Groaning, Cameron tried to sit up but only got back down after feeling a sharp pain. He attempted to grab on to the spot that hurt, but found that his hands were bound. After finally opening his eyes he toughed through the pain and sat up. Right across from him Marge was sitting on a bench, and next to them were bars. The two of them were in a jail cell, but she wasn't handcuffed. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her face was lined with tears.
"What happened?" he asked her.
"Well, you went crazy and pointed a gun at Celia, so you were shot with a rubber bullet."
A rubber bullet to the back knocked him out? Wincing, Cameron lifted up his jacket and shirt to see a large brown and purple bruise towards the back of his right side. What the fuck? Was blacking out common, or was he just a pussy?
"Tell whoever the fuck shot me that they were lucky I kept the safety on, otherwise I could've hurt Celia," he said bitterly. Then Cameron got to more pressing business. "Well tell them to let me go. I have to go to Madison."
"Cam, it's suicide," Marge told him.
"That may be, but it's the only chance our kid has at being saved!"
Marge bit her lip. "Just let this go. It's not worth the risk."
Blinking, Cameron said, "What are you talking about? This is our child's life on the line."
"C'mon, Cam, you and I both know that this was just a fuck up to begin with."
"Why the hell does that matter?" Cameron shouted, standing straight up despite the pain. "This is still our kid, Marge, and I'm willing to do anything it takes to save it!"
"Not if it means losing you!" she countered shrilly. "You're one of my dearest friends, and I don't want you dying like that…or turning into one of them. Please, there will be other kids. This one doesn't matter."
Clenching his fists, he said through gritted teeth, "Look me straight in the eyes and tell me that you don't give one flying fuck about this baby."
She looked astonished, and gripped her belly. "I—I—you know I can't do that!" For months she and Cameron had been doing all sorts baby crap to get ready, and in that time they had really gotten attached to the new kid. In fact, ever since he had that near death experience with that "Quisling", Cameron had started to genuinely look forward to being a dad—it was no longer the burden of responsibility.
"Then I'm going to Madison." What he wanted to do was indeed stupid, but that didn't mean Cameron was ignorant of it. Of course he knew of the dangers behind it, going to the city would mean certain death. But he didn't care—the fact was that he couldn't just stand around doing nothing.
"What about Becky, Cam?" Marge demanded. "Don't you love her?"
"Damn straight I do."
"So let this go for her," she begged.
"If it was that easy for me to let go, then I might not have gotten back together with her," Cameron shot back. "Even if you keep me locked in here, and let that kid die, then I'll still go to Madison for those supplies. You aren't gonna be the only person that'll ever need surgery!"
"You're really determined, aren't you?" a different voice said. Isturez walked into the room wearing a rather beaten expression. "And what you say is true: other people are gonna need surgery at some point in the future."
"No," Marge said, shaking her head. "Give me more time to talk him out of it."
"The man here is determined to save his child, and it'd be wrong for us to keep him from doing that," the Sergeant commented, now looking at Cameron. "I can't send the militia on a supply run to a hospital, Marsh," he said sincerely. "My ass would be tossed out of office before anything could get done. I did, however, ask if anybody among them were willing to volunteer to help you out."
"Thanks, but no thanks, Sarge. My kid, my problem."
Isturez shook his head pityingly. "Marsh, it took five trucks almost twenty-four hours to clear out the Target. Thirteen men and women signed up to help you, and I'll be providing you with a truck, thousands of rounds of ammunition, two machine guns, and four days worth of food—that's right, four days!" he said in response to Cameron's shocked expression. "If and when that hospital is cleared, radio it in so we can collect the supplies."
"Are you serious?" Cameron asked, hoping he wasn't imagining things.
He produced a few sheets of paper. "Here are the directions, along with some schematics we found online. You'll be leading your team to St. Mary's Hospital in downtown Madison."
"Whoa! Hold on! I'll be leading?" he asked, dumbfounded. "What makes you think I can do that?"
"It's your operation, that's why. Besides, from what Harry told me you did a pretty good job back in Monroe."
"I couldn't have had full command for more than five minutes!" Cameron argued.
"Marsh, this is the way it's gonna go down. Take it or leave it."
Irked, Cameron looked back to Marge, then to her belly. "Fine." Isturez then opened the cell door and took off Cameron's handcuffs.
