Marcus woke up the second morning feeling good.

The final hours of the previous night had been filled with sweeping and mopping up the basement. It wasn't exactly the great cleaning crusade that Maya had envisioned, mainly because Marcus was really reaching his limits of exhaustion, and Pastor Will was, well, getting old and had a bum leg. On top of that, they had to set up the other bunk beds. They realized that there was no way it'd fit in anywhere but the main room so, for now, they put it there. Jacob and Lily opted to sleep there, presumably to relive long lost days when they were very young. Something made Marcus want to sleep indoors that night, he wasn't sure what, but he acted on it and did so.

It turned out that Alan snored and Sam muttered in her sleep, but except for a few instances of waking up, Marcus slept soundly. As he rolled out of bed, he found himself thinking about a short conversation he and Maya had had last night.

"How you doing?" she'd asked.

"Exhausted," he had said.

"Yeah, but you're satisfied."

"...how can you tell?"

"I know that look. That old saying about a hard day's labor is it's own reward? It isn't bullshit, you know. You can now look at that basement and say, 'I did that'. People are infinitely more satisfied when they can see a direct, immediate result of their work. Just you watch. Morale is going to shoot up around here."

"Now that we've all got you to whip us into shape?" he'd teased.

Maya had rolled her eyes. "Hey, it could be Alan in charge. I'm not so bad at my job, am I?"

"No, not at all."

Except for some soreness, Marcus felt good and ready to attack the day head on. His first order of business was to go to the bathroom and use some mouthwash, which he did quickly. Next, he headed into the kitchen. By the position of the sun, he'd guess that it was around seven in the morning. Maya and Sam were already awake, and Will was just coming in.

"How's Ed?" Marcus asked.

"Well, his fever broke in the night. He seems better but...he's been getting a little warmer again. I think the medication just needs a little bit more time to work."

"I just hope we find that doctor soon," Marcus replied after a moment's thought. "But thanks for watching him."

"You're quite welcome. Now..." Will yawned. "I need some sleep."

Marcus wished him a good sleep and scavenged some breakfast. He found a can of corned beef hash and a bottle of water.

"God, I'd kill for some crispy bacon and milk," he said as he started eating.

"I hear you on that one," Maya said.

"Marcus! You up!?" Lily called from the main room.

"Yeah!" Marcus replied, leaving the kitchen and stepping into the next room. He saw that Jacob was still sleeping, or trying to, and Lily was at her radio station. "What is it?"

"Great news! I've tracked down Doc," she said.

Marcus felt his pulse begin to rise as relief flooded through him. "Oh, thank god. Where is he?"

"Well, that's the problem. He's out at the Wilkerson's Farm. He says he's helping one of their guys, took a fall, head trauma or something. He says he needs to finish the job out there, but that we need to come get him," Lily replied.

"Great. These guys are assholes, right?" Marcus asked.

"Well, I'm not saying they ever actually killed anyone or anything but...well, I wouldn't go alone, if I were you," she replied.

Marcus frowned, considering his options. Ed and Jacob were obviously out, and Pastor Will wouldn't be a good guy to back him up, because of his age, bum leg and personality. Maybe Sam... "I'll do it," Maya said, joining them.

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Lily replied hesitantly.

"Why?" Maya asked immediately, the question almost like a challenge.

Lily bit her lip nervously. "The Wilkersons aren't what you'd call...forward thinking."

Maya snorted. "Challenge accepted. Let's go Marcus."

"Take your guns," Lily said after a moment.

"Obviously," Marcus replied.

"I...don't mean because of the zombies."

"I see. We'll be careful."

Marcus crossed the room to the makeshift armory. He checked his M9 pistol and found that he still had a full magazine loaded up. Feeling paranoid, he grabbed a second magazine and pocketed it. He wanted something more, but it wasn't like there was much to spare. He supposed he'd have to rely on the gun and his crowbar. He took a moment to check his backpack, which he was still hauling around with him. Part of him didn't want to go anywhere without it, because in the back of his mind, he knew he might come across something useful.

Not to mention the fact that it was just a handy thing to have. He opened it up and looked inside. All there was was a bottle of water. Nothing else. He'd either used up or turned over all of his other supplies. He considered it a moment, then decided to grab a few other things. He found a small, hard, plastic case with a plus symbol on the front, a medical kit, and popped it open. There were basics in there: bandages, a bottle of painkillers, Neosporin, a roll of gauze, a little bottle of cough medicine, some tongue depressors. He snapped it closed and stuffed it into his pack, then sorted through an assortment of melee weapons.

