Fat snowflakes drifted lazily from gray, overcast skies, clinging to bare trees or withered foliage for only a second before disappearing. Jerome pulled the beanie atop his head over his ears and scrunched down in his jacket as an icy blast of wind cut through camp.

His face and hands had stung when he first stepped outside, but now that he was halfway up the creek path, most of his exposed skin was numb. The paper plates in either of his hands threatened to fold in on themselves, and Jerome was sure the food hadn't been warm since the stove shut off. He longed for the days where everyone could eat their meals together, but for one reason or another, that had become a rarity.

By dinnertime it was getting dark and too cold for even a campfire to warm them, the dining trailer couldn't even fit half the group, and since Kate's death, Ben rarely joined the group for anything.

He had hauled his trailer out of camp and settled near the scrapyard shortly after Kate died, and it'd almost been like he left the group altogether since then. He just didn't want to see or talk to anyone, and he certainly didn't want to be the boss. The longer he stayed away, the more he became the elephant in the room to the rest of the group. Marvin didn't talk about him and nobody asked, though they sure gossipped.

Jerome strode up to Ben's trailer and went inside without knocking, carelessly juggling one plate atop the other.

Ben sat at the dinette booth with a pen in one hand and a notepad in the other. Tufts of hair stuck up all over his head. Dark circles adorned the bags under his eyes. He only looked up once Jerome set their plates on the table, scrutinizing the watery brown and white mixture with a grimace. He looked questioningly to Jerome, silently asking what the hell is this?

"Baked beans and cream of mushroom soup. Yum yum," Jerome said dryly. He walked over to the kitchenette and rummaged through the drawers until he found a spoon for both of them, then slid into the booth opposite of Ben.

Ben swirled his spoon around in the slop, shaking his head. "I'm guessing supplies are running low?"

"Yeah, so we're getting another Peggy special. Some of the others are getting beans and spinach so really, I think we're the lucky ones." Jerome poked at the watery mush, his resolve to eat it fading by the second.

He and Ben took their first bites at the same time and didn't even chew before they shared a look of disgust. Both components of the 'stew' were strong enough to leave an unpleasant taste in Jerome's mouth even after he swallowed, which was a task in and of itself. He couldn't help but laugh, something else that seemed to have become a rarity.

The ever-solemn expression on Ben's face remained unchanged as he took another bite.

Silence mounted as they ate, except for the scraping of plastic utensils against paper plates. Jerome had enough of it after just a few minutes. "Your dad took Brandon hunting with him. He seemed eager enough to learn but I don't envy Marvin right now. Teaching anybody anything in this weather must be a drag." He waited for some kind of reaction, but Ben didn't respond beyond a distracted nod. Jerome took another bite and decided to try and engage him one more time. "Samantha and Carmen are off with Jake on a supply run. That's an odd trio, huh?"

That got his attention. Ben struggled to form a sentence, spluttering "You - I - She - " before he finally demanded, "What? Why?"

"Well, there was some drama over the laundry," Jerome explained, snickering. Tensions were running high due to the weather, lack of supplies, and already strained relationships, so the silliest things caused arguments. "The water's gotten too cold for Peggy's hands so Lauren stayed behind to help Rachel with the laundry. Carmen chose a supply run over chores and Samantha just wanted to go, I think."

"And Clarence let her?" Ben's mouth fell open. "She has zero experience. And who's on guard duty now?"

Jerome ran a hand down his face and stopped below his nose to block a budding smile. Ben wasn't as detached from the group as he thought, and the fact that he obviously still cared showed a lot of promise. He said, "Most of the time we don't have anybody on guard anymore. It's been too cold and we really doubt anyone's just going to stumble across us."

Ben stared at him for a long moment, then muttered something under his breath and resumed eating. Jerome figured the moment had passed so he did the same, taking tiny nibbles of the cold concoction, until Ben slammed down his spoon. "I had no idea what I was getting myself into, bringing all these people back here," he said. "I only did because Dad and Kate talked me into it."

"It's not too late to come back if you want," Jerome stated, fiddling with the edge of his plate. Ben made him nervous when he got this candid. "You've done great," he said firmly. "This is just a bump in the road." He waited again, hoping Ben would respond or show some kind of reaction. When he didn't, Jerome shifted uncomfortably against the booth and pressed his lips together tightly before continuing, "Clarence is running things now and I know he means well...but he expects too much."

"How so?"

"Not only does he want to go to Juneau, he wants to head out without stockpiling anything. He said we could pick things up along the way." Jerome exhaled shakily. "Seven hundred and some miles with no preparation? We probably wouldn't even make it out of town. And he's not leaving any room for discussion. He expects us to either do what he says or buzz off."

