For the holidays.

Special

Magazine in. Bolt up. On shoulder. Magazine out. Down shoulder.

She ran her fingers down the pristinely aged rifle's contour. She inspected the chamber, then settled the gun to the side of the rattling Humvee. The dust collecting around the vehicle was head height, blocking her view of the abandoned streets. The only thing in her sight was the raging sun of midday, and the curvature of the undermaintained trail on which she rode.

"You okay back there?" Francis' grumbling voice came from the driver seat.

"Yes," Zoey replied reluctantly.

"It's not too late. We can still head back," he said.

"The sooner we get to them the better. I can't risk their safety be affected by my own indecisiveness."

"I'm surprised you volunteered for this mission, no offence." Offence taken. "You haven't gone anywhere in a while. I thought you'd have settled into the commander life."

"Others do it better, Francis. We have people with proper military and disaster training. I can only pretend to know what I'm doing for so long."

"So why are you going back on the field, instead of farming or something?"

Zoey looked down. It was a question she asked herself plenty, while she was sitting in her cushy office reading daily reports and military intelligence. It never occurred to her that after months of high-octane survival activities pushing her adrenaline to its absolute limit, she would miss that dangerous life. Yet here she was, an AK-47 in her hands and her boots metaphorically on the ground.

"I don't know."

A pause.

"Crazy how there're still people out here, huh?" Francis was better at small talk. "It's been a year. Figured everyone would either hole up or not live long enough by now."

"It's harder to believe there're still people out there using fax machines."

She sighed. There were premonitions when she put that gadget into her office that something like this would come up, but she never thought it was going to be quite like this. She received a message for help twenty-five miles away from the base. The distress call was too recent to ignore, and a standing order was placed. She and Francis were to recover the three stranded survivors, and left the colony to run autonomously. It had been enough months. They had food and shelter. She had other worries on her mind, however.

"How's Cindy?" Francis' words drew her attention. "Last I heard she was not very happy with this decision of yours."

"She cried the entire night." Zoey's voice became heavy. "This was too sudden for her, it seems."

"It obviously is. She's been stuck to you like glue for the last four months. Who's she going to socialise with when we're gone?"

"This shouldn't take more than a day. Cindy can handle herself."

"She would've liked to come with us."

"There're only so many seats on this car, Francis. Besides…" She trailed.

"You don't want her in danger?" Francis had a hearty chuckle. "It's not exactly a secret that you're overprotective."

"Nothing I can do about that," she admitted.

Francis broke off from the conversation to put the vehicle to a stop. They were only half a mile from their destination, in a brown, dusty town at the edge of the Keys. Wrecked cars and looted houses were the most common sight as one would expect, as the general state of the tourist lane had broken down due to disrepair. Cursory examination revealed no infected so far, but it was usually too late to avoid them after you've seen them. This last stretch was to be taken on foot.

Zoey handed him the AK as they left their transportation. Upon receiving it, Francis looked worriedly at her bad arm. It was not absolutely lost, but they didn't have the sort of resources that would be able to outfit it with any sort of replacement. She was left with nothing but the Magnum on her belt always, and that was not a reassuring sight.

"I'll be ok, Francis."

She patted his back, in an attempt to move the mission forward. She understood his concerns perfectly, but it was already too late to rethink her own arrogance. He nodded, with all the confidence he could muster, and then turned around.

The message Zoey received stated that there was a safe house in a nearby local grocery store. A group of three had been hiding there for the last few months, slowly consuming the available rations, unable to leave due to the lack of ammunitions. They had been sending faxes sparingly from the bedroom of the previous owner and finally got a reply two days prior. There was no confirmation to these words, naturally, but the prospect of more colonists both excited and frightened her.

"Over there."

Francis pointed at a few infected at the end of the block. They were relatively harmless, but the possibility of a horde out of sight was always high. They didn't want to engage in a firefight unless they had no other choice. They weren't familiar with this end of the Long Key, but a primitive map on hand went a long way. Further travel confirmed what they had previously suspected. The epic battle at Fort Jefferson had cleared up most of the danger on this small island stretch. One had to be this far away to have missed all civilian rescue effort organised since the transfer of power within the base.

A store three blocks down was their target. As they proceeded past the old driveways, it was hard to not notice a distinct lack of opposition. An entire horde was not above expectations, considering this was a relatively populated area while also being at the edge of the Fort Jefferson's reach. The area should have had most, if not all the remaining infected on the island stretch, and there were very few on sight.

