I can confirm that jet lag is, in fact, a bitch. 0/10 do not recommend. Costa Rica on the other hand? Fantastic. 11/10 do recommend.

Sunrise broke cautiously. Tendrils of light poked their heads above the horizon, slithering through gaps in the curtains to paint the carpet gold. Scott sat up groggily, blinded by sunrays, vaguely aware of the nagging instinct that something was off but unable to pin down what. He banished the final dregs of sleep from his mind with a splash of the water bottle over his face and stumbled upright, battling headrush.

Gordon was finally asleep, sprawled on his back with one hand gripping Alan's wrist. Whether something had happened during the night or if it was simply to reassure his own mind remained unclear. Alan was still out for the count, clutching a blanket to his chest with a white-knuckled grip that was sure to ache once he woke but worked to ease lonely nightmares for the time-being. John was asleep for once, thank God, but the tangled blanket proved it had been a restless night, probably filled with another catalogue of terrors. Scott smoothed out the blanket, paused by Alan's side for a second to check whether the kid's breathing was hitched or if it was his own imagination, then headed out of the room.

Virgil and Finch were missing. It didn't take long to track them down. Footprints led trails in the dust across the carpet and a swathe of cobwebs were missing from the wall where Finch's tail had left a path of destruction. Scott followed the evidence to the backdoor, which stood open a crack. Steps led down to a backyard filled with overgrown grass and leaning bushes with faintly yellowed leaves. Ivy and weeds ran rampart.

Virgil sat on the steps, braced against his knees, eyes closed in the face of the morning sun. Finch lay at his side, her eyes wide and mournful as she watched him. Her tail thumped against the top step as she glimpsed Scott and Virgil spun around so fast that he nearly gave himself whiplash.

Scott lifted his hands. "Just me." He tried to smile. "I come in peace."

Virgil didn't laugh, simply turning back to the sunrise. Scott took the silence as a sign to continue, so took a seat beside him. Light was spreading across the sky, turning clouds to silver and gold, fracturing as dust tore the rays apart. It seemed almost sickly, weak, highlighting all the ways in which the world was dying. The stench of decay was stronger in the face of day. Old blood smeared the fence. Something small and rotten was concealed within the ivy, once glossy feathers matted with gore. Finch kept close to their sides, ears flattened whenever something rustled.

Virgil had the bottle of water in his lap. It was half-empty, Scott noticed with a rush of relief so strong that for a moment he almost felt real. Virgil kept fiddling with the cap, twisting it one way then the other so that plastic ridges bit his fingertips. His gaze was on the tall grass, swaying in a dull breeze, but he didn't appear to be truly seeing it.

Scott knocked their shoulders together cautiously. "Hey."

Virgil took a small sip of water, stifling a cough. "Hey," he echoed after a couple of minutes.

"The others are still asleep," Scott volunteered, hoping to appeal to Virgil's own so-called smother-hen instincts, but all he received in response was a shrug. "So, uh… What are you doing out here?"

There was no immediate reply. The sun was warming the concrete, so he tipped back on his hands to observe the clouds above. They were delicate creations, as if formed by a fine tipped brush, proof that there were strong winds higher up, accompanied by very, very cold temperatures. It was the first time he'd glimpsed snatches of blue from ground-level in a long while. There was something reassuring about that, melting a frozen part of his soul so that he could breathe without falling.

Virgil plucked a stray weed from the cracks in the concrete. He crushed it between his palms, picking strands of frayed leaf from between his fingers. Vivid green bled from the ruined plant, trickling down his wrist to drip against the jeans he'd pilfered from an upstairs closet.

Scott took a deep breath. Dust scratched in his throat. "What did the plant ever do to you?"

Virgil balled the leaves into a tiny scrap of death and discarded it. "Nothing. But isn't that the same for everything? For everyone? No one did anything to deserve their fate, but it came calling anyway. And if you refuse, it takes you and changes you into something you can't recognise. Nothing good survives."

"Do you actually believe that?"

Virgil shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know." He tousled Finch's fur. "It was a long night."

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Something like that."

Silence settled alongside the dust. Scott glanced sideways to glimpse Virgil messing with that bottle cap. He was once again a closed book and Scott genuinely couldn't tell if it was on purpose or a subconscious defence mechanism. Either way it was unsettling.