"So let them go." Ben shrugged. "Let Clarence and whoever wants to go with him go. That should cut the group back to a manageable size."

Jerome frowned and rubbed his forehead. Maybe Ben wasn't thinking as clearly as he thought. "You realize our group would be you, me, your dad, Rachel, Brandon, Carmen, and two kids? That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, Benny."

"Clarence's idea is horrible, I'll give you that,"Ben said. "But I don't want to come back. I've stuck my neck out for everyone and I don't even know why anymore. They were never happy with the decisions I made. Someone always had a problem with me." He absently picked at a brown coated mushroom on his plate. "I used to think they were just ungrateful, but you know why they were unhappy? I'm not a leader. I never have been and I don't know how to be."

"You and this group have lasted longer than the National Guard. I'd say you did something right."

Ben lifted the notepad he'd been writing in and flipped through the pages. "As much as I don't want to, I do feel responsible for these folks. So whenever I have a clear head, I've been going over our options." His piercing gaze flicked over the notepad then gripped Jerome. "We can't make it through the winter here, you know that."

Jerome crossed his arms and sat straighter against the booth. "It's your call as far as I'm concerned, but I don't get why we can't. All we need to do is find a couple more trailers, stockpile some food, get some warmer clothes - "

Ben scoffed and added, "Find the meaning of life, cure cancer, fly to the sun…"

"We're golden out here," Jerome insisted. "Do you think there's any other group that can go months without seeing a single biter?"

"Oh, I should've known." Ben tossed the notepad back down. "You want the group to freeze and starve just so you don't have to deal with walkers."

"Hey," Jerome said defensively. "Put yourself in my place, would you want your kid to see the kind of shit we have?"

"It's part of life now," Ben said. "She might as well learn."

Jerome took a deep breath. He supposed he couldn't be but so irritated with Ben. He couldn't understand where Jerome was coming from because he wasn't a father. Jerome had only managed to eat half his plate yet his appetite had vanished.

He stood up and slid the remainder of his lunch towards Ben. "You can have my slop if you want it," he said. "I'm gonna head back to camp."


Rachel attached a piece of rope to the trunk of a thick spruce near the edge of camp, then tied the other end to the corner of Lauren's trailer. She couldn't wash the laundry or tie knots with gloves on so her fingers had gone from beet red to turnip purple in the span of half an hour. Wisps of dark hair had fallen from her loose bun and occasionally stuck to the snot that ran from her nose no matter how much she wiped her face.

Lauren dragged two plastic tubs of sopping wet clothes across camp, then went back for the third one that contained underwear and socks. She kicked it towards Rachel then collapsed against her trailer, chest heaving. "Holy crap. I can't wait to get this done so I can crawl into a pile of blankets and never come out," she said.

None of the trailers were large enough to hang the laundry inside, so they had to wait for windy days to dry the clothes. And now that it was winter, the wind was nasty. The type of howling, whistling wind that would take your breath and leave you wheezing if you faced it too long.

"Don't forget, we still have to get water for Peggy to use," Rachel said. Lauren groaned and hung her head.

They got started with the third tub first, pinning up the socks and undergarments like they were going for a speed record. The stinging ache in Rachel's fingers had become a hot throbbing, and she decided she needed something, anything, to distract her. She asked, "How did you get so good at this stuff, Lauren?"

"What, laundry?" Lauren moved to the second tub, squinting curiously at her. She held two clothespins between her teeth and pulled out a couple shirts, flapping them to remove anything that might've stuck from being washed with creek water.

"I mean survival," Rachel said. "Usually you'd be on a scavenging run right now. I've never seen you shoot but Clarence speaks pretty highly of you." She grabbed a pair of damp, faded jeans and paused as she raised them towards the rope. They belonged to Marvin, and any sign of him had become a reminder that he still blamed her for Kate's death and hadn't had two words to say to her for a month.

"Twenty-three isn't that young is it?" Lauren blew her wild, brown bangs from her eyes and pinned up the last two pairs of pants. "I guess I just knew early on that I couldn't act like a scared college kid or I'd be treated like one."

"College?" Rachel smiled wryly. "I remember those days. Vaguely."

"You were a nurse, right?"

Rachel nodded. "Fourteen years under my belt. I only spent the last four in the ER, though." She flipped the empty tubs over and allowed the water to drain out, then moved onto the final heap of laundry.

