The house was large. Not overly huge, but larger than normal. It contained five bedrooms, two bath. Lyn showed the group the four other bedrooms that were in the house, although they only had three to pick from since Lyn didn't want anyone to sleep in her mom's room, insisting that her mother would need the bedroom to sleep in when she came up to bed.

They sorted themselves out, each subgroup taking one of the available bedrooms for themselves. George and Tara didn't speak to each other. Or to be more precise, Tara didn't talk to George. Although her brother attempted conversation, Tara crawled under the covers and shut her eyes. In the room next to Lyn's room, Heather, Isaac, and Ronda were getting ready to go to sleep.

"Heather, do you want me to braid your hair?" Ronda asked, placing her hand gently upon the younger girl's shoulder.

Heather shook her head, climbing into the bed silently. Ronda and Isaac exchanged looks.

"Are you alright, Heather?" Isaac prompted.

"I'm just tired," Heather sighed, although Ronda felt that Heather was not divulging everything.

"Alright, goodnight then, Heather," Ronda said though, despite her gut feeling. She leaned forward and placed a kiss upon Heather's forehead.

In the next room, Mike, Davy, Peter, and Micky were all squashed into a bed. It was late and Peter was exhausted. He fell asleep quickly, almost as soon as his head hit the pillow. It was a different story for his friends. Mike laid awake, listening to the quiet and thinking. For the past few nights, he had felt the urge to cry.

Although he didn't want to admit it to himself, he missed the pad. He missed that constant feeling of security that he had felt there for the most part. There he had been able to control things, keep everyone together and easily protect them. But on the road, Mike felt as if he couldn't properly protect his friends and do his job.

Next to him, Davy was also listening to the quiet and thinking, but it wasn't about the past or the pad. He was thinking about the church. Thinking about how many people out there might be doing the same exact thing those people had been doing. Using others to protect themselves. Killing others to protect themselves.

Micky wasn't thinking at all though. He was just trying to get himself to sleep. That's all he wanted to do, was sleep. He hadn't been sleeping well for a few nights now and he was determined to get a good night's rest on this evening.

Micky and Mike were on the outsides of the bed, leaving Peter and Davy on the inside. Peter was next to Mike and Davy was next to Micky. Despite the quite, it wasn't too long before Peter began making a whimpering noise, quiet at first but it slowly gained volume.

"Shh-ut up, Peter," Micky mumbled in a drawn out groan.

By the tone of his voice both Davy and Mike could tell he wasn't too far from unconsciousness. Davy rolled over and gently shook Peter.

"Hey, Peter, wake up man," Davy said, coaxing the bassist awake.

Peter opened his eyes and blinked, a sinking feeling of fear and disgust flooding into his stomach. He was too tired to register that he was crying. Mike placed his hand on Peter's back. Peter pulled away and buried his face into Davy's chest. The smaller man wrapped his arms around Peter.

Mike knew that Peter didn't mean anything by moving away, that he probably drifting back to sleep right that moment, but some a small part of him felt personally hurt. After a few moments, Peter was fast asleep and Micky was snoring.

Davy held onto Peter, finding the weight on his chest reassuring. It had been a little while since Davy had been in this position. Back at the pad, Davy had spent many nights sleeping in Peter's bed in order to comfort his friend. It had comforted him as well, knowing that he was never alone. Davy wasn't sure how much time had passed when he decided to see if Mike was awake, but he didn't want to stay awake the whole night. He needed to get his thoughts off his chest.

"Mike, are you still awake?" he hissed.

"Yeah," came Mike's response.

"Can I ask you something?" Davy asked.

A frown creased Michael's brow and he paused before saying, "Course ya can."

"Mike… do you think I'm a bad person?" Davy wondered.

Hearing the question surprised Mike and it made him feel sick hearing Davy ask that. How on earth could he think that?

"What? Davy you ain't a bad person, why on earth would you even think you were?" he demanded.

Davy winced a little at the harsh tone he detected in Mike's voice.

