Is it still Friday? Hopefully. I don't know anymore. I'm working with four time zones all at once and my brain is melting.


It was only a two-hour hike from Two's makeshift landing site to the spot where the survival group had temporarily set up camp. There wasn't much of a choice about who would make the journey, not when John was trialling a new variation of meds, and no one was going to let Alan tag along.

Scott retrieved his suit, avoided any mirrors – although there was probably something to be said about exposure therapy because he was gradually getting used to wearing obsidian without imagining flashes of blood over the fabric – and met Virgil in the module. It was a unanimous decision to strike out on foot – they weren't here as International Rescue and taking a pod would send the wrong message.

The first mile was easy. The road remained an unbroken grey ribbon, interspersed by brave weeds. No abandoned cars littered the sides. Fields sloped into gentle hills as far as the eye could see. There were no obvious signs of any infected. In the early morning sun, hope didn't seem such a distant concept. There was a brisk chill to the air, but it was invigorating rather than sharp. Gravel crunched underfoot.

The silence was almost overwhelming. Scott hadn't realised how much of a comfort it was to have the background hum of hologram projectors or electrical appliances or even just the faint rumble of air filters or life support systems. Human inventions offered a sense of security. Out here, far away from anything technical, the world seemed wild and very big. The sky appeared vast, greater than an entire ocean, so that even the cloud layers did little to offer a perception of depth. It was as unnerving as it was freeing.

No infected crept out of the undergrowth. A lone car had been discarded around a bend in the road but there were no traces of any unwanted visitors. They continued onwards. Without any destroyed settlements in sight, it was possible to imagine time had slunk back to before societal collapse. A stray powerline battered into submission ruined this fantasy, trailing in the dust. The electricity had long since been extinguished but there were signs of past fires where sparks would have flown freely.

Words were unnecessary. Comfortable silence was a luxury in itself. There was a certain simplicity that came with putting one foot in front of the other, assured that the drone Virgil had sent on ahead would warn them of any threats. Scott found the celery crunch bar he'd stolen from Gordon's locker and broke it in two.

Virgil took the offered piece without looking away from the lonely road ahead. "Do you think it's possible?" he asked, rushed, as though he'd been turning the words over and over while trying to work up the courage to actually voice them.

Scott examined the faded label of the crunch bar. His brain lagged a little and he only registered the words after Virgil had begun to look at him expectantly.

"I know we joke about it, but I can't actually read your mind, you know?" He took a bite of the crunch bar and ignored the overly chemical taste. How the hell did Gordon eat these things by the bucketful? "Do I think what is possible?"

Virgil studied the drone readouts on his console, seeking a distraction. "Do you think we'll find him with these people?"

In all honesty, no. Scott highly doubted they'd find Gordon here. What he hoped for was answers, or at the very least a small clue which could set them on the right path, because otherwise they were at a loss again and this entire trip would have been futile, just another way to crush their spirits. But that wasn't what Virgil wanted to hear. He was searching for hope. Scott could read the helplessness where others would simply see restless anxiety. There was a big difference between being scared and being powerless.

"I think there's a chance," he offered. "I think it's more likely that he's already moved on, but I do think we'll find some answers here that can lead us to him."

Without anyone to listen in, that trusted vulnerability which usually only belonged to the early hours made a reappearance. Virgil craned his neck to glimpse the canopy of overhanging trees. Feeble sunlight cast dappled patterns over their shoes.

"I miss him."

Scott fixed his sights on the metallic glint ahead where the drone was hovering and didn't dare look away again for fear of losing his control over all those unwanted emotions. The complicated state of being human and therefore experiencing human feelings – it was a blessed curse. He banished memories from the forefront of his mind but held them close to his heart to be cherished later.

"I miss him too," he whispered.


It took closer to three hours to reach the outskirts of the camp than the predicted two, but that was only because they slowed the pace. For starters, a large group of healthy humans was likely to attract infected for miles, but also because the cynical part of Scott's brain didn't trust anyone straight off-the-bat and he didn't fancy getting shot before he could introduce himself. If strangers had snuck up on his survival camp, he probably would have met them with a rifle too. So, he hung back while he formulated a plan.

