December 7th 2027

Jasper holds the radio up to his ear, and in spite of having heard the recording a thousand times before, he listens again, just to be sure.

"To any survivors," the woman says, her voice soft and gentle, "don't give up hope. There are others out there, we are out there, and we are safe. My name is Rosalie Hale, one of a hundred and forty-nine survivors at an established military compound in Washington," she pauses, "infection free. If anyone out there is listening, don't give up, please. We're here. Make your way to the North end of-"

And that's where Rosalie's recording always ends. It stops for a minute, nothing more than static noise, before the recording repeats; the same thing, over and over. We've tried countless times to radio back, but with no response. Nothing ever goes through, and nothing but her recording ever reaches us in return. Each attempt has left us with the same grainy static, and heavy hearts.

Despite the broken recording, we have been heading North in search of the compound, from where most of us met and banded together in Arizona. We've picked up other survivors along the way, making us a strong group of nine; something I'm confident will keep us safe until we can get to the compound.

"Dammit," Jasper curses, "why does it have to end there?"

"The way life works, I suppose," Carlisle replies. He paces in front of a high school emblem painted on the wall, a handgun at his side, his tall frame alert and rigid. He keeps a steady eye on the locker room door while his wife, Esme, sits on the bench next to Jasper and I. They are the two I have been with for the longest, the ones with me at the bank when the first of the infected had stumbled through the doors and bitten an unsuspecting old lady.

"Is the water almost ready?" Esme asks.

I look down to the portable stoves on the floor – the ones used for camping – and study the four sizeable pots full of water. It's not ideal, by any means, but it's what we have to do to shower every now and then. Running water is a thing of the past, and hot water...

Well, that's about as good as gold, nowadays.

Bubbles begin to rise in the pots, and I sigh.

"Thank God," I say to Esme with a laugh. She chuckles in return, and offers me a humble smile.

"You and Lauren go first," she insists, "I can wait."

The words are simple and quiet, but for some reason, they cause tears to well in my eyes.

And for the life of me, I have no idea why.

"Are you sure?" I ask in a whisper. Esme curls her arm around my shoulder in a hug, and pulls me into her side. I lean against her; thankful for the gentle affection, for the way she seems to treat me like her own daughter.

Alice.

Tears stream in a hot, thick line down my face thinking about Alice, realizing how much worse it is for Esme and Carlisle. Me...I have no family, had no family when the infection hit. Esme and Carlisle lost contact with their children, their entire life, and haven't heard from either of them since.

Alice and Edward.

Their son and daughter.

"No tears, honey," she says quietly, "let's make today a good day, what do you say?" I smile at her motherly nature, and nod. I'd do anything for Esme, to make her happy. She's part of the reason I'm still alive. "It's settled, then," she assures, "no more tears. Now go take that shower."

I sniffle in response, and turn, pressing a kiss to her cheek.