"Well… because those people at the church, they hurt people to protect themselves. And I've been thinking a lot about what they did. There are probably others out there, doing the same time… and I did it too Mike. I hurt people to save Peter, to save you and the others… and if they are bad people, then does that make me a bad person?" Davy said slowly, a look of pain contorting his face the longer he spoke.

Mike was silent for a moment. He hadn't thought about that before. God, he didn't even want to remember the church. It still felt like a bad dream to him and it made him uncomfortable to think about it.

"I don't want to be a bad person," Davy admitted, interpreting Mike's silence as an agreement that he was what he feared. Mike caught on.

"No, Davy, I don't think that. You ain't a bad person and ya never will be. If it weren't for you, Peter'd be dead. Those folks, well they didn't give ya much of a choice, now did they? You did what you had to do and there ain't anything bad about that. Me and Mick, we'd have done the same thing," the Texan quickly said.

"But what makes what I did different from what they did, Mike? They were only trying to protect themselves," Davy wondered, almost to himself.

Mike hated hearing the despair in Davy's voice. It had been so long since he had heard that tone in the Englishman. Even when Peter had been thought doomed, Mike hadn't heard such despair in his friend's voice.

"They killed people Davy. You ain't killed no one. That's the difference," Mike insisted.

There was a pause. Davy felt a queasy feeling come over him and he took a deep breath.

"That's the thing though Mike. I've thought about it hard, and I think that if it had come down to it, I would have killed everyone in that church to save you lot. You and Peter and Micky. I'd kill anyone if it meant saving you three fellas. Because I don't know if my family in England is still alive and I can only assume they're all dead. I'm real torn up about that, I have been since the start of all this, but because of you fellas, it's been alright. And that means I'm damn well going to kill anyone who wants to hurt you. So I'm no different then them Mike. I'm no different," Davy said seriously.

It was not despair that Mike heard in Davy's voice this time. It was something Mike hadn't heard since before the outbreak began. And it broke Mike's heart. It broke him just like the moment he thought that Peter had been infected. Davy had said what he had said with such conviction, Mike almost found himself agreeing.

"Don't talk like that, Davy," he said.

"Why not?" Davy wanted to know.

"Because all that ain't true. It ain't true Davy. You aren't anything like those church people. You and Micky, you guys were the ones who brought Ronda, Heather, and Isaac back to the pad. That proves that you ain't anything like those people Davy. You just gotta stop thinking like you're thinking," Mike answered.

Peter let out a strangled moan. He sounded as if he were in pain. Davy rubbed his back and whispered to him that he was alright. Mike thought back to the first few nights they had spent in the thick of the outbreak. Davy crying, Peter having nightmares, Mike unable to get himself to sleep. After a moment, Peter subsided and so did Michael's thoughts.

"Alright Mike, I'll believe you," Davy caved.

He wasn't sure if he truly believed Mike, but he wanted to. So if he could believe even for a moment that he believed Mike, he'd take it.

"You aren't a bad person, Davy… you're my friend and I should know," Mike repeated.

"I love you, Mike," whispered Davy.

A weariness had overcome him and he felt himself drifting off. Mike was still wide awake but he could hear Davy's breathing begin to fall into a steady rhythm.

"I love you too, Davy," Mike replied.

Then Davy fell asleep. Eventually, Mike shut his eyes and fell into a dreamless slumber. Unknown the to boys, Lyn was crouched right outside their bedroom. She had everything ready, she just needed a driver. For about ten minutes, she waited to see if anyone else would speak, waiting for the moment she thought they all were relatively asleep.

No one had spoken since, so Lyn decided that it would be safe to enter. Pushing the door open as quietly as possible, the teenager slunk into the room. She decided that Micky would be the best one for what she needed. He was snoring heavily, so heavily that Lyn was surprised his snoring didn't wake his friends, which meant he was probably a heavy sleeper. Plus he was on the edge of the bed that all four of the Monkees were crammed into.

Lyn crept over to the bed and tugged on Micky. He was more on the edge of the bed than Lyn had guessed and he fell right onto the floor with a loud thump. Lyn's heart nearly leapt into her throat and she waited for Micky or one of the others or both to wake up. Nothing happened. Micky snored on and the others continued to slumber relatively quiet.