The dying plant was bleeding green sap across the concrete, the same colour as Two's paintwork. Scott hadn't seen the actual moment of Two's destruction – at least not that he could remember although that could have had something to do with the tender spot at the base of his skull where he'd smashed against the car – but it still hurt fiercely to imagine, so he couldn't imagine what it must be like to replay the visual memory over and over. No wonder Virgil looked so haunted.

"You should come inside," he said quietly, clapping a hand to Virgil's shoulder.

"In a bit."

"Preferably now, unless you want me to burn the house down, because we need to eat and as I'm the only other person awake that leaves me as the cook and we all know which of us inherited Grandma's, uh, skills."

Virgil didn't laugh, but there were the glimmers of a smile hidden somewhere beneath the grief. He pushed himself upright and brushed dust off his jeans. For a moment, he stared at the sunrise, at the decaying bird in the undergrowth and the streaks of green where the plant smeared the steps.

"Theory of evolution," he murmured, slotting his hands into his pockets. "Adaption is the only way to survive. Anything that tries to resist change, which stays the same… it dies." He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply despite the dust. "I can't keep holding onto the past. It's a new world. The person I was before – that's not gonna cut it."

"Virg," Scott began, not quite a protest, more like a plea, although he wasn't sure why. Unease kept him shivering. "You-"

"Maybe Gordon's got the right idea. Yeah, he's mourning his past self but at least he's not letting it hold him back. He's a survivor. I wasn't, not before, but now I've got to be. Which is- I don't know who I'm gonna be from now on, but maybe that's a good thing because I get to choose. Completely blank slate. No ties. Not even Two."

"I wouldn't say Two was a tie. You loved her. That's not a bad thing."

"And Gordon got us stuck in that bunker, supposedly for love."

"Isn't that the reason we're still fighting?"

"That and basic human survival instinct. You've seen it on rescue. There's nothing stronger. Look, I'm not saying… Change is necessary. I can't keep- It's fine. I've just got to adapt, like everything."

Finch flitted between them, tail low and uncertain. Scott didn't know what to say. He didn't even know how to feel. All that existed was an overwhelming sense of loss, sadness so deep that he could drown in it. Hopelessness in human form – a terminal condition.

Virgil turned away from the sunrise. "I'll make breakfast. You'd burn the house down. Try to find some medical supplies in the meantime. If there's no burn salve, look for honey. John, Gordon and Alan might have escaped, but you and I need to dress these before we run into trouble. You've already had one infection in the past couple of months, you don't need another."

Scott had forgotten the burns, but now his attention was drawn to the blisters along his forearm. He faintly registered the ache, but his main focus was still caught by Virgil and emotional pain that was so raw that it was openly bleeding despite his brother's best attempts to repress it.

But all he said was, "Okay." His voice broke. "Okay."

Virgil gestured to Finch and let the door swing shut behind them. Scott sank down to the steps again. When he flexed a hand, his fingers were shaking.

"Okay," he breathed, tangling his hands in his hair and tugging until he could feel the sting. Stay in the moment. Keep focussed. Okay.

Breakfast was a slightly louder affair than the previous evening had been. Alan was back on his feet and bouncing, although most of his energy was an act, overcompensating for the deeply rooted fear of being betrayed by your own body and having no way to fight back. Gordon was trying to play the joker again, drawing John out of the strange daze he still hadn't fully shaken, flinching at empty air and avoiding mirrors and even windows like the plague – anything with a reflective surface seemed to knock him into that introspective trance that left him haunted.

There were precious little medicinal supplies throughout the house. Scott even scouted the bedrooms in case any previous resident had stashed anything in their dresser but came up empty handed. He took Virgil's advice and found a jar of honey which he admittedly wasn't sure what to do with, so handed it to Virgil instead and took a seat beside John, who was staring at the empty plate in front of him as if it were talking back.

Scott prodded him. "Where'd Gordon and Alan go?"

John tore his gaze away with a start. "Sorry, what?"

"Upstairs," Virgil interjected. "Trying to find clean clothes to wear under the suits." He tilted the jar to inspect the honey. "Ideally this would be medical grade, but it's better than nothing. Yours are only first-degree burns anyway, so it'll be fine. Did you find any gauze?"

