really," he muttered. "Cousin Robert more or less dropped the position on Tom's head, though he's no different than you or I or any of the rest of us…" He managed to stop himself from sermonizing, because now was simply not the time. The truth of the matter was, he was worried about his friend. He hadn't seen Tom since the previous night, since they had returned from their search in the village, and one of Capt. Napier's companions had swept Sybil up into his arms, and declared for all of them to hear that he was her fiancé. That had been the last Matthew had seen of Tom, and while the Irishman had not been blunt with his feelings towards the youngest Crawley sister, a man would have to be blind not to see how deeply Tom cared for her.

He wouldn't leave without saying anything, surely? No, no, Tom was anxious to find his brother, so he was probably looking for him, that was surely the answer…or so he hoped.

"I can't find him anywhere!" another voice filled the Hall, sounding just as frustrated as Matthew felt.

Matthew turned his gaze to the top of the stairs and couldn't help but feel his jaw tighten as he looked upon the very man who may be the unknowing cause for his friend's sudden disappearance.

"He's not in his room," Lt. Grey informed Capt. Napier. "Nor the library; and none of the servants have seen him…so I honestly have no idea where he could be."

Matthew frowned at this, and continued to eye the tall, dark-haired man with some wariness.

He remembered Capt. Napier from years ago (the Hon. Evelyn Napier, heir to Viscount Branksome, then—he wondered, was the Hon. Mr. Napier now the current viscount?) He remembered the gentleman being polite and good mannered, and they had both been in the same boat, in a manner of speaking, as Mary clearly had shown more interest in the Turkish diplomat whom Capt. Napier had brought with him, than anybody else. But neither had spoken very much, then or now, and Matthew didn't know what to make of either of Capt. Napier's traveling companions. Maj. Bryant seemed rather aloof, and Lt. Grey seemed rather…suspicious. And as much as both Robert and Mary (and now Lavinia, from the looks of things) seemed to trust Capt. Napier, and be of the attitude that "any friend of his, is a friend of the Crawleys", Matthew wasn't quite ready to let his guard down completely.

"Well, we'll just have to forgo Charles this time," Capt. Napier said at last. "We don't want to waste any more daylight."

"Indeed," Matthew replied, though he was still troubled by Tom's disappearance.

"Is…is Mary to join us?" Lavinia asked, sounding only slightly tentative as she picked up one of the rifles Capt. Napier had brought into the Hall for them to take.

Matthew sighed, his mind now moving to the other person he whose well-being he was worried about. During their luncheon, Mary had been quiet and Matthew noticed how she had barely touched her food. At the time, he thought perhaps it was due to her worrying about Cousin Cora, but when she suddenly rose to leave the table and excuse herself from the room…it was clear there was something else.

If only she would tell him.

What did she mean by that? That there are some things she must "do by myself"? Did it have something to do with Sir Richard Carlisle? That was another person who seemed to have disappeared from sight. Not since that morning, when he and Sir Richard had faced off outside Cousin Cora's bedchamber, had he seen the newspaperman. And when Cousin Violet had asked at luncheon if Sir Richard was to join them, Matthew did notice Mary stiffen ever so slightly, before giving a rather nonchalant answer.

Had something transpired between them? Was that what she meant when she had murmured something about "nothing anyone can do, other than carry on"?

So many scenarios began to flash before his eyes, scenarios involving Sir Richard Carlisle daring to grab Mary by the arm, the shoulder, pushing her against a wall, shaking her, hissing in her face, threatening her—

"Matthew?"

He staggered slightly and turned his head to Lavinia, seeing her looking up at him with concern.

"Matthew, you're shaking," she whispered, her eyes looking down at his hands, which were clenched into tight fists, and yes, indeed they were shaking. With rage, he thought.

"Sorry," he apologized, shaking his head. "I'm fine, truly…and no, no, I um…I don't think Mary will be joining us."

"What about Lady Edith or Lady Sybil?" Capt. Napier asked.

"I don't think so," Lt. Grey answered. "Of the three of them, Mary was the hunter and the superior shooter; I don't even think Sybil knows how to even hold a gun."

Matthew felt his spine bristle, just slightly at Lt. Grey's assumption, especially, for some reason, when he heard the gentleman "chuckle".

