Heather eventually woke up. Peter was still asleep, head still resting upon Isaac's shoulder. Dr. Wilkins was still trying to get information out of Mike and Isaac, although the conversation seemed more relaxed than it had before Heather fell asleep.

"And it seems like all of you have faired pretty well," Dr. Wilkins was saying, "I mean, with dealing with the infected."

"We were until Peter got attacked, but we found out he was immune so it was okay," Heather answered, absentmindedly and automatic.

As soon as she realized what she had said, she paled and nearly began to babble but Isaac grabbed her hand and gave it a warning squeeze. She looked at him and he shook his head, telling her to just let it be.

"... Immune?" Dr. Wilkins echoed, a frown creasing her brow.

No one made a response. Mike was waiting for what Dr. Wilkins would say next, Isaac was waiting for Mike to indicate what to do, and Heather was hiding her face, feeling stupid beyond belief.

"Does your friend Peter know he could be the key to making a cure?" Wilkins finally asked.

"Yeah, he sure does. He brought it up when we were deciding to come," Mike confirmed. Dr. Wilkins nodded and continued to drive in silence. Mike was unsure of what to make of it.

Dr. Wilkins parked along side a hospital, although in reality it was just a square concrete building. She pulled the keys out of the ignition and unlocked the doors. Everyone clambered out, straightening their backpacks out on their backs.

"Where'd the other car go?" Mike asked upon seeing no sign of the Monkeemobile or the others for that matter.

Mike thought this all a little fishy and he was still waiting for Dr. Wilkins to confront Peter about his immunity.

"They must have taken a wrong turn, but don't worry, I'll tell Father Carl and he'll send someone out to go find your pals," Dr. Wilkins assured them.

Heather grabbed onto Isaac's hand, squeezing it tight. Isaac squeezed gently back, giving Heather a quick, reassuring smile. Heather felt horrible.

"Come on inside. We'll get you guys settled and then I'll go talk to Father Carl," Dr. Wilkins said and lead them inside.

The inside of the hospital did look like one on the inside, although it was apparent that some of the hallways had been converted into living areas. Wilkins lead them down a corridor and then stopped in front of a young woman with flowing golden hair.

"Rachel, can you show these folks to a room? I have to go talk with Father Carl," Dr. Wilkins asked. Rachel looked up and smiled.

"Of course, please follow me," Rachel said. Dr. Wilkins turned to the foursome.

"Follow Rachel and I'll be back soon. Then you can meet Father Carl. I'll be sure to tell him to send someone out to look for your friends, although they aren't in any danger," Dr. Wilkins told them.

"No danger?" Peter frowned.

"There aren't any infected around the area," Rachel informed them as she lead them down another hallway, leaving Dr. Wilkins to disappear into an adjacent room.

"How did you get that to happen?" Mike inquired.

"They just stopped coming around, I'm not really sure," admitted Rachel, before glancing at Heather and asking, "How old are you?"

"I'm nineteen," Heather replied, a bit reluctantly.

"Jane's seventeen and Sandy's nineteen, you'll have to be introduced," Rachel grinned. Heather forced a smile. Rachel stopped in front of a door and opened it to reveal a neat room with two beds, a closet, and another door that would lead to a bathroom.

"You've just missed dinner but you can eat breakfast in the morning," Rachel commented.

"It's alright, thank you," Isaac smiled and Rachel and shook her hand.

"Feel free to make yourself at home. Dr. Wilkins should be back soon," said Rachel before walking away, down the hall.

Mike placed his backpack beside the bed that was pushed up against the left wall. He sat down and took off his wool hat, holding it in his hands.

"I'm real sorry I told the doctor that Peter was immune," Heather apologized.

"Dr. Wilkins knows I'm immune? Thought we weren't telling anyone yet," Peter frowned.

"Heather accidently let it slip, but it's alright," Mike said. Heather flopped down onto the opposite bed and Isaac sat down next to her.

"What do you think about this place? Should we try to go out and find the others ourselves?" Isaac asked Michael.

"It's fishy here. This whole town is. No infected? That's definitely weird. But we aren't gonna go looking for Davy, Micky, and Ronda. There's a reason we split up like we did," Mike answered, "We're gonna stay here, find out what's going on, and hope the others are coming to get us. I gotta hunch they'll be comin' for us. So unless something goes real south, we're gonna stay put."

"Do you trust these people?" Peter questioned, looking at the door to their new room.