"You have no faith in humanity," Virgil informed him, crouched behind the rusted shield of a disused pickup truck. "It's depressing."

Scott didn't have a comeback. There wasn't much point in denying it. He glanced over his shoulder at Virgil's smile. "Really? Are you really gonna call me out like this? At this precise moment?"

"No faith," Virgil sing-songed, before his gaze softened, observing something behind Scott. "There are kids." He shuffled forwards, planting a hand on Scott's shoulder to steady himself. "See?"

He pointed past the mesh of brambles. Between the foliage, beyond the man standing guard with a collection of weapons best suited to a videogame character, flashes of colour darted back and forth. Vibrant shirts – the only splash of brightness amid the dull dust of the decaying landscape – swept in and out of view as the children chased one another around the safety of the camp's inner circle. They were of varying ages – although even the eldest couldn't have been more than ten at most – and at first glance they didn't appear to be related – although to be fair many people had said that about the Tracy brothers in the past. Faint giggles accompanied whispered shouts of 'tag' and 'gotcha', the first glimpses of innocence since this entire ugly mess had begun.

It was the apocalypse. Many of these children had likely lost everything. They had suffered greatly. One little boy was on crutches. Another kid had a patch covering her left eye. Cruel scars were plentiful. And yet they were laughing. They were playing. They hadn't lost that precious ability to be kids, to let the adults take care of everything and trust that they were safe. They didn't feel guilty for enjoying themselves in the midst of tragedy.

Scott didn't have to look at his brother to know this was going to be a problem. Dragging Virgil away from people in need was always going to have been a challenge but asking him to turn his back on children was going to be damn near impossible. But right now, they had to focus on being accepted into the camp at all, so he filed that problem away for later.

"We probably should have planned this beforehand," Virgil mused.

Scott gave him a dark side-eye, as in, ya think?

"But whatever you do," Virgil continued, vaguely amused by his own words as if no one could possibly be so stupid as to actually do such a thing. "Do not just walk up to the guy holding the giant gun."

"I would never," Scott protested, and then proceeded to do exactly that.

As it transpired, there were five people on guard, dotted around the circle, some more adept at concealing themselves than others. Luck had it that the first one Scott approached was not as sharp as the others and so the immediate response was not a fired shot but rather a shocked shout of warning. The children scattered. A collection of other haggard survivors were armed and on their feet within seconds. Exclamations in varying languages flooded the clearing.

Scott lifted his hands in surrender. "I'm human, see? No bites. No infection." He took a risk and added, "I'm immune, just like some of you."

A tense pause descended. The original guard lowered his rifle, head cocked in assessment before he turned and shouted something across the clearing to the main tent.

Scott took a step back to stand at Virgil's side. "What was that? Spanish? I'm crap at Spanish."

"Because you kept cutting class to hook up with cheerleaders."

"I did not." Virgil gave him the look. "Okay, fine, but can you let that go and just translate for me?"

Virgil heaved a sigh. "He's calling for Joanna, whoever she is, presumably the person in charge if I had to guess. He doesn't think we're a threat, but he doesn't know who we are or what our intentions might be."

Joanna turned out to be clad in stolen GDF gear, with dark badly cropped hair which had clearly been the result of a relatively blunt knife. She had the sort of piercing gaze which seemed to cut directly to the soul and left Scott feeling uncomfortably seen in a way that could only usually be achieved by Virgil or John. The crucial part was the various blades strapped to her person, glinting in the light as she strode across the clearing, chin slanted as she inspected them for threat. She made a vague gesture with one hand and there was a resounding click as the guards set the safety back on their guns, standing down but still on edge despite Joanna's orders.

"Hi," Scott began, mustering that infamous smile. "I'm-"

"I know who you are," Joanna cut him off, voice cold and calculating. "What I would like to know, Mister International Rescue, is what you want with us?"

Scott tried to meet her gaze. "Well, I've gotta say, that's not normally the reaction we get."