Lyn grabbed Micky by the waist and half carried, half dragged him out of the room and down the stairs. She rested him for a moment on the ground and opened the garage door. Then she half carried, half dragged him into her mother's car. Once he was positioned in the driver's seat and securely buckled, Lyn grabbed the duct tape she had put on the passenger's side seat and duct taped Micky's hands to the steering wheel.

Once that was finished, Lyn went out back and grabbed her mother. She dragged her inside, then to the garage, and loaded her into the back. Everything was in place now. She ran once more into the kitchen and pulled open a drawer next to the fridge. Inside was a pistol her mother had kept around for emergencies.

Lyn took this and went back to the garage. She had already opened the door before she had gone upstairs to get Micky. All she had to do was wake up her driver. She clambered into the passenger's side and buckled herself up.

Micky blinked awake slowly. Something cold and clunky was jabbing him in the side. He shook the sleep off and realized he was in the driver's seat of a car. He looked to his right and saw Lyn with a gun pointed at him. When he tried to move his hands, he realized that they were taped to the steering wheel.

"Don't make a sound, or I'll shoot you. Mom's okay with me doing this, because she knows that it has to be done. We have to get her to the army men," Lyn said.

Micky's heart sank when he didn't hear or see any trembling in the teenager. She didn't have any plans on backing out of this.

"This is a bit crazy, isn't it?" he asked, trying to sound light hearted when in fact his mind was racing with the question of how he was going to get out of this one.

"Just drive. Drive or I'll shoot you," Lyn demanded.

"This sure is one way to wake up," grumbled Micky but he complied, seeing no other option but to listen to Lyn for now.

He didn't want to die and he wasn't about to wreck the whole car, and he didn't want to hurt Lyn either. Micky glanced at the gages in front of him and turned to look at Lyn.

"You have to put the keys into the ignition and put the car into drive before I can go anywhere," he informed her.

Red coloured the girl's cheeks in embarrassment and she quickly fumbled the keys into the ignition. Once the car was actually on, Lyn put the car into drive.

"Go," Lyn barked.

Micky hit the gas pedal and drove the car out of the garage and into the street. Dawn was just on the horizon and Micky could see the first rays of sun. His stomach felt leadened and he wasn't sure if he was going to vomit or not.

What was he going do? Drive Lyn all the way to Texas? With his hands taped to the steering wheel? How would he use the bathroom? When would he see his friends again? His heart beat fast against his ribcage.

Yet if he did anything else, he was likely to have his stomach pumped full of bullets. So he supposed for now he would have to just drive, and hope he could talk some sense into Lyn before he had drove too far.

"Lyn, can you look back to see if we're being followed?" Micky asked, following something his gut was telling him.

Lyn frowned at him.

"No, you can do that on your own," Lyn stated.

"Are you afraid to look back and see your mom?" Micky wondered.

Lyn's lip trembled.

"Why would I be afraid?" Lyn countered.

"Because you know your mom got infected and you didn't want it to be true and you wanted your mom to be okay and you're still trying to cling onto a hope that doesn't exist," Micky said.

"Shut up," Lyn snapped.

"You know, my mom died too. One day, about a week into the outbreak, I got a call on the phone from my aunt. She told me that my mom and dad had gotten sick but that she was going to take care of them. She sounded fine. She told me that she loved me and that my parents loved me and that she wanted me to always keep fighting no matter what," Micky continued.

"Stop talking," Lyn whimpered as a sinking feeling emptied into her stomach. Micky ignored this.

"My aunt thought she had hung up but she must have done something else because the phone didn't cut off when she said goodbye. After she told me once more that she loved me so much, I heard a gunshot. My heart stopped. Then I heard another gunshot, then a third. I cried because I knew that my aunt had killed my mom and dad out of mercy, and then herself. Maybe it was in fear or maybe she was infected also, I don't know," Micky trailed off.

The tears stung his eyes and they streamed down Lyn's cheeks. Micky hadn't thought about this story in so long, he had almost forgotten the pain. It was not as if he forgot entirely, only that he had moved on, he had never had much of a choice in that matter. There was a silence for about five minutes.