"Uh…" Scott fumbled with his pockets and deposited a meagre pile of bandages on the table. Virgil untangled one and set about daubing honey onto one side. "This looks professional."

"We're going old-school until we can find a pharmacy to raid." Virgil reached for another bandage, frowning as John flinched at the movement. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. Just got a headache. Light isn't helping."

"Go sit in the living room, the curtains are still drawn."

John shook his head with a tight smile. "No. All good. Just- ignore me. Continue being a witch or whatever this is."

"This is called improvisation," Virgil shot back. "Right, Scott, give me your arm."

It stung a little, but this was hastily followed by soothing cool. Maybe it was just Scott's imagination. He lent Virgil a hand with his own burns and was about to try interrogating John as to the strange, half-tilted way he was sitting, as if listening to someone, when Alan skidded into the room in his original blue IR suit, with damp hair and a laughing grin.

"I thought the water wasn't working?" Virgil queried, moving the honey out of reach before Alan could dip his finger in. He flicked a dripping curl out of his brother's face.

Alan swatted his hand away. "Virg, quit that." He hopped onto the countertop. "Yeah, the water's still broken but there's soap and then if you make a towel wet using one of the bottles you can have a very basic wash, which is a lifesaver because Gordon smelt worse than that Mariana mission."

"Hey, Alan?" Gordon looped an arm around his brother's neck with an evil smile and pulled him off the counter. "Fuck you."

Alan flopped on his back like an upturned beetle, looking shocked for about half a second before he scrambled upright and tackled Gordon to the floor. His battle cry wasn't particularly intimidating given it was interrupted by laughter.

John delicately lifted his feet out of the way with a fondly exasperated look. "Children, play nice."

The squabbling sounded normal, familiar, a miracle in a world of evil. Scott buried his head in his arms to listen for a moment, because without visuals he could trick himself into believing it was just another day, back home, pre-rescue but post-move night, safe and sound and sunny and loved. But then he made the mistake of looking up, spying an unfamiliar kitchen in a house they didn't own in an unknown neighbourhood, unsure of even which state they were in, with Alan suspiciously pale and ever-so-slightly shaky and Gordon wearing that gold-and-black GDF suit, loaded sky-high with advanced weaponry and fine metal seams that marked a killer rather than a saviour. Scott partly wanted to be sick, partly wanted to bury his head back in his arms and continue pretending.

Life's not fair, buddy, get with the programme, goddamn, he reminded himself, and sat upright to glimpse John full-on glaring at his own reflection in the metal lid of the honey jar. Virgil's back was turned, watching something out the window, and Alan was still sprawled on the floor, trying to catch his breath, but Gordon had noticed John's weird behaviour too and caught Scott's eye.

"You should get into your suit," Gordon announced, just to break the strange trance. "Yo, Johnny, did you hear me? We need to get moving again, so change into your suit."

John pushed back his chair slowly. "You know it won't fit me, right?"

"I…" Gordon double took, optimistic energy draining as rapidly as the sun was fading as clouds gathered thick and fast to leave Alan's suit as the only blue for miles. "What?"

"My old IR suit? Yeah, that won't fit me anymore. You may as well give it to Scott."

"Right, 'cos it'll definitely fit Scott."

John wrapped his arms around himself. "I don't know, I think you'd be surprised. We're practically the same height and Scott's lost enough weight."

Which-

Huh.

Because Grandma had always nagged John about needing to eat more, and Scott had always teased him for being too dang scrawny, seriously Jay, would it kill you to keep to a regular meal schedule?

Okay, so maybe the frequent light-headed dizzy spells and the near constant shakes made a lot more sense now he thought about it in detail. He should probably be more concerned about that, but frankly he was more worried about John.

"There's no point in me wearing the suit if it doesn't fit. The radiation shielding won't work properly if it doesn't get a good seal. Let Scott try it."

Gordon looked to Scott, then to Virgil. "Uh… Scotty?"

"John's right," Virgil admitted, albeit reluctantly. "Give it a go. No harm in trying."

"Use some deodorant at the same time," Gordon teased, trying to inject some humour back into the room and falling rather flat thanks to the fearful edge to his voice. "Jeez, Scooter."

"Hey," Scott growled at him, trying not to laugh hysterically. "Respect your elders."

"Respect? What's that? Never heard of it."