He finally settled on a black tire iron that looked unused. He slipped it into his pack, in case he ever lost his crowbar or it was finally too bent out of shape. There really wasn't much else he saw besides more melee weapons, a few more guns, magazines and medical supplies. Nothing that could make much noise or serve as a distraction. He moved back to the kitchen, grabbed another two bottles of water and then a box of high-protein breakfast bars.

"Cleaning the place out?" Maya asked, following him.

"No. If I'm going to be 'in the field', running my ass off all over this town, looking for supplies and people, I should be better equipped," Marcus replied.

"Good idea," Maya replied. "...guess I should've thought of that. I'm going to go find a backpack."

"Hey, you can't think of everything. That's what's great about having other people around," Marcus replied.

"I guess so," Maya murmured.

While she stocked up, Marcus rejoined Lily. "So...what's the deal with this doctor? Should I be worried about him, too?" he asked.

"Doc Hanson? No way. The only thing you have to worry about is maybe his grumpiness. He's an old country doctor, still makes house calls. Everyone wants him to stay with them, but he refuses to 'bed down in one place too long', as he puts it. Says it would 'inhibit his abilities to properly attend to his patients'. So he's on the move a lot. He's a great doctor, knows his stuff, delivered me and my brother into the world. Just a bit of a grump is all."

"Excellent. That's what I like to hear," Marcus replied.

"You ready?" Maya asked, joining them.

"Yep. Let's go."

Lily gave the directions. The Wilkerson's were holed up in their farm southeast of town, at the end of a long, winding dirt road. He and Maya took the car he'd taken from the vet. It's tank was still almost full and it was in good shape. Maya drove. Marcus sat in the passenger's seat and stared out the window while they drove out of Spencer's Mill.

"This is nuts," he murmured quietly.

"What is?" Maya asked.

"Me. It's the freaking zombie apocalypse and...I woke up feeling good...twice now. Both mornings, I woke up feeling refreshed, looking forward to the day. I mean, not to facing the zombies, really, but, everything else..."

"Some people adapt to new situations better than others," Maya replied. "And think about it. All the shit you had to worry about before, how to dress, how you smell, paying bills, making nice with the boss or coworkers you hate...none of it matters anymore. Everything now is about survival. Staying alive. And that...clears up a lot. It hearkens back to caveman days. Back then, staying alive was a zero sum game. You spent all of your energy chasing down your food or finding shelter, there was no time to wonder what it all means, no time to get bored or get down on yourself. We're in kind of a similar situation. You've been working hard all day to stay alive, to better the church or going to rescue Jacob or get meds. You get it?"

"Yeah, I mean I guess so. I just kind of feel guilty. All these people are dead, and some of them are zombies. All this misery, families torn apart...ugh, speaking of families. What are we going to do about Lily's dad?"

"We should tell her," Maya replied. "I'd want to know. I just...I'm not so good at delivering bad news. I've had to do it before and it never got any easier, it just got worse. And as for all those dead people, well...they're dead. They don't care if you feel great or like crap. They don't feel anything anymore. Neither do the zombies, I imagine. So feel good if you can."

"Yeah, that makes enough sense."

They continued driving down the road, skirting the random zombie that was stumbling around. Before long, the farmhouse came into view. They parked outside of a barn, next to a bright yellow taxi, a cop car and a pickup truck. Marcus looked up across the huge front yard, which was in very desperate need of trimming and clean-up, to the front porch of a farmhouse, also in desperate need of clean-up and repair.

Two men were on the front porch. One of them held a rifle.

"Keep it nice and slow," Maya murmured.

They made their way up the barely visible path among all the overgrown grass, tree trunks and random crap that made up the Wilkerson's yard. The man holding the rifle kept it on them the entire time, until they were at the base of the weathered, old porch.

"Who fuckin' goes there?" he asked, and Marcus could tell immediately that he'd been drinking.

"I'm Maya, this is Marcus," Maya replied. "We heard on the radio that Doc Hanson is with you and were hoping to give him a ride back to our enclave."

"Doc's busy right now!" the man with the rifle snapped. "Doc says Eli ain't too good to move, so we ain't fucking moving' him."

"Now, Mickey," the other man, who had been leaning against the house, watching them both with a calm, level gaze, said. "That's no way to treat potential customers." He pushed himself up off the house. "My name is Job Wilkerson, this is my older brother Mickey. Our younger brother, Eli, took a bad fall last night and the Doc is looking after him right now."