"Does that amuse you, sir?" Matthew asked, turning and looking at the dark-haired man, his eyes full of question, but his voice full of contempt.

Lt. Grey's smile quickly faded, and he glanced over at Capt. Napier in confusion.

"Do you find it amusing, the thought that Lady Edith and Lady Sybil don't know how to defend themselves?"

"What? No! No, of course not—"

"Because I assure you, both Lady Edith and Lady Sybil know how to handle a gun; they may not necessarily be 'experts', but they are not helpless, and it should shame you to think so, even for a moment."

His voice was dark, as was his gaze, as he glared back the lieutenant, who was growing paler by the second.

"I…I wasn't trying to imply—"

"The truth is, you're thinking of them as you had known them before the War, before all of this happened," he held his arms out at his sides. "And that is where you make your mistake. Because they are not the women you knew then, if perhaps ever," he muttered. "I'll have you know that Sybil herself, not only survived a Walker attack, but managed to kill at least a dozen, if not more—she's quite capable of looking after herself and surviving, I assure you."

"Matthew, the daylight…" Lavinia's voice broke through again. "We only have so much left, we want to be back before it gets dark."

Both Matthew and Lt. Grey were staring into each other's eyes, though from the looks on Lt. Grey's face, it was clear the man felt embarrassed for the conclusions he had drawn upon returning to Downton and the Crawleys lives. She is not the same person you knew, Matthew wanted to tell the man. Nor was she then, really, if Matthew were honest. Honestly, while he didn't really know Larry Grey, he could not imagine Sybil agreeing to this man's proposal in any situation. Had the engagement been arranged by Robert?

But Lavinia was right, of course. He was taking his frustrations out on Lt. Grey when he really should be focused on helping the others in hunting for some much needed meat.

"Alright," he murmured, turning back to Capt. Napier. "I don't know about any deer in the surrounding forest, but I do know where some pheasant and duck can be found, and since there are four of us—"

"Five!"

Everyone turned then to see the head housemaid hurrying down the steps towards them.

Matthew's eyes widened. "Anna?"

The maid nodded her head, and without any hesitation, stepped forward and picked up one of the guns lying on the table by Capt. Napier. "Mind if I join you?"

While both Capt. Napier and Lt. Grey looked back and forth between Anna and Matthew with furrowed brows, Matthew couldn't help but smile and nod his head. "Not at all; I'd dare say out of all of us, you're the best shot—no offense, Captain," he murmured to Evelyn, who answered with a soft chuckle and shake of his head. "Can they spare you?" he asked, not wanting to get Anna into any trouble with Carson or Mrs. Hughes, though frankly, in his opinion, her volunteering to help with the hunt would be far more beneficial to the upkeep and wellbeing of Downton than continuing on as if it were any other day, and starching another set of bed sheets.

"In all honesty, sir, I think it would be better for everyone here if I did get out of the house for a bit," she confessed, which Matthew couldn't deny, caused him to frown slightly. What did she mean by that? Anna could be just as mysterious as Mary sometimes.

"Besides, Ethel can pick up any extra work that needs to be done…" she explained though her voice trailed off as she glanced at Lt. Grey, and then at Capt. Napier, before frowning and looking back up towards the stairs. What was that all about?

"Well…so that makes five of us—"

"Six, actually."

Matthew felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end at the voice that had interrupted. With a deep breath, he turned and lifted his eyes to those of the very man whose name had caused him to clench his fists mere moments ago.

"Capt. Napier," Sir Richard greeted, smiling and extending his hand to Evelyn as if they were meeting at a party. "Lt. Grey," Sir Richard continued, before turning back to Matthew. "Capt. Crawley."

Matthew's jaw tightened and he bit the inside of his cheek, trying so hard not to lash out.

"Well!" Sir Richard smiled. "Six seems to be the perfect number, wouldn't you agree? We can cover more ground with six."

Lavinia frowned. "Cover more…? Surely, you're not suggesting—?"

"Ah, but I am, Miss Swire," Sir Richard answered. "You said so yourself, so I heard as I was coming down the corridor, that there's only so much daylight left. And I overheard talk in the Servant's Hall about a hunting party being organized to bring back some much needed meat for our meals, yes?"

Matthew's frown never fully disappeared. "You 'overheard' that, did you?"