"Clearly," Scott deadpanned, dropping one of the bandages on Gordon's head on his way past, sidestepping to avoid being tripped up by Alan's feet or Finch's wagging tail.

The window in the bathroom overlooked the entire street. There were several clusters of infected milling around a bloodied front yard, but they didn't seem particularly active, with the exception of one in relatively good condition which was stumbling in the direction of the house. Scott tried to be as quick as possible without losing his balance because gravity was not his friend these days. Alan's soap, water bottle and a towel trick worked a treat, although there was still soot and dust caked to his scalp and he had to be careful not to get the bandages wet.

There was no way John's suit was going to fit him. If he'd lost that much weight, then damn, he was in worse shape than he'd realised, because the sheer amount of muscle mass he'd have dropped would have been insane.

For a moment, he couldn't breathe. Or think.

So.

The, uh-

The suit fit.

He swiped a hand across the filthy mirror to glimpse his reflection.

"Maybe I'm dying," he mused aloud.

The idea should have scared him a lot more than it actually did. He ran a thumb along orange lines where integrated tech met blue fabric and caught himself longing for silver and a familiar hangar and days of hope long since lost to the dust. Maybe Virgil was right about adapting in order to survive, but what if there was no going back? What if that change was permanent? Christ, Scott hoped not. He really, really hoped not. Because he didn't like that guy in the mirror.

It was dumb. It was really dumb. Physical appearance didn't mean shit, not really, and he knew that so why did it hurt so badly to realise how much he'd changed on the outside as well as on the inside? God only knew. He gripped the sink so tightly that his knuckles stung, tipping forward to press his forehead against the mirror.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Only me," Gordon called. "Can I come in?"

Scott took a deep breath. "Yeah."

He didn't move away from the mirror. What was the point? Gordon knew him too well for that, including several of the gory details, especially after the past couple of weeks.

"Jesus," Gordon murmured, hovering somewhere behind Scott's right shoulder. "I didn't think- It actually fits. I know Alan's wasn't ideal either, but- God, Scotty." He chuckled nervously. "You've gotta start eating more, dang dude. I'll find you a takeout menu, yeah?"

"Good plan. I fancy a pizza."

"I'll give Dominos a call."

"You do that."

Gordon didn't laugh. Scott looked up to spy his brother fighting back tears before Gordon registered eyes on him and hastily plastered on a cheap smile.

"Hey, uh, I don't know if it'll help, but I found this." Gordon set down a small tub on the edge of the basin, instantly recognisable.

Scott lifted it into the light. "You found hair gel?"

"Yeah." Gordon lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I know we're meant to be looking for useful stuff, but, uh… Appearance is a weird thing, right? How you look impacts how you feel so when that changes, or at least when you realise it's changed, it's a whole thing. I dunno. I just… After my accident, I felt kinda shitty for a while and- old routines help. So. Yeah. Hair gel. Have fun. I'm gonna go. That's- yeah. Okay. Bye."

He practically tripped over his own feet in his haste to flee.

"Thanks," Scott called after him.

Gordon froze in the doorway. "Anytime," he said at last in a very small voice. "Really. All you ever have to do is ask."

Somehow Scott got the feeling that they were no longer talking about hair gel. He turned back to the mirror, considering, before twisting the lid open. It felt ridiculous, but maybe Gordon was right about old routines helping, even if it did sting in places when he coaxed gel through his hair, discovering scrapes he couldn't recall getting. His reflection was still a variation of different which he didn't care for, but there were hints of his past self amid the changes too. Maybe nothing was as set in stone as it seemed. Changing didn't mean you couldn't bring the past with you. Memories shaped the person you became – the future was nothing without lessons from history.

"Still me," he remarked aloud, stepping away from the mirror to take in the sight of orange where there should have been silver. "Just… adapting."

Virgil kept staring at him. They were in the process of packing the car with anything deemed of use in the house. John had claimed shotgun once again and was already rifling through maps, plotting routes and detours and a variety of just-in-cases that Scott was silently praying they wouldn't need because he was entirely too aware that they only had a few miles of gas left in the tank before they'd have to continue on foot.

Virgil was still staring.

"What?" Scott finally snapped, slamming the trunk shut. He immediately felt like a jerk as Virgil jolted away, eyes wide and shocked at the sudden sound, which had been a shitty decision all around really because now the infected down the street were looking up in interest.