"Francis," Zoey whispered.

"Yeah?"

"It's quiet."

"Isn't that good?"

"Too quiet."

"All right." Francis turned to her, having finished checking the immediate corner. "What do you want to do?"

"Keep your eyes open." Zoey's index finger hovered dangerously close to the trigger guard. "I have a feeling this will be a lot more than just a rescue."

"A trap?" He asked.

"Doesn't make sense, but nothing's impossible."

Francis nodded. Nothing he could see or hear would suggest anything out of place, but experience taught him well. The rest of the way went peacefully, yet he had noticed the eerie atmosphere of the place. One of the major differences between this being a simple abandoned neighbourhood and those he was used to in Atlanta was the lack of corpses. The scent of decay was certainly present, but not overwhelming. He had no idea how long it took a body to turn to a skeleton, but he knew it was not this fast. Everything was, in essence, too clean.

They stood in front of the aforementioned grocery store, weapon primed and ready. Upon making sure that there was nothing to jump out at them, Francis stepped forward. For a storefront, the glass window was small. Not much could be seen except empty shelves and scattered items on the ground. The door was locked, as the message told them. There were supposed to be three people inside, hiding in a backroom of sort, but that story looked less believable by the minute.

Francis knocked on the door.

No answer.

"I have a bad feeling about this," remarked Francis.

"It's more than a feeling." Zoey stood straight, her body stiff. "Don't make any sudden movements, don't look around either."

"What is it?" Francis firmly followed those instructions.

"I think we're being watched." Zoey approached the door and pretended to look inside more, all the while talking to the biker under her breath. "This shop isn't big enough to have a backroom for three. Someone cleared the path before we get here."

"Where are they then?"

"If I had to guess, probably on top of another building."

Zoey wiped some of the dust off the window with the back of her hand. She wanted to make sure, and that she did. Small, local grocery store like this don't have living spaces within, and everything was visible from the outside. Her gaze peered left and right, but there was no obvious indication. There was a chance she was merely paranoid, and the people they came for simply died. To her, however, it didn't hurt to be careful.

"What now?" Francis asked, agitated from having stayed still for too long.

"Let's get to the back of the house, make it look natural."

Easier said than done, as stress was getting to them. Francis stood up first, and Zoey followed him to the back. Their eyes were on the glass still, pretending to inspect the store's insides. Drifting to the back of the alleyway, they were out of sight from most angles.

"So, are we bailing?" Francis asked.

"Let's circle back, stick to cover."

They snuck back around the way they came, making a point to hide in the bushes to avoid detection. Movement, slow and steady, echoed across the empty streets. Zoey counted at least five people, and heard the loading of magazines. The possibility of a firefight was heightening, and far from what she prepared for. This one-handed pistol wielding she had trained wasn't meant to shoot at targets fifty yards away who could shoot back. Not only did they seem hopelessly outnumbered, her crippling condition didn't help their case.

"Shit." Francis stopped and pointed at the unknown figures by the side of their vehicle.

Two men in shorts and wife beaters, local, armed with civilian-grade rifles patrolled the perimeter. They did not wear any sort of uniform with which to be identified, and would be nothing but trouble. They didn't seem friendly, for this looked to be a premediated trap, but it was unclear how lethal they were willing to go. She would shoot if she had to, but such a situation was to be avoided at all costs.

Before she could form a plan of action, the two men moved to inspect the vehicle. Expectedly, they could not open the door of the military vehicle. Unexpectedly, they seemed to have a handle on the trunk. A momentary confusion took over Zoey, knowing she had locked it before leaving, yet it was being lifted with no resistance. She was even more taken aback as one of the man's expression began to contort, while the other hastily reached for the bolt of his rifle.

"Witch!"

One of them screamed, and aimed his rifle at the content of the trunk. Before he could fire a shot, a bullet lodged itself into his back, and sent him crumbling to the ground, withering in pain. His mate turned around in distress, only to be met with the barrel of Francis' AK, knocking him out instantly.

The downed man screamed for help, before he was met with the same fate. His cry triggered an instant reaction, drawing attention from both the sparse infected nearby and the group to which these people belonged.

Francis ran to the driver seat, while Zoey sprinted to the trunk, and saw the ever-familiar platinum haired figure cowering inside the previously enclosed space.

"Cindy!" She hastily holstered her pistol, and grabbed the quivering face. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come with you." The witch was shaking with fear, and only managed to utter broken sentences. "I hid in the trunk."

