An uphill struggle, Scott had said. He certainly hadn't been wrong - if anything it had been an understatement. But Alan was trying; dedicating more effort to getting better than he had ever awarded anything save for his initial IR training. If it was difficult to watch, then it had to be so much worse to actually be the one going through such a painful struggle; Scott hated that he could relate but hated even more that he knew firsthand that there was nothing he could do to help.
Not that he didn't try.
It reached a point where Alan finally became irritated with his hovering and informed him that,
"Nothing you say is going to make me feel good about myself right now, okay? Stop trying to convince me that I'm some great person because it won't work and it's taking all of my effort to just be a functional human so that's the part I need your help with."
Which stung to hear but Scott got it.
He tried to dial down his smother-hen tendencies and while he was probably still annoying the kid, Alan didn't snap at him again. He had a newfound respect for Virgil and John and how they had handled his mental health crisis back at the bunker because goddamn, he often found himself on the verge of an emotional meltdown when he witnessed Alan nearly in tears about the concept of eating or, on really bad days, just getting out of bed.
But there was no point assigning blame to a person or place or even to the universe at large. He'd learnt that over the past year-and-four-months; playing the blame game didn't fix anything. Energy was better put to use trying to fix things.
And so he found himself attempting to do just that: pulling his weight when it came to daily chores; helping Kayo run International Rescue when she permitted him a seat in Shadow; offering gentle encouragement when Alan could bear kind words and quiet company when the kid couldn't handle the world and wanted to sink between the fibres of reality to somewhere dark and unknowable.
Gordon had become Alan's shadow. Where Alan was, Gordon was sure to be no more than a few metres away. There was a sense of inevitability about their closeness; Alan had nearly killed him and so Gordon was determined to keep guilt from returning the favour.
Some days were softer; group hugs and warm blankets; lazy meals in front of an old movie; naps in the sunroom like an elderly cat whilst Kayo read aloud from whichever book Alan had chosen; easy touches and equally gentle words; tousled hair and nicknames; even time outside for Finch's walks.
Other days were sharper; cutting comments of self-deprecation; comfort rebuffed; rations left uneaten; overcast skies epitomising pathetic fallacy as if the universe found it ironically amusing; energy levels reduced to monosyllabic mumbles and blankets drawn over heads; emptiness versus silent tears; a desperate sense of losing sight of the light.
Most days were a blend of both.
Scott found himself torn between wanting to dedicate every waking moment to Alan's wellbeing whilst also entertaining a desire to fix everything so that when Alan was better, he'd be met by a world that was actually worth living in. Not that fixing everything was on the cards, but there were aspects which could be improved such as bringing home Thunderbird One or fixing a comm link to EOS or even a breakthrough in Ellis' vaccine research.
It had only been two weeks. Scott had spent far longer at rock bottom in the past; he also knew damn well that recovery was a very slippery, notably non-linear slope and so a good day could be followed by a bad one without warning – two steps forward, three steps back and all that fun stuff. But equally, he couldn't help but feel a cautious spark of hope that Alan was already improving.
Was it all in his imagination? Quite possibly. But on the morning of Isaiah's proposed generator upgrades, two weeks after that terrible night, Alan agreed to eat in the mess hall with the rest of them as opposed to the secondary kitchen or even in bed, and Scott counted that as a major win.
Consequently, he was in a good mood when the night drew dark curtains across the sky and the weather began to close in. The GDF's meteorological drone reported a strong storm system rolling in from the south, blown up from the coast with intense gales and rainfall to match, but it didn't worry him. In his defence, he was used to tropical storms which would have made the one in question look like a summer breeze.
"I still think we should have considered reinforcing the defences," Penelope complained as they made their way downstairs to the generator room in the cellar. "I know you think anything less than a cyclone isn't worth worrying about, but I know winter storms and they can get… quite volatile."
"It could be worse," Kayo called back over her shoulder. The knife in the holster at her hip glinted like an eye in the low light of the staircase. "We could be living on the coast. It should have partly blown itself out by the time it reaches us."
"It's England," Scott pointed out. "It always rains. There'll just be some wind too, that's all. What's the big deal?"
"Have you ever experienced a winter storm in the UK?" Penelope didn't give him a chance to answer. "I suspect you haven't."
She cast Kayo a chiding look as they stepped into the room.
"I told you that we should have taken down the ilex tree. The trunk is rotten at the core; it's going to come down and it might take part of the fence with it."
Kayo shook her head, fondly exasperated. "Relax, Pen. You said that last April and it's still standing."
"I reserve the right to say I told you so."
"If it'll make you feel better, then go ahead." Kayo turned her attention to Isaiah. "How likely is this to work?"
Isaiah didn't register the question at first. He was partly buried in the guts of his creation and had the laser focus of a heron that had been stalking a fish for over an hour. Oil glistened across his knuckles and up his bare forearms.
Scott swore the man could have been dropped in the Arctic yet still wouldn't feel the cold. He was wearing a black tank top again but didn't so much as show goosebumps. In the flicker of unevenly powered overhead lights, his tattoos seemed to writhe like living creatures. He noted their arrival in the reflection across the side of the generator and withdrew his head from the wiring to greet them.
Scott still couldn't get a read on him. He wasn't the only one; earlier in the week he'd shared his thoughts with Gordon who had confessed that he thought the guy gave off weird vibes.
At current, his brother was leant against the wall, arms crossed, face forcibly neutral. A flicker of unease flared in his eyes when Penelope took Isaiah's hand and stepped up to peer inside the intestines of the machine. He was already on edge about being away from Alan, but the kid was having a movie night with Theo and Jasmin and besides, it was one of those good days.
Scott backtracked to fall into place beside his brother. Gordon spared him a sideways glance, then returned his gaze to Penelope. Neither of them said anything for a long moment. The distant groan of the strengthening wind seemed haunting down here and Scott couldn't hold back a shiver.
Gordon shuffled an inch to the left so that their shoulders touched, sucking in a sharp breath as they made contact. "Dude."
"What?"
"I know it's zombie bite aftereffects or whatever, but even John's not this cold. You should definitely talk to Virgil about it."
"Bold of you to assume that Virg isn't already on my case."
"Good. He should be. You feel like one of those Nat Geo photographers I pulled from the ice in Greenland that time."
"Thanks."
"Not a compliment."
"I was being sarcastic."
Gordon slung an arm around Scott's shoulders. "Yeah, well I wasn't."
Kayo's and Isaiah's conversation was drowned out by another howl of wind. A brief scattering of dust fell from the ceiling, filling the already gloomy room with an orange haze. Scott repressed a sneeze, vividly reminded of their time on the road in the States. At least here the dust wasn't radioactive.
Penelope shifted uncomfortably from foot to the other. "The storm is getting worse."