Virgil elbowed him, as in, what is wrong with you? Stop talking. Idiot. Which, to be fair, was perfectly valid and was probably the right thing to do. Scott trailed off. Virgil sent him an exasperated look and took over the introductions. Joanna seemed a little more appeased but still levelled Scott with a death stare, as if he were personally accountable for the entire apocalypse.

"We have children here," she said after a moment, directing the guards to return to their posts and beckoning Scott and Virgil towards her tent. "They're immune, but most of them have lost their parents, saw them die, saw everything around them turn to ash. Where were you when the world needed you?"

Virgil looked as if she'd smacked him, repressing a flinch. "We helped as many as we could."

Joanna gave a derisive huff. "I'm sure you did."

"Hey." Scott caught her arm. "I get that you're angry, but we are one family. We did our best. But how were we supposed to be everywhere at once? We took as many people as possible to official safe locations. We had no idea they would be overrun. We're not the military, we didn't have intel."

"Have you lost anyone?" Joanna snapped, snatching her arm back. "Have you seen the people you love suffer? Seen your home burn?"

"Not in the way you're thinking," Scott admitted. "But we have lost people." He softened his tone. Joanna's stony stare warmed slightly. "We're not here to take anything. We're not here to beg for resources. We're looking for someone we lost and we're hoping you might be able to shed some light on where he might have gone, that's all. We'll help you as best we can. We have limited medical supplies and more food if that would be useful?"

Joanna unloaded her knives onto the makeshift table. "Everything is useful." She crossed her arms, studying them with a pensive thoughtfulness. "I lost my mother and my little sister. My fiancé was in London. I don't know if he made it out. Who are you looking for?"

Virgil cleared his throat. "Our younger brother." He knitted his fingers and the metal plating scraped, painfully, like the words seemed to grate too. "He has a car. It's uh…" He drew the records of the ranch garage from his console. "Blue. Explorer. And he has a black suit, like us. I don't know if you've seen him, but he-"

"I've seen him."

Virgil searched for words. "W-what?"

"I've seen him," Joanna repeated. She propped herself against the desk. "We had a problem with the rotters."

"Rotters?" Scott echoed, an unofficial question.

Joanna waved a hand. "Rotters, zeds, the undead, creatures, the infected, biters, lurkers, saifu – different people call them different names. Base line is that they're monsters. Anyway, we had a group of 'em catch our scent. Trailed us for days. You don't want to use ammo unless you really have to because it's hard to restock but also it just attracts more of the fuckers. Anyway, they seem to be getting cleverer because they managed to get the drop on us. We were in a tight spot, lemme tell you that for nothing, but then this guy, dressed all in black, just like you, metal plating, the full works – he comes out of nowhere. No guns. But these taser things on his wrists and…"

She made a vague gesture.

"Machetes. Two, actually. Crossbow, too. The rotters couldn't lay a finger on him. He was like a superhuman. Dispatched half the horde in a matter of minutes. He stuck with us for the next forty-eight hours, helping us take down the rest. We'd have been happy to see him stay, but he said he had to carry on, said he had people he needed to find and a plan to be getting on with."

"He saved you," Virgil said softly. It wasn't a question.

Joanna dipped her head sharply. "Yep. We're not the only survival group out here, either. He's helped quite a few of us. He's like a regular vigilante. Occasionally we'll get a radio signal and chat to the other groups, share intel, that sorta thing. They all talk about him." She cracked a grin. "Hearing that car engine when you're in trouble is like hearing a Thunderbird nowadays."

Out of everything, it seemed almost ironic that that was the line which hit home. Virgil excused himself and stepped outside the tent, claiming that he needed a moment. Scott fought the instinct to go after him.

Joanna offered a sad smile. "You should keep a close eye on him."

Scott studied her for threat. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that he's too soft for this new world. He'll get himself killed if he's not careful." Joanna held up a hand to mute his protests. "It's not a criticism. It's merely an observation. If it came to a fight, he'd hesitate. That's the sorta thing that gets you bitten. Now, your other brother? He took those rotters down without a second thought."

Her tone was admiring. Scott checked to see if Virgil was ready to return, but there was no immediate signs of his brother. Joanna moved to join him in the entrance, gaze warm as she observed the children return to their game.

