"FUUUUUCK!" Cameron yelled at the top of his lungs. "Son of a fucking whore! God dammit! Pieces of shit!" Raging, he stomped around, kicking up dirt, and pulled on his hair. Not only was it a serious blow to Cameron, it would be a blow to everyone else.

That was when it all came crashing down at once: What in the living hell was an eighteen-year-old kid doing on a battlefield in Wisconsin? With him were a rifle and a pistol that never in his life Cameron thought he'd ever use. That day alone he killed at least eight people, and countless more zombies since the outbreak hit. And the final straw was the fact that one of the most respected people in the community just died bleeding in his arms. What the fuck?

He was two seconds from throwing his hands in the air, and saying to hell with it, when someone called out to him.

"Is it safe?"

Looking back, Cameron saw that it was the prisoner he had untied. He and the rest were timidly leaving the confines of the house. There were more like them yet to be freed, Cameron reminded himself…and more bandits yet to be killed.

Cameron was there to help make sure that his new home and family were indeed safe, so he couldn't afford to lose his resolve. Besides, he stopped being a kid and grew up the second that he had killed that reanimated cop back in his room in that Chicago suburb.

Picking up the radio from the Major's belt, he said into it, "Harry, you there? This is Marsh. Respond immediately. Over." Waiting a few seconds, he put it back to his mouth. "Dammit, Harry, pick up already!"

"What is it?" Harry finally said, with the sounds of gunfire in the background. "This isn't the best time!"

"Harry, Major Kyle's KIA. His last orders were that you were in charge," Cameron informed him.

"What?" Harry responded, perplexed. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"If it was, Kyle would have my head on a silver platter!" Cameron yelled. "I'm telling you the truth! You're in charge!"

"Fuck!" he exclaimed. "Okay, fine. Since I'm the acting CO, you're taking over as leader of Bravo."

"That's bullshit!" Cameron argued, taken back. "I'm not even a Guardsmen."

"Well until I find someone better, you're it, Marsh!" The transmission cut off there.

"SHIT!" he screamed, desperately wanting to shoot something. What the hell did he know about being a leader?

"Excuse me?" the former prisoner asked carefully.

"Yeah," said Cameron, trying to get his head straight. "If you don't mind, help me get my friend someplace safe." He gestured to the still injured and groaning Perry.

"After rescuing us from these sick bastards? Anything!"

Hooking the radio to his belt and strapping the rifle around his back, Cameron carefully bent down to pick Perry up by the armpits. The freed man (Nick, his name was) had a more difficult time trying to find a spot to grab onto the leg. Eventually, they and the three other freed prisoners made their way to where the trucks were parked.

As they went Cameron wanted to know (but at the same time didn't want to know) what kind of abuse they had all gone through. The women were practically naked just like the last bunch, but had covered themselves with some clothes. The men, Cameron noticed horribly, had left over make-up smeared on.

One of the girls suddenly began to get slower and stumble more. She was pale and sickly looking, and Cameron wondered what kind of horrible disease she might have picked up from those bastards. The other prisoners understandably looked worse for wear, but she was even worse.

Coughing up blood, the girl collapsed like a rag doll.

"God dammit!" Cameron yelled in panic, finally seeing the bite mark that was covered up by her clothing. He had to drop Perry, who cried in pain upon hitting the ground.

The girl's eyes opened again, and she stood back up to attack the person nearest her. Cameron only just managed to fumble out his pistol out and put a round through her head, before she had claimed a victim.

"I didn't know!" Nick said in surprise. "I mean, yeah, a few hours back the assholes threw her outside to watch her be chased by those monsters—but I didn't notice the bite!"

"It's not your fault," Cameron said to him, putting the safety back on before tucking the pistol back in his pants. "I'm gonna make sure every last one of these fucks gets what's coming to them…. Sorry 'bout that, Perry."

"No…no problem," he groaned, wincing as he was being picked back up.

"Doc, I have a new one for ya," Cameron said a few minutes later. The trucks had become a field hospital. Quite of few people were on the ground or sitting up, nursing their wounds. And there was only one person with a few volunteers running around to take care of everybody. Some of the more able-bodied ones were standing guard—it was still zombie country, after all.

"Shit," the medic said, as he gave Perry a quick once over. "We need these wounds cleaned," he told one of his helpers.

"Perry!" Cameron saw as Walsh, who had a wound on his forehead, kneeled at Perry's side. "Are you okay?" he cried, caressing his head.

"I'm fine," Perry groaned. "Now quit bitching and get some payback for me." He grimaced as the medic poured antiseptic over his wounds.