Kayo might not have believed it to be something worth worrying over, but Penelope's concern triggered some sort of alarm bells in her mind. She glanced up at the ceiling, eyeing the flickering light bulbs, then nudged the edge of the generator with her boot.
"Go ahead and test it."
Isaiah's eyes appeared eerily red in the glow of holograms. He swiped through the readouts on his tablet; a tiny vein in his jaw leapt out as he ground his teeth in concentration.
Kayo's calm demeanour developed into watchful apprehension, aware that their lives were in Isaiah's hands. While she trusted him to an extent, she still didn't truly know him. She put out an arm, barring Penelope from stepping any closer.
"I don't like this," Gordon muttered. Partially shrouded by shadows, the same sharpness that he had worn as a GDF scout had returned. "I've got a weird feeling."
Scott leant against the wall, grounding himself with the coldness that seeped through his hoodie. His own instincts were pressing against the back of his mind, a warning whisper that seemed to infect his senses with primal alertness. He curled his hands into fists, exhaling slowly through gritted teeth.
"Scott," Gordon hissed.
"What?"
"Am I being paranoid or does it feel like something's about to go wrong?"
Scott studied the coiled tension in Kayo's shoulders. "Squid sense, huh?"
"Exactly."
"You're not the only one."
Kayo twisted to throw Penelope a look. Penelope lifted her chin a fraction, gaze hot with challenge, then read something deeper in Kayo's eyes and backed up a pace to fall into step beside Scott. The room was filled with the whirr of the generator and distant screams of the storm, but all of a sudden it seemed deafeningly silent, engulfed by a thick, cloying type of dread that was easy to choke on.
Isaiah flattened his palm against the generator's hull as if soothing a wild animal. The final row of readouts came back green. Satisfied, he activated the countdown on his tablet. For five drawn-out seconds, they waited with bated breath. And then-
Nothing happened.
"You could always try kicking it," Scott joked.
Gordon offered a sunny smile in the face of Isaiah's disdain. "What? It used to work for our dad."
The generator let out a small, inconspicuous hiss, so quiet that it was nearly lost in the distant thunder of rain against the manor walls.
Scott caught the sound a second after Kayo did. Something about it set him on edge. He met Kayo's sharp look just as red lights flooded the control panel.
Isaiah's shout was snatched by a world-rattling explosion.
Everything whited out, as bright and uncontrollable as the heart of a lightning strike.
Time spun into a spiral, then gradually levelled out again.
Scott drew a cautious breath. His ears were ringing. Heat seared his back. The distinctive glow of fire radiated the edges of his vision. Hands snagged his hoodie and yanked him upright, pawing at his face until he batted them away with a feeble curse.
"Son of a bitch," Gordon spat, still crouched in front of him with wide, concerned eyes. "That sucked. Are you okay? Penny? You good?"
Penelope pushed herself upright, gripping Scott's shoulder for additional support. A nasty scrape sluggishly bled along her elbow where Scott had tackled her to the ground when the explosion had hit but that was a miracle considering the jagged length of metal which had embedded itself in the wall where she'd been standing. Gordon's gaze tracked up to the object, worry twisting into horror as he realised just how close they had come to losing her.
"Thanks," Penelope gasped out, shaking her head slightly in an attempt to clear her ears.
Scott could barely hear her above the high-pitched ringing in his own, reading the word off her lips as he searched her face for any sign of a concussion. Her fingers were digging into his shoulder, the only sign that she was shaken by the event, but physically she had gotten off lightly.
"Anytime," he replied somewhat breathlessly, turning his attention to Gordon.
His brother had a streak of blood across his bicep but otherwise showed no injuries. It took a couple of seconds to recognise that familiar little head tilt which he had developed since the Minnesota bunker, always a clue that his hearing was impaired. Scott was struck by a sharp jolt of panic that this might have been the final blow that rendered his brother entirely deaf but Gordon shot him a warning look, swiftly signing, relax, it'll come back.
"Fuck!" Kayo's furious shout cut through the haze. She slammed a kick into the side of the smoking generator. "You said this would work!"
Isaiah looked mildly dazed. He'd been saved from any serious injury by Kayo's quick reflexes but the glassy glaze over his eyes hinted at a minor concussion. He blinked slowly, cat-like, dabbing his thumb at the tacky trail of blood that dripped from his split lip. His tablet spat sparks over the floor, shattered beyond repair.
Clarity trickled back to Penelope first. "The generator is offline."
Kayo smashed her heel into the scorched metal. "No shit."
"No, Kayo. I mean the generator is offline."
Scott caught on a moment later. "There's no power. Not to the defences, not to anything."
"It should start drawing power from Shadow."
Kayo gave the ill-fated generator a final kick and stalked across the room to join them. A little of the fiery confidence in her voice faded as the lights remained in darkness; the only illumination was that of the smouldering fuel cells.
"Any minute now…"
In the continued blackout, raised voices began to call to one another; concerned shouts; confused cries; the high-pitched shrieks of scared children. Sixteen months of the apocalypse yet that primal fear of the dark still haunted people; all it took was the lights going out to reinstall that instinctual terror of being hunted by an unseen predator.
It's not the darkness that scares you, Scott had once told a very young Alan whilst googling rocket-shaped nightlights, it's the idea that you might not be alone in it.
Now, as the shadows seemed to slink closer, pressing in on him from all sides, he recalled that moment with a thin shudder. It was impossible to distinguish between the wailing wind and potential rotter howls.
"Kayo," Penelope said tightly.
"Just give it another minute."
Somewhere amid the darkness came a stricken scream, hastily cut short as someone attempted to reassure the child. The damage had already been done; voices tipped from confusion to urgent unease.
A distant thud rocked more dust from the ceiling. Scott fumbled to find Gordon, latching onto his brother's shoulder in a vice grip that was probably unwarranted but sue him because the situation was hastily spiralling out of control and he needed to know that Gordon was safe for once.
Isaiah spat frothy blood onto the ground and smeared it into the sooty concrete with the worn sole of his boot. His balance was slightly off-kilter but his eyes had cleared somewhat as he tried to assess the generator. Kayo prowled around him like a wild cat, both accusatory and supportive all at once.
Footsteps clattered down the steps. A flashlight beam swept across the room. In the sudden influx of light, Scott was treated to the sight of scorch marks and ruined metal. It was an honest-to-God miracle that none of them had been seriously injured.
"Scott?"
Virgil tucked the flashlight between his cheek and his shoulder as if it were a phone, leaving his hands free to manipulate the wrist that Scott hadn't even realised was throbbing. He registered the blood soaking through his sleeve at the same time as Gordon noticed and let loose another military-grade curse.
Penelope turned back to them, eyes widening as she spotted the injury, presumably incurred from the razor-sharp shard of concrete that he'd collided with when he'd tackled her to the ground. Now that he was aware of the wound, he also became aware of the pain. Adrenaline was a wonder drug but only for so long; goddamn, it hurt.