"Nothing," Virgil began, and winced. "Sorry. I just- I can't believe that fits you. I knew that- But I- I'm just concerned."

Scott glanced through the rear window at John, nose buried in maps, shoulders tense and defensive as if expecting an ambush at any second. "Join the club."

"Scott." Virgil dropped the final bag on the floor and leant against the car. "What's going on with you?"

"Really? Are you really asking that question?" Scott didn't give him chance to defend himself, turning away from the car to the shadows in the doorway where Alan and Gordon were trying to coax Finch into wearing a leash in case she got spooked by the infected and tried to make a run for it. "Hey! We're losing daylight. Let's go."

Virgil backed down with a sigh, stowing the final bag in the car without further comment. Alan finally looped the leash around Finch's neck and patted the seat until she jumped inside and scrambled into his lap, tail thudding against his knees. Gordon made for the driver's seat until Scott put out an arm and sent him a pointed look.

Gordon crossed his arms. "Dude. It's my car."

"You can drive later."

From Gordon's unimpressed stare, he clearly knew there wasn't sufficient mileage on the tank for him to drive later but the lack of gas was a worrying point no one was willing to mention until it became an actual problem. God knew they had enough issues as it was. He slid into the back seats, shoving Alan aside so that the kid was mostly squashed against Virgil's side, closing the door as quietly possible to avoid drawing further unwanted attention.

The engine started first time which was a blessing but all the infected were instantly drawn to their location like moths to a naked flame. Some were quicker than others, practically sprinting towards the garage in that awkward lurching gait. The car was on the road and speeding towards the top of the street before any could get too close, but Finch was growling all the same and Alan's grip tightened on the baseball bat he'd discovered in one of the bedrooms.

Gordon twisted to peer out the rear window. "You might want to step on it."

Scott didn't hesitate. "They fast?"

"Compared to some of the ones we've seen before, they make Thunderbird One seem slow." Gordon hooked his chin over the headrest to continue watching. "I swear they never used to be able to run like this. It's like the parasite is holding back, not decaying them as quickly… Weird."

"Maybe it's adapting," Alan theorised. He drummed a hand against his baseball bat. "There's not many humans left for it to consume, right? It's gotta ration the food supply it already has."

Sometimes Alan came out with uncannily accurate, yet unbelievably terrifying phrases and Scott swore he'd let the kid watch too many horror movies. He guided the car around the corner without slowing and felt his heart skip a beat as the wheels skidded. John made a faint sound of protest, which sounded a bit like, I thought Gordon was supposed to be the bad driver, which, frankly, was just plain rude. C'mon. Scott was trying to navigate abandoned roads and crashed cars and the walking dead here – trying to avoid speeding wasn't high on his list of priorities.

In the light, it was easier to navigate. The town was fairly large so ten minutes of driving put sufficient distance between them and the creatures without leaving the outskirts, so Scott slowed a little to save gas.

Alan's head popped between the front seats as they cruised through the final few streets before breaking onto open road once again.

"Hey, check it out." He gestured to a battered sign in the middle of the tarmac, mostly stripped bare by dusty wind but still legible. "Evacuation warning."

No wonder the house they'd stayed in looked as if everyone had left in a hurry. Scott glanced out the side window to spy evidence of panicked escapades everywhere. There were even TVs left on front lawns, children's toys scattered on driveways, some doors left open to sway in the breeze. As they reached the end of the town, the name on the welcome to sign had been erased, covered by red graffiti and yellow tape.

"Quarantine zone," John read aloud from the tape, gaze shifting to the sign itself as he added, "No entry. The dead are here."

"Save our souls," Virgil said quietly, gesturing to another, smaller sign, handcrafted with a cross swinging from the top. The looped cursive was worn but unmistakeable. "Somehow I don't think that worked out for them."

Alan sat back, beckoning Finch onto his lap so that he could bury his face in her fur. Gordon pressed a hand to the window, observing the passing wasteland with an uneasy expression, twisted with suspicion. Virgil cranked open a water bottle and passed it between the front seats as John tried to beat a cough through stubbornness alone. Dust coated the dash, rising in thin tornadoes as they picked up speed.

"Masks," Scott ventured, not trying to make it sound like an order but also sort of intending it to be taken as such. Not even John questioned him, which was a turn up for the books, simply taking the offered bandana and neatly tying it around his mouth and nose.