Marcus sized them both up. Mickey, the drunk, was the bigger of the two, of all three, based on what he remembered about Eli. He and his brother both wore nearly identical flannel, long-sleeve shirts and work jeans with lots of pockets. But Mickey had a lot more hair, poking out from beneath the black beanie he wore and on his face. Job was slighter, but still built, and more clean-cut. He seemed calmer, more put together, and also slimier. There was something dangerous and shifty about him, like a used car salesman looking for easy pickings.

"And besides, if you hadn't noticed, you drew in a whole mess of the things! They're coming up here right goddamn now!" Mickey snapped.

Marcus and Maya both turned around. Sure enough, about a dozen, if not two dozen, zombies were coming out of the woods, stumbling towards the farmhouse.

"Shit," Marcus muttered.

"Well then, we can put our new friends to work," Job said easily. "I'm sure they won't mind helping us hold down the fort, one neighbor to another."

"We'll help," Maya replied.

"Fine!" Mickey snapped. "Figure your shit out, because I can just as gladly nail you to one of these trees and use you as bait!"

"We'll help!" Maya snarled at him.

Mickey looked at her for a moment, then drained the rest of whatever he was drinking from the bottle in his pocket, then tossed it aside. "I'm going upstairs to check on Eli. You hold their fucking hands, just don't let any of them get upstairs!" he snarled, then turned and stomped off into the house, slamming the door shut behind him.

"I'm sorry about my brother," Job said, walking over to the door and opening it back up, inviting them in. "But he has a point. You don't want to let any of them inside, and especially not upstairs. Are we clear on that?"

"Yeah," Marcus replied, heading into the farmhouse, Maya behind him.

Once they were in, Job shut the door. There were a good seven or eight broken out windows covered up by planks of wood.

"Now, I trust that you've got guns?" Job asked.

Both Marcus and Maya pulled out their pistols. Job nodded. "Good. Those both look like they take nine millimeter bullets. There's several spare magazines over there in the gun locker. Take one each," he said.

Marcus and Maya moved across the room to a large, open safe that served as the Wilkerson's gun locker. It, and the metal shelf and table next to it, were full of all manner of weapons. Pistols, shotguns, rifles, a few submachine guns, and tons of ammo.

"Jesus," Maya whispered. "Where the fuck did you get all of this?"

Job smiled and shrugged. "You'd be surprised what you can find just lying around."

"Uh-huh," she murmured, taking a magazine. Marcus took one as well. The moans of the undead began to waft up to them as the zombies reached the perimeter of the front yard and began making their way up it.

"Zeds aren't smart, but they don't quit. This place is secure, but if you give them enough time, they'll make a hole if they can't find one. Best idea is to head-shot them from the windows. If you're good shots, we'll have this cleared up in no time," Job said.

Marcus and Maya each took a window along the front of the room. Upstairs, they could hear Mickey pacing and swearing occasionally. Job grabbed a hunting rifle with a big scope and joined them at the windows. Marcus now counted a good twenty of them hurrying up the yard, not quite running, but definitely not walking. Job got the whole thing started off by firing the first shot. A spray of blood flew from the head of the nearest one, a woman wearing a classic diner waitress outfit, and the zombie collapsed.

He shifted his aim, fired again. Marcus and Maya had to wait a little bit longer, as the pistols didn't have quite the range, and they couldn't afford to waste any bullets. By the time Job needed to reload his rifle, the swarm had reached pistol distance. Marcus took careful aim and fired. The first shot went wild, missing its mark by about a foot. He licked his lips, focused, took a deep breath and then fired again. This time the zombie's right eye disappeared in a plume of dark gore. It dropped and Marcus let out a small laugh. He shifted his aim, zeroed his sights on the slack, pale face of what looked to be a middle-aged former farmer. He fired and a dark hole appeared in the thing's forehead. It dropped. Feeling more comfortable, Marcus set to work.

He, Maya, Job and, eventually, Mickey took care of the small army of undead stumbling, walking and crawling their way up the front yard. Marcus worked through both of his spare magazines, downing close to fifteen zombies. Beyond the first twenty or so that showed up, nearly another twenty were drawn by the sounds. As Marcus was reloading the final magazine, he noticed that there were no more moans or groans.

"Looks like that's it," Job said.

Marcus began to agree, then hesitated as he heard something: a very heavy set of footsteps coming towards them. He frowned, trying to see where it was coming from.

"What is that?" Maya muttered.

"I don't..." Job trailed off.

A heavy thud abruptly sounded, coming from the front porch. Something huge and immense was coming towards them, moving past the left-most windows.

"Oh, shit! It's another Big Un!" Mickey shouted from upstairs.