"Upstairs," Virgil ordered, tossing the flashlight to Gordon. "Now. Let's go. I need to get a better look at this. Kayo, Penny, any chance of getting the power back on? Emergency backups, anything like that?"
Kayo scowled at Isaiah. "Our emergency backup isn't working."
"Tanusha," Penelope snapped, an edge of warning in her voice. She snagged Kayo's elbow and guided her towards the steps. "Let Isaiah run his diagnostics. We've got people to calm down first."
The manor was in chaos. Scott jolted back just in time to avoid being knocked over by a woman carrying several heavy-duty camping lanterns. She was tailed by two teenagers with armfuls of foil blankets; blackouts always resulted in injuries and this one was worse than pre-Z-Day outages as the worsening storm fuelled fear.
"-Conserve heat," John was saying, framed against the ghostly glower of camping lanterns.
In Kayo's and Penelope's temporary absence, people had looked for a leader and he'd stepped up. It wasn't just a case of crowd control, but improvising an immediate plan in case they couldn't get the power back online for several days.
"The fences are down but those aren't our only defences. Fuse, how many explosives are buried around the perimeter? I want a list of our vulnerabilities."
"Shit," Kayo whispered to herself, "This is a mess."
Penelope shook herself out of her shocked trance.
"It's a mess that we have to clean up. We need to discover why the emergency power hasn't come through from Shadow. Virgil, I could do with an engineer's advice."
"I…" Virgil hesitated, grip tightening slightly around Scott's wrist.
Scott repressed a wince. "Go. I can patch myself up."
"Relax, Vee," Gordon chimed in, forcibly upbeat despite his frown as he attempted to read their lips in the dull light. "I'll keep an eye on him. Concentrate on getting the lights back on, yeah?"
Virgil reluctantly let go. "If I find you've neglected that injury in any way…"
Scott grinned. "I'm very responsible."
Virgil shot Gordon a stern look and signed, "Look after him."
"FAB," Gordon sing-songed with a thumbs-up for good measure.
Someone had clearly taken control of medical care as there was an orderly queue awaiting attention. There had been a temporary first aid station set up in the living room as the hub was upstairs and climbing steps in the dark was just asking for trouble. The usual medic was out of commission, nursing a head injury which had already been treated with carefully applied bandages only achievable when the first aider had a lot of experience.
"Oh good, you're here," Alan said in lieu of hello when Gordon dragged Scott into the room. He dropped a packet of butterfly stitches into Gordon's hand. "Hold this for a second."
The little girl perched on the table looked to be only about six or seven. Her eyes were swollen with past tears, attention now focussed on the colourful stickers that Alan had found somewhere. She held out her arm for him to clean the deep cut that struck a line across the crook of her elbow.
Gordon clung onto the butterfly stitches, mildly dumbfounded but unwilling to interrupt until the task was complete. Scott quietly reached for a wipe and dabbed his own wrist. Alan's gaze flickered to the movement, eyes narrowing slightly, then returned his focus to the child.
"This might sting a little bit, okay?" He kept his touch feather light as he cleaned up the wound. "Hey, you're a pro at this. I think you've earnt two stickers now."
"Really?"
"For sure." Alan held out a hand for Gordon to pass him the butterfly stitches. "Which ones do you want?"
The little girl chewed her lip as she considered. "The flower. And the dinosaur."
"Great choices!" Alan lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Hey, wanna know a secret? My brother here is scared of dinosaurs, so you're officially braver than he is."
Gordon casually trod on Alan's foot. He might not have heard the words but he knew his brother well enough to tell when Alan was making fun of him.
Alan elbowed him away with a grin.
"All done." He steadied the kid as she slid down from the table. "Try not to slip over again, okay?"
"Nicely handled," Gordon commented.
"Thanks," Alan replied distractedly, whirling on Scott. "What happened?"
"There were some unforeseen generator complications-"
"What? No. I don't care about the generator. I meant what happened to…" Alan gave an exasperated growl and grabbed Scott's arm, taking care to avoid putting pressure on the actual injury. "Let me take a look."
"Yeah, Scott," Gordon declared, still overcompensating for his ringing ears. "Let the doc take a look."
"Shut up, Gordon," Alan muttered without any real heat to his voice. He made a grabby hand for the packet of antibacterial wipes which were just out of his reach. "Gimme those."
Scott gave in and let Alan fuss. The kid had inherited enough stubbornness to make arguing a pointless venture. Besides, while the wound wasn't deep it did need attention and Alan seemed to have the medical care side of things under control.
It had been a long time since Scott had seen him in rescue mode and he'd nearly forgotten just how good he was. The majority of people were running around like headless chickens, but Alan appeared to be in his element.
Another crash momentarily silenced the room as a heavy branch lashed against the window.
Gordon gave a low whistle. "That storm is definitely getting worse."
"Hmm," Alan agreed absently, his attention dedicated to the task at hand. Scott bit back a hiss at the sharp bite of antiseptic and Alan paused, glancing up at him. "Need a minute?"
"I'm good. Keep going."
"If it makes you feel any better, you don't need stitches."
Gordon peered over Scott's shoulder. "Doesn't it? It was bleeding a lot."
"Yeah, because it's a large surface area. Strip more skin, lose more blood. But it's not deep. Definitely looks worse than it actually is. Also, back off, you're blocking out the light. Or better yet, hold that lantern up so I can see what I'm doing."
There was a brief pause.
"Um," Gordon floundered, "Can you repeat that? Maybe in ASL?"
"Huh?" Alan tore his gaze away from the dressing he'd been unwrapping. "Oh, shit. Sorry." He abandoned the packet for a few seconds to sign, "Not deep, no stitches. Hold the lantern."
"Gotcha." Gordon whacked the lantern as the bulb flickered. "And… the Jeff Tracy fix still works."
Flashlights flickered across the ceiling, fractured into sharp shards as the beams reflected off the windows. Fresh torrents of rain cascaded down the panes so that the outside world grew completely obscured.
The wind sounded wild and vengeful, battering the manor as if it were trying to claw its way through the walls and tiles to get at them. Beneath the wails came the keening groans of desperate trees, trying to stay standing in the force of the gale. A disconcerting creak whined from the oak closest to the window, an early warning that it might not survive the night.
Alan made quick work of the dressing, then dragged Gordon into taking a seat so that he could examine the origins of the bloody streak across his brother's bicep. Gordon tolerated the fussing for all of thirty seconds when Virgil's reappearance provided sufficient distraction for him to make a break for it. Alan let him go, albeit with an exasperated glare, satisfied that it was only a minor graze.
Scott rolled his sleeve back down. "Any news?"
"We've figured out why no power's reaching the manor," Virgil began to explain, sidestepping to avoid blocking Kayo's path as she paced angrily back-and-forth, hands clenched at her sides. "It's the equivalent of breaking a circuit."