"Can I ask you something?" Scott said before he could stop himself.

Joanna gave him a curious glance. "You can certainly ask." She smirked. "I can't guarantee an answer, though."

Scott hesitated. "Did he not tell you his name?" He watched the tattered ribbons strung around the top of the tent pole flap in the wind. Joanna remained silent. "I couldn't help but notice – you didn't mention his name once."

Joanna slid her hands into her pockets. "Gordon Tracy." She shrugged. "I try not to use names because then I get attached and it makes it harder when I inevitably lose them. But when someone saves the people you love, it becomes difficult not to care about them, regardless of whether you know their name or not."

She sighed.

"Look, I don't know where Gordon's headed. I'll be honest with you. But he gave us supplies, even gifted a toy to Lily – she's the little girl with the eyepatch. He gave her that plush rabbit she's holding. I don't think she's put it down since she got it. He has to have gotten those supplies from somewhere. The only place I can think of is a GDF facility, about two hours driving from here. You could try there. He may have left you a clue."

Scott fought back a wave of hopelessness. "Maybe."

Joanna clapped his shoulder. "Stay for a while. We can spare some rations for lunch. It's the least we can do – not for you, because you haven't really done anything, but for your brother. He'd want us to look out for you. Your family seem close. He talked about you a lot when he was here. Told the children stories and such."

"Stories?"

"Children need to believe in heroes, Tracy." Joanna observed the clusters of bedraggled survivors around the clearing where a campfire had long since died. "I think perhaps adults need to believe in them too."


Everyone had a story to tell. Gordon had made quite a name for himself. People were a lot more welcoming once the news spread that their saviour was related to the two newcomers and hostilities melted into warm acceptance. Joanna introduced the group medic – a vet from downtown Chicago – and the twins – late teens, had barely escaped from their home in Ciudad Juárez with their lives – who were in charge of cooking most nights as they were the only ones capable of concocting something appetising from the meagre rations.

"Some groups set up permanent camps," Joanna explained, leading Scott through a collection of pilfered tins and long-life foods stacked under the protective roof of another tent. "We prefer the nomadic style."

Scott helped her fasten a corner of the tent under a large boulder before it could flap wildly and tear the entire canopy apart. "Sounds…" He couldn't think of the right word. "…freeing."

She shot him a grin at that before letting it fade.

"In reality, we just haven't found anywhere we feel safe. Setting down roots sounds nice in theory, but unless you've got a clean water source and sustainable food production, you're screwed. Supplies will run out eventually and what do you do when you've already scavenged everything in the area? Not to mention ensuring the place is secure enough to stand up against attacks. And then…" She let out a low whistle. "Then there's the radiation. We heard of a few groups lost to that shit show."

Scott recalled the taste of the decontamination packets. "I got caught up in that myself. Not a fun time. Anyone in your group suffer the side-effects?"

Joanna retrieved a tin from the top shelf and passed it to him. "Not yet."

She beckoned him after her. The bright light outside the tent was blinding. Scott took a moment to blink spots away so that he wasn't in danger of faceplanting in front of everyone. One of the twins took the tin from his hands with murmured gratitude. The wind was once again picking up and tents billowed in the wind. Along a strung washing line, a series of shirts engulfed the air to form strange ghosts. A pair of children darted between them, shrieking with laughter. A woman in her late fifties hushed them. The guards shifted uneasily.

Joanna followed Scott's gaze. "The radiation is pushing us further north." She flipped one of her many knives between her hands. "Unfortunately, it's forcing the rotters in the same direction. Gordon got rid of the horde that was bothering us but there's thousands more to replace them. He left us with more ammo, but it won't be enough. Sooner or later, they'll catch up to us again. It's just a matter of when." She tapped the tip of her knife against her chin. The metal mirrored the steel in her eyes. "I can't promise to protect these people, but I can give my very best shot."

There was a scrap of colour amid the dust. Scott crouched and plucked a blue ribbon from the crushed grass. Joanna stole it from his grasp.

"That'll be Lorna's. She's always losing them." She flashed him a smile. "I'll be back soon. Try not to get eaten or antagonise anyone. Lorna! Hey, Lorna! You dropped a ribbon, again, honestly, what are you like?"

