Five thought the newfound games the Abel Township citizens were able to play would result in a spreading of peace; everyone would be too distracted to question Dr. Myers's strange behavior and secrecy as she locked herself in the hospital at night, performing tests and doing God knows what else. Five believed that the board games and novels and continuous rounds of Darkness and Demons might afford the citizens some respite from the moaning hordes that passed by in ever-increasing numbers.

However, no such relaxation occurred. If anything, the time to play gave Abel more time to think—more time to worry.

Besides, the past few missions had only given them more cause for confusion. First, Five, Four, and Eight had discovered the mysterious piles of zombies with perfect gunshot wounds to their heads and countless loaded guns scattered around them. It had been a successful trip to bring home supplies, but no one could explain the phenomenon. And they had been chased back by running zombies.

Then… and then, Five had found Lem.

Lem. Runner 38—the New Canton runner who had given her his headset after being bitten. The New Canton runner who had saved her life by leading the zoms away in exchange for saving his. Five had half expected any New Canton runner to be some sort of villain—almost as bad as the undead—but this man simply did not fit the bill. Five had worn Lem's headset on the rest of that run with a horrible feeling in her stomach, as if she were being swallowed from the inside out. Five could have been Lem at any point. One wrong step, one stumble. She had to ask herself… would she have done the same had she been in Lem's position?

Thankfully, Five was too busy to brood on such things. After having met Sam's idol, Chris McShell (or Runner 10, or "Zombie Slayer," named thusly by Sam), on a run that ended up outsmarting the hordes and resulting in a successful supply trade with New Brunswick, Five convinced herself she was too tired to dwell on such things.

Five liked Runner Ten. He was quiet and had the habit of pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose when thinking too hard. Five hadn't really gotten to know Ten very well during her time at Abel—part of her thought he didn't like her very much—but he was simply introverted. The strong, silent, intelligent type who spent his days excused from shower cleaning duty so he could continue his statistics analysis and zombie research.

"Hey, Runner Five," Sam said at dinner the evening after her run with Ten. He plopped down beside her on the bench. "Um… how you doing there after your night run through zombie territory? You had a pretty nasty trip on your mission today. Are you still hurt?"

Five chuckled. "Sam, it's been weeks, and you're still asking me that. I'm telling you, I'm great. I only tripped today because of my own clumsiness."

Sam sighed and began cracking open a tin of pears. "I know you said you were fine, but are you sure you—"

"Runner five's doing fine," an amused Dr. Myers interrupted, sitting down beside Runner Ten on the opposite bench. "Did the check up myself. No cuts, no contusions, no broken bones. That break she took did her good."

"No bite marks," Sam added. "It's pretty fortunate when you consider that long, dark run…"

"Yeah, it's useful data for us. We're building evidence that the walking dead may have poorer night vision than we thought."

"Yeah, although," Sam chuckled nervously. "Not poor enough for us to start risking night operations, right?" Dr. Myers was quiet for a second, and Sam looked up sharply. "Right?"

"I don't think anyone sees any need for that, Sam," she replied calmly.

"Good." He sat back and fidgeted with his hands. "Because… I can't cope with another one of those."

Dr. Myers smirked and Five was saved a moment of embarrassed silence by Ten's quiet voice.

"The doctor's right, though, Sam," Ten said as he speared a pear with his fork. "Five's given me a lot of valuable information from her runs and ours today."

"That was incredible, what you did!" Sam said excitedly, likely thankful for a change of subject and nearly toppling over the canned fruit. "What does that make you at, 383 zombie kills?"

Ten's face burned uncomfortably. "387, if you want to count today, actually."

"387!" Sam echoed. "Unbelievable. With Chris around, you don't even need me to be your radio operator!" Sam stopped suddenly. "I mean—well—don't get any funny ideas, now. You still need me. I'm very importa—"

"You know, in terms of zombie behavior, their pattern of following us doesn't really make sense because my research—"

"Because what?" Sam laughed. "Because you don't get to kill enough of them, y—you big zombie killer!"

"Because my research indicates that zombies can detect when a group of humans are heading for the same area. It's uh—a sort of herd instinct. They swarm together and they can tell when we're swarming too."

"Ooh—is, that, why you left new canton then? Too many people swarming together? Not enough opportunity for the zombie killing action?" A pear plopped to the ground in the wake of Sam's awed enthusiasm.

"Sam, I left new canton because they wouldn't listen to reason. And wouldn't let me conduct my research. That's all. My research is all I've got left."

Sam scratched his head uncomfortably, relenting. "Yeah, I know… sorry, man. Got carried away. The thing is, Five, Runner Ten is… sort of a genius."