"Only a lot more complicated?" Scott guessed.
Virgil glanced over his shoulder to where Isaiah had appeared, a new tablet in hands and a frown on his face to match the darkness all around them.
"Part of the electric fence is down," Virgil continued in a hushed voice to prevent potential eavesdroppers spreading rumours. "We need to find it and fix it. It doesn't need to be a good fix, just a temporary patch. Which would be easy enough only this storm is getting worse and John's already identified at least four weak spots in our defences. If there are rotters out there, we won't see them coming until they're already on top of us."
"And you have no idea which section of the fence is down?"
"No."
"So, we'll have to check all of it."
"Exactly."
"Well… fuck."
Virgil sank onto the table beside with a tired chuckle. "Nice sticker by the way."
"What?" Scott glimpsed a tiny green stegosaurus plastered to his sleeve. "Oh for- Alan! Why?"
Alan shrugged.
"Why not?" He dropped the partly empty first aid box onto the table. "So? What's the plan?"
The door flew open again as Penelope marched into the room, closely followed by John. She had picked up a selection of weapons from downstairs and was in the process of strapping them to her person. She slid a knife into the side of her boot, holding out a gun for Kayo.
Kayo weighed it between her hands for a moment. "Are you with me?"
"Always," Penelope replied, zero hesitation, an apocalypse-learned reflex.
"Then here's what we're doing." Kayo cleared her throat and raised her voice so that the rest of the room sat up and took notice. She signed as well as spoke, a little clumsily but still intelligible. "We're splitting into five groups. Each one will take a different section of fence and we'll cover the entire circumference between us. Radio if you come across anything or spy signs of infected."
She jabbed a finger onto the map of the estate.
"Clarence, James, Gill, you'll start here. Mateo, Lauren, Nora, here. Arvin, Claire, Jenny, there. Pen, John, Virgil, you've got this section covered. Marisa, you and I will take the final part."
She turned back to Gordon, Scott and Alan before they could protest.
"Gordon, you know damn well why I can't put you out there right now. Scott, rotters are drawn to fresh blood. And Alan, you've got a good handle on the medical situation; you're of more use here. Everyone understand? Grab a weapon, let's clear out."
Virgil clapped a hand to Scott's bicep on his way past. "Don't do anything stupid. Stay here, keep everyone calm. We'll be back soon."
The room seemed incredibly empty as they all filed out. Flashlights refracted through the glass again as shouts clamoured outside the walls. Scott glared at the beads of crimson appearing across the dressing when he clenched his fist.
Gordon stared at the door, torn between indignation and genuine anger.
"Did she forget that I survived on the surface with hearing loss before? I can handle myself. Fuck this."
"Gordon," Scott called after him, but the door had already slammed. It was foolish to hope that he hadn't gone after them. "Dammit, Gords."
Alan studied the branches crashing against the window. He ducked under the table to reach a crate, wedging it open with his penknife to reveal the spare weapons within.
"Gun or machete?"
Scott stared at him. "What?"
"Pick one." Alan threw him a confused glance as if he couldn't quite work out why Scott was questioning it. "We're going after him, right?"
"Hey, no, no. I'm going after him. You're-"
"-Coming with you."
Alan flipped a knife, testing its weight, then held out a second blade for Scott to take. He snatched up a heavy-duty leather jacket from an abandoned chair and shrugged it on, satisfied that the thickness would withstand rotten teeth.
"Don't look at me like that. I'll watch your back and you can watch mine. Going solo is a shitty idea and Gordon's an idiot."
"Alan!"
Alan came to a sudden halt so that Scott nearly ran into him.
"I'm going after him. Come with me or stay here."
Scott snatched the knife from him. "You're a menace, kid."
Alan's grin was fuelled entirely by adrenaline; the same electric energy that he had once worn on rescues. "Let's go."
The storm had developed into an uncontrollable monster; vicious and violent and potentially deadly. Gale force winds in excess of 80mph – at the very least – stripped foliage to bare bones. Leaves and twigs and pieces of debris picked up from further afield whipped across the lawn, propelled into tiny bullets and just as lethal if they struck in the wrong place.
The chicken coop had been boarded up the previous day and the birds themselves were residing in a spare room for safety. At the time Scott had laughed at Penny's insistence, but now he was unfathomably grateful as the coop had been smashed to smithereens by a fallen tree. Several panes from the greenhouse had been shattered by the impact. Glass crunched underfoot; more of a sensation than a sound as the wind stole his hearing from him.
It was too dark to make out footprints in the mud. Scott suspected that the rain had already washed them away. It was gushing down as if someone had upended buckets in the sky; icy and inescapable; soaking through his coat in seconds. His grip on the knife was slippery. He curled his fingers tighter and tried to search for any hint of flashlights in the distance.
He had a vague recollection of which sector each of his family had headed for but there was a question mark over which group Gordon would follow. Instinct told him that it would Penny, Virgil and John, but logic reminded him that Marisa and Kayo were the ones without a third person.
The darkness was disorientating. Landmarks such as familiar trees or marked out vegetable patches had been levelled by the wind. Rain made it difficult to see far ahead.
He turned in a wide circle, sweeping his flashlight across the lawn. The beam reflected off broken glass and the sodden bark of fallen trees. Leaves formed a slippery carpet and it was only Alan's reflexes which kept Scott from sliding down the bank that had been constructed around the fence.
"Where now?" Alan shouted, hands still fisted in the back of Scott's coat. He looked smaller than usual, hair plastered to his scalp by rain, but somehow scrappier too, fully prepared to leap into action at the slightest of triggers. "Right or left?"
Kayo could handle herself and Marisa had run a successful survival group for months on end; they were formidable forces by themselves but together they'd be practically unstoppable. There was no question about who Gordon would have gone after.
Scott seized Alan's arm to keep him from slipping, then gestured to their left. Metal flashed as Alan tucked his knife up his sleeve. In the depths of the shadows beyond the fence, something snarled.
Scott shoved Alan forwards. "Go."
"Was that…?"
"I don't know and I don't plan on sticking around to find out."
They pushed onwards. There were still no signs of anyone else. If it weren't for the fence, Scott would have completely lost his bearings. The manor itself had been swallowed up by the storm and without power there were no warm lights to guide them home again.
"Scott."
Alan sounded strange, voice strained with the effort to keep it steady. He'd come to a halt half-a-pace away from the fence, one hand ghosting the hilt of his knife as he stared into the gloom beyond the chain-link loops.
"Something's out there."
"Could you have made that sound any creepier?"
Alan let out a dark chuckle. "Is that a challenge?"
Scott stepped up to his side. Around them, the world tried to tear itself apart. Wind whipped leaves into a frenzy; wet smacks that left their faces stinging; gurgling mud underfoot; the constant roar of the storm as loud as a jet engine overhead.