"Marketing major," Lauren said sourly, motioning towards herself. "Boring as all hell. My folks said they'd only pay my tuition if I picked from their choices, and it was either marketing, mechanical engineering, or biology." For a moment, she seemed to be lost in thought as she stiffly grabbed long sleeved shirts and pinned them in the remaining gaps on the rope. "But enough about me, being an ER nurse sounds way more exciting," she said, intrigue flashing across her face.

"It certainly had its moment."

"Did you nurses and doctors realize something was up before everyone else?" Lauren made a swishing motion with her hand. "You know, with the dead?"

"Not really," Rachel said. "We definitely had a few bite victims. I mean, I know that's what they are now, but none of us really did at the time. To tell you the truth, I bailed as soon as I realized how bad things were going to get." She fiddled with the threadbare hem of a shirt for a few seconds before she dared to glance at Lauren and gauge her reaction. She was well aware the story didn't paint her as a saint, but to her relief, Lauren was nodding sympathetically.

"Hey, you did what you had to do," she said. "You had a family to think about."

"Yeah." Rachel smiled.

Once they had pinned up the last of the laundry, she took a few steps back to survey their work, hands planted on her hips. The rope sagged dangerously low under the weight of all the clothes, but as long as the knots held, it was good enough. Doing the laundry had become such an ordeal that she was starting to believe just wearing dirty clothes wouldn't be so bad.

Sighing, she turned to Lauren and asked, "You ready to go fill the buckets?"

"Let's get it over with."

"I'll go get the gear." Rachel set off towards the dining trailer and stopped short as soon as she opened the door. Adrian and Emma sat at the table, a pack of crayons in the middle as they colored on loose sheets of paper. Peggy sat a few feet away, flipping through a magazine.

Rachel inhaled deeply through her nose, hoping it would smother the fire growing in her chest. What was supposed to be her and Jerome's trailer still doubled as the camp's kitchen, dining room, storage unit, and apparently, daycare. Every time the door swung open with someone coming in to cook or eat or grab something, Rachel got that much closer to speaking her mind. Why couldn't they switch trailers with Peggy since she was the cook, always running in and out? That was really Jerome's trailer she stayed in anyway.

"Look what I drew!" Adrian happily held up his half-finished drawing of a green dog wearing a top hat.

Rachel chuckled and said, "That's very good, Adrian."

She pressed herself against the wall and squeezed past the chairs, reaching the heap of supplies in the back corner. She grabbed two pairs of rubber boots. As she started back past the table, her eyes passed over Emma's drawing - then she did a double take. She'd drawn over a dozen stick-figures. Six of them had yellow halos over their heads and big white wings sprouting from their backs. Rachel's gut sank like she'd swallowed a rock.

Although she was afraid she already knew the answer, she asked, "What did you draw, Emma?"

"People," she replied. Emma pointed at her figures as she named them off. "This is the group over here. Then that's Dean, that's Kate, that's Auntie Natalie and Uncle Chris, and these two are Lucy and Billy. Remember them, from Fort McAdams?"

Hearing her sister and brother-in-law's names spoken out loud after so long made Rachel stiffen. "We don't know that Auntie Natalie and Uncle Chris are in heaven," she said, forcing her voice to remain light and non-confrontational.

Peggy's gut jiggled with suppressed laughter. She pointed downwards and said, "You think they might be somewhere else?"

Rachel sent a withering glare her way. Joking about her family like what wasn't appropriate, especially when she didn't even know if they were alive or not. She turned her attention back to Emma and watched with mounting worry.

Emma exchanged her black crayon for a brown one and started scribbling hair onto two large stick-figures and one small one near the edge of the paper. "This is us," she said, and once she finally glanced up, her face lit up hopefully. "Oh, are you going to the creek now?" she asked, eyes flicking to the rubber boots. "Can I come? Please, Mom? I've been stuck inside all day."

Before she had even thought about it, Rachel found herself agreeing. "Yeah," she said, nodding. All she wanted was to get her away from that dreadful drawing and whatever headspace she'd been in to create it. "Bundle up, it's really cold," she added.

Emma pulled on her puffy, black coat, then hopped over to the door and hurried outside. Rachel stared after her, shocked by how quickly her demeanor had flipped. She kicked off her shoes and shoved her feet into the rubber boots, which were far too big for her, then followed after Emma with the other pair in hand.

Lauren sat atop the picnic table. Three empty five gallon buckets were at her feet. She lifted a stack of lids from her lap and extended them towards Emma. "Here, kiddo. Carry these for us."

Rachel grabbed two of the buckets and waited while Lauren changed into her rubber boots, then the three of them set off.

As they reached the creek, Rachel said, "Stay on the bank, Emma I don't want you getting wet."