Zoey pulled her outside, and into the back of the vehicle. She slammed the door shut as the biker did.

"Francis, drive."

She sighed when the car came into motion. Cindy sat next to her, head down.

"Sorry." It was a murmuring tone.

Zoey didn't reply, and drew her companion in for an embrace. Her mind was a mess. She was angry at Cindy for disobeying direct order, and for inadvertently putting everyone in danger. Even then, this familiar presence was too pleasantly distracting. She could feel the witch's arms wrapping around her, as they both sunk into the seats.

"Hey." Francis' words jolted her out of the trance. "We have a problem."

Over the corner and up ahead, they spotted a blockade of cars by the bridge. Armed men were positioned at every corner, waiting for them. Zoey cursed under her breath. This bridge was the only path to their western stretch of the island. Before she could decide, the vehicle came under heavy fire, and Francis was forced to turn them around. The windows of this military Humvee were supposedly bullet-proof, but its state of disrepair and overuse didn't warrant enough confidence.

"Zoey? Are we going to be ok?"

Cindy looked at her with worrying eyes. The sentiment was mutual. As far as she was concerned, it was at least a positive that the opposition, militia or otherwise, had absolutely no reservations about killing. This was a declaration of war. Thinking back, it wasn't clear as to whether it was her or Francis who fired that shot at the man's leg, but at this point it hardly mattered.

"Francis," she called, "can you lose them?"

"Don't think so." Sounds of car engines giving chase came from all sides. "This thing is way too big to go fast."

Zoey knew he was right. This armoured vehicle was perfect against the fleshy infected, but against civilian sedans they were sitting ducks. This thing had no weapons of which to speak, and an attempt to roll down the window and retaliate would mean nothing short of instant death. The fact that the only one who could operate a long-range rifle was driving the car only compounded the direness of the situation. The moment this became an actual fight would be the moment they lose.

"Back to the bridge, Francis," she asserted.

"That doesn't sound smart."

"No time for smart."

Zoey took a deep breath, and felt the adrenaline coursing through her. Momentarily, she second-guessed the decision. It was insane, and would throw away the only cover they had. There was no other choice, she told herself. If things went as they did it wouldn't be long before they were cornered and swiftly executed. This plan, as low-percentage as was, existed as the only one that even had a chance.

"Zoey?" It was time for Francis to have second thoughts, as their comparatively sluggish vehicle headed for the firing squad.

"Jump on my signal."

Francis took a rifle and smashed it onto the gas pedal.

Realising that the incoming armoured car wasn't going to stop, the militia guarding the bridge end began to disperse in fear of a violent crash. In the commotion, the three passengers slipped out and rolled down near the cliff side. Presently, as the chaos died down, they found themselves temporary out of sight.

"Shit," Francis exclaimed, holding his left leg in pain. It caught a stray bullet on their way out, and was not cooperating.

"Help him, Cindy."

The witch ran and took his arm across her shoulder to help him get up. Despite Cindy's strength, the height difference made it considerably more difficult for her to help Francis move than she did Zoey many times before.

"Fuck," he grunted in pain, right hand still clutching a shotgun.

A bullet passed by their vicinity, as the militia noticed their escape. The chase was on, and they were largely incapacitated. Zoey turned to fire a few warning shots, but she knew stalling tactics were not going to last long. The men yelled curses and obscenities at every turn as they raced to her position. Looking around, she found a way.

"Ocean," she said.

"Really?" Francis didn't like the looks of the rocks as he approached the cliff's edge. "That's a lot more than a few broken bones waiting to happen."

"Feet first, Francis, you can do it."

Zoey fired a few more pot shots, before abandon her pistol altogether. She planned to slide rather than fall, but with only one arm to work with she may not have a choice. She saw Cindy reaching for her, offering help on the climb down.

"I can handle this." Zoey affirmed. The lie was accompanied with such confidence that she believed it too. "Help Francis."

Without waiting for an agreement, she began her descent. No time for protest, the other two did as well. Francis did little hops down the cracks, mostly hanging on with his hands. Cindy dropped without much problems, being abnormally resilient and having full working limbs, unlike the other two. Presently, their pursuers were just about at the edge as well. It was not long before bullets started to fly down as well, even with the rocks blocking most of the shots.

"We don't have enough time to climb," Francis said, panting under stress. His leg needed medical attention badly, and the bleeding didn't help

Zoey looked down. It was true that they didn't have much time. All her mental strength went into assessing the height of the drop from here to the ocean bed. Thirty feet was her guess, and that would have to be it.