"Follow me." Isturez led the way out of the cell room and into the one next door. That was where all the thirteen people that the Sergeant had mentioned were gathered. Among them Cameron saw Cole, Sheila, and Walsh. "You'll be moving forward with the operation first thing tomorrow morning. Dismissed…. And God's speed."
"None of you have to go," Marge said in desperation, barging into the room as fast as her girth would allow. "How do you think it makes me feel knowing that all of you are risking your lives like this?"
"All life is precious," Louie Foreman said to her as he took his leave. "Why wouldn't I risk my life to give another a fighting chance?"
"My dad developed a hernia that needs fixing," Andrea O'Malley said. "You won't be the only one benefiting."
"Comrades in arms," Cole said to Cameron, patting his back as he left too. "I'd like to think you'd do the same for me if we switched places."
Nick Goldstein smiled and nodded at Cameron. "I owe you for freeing me back in Monroe."
The rest said similar words of encouragement as they left. Full of that encouragement, Cameron took Marge by the shoulders and kissed her on the cheek. "I gotta go see Becky…and get some ice on this—fuck!" he exclaimed, gripping his bruise.
Outside the cold actually felt pretty good against the bruise, but Cameron still walked a little funny as he went. "Cam!" called out Jules, who had been sitting just outside the building. "Shit," she said, rubbing her hands together. "They wouldn't let me in. But whatever, I wanna be on the team. I owe you that much."
"You only just started learning to shoot last week," Cameron reminded her. "You're nowhere near ready."
"That's the same excuse they gave me. Just let me go," she said indignantly.
"No, Jules. Do me a favor, if you see Celia before I do tell her I'm sorry."
Leaving her behind, Cameron entered Becky's home five minutes later. At the dinner table, he found her speaking with her aunt and sister. The two of them looked solemnly at him before standing up.
"I know we don't always see eye to eye, but I'm so sorry," Becky's aunt said sincerely.
"Thanks, Alice. That means a lot."
"C'mon, let's leave these two alone," Sarah said, leading her aunt out of the room.
Now alone, Becky looked away while Cameron spread out a hand towel, and then reached into the freezer to take out some ice.
"I have to go, Becky," he said, sitting down and pressing the cold towel on his bruise.
"I know you do," she responded quietly. "But I can't. It's suicide."
The fact that Jules had been willing to go was because she was a newbie that wasn't fully aware of the dangers, and that she thought she had to payback everything that was done for her. Before the outbreak she didn't owe anybody a single penny. So that was why Cameron didn't find it a problem that Becky didn't want to go—actually he preferred it that way. "Trust me, it'll make me feel better knowing that you're safe here," he said, reaching across the table to hold her hand.
"Cam," she said, suddenly burst into tears, "I don't want you to go, either."
"I have to," he repeated.
"I know you fucking have to!" she exclaimed, standing and wiping away her tears. "God, it's just that I'm reminded of how I felt after that new wave of zombies appeared at Target…how I thought you were dead. And we were only together for a few days back then, so now it's so much worse. I—I cant possibly face going through that again."
Standing up too, Cameron put down the icepack, took her by the hands again, and asked, "Will you marry me?"
The crying gradually came to a stop, as Becky looked up at Cameron confused. "What?" she finally said.
"I love you, so will you marry me?" Cameron hadn't pictured himself popping the question to anybody for at least another five to ten years, but here he was doing just that. From an outsider's point of view he knew that it was a stupid and irresponsible thing to do, similar to going to Madison, but Cameron knew how he felt and what he wanted (and besides, it was a zombie apocalypse).
Slowly Becky broke into a small grin and wiped her tears. "You just want to give yourself another reason to come back."
"True enough," he admitted, "but I mean it."
"This isn't gonna take my mind off what you're doing."
"Dammit, I'm really asking!" Cameron declared desperately.
Becky sighed. "Three years, then," she answered, holding up three fingers.
"Why so long?" he asked, arching an eyebrow curiously.
"Because after you get back, the surgery gets done, and the kid is born, you'll have a lot on your plate without having a wife being added to the list. Don't underestimate what a pain in the ass raising a child can be."
"I won't," Cameron said, closing the gap between them to kiss her. "And I'll come back, I promise."
"Don't make a girl a promise if you know you can't keep it," she said softly, causing Cameron to back off a bit in surprise. "What?" Becky asked, confused again.
"Cortana," he blurted out.
"Huh?"
"Fuck it, never mind," Cameron said, going back to kissing her.