Scott hung back. The weight of guilt was so crushing that if someone told him gravity had been dialled up, he would've believed them without question. These people – they deserved better. They deserved to live freely, away from fear and hunger and the constant threat of death at every turn. They had lost so much and yet here they were, still loving, still caring, still daring to believe in a future, no matter how bleak it may seem.

He hugged his arms across his chest and curled his hands over the bruises on his biceps. Guilt was sickening. But there was nothing he could do. Thunderbird Two couldn't carry this many people in one trip and where would they take them? There was nowhere big enough to sustain this number. And besides, they weren't the only group out here. What made these people more deserving of rescue than others?

You can't save everyone. He knew that. So why did it hurt so badly?


There was a set routine. Having a structured day gave people something to focus on and kept them from spiralling and it gave the kids a sense of security. Scott volunteered to help with the scouting party who ran perimeter checks and took out any infected who had strayed too close for comfort. Joanna whistled to get his attention, then planted a knife in his hands.

"Gunfire draws more rotters," she reminded him, arching a brow at his expression. "What, uncomfortable using a blade on 'em?"

Scott scuffed a boot in the dirt.

"No," he muttered, feeling remarkably like a scolded child for no apparent reason. Despite being only five years his senior, Joanna seemed a lot like Grandma. If the pair were ever introduced, they'd get on like a house on fire. That being said, he had only known Joanna since that morning and was not about to unload past traumas on her. Knives weren't fun, not in his books, and that was all she needed to know.

Joanna scoffed. "Honestly, next you'll be telling me you don't like needles."

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

She cackled. "Oh my god, are you serious? Honestly, Tracy, do you just have a thing against all sharp objects?"

He snatched the blade up and trudged after the rest of party, trying to ignore Joanna's laughter carrying on the wind.

There were only three infected within range. Kiara – an absolute whizz with a crossbow – took out two with clean shots. Wyatt – the ex-Marine who'd lost his smile along with his wife and two sons – destroyed the third with an axe which he wiped on the grass and tucked neatly into the holster on his back. None of them seemed affected by the gore, not even when one of the creature's heads split open to ooze rotting brains all over the tarmac.

Scott tagged along beside the final scout, Jude – the same guard who he'd initially walked up to – who was still clinging to his rifle like a security blanket. He did speak English, it transpired, fluently, but his first language was Spanish which 'came in handy when trying to keep discussions a secret in front of random strangers who'd wandered into the middle of his camp during the zombie apocalypse'.

Scott took the hint. "Hey, no hard feelings, right?"

Jude eyed him with an amused smile. "No hard feelings," he agreed. "Especially not when your brother saved our asses." He ran a thumb along the barrel of his rifle, voice pitched low with empathetic sadness. "How long ago did you get separated?"

"Nearly two weeks." Scott avoided Jude's searching look. "Feels like longer," he admitted, very quietly, but Jude caught the words.

"I bet." He exhaled in a long whistle. Patted his gun like an old friend. Tipped his head back in the dim sunlight and searched the sky for answers. "You know," he said conversationally, "Gordon talked about you a lot."

Silence settled as they picked their way through a patch of overgrown ivy. A shadow scuttled into the bushes. Up ahead, Wyatt threw up a hand to signal that there was no apparent threat. Kiara whispered something teasing and he shook his head. Jude watched them both fondly, not pressing for Scott to continue the conversation but clearly willing to talk if asked.

Scott couldn't help himself. There was something about hearing stories that made you feel closer to a person. Maybe, he reflected, that was why Alan had always been so desperate to learn about their childhoods – to achieve that sense of closeness with the parents he had never known.

"Really?" he probed. "Like uh…" He coughed. "Like what?"

Jude turned a brilliant smile on him. "All sorts of things, really. International Rescue's greatest hits, of course, to entertain the children. But he talked about his family too. Said that all of you had been separated and that he missed you more than anything. He got along well with the twins. I asked him about it – how he just knew how to act around them when teens can be tricky, you know? – and he went real' fond and told me all about his little brother and how proud he was of him."