"Big Un?" Maya asked, stepping back with Marcus from the windows.

"One of the Miller boys," Job replied. "They got big and fat. I mean, like, really big and fat."

Marcus caught a glimpse of it through the boards. It seemed too big, too tall. Not just a really big, fat country man, but like some kind of monstrosity. It continued moving past the windows. Job took a few steps back, then turned and ran across the room. An immense roar that sounded like nothing a human throat could produce was loosed, almost seeming to shake the foundation of the farm. Then, a huge crack appeared in the front door, and that did shake the building.

"Uh, Job?" Marcus asked.

"Hold on, hold on," Job called back.

The door didn't stand up to much more punishment. Two more massive smacks later, and it flew apart. A monster, an easily eight or nine foot tall beast, ducked into the room. Maya and Marcus both raised their pistols. The thing must have weighed seven or eight hundred pounds, maybe more. It was immensely fat, wearing the remains of blue overalls. It let out a roar and began making for them. Right as Marcus prepared to open fire, Job abruptly reappeared. He was holding a long, powerful looking shotgun.

He pointed the broad barrel right into the thing's face and squeezed the trigger. The immense zombie's head disappeared in a flash of fire and a plume of dark gore that splattered all over the ceiling. The body stumbled backwards a few steps, then crashed to the floor.

"Goddamnit, gonna take ages to get this thing out of here and replace the door," Job muttered. He turned back to them. "You did good...let's go check on my brother."

Casually, he turned and headed across the ruined room, making his way up the stairs. Marcus and Maya slowly approached the massive corpse.

"Something's wrong with this," Maya murmured.

"Yeah, definitely. No one gets to be that big. I mean, he's like eight feet tall!"

"It's gotta be some kind of...mutation, or something," Maya replied.

"You coming!?" Job called down to them.

Marcus sighed. "Come on, let's get the doc and get the hell out of here."

They made their way upstairs and found all three Wilkerson brothers and another man, Doc Hanson, Marcus figured, in one of the bedrooms. Eli was laid out on one of the beds, Doc looking over him. Mickey paced anxiously around while Job stood next to the doctor, his arms folded tightly across his chest.

"Well Doc...give us some good news," Job said.

"I...I'm sorry," Doc Hanson said after a long moment. "He's passed on. He succumbed to his head trauma."

"Wha...what?" Job asked, apparently shocked out of his self-possession. "What?" he repeated.

"Aw...shit! Shit!" Mickey screamed, stumbling across the room. He kicked an old chair over. "Goddamnit it all to hell!"

"I'm sorry, boys. I did all I could do. But he went out peacefully..." Hanson hesitated. "We don't have long before he turns, I'm afraid. Minutes, maybe...you know what needs to be done."

Mickey stumbled back over, got in the doctor's face. "No way!" he declared. "No way, no how! We're buryin' Eli proper! Next to pa and uncle Jeremy out back!"

Marcus thought the doctor would be cowed by the younger man's drunken fury, but Hanson was just as stubborn, if not more so. "Your brother's dead, son. He isn't coming back. But you bury the body and it'll just claw its way out."

"Doc..." Job whispered. "You can't ask me to do this...I-I promised ma I'd take care of him..."

"I'll do it," Maya said. Everyone in the room looked at her.

"Fine," Job said, he cleared his throat. "Fine. Come on, let's go downstairs."

Everyone but Maya and Marcus cleared out of the room. They walked over to Eli's body. There was a nasty wound on his right temple. He was very pale.

"God," Marcus whispered. "Jacob's going to be devastated."

Maya lowered her pistol and pointed it at Eli's skull. "Let's hope it was just a fling," she said, then squeezed the trigger.

Without another word, she turned and marched out of the room. Marcus lingered a little more, feeling numb, dislocated, like he should say something. Finally, because it was the only thing that seemed appropriate, he whispered, "I'm sorry," and left.

"Hey, Maya!" Job called from the farmhouse.

Marcus hesitated. Doc was already in the back seat and Marcus was heading towards the passenger's side door.

"What?" Maya asked.

Job was approaching them. He seemed to have regained control of himself, his emotions. He had that same smooth, almost empty smile that made him seem somehow dangerous. "You know, me and my brother and a few of our...friends, do trading all over this valley. You ever need some bullets or food or gasoline...let me know. And, well, if you personally ever need anything..." He let his gaze slide up and down her body. "I think we could work out some kind of agreement."

"Go fuck yourself," Maya snapped, then got into the car and slammed the door.

"Think about it!" Job called as the engine roared to life and Maya peeled out.