Abby watched Jenna grow farther, walking a valley of bodies. "She's making a mistake…" she said to herself and lowered her rifle after Ray and Jenna cleared the mile.

"Why didn't you stop her then?" the male defender on her left asked while the two others on her right took glances at the conversation.

"Mind it." Abby peered at him. She didn't know Lee well and couldn't relate to someone snarky and almost a decade older, but she worked daily with him and could only try not to interact. Abby released her rifle and let it rest against her side by its strap. "No one's changing her mind. She's no longer the same person."

Lee shrugged with a light snicker. "It looks to me like she's gone off the deep end. She's been up to no good recently, disrupted our matters, and risked bringing the virus in with her. Now she makes some grand dramatic exit as if she never had."

He had to be joking. "You've no idea what you're talking about. She was desperate to help Chris and finally acted on her emotions. Why don't you imagine being in her situation?"

"I don't have to." Lee looked at her. "I'm not a child like yourself and Jenna. She should leave important matters to sensible adults that live in reality and not in an emotional one. Most of us have lost loved ones in horrible ways to this virus, but unlike Jenna, I wouldn't go into an unexplored city after dark. Blood is on her hands because someone honorable decided to risk their life chasing after her, and she goes right back out. Disgrace to Amy, wouldn't you say?"

Abby took a breath to refrain from snapping. "...I'm going on break," she muttered. She slipped past the other couple of defenders and climbed down the platform, retiring her rifle. She couldn't listen to that. Lee didn't know Jenna the way she did, and he didn't know the details. He was being so insensitive.

Abby walked a few buildings down and sat against a wall, spreading her legs in front of her and resting her hand on one while watching the population. She nearly considered going after Jenna, but that would only be to join her. She certainly wouldn't be able to bring her back.

"Why'd you have to go?" Abby hoped more than anything that Jenna would survive, but a sense of deep trepidation filled her. It was a physical pit in her stomach. She wanted to see her face and hear her voice again already, but she was gone, and for Abby, it felt as if she carried the entire base with her.

Abby would have to find someone else to talk to in the meantime. She knew many defenders, but they weren't personal relationships. They just didn't feel as genuine. Jenna was genuine. Her best and only friend— and that didn't apply solely to this base but to her life in general.

A lot of people's natures were broken by the pandemic. Abby, however, never had far to fall. She'd essentially raised herself from a young teen since her parents abandoned her during early childhood. They couldn't afford to care for their daughter under a poor lifestyle, and Abby refused to be raised by foster parents, so she usually ran away after a while, which she repeated multiple times. She knew how it felt to be without access to food and water and without love or friendship.

She'd latched on to Jenna days after they met, though, and the funny part was that she hadn't wanted to. Abby had walled herself off entirely at that point, but Jenna had been keen on chipping away, being gentle, genuine, and cautious.

None of those fake parents, orphanage workers, or those other kids knew how to talk to people. They didn't know her. There wasn't anyone Abby could trust, and so she never had, but she grew to trust Jenna with her life. She was the first person Abby had ever cried to. On her arm, in her shoulder, releasing everything after having to play strong while Jenna held her dearly for an hour. Abby despised that night, but it had secured a bond neither could break.

She'd followed a random group heading to the base and stumbled upon it while it was being built, taking people in from every town and city as long as they didn't have the virus. Abby didn't have a home and hadn't eaten in days. She'd have stolen something from a mart if most store shelves weren't bare or kept under tight, armed security and military.

She was sitting against a wall alone in the base that day with zero energy and hope but was grateful not to have to watch her back at every moment.

As if it were divine intervention, Jenna noticed her, and she was taken care of and cleaned up before the hundreds of others that flooded in. Abby held back but told Jenna a piece of her story while they ate, and Jenna listened thoroughly. It was more care than those other people had shown Abby in her life.

She grinned while revisiting that day. Abby hoped Jenna's spirit wasn't doused for good, but she couldn't blame her. Jenna had to do what was best for herself, and maybe someone like Lee viewed her departure as more mindless behavior, but Abby knew she cared. Dying on the journey was a risk that Jenna was livid enough to take.

She just hoped with every fiber of her being that Jenna would find asylum and live or return to the base in one piece, but her stomach tightened with a deep, grave feeling that neither would come. That Jenna was gone forever, and Abby didn't like that.

She stood with a soft sigh and looked at her post, knowing she had to return to her shift, but there was no way she could stand in Lee's presence. She'd ask Harrison to station her at another.