Those earplugs were a blessing. Without them nobody would've been able to get any sleep, and would most likely end up being driven mad by the consistent moaning coming from all around them. During the night, the floodlights were set up so that the zombies killing could continue overnight for those that were awake.

At first things it seemed as if it would be a similar experience as Target, except that killing through the night didn't look to have made a dent by the next morning. The only clue that they were making any progress was a large pile of dead zombies a safe distance away.

Twenty-four hours after they had begun it was already starting to take its toll on them. Their meals were eaten in a confined space; and whenever someone had to use the bathroom he or she had to suffice with doing their business over the edge of the truck. And their rests weren't very restful seeing that they had little more than blankets to sleep on. It was definitely in the back of everybody's minds that they were going to have to deal with those living conditions (and the danger) for a few more days.

Seeing that Andrea was getting more and more fatigued, Cameron tapped her shoulder. "Take a break," he told her after she took out an earplug.

"I'm still good," she claimed, standing up straighter.

"Horse shit, go take a break, and wake up Jim and Natasha while you're at it."

"Aye, aye," Andrea said tiredly, strapping her rifle around her shoulder and climbing down the hatch.

"What about you?" Walsh asked, concerned. "You only barely got six hours of sleep."

"I'm fine," he said, waving it off and inserting his earplugs again. When nobody was looking he slapped himself a bit and shook his head before starting to shoot again.

But two hours later he decided that he indeed needed another sleep. There were four others catching some sleep near the heater already, so Cameron got as close as he could to feel the warmth and closed his eyes. When he woke up it was sundown, and when he reemerged outside he saw that they had to move the truck.

There was a huge pile up on either side of the truck, and while they were far enough away from danger it still hindered progress. The zombies were either trying to climb over the pile or walking around it, making the killing go slower. So Cameron ordered for every zombie between the truck and the piles eliminated, and after that was completed the truck was moved to another part of the parking lot. But of course moving it was difficult seeing as it was jam-packed full of cars that used to belong to desperate people looking for medical treatment.

When it got darker Cameron turned on the floodlights again. "We aren't getting out of this alive, are we?" Donald asked as he casually lit up a cigarette.

"Don't talk like that," Cameron said to him. "And where did you get that?"

"I get myself a pack or eight during every supply run," he explained, taking a drag. "Why? Want one?"

"No thanks, not my thing," he answered. "Besides, Becky's dad used to smoke, so she'd kill me if I took it up."

Donald chuckled. "Whipped, aren't ya?"

"If I was I wouldn't be here."

"You might as well be seeing as we're all gonna die here," Donald replied, tapping off the ashes at the end.

"I told you not to talk like that," Cameron admonished. "We'll all make it outta here."

"Maybe," he said.

"What's your problem?" he asked, lightly shoving the man's shoulder. "You actually want people to die here?"

"'Course not," Donald said, getting his rifle ready to continue firing down, "just me."

"Fine," Cameron said crossly. "At least now I know who to call on if I need someone to go on a suicide run."

"If that's the case then I guess I'll apologize now for shooting you."

"So it was you?"

"Yup…and, yes, it was stupid of me to do it while you were pointing a gun at somebody—though you gotta admit, you had it coming," Donald told him, finishing off his cigarette and flicking it into the zombie horde below.

Cameron didn't respond and trained his rifle down once again.

Day two came to an end, and the third began. The truck was once again moved so that they could have a clear field of fire. Horribly it looked as if their ammunition was two thirds of the way gone, and the zombies just kept on coming. There really did seem to be no end in sight!

He called everyone to attention. "Obviously things have become more real," Cameron announced, crossing his arms, "so I wouldn't be surprised if more of you have been having second thoughts. If you wanna leave raise your hand." Five out of the thirteen people's hands went up instantly. "It's not the majority, so we're staying," he said apologetically to those that wanted to leave. "Tony, think it's possible to move the truck somewhere safer so that they can make a break for a car?"

