AN: Here we are, another chapter here.

I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!

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The first of the creatures—Walkers was what Daryl and Carol had called them—surprised both Kathryn and Chakotay.

Neither of them had been scholars of the Millennium Plague, but they'd both done some crash-course reading about it to prepare for stepping into the program. In historical accounts, there had been more sketches than anything else visibly documenting the time period, though a few polaroid photographs and such remained along with some scattered diaries and verbal accounts.

It was a time out of time. A time almost entirely lost to anyone since it had only seemed to belong to those who had actual memory of it, and to the few that had heard their stories. Chakotay thought to himself that it was strange to be standing in that time—even if it was a simulation—and to be experiencing it from a first-hand perspective, since it was built from Daryl's memory of his lived experience. The descriptions and sketches, however, hadn't really prepared him for the visceral experience of seeing a rotting corpse that was animated to walk around, hunting the living of its kind. There was something deeply unsettling about the experience, and Chakotay was grateful that it was merely a photonic being instead of an actual corpse.

Chakotay's first instinct had simply been to reach out for Kathryn and to push her body behind his, creating a physical barrier between her and the Walker. Kathryn's surprise meant that he was able to do that without too much initial fighting on her part. The shock passed quickly, however, and Kathryn responded more quickly than Chakotay when it came to trying to actually remove the threat. She fired her phaser at the Walker, but they were both surprised to see that the weapon had no effect.

Something in the program, it seemed, had rendered their phasers useless against the creatures.

Luckily, they had at least brought handheld weapons with them—the most common weapons during the time of the Millennium Plague, especially given the later shortage of ammunition that had occurred—in case something like this ended up happening. Chakotay somewhat reluctantly pushed back the creature that, having gained distance on them, made a lunge toward him, and he pulled the machete from his belt. He wasn't entirely untrained in bladed combat weapons, but there was something sickening about using it to slash at his attacker with true intent to kill. He remembered that the brain was what controlled animation with the plague's virus—nothing else in the body fully functioned and, therefore, nothing would kill the creatures except for something which rendered them without the use of their brains—so he slashed for the neck and cleanly lopped off the Walker's head.

It fell to the ground with a sickening thud, the body crumpled down and fell backward with a final shove from Chakotay, and Kathryn walked over to examine the head which continued snapping on the ground until Chakotay stabbed the blade of his machete through the temple.

"Oh…" was the only sound that escaped Kathryn, but it said enough.

She barely managed to turn and walk a step or two away from Chakotay before emptying the contents of her stomach on the ground. Chakotay understood. He felt a little queasy from the experience, himself, and he didn't have the same sensitive stomach that Kathryn had been dealing with, at least on-and-off, since their little one had come into being.

Chakotay walked over and rubbed her back as he offered her a clean handkerchief from his bag.

"It's hard to believe these things were real," Kathryn said.

"At least for right now, they're real for us again," Chakotay responded. "The phasers are useless. Keep your machete close and aim for the brain."

Kathryn nodded. Chakotay knew that she already understood that, having experienced exactly what he'd experienced, but he felt a little unnerved by the whole thing and saying it out loud made him feel at least a little more in control of what was happening around him.

"Do you think they have weapons?" Kathryn asked, suddenly looking even more concerned.

Chakotay knew, immediately, that her greatest concern was for the safety and well-being of their people. She would always worry about others more than herself. He offered her a comforting smile and, with his hand on her shoulder, gently guided her in the direction they were already headed.

"I'm sure they programmed it so they'd be prepared in some way," Chakotay said. "I wouldn't worry too much. I think we're the ones at a disadvantage. This is their world."

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"You want to—stay there?" B'Elanna asked.

She was looking rather unsure about the barn.

"Did you see somewhere else that you'd prefer?" Carol asked. Her tone was short, and Daryl gave B'Elanna an apologetic look. Carol didn't mean to be short, but she had most assuredly slipped into survival mode, and she had neither time nor patience to deal with anything that slowed her down from finding the security that she was seeking.

"It ain't Buckingham Palace," Daryl offered, "but it'll keep us safe tonight."

"It looks…fine," Tom offered. "It's like camping," he said to B'Elanna.

"Aren't Klingons supposed to be tough enough to sleep in a barn?" Carol asked. There was some teasing to her voice this time, so Daryl relaxed a little. She wasn't quite as far gone into survival mode as he had feared she might be, but he was also certain that it wouldn't take much to push her the rest of the way.

"Spent too long on a starship, Klingon," Daryl teased, picking up where Carol left off.

"It's fine," B'Elanna said, prickling slightly, but clearly not truly bothered. "But—what if it's full of those things?"

"That's why the hell Tom and me are gonna clear it," Daryl said.

"Great!" Tom said. His enthusiasm was layered on a little too thick for it to seem at all real. "That's great. That's just what we're going to do…"

So far, B'Elanna had killed two Walkers, but Tom had only killed one. Both had looked wholly disgusted by the entire process, and Daryl tried to remember what it had been like for him the very first time that he'd had to kill one at close range. When he recalled that, it was easy to forgive them for the shock they were currently suffering. After all, they'd come in here believing they couldn't be hurt and, now, they were realizing that they could very well be killed. It was a lot to digest for all of them, and Daryl and Carol had both had a lot of time to come to terms with that realization before.

"Just stay with me," Daryl said to Tom.

"And you stay with me," Carol said to B'Elanna.

"What are we going to do?" B'Elanna asked.

"We need dry wood," Carol said. "And we need to get some of that creek water boiling."