"Get him down, Cindy," Zoey pleaded.

Francis didn't know what that mean, until he felt himself being lifted by the shoulder, and thrown feet first into the water. Despite the heavy landing, he was able to struggle to the surface. Zoey sighed in relief, and waited for Cindy to come get her. A sudden loss of gravity ceased her attention before that could happen. A bullet wedged itself onto a platform her only arm was holding, and the feeling of weightlessness came with extreme fear, as she began to tilt backward without any means of orienting herself. In this moment, she could see the boulders at the bottom of the cliff with her peripheral vision. She understood that if she were to land on one of them with her back, her spine would mostly likely break and she would die on the spot. Wild flailing of the arm did nothing to help, as she fell.

The only thing she saw was Cindy.

The witch was dashing at her at breakneck speed, straight down the hill like a tumbling tire. Those bare feet propelled her far enough to grab Zoey out of the air, then clumsily smash into the side of the shore boulder, and rolled painfully beneath the water.

The impact hit Zoey as well, but much less. Once she fully grasped the extent of what happened, her arms went to pull Cindy up. The witch was no doubt in great pain, having absorbed the falling impact of two on an uneven surface, but was conscious still. Francis swam to them, and pulled both out of sight of the pursuers.

"Cindy."

Zoey could feel the tears swelling in her eyes, seeing the large bruise on the witch's back. She had done many things she regretted in the past, and this was definitely one. Francis grabbed her by the arm, calming her down.

"We need to get to the other side," he said, wrapping Cindy's arms around his shoulders.

Zoey nodded, and the two swam as fast as they could beneath the hundred twenty feet suspension bridge. She looked to Cindy, and detested being unable to help. The remains of her strength were dedicated to get to shore as fast as possible. There was a beach nearby, where a patrol would no doubt spot them. A car would then carry them off back to the base for immediate medical attention.

It wasn't until witnessing Cindy laid down onto the stretcher that she accepted the fact that they were safe. Francis was huddled onto the passenger seat, as she entered the back of the improv ambulance with the medic. She held Cindy's hand as they were driven back to their familiar abode. Her injuries were thankfully slight, which gave the paramedics full attention to help her teammates.

Zoey stared at the moonlight creeping through the window. It had been seven hours since her return, yet a part of her was still shaking. Her mind blank, she was unable to think. She hadn't even showered since getting back, instead sitting on the side of her bed wearing the same muddy, damp jeans and jacket. She received words an hour ago, that Francis will recover, though he won't be walking for a while. Through her window, she saw a soldier passing by, then heard a knock on her door.

"What is it?"

"The operations are done, Captain."

"Thank you, Lieutenant."

She could almost hear him bowing, before leaving her room. Few people came to this part of the base, for it was private and mostly assigned to higher ranking officers, of which there were few. Despite that, she never did feel how big and lonely it was until she was alone. The walk to the clinic was a perplexing one. She wanted to be there faster to see Cindy, but her guilt weighed down every step. She arrived eventually, with most of the medics having just left.

"She's in the back room," said the tired receptionist. Zoey didn't reply, but nodded in appreciation.

As she locked the door behind her, Cindy weakly raised an arm and reached out. She grabbed at in instant. The long, sharp, and deadly claws at the end of the witch's fingers had long been filtered out of her mind, and to her, Cindy at this moment was just a girl she needed to protect. These wounds will eventually mend, but she knew she was responsible.

"It hurts, Zoey."

"I know. You'll be all right soon." She didn't want to know what sort of pain Cindy must have gone through receiving a spinal fracture operation, knowing that anaesthesia had no effect on the witch.

"I'm sorry," Cindy said, her voice weak.

"No, Cindy. This mission was all my idea; it's all my fault. You saved my life."

"I'm sorry that I followed you," Cindy apologised still.

It was at this moment that the girl broke down in tears. Despite all previous bad experiences, her hopefulness got the better of her. Everything thus far told her that more strangers would never be a good idea, but she kept crashing her head against it. She could have easily died today if it hadn't been for her teammates, and at the end it was them who suffered. She made a promise to keep them safe, yet at every turn her weakness became more apparent.

"I'll never leave again." She had said those words before, but never had she felt so guilty. "I'll be here, forever." She extended her arm and wrapped them around Cindy. "I love you."

The witch found the strength to smile.