A/N: Thank you for the faves, follows and especially reviews!

All That's Left

Keira walked in silence. She followed her guide as he led her along the edge of the road, close to the underbrush that would offer them emergency cover. They'd been walking for just under an hour before reaching Interstate 85. The stranger turned onto the highway and slowed his pace, releasing the breath he seemed to have been holding the whole way there.

He threw a glance over his shoulder, checking to see if she was keeping up. "Well, we're in the clear now. This place is pretty isolated. Those things haven't come close to this area."

Nowhere is 'in the clear', she thought numbly. If we can get here, so can they. There isn't a safe place in the world.

"I'm sorry for the long walk," he added. "I didn't expect to pick up any passengers, and I don't usually take one of the cars unless absolutely necessary. Figured I'd save gas for emergencies. Name's Martin, by the way; what's yours?"

Keira just continued to stare blankly at the endless path of concrete before her.

Martin's face fell. "Right, you don't talk. I guess we were being so quiet earlier that I couldn't really notice." His eyes fell on the little body in her arms. "I'm sorry about your friend."

Her gaze returned to the corpse that she carried, its frame limp and weightless, the blood now dried and caked onto the skin.

"He's… he's not your kid, is he?" Martin asked carefully. "I mean, just the way you're holding onto him… But you don't look old enough to be his mom. You must be, what, 18? 19? Your brother, then?"

Keira came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the road. This isn't my little brother, this is just what's left of him. This is just what he left behind after passing on. But she found that the more she tried to accept that he was gone, the tighter she clutched his body to her own. A hand on her arm startled her from her reverie and she found Martin looking at her apologetically. He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.

They continued on the road for a few more minutes before finally coming to a stop. Keira looked up to see a two-story L-shaped building, its parking lot barren save for two cars and a worn-down sign: Welcome Inn.

A young woman emerged from the building and spotted them entering the lot. "Martin, thank God! We were worried you—"

The woman froze, taking notice of Keira and the little boy in her arms. "Oh my God, is he hurt?" she asked rushing over.

Martin stopped her from coming any closer. "He's dead, Jess," he said quietly, trying to turn her away from the gruesome sight. "Go in and tell the others I'm back. We'll be in the yard."

The woman couldn't seem to tear her eyes away from the body, but eventually retreated into the motel. Martin brought Keira around the building until they reached a large backyard that led off into a forest some 50 meters behind it. Walking around an empty in-ground pool, they came to a poorly fenced-off area in the corner of the lot. Four makeshift graves lay within, wooden crosses marking their place. Martin put down her bags and went to grab a shovel from the nearby shed. Keira hesitated before gently laying her brother's body on the ground, somehow missing the feel of his cold skin. She reached into her duffel bag and took out a bottle of water and a torn shirt. She poured water on the shirt and set to work, wiping her brother's face and arms clean of the blood and grime that had collected there.

Martin soon returned and marked a place for the new grave with the end of the shovel. "You okay with burying him here?" he asked. "I know it's not a real cemetery, and the next church isn't for another few miles, but he at least deserves a proper burial."

Keira nodded. They all deserve a proper burial, she thought, but in a world where the living are all trying to survive, who has the time to worry about the dead?

"Right then," Martin said. "I'll get started."

But before he could land a blow to the earth with his shovel, Keira was up and in front of him. He watched her in confusion as she reached for the shovel and wrenched it from his grasp. She stabbed the shovel into the ground, lifted the dirt and tossed it off to the side.

"You sure you don't want me to help?" Martin asked. His only response was the rhythmic sound of her digging. Stab, lift, toss. Stab, lift, toss.

It was hours before she was able to carefully lower her brother's body into the grave, and a couple more before she finished refilling it. She did the work quickly and without thought, certain that she would have broken down if she realized just what she was doing. Keira turned to find Martin standing nearby. He handed her a crude wooden cross, just like the others that decorated the little graveyard. She kneeled on the ground and pushed one end into the dirt. Taking the hunting knife strapped to her boot, she carved into the cross:

Ethan
Asequui

Goodbye little brother, you've earned your rest. She barely registered Martin helping her up and leading her into the motel. He sat her down on one of the couches in the lobby and handed her a glass of water, taking a seat next to her. The cool of the glass was soothing in her hands, and for a moment Keira just stared into the water, collecting herself. No use crying if I've run out of tears. No point in grieving if I cannot cry. It was a harsh mantra, but it was the one she needed. Now, she needed to start making good on her promise. Use the past to remind you of where you're going, she told herself, but don't let it stop you from getting there.