Lauren stepped up beside her and lowered her bucket into the lazily rushing water. She glanced over her shoulder and said, "Gimme a lid, kid." The ten-year-old dutifully tossed the lid to her like a frisbee. Lauren secured it onto her bucket, then set it on the bank. "So," she began as she turned back towards Rachel, a curious lilt to her voice. "This is going to sound really random, but how did you and Jerome meet?"

"Well, before he got into the mining industry, Jerome was a logger in Anchorage."

"Wait...are you telling me he's a lumberjack?"

Rachel laughed. "Pretty much. And guess who came in all banged up my third week working the emergency room?" Her smile broadened at the memory. "A tree they were felling clipped him. He came in with a concussion and a really nasty laceration on his arm. As soon as I walked in the room and went over to take his vitals, he puked on my feet." Emma threw her a lid after her bucket was full, and she snapped it in place.

Emma made an exaggerated gagging sound. "That's disgusting!"

Rachel shrugged. "Puke and all, that accent and big brown eyes had me smitten from the start."

"I have to admit, that's not what I was expecting," Lauren said. She filled the last bucket then joined Rachel on the bank. "I know this is stupid, but um...I've only ever had one boyfriend and it was in like, tenth grade. I've just been thinking about all the things I never experienced and probably never will at this point." She pinched her lips together and a new rosy patch blossomed across her cheeks. "All my friends in college met their boyfriends at school but frat boys and hookups are just not my thing."

"It's not stupid," Rachel said. "Wanting companionship is perfectly normal, especially in a time like this."

"Speak of the devil…" Lauren looked somewhere past her, brows raised. Jerome meandered slowly towards them, walking close to the creek. His hands were shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket and his eyes didn't lift from the ground until Lauren called, "Hey, Old Man Winter!"

Jerome frowned but a smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "Old man? Really?"

"I do think there's some more gray in that beard than I remember," Rachel said, poking at the thickening stubble along his jaw once he was near enough.

He playfully smacked her hand away, but the amusement had already faded from his eyes. "You girls need a hand?" he asked, nodding to the remaining bucket.

"Not right now, Papa. I'm helping." Emma wrapped her hands around the handle and pulled upwards. Her face reddened three shades before she'd managed to lift the bucket an inch off the ground. She dropped it back down and exhaled heavily. "Maybe not."

Jerome chuckled. He plucked the beanie off his own head and forced it onto Emma, ignoring her protests. "Shush," he chided. "Your ears are as red as tomatoes." The two of them started play boxing, hopping around in the dirt and dodging each other's soft punches.

Rachel rolled her eyes but smiled. As Lauren turned away to start back to camp, she said, "Will you take Emma back with you? I want to talk to Jerome for a minute."

"Sure. Come on, I think I've got a book in my trailer you'd really like," Lauren said. Emma took one final swipe at her father then scampered alongside her.

Jerome tipped his head questioningly, but Rachel waited until her daughter was out of sight to speak.

"How's Ben?" she asked softly. Although he claimed he didn't blame Rachel for what happened with Kate, Ben certainly hadn't been any friendlier to her than his father in the past month. He hadn't graced the main camp with his presence since towing his trailer out and Rachel couldn't help but wonder how much that had to do with her.

"A little higher spirits today, I guess." He shook his head and gave a small, solemn sigh. Then, as though he could read her mind, he added, "It has nothing to do with you, mon amour. It never did." He cast a hesitant glance towards the camp path and lowered his voice. "In fact, his problem is with basically everyone but us. And he's talking about going to Anchorage."

"Oh." Rachel stood a little straighter at that. Her eyes widened as the stick figures of her sister and brother-in-law Emma drew flashed in her head. She tentatively asked, "What do you think about that?" She knew Jerome felt strongly about not leaving the creek, but she hoped Ben might've been able to change his mind.

"I don't like it."

Rachel sighed. Everyone thought Ben and Clarence were stubborn, but Jerome could match them when he had his mind made up.

Some nearby bushes rustled as a pair of wrens flew out. Jerome whirled around and went rigid. He stared at the bushes, and kept staring for far longer than Rachel understood. She observed him in silence, the hollow look in his eyes that she couldn't quite place making her concern balloon until she couldn't take it anymore.

"Honey," she began softly, as if she was talking to a wild animal. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." His head whipped towards her but the warmth still hadn't returned to his eyes. "Anchorage is just, um...I don't see the point. We've got it good here."