"Alan," Scott whispered.

Jude nodded. "Uh huh, that's the name. Well, Gordon said how Alan is around the same age as the twins and that teens aren't so difficult after all, that there's a certain knack to it, which he understood because it wasn't so long ago that he was a teenager himself." His features twisted in a despondent frown. "I didn't realise quite how young he actually is until today. I was talking with Virgil earlier. It makes me even more impressed." He chuckled. "Don't tell Kiara, but Gordon's the best shot I've ever seen."

"Best shot in the family," Scott confirmed, struck by the urge to cry. He found the handle of Joanna's knife and clung to it tightly. "He's out here looking for me. For Alan, too. We missed each other by just twenty-nine hours. Now we're chasing after him while he thinks he's chasing after us."

Jude cast him a sympathetic look. "He can handle himself. All you need to do is catch up with him."

"He's not immune."

Jude lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Neither is everyone here. Most of us, sure, but not all. It's not a death sentence. It just tips the scales a little. But from Gordon's told me, your family makes a habit of beating the odds."

Scott glimpsed the outskirts of the main camp ahead. "Jude," he queried, "do you have siblings?"

"No." Jude's smile turned sad. "But I did have a kid, once. His name was Victor."

Was Victor. Scott inhaled sharply.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Jude ran a hand down his face, eyes overly bright. "I lost him years ago, long before any of this. Sometimes I think to myself and I'm glad that he's gone, because he doesn't have to suffer, doesn't have to witness all this pain, but then I feel so guilty, because what kind of a father does that make me?"

"A great one," Scott answered without thinking. His voice sounder rawer than he'd intended. He watched his footing carefully, thankful that the uneven ground gave him an excuse not to meet Jude's gaze. "You're grateful that he's at peace, that he isn't being hurt by this hellscape."

"We all feel guilty, no matter what logic dictates," Jude mused. He swung an arm around Scott's shoulders. "Thank you, for not giving up on us." He gestured to the sky. "You could have stayed away, been safe with your family. Gordon told us that you left to find answers, to try to save the world. I'm sorry that caring so much has only brought you further pain."

Scott wasn't sure what to say to that. Jude's arm was heavy around his shoulders. Part of his soul ached at the touch and the comfort it brought. You are not alone, even when it feels like the entire world is against you – there will always be people on your side, be them strangers or family.

"Mirrors," Jude began, seemingly out of nowhere, "are liars. Your reflection is inversed. It isn't a true image of how people see you. How you view yourself is warped. It isn't the truth. So, when we look at ourselves and see everything we hate while others look at us and see everything they love, whose perspective is more likely to be correct?" He tugged Scott close for a brief moment. "I see myself in you, which is why I'm telling you this. Your brother thinks the world of you, and I think someone as special as Gordon would only surround himself with people who are truly good."

He released his grip, returning his hand to his rifle. "Ah. Smell that?" He gave an appreciate sniff, brightening. "The twins have finished preparing lunch. We'd better get on before we miss out."


In the couple of hours Scott had been gone, Virgil had managed to charm the entire camp. This was not surprising. He'd gained a small cluster of admirers. The elder folk couldn't resist a smile either. The kids were following him around like ducklings. One of the boys – a seven-year-old known as AJ – was perched on his shoulders, giggling, arms flung sky-high in delight. Virgil caught sight of Scott, gently set AJ back down with assurances that he could have another ride later and crossed the clearing to join him.

"Hey." Scott lifted a hand in greeting.

"Hey," Virgil replied, somewhat breathlessly. He knocked his forehead against Scott's shoulder like an affectionate housecat. "How were the perimeter checks?"

Scott shrugged. "Uneventful." He nodded to the crowd of kids waiting patiently for Virgil's return. "I see you've found some fans."

Virgil openly laughed. Scott pulled him into a hug before he'd even realised himself what he was doing. Virgil didn't hesitate to hug him back.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, genuinely concerned.

"Uh huh." Scott couldn't look at the children – kids he was going to turn his back on. People who trusted him to make the right choices. He took a shuddering breath. "Actually, no. Not really. I'm really not okay, Virgil. But it is what it is, I guess."