Ten was visibly embarrassed. "Not really. What I've done is really very simple. Before the outbreak I was a teacher. Statistics, mostly. I started to do some statistical analysis of zombie movements. Ah—when my wife…" He trailed off, and Five avoided his gaze. "Nothing happened to me that was worse than anyone else. My wife was eaten on our front lawn, and, um, my daughter… she's ten, she'd been on a scout camping trip… couldn't reach them by phone. Still don't know what happened to her. She must still be alive. It's not a worse story than average... statistically."

Five shook her head, giving Sam the don't-you-dare-make-another-zombie-killer-joke look. "Just because we've all gone through things doesn't make it any less terrible. I'm sorry, Ten."

"Yeah…" Sam trailed off, going quiet. "Sorry, Ten."

Ten shrugged. "I have my work now to keep me occupied. We all do."

They continued to eat their canned fruit, and Janine brought a fresh tray of peanut butter sandwiches.

"Thanks, Janine!" Sam said happily. "I had no idea we still had so many peanut butter rations—"

"Have you told Runner Five what's happening on her next mission, Mr. Yao?" That was Janine. No pleasantries. All business.

Sam looked up, his mouth stuffed with sandwich. He swallowed and cleared his throat.

"Well, you know, I thought about it, but then I remembered how you seemed pretty convinced that I didn't explain things properly on that last electronics run with Runner Two—"

"Yes, I hear that the delightful David Robinson will be coming out of hospital soon."

Sam growled. "I was not responsible for that."

"If you argue with my direct order, Mr. Yao, then you are going to confuse your runners, making it more likely that they'll run into hostile territory." She gestured at Five, who raised an eyebrow.

"Janine, seriously, it's fine—" Five began.

"Or another way of putting that, Janine," Sam spat, "is that if you don't let me do my job properly—"

"Runner Five," Janine said shortly, ignoring Sam. "Where is the headset you picked up from that runner from New Canton?"

"It's at the comms," Five replied, nonplussed.

"You will be wearing that on your next mission," Janine continued. "We're hoping that you'll be able to pick up some useful info on your usual run for tech supplies. I'll be in the comms as well, so if you get confused at any time, you can just listen to my voice."

"Or my voice!" Sam whined.

"My voice."

Dr. Myers and Runner Ten took one look at each other, stood up, and left the table. Five watched them, wishing she could escape from the impending storm, but, as she was the topic of conversation, that was certainly not an option.

"Don't try to take over my comms job!" Sam said.

"Well, all of you have taken over my home, Mr. Yao," Janine replied icily. "It is the least I can do. I suppose it was too much to hope that I'd be able to live alone in an old farmhouse with fixed stone walls for long. Wasn't long before the hordes descended."

"Zombies," Sam said darkly.

"No. You. And all these other people seeking shelter."

"Hey!" Sam protested. "We've helped out around here, haven't we? We've grown stuff. Built stuff. Heh— anyway, you're totally lying about that quiet life thing. I know your secret."

Janine crossed her arms. "My secret?"

"I hear things, you know," he continued smugly. "I meet a lot of people in this position. Talk to a lot of people. And some of those runners, when I save their lives, they're really grateful. The female runners, especially." He smirked. "So grateful."

Five rolled her eyes, going back to her own sandwich. Janine's gaze flickered toward her and she raised an eyebrow.

"Grateful enough to… thank you lightly, Mr. Yao?"

Sam stopped and glanced down at Five, who was determinedly ignoring him. He seemed to deflate a little. "Yeah, pretty much exactly that grateful," he admitted.

"And they told you my secret?"

"Yep!" Sam said brightly. "We found your old photos. You had a boyfriend. And you wore a bikini!"

Five groaned, exchanging a look with Janine. "It wasn't me," she clarified. Janine nodded curtly.

"Ah. Yes. Quite the deepest, darkest secret you could possibly imagine. I don't suppose you go on imagining it, Mr. Yao. For your own sake."

"Or what?"

"Or I'll be forced to shoot you in the head. Have a nice evening."

She turned and walked away, and Five stood up as well, collecting her plate.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

"To leave you with your thoughts of Janine in a bikini," Five replied dryly.

"Wha—no, it's not like that!" he protested. "I was just trying to—to get a rise out of her! You know that!"

"Right. And I apparently am a part of the female runners just falling all over you for saving my life. I appreciate that description."

"I—Five!"

"Good night, Sam." Five walked away, not looking back at him. If he was going to start telling tales about how much everyone wanted him, he was going to have to do it alone.