Sir Richard didn't seem taken aback or phased in any way by Matthew's question…or the implications that he was snooping and spying. "When you work in the newspaper business, Capt. Crawley, you learn early on about the importance of keeping one's ears open, in case a story may be hiding around the corner."

"There's no story to be found here, and you're not in the newspaper business anymore," Matthew muttered back.

Sir Richard's reply was cool. "By your way of thinking, then I can't help but wonder…are you still the next Earl of Grantham?"

"What exactly are you suggesting, Sir Richard?" Capt. Napier intervened, glancing at Matthew out of the corner of his eye, easily sensing the tension between the two men.

Sir Richard turned and smiled at Capt. Napier, before looking at all of them as if they were all his closest friends. "Merely that, with six of us, we can, as Miss Swire so cleverly deduced, break into two smaller hunting parties, each consisting of three. That way we can cover more ground and hopefully find more game."

Both Capt. Napier and Lt. Grey seemed to nod their heads in consideration, possibly even agreement with what Sir Richard was suggesting. Anna and Lavinia, however, did not look so easily convinced.

"I don't think that's a good idea," Lavinia argued. "From my experience…" she glanced at Matthew. "…a group splitting has never led to any positive outcome."

"I agree," Anna added, lifting her chin and looking directly at Sir Richard. "And after what happened yesterday with poor William—"

"What do you think, Capt. Crawley?" Sir Richard asked, ignoring the housemaid and looking directly at Matthew. "Do you agree with Miss Swire, and share her view? Or do you see merit in the possibility of having two hunting parties?" He took a step closer, a rather devious smile spreading across his face. "We could make it a bit of a competition, you know; see which party can gun down the buck first…"

Matthew's eyes narrowed. Does he honestly think I'll fall for such a blatant piece of bait like that?

"I saw a deer the other day!" Lt. Grey spoke up just then. "Near the estate's northern boundary!"

Sir Richard lifted his eyebrows s in surprise. "Interesting…" he turned back and smiled at Matthew. "Wasn't that where you and the chauffeur had gone in the past, when you brought back a pheasant? Shame you hadn't seen any deer then…imagine the feast we would have had, and the meat that could have been stored for days to follow…"

Everything about the man's face and tone was condescending. Matthew's hands were clenching into fists once more.

"Perhaps, lieutenant, you would be so kind as to show all of us where you saw this deer?" Sir Richard asked.

"No need for that," Matthew growled back at the newspaperman. "I'll take you to the northern boundary; and even if we don't manage to find a deer, I'm fairly certain we'll find duck and pheasant."

Sir Richard smiled. "Well, something is better than nothing, that is true."

Matthew's teeth grinded together.

Sir Richard then suggested the idea of taking two cars, thinking all of them would be cramped in just one. However, the Renault was missing (another sign perhaps that Tom had gone in search of his brother? Matthew only hoped that was what it meant, and not that he had simply…vanished). Yet even if both cars were there, he wouldn't agree to the idea. He didn't know if Capt. Napier or Lt. Grey knew how to drive, but he knew that Sir Richard did, and he wouldn't be surprised if the man got into a car, and then drove away someplace, for who knows what reason. No…best to keep an eye on the man as much as possible.

Matthew drove to the northern boundary, to the small pond where he and Tom had found the ducks the last time they had driven there. The waters were still, and there was no sign of any bird nearby. Still, that didn't mean they wouldn't come back.

"Perhaps we should split up, then?" Lt. Grey suggested. "Some of us stay here to shoot at any birds, while others go in search of larger game?"

"See, I think that's a fine and wise idea," Sir Richard agreed, but Matthew shook his head.

"We stay together; we'll need eyes keeping watch for Walkers, as well as deer."

Sir Richard didn't argue further, however he didn't look upset or annoyed by Matthew's insistence that they stay together. Matthew knew better, the man wasn't one to back down from a fight. He was up to something…

"Well, Grey," Capt. Napier turned to his friend. "Where did you see this deer yesterday?"

Lt. Grey led them through the trees, murmuring that Charles (Maj. Bryant) had brought the animal to his attention, and that he had even suggested the idea of shooting it for them to eat, but then retracted from the idea, since he didn't know the first thing in how to skin an animal, much less cook something so large.