Rain threatened to drown their flashlight beams. Scott couldn't see more than a couple of metres beyond the fence if not less. It was impossible to pin down any unnatural movements for everything was shaking, clinging onto the ground for dear life.
"I swear I saw something." Alan directed his flashlight over the fence. He forced himself to take a breath, shoulders hunched as a wad of sodden leaves smacked into the back of his neck. "If there are rotters… We need to warn the others."
"That would be a lot easier if they'd left us a radio," Scott muttered, irritation flaring in a welcome wave of heat beneath his skin.
He swiped raindrops from his lashes, blinking to clear his vision. His flashlight beam mixed with Alan's as he guided it over the brackets where the loops met the fencepost. Cold dread curdled into a physical pang of horror.
Alan took a step closer. "Is that human?"
A flap of motheaten skin dangled halfway up the post in a cruel imitation of a flag. The flashlights turned it a lurid, almost fluorescent grey. It was an extensive piece of flesh and oh god, had that been ripped directly from a skull?
The wind tore tiny strips from it and Alan ducked as they hurtled towards him. Scott caught him as his boots skidded in the mud, knocking his own flashlight to the ground as he lunged forwards. As it fell, the beam reflected off a grotesque, rotten face.
"Oh, shit," Alan yelped, scrambling backwards as he fumbled for his knife.
The blade had been flung from his grip when he'd slipped and was lost somewhere within the mud. He yanked it free with a godawful sucking noise that sounded all too similar to a blade being tugged from flesh.
A new torrent of rain cascaded from a bowing branch. The rush of water knocked Scott out of the horrified trance. Mud had soaked through his jeans, smothering his hands and splashing up his arms as he threw himself onto his knees to retrieve his flashlight. The infected had vanished from sight but the memory of those empty eyes seared his vision, reappearing whenever he blinked.
"Where is it?" Alan yelled, tripping onto his heels as he craned his neck to glimpse the top of the fence. "Oh my god, Scott, Scott. It can climb!"
"It can what?"
Alan flung himself to his feet. The knife sparked like lightning in his hands. Scott finally found the flashlight; cold and slippery amidst the mud; pain stinging in his wounded wrist. He smacked it as the bulb flickered then reignited just in time to reveal a large mass cresting the top of the fence. Flesh oozed through the loops as it hooked its fingers through the barbed wire.
For an instant, time stood still.
The infected plummeted to land on their side of the fence with a deadened splash that sent a tidal wave of mud in all directions. Nostrils flared; eyes sought them out; fingers twitched as thick drool seeped through flayed lips.
Scott shoved Alan behind him, blocking him from the rotter's view. The creature staggered forwards. He flung up a hand instinctively as if that would do anything to prevent the infected from advancing, only-
Only it worked.
The rotter halted. It seemed to jitter, clawing the air as it gulped down lungfuls of rain and driving mud and the scent of healthy humans. Muscles quivered as though it were being physically held back.
Then, impossibly, those sightless eyes fixed on him and every movement stopped. It stared at him for a long, countless moment. More drool dripped from its raw chin onto its partially exposed ribcage. Its mouth parted in a low, hungry howl.
"That's it," Scott whispered, keeping his hand out as he slowly backed up, trusting Alan to do the same. "Stay back."
The rotter's head lolled. It gave a final mournful wail then turned on its heels and bolted into the shadows. It was still on their side of their fence but hey, one problem at a time.
Scott took an unsteady breath, turning to face Alan. His brother's eyes were comically wide, still gripping his knife so tightly that his knuckles had grown ghostly white. He glanced between Scott and the dark mess of vegetation that the creature had vanished into.
"What the hell just happened?"
"I have no idea."
"No, no, because what was that? You just controlled it. It listened to you. Like that was some Owen Grady from Jurassic World type stuff. How is that even possible without the hivemind?"
"Hey, Alan?" Scott prompted, trying to remain calm when in reality he was trying not to freak out because he had no idea how he'd just done that and he didn't care for the implications. "Time and place. We'll discuss it later."
Alan paled, stark beneath the collection of freckles and mud as he remembered their reason for being out in the storm in the first place. He jammed his knife through one of his beltloops for safe-keeping and clapped a hand to Scott's bicep on his way past.
"We've gotta find Gordon before it does."
A low, thunderous boom rocked the earth. Scott could feel the tremors under his boots, a rooted rumble akin to a shallow earthquake. The sky lit up with the distinct gleam of fire. Glowing orange, the clouds looked frighteningly radioactive.
"Fuse's explosives," he realised aloud. "More rotters have breached the perimeter."
Alan swung his flashlight in a wide arc. "We need to go."
Scott turned back and they read the fear in each other's face as a voice tore through the storm; somewhere between a shout and scream; blurring the line between horror and fury; desperation twisting the sound into an icy blade that cut through them both because they knew those voices.
"John," Alan gasped out, breaking into a sprint with Scott hot on his heels. "Virgil!"
The story - as Scott was told later, holding Virgil close to his side with the warm weight of a quilt around their shoulders and candlelight flickering like a Gothic novel while John stalked back-and-forth across the room and recounted the tale in a forcibly steady voice - went a little like this:
Gordon had tracked down their group by the western fence. There had been several choice words exchanged until Penelope had shut down the argument by pointing out the real priority, which turned out to be somewhat prophetic given they came across the downed section of fence only a few metres on.
While Virgil had crouched down to examine the sparking circuit board within the fencepost, John and Penelope had kept guard whilst Gordon held the flashlight steady. Gordon had been struck by the primal instinct that something was watching them.
A quick scan of the treeline hadn't revealed anything out of the ordinary – not to mention that Virgil had then made a biting remark about people not keeping the damn flashlight in place – and so they'd ignored it. But then Penelope had glanced up sharply and disabled the safety on her gun, aiming at the same treeline with a slight head tilt towards John, a silent signal for him to join her.
The explosion had blindsided all of them. Ironically enough, despite being intended to protect survivors, it had done the opposite. It took out a handful of infected but the rest surged through the broken fence whilst John was still trying to figure out where the hell his gun had gone and Penelope was gathering her senses after taking a knock to the head for the second time in two hours.
Virgil had been the closest to the blast. It knocked him onto his back and drove the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping for air whilst staring at a fire-stained sky, pulse pounding in his ears with the promise of danger.
The uneven thud of dragged feet warned him of the approaching infected. He clawed the ground to roll into the nearby ditch where he attempted to get his breath back. Once he'd gulped down a few lungfuls of precious oxygen, he clambered onto his knees, aiming to stand up and assess the situation, only to come face-to-face with the snarling mouth of a rotter.
Gordon appeared out of nowhere. Virgil barely had chance to flinch before the infected was bodily tackled away from him, up and over the lip of the ditch to sprawl in the muddy grass. He reacted on instinct, flinging himself after his brother and the rotter, John's shout still ringing in his ears.