Then Lyn asked quietly, "How do you keep going? How do I keep going without her?" Her voice sounded as if it were going to crack.

"I know my mom and dad wouldn't want me to give up on living. They'd be disappointed if I just gave up and stopped caring. I have Mike, Peter, Davy, Isaac, Ronda, and Heather to look after and if I died, they'd be sad and I don't want to cause them pain. You move on and the pain dulls done," Micky answered.

"But I don't have anyone. All I ever had was my mom and now… now she's gone," Lyn nearly sobbed.

"You have Heather. And in a way, that means you also have Ronda, Isaac, myself, and the other guys," Micky stated.

"I just... I don't want her to be dead," Lyn broke down into sobs, hanging her head.

"It's always hard but you aren't alone Lyn, we've all lost someone and we owe it to the dead to keep on living, and we don't have to live alone, we can live together," Micky told her firmly, hoping that this strategy was working like it seemed to be.

Then suddenly, there was someone in the middle of the road. On instinct, Micky yanked the steering to the left and the car swerved off the road. It speed up a little and in the blink of an eye, the front of the car slammed right into a large oak.

The glass shattered and the airbags deployed. Most of the damage was taken head on by the left side of the car. For a moment, pain shot through Micky's leg and arm, but then a harsh burn took over and then nothing.

Blackness ate away at his sight and then he heard a shriek. An infected. That hadn't been a person on the road, it had been an infected. He swore and forced himself to open his eyes, forced himself awake, because god he couldn't black out now he needed to get going..

He tried to move his arm, the one that had been closest to the driver's side door, but pain shot up the limb. Micky tried to suppress a cry. Something was crying next to him. Micky's heart seized up but when he looked it was only Lyn. She was going to attract all the infected in the area. She looked alright minus a few scratches, bruises, and a large cut on her left arm.

"Lyn, shut up," Micky said, "Lyn, you have to be quiet, shh."

Moving his mouth hurt, but not his actual jaw. His right hand was moveable and he brought his hand up to his face. When he touched his nose, he winced. It was bloody and hurt. It could be broken, although Micky felt that it wasn't askew or positioned weirdly. That was a relief. Lyn was trying to keep quiet, doing a good job of it too.

"Can you unbuckle? Are you hurt?" Micky asked.

There was the curious moanings and noises from the infected that Micky had swerved to avoid.

"I-I'm alright, I think," stammered Lyn. She unbuckled herself and looked at Micky.

"Okay, Lyn, we're going to be alright, okay, you just have to listen to me," Micky assured her.

Lyn nodded her head but flinched when the infected shrieked. It was getting closer to the car. Micky didn't understand why it wasn't attacking them right this very instant but he pushed that out of his mind. They needed to get out of the car and on the run before it called some of it's buddies.

Micky unbuckled himself with his right hand and then moved his right. Pain stabbed him immediately and he bit back a sob. It had to be broken, a voice in the back of his mind pointed out, following up with a snide remark about how stupid Micky was.

"Lyn, get out of the car real slow. You still got that gun?" Micky asked.

Lyn looked around and picked it up off the floor, holding it up for Micky to see. Thank god she hadn't accidentally fired that thing during the mess of the crash.

"Good, now get out," Micky instructed. Lyn looked at him with big round eyes, brimming with tears.

"Please Lyn, you gotta be brave," Micky pleaded.

Lyn nodded and then clambered out of the car. She glanced at the infected slowly making it's way down the hill they had drove down. It hadn't spotted her… yet.

"Lyn, you got anything else on you?" Micky asked. Lyn shook her head.

"Here," Micky stated, pulling out a pocket knife he had kept on him for a little bit now. He held it out to her. She stared at it as if it were a foreign object.

"Lyn, you have to kill that infected before it's friends notice," Micky said gently.

Tears streamed down Lyn's cheeks but she took the knife from Micky. She disappeared. Micky tried to pull himself out of his seat but his leg throbbed in pain and his arm was slowly growing numb. He managed to drag himself into the passenger's side seat.