Alan opted for his actual helmet, revelling in properly filtered air for the first time since their escape from the bunker. "Oh my god, I forgot what it felt like to breathe."

Virgil shot him a worried stare. "You couldn't breathe properly? How long has that been happening? Since the bunker? Do you feel sick? Dizzy? Faint? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because of this," Alan deadpanned, waving vaguely. "Quit freaking out. It just felt a bit like I was on the verge of an asthma attack."

"Alan," Scott said slowly, "You don't have asthma. You've never had asthma. How the hell would you know what it feels like?"

"Okay, then what I imagine it feels like." Alan batted Virgil's hands away. "Vee, I'm fine. Seriously, if it had gotten any worse then I'd have said something but honestly? I wasn't really focussed on it. I mean, I was aware, but we were all zoned out like crazy yesterday."

"Infected up ahead," John reported, and Scott snapped his attention back to the road just in time to swerve around a cluster that emerged from the grey crops to their right. Gordon smacked his head against the window at the sudden movement, spitting curses. John passed back the water bottle, which wasn't cold enough to serve as a makeshift ice pack but certainly helped in place of missing painkillers.

"They're more active out here," Alan commented, brighter than he'd been for the past forty-eight hours. "Maybe because we're away from the radiation."

"Maybe," John acknowledged, finally stuffing the maps back into the glovebox. "So. Are we still planning on heading north?"

"I thought we were heading home?" Virgil queried.

John hesitated. "Yes… But I was looking at coordinates, trying to compare it with the data I can remember from EOS's research, and I think if we continue heading north… Provided we stay ahead of the ashfall, we can make it to a private bunker before the radiation poisoning sets in."

Gordon cleared his throat. "Uh… private bunker? So, a bunch of rich assholes like the Hood?"

"We wanted answers from the Hood at one time," John reminded him. "The only reason we didn't go ahead with that plan is because we couldn't head south thanks to the radiation. This way we might still have a shot at figuring this thing out. Let's face facts – we've got no way of getting home. This is our best option."

"I hate this plan," Alan announced, faux-cheerful. "The last time I was in a private bunker – or satellite, I guess – I nearly got murdered. Not a fan. Zero stars on Yelp."

"Jesus H. Christ, Alan," Gordon muttered, sinking down in his seat to bury his face in his hands. "You kill me, kid."

"Don't call me kid."

"You kill me, gremlin."

"Still not ideal but I'll take it over kid."

John caught Virgil's eye in the rear mirror. "North?"

"North."

Scott pressed down on the accelerator. "North it is."

The Explorer gave up the ghost in the middle of nowhere. The writing had been on the wall for the past twenty minutes as the light came on the dash and fine shudders turned to jolts and judders as if they were driving over the lunar surface. When the car finally rolled to a halt, it was a mess. Steam coursed from the hood, it had a flat tyre and there was traces of human flesh stuck to the bumper where an impact with an infected about three miles back had been unavoidable. Scorch marks overwhelmed paintwork and the bumper was dented beyond salvage.

Gordon patted the hood with a heavy sigh. "Farewell, old friend. You served us well."

"I feel weirdly sad about this." Alan hoisted his baseball bat over his shoulder, nudging the flat tyre with the edge of his boot. "It's just a car. Why am I sad?"

"Because you are a sweet sunshine child," Gordon teased.

Alan flipped him off.

"I take it back. You're a hellion."

"Much better, thanks."

Scott rounded the car, moving to stand in the centre of the road. Dust and grit crunched under his heels, but it wasn't as thick here as it had been further south. The sky was mostly clear but stained orange, as if it were permanently sunset. For miles, as far he could see, was empty farmland – downtrodden crops grown out of control or open grassland, winding tractor tracks long since disused. Civilisation was a pipedream of a distant world out of their reach.

Virgil slung the rucksack over his shoulder. "I guess we'd better get moving then."

John folded the map into a tiny square and stuffed it into his back pocket. "Let's pack up. We've got a long walk ahead of us."

Alan sank into a crouch with a dramatic sigh. "Don't say that. You're making me feel tired just thinking about it. How far away are we? It might take us weeks."

"It probably will," Scott admitted, turning away from the desolate road ahead to face his youngest brother. Alan tipped back to sit in the dust, uniform already coated in a fine layer, dull sunlight reflecting off his visor. "But we'll get there together. We've got time."

