That was fun to write. This has been edited, because I wanted to improve the storyline, grammar, characterization, spelling, and so forth. =) I hope that everyone likes the minor changes, as they're all for the better. Please, don't forget to review! Thank you very much for your support, guys!

Act One, Scene Two

Exterior-Road-Evening

(The camera shows a dusty, old road that goes through a natural field of tall grasses. It is obvious that there haven't been any people there for a while, but flies buzz in swarms around dead bodies of soldiers, laying eggs in their wounds. Some, Wade and Reibem can see, others, they cannot. They do not look at each other. It is evening, and the sun is sinking low in the darkening sky.)

(Buzzards fly overhead, and gunfire can be heard in the distance—the combat in the town is still continuing. The stench of blood and feces is cloying in the air. Reiben watches with a hardened expression. Wade comes to a stop, swaying slightly with exhaustion written on his face.)

Wade: Well--we did it. (His tone is hollow, and his fists are clenched even though his pale arms dangle limply at his side. There are red crescents deep in the soft pads of his palms. His shirt sticks to his back with sweat, and flies buzz around him as if he is already dead. Regret about leaving the dying soldiers is evident in his tone.)

Reiben: No, we haven't done it yet. It wouldn't take very much to bring the battle here. Get up. We have to keep going. (Wade raises his head slowly, as if it weighs as much as lead. For a few minutes, there's an uncomprehending look to him. Finally, Wade straightens up, weakness evident, like a newborn colt stumbling as it tries to stand.)

(He starts moving, but much slower than before. Wade's feet drag across the ground and he barely lifts them. His head is bowed like a tired draft horse. Wade follows without protest, clearly pained, but no expression of sympathy crosses Reiben's face as the two move.)

(Nothing matters to Reiben more than his own survival at this point. However cold it may sound to the stranger observing from afar, in his life it has always been survival of the fittest. In Brooklyn one was culled from the herd if they couldn't protect themselves, and only then, when they were safe, would they consider their family. It is not that he does not care about Wade---merely that his instincts overpower any other coherent thought but survival.)

Wade: We're going to need to find the others, Reiben. We're only going further away from them.

Reiben: Fuck, Wade, I think surviving is a priority now--unless that's a damn issue with you. (He speaks profanely, with his lip curled to show teeth that will yellow with a few more years if he continues to smoke like he does. His accent seems to become almost stronger, more nasal, and coarser. Wade falls silent, and Reiben keeps walking.)

Wade: They're alive, Reiben---all of them. I know it... (Reiben is silent--but it's clear that he doesn't agree. Soon, a high rocky crest composed of tall boulders can be seen in the distance as the meadow and road slowly become a pine forest.)

Reiben: We'll settle here—be ready to leave tomorrow morning. We haven't escaped them yet, and if our own god-damned soldiers keep leading them to us--- (Reiben's voice is a snarl and he's bristling at everything in general. Wade's learned to ignore him by now, and just smiles faintly when Reiben stalks past him. He's a tolerant man, and handles the outbursts with grace on par to Miller's.)

(Wade leans against one of the boulders. He's fatigued, and the pain of his wounds is beginning to increase in intensity. In the pandemonium of fleeing the town, he hasn't been given a new dose of morphine. He soon finds himself sitting down on the cool forest floor. He takes a pre prepared syringe out of his satchel and snaps off the plastic guard on the needle.)

(He rolls up his pant leg and opens a thumb sized paper packet, rubbing the alcohol soaked cloth on the injection site. He jabs the needle into his leg, slowly presses down on the syringe, and removes it, finding the guard and putting it back on)

(As both are tired, neither one talks. Reiben scrapes a circle of dead leaves away from the ground and piles kindling in the center, lighting it with his cigarette lighter. A small flame appears and begins licking up the dry wood. Sitting a bit away from the fire, he takes a ready ration out of his pack and opens it, beginning to eat. Wade sits down next to him, eating a bit of his own food.)

Wade: The gunfire's dying down. Tomorrow we can look for the others.

Reiben: Wade, I'm going to tell you something the way I see it. The likelihood that they're alive, that more than one man is alive, is next to zero. You're setting yourself up.

Wade: That's not true, Reiben.... You know that's not true.

Reiben: Y'know what? I think I've seen enough men blown to fucking pieces to know that any of their chances, let alone all of their chances, aren't anything to hope for. So be quiet, for the love of Christ, and go to sleep.

(Wade looks away for a long moment. Reiben gets up abruptly, stalking towards the crest of rocks. It's hot, and the mosquitoes are buzzing around them both, along with the gnats that try to drink from their eyes. The last rays of sun are disappearing, and as Reiben settles roughly on top of one of the rocks, the last rays of sunlight disappear below the black line of the horizon. He has responded to the day's events with hostility and the blame of others—and it's evident. Wad stands alone with the fire behind him, watching the sun set. He's silent, contemplative---and speaks calmly.)

Wade: (Softly, and to himself. His voice is barely more than a murmur, but it grows in strength.) For all of our sake, Reiben—and yours, too--- I hope that you're wrong.

End scene 2, fade to black.