Rachel blinked slowly, completely taken aback. There seemed to be something else he wasn't saying, but privacy was too hard to come by for her to pass up an opportunity to discuss the future. "Well...we need to start making a plan B. The clock is really ticking, you of all people know how screwed we're gonna be if we get snowed in. Why are you so against checking out Anchorage? If it turns out they're just as bad off there, there's wilderness down there too."

Jerome exhaled heavily and rubbed the back of his neck. "I just went through this with Ben…"

"Now you're gonna go through it with me," Rachel replied. "For months I've kept my family in the back of my mind because I just couldn't bear to think about what they were doing or whether they're even alive. You made the decision for us to come here." Pent up emotions came rushing over her. She clamped her mouth shut as she composed herself and sniffled. "Anchorage has so much potential. I could find my sister, there could be more resources or maybe even another refugee center there. It's worth a shot," she insisted, practically begging.

"I suppose I can think about it." He shrugged and slowly moved to pick up the remaining bucket.

Rachel's heart sank. That was as much of a response she was going to get from him and it certainly wasn't reassuring. All she could do was hope he came around before the others moved on without them. "Okay," she said, her voice breathy with the sigh it rode on. "There's something else I've been meaning to talk to you about. I think we should let Clarence give Emma shooting lessons."

Jerome paused, half bent down towards the bucket. "You can't be serious," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "She's only ten years old."

"Do you really think that matters anymore? She's kept her word not to play with guns, now I think it's time for her to learn they're a tool. If there's ever an emergency, I want her to know what to do."

"I hate this," Jerome murmurmured. "I'd give anything for her to have a normal life."

"It's only as big of a deal as we make it," Rachel said, leading the way towards camp. She patted her husband on the back as he came to walk alongside her. "Courtney must've been younger than Emma when she started going hunting with Dean and that was long before the world ended."

Jerome had just begun to say something when a shrill scream sounded from somewhere down the creek. They both froze and shared a wide-eyed look.

"That sounded like one of the kids," Rachel said.

No sooner than the words were out of her mouth, Jerome turned and took off towards the noise, dropping the bucket and leaving it to roll back down the slope.


Courtney walked into the shooting range turned cemetery, grateful for the shelter provided by the dense, leafless trees.

She paused and eyed the two graves. The dirt had settled and succumbed to the weather over the past month. By now, she could hardly tell if there had ever been a holes dug at all. The only giveaway that there were bodies resting just below the surface were the headstones, two sizable rocks with the names of the respective deceased scratched and carved messily onto them: Kate Wallace and Dean Peterson. Courtney couldn't remember who'd done Kate's headstone, but she was the one who made one for her grandfather. Who else cared enough to do right by him? Jerome and Clarence may have dug the grave, but that was only to be nice. They didn't know him and they didn't really care.

Nobody really cared about her grandfather but her. The woman who was supposed to be his wife, who had apparently forgotten the whole ''til death do us part' thing, had been distant right up until he was in the ground.

At the end, he sacrificed himself for her sake. The more Courtney thought about it the more she realized that was the final time he would sacrifice himself, but not the first. When it was her mother's time to go, Dean took care of her himself. Put down his own daughter to protect her, while Peggy buried herself in denial, the coward's way out.

Yet when Dean's time came, he had to 'take care' of himself. He had to die alone. Peggy pretended like nothing was happening the whole time, and Courtney didn't have it in her to go with him or do it herself - not that he would've let her anyway. He lasted a whole day after he got bit, until he was so sick and weak he could hardly walk, then he asked Clarence to drive him out somewhere far from camp. And that was that.

Courtney wasn't sure how exactly her grandfather had died, she just knew her whole world fell apart in a matter of days. Her family had been picked off one by one, be it by distance or walkers, and now there were two. Courtney was past feeling guilty when she wished it had been her grandmother that got bit, not Dean.

She stopped next to his grave and kneeled down, pressing her denim-covered knee against the cold dirt. "Things are only getting worse," Courtney revealed quietly. She pulled a withered weed from beside the headstone and twisted it between her fingers. "I think the group's falling apart. Ben moved his trailer out of camp and Clarence has taken over. Everybody's arguing. We have to warm up water on the stove to wash with now." She took a deep breath and directed her sad eyes towards the sky, where a pair of doves flew over. "I haven't gone hunting since you...left. It just isn't right without you there."

Some of the thicker bushes at the edge of the clearing began to rattle furiously. Courtney rose to her full height and slid a hand inside her coat to retrieve the revolver nestled in the waist of her jeans. Her hands trembled as she aimed towards the bushes and squinted through the sights, expecting a walker to burst out at any moment.

Instead, a small voice gasped, "You have a gun!" and Aaliyah stepped through the bushes, face alight with awe.