There was a screech and then silence. Micky felt horribly sick, not just from the pain. Even though they weren't human, he still didn't like having to kill infected. And now he had just made a little girl do what even he didn't like. Lyn appeared by the car once more.

"I want to home now, I don't want to be here anymore," Lyn whimpered.

"Yeah, I feel ya babe," Micky agreed, then glanced down at his leg. It didn't hurt as much as his arm but he wasn't going to be doing any marathons anytime soon and right now that's what he might as well have been about to was the distant noises of other infected.

"Oh my god, we're going to die," Lyn gasped as she began to shake.

"Linda, I know this is hard, but literally now is not the time," Micky snapped, "Help me out, just drag me out of the car, and then we have to get going."

Lyn stared at Micky as if he were crazy. But Micky repeated his instructions and so with a defeated, frightened look Lyn grabbed ahold of Micky's good arm and tugged. The drummer fell out of the car and onto his back. A groan escaped him as his left arm throbbed. Lyn helped him to his feet.

"Remember the way home?" Micky wondered.

"Yeah," Lyn confirmed.

"Lead on then," Micky said.

Lyn took ahold of Micky's right arm and wrapped it around her neck. It wasn't much for support but it took a little less pressure off of Micky's leg, which he had determined that he must have strained or something, considering it had been sort of trapped between the side of the seat and the busted door at an awkward angle.

They had walked only about a mile before they ran into trouble, which considering everything was extremely lucky. An infected had spotted them and the two were forced to sprint in order to dodge it. Lyn had to keep pulling Micky along and she was surprised by how strong she was. Eventually they managed to lose said infected by hiding in an abandoned building for about a half hour. Micky had collapsed onto the ground and his face was scrunched up in pain.

"Do you wanna rest?" Lyn questioned. Micky forced himself to his feet.

"No, we have to make it back before nightfall, they're harder to spot and they get more active sometimes," Micky answered.

Lyn nodded her head and they began the half-crawl, half-dash they had been doing before. Micky ground his teeth together and Lyn was starting to feel very light-headed. Both were technically still in shock from the crash and adrenaline was pumping through both of their bloodstreams in two-fold.

"It's not much farther," Lyn said at some point, but this reassurance was cursed.

Almost as soon as Lyn had utter those four words, there was a loud shriek behind them. Lyn turned her head to look back and saw a handful of infected begin to race towards them. Her heart leapt into her throat, trying to suffocate her in that moment, and her whole body went cold.

Latching onto Micky's wrist, Lyn took off as fast as she could, dragging Micky with her, a sudden new strength flowing through her body. Micky tried to protest at first, but he then heard the shrieks and knew he'd need to suck it up or die. They sprinted out onto the road and Lyn knew they were close. Micky was beginning to get heavier and harder to pull behind her.

"You have to keep moving! I'm not strong enough to carry you," Lyn shouted, knowing fully well that if Micky went down, she'd have to leave him and she couldn't do that. She couldn't let him down like she had let her mother down.

Micky's heart pounded in his ears and he found it difficult to breath. His arm hurt so much, his leg throbbed, and all he wanted to do was lay down and take a nap. Lyn yanked him forward, causing the pain of his arm to jolt him back to reality a little more. Lyn felt him pick up his own pace and they forged forward.

The house came into view and Lyn began shouting, screaming as loud as she could. The woman, Ronda, appeared outside along with the smaller man, Davy, if Lyn remembered correctly. Their faces quickly went from looks of relief to looks of horror. The Englishman shouted something into the house and the others appeared.

The tallest one, Mike, came sprinting over and took Micky. He grabbed his injured arm and Micky cried out. Ronda and Davy went past them with Peter and Tara. They were going to take care of the infected, which were only six to seven, not many considering. But if they didn't take care of them soon, others could be attracted by their noise.

Isaac and Heather appeared and Mike lead Micky and Lyn back into the house. Mike took Micky over to the couch and sat him down. Micky leaned his head back against the back of the couch and groaned.

"What happened?" Isaac demanded.