Leaving them, Cameron went to one of the trucks to get bottled water, which he used to rinse the blood off of himself. As he did so he spotted the girl that he had saved earlier not too far away. She was wrapped in a blanket and eating a candy bar as she stared into space.

"I need to get back," Cameron told the medic. "Take good care of them." Nodding dismissively, the medic got back to work, and Cameron headed out again.

Running back into battle again, Cameron found that there wasn't that much of a battle to be had—in fact, none at all. Every house in the sparse neighborhood had been checked and cleared. All the hostiles that had surrendered were all rounded up. The bodies of the deceased militia were now being gathered, while the wounded headed back to get treated.

"Is that all of them?" Harry asked.

"Yes, sir," was the answer. "Every house has been thoroughly checked, and all freed prisoners are now getting treatment."

"Load all those rescued, the wounded, and our dead onto Echo and Foxtrot," Harry ordered grimly. "Take them to Yuba."

"Sir, uh, what about them?" the man asked uncertainly, nodding towards their captives.

Harry arched an eyebrow. "Are you certain all hostiles in the area were cleared?"

"Positive."

"Then shoot them."

"Sir?"

"Did I stutter? I'm not wasting any supplies on these animals. I'm in charge, so do it!"

There wasn't much incentive to argue that order, so the ones guarding the prisoners were given the signal. Many of the bandits were too frightened to move; still a few managed to try running for their lives. But the end result was the same. Each and every one of the hostiles was put down in a barrage of random and confused gunfire. Any left alive were promptly shot again. They left the bloody and mangled bodies there as if they were just zombies.

It became known as the Rolling Acres Lane Massacre, after the street it took place on.

But Cameron wasn't concerned about them. Taking in the carnage, one person began to stand out in his mind. Fear enveloped him the more he walked around, not being able to find any trace of her! Cameron sprinted all over the neighborhood asking everyone if they'd seen Becky.

"Becky!" Cameron called, over and over. "Becky!"

Finally, he spotted a figure on the ground, whose curly brown hair was sprawled on the grass. Shit! Cameron thought, immediately sprinting towards her.

Sliding right next to her, Cameron inspected every inch of Becky desperately. To his horror he saw two bullets lodged into her vest—but other than that there didn't seem to be any damage. So why wasn't she breathing?

"Becky?" Cameron asked timidly, on the verge of tears. She couldn't be dead, she just couldn't be! Becky was the best thing that ever happened to him. He patted her face anxiously but softly.

Becky cringed her face once he started doing that, causing a wave of relief to wash over Cameron. "What?" she asked, annoyed.

"You're okay!" he declared happily, picking her upper body up for a hug.

"AH! For fuck's sake, Cam!" Becky admonished, pushing him away roughly. "That's hurts like a bastard! You ever been shot twice in the chest? Not fun!"

Not caring, Cameron simply closed the gap between them again so he could kiss her. She actually kissed him back for a few seconds before pushing away again.

"Later, okay?"

"How come you weren't moved?" Cameron demanded.

"Cause it hurts to move," she said, wincing as she sat up. "And people have other important shit to do."

Without asking, Cameron first threw her rifle around his back, and then he picked her up bridal style. "Not me."

"Cam! I'm fine."

"At least wait until we get you patched up," he said to her. As they went, Cameron looked at her every few seconds. He was thinking very hard about what just happened, and how he had just felt.

"What?" Becky asked testily in response to his glances.

"We've only known each other a few months, right?"

"Yeah."

Fuck his six-month rule—Cameron knew how he felt. "So would it be weird if I said I loved you?"

Going red, she just hissed, "Now's not the time!"

True, he could've picked a more romantic moment.

Fifteen minutes later Cameron was wrapping bandages around Becky's chest and midriff. She winced every time he made a pass over her bruises. When he was done, he tore the bandage, and secured it.

"Let's get you on Foxtrot, so you can go back," Cameron said to her.

"Excuse me?" she asked, putting back on her undershirt and, strangely enough, bulletproof vest. "I'm not going anywhere."

"But you're hurt!" Cameron told her. "Everyone that's wounded is going back."

"Everyone that's wounded and can't fight anymore," Becky corrected him. "I can still fight."

"No you can't!"

Out of nowhere Becky punched Cameron in the gut, knocking the wind out of him. Okay, so she can fight.

Upon getting his breath back, Becky gave him a quick kiss. "Thanks for worrying, though."

"Marsh!" Harry barked at him.

"Yes, sir," answered Cameron promptly.

"I need all leaders ASAP. We need to plan our next move."

"Leader?" Becky asked, confused.

"You'll know what happened soon enough," Cameron told her sadly, leaving her to follow Harry. Honestly, what business did he have being a leader?