Courtney's arms sank as soon as the little girl came into view. A deep feeling of guilt settled into her gut. She had been a split second away from pulling the trigger. The words Dean told her every time they went hunting rang in her head. Always have a clear view of your target. Don't put your finger on the trigger until you know you're ready to fire. She hid the gun away within her coat and huffed.

"What are you doing out here?"

"I followed you," Aaliyah replied simply. Her wiry hair was pulled into tight, low buns on either side of her head. She was one of the few unlucky people who still hadn't gotten winter apparel in their size, so her dark purple coat hung almost to her knees and the sleeves went well past her hands when not rolled up. She sniffed and nodded towards Dean's grave. "Why are you talking to a grave?"

Courtney sucked in a deep, calming breath. "None of your business."

Aaliyah's mouth fell open. "You don't have to be rude," she exclaimed, planting her hands on her hips.

"And you don't have to be so nosy." Courtney grabbed Aaliyah by the oversized sleeve and started out of the cemetery, not bothering to slow down when the younger girl dragged her feet. "We're going back right now. Your Mom is probably worried sick, you're gonna have the whole group looking for you."

Aaliyah scoffed and said, "I bet my mom hasn't even noticed I'm gone."

"I'll tell her if she hasn't. Do you know how stupid it is to sneak around like this?"

"Well you're doing it," Aaliyah retorted, her voice nearing a whine. She tore her arm out of Courtney's grip and stared at her for a moment, then a devilish smile spread across her face. "I won't tell your secret if you don't tell mine."

Courtney's heart thumped nervously as she realized there was a good chance she'd be in hot water when she got back to camp herself. Per Clarence's rules, nobody was supposed to leave camp without letting him know, and only he and Lauren were supposed to carry guns while the others were off in Fairbanks. Courtney knew Aaliyah well enough to know she was going to snitch on her about the gun to the first adult she saw.

She said a silent apology to her grandfather, who must have been looking down from heaven at her in shame. From the way she and Peggy had been arguing to pointing a gun at a little kid, Dean was probably rolling in his grave. "If you tell anybody about me then you'll be tattling on yourself too," Courtney said tentatively, curious to see if that would be enough to buy Aaliyah's silence.

"I don't care. You're breaking my daddy's rules."

"So are you!" Courtney threw her hands up in the air. "You make no sense."

They walked in silence for a few more paces, following the path beside the creek, until the foliage behind them rustled. Courtney stopped in her tracks and shushed Aaliyah's complaining.

Twigs snapped. The bushes trembled and rattled. Above the babbling of the creek, Courtney could've swore she heard breathing. She frowned and quietly asked, "Aaliyah, did one of the other kids come with you?"

Aaliyah's dark eyes were impossibly wide and round as she shook her head. Courtney regarded her with a look of disbelief. Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, she simply rested her hand on her gun and waited. She heard a deep huff of breath and the scuffing of dirt. Then the crispy undergrowth trembled and out stepped a brown bear three times the size of any human, no more than thirty feet away.

Aaliyah screamed so loud it echoed off the trees. She tried to run but Courtney clutched her by the neck of her coat, forcing her to stay in place. "Stop, you're making it worse," she said out the corner of her mouth. For once, Aaliyah listened. Low whimpers slipped from her trembling lips and a single tear trailed down her brown, frosty cheek.

The bear snuffed, producing a big puff of steam. Courtney's heart seemed to be in her throat now, pounding so hard and fast she couldn't even swallow. Dean had never said much to her about bears, except 'they're as afraid of us as we are of them', but as she stood there staring down this gigantic bear who seemed completely unbothered by their presence, she wasn't sure she could believe that.

The bear lifted a massive paw and stepped towards them. Courtney curled her fingers around her gun, wondering if a thirty-eight caliber would even do any good. "Uh...go away," she said, clapping her hands together. The bear growled and rose onto its hind legs, towering over the two girls similar to the trees.

Aaliyah gave another shriek and pulled desperately on Courtney's arm. "Do something, he's gonna eat us!" she wailed.

The painful, terrifying truth was that Courtney didn't know what to do. Seconds ticked by, through the felt like hours, and the bear only growled.

Heavy footfalls thundered up the path behind Courtney and she snapped her eyes closed, sure they were about to be eaten by this bear's mate.

Then the unmistakable, French-accented voice of Jerome exclaimed, "Oh, shit!" and the footsteps halted. Courtney slowly craned her head around to see Jerome and Rachel standing just a few feet back. To her dismay, both of them looked just as terrified and panicked as she felt. Jerome's face was slack with fear and Rachel's mouth hung open as her bulging eyes locked onto the bear.