Penelope's first shot went wide but the second met its mark, slamming into the creature's temple. Dark blood splattered the ground. Gordon shoved the body away from him with a choked sound. He twisted onto his side so that his back was to them all, went very still and then let his head fall against the ground with a hysterical laugh.
Virgil dropped to his knees at his side, dragging him into sitting upright, swallowing panic before he could drown in it. He was aware of the scratch in his throat as he repeated questions that he wasn't consciously aware of asking and to which Gordon didn't provide answers. He gripped Gordon's shoulders, shaking him slightly, one hand sliding up to count the pulse under his brother's jaw.
Gordon smacked him away. "Get away. Give it a minute."
There was a thread of utter desperation in his voice that was terrifyingly reminiscent of the rescue when he'd gotten himself trapped in the control room of a power station about to go into meltdown and had tried to persuade Virgil to get to a safe distance.
Virgil dropped his gaze to the arm that Gordon was cradling close to his chest and promptly lost his ability to breathe again. Vividly red, very human blood glistened, turning pink as the rain washed it away, welling to the surface of a brutal bitemark.
"No."
He could taste salt; his echoed denial blended into a choked sob.
"No, no, no. Fuck, no, this isn't-"
He cut himself off, yanking at the hem of his shirt so violently that the fabric tore immediately. Panic helped nobody, actions did. He could fix this, he could-
Makeshift tourniquet, try to prevent the infection from spreading. Unless- Oh, Christ, could he bring himself to amputate? How quickly did the infection take over? Could they make it back to the manor in time? Amputation out here would be a death sentence – nothing sterilised and no antibiotics with which to treat an infection.
Gordon tried to shove him away as he tied the strip of fabric around his brother's forearm, pulling it tight enough to earn a full-body wince. His fingers were slippery and while it wasn't the first time that he'd had Gordon's blood on his hands, this occasion made him light-headed, sick with fear, driven by training and instincts and steadfast stubbornness because no, this couldn't happen.
Penelope swept into sight, blonde hair matted by mud, face streaked with angry tears. She clamped her hands around Gordon's wrist and forced him to hold his arm out for inspection. Their voices washed over Virgil in inaudible background muddle.
He couldn't tell if Gordon's elevated pulse was the result of adrenaline or the bite or even Penelope's proximity, so close that the pair were practically sharing a breath. Her grip was bruising, nails digging into the flesh of his forearm as if she didn't trust the tourniquet to keep the infection from spreading. There was an apology on her lips but a confession in her eyes and Gordon kept shaking his head.
Distant gunfire promised that John had disposed of the final infected. Voices clamoured; shouts and worried calls; some familiar, some strangers. Boots squelched in the mud by Virgil's side and he spared a brief glance up to meet John's horrified stare.
John closed his eyes for a split-second, inhaled deeply, then opened them again, fear replaced by steely resignation as he withdrew the sharpest blade from the interior pocket of his coat.
Gordon let out a strangled yelp and snatched his arm away from Penelope.
"No, no, no, nope, not happening. That's not necessary. No fucking field surgery. Get that thing away from me, John, or so help me I will kick your ass to Pluto."
John's voice rose to a furious shout; anger and fear dressed up as one another.
"Not necessary? Gordon, you're not immune and you're running out of time. I'm trying to save your damn life."
"Fifty seconds," Penelope choked out, desperately trying to reach for him. "Gordon, please."
Gordon slammed his heels into John's shins as his brother made to grab him. John let out a wild holler and physically tackled him, scrabbling in the mud, weapons made of elbows and blood dripping from his chin where Gordon had headbutted him.
Virgil jolted out of his panicked freeze and latched onto Gordon's knee, throwing himself forwards until he could pin his brother down.
"No," Gordon ground out, pupils blown wide with panic. Mud streaked his face as he shook his head, seeking Virgil's gaze with tearful eyes. "Don't. You've got to trust me. Please, Virgil. Trust me."
"Virgil, move," John snapped.
Virgil hesitated. Gordon held his gaze, oh-so-familiar, imploring, that's a one-in-ten chance, Four, it's too risky, come back, we'll make another plan, his wingman, sorry, no can do, Two, but I promise I can do this, you've just gotta trust me.
"Trust me," Gordon whispered.
Shit.
"Together or not at all, right?"
Gordon's desperate stare softened. "Exactly."
Virgil scrambled backwards to let him up. "John, drop the blade."
"What are you-?"
"Do it."
"Virgil, this is insane."
"Ninety seconds," Penelope reported, unable to keep the terminal hope out of her tone. "The average is sixty."
"Not always." John's hand hovered above Virgil's shoulder, ready to yank him out of range should the worst happen. "Gordon, if you know something, now would be a good time to share it."
Gordon swallowed. He sat up gingerly, rubbing his thumb across the sluggishly bleeding bitemark with a shiver. When he looked up, there was an apology in his eyes.
"Remember the GDF vaccine? I stole a vial from Jenkins' bunker. Ellis tested and improved it and I took it back at the Sanctuary. That was why I got sick for a time. And we didn't tell anyone because we had no idea if it worked and no way to prove either outcome. But, uh… apparently it does."
The silence was broken by a rush of shouts as Scott and Alan hurtled into view.
"This still hurts like a Grade-A bitch though, so if we could hurry this party along…?" Gordon's shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry. I should have told you."
"Yes," Virgil agreed, overwhelmed by a stinging sense of betrayal which was soothed by relief and left him confused as to what he was actually feeling. "You should have done."
Scott's memory picked up from that moment; crashing to a halt so that his heels carved canyons in the mud; Alan's horrified exclamation; the crack of gunfire as Kayo rounded the corner in time to despatch the rotter creeping up behind them. The constant downpour made it difficult to hear one another but they were used to working as a single unit so words weren't necessary.
Gordon clenched a hand around his wrist, face lined with tightly wound pain. The bite would need stitches and blood leaked between his fingers quicker than the rain could wash it away. The tourniquet might not have been necessary for stopping a zombie infection but it was sure as hell important when it came to preventing blood loss.
"What the fuck happened?" Kayo's furious shout betrayed her true terror as she slammed a knife into the clavicle of a nearby rotter then sent it crashing into the ditch where Marisa swiftly decapitated it. "And why are the three of you here? I told you to stay behind for a reason!"
"I'm vaccinated," Gordon protested weakly, which still didn't sound any more comforting than it had done thirty seconds earlier. He hadn't turned which potentially proved the vaccine's effectiveness but Scott couldn't bring himself to trust it yet because what if, what if, what if-
"And Scott and John are immune but look what happened to them," Alan yelled back, eyes wide and searching as he caught Gordon's gaze. Something unspoken passed between them. The certainty in Alan's voice betrayed them both; he had known about the vaccine. "You're an idiot!"