Keira's eyes wandered the room before falling on the young woman from before, whom she hadn't even noticed sitting on the next couch. She took the chance to actually look her this time: dirty blond hair styled nicely just past her shoulders, big blue eyes and a fair complexion. More than anything, though, the 20-something-year-old looked fragile and out of place. She was very pretty, but just looking at her made you wonder how she made it this far. Then again, best not to judge by appearance.

The woman noticed her staring. "My name's Jessica," she introduced herself. "I'm very sorry about your brother."

"Would ya stop sayin' that?" a booming voice added. Keira turned to see two men enter from another room. The first was obviously the owner of the voice, a large man in his 50s or 60s with a generous beard and a stern face. The other man was somewhere in his 20s, sporting an open vest and what looked like a mullet.

"Between the two of ya, the girl's prolly been hearin' stuff like that all day," the first man continued. "Sayin' sorry does nuthin' but remind the person that they got sumthin' to feel bad about." He looked down at her. "Name's Roy, I own the place. Or I did, back when it meant sumthin' to own a place. Guess now it's just a glorified bunker." He looked around sadly at the room and let out a tired sigh.

"Anyway, you've met Martin and Jess there. This here's Wade," he gestured to the other man who was now helping himself to a beer. "You met my wife Angela out there in the graveyard; she's the pretty little cross on the far left."

Keira was surprised at the man's bluntness. Or perhaps it was bravery, to be able to be so light-hearted about a thing like that.

"So what kinda redskin are ya, anyway?" Wade rudely interjected. She whipped her head around to glare at him. If looks could kill, he would've been dead and undead in seconds. Instead, he flopped down completely unfazed onto the couch beside Jessica, much to her obvious annoyance.

Roy shot him a look. "The hell kinda question is that, ya racist idiot?"

Wade just shrugged. "I dunno, I was curious. But I guess Indian is Indian, dun really matter what kind they are."

Keira felt her anger rising in her body. She couldn't deal with this, not now. Jessica noticed her discomfort and jumped in. "So, Martin said you can't speak. Do you know sign language? I learned ASL in college; I might be a bit rusty but I should be able to understand."

Though relieved that she would have somewhat of a voice, Keira couldn't help the small pang of sadness that shot through her: Ethan used to be the only one who could communicate with her.

She signed to Jessica: "My name is Keira."

Jessica's face lit up, excited that she understood. "It's nice to meet you, Keira."

Roy gave her a long look before speaking again. "Well then, Keira, yer welcome to stick around. We've got plenty of room. You any good with those?" He gestured to the bow still slung across her back and the tomahawk attached to her hip. She nodded yes. "Well good, cause we may have room but provisions are scarce. If ya wanna stay here, yer gonna have to contribute."

Martin turned to Roy looking shocked. "Roy, you can't actually expect her to go on food runs or go hunting! She's just a kid!"

"I'm 18," Keira signed, but Jessica was too busy watching Roy and Martin to translate.

"Who're you kiddin', boy?" Roy said, laughing. "There ain't no more kids in this world. All that's left is soldiers and old men who wish they'd died young." He shared a knowing look with Keira. "Hell, what we got here is a warrior, armed to the teeth. And I dunno bout you, but I never look a gift horse in the mouth. Whaddaya say then, soldier? We got ourselves a deal?"

She nodded in agreement.

Jessica, hoping to remove herself from the awkwardly tense room, rose and grabbed one of Keira's bags from where it sat near the door. "Come on, Keira, let's get you a room." Keira took the other bag and followed her up the stairs. She was shown to a small room with a bed, a dresser, a television and an adjoining bathroom. Jessica pointed out her own room before leaving her with a quiet 'good night'. Is it night already? She looked out the window to see the moon against the endless darkness of the sky. The night is dangerous. Keira left her room quietly, walking down the hall and out onto the rear balcony. She removed her bow from her back and an arrow from her quiver, taking a seat on a wooden chair. She looked down at her little brother's grave before turning her gaze to the edge of the forest. Don't get too comfortable, don't let your guard down, don't let it happen again.

She didn't sleep in the motel that night, nor any night after.

A/N: Hmm, well that was a tad depressing.

So I always wanted Keira to have the bow, but I will admit that the tomahawk was totally because of Assassin's Creed 3. I knew she needed a close range weapon, I originally wanted an axe, but the tomahawk is lighter and will tie in as an important item later hopefully.

Next chapter we encounter the Atlanta group! Hooray!

Please review! You guys are my motivation! :D