Disclaimer: Buffy The Vampire Slayer was created by Joss Whedon and is property of many companies but not me. The Walking Dead was created by Robert Kirkman and the show, which is the world I am referencing in this, is shared with Production Creators Frank Darabont and Angela Kang.

[2]

Movement behind the blinds, two fingers peeled them open to peer down the dim hall, a booted foot holding the door in place in case anyone tried to come in, "Will you hurry up? We should be out of this sodding town already."

Though the dead had been cleared from the hallway and rooms, the scent of blood still permeated the hospital thicker than anytime the vampire had visited before and mixed in it was that stench – that sickness that caused this whole mess. A whole different kind of Plague it was, and he wanted out. Out of the hospital, out of the town, off the entire mess of a planet if he could. Sometimes he thought everyone else had had it right abandoning this plane, but he didn't have the luxury of taking off.

Behind him, his biggest reason for staying was trying to collect as much antibiotics and painkillers as she could before his patience wore too thin. As if sensing his blame, she exhaled pointedly, "Well I could have done this myself this morning, but someone said it was too dangerous."

The peroxide blonde glowered at his charge, cursing her for the thousandth time, "Cause it bloody well is!" The man turned back to his post as look out hoping nothing had been attracted by this voice, "I wouldn't even know if something happened to you for hours." There was the rub, as much as every instinct pushed him to, he couldn't leave his Niblet behind.

Weighing the bag, Dawn closed the medicine cabinet and piled the gauze she'd grabbed from the Emergency Room stash on top of the items in her bag to quiet there rattling. It'd taken some finagling to get into the hospital to begin with, enough that it suggested there were still survivors somewhere inside other than the dead and while they needed to be sure they would be fine on the road she didn't want to clear out supplies that might benefit whoever it was still here. She hugged him in apology before sliding the bag over her shoulders, "Blood bank isn't far. Someone is keeping the generators going so it should still be cold, we'll check the stores and then take what we can carry.

Spike nodded, the older Dawn got the more she reminded him of her, maybe a bit of that other Slayer tossed in. The two of them, they'd get through this, "Tell me the way and stay behind me."

Most of the hospital was dark, the rooms that had been free of the rambling noise of the undead they'd seen nearly all the equipment was unplugged. Dawn wasn't sure if it was like that on every floor, it'd help, but ultimately the place was just too big. Spike signaled to stop, both waiting a moment as he listened for something off in the distance, just as the impatience was starting to get to her, she heard it too, a woman speaking though the words weren't clear at this distance. The two survivors moved into one of the nearest rooms nearby whose door had been ajar, Spike stood ahead of her in the dark, boot again keeping the door from being able to move if the wanderer tried to come in.

"… vitals are holding so we'll keep him hydrated and continue to check his feeding tube…" The woman speaking was walking down the hall they would cross through and didn't approach the door, both of their shoulders relaxing.

"Listen to that, bird still treating people." The mutter was amused, more of a thought then waiting on a response but Dawn tucked her thumbs under her armpits where her arms crossed, looking down,

"We only had a few that wouldn't have been able to move. Coma patient, a few on hospice without family…."

Spike didn't ask if she expected them to make it, suspecting the answer already, and he was wise enough not to crack a joke about not needing the blood bags if food was waiting somewhere. When he'd decided the doctor had settled elsewhere, he reopened the door, gesturing they continue.

[Break]

The refugee camp had fallen outside Atlanta, the city's streets had been flush with Napalm only days before as it stopped taking in other evacuees. Someone had been bit or maybe one of the dead broke in somewhere, no one was certain of the how only that supplies had been stretched thin and the camp had been overcrowded and then there was screaming. Once it began there was shoving, then trampling and then more dead; so many more dead then undead. Those things everywhere.

"Jim!" His wife, grey whisps lost in the bulk of her blonde hair, was one of the screaming. Jim's hands, weathered by years of manual labor held onto Donna's forearms, trying to pull her up, support her so she could climb onto the storage container that made up a portion of the camp's perimeter, but he wasn't strong enough to counter the masses that clawed at her.