The moment broke with another explosion further along the fence line.
"More rotters inbound," Marisa reported, grabbing the flashlight from Scott as she stepped forward to shield him and Virgil from the monsters lurking within the scorched bushes. Twigs snapped as something large moved in the bracken. "Kayo, there are two approaching from your six."
"I see them." Kayo's fear always manifested as anger and now she channelled that rage into decisive action. "Gordon, can you walk?"
"It's my arm, not my legs."
"Then we've got to move. Back to the manor."
Gordon hissed past gritted teeth as Alan wrapped another makeshift bandage around the bite and tightened it until it threatened to cut off all circulation to his hand. He squinted at Kayo as her flashlight momentarily dazzled him, gesturing to the fencepost with his uninjured arm.
"We still haven't fixed the-"
"I don't care." Kayo's hair lashed around her face, eyes turned dark by the storm as she seized a fistful of his collar and yanked him to his feet. "You need medical attention. The power can wait. We have defences, we can take care of the zombies. People can shiver for the night. They'll live. And I'm going to make damn sure that you do too."
Scott wiped excess mud from his hands against his coat and looped an arm around Gordon's shoulders. Virgil staggered upright, supporting Gordon on his other side despite his protests that it was unnecessary, immediately disproved by the way he listed into their hands.
More fire lit up the sky, followed by radio chatter and Kayo's curse as she discovered that she was out of ammo. John exchanged guns with her, tucked the empty revolver into his holster, then switched to knives.
Marisa backed up as a trio of rotters emerged from the bushes. "Now would be a really good time to get out of here. Penny, any tricks up your sleeve?"
Penelope cast a frantic look over her shoulder at Gordon then smoothed her expression into cold, calculating vengeance. She unhooked a taser from her wrist and tossed it to Kayo, sliding her backup blade out of her boot.
Once upon a time she had been forced keep her anger restrained, carefully held behind smooth words as she invented diplomatic solutions. But now there were no such ties. The world had tried to take Gordon from her and she was going to make it pay.
"John." She snatched his knife from him. "I need this. Now go."
"Pen-"
"Go."
Kayo's jaw clenched with grim understanding. "We've got some business to take care of. We'll catch up with you later."
Marisa took out another infected; the same ragged creature with stripped skin that Scott had somehow commanded earlier. It collapsed with a neat bullet hole at the centre of its forehead.
Penelope's smile held a hint of teeth; danger wrapped up in pretty packaging. She ground her heels into the mud as she stared down the closest rotter, raised her knife, and snarled, "Get off my land."
Revenge didn't solve anything but it felt pretty damn good in the moment.
It took almost two hours for everyone to settle.
Alan shed his jacket in the foyer but didn't waste time changing out of his wet clothes, throwing himself headfirst into offering first aid again while Virgil took over Gordon's treatment with Scott lending a hand. John vanished for a while, presumably organising lockdown protocols now that infected were within the estate fences.
None of them had chance to stop and consider all that had happened until the clock chimed one-AM and the manor finally stood still and sullen, bruised by shadows where candles couldn't reach.
Darkness had a way of transforming any place into a maze. Familiarity became disconcerting and unknowable when cloaked in shadows; chairs turned to figures and ajar doors concealing monsters.
Even the safest of places seemed threatening. Scott had spent a fair amount of time in the manor over the years and living within its walls had reinforced that knowledge, yet he kept finding himself disorientated, shaken by the impossible certainty that something was stalking him amid the darkness. Candles and flashlights revealed nothing but he couldn't escape the sense of being hunted.
He also couldn't get rid of the simmering anger in his veins. It had been kept at bay by relief for the time-being but there was no telling how long that would last. He'd taken himself off under the pretext of checking that no one had stumbled into an accident in the dark hallways but the truth was that he'd needed to step away before he'd ended up shouting at Gordon for being so foolish.
The vaccine worked. It was a goddamn miracle and Scott couldn't begin to fathom just how many implications its success brought. But it might not have worked and Gordon had risked his life on a very large question mark. And that was before Scott recalled how sick his brother had been when he'd first taken the vaccine back at the Sanctuary; cold sweats and feverish delusions that had knocked him out for two weeks and nearly driven the rest of them out of their minds with worry.
He couldn't decide which part he was angrier about – that Gordon had taken such a massive risk without discussing it or that he had then kept it a secret from everyone apart from Alan. And that was a question in and of itself because why tell Alan? Had the kid figured it out and confronted him? Or confronted Ellis? It made no sense and put a new light on all of those hushed conversations.
His steps carried him to the top of the house. The storm had begun to die down but the wind was still too strong to make venturing onto the roof a sensible idea. He gripped the window ledge, tipping forward to rest his forehead against the cold glass.
Rain thudded like a drumbeat, replacing his pulse with a steadier rhythm. Anger and relief swirled into a mess that he couldn't begin to unravel. Both paled in comparison to the stab of fear that left him shivering whenever he recalled the moment he'd first set eyes on that bitemark, before Gordon had hastily rambled about the vaccine and I'm not infected, and Scott, stop, I'm fine, I promise.
It was unfathomably dark when he pocketed his flashlight. He couldn't see anything, not even his own hand in front of his face. It was easier to breathe but overwhelming all at once.
He picked at the edge of the dressing on his arm – a sickening twin placement to the bandages on Gordon's – and forced himself to head back downstairs. Everything was a mess but there was no point in trying to fix any of it until he could see what he was dealing with; better to wait until the sun came up again.
Morning brought more horror.
The damage wrought by the storm paled into insignificance when compared with the sight of all the bodies. The lawn was strewn with rotters but in death they looked unbearably human; wedding rings on swollen fingers; wallets within the pockets of tattered clothes; tiny scars from life; freckles and dimples; dyed hair that had faded but not grown out since the infection.
Kayo called for volunteers to help dig graves. It was a heavy burden that not everyone could handle. The ground was wet and soft which was a small mercy but the job was exhausting.
Without power, there was no running water. Scott would have sold his soul for a shower. He resorted to scrubbing his hands viciously in a bucket until soap stung his raw knuckles and there wasn't even a trace of dirt left under his nails.
He could still feel the phantom weight of a body in his arms and braced himself against the sink, fighting against the urge to be sick. Every now and then the violent reality of the apocalypse crept up on him and he hated it.
He tracked down Penelope and Virgil on the backstep. They were huddled close together, Virgil's arm around her shoulders, Penelope's hands knitted in her lap as she stared at the unmarked graves. She might have torn the infected to shreds last night but the aftermath was always complicated.
Scott quietly took a seat on Virgil's other side. The lonely January sun glittered off wet leaves. Several trees had crashed down throughout the night but those which remained stood tall and proud and spread their branches as if worshipping the sky. The sight was beautiful and brutal all at once; wasn't that nature in a nutshell?