"I supposed but I wouldn't advise it. It'd be a bitch to hotwire a car, drive it over all of these bodies, and get out of the city." The five hands went down.

Cameron shook his head and sighed. "Back to work," he said, training his rifle back towards the zombies. Bang! Another went down.

A few hours later when Cameron decided to take a quick break, he strapped the rifle around his back. As he was about to make for the hatch to go down, all of a sudden he felt somebody seize him around the neck from behind and press a gun into the small of his back! Cameron was then forced backwards to the rear of the truck before he could say anything.

In the process they bumped into Andrea, who stopped picking off zombies to see what hit her. Her jaw dropped. "Jim!" she cried out in horror. "What in the living fuck are you doing?" That got the attention of everybody else, all of whom looked just as stunned at what was transpiring.

"Order this truck to go home, Cameron," Jim demanded, pressing his neck and jabbing the gun even harder.

Kinda difficult with you cutting off my circulation! Cameron wasn't able to say, fighting against his grip.

"Put the gun down," Cole ordered, now pointing his rifle at Jim, who immediately ducked his head behind Cameron.

"No," he answered defiantly. "We've been here for three fucking days and haven't gotten anywhere! It's time we get home!"

"All of us knew the risk of coming here!" Louie shouted angrily.

"That may be true, but back then I thought there was a chance—there isn't one! Let's just cut our losses and go home," Jim pleaded.

"…Ant…eeth…ahol," Cameron struggled to say, still fighting the arm wrapped around his neck.

"Huh? Oh."

Jim slackened his hold on Cameron, who immediately gasped as he took in fresh air. "I couldn't breath, you asshole!" he said with a cough.

"I'm sorry about what you're going through, Cameron, but order this truck to go home."

"The Sarge gave us enough supplies for four days," he told him, all too aware of the gun pressing against him. "It's only been three. Give it one more day."

"NO! I wanna go home!" Jim cried desperately.

"You won't have a home to go back to if you keep this up," said Cole.

"One fucking day, Jim," Cameron said, gritting his teeth.

"No."

"I'm not turning this truck around!"

"Then I'll shoot you."

"Do that and you're dead!" Andrea threatened, getting her rifle ready.

I'd prefer not to get shot at all, he thought, panic-stricken. But for that to be guaranteed Cameron would have to order the truck to go back, which he wasn't prepared to do.

"Don't be retarded," Cameron snarled. "If we go home like this you'll get your ass thrown in jail—if you're lucky! One day, Jim! If the zombies aren't cleared by that time then we'll have no choice but to leave."

Nobody talked for about a minute, and in that time Jim kept pressing the pistol into Cameron's back. Eventually, though, Jim let go, put pistol on the floor, and raised his arms in disgraced surrender. As he did so he gave Cameron a look that clearly said, I'm a fucking idiot, aren't I?

Cameron was about to order for Jim to be tied up until they got back to Yuba, when Andrea fired her rifle and grazed Jim's left leg. He collapsed with a yell and clutched his bleeding leg as he writhed on the ground. The only thing that kept him from rolling over the edge into the zombies below was the fence.

"I didn't order you to do that!" Cameron shouted at Andrea angrily.

"It's just some insurance incase he goes over the deep end again," she defended without remorse.

Cameron ran his hands down his face in frustration. "Fine, just—just take Jim down and patch him up." It would've been a pain in the ass to detain both Jim and Andrea until they got back to town, so he decided to let it go for now. As she did as she was ordered, Cameron noticed that everybody else all just staring at him. "What're you all standing around for? We only have one more day before we run out of supplies!"

That seemed to knock them out of their stupor, and they seemed to suddenly remember that zombies surrounded them.

The rest of the day passed, night came and went, and in the morning Cameron noticed something miraculous: there were less zombies. By the early afternoon Sheila was the one that killed the last one. It really did take four days, go figure. The parking lot was completely paved with zombie corpses, with well over a dozen huge piles.

"Tony," Cameron said with some anticipation, "move this truck in front of the main entrance." It was time to enter the hospital and take a crack at clearing it out.