The hungry corpses pulled at her pants and shirt, teeth scraping along her sides, biting into her and her screaming intensified, tears pouring down the sides of her face, hazel grey eyes brimming with new water. Though she was right below him, Donna's words were incoherent, lost to the sound of the noise around her but she was still trying to brace herself, refusing to give up until suddenly she was gone. Jim stared at his hands in horror, frozen for a moment until new hands reached up for him – grew and dripping in some sort of fluid and he scrambled back gazing over the swarmed grounds.

They'd been safe for nearly a week; Donna, their son's Ben and Billy. Now it was just him.

The storage container rocked, the bodies below either attempting to tip it intentionally or just so many now pushing to get out it was giving against their weight. Moving out of necessity, Jim's body rolled off the side, sore fingers gripping the side of the container before he dropped to the ground on the opposite side. Hitting the ground, he shoved himself away from it, legs unsteady at first, tripping before he gathered himself and looked around taking off southwest.

He wasn't sure how far, how long he'd been walking when he became aware he was looking at someone, that he was being talked to.

"Hey Slim, you ain't looking to good there." The speaker's face was haggard, aged beyond the years the man's voice suggested and that was still older than himself. Jim blinked as his thoughts tried to catch up, take the sudden appearance in but it must have been too slow as the man started to move a little more cautiously, coiling,

"You speak?" The black shirt was open over what may have once been a white undershirt, military regulation pants filled with paraphernalia where one of his hands drifted, curved blade pulled from one of its pockets, "If you're alive you better say something."

Jim stopped moving, throat dry, it took him a minute to speak "Yeah," the sound caused him to cough, the guy's focus shifting to the side of him as he heard movement from the side suddenly, "Yeah, Jim. My name's Jim." He raised his hands showing they were empty, barely registering a pair searching him from behind before the man who did so was walking around him, compound bow low in his grasp,

"He's clean." The other guy was younger, sandy brown hair under all the oil but with the same rough look, walk calculated like he was waiting on him to do something.

"Do you have any water?" The two shared a look at that, considering before the older one spoke,

"Where you from friend? You got a camp out here?" If Jim's head had been clearer the questioning may have bothered him, but as it was, he answered directly shaking his head as he watched the younger man head for a truck a little further away. He was so unbelievably thirsty, hadn't he drunk that morning?

"I was at the refugee camp, but it's gone now. I got out," his chest hurt thinking about it, "just me."

The man still held the blade in his hand down at his side but his stance was relaxed, the younger man coming back with a bottle, "I've been walking," around him he realized the landscape had changed, become harder, steeper. He hadn't noticed when he'd moved from dense trees to the road he must have come across them on, "I'm not sure how long."

The younger guy frowned as he handed him the drink he'd been praying for, watching him as he took deep gulps of it, "That's a long way from here, you'd have to been walking two days at least." The guy chewed the inside of his mouth, jerking his head back to indicate some distance over his shoulder, "We got a group, you can come back with us."

"Daryl," the name was a barked reprimand from the older man who had been questioning him before but Daryl shrugged his glare off where it landed on the back of his head,

"Ignore Merle, he's just pissed about our truck."

[Break]

"It's good to see them like this," muted lavender, the woman's shirt was as quiet as her voice was and Amy sometimes had to focus to hear, "like things are almost normal."

The college student nodded, agreeing with Carol as she watched the woman's daughter Sophia play with the Morales kids and other boy near the water, "Like we're all camping," she smiled wishing it, "strangers that just met on vacation."

They'd found the small group just the day before, after she and Andrea had been rescued by the older gentleman Dale on the side of the road. While he hadn't had any gas to spare he'd been willing to get them off the side of the road before they ran into any danger and driving through Providence Canyon they'd spotted the flames of a fire and headed for what had turned out to be a good size group of people. With a police presence, even if just one, they found themselves temporarily a home.