"I'm sorry, it's my fault, I tried to get him to take me to Texas to save my m-mom, I'm sorry, he-he made me realize how stupid I've been and then… an infected came out onto the road and he swerved and we hit a tree," Lyn gushed, the adrenaline draining, leaving her feeling exhausted and wracked with guilt.

Heather wrapped her up into a hug and Isaac made his way over to Micky, kneeling down and taking the arm Micky was cradling.

"This will hurt," Isaac warned and he began to press, to feel the state of the bone. Micky gasped in pain and Mike cringed for his friend, hating to see him in pain. He felt numb in the pit of his stomach.

"It isn't broken," Isaac reported, "At least I don't believe it is. It's only fractured and I think as long as we put it into a makeshift cast, you'll be fine."

"His leg hurts him too, his left," Lyn informed Isaac, her voice sounding very small.

Isaac backed up a little and inspected Micky's left foot. His ankle was sprained. Isaac reported this.

"It's alright though, he'll recover," Isaac assured, the comment mainly directed towards Mike.

"It hurts," Micky moaned.

"I know, I have some pain killers in my bag upstairs, you can have some of those," Isaac commented, getting to his feet.

The others entered the home at that moment. Peter rushed into the living room, a strained expression on his face, hands fidgeting about themselves.

"Is Micky hurt? Is he alright?" he wanted to know.

"He'll be fine," Mike informed him.

"Davy, Peter can you two find a longboard and something to tie Micky's arm to it?" asked Isaac.

"Course," Davy nodded, and then he and Peter disappeared.

"I'll go get your bag," Ronda said and Isaac thanked her before she disappeared upstairs.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," whimpered Lyn.

"It's alright," Isaac said to her. Mike couldn't look at the girl.

Davy and Peter had both been distraught when they had found Micky missing from the house. Mike had been too and as they continued to find no evidence of where Micky had gone, Mike had felt the safety of what little courage he had built around himself begin to crumble.

Although he would never admit it out loud, and hardly enjoyed admitting to himself, he needed his friends for his own survival. They were his support and the only reason he was able to continue every day. Micky, Davy, and Peter needed to be alive and well for Mike to be able to do the same.

"You're such an idiot Lyn," Heather cut in, although she didn't sound angry. The words surprised Isaac and Mike nonetheless and they cut Lyn deep.

"I'm sorry," she whimpered.

"Sorry isn't good enough. But we'll move on. You're lucky Micky didn't die," Heather said matter of factly. Mike looked at her and noticed there was something different about her. It wasn't anything too major but he noticed a strange absence of light in the young girl's eyes.

"It's 'kay, it's just a bit of pain," Micky piped up, forcing a smile.

"Tara and I will give you guys some space, and we'll keep an eye out outside for any other infected," George suddenly announced, feeling that this was a personal moment for the senior group members.

Isaac nodded his head in acknowledgement and, despite Tara's glare of an argument, she and George exited the home. Peter and Davy came back just around the same time Ronda came downstairs with Isaac's bag. Ronda disappeared again to get a bottle of water, after she handed Isaac his bag of course.

"Thank you," Isaac said to Davy, who handed him what he had asked for.

"Will the cast work?" Davy wondered, his brows knitted together. Peter scratched at his neck in worry.

"It should, as long as I'm not wrong, which I could be since I'm not exactly looking at this through an X-Ray machine," the older man shrugged.

"You know, it's not so bad after a while," Micky said, "Better when I'm not running for my life." He chuckled at his own little joke, although no one else thought it funny and it hardly was.

"Sorry Micky, but this will make it hurt again," Isaac apologized and straightened out Micky's arm onto the board. He cringed and let out a hiss of air.

Ronda returned and handed the bottle of water to Peter for him to hold. She knelt down and held the board for Isaac as he securely tied Micky's arm to the board. It was as best of a cast as they were going to get. Isaac turned to his bag and brought out some of the few pain killers he had on him for occasions just like this.

Peter handed Micky the water bottle, who put it next to him so that he could take the pills Isaac pressed into his palm. Micky popped them into his mouth- there were only two of them- and he took a swig of water, gulping down the pain killers.