Just as quickly as it had appeared, the bear dropped back down to all fours and walked away, huge paws thumping against the dirt and rocks. It splashed into the creek and disappeared into the woods on the opposite bank.

Courtney deflated as though she was a balloon that had been popped with a pin. Her shoulders sagged and she put her hands on her head. If Jerome and Rachel hadn't run up when they did, she probably would've been the third grave in their new cemetery.

"A bear." Rachel's voice was high pitched with terror as she clasped her hands against her chest. "A fucking bear this close to camp…"

Jerome ran a hand down the dark, thickening stubble along his jaw and shared a look of worry with his wife. He turned his concerned eyes upon the girls. "Are you okay?"

Aaliyah's only response was to cry harder, but Courtney nodded numbly. "We're okay," she answered.

"Good," Jerome said. He gave Aaliyah a reassuring pat on the head and chewed at his bottom lip, appearing to be deep in thought. "You oughta take the kids back to camp, Rachel." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder and added, "I'm gonna warn Ben and Marvin." When Rachel opened her mouth to protest, he held up a hand to stop her. "Honey, I have to. We can't just let them wander around out here not knowing there's a bear in the area."

"But you don't even have a gun," Rachel pointed out, shaking her head. "It's dangerous."

Courtney fought the urge to curse. That damned gun of hers was bound to cause trouble one way or another. How would she feel if she kept her mouth shut to cover her own butt and something happened to an innocent person? She petulantly rolled her eyes and pulled the gun from within her coat.

"Here," she grumbled, extending her arm towards Jerome. His eyebrows hitched up his forehead in shock as he stared at the weapon, hesitating so long to take it that Courtney's arm grew tired. "That's my Grandpa's gun," she began, eager to defend herself. "He told me to always carry something with me to protect myself and I know it's against Clarence's rules, but…" she trailed off, shrugging.

"Okay, then." Jerome turned the revolver over in his hands, blinking. "Don't worry about it right now, kiddo. We've got bigger problems."


Hours had passed since the dull pinks and purples of sunset faded into the black of night. With the absence of electricity, street lamps, or flashlights, the darkness inside the apartment was almost overwhelming. It was a darkness like Samantha had never known, so thick that she could hardly see her hand in front of her face.

At some point she moved from her spot below the window to the bathroom, both to take refuge from the cold and to get away from the moaning. Oh, the moaning. There was no escaping that. The infected on the street below wandered back and forth, their steps sluggish and jilted. Those on the fire escape had yet to forget about the fresh meat just beyond the window and pressed relentlessly against the barrier.

Samantha sat in the bathtub with her knees pulled up to her chest. She'd cried until there were no tears left. For what must have been the hundredth time, she lifted the walkie talkie from her lap and pressed the talk button. Static crackled and echoed off the porcelain surrounding her. She sniffled and tried to speak, her voice hoarse and nasally.

"Anybody there?"

Nothing but silence returned. The snow surely accounted for the interference...unless nobody was listening anyway. What difference did it make? No one was coming for her. She swept the back of her hand across her nose, further encrusting her gloves with snot. Her shoulders hitched as she began to weep again, but her puffy, inflamed eyes produced no tears.

"P-please, if anybody can hear me...you don't even have to be from my camp, I just need help," she begged. The shaking of her hand increased as the minutes dragged on and she received no response. She took in a gasping, hiccupping breath and thumped her fist against the tub. "Please, please, please…"


Milky white clouds, filled with the promise of more flurries, periodically drifted over the fingernail-shaped moon. This dim moonlight, along with the low fire that kept Clarence and his family from freezing to death, gave Red Fox Creek some much needed visibility. For that, Brandon had to be grateful. He liked to think of himself as an adaptable guy, but this whole 'survivalist' thing was really putting him to the test.

As if the dead roaming the earth, cold, and hunger weren't bad enough, now he had to worry about bears. How none of them had ever thought of it before was beyond him, but he couldn't be mad. Hindsight is 20/20, after all. He only hoped if a bear made it to camp he'd have an advantage. From his post atop Peggy's trailer, he could see everything from the treeline perimeter of camp to part of the creek path. He subconsciously tightened his grip on the shotgun in his lap as a rabbit hopped out from underneath the short bus, scuffling in the foliage.

Brandon had to admit he was glad his main concern for the time being was something natural, something that was a normal concern when in the wilderness. Infected were a secondary threat out here, and while it had taken him a while to get accustomed to, he could see now why certain members of the group were so hell-bent against leaving. Deep down he knew leaving was inevitable, and for him this was more like a vacation than a permanent arrangement. All good things came to an end; that wasn't something he'd ever had to learn the hard way.