"Infected are one thing, but people in an extreme situation are unpredictable, making them sometimes more dangerous than the virus," Isaac murmured, "I believe they are hiding something."

"I only hope it isn't something bad… I don't want anything bad to happen to us again," Heather whimpered.

"We're gonna be just fine, Heather," Mike assured her, although he didn't know for sure. He had a bad feeling about this place, and by the look Isaac was giving him, Mike guessed Isaac felt it too.

"I just hope that Micky, Davy, and Ronda will be alright," Peter sighed.

In fact, Davy, Micky, and Ronda were perfectly fine. Tara took the driver's seat, Davy getting into the back so that Micky could sit in the passenger's side. She drove them to an small apartment complex before parking along the curb.

She lead them upstairs to the second floor and knocked five times upon the fourth door in the hallway. At first, nothing happened and the foursome stood in the hallway quietly.

Then, the door opened to reveal a young man, who looked only a little older than Peter. This must be George. He had darker skin than his sister's, whose skin was tan, and dark hair that fell around his shoulders. His left arm ended at the elbow.

"Who're they?" George asked, looking from Davy, to Ronda, and finally to Micky.

"I stopped these guys from getting dragged to the church," Tara responded, pushing past George and into the apartment. George held the door open a bit wider for the trio to follow inside.

"Oh, that's good. Hello, I'm George," George formally introduced himself. Micky, Ronda, and Davy introduced themselves likewise.

"Your sister tells us that there isn't any hope for our friends, you were taken to the church," Davy began after introduction had passed, "All we ask is that you show us where the church is and let us see about freeing our friends."

"Friends?" George frowned. They had moved from the front hallway and into a living room where they sat down.

"We got seperated from our group. We're a group of seven," Ronda explained, "Dr. Wilkins was taking us to the church and us three were in a separate car. We must help our friends."

"Of course we will help you," George immediately assured them.

"Oh no. No, we are not George," Tara countered. George gave her a serious look.

"Tara, we can't just not help. You don't have to, but I am, and you can't stop me, you aren't mom," George stated. Tara rolled her eyes and got up, disappearing from the room. George looked back at Ronda, Davy, and Micky.

"We don't mean to make any trouble," Micky mumbled.

"It's okay, Tara's always like that," George assured them, "Even if she won't help I will."

"But you've only just met us," Ronda pointed out.

George ran his hand through his hair before standing up. He told the trio to wait a moment and disappeared.

"Can we trust them?" Micky asked, his voice hushed so that Tara and George wouldn't be able to hear him.

"I'm not sure, but if what they're telling us is true, then I don't see much of a choice," Davy admitted.

"I agree. At any rate, we must get back to the others, nonetheless," Ronda nodded her head.

"Geewhiz," Micky sighed and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes.

A few minutes later, George returned with Tara. The two sat down across from Ronda, Micky, and Davy.

"We're going to help you," Tara grumbled, sounding like a twelve year old whose mother was making them play with someone they didn't particularly like.

"Because…," prompted George, nudging Tara in the ribcage with his elbow.

"Because, we are good people and want to earn your trust so that we can join your group," Tara said this whilst glaring at George, who was grinning in return.

"Good," he turned to the trio, "How does that sound fellows?"

"It sounds alright," Davy shrugged, glancing at Ronda to see what she thought. Ronda shrugged as well.

"I understand your reluctance to trust us, especially after Dr. Wilkins, but let us prove that we're the good guys, okay?" said George.

"I don't see why not," Ronda agreed, "If what you say is true, then it isn't as if we have many other options."

"Okay, well, we should start planning, we'll have to act tomorrow night, so that we don't get there too late," George said, "Let's talk about guns."

Back at the church, Dr. Wilkins entered Father Carl's office. The older gentleman was sitting in a chair, resting his head in his hands.

"Father Carl?" Dr. Wilkins spoke softly.

"Ah, hello doctor," Father Carl smiled as he looked up. He gestured towards a chair near him and said, "Please, have a seat. What can I do for you?"

Dr. Wilkins perched on the edge of the seat which Father Carl had indicated.

"I wanted to ask you not to harm any of the people I brought with me today. Not even if they're completely useless," Dr. Wilkins began, "Because one of them, the tallish one, blonde, named Peter, he's immune, at least that's what the girl said."

Father Carl's brows knitted together.

"Immune?" he sounded the word out as if it were in some foreign language.