"You should try to get some sleep now," Isaac advised. Micky nodded but he didn't make any move to get himself more comfortable. There was a quiet sense of tension within the room.

A few hours passed. Ronda convinced Linda to show her, Tara, and Heather around the block, just so they could get the lay of the land and check to make sure there were no more infected around, just in case the ones from earlier had attracted any. George was asleep upstairs and Isaac was taking stock of supplies in the kitchen. Peter sat nearby at the table, head in hands. In the living room, Micky was asleep on the couch with Mike sat right by him on the floor. Davy entered the living and sat down on the chair across from the couch.

"How are you?" Davy asked, spooking Mike with the sudden break in silence. He hadn't noticed Davy come in.

"Fine, thanks," Mike mumbled in response, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

That was a lie of course. In less than a year so much had happened and it suddenly seemed to be catching up to the Texan. He still hadn't fully recovered from Peter's infection scare and then suddenly Mike had been faced with the dilemma of Micky going missing, something that shouldn't have happened.

"I'm not buying it," Davy said seriously, a frown creasing his brow.

To him, Mike looked tense and a bit too pale. It worried the Englishman. Mike folded his hands into his lap, wishing that maybe Davy would drop the subject. Now wasn't the time for a touchy-feely moment and Mike was hardly in the mood to share his feelings.

"Come on, Mike, what's eating you?" Davy pressed.

"Don't you got something to do?" Mike hit back, wincing a little at the snap to his voice. He hadn't meant to snap.

"You're just sitting on your arse too, mate," Davy retorted, determined not to let Mike weasel his way out of this.

Davy had seen how panicked Mike had looked when they had found out Micky was missing. It had almost seemed that the Texan had been close to hysteria. That isn't to say Davy hadn't felt worried too, although something had told Davy that Micky would be found safely and sure enough that's what had happened, for the most part. And Peter had assumed that Micky had been infected. It had been a panicked moment for all of them, but someone had to make sure the others were okay.

Usually that job fell to Micky. He was the one to go around to Davy, Mike, and Peter and cheer them up or make them express how they felt, to get it all out so that nothing was bottled up. So now with Micky temporarily our of commission, Davy felt that it was up to him to take over for a bit.

"Drop it man, will ya," Mike sighed, shooting Davy a half-hearted glare.

"No, I don't particularly think I will," Davy insisted.

Mike pulled his hat off his head, hands clenching it. It felt familiar and comforting. For a moment there was just silence but then Mike said, "I just thought we'd lost him, you know. Dunno what I'd've done without him." The confession felt weird in Mike's mouth, tasting only a little less sour than a lemon.

"Well, Micky's all safe and sound now," Davy pointed out.

Mike glanced to the couch and studied Micky's sleeping face.

"Yeah, I'm just being silly, thinkin' we're cursed or somethin' on the road an' we should get back to the pad instead of stayin' here for the winter," he mumbled after a moment.

"You think we're cursed?" Davy frowned.

"Naw, I didn't use the right word. It ain't cursed, more luck just some awfully bad luck is followin' us round now that we ain't at the pad," Mike corrected himself.

He felt like a school child, stupid and foolish. There was no such thing as curses or even bad luck, things just happened and that was that. But Mike hadn't been able to shake the feeling since Micky had gone missing.

"Mike, if you think staying here for the winter is a bad idea, we don't have to stay. We can go home," Davy said, staring intently at the Texan.

Mike shifted uncomfortably under his friend's gaze. Realistically, the reasonable option was to stay here. There was food and firewood and the group wouldn't have to search for gas or anything on the long journey home. But there was a foreboding feeling squatting in the middle of his gut. It was a bad feeling, a gut feeling that was telling him if they stayed here something was gonna hit them right where it hurt.

"No," Mike spoke after a brief pause, "No, we gotta stay here so Micky can heal an' all. It'd be pretty dumb to go heading back to the pad."

Davy could tell that Mike was finished talking and wouldn't be talking again about his feelings for some time. At least Davy had gotten something out of him.

"Alright, Mike. If you change your mind, you know we'll follow you to the end of the earth," Davy said and he meant it. Mike knew this and nodded.