"We don't have a pot in any of the supplies we found," B'Elanna pointed out.

"That means we've got to look around," Carol said. "See if there's something we can use until we do find a pot somewhere."

"Barn probably has something that'll do for now," Daryl offered. "Get the wood. We'll search it when it's clean."

"You can leave most of that here," Carol said, gesturing to the supplies that B'Elanna was carrying from the supply locations they'd managed to find. "Bring your knife."

"You don't have to tell me that, believe me," B'Elanna said, dropping her supplies in a pile with Carol's.

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"It's definitely starting to get dark," Kathryn said.

For a while, they'd thought that, maybe, the woods around them were simply thicker than the ones they'd left behind. They'd thought, too, that maybe their eyes were simply playing tricks on them. Whatever it was, they'd convinced themselves, at least for a while, that it wasn't getting darker.

Chakotay thought Kathryn was right, though. They had to accept that the sun was definitely sinking lower in the sky.

"We haven't been in here that long," Chakotay said. "It must be a time advancement program. One thing's for certain; night is coming."

"We can't sleep unprotected," Kathryn said. "And I believe that I remember reading something about it being unsafe to travel at night because our vision is limited, but theirs isn't any worse than it is during the day."

"And the light that we'll need to see will draw their attention," Chakotay agreed. "I read that, too. We'll make a camp. Get some rest."

"My tricorder isn't registering anything," Kathryn said. "I think it's malfunctioning. Does yours tell you where they are? Are we close, at least?"

Chakotay growled in frustration at his own tricorder. He sighed and shook his head.

"I don't think mine's working either," he said. "It won't update from the information that registered when we first got inside the program."

"I didn't want to say anything," Kathryn said, "but I tried our combadges earlier. We're not getting through. There's no way to know, but I'm concerned that means that the transporter is offline, as well. At least as far as we're concerned."

Chakotay's stomach twisted. He was afraid of that. They were trapped in the simulation, now, as surely as the others.

"Let's just hope that they're making some progress out there," Chakotay said. "In the meantime, let's see if we can find a suitable place to make a camp." He laughed to himself and reassuringly squeezed Kathryn's shoulder. She wasn't going to show her fear, but since he felt his own in that moment, he was sure she must be feeling it. "I'm sorry, Kathryn, but this one probably isn't going to have a bathtub."

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"You know…I've never built a camp like this before," B'Elanna said. "I never went camping like that with my father and…Klingons have survival rituals that are tied to their training for battle, but this is different."

"Survival is survival," Carol said. "And battle is battle. Maybe you were preparing to battle something else, but the idea's the same."

"I always felt—inadequate," B'Elanna said. "You know…it was in those moments when I felt distinctly aware of my human side. I wasn't a true Klingon. I felt weaker than everyone else, even when they were events for children. The weakest link."

Carol piled a few more sticks of wood on top of the pile that B'Elanna was already holding. She could no longer bend and pick up pieces without dropping what she already had, but Carol could continue to build up that which she was carrying. Carol gave her a tight-lipped smile.

"I can't speak about Klingons," Carol said. "I don't know enough to feel like—like I'd even know what I was talking about. But I can tell you that you're not the weakest link. You never have been. Not as long as I've known you. You weren't when we were fighting the Kazons, and you won't be now. You're already carrying more wood than I can."

B'Elanna laughed in spite of herself.

"How do you suppose Tom and Daryl are coming with the barn?"

B'Elanna stood still while Carol collected up the wood that she could gather together and carry without dropping it. She wasn't carrying much because she was going to protect them from the Walkers that crossed their path rather regularly. B'Elanna was pleased with that arrangement and, beyond that, she knew that Carol should limit how much she tried to carry around. They needed to make sure that there was as little risk as possible to her pregnancy while they were trapped in the holodeck program. B'Elanna wasn't sure if she'd ever forgive herself if her suggestion of creating the program was the reason that Carol and Daryl suffered some kind of devastating loss.

"I imagine it's cleared by now," Carol said. "They'll probably take the supplies inside. Daryl will be looking for tools that we can use. When we get back, we'll decide if the floor will safely support a fire inside—if it's dirt—or if we're chancing one outside. Daryl will find us something to eat. We'll get a fire going for cooking. We'll boil drinking water and bath water."

B'Elanna followed Carol as they walked back toward the barn where they'd left Daryl and Tom to clear out Walkers and prepare it for the night.

"How long did it take you to learn everything you needed to know to survive in the Millennium Plague?" B'Elanna asked. "How long did it take you to feel confident that…you know…you would survive?"

Carol hummed in thought. She carried her small load of wood under one arm—a stark contrast from B'Elanna's much larger load—and she carried her knife in her other hand. When a Walker popped out at them—something that Daryl had already commented was quite unlike their reality since he'd accidentally programmed these Walkers to be much faster than they normally were during the plague—Carol didn't jump like she had before, and she didn't hesitate. She slammed her knife into the Walker's head and let the Walker's own weight pull the blade free as the body dropped. She did it without missing a beat. She did it without looking like she was doing anything more remarkable than picking up the sticks that she'd piled up for B'Elanna's wood haul. When she picked up her steps again, B'Elanna followed her.

"It's like anything else," Carol said. "Necessity makes you learn quickly, I think, but you're always growing. Changing. Some of the lessons are terrible, hard-learned lessons. But the truth of it is that, I don't think you ever feel confident you'll survive. You just—keep living until you don't make it. After all, none of us even know if we'll survive this. We're just hoping for the best."