"Isn't there a poisonous storm on our tail?"

"We've put a lot of distance between us and it."

"And then there are the zombies trying to kill us."

"Don't forget the bandits or the GDF dropping nukes," Gordon chimed in. Virgil cuffed him around the back of the head. "Hey! I'm just saying."

The wind was already beginning to pick up. Crops rustled, sending great clouds of dust into the air, billowing like sheets on a washing line. Distant tension crackled with the threat of lightning. Old footprints marred the edge of the road where broken tarmac met scraggy grass, smeared with dry blood and the stench of rot. However long ago the infected had passed through, it couldn't have gone too far. It was time to move. Staying in one place for too long gave the creatures chance to catch your scent and by the time you realised you were in trouble, most exits had become dead ends.

So.

Scott prised the trunk open. "Who wants to carry what? We can't take everything, so essentials only."

Finch dropped her rope toy to the ground with a questioning whine.

Alan patted her head. "Mostly essentials only."

"Weapons," Gordon sing-songed, diving headfirst into the body of the Explorer to retrieve his seemingly ever-growing collection from beneath the seats and within concealed compartments and strapped to the backs of headrests. Kayo's old tasers had once again taken up residence on his wrists, slotting seamlessly into the metal edges of his GDF suit. He held a gun over his shoulder and John lurched forwards to grab it before he could accidentally take someone's face off.

"Are you an actual idiot?"

"Relax, the safety was on."

"Why am I still not feeling reassured?"

Alan kept hold of his faithful baseball bat, John had the gun, Virgil took one of the many blades but admittedly looked queasy about it, and Scott got the rifle. Gordon had a variety of weapons strapped to his person, as he had done that day at the abandoned facility, and immediately seemed more relaxed as a result.

"This is weird," Alan commented. "We're like…. I don't even know. It's weird, right?"

"It's weird," John confirmed. He observed light glinting off the barrel of the gun, something dark and unreadable in his eyes, banished before anyone other than Scott could glimpse it.

General supplies – food, water, medicine, whatever the hell Vigil was storing in that rucksack – were stashed in the other spare bags they had stolen from the house. There were three in total, so they were going to take turns in carrying it, but Scott, Virgil and Gordon took the first shifts. Everything else – blankets which couldn't fit in the rucksacks, extra maps and so on – had to be left behind.

Alan scrambled onto the hood and then the roof to scout the road ahead. There was eternal nothingness – just fields of dying crops and dust – as far as the eye could see to the horizon and beyond. The sky was already darkening, little swirls of dust forming cloud banks and a hastening wind murmuring of future storms. Static prickled mid-air. Alan slipped on his way down, slapping a hand to his forearm.

Scott caught him. "What happened?"

"Static shock." Alan rubbed the reddened skin with a growl. "Sonuvabitch, that stung." He glanced up with an impish grin. "Hey, is there a free language pass in the apocalypse as well as in space?"

Scott gave him a little shove forwards, trying not to laugh. "Get outta here." He gestured to Gordon, still mourning the death of his beloved car. "C'mon Gords, we've got to make a start before dark."

Virgil repressed a shudder. "Yeah, the idea of being on the open road with no light or protection really doesn't appeal."

"I mean, technically we do have protection." Gordon patted one of his many blades as he finally sidled away from the car to join their huddle. "But you're right, those flashlight batteries aren't going to last long if we have to use them all night."

They turned to face the road ahead. No one was willing to take the first step. Finch parked her haunches in the dust and tilted her head to watch them curiously. Scott reluctantly put one foot forward.

Gordon was sniggering quietly.

"I know I'm going to regret asking," Scott said slowly, "but what's so funny?"

Gordon clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, Scotty… We're about to go… Into the Unknown."

Alan gave a solemn nod. "Buddy and Ellie would be so proud."

"Oh, for fu-" John shoved them both into the centre of the road. "Less talking, more walking. And if either of you start discussing rare cryptids, I will be feeding you to the infected."

Scott let the silence settle for approximately five minutes before he couldn't help himself. It was just so much fun annoying John.

"John, John, did you see that?"

"See what? What the fuck? Scott, what?"

"I think… yeah, there it goes again… was that Mothman?"

"I hate you."