"I had a rabbit when I was a child," Penelope said softly, breath fogging in the crisp air. "He was lop-eared and white with black spots, the softest thing I'd ever felt. He made cashmere seem coarse. He was a nervous little creature but oh, how I loved him. When he died, I buried him under the roses. I cried for him."
Her gaze remained on the mounds of earth, carefully smoothed over but forever anonymous.
"Who will cry for these poor people?"
Virgil tugged her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. Scott reached around to place a hand on her back. No further words were exchanged; there was comfort to be found in each other's presence.
The manor remained uncannily quiet throughout the day. Disbelief and denial left people unwilling to acknowledge what had happened. Their safe space had been invaded and there was a sense of violation about that which no one wanted to admit. Kayo took Shadow across to the GDF base to ask for help – which clearly grated on her but she cast aside pride in favour of logic – and several troops rocked up to reinforce the fences and fix up storm damage.
Power remained an issue. Isaiah had identified what had caused the malfunction and knew not only how to correct it but how to perform the necessary upgrade at the same time. In principal, that sounded great… up until he revealed that they didn't have access to the required parts. The GDF didn't have a spare either and a call to the nearest bunkers hit dead ends too.
They gathered in the secondary kitchen, clustered around the table in silence. Kayo brought up a whiteboard from downstairs and propped it against the window before dropping into her own seat.
Stony irritation still clung to her posture; she glowered into her cup of apple juice – all perishables were being used up before they could go off and be wasted – as if it had told her an unwanted fortune. She was still angry about how many people had gotten hurt and self-blame was a familiar game for her. Penelope reached across to lay a hand on her wrist but she snatched her arm away.
"Okay, everyone." Scott wiped the whiteboard clean and dropped a fistful of erasable markers onto the table. "Let's work the problem. Any idea goes up on the board. I'm open to all suggestions at this point. Sensible suggestions, that is."
"So, building a time machine is out then?" Gordon joked in an attempt to break the tension; the humour fell rather flat given he was the cause of the awkwardness.
Alan raised his brows. "We can't even build a generator."
"Really? That's your only issue with that plan?"
"Pretty much, yeah. I'd love a time machine. I could go back and ask Stephen Hawking about all his theories."
Gordon pretended to cough, "Nerd."
"The generator is large," Penelope interjected before the conversation could get any further off topic. "So, the part we require wouldn't be readily available. We'd find it in some sort of public space. Unfortunately, most of those have already been looted."
"Not in the inner city," Kayo pointed out. "Tourist locations would have a big enough generator."
Penelope shook her head. "It's an infected hotspot."
"Which is exactly why they won't already have been looted."
John leant forward in his chair, steepling his fingers beneath his chin as he considered.
"Technically," he mused, "It doesn't need to be modern technology. Virgil, you and Tycho developed that drone from salvaged parts, didn't you? Can you do the same again with the generator?"
"I can try," Virgil shrugged. "Not sure if Isaiah will go for it but if it's our only option…"
Scott lowered the marker. "John? What are you thinking?"
"If we can figure out a way to get through the city, I know where we can get parts. Penelope's right, the obvious locations will have been scraped bare already, but Kayo might have a point about the tourism spots. The Science Museum would have a modern generator and if that's a dead end then we can take older tech from the exhibits and repurpose it."
Penelope stole the map back from Virgil. "Getting there is the biggest issue. We can't fly in – too much noise would attract the infected."
Kayo shoved her chair back with a screech, busying herself with rinsing her glass in the bucket of water in the sink. Her shoulders were rigid as she kept her back to them, refusing to let anyone see her face. Penelope's worried eyes flickered between Kayo and the whiteboard where Scott had updated their list of feasible plans so that Science Museum, London was now in first place.
Virgil set his marker down, sensing the shift in mood. "What are we missing here?"
"We've been into London before," Penelope explained after a tense pause. "Neither expedition ended well."
Kayo inhaled sharply. "Understatement of the century."
"But it's workable?" John twisted the cap of his marker, pressing his thumb into the little plastic ridges. He was a livewire of energy now that he had a plan to work on. "Right?"
"Theoretically," Penelope confirmed reluctantly, "Yes."
Kayo turned to face them, folding her arms as she leant back against the sink. "I can get us in and I can get us out again, but I can almost guarantee that things will get messy."
Scott exchanged a glance with Virgil.
"Messy is okay," Gordon replied, leaning back in his chair to prop his feet on the edge of Alan's seat. His brother smacked his ankles but didn't push him away. "We can handle messy."
"Your opinion is irrelevant." John's tone was sharp, cold even. He didn't bother to look across at Gordon, still furious with him because that was easier than admitting how scared he'd been. "You're not going anywhere."
"The hell I'm not-"
"A team only works if there is intrinsic trust between them. Given your fondness for keeping secrets lately, I wouldn't say that exists between us right now."
"Oh, screw you, John. Are you serious? I kept the vaccine a secret because I didn't see a point in getting your hopes up. There was no reason to tell you."
"You told Alan."
Alan shrank into his seat and looked as if he were wishing for a sinkhole to appear beneath his feet.
"I told Alan because you guys were treating him with kid gloves and it was just reinforcing the idea that we didn't trust him with shit."
Alan cringed. "That's not exactly what I said-"
"We didn't trust Alan? Give me a fucking break. You're the one who doesn't seem to trust us."
"That's such crap."
"Is it?"
"Yes!"
"You put us in a position where we thought-" John dropped his head onto his folded arms on the tabletop, cutting himself off with a brittle chuckle. "Remember how you felt when I got bitten? Before we knew about immunity? That's what you put us through. And it could have been avoided if you'd just told us about the vaccine."
Gordon opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish. The reality struck him in a cold slap. He ducked his head, staring at the old rings of coffee that had stained the woodwork. His sleeves rode up as he leant forwards, revealing a flash of clean bandages that Virgil had carefully reapplied for him a few minutes before the impromptu meeting.
He hesitated, sliding a hand across the table until his fingertips brushed John's arm. Relieved when his brother didn't flinch from him, he wrapped his hand around John's wrist and squeezed until John reluctantly looked up.
"I'm sorry."
The silence seemed deafening in the absence of the clock, still stopped at eight-thirty-three when the power had gone out. Scott went to speak then thought better of it. By the sink, Kayo's fingers curled around her biceps in a bruising grasp as she waited to hear John's reply. It wasn't just an apology for him but an apology for all yet somehow he had ended up speaking on their behalf's.
"No more secrets."
Gordon's relieved grin held a hint of future mischief. "You know I can't guarantee that."
"No more secrets of actual importance," John amended.
"Copy that, space-case, I will keep you informed of my every thought from now on."
"Please don't."
Gordon dropped the act, voice softening into a genuine promise. "No more secrets, Johnny."
"I'm holding you to that."
"You'd better."
"And don't call me Johnny."