At this time of year there were no crickets chirping or any of the other woodsy ambience there had been when Brandon first arrived. Except for the occasional hoot owl or chilling howl of a coyote, the silence was deafening. And then, his walkie talkie crackled to life for the first time in three days.

"...hear me...from…"

Brandon tore the radio from his belt and listened intently. The static was thick and choppy, but he caught the tearful voice of a woman. He waited for a good ten seconds to make sure whoever was on the other end had finished speaking, then pressed the talk button. "Hello? Hello, this is Brandon Woods, who is this?" He growled and shook the radio when the only sound that came through was static. "Do you copy? Hello?"

He tossed the shotgun to the floor and started down the ladder two rungs at a time, fervently repeating his message into the walkie-talkie all the way to the ground and across camp. He wasn't but a few feet from Clarence's tent when the static stopped, so abrupt that its absence somehow felt wrong to his ears. Brandon blinked at the radio clenched in his white-knuckle grip. Maybe he imagined it, or maybe it was interference from a stranger...but it could've been Samantha.

He drummed his hand against the frost-covered nylon of the Evans family tent and hissed, "Clarence! Wake up!"

Ten seconds later, the tent shook viciously and the entry flap unzipped. Clarence lumbered out, wearing the same olive green parka and cargo pants he wore throughout the day. A fleece blanket was tangled around his socked feet. "What happened?" His voice was thick and groggy, but Brandon heard the underlying worry. The campfire's faint glow accentuated the deep lines across his forehead.

"I heard a voice on the radio," Brandon said, lifting the walkie as high as his arm would allow in hopes the signal would return. "It was weak but I think it could've been one of our people."

"You think?" Clarence repeated. He rolled his eyes. "Boy you 'bout gave me a stroke, waking me up in the middle of the night - "

Keisha's head popped from the tent. She softly asked, "What's going on?"

"I heard someone on the radio," Brandon said.

"Yeah?" Keisha's eyes widened hopefully. "What did they say? How'd they sound?"

"Well, uh…" Brandon took a step back. All of a sudden it seemed silly, getting so worked up over less than a sentence. "She said 'hear me' and then there was an interruption and I heard 'from'. There was so much static that was all I got but it has to mean something, right?" Clarence crossed his arms over his chest and pressed his lips together so tightly they almost disappeared altogether under his mustache. "She sounded upset, like maybe she'd been crying," Brandon continued, a defensive edge to his words. "My guess would be Samantha, my sister doesn't get upset like that."

Clarence turned his face up towards the sky and sighed. "If she's upset and radioing in the middle of the night, what do you think that means, Brandon?"

"That at least one of them is still alive," he said. "I could go look for them before it's too late. We know the general area of where they went, Jake wanted to check out the business districts…"

"Out of the question," Clarence replied firmly. "No search and rescue missions. You know that and so did they when they left."

"Dude, come on." Brandon's brows furrowed together tightly. "I can take the bus and be in and out before dawn. That's my sister out there." Even though they hadn't checked in like they were supposed to, Brandon hadn't been worried about the trio - his sister least of all. But now that the possibility of them being in trouble was looking him in the face, he wanted nothing more than to go to their rescue.

Keisha turned her sympathetic face up towards Brandon and smiled gently. "From one parent to another, I'd be extra careful as long as Carmen's gone. If you go out there and something happens to you, where will that leave Adrian?"

"Besides, you can't just leave us high and dry," Clarence said, his round eyes narrowing indignantly at the thought. "The bus is the only vehicle we've got left, if you leave with it then we're trapped here."

No matter how valid their arguments may have been, it only left Brandon frustrated. He was starting to think Carmen was right - things were better when he didn't have to check with anyone besides himself before making a decision. And when did his bus become the camp vehicle, anyway? He took a deep breath and clipped his walkie-talkie back to his belt, knowing the conversation was over. There was no arguing, not with Clarence.

"Alright," he said, forcing himself to nod in agreement. "You're right. I just wasn't thinking clearly," he added, taking a step backwards to illustrate his surrender.

"Don't lose hope yet," Keisha said. "It's only been two days since they last checked in."

"Three days and nights in Fairbanks." Clarence chuckled. "A few months ago that was a sweepstakes prize. Now…" He trailed off, then cleared his throat. "Well, I'm going back to bed before I freeze right to the ground. Stay warm, Brandon."

"Yeah." Brandon gave a lazy flap of his hand as Clarence and Keisha returned to their tent and zipped themselves in.