"Scott," Virgil began, hesitantly.

"We have to leave them, Virg." Scott watched the smile drop from his brother's face. "God, I'm sorry. You know I'm sorry. But we have to. We don't have a choice. We can't carry them all on Two and even if we could, we've got nowhere that could sustain this many people."

"What about the children?" Virgil protested, managing to keep his voice low but injecting a healthy dose of indignant anger into his words all the same. "We could at least rescue the children."

"It wouldn't be a rescue." Scott pinched the bridge of his nose. There was another headache pressing at his temples. He ground his heels into the dirt, unable to look Virgil in the eyes. "They have a family here. They're loved. We don't know how this ends for us or for anyone. If we can't fix it, isn't it kinder to let them spend what little time they have left with people who care about them, who will do everything in their power to keep them happy?"

"They're children, Scott," Virgil whispered, voice breaking on the words. He blinked back tears.

"I know," Scott choked out. "I know they should be kept safe. I know they're just kids, that they shouldn't have to witness anyone they love die. Of course I get that, because so were we." He hadn't intended to voice those last words. Virgil stared at him. He yanked a hand through his hair painfully. "I hate this, okay? But we don't have a choice."

"There is always a choice," Virgil hissed. "And this isn't the right one."

"Dammit, Virgil. Don't fight me on this."

"This is wrong, and you know it."

"Fine." Scott tossed up his hands. "You say it's wrong, then fine. You're absolved of any guilt. I take full responsibility for this decision, whether it's the right one or the wrong one, it's all on me. You can walk away and if the worst happens, then you can turn around and say that you tried, that you wanted to save them, but I didn't let you. Pin the blame on me if it's easier, but we cannot take these people with us." He took a deep breath. "Think about this. We have no idea where Gordon is. Alan's on the verge of a complete breakdown. And then John's… he's…"

Virgil bit back a reply.

"We have to walk away, Vee," Scott whispered. "I'm sorry."


Goodbyes were never easy. This time was worse. No one blamed them for walking away but Scott could scarcely breathe past the guilt. It coiled in his lungs and crushed his heart and he wanted to tear himself to pieces just to be rid of it for the briefest of seconds. But all he could do was unload their rucksack of supplies, shake Joanna's hand, accept a hug from Jude and start walking. He waited for Virgil just within sight and watched his brother.

The children didn't understand why Virgil was leaving. Most accepted it without question, despite their sadness. There were hugs and tears and promises. Then, as Virgil finally turned to leave, the little girl with the eyepatch, Lily, ran up to him, tugging on his hand until he crouched down to her height.

"I want you to have Bunny." Lily held out her beloved rabbit plushie. "Gordon gave him to me because he said Bunny looks after people who are sad. But you look like you need him more than I do, so I want you to have him."

Virgil's expression crumpled. "Are you sure, Lil?"

"Yup." She gave an emphatic nod. "Just promise to look after him."

"I promise," Virgil whispered, and let her crush him in a fierce hug. "I'll take very good care of him, I promise."

It took a visible struggle for him to tear himself away. He strode past Scott without a word and continued without a break, one foot in front of the other, over and over like clockwork until the camp was far behind them and the sun was getting low in the sky.

"I'm sorry," Scott tried.

Virgil ground to a halt. "What we did back there? That goes against everything I am as a person." He didn't bother to wipe away tears. "It doesn't matter how many times you say sorry. Sorry doesn't change the fact that we made this choice. And now we have to live with it, for the rest of our lives." He shook his head. "You just forced me to betray myself, Scott. Sorry doesn't cut it, not this time."

He turned his back and continued on, silent except for his hitched breathing. Scott watched him go, unable to think, to do anything because it hurt, everything hurt, from walking to remembering to screwing it all up, to the simple sight of that toy rabbit stuffed into Virgil's rucksack.

He wrapped his arms around himself. "I'm sorry," he choked out, barely a whisper, unheard by anyone. The universe didn't hear him, or it simply didn't care. He remained frozen in the middle of the road with the dying sun and, for the first time ever, Virgil left him behind.