A purr rumbled quietly from above, Carol's face puzzled as Amy turned her head catching the top of the blue-grey cab over the side of the rock above, "Sounds like the Dixon brothers may have fixed their truck while they were gone."

Mrs. Peletier nodded, acknowledging, but Amy was sure she hadn't heard it pull in. She'd noticed the other woman had some trouble hearing despite being close to Andrea's age, if not a tad bit over. Squealing stole back each woman's attention, Carl and Sophia cornering something for the youngest Morale's interest,

"Ya'll keep it down now," Carol cautioned, Amy glancing around out of a new forming habit. The young woman fought the urge to make an excuse to see if the returning members needed any help, and gripped the crowbar anxiously, she couldn't get flighty every time something happened that might draw one of those things and she echoed Mrs. Peletier's concern,

"Don't make her repeat it."

[Break]

Officer Walsh could see the shock wearing off the newcomer as he spoke with him, gaining as much information as he could about what had happened at the refugee camp as possible before he knew the man's travels would catch up with him and knock him out. They should move, travel deeper into the canyons if there were that many Walkers close by; granted it was close to 3 days on foot but Jim had gotten close enough for Merle and Daryl to stumble across him and it sounded like a good number of the undead would be loose in the wilderness now, not back in the city where the concern had driven them out of town.

Shane ran his thoughts off with a quick rub of his hand against his face before shaking the man's calloused hand, "Well anything you can do to help us is appreciated, we got room. You rest now and we'll walk you through how we've divided chores tomorrow." 4 people in less than that many days, yeah definitely a move, and he'd need to see about some new rules.

[Break]

Crouching in the shadows closest the fence outside the Sunnydale Armory, the figure stayed still as possible, studying the layout of the encampment. While the lights on the buildings themselves remained on, Xander hadn't seen anyone on patrol of the parameter in 3 and a half hours, he would give it an additional 45 minutes and then move in. Judging by the lack of activity he had witnessed over the past 3 days, he was fairly confident it was either abandoned or being manned by only 1 or 2 people. It was the only reason he could think no one was going out when their fences were still in place.

Above him the razor wire was clean, no indication of blood rusting its metal, the road immediately in an out its secured gate empty of cars or bodies. It was possible they'd already cleared it out and secured the building itself before leaving to assist the more prominent Air Force Base outside Sunnydale but Xander was hoping that wasn't the case only so he hadn't been wasting scouting time doing this. Anya and their girls were counting on him providing and a weapons cache would go a long way to helping out.

Rustling from somewhere in the vicinity had Xander go cold, already still form tensing as he turned his head to ensure nothing was sneaking up behind him but no bodies could be made out in the area between the open field and buildings in the factory district of Sunnydale. The sound came again, shuffling and he was beginning to suspect an animal when further in the darkness another form began to emerge, short of stature and then running at him with a yell, "AHHHHHHH!"

Xander swung up with the wire cutters as they came in range, weapon in their own raised arm, and behind the thunk of the heavy bolt and the attacker's flesh was a familiar grunt of pain. Xander clicked the light on, shining it over a pale and clammy face, "Johnathan?"

Slat on his back with a bloody nose, the fellow Sunnydale Alum clutched the side of his face, wincing with pain as he looked up, squinting at the glare. Seeming to recognize the voice that had spoken he tried to sit back up reaching a hand for assistance, "Sorry I thought you were one of them."

Xander snorted but helped him up, the team's old ally a surprise in not only his sudden attack but being in town at all. After tipping the Scoobies off as their inside man in The Trio and preventing them from taking over Sunnydale in the absence of The Slayer, Mr. Levinson assisted them the next 3 years until he'd been contacted by a new, more tempered branch of the Initiative and decided to work with them and ensure they were not mistreating their captors.

"Next time skip the yelling, it draws their attention." He heard the mumble about a battle cry but was focusing more on looking around, checking it any of the dead appeared in from any direction, "What are you doing here? I thought you'd left Sunnydale?"