"Yes, we can test it too. If he is immune, we can… make a cure Father," Dr. Wilkins nodded her head, tears almost stinging her eyes.

"We won't harm those you brought today," Father Wilkins said after a moment, "I want you to go fetch Dan and test the immune one before evening tomorrow. We must act fast, if not for your own sake doctor, but ours as well. Test the immunity tonight and then we will begin work for a cure."

Dr. Wilkins wiped away a few tears that had trickled down her face.

"Yes, of course Father, thank you, thank you so much," Dr. Wilkins sniffled, then composed herself.

"I will go inform Yaseen and Kris," Father Carl stood up, Dr. Wilkins quickly following suit.

Micky sat between Davy and Ronda, his leg bouncing up and down. George sat across from them as they waited for Tara.

"We only were able to collect a few, two pistols, two revolvers, and a shotgun," George said as Tara brought out the weapons, "The ammo that's in 'em is the ammo we've got. We don't have anything else."

"When this goes down, I'm taking the shotgun, it belongs to me anyhow," Tara informed Davy, Ronda, and Micky.

"I have my bat. It's all I need," Ronda stated.

"Then Micky and Davy can have one pistol and one revolver each," said George, "Do you guys know how to handle a firearm?"

Micky said, "A little", and Davy said, "Yes", both at the same time. Micky glanced at Davy.

"I didn't know you knew?" he frowned.

"Mike taught me six months back," Davy shrugged, blushing a little.

"On his handgun?" Micky questioned. Davy nodded.

"How come he never taught me?" wondered Micky.

"You never asked… I did," Davy answered.

"Well good, nobody will be shooting themselves in the foot then," Tara rolled her eyes.

"So we'll just have to be careful and find your friends as quickly as possible," George grinned, "And we'll bring our car and your car, so everyone will be able to fit and then we'll get the hell out of dodge."

"It sounds like a fine plan," Davy agreed.

"Ok well… it's late and we should all get some sleep," Ronda pointed out.

"I'm beat," George agreed, "Tara, go get them some blankets, they can sleep out here."

George said goodnight after that and wandered away, presumably into the bedroom. Tara disappeared temporarily and then returned with a stack of knitted blankets. She handed them to Micky.

Before anyone could thank her however, Tara shooed the trio off the couch. Pushing the coffee table a little more out of the way, she pulled out a bed. The couch was a pullout.

"You can keep the blankets. Might as well take them along with us," she mumbled before adding a hasty goodnight and then disappeared again, this time for good.

"Will you two be offended if I sleep on the chair?" Ronda questioned.

"Well, no man, but we don't want you not sleeping comfortably," Micky answered.

"You're a good guy Micky, but I will be much more comfortable sleeping in a chair," Ronda smiled and settled down.

Micky and Davy clambered into the pullout bed, Davy grabbing ahold of Micky's left hand as soon as they were settled. There was a moment of silence that filled the room. From an adjacent room, presumably the bedroom, the trio could hear Tara and George softly whispering to one another.

"Do you really think people have the guts to use other people as… bait or whatever?" Micky asked a minute or two later.

"You boys haven't had much exposure to how things have been," Ronda pointed out, "People look out for themselves most times. Just like you have done, but sometimes people'll do extreme things because they think it's the only way."

"It's still sick," muttered Davy, cringing with disgust.

"Yes, it's still sick," agreed Ronda.

"I hope we don't have to use the guns," Davy mumbled.

"We should aim to not," Ronda said, "Only use them as a last ditch effort. I'm not a fan of firearms, which is why I'll just be sticking with my trusty bat."

"We're going to save the guys, and then we're going home," Micky stated, almost as if he was thinking aloud to himself.

"Sure Micky, we talk it over with others and we'll head on home," Davy replied, although he wasn't entirely sure if he was supposed to.

"If it is not too much of a stretch, may I sing to you boys?" Ronda asked after a long two minutes of silence.

"That'd be lovely," Davy smiled softly to himself, giving Micky's hand a squeeze.

"Yeah man, go right ahead," Micky agreed.

"I used to sing to my two boys every night you know," Ronda reminisced, "There names were Victor and Andy. They were good kids."

"How old were they?" Micky asked.

"Five and three, Victor being the oldest," answered Ronda.

"They sound like angels," Davy offered. Ronda smiled to herself and then began to sing. Her voice was rough, but pleasant, a lower octave than what Davy and Micky had expected. The song was unknown to both of them, although they enjoyed it.