Deeper and deeper they moved, pausing every so often when birds flew overhead. They were sparrows, robins, nothing more; nothing worth shooting at. Yet the further they moved, and the further away from the pond they went, Matthew couldn't help but wonder if perhaps it would have been a better idea for a group to stay back and hunt for duck or geese, while another searched for deer. Had he let his pride and stubbornness overrule his common sense?

He was considering saying something, when Lt. Grey hissed for their attention. "I see it! THERE!"

Everyone turned and sure enough…a large stag emerged from behind a large oak, grazing, his nose in the air, no doubt sniffing for any danger.

"That's the one Charles pointed to me yesterday, I'm sure of it!" Lt. Grey insisted.

"Well done, lieutenant, well done," Sir Richard whispered. He turned then to Matthew, looking at him expectantly. "Well, captain? What do you suggest now?"

Matthew felt his face flush; he really didn't have any great experience when it came to hunting for large game. He turned to Evelyn, since the man had mentioned earlier that he had experience in hunting for his unit during the War.

"He's too far away to get a clear shot," Capt. Napier whispered. "We need to get closer, but if he hears us, he'll most likely go…that way," he pointed. "So we need to surround him, just in case—"

"You're saying we need to split up," Matthew finished.

Lavinia frowned, and Matthew could understand why. "It's alright," he assured her, putting on a smile which he hoped echoed the words he had said. "We all know where the others are; we're not wandering far. Truly, it will be alright."

Lavinia still didn't look so convinced, but she didn't say anything against it, either.

"Why don't you go with Capt. Napier?" Matthew suggested. "You and…?"

"I'll go," Sir Richard offered, but Matthew stopped the man, before he could take another step.

"No, I'd rather you stay here with me, Sir Richard."

Sir Richard looked at Matthew, and that smile from earlier, the one that Matthew wanted to punch off the man's face, began to spread once more. "I didn't realize we were such good friends, Capt. Crawley."

We're not, and you know that, Matthew inwardly growled. But he wasn't going to let Sir Richard Carlisle out of his sight, so help him.

"I'll stay too," Anna volunteered, though her eyes remained on Sir Richard.

"Alright," Capt. Napier whispered, nodding at Lt. Grey who would also be joining him and Lavinia as they moved away from their current spot, to surprise the stag should it try to run away from Matthew and his group, as they approached. Matthew waited, just for a moment, as the others moved away, before glancing at both Anna and Sir Richard and nodding his head that they proceed moving forward and closing in on what he hoped would be their prey.

"So tell me, Capt. Crawley," Sir Richard whispered. "Will this be your first stag? I only ask because…from what I understand, you were a solicitor in Manchester, before all of this…and I can't imagine that men such as yourself had many options to—"

"And businessmen like you? Have you had the option?" Matthew challenged.

Sir Richard simply smiled. "You might be surprised…"

Matthew rolled his eyes and returned his focus on the animal, which had stopped to scratch its antlers on the trunk of a nearby tree. He had a clear shot; the creature's neck was exposed. Surely he was close enough?

He lifted his rifle…carefully…holding his breath as he kept his eyes steady, focused—

The sound of a pistol being cocked and aimed at him caused him to freeze.

"Don't move…" Sir Richard warned.

Matthew stared at the other man, his eyes wide with disbelief and realization. Had this been Sir Richard's plan all along? Get them to split up, and somehow, take a shot at him?

"Drop your gun, Sir Richard!"

Matthew let out a sigh of relief. Thank God that Anna had insisted on staying by his side. She truly was his guardian angel.

Sir Richard didn't lower his eyes from Matthew, nor did he turn his head. "You don't want to be doing that, Anna," he growled.

"No, you don't want to be doing what you're about to do," Anna snapped back. "Now lower your gun!"

"Anna…" he warned again.

"Lower your gun, Sir Richard," her voice rising, no doubt to alert the others. "Lower your gun or so help me—OH!"

She hadn't been prepared for the newspaperman to turn his gun towards her. Neither she nor Matthew had been prepared for the gunshot that Sir Richard Carlisle had fired…and that went right past Anna's shoulder, missing her by a hair…and imbedding itself in the attacking Walker.

And neither man had been prepared for Anna's gun to fire at the same time, its own blast echoing alongside Sir Richard's…as her bullet also hit a target.

Only he wasn't a Walker.