"I had," the warlock cleaned the last of the blood from his face with his palm an wiped it onto black pants, "I came back when I found out what was going on. I thought with the Hellmouth it was going to be like Buffy's Welcome Back Party but..." He scratched the back of his head then pointed to the Armory, "Were you trying to get in?"

Xander nodded, looking back, "Yeah. Looks empty what I've seen," he tilted his head at the other man, "Did the Initiative send you out here?"

Johnathon shook his head, "The program was tapped to work on finding a solution when we thought it was magic or demonic in origin." Johnathon shook his head leading them towards the group of buildings Xander had been surveying, "Its not. Once that was determined it was dismantled and applied to evacuation assistance. I remembered this place and checked our log to see what was being done with it before I got here."

Listening, Xander kept an eye out but trusted the other man not to lead them walking the front door if it wasn't safe to do and he waited while he was granted access at the keypad leading into the gate. A weight lifted off Xander's chest as it rolled back automatically and he gestured for Johnathon, "After you."

[Break]

The messages always arrived when she was out; sometimes at less opportune times than others, but never when she was at the outpost. Typically, they said the same thing, but Faith had one for each day since the landlines went out.

Can't see Giles, Council warding in place. Be safe. The line had only been on the first note, almost like they needed to write out a reason other than possible death for not being able to see Rupert. Faith and Giles had discussed it on her return, while Giles did know a good bit in about the wards around the outpost they weren't something either of them wanted to tamper with. Giles had gone out once after the first message for a short while, but whoever was monitoring them didn't seem to be doing so all day and no follow up about his appearance outside the warded area had been conveyed in any of the previous notes.

No progress yet, still working on finding a way to reverse this. This was on each one and referenced the last call Giles and Faith had had from Tara. The England Coven had been trying to find a way to reverse the spread of the infection as soon as Giles had passed on the news from the Council. When one of the Coven member's family had fallen ill, they had volunteered themselves for study, no reported cases yet in their area. Being that the countryside where they were located was spaced out though, they had acknowledged it could be happening and the larger towns just hadn't seen it yet. In the short amount of time from the family member's arrival then to sudden passing, Willow or Tara had kept them abreast of the situation. It had been as they'd seen on video, the dead rising.

Xander, Anya and girls alive. B'd be proud of them, humans startin' a fam on the Hellmouth and keeping whatever Big Bads rolled through at bay. Not that Anya had always been human but hey, she wasn't exactly normal either, so everyone had their baggage.The U.S now would be too dangerous to navigate; neither train nor plane had moved in 2 weeks since the travel ban. She hoped they'd play it safe an hole up somewhere and if they were real lucky, some of Anya's old demon buddies would provide them protection.

Dawn alive, can't see Spike. Bitty Buffy, now there was an interesting kid. Seeing her grow up to be a head shrink? That girl had seen some shit even her big sis hadn't known about. When she and Buffy weren't slaying, and she sure as hell wasn't going to Sunnydale, she'd found herself a time or two tailing after Dawn when she'd climb out the Summer's window thinking no one would notice. That girl had been a trouble magnet though she wasn't aware of the dangers in the shadows, she'd had more than one older sister looking out for her then and now that things were hitting the fan, she was sure Spike was doing the same.

Giles had fielded Faith's question about the witches inability to see the vampire, he summarized it was that they weren't able to see the dead and no matter that his body was animated, Spike as a vampire was dead. Just hopefully not dead dead.

Running from one roof top to the next, Faith couldn't help but hope today's noteless-ness didn't indicate Red was having as eventful a day as she was. A sheen of sweat coated her from forehead to fingers, shirt spotted along the collar running to beat out the hoard below that was shambling closer to the corner store further down the street. She'd heard yelling and a few shots before it'd gotten quiet, but she didn't want to risk assuming they were already eaten when there was the possibility she could save them. Seeing the dumpster yank back against the front doors of the shop she pushed a little harder.