Next chapter will be up on Monday 19th rather than Friday 16th because yay life stuff, but I promise that's the last time I'll deviate from regular Friday posting for a long time. But for now, hey, have some zombies!


"I'm bored."

They were in the middle of nowhere. Crops stretched on either side of an endless road marked with craters left long ago by heavy tyres. Sound travelled further out here, so every now and then the call of an infected would echo on the wind. Thunder was a constant symphony, accompanying the rustle of leaves. Every so often tiny tornadoes of dust would swirl around their heels. Finch's tail drooped, uncertain, sticking close to Alan's side. As the track rose to the brim of a hill, proving a view of the landscape ahead, it became very obvious that they were the only life for miles.

All of this served to increase Scott's paranoia to a new level. Gordon was jumpy too, keeping a hand on the gun at his hip. John kept checking over his shoulder. Virgil held the rucksack in clenched fists. Stray crow shrieks had all of them startling as if there had been another explosion. The infected were lurking all around, just far enough to remain a threat rather than a promise.

And yet despite everything, Alan was bored.

"Are you serious right now?" Gordon sounded just as amused as Scott felt, because come on, it was such a teenager thing to say and there was something fantastic about the fact Alan could still act like that. Maybe the trauma hadn't stolen his childhood completely.

Alan swung his bat from one hand to the other, scuffing his heels in the dust. "Yeah. We've been walking for… what, three hours?"

John nodded. "Three hours."

Scott glanced at him. "How do you know? You don't have a watch."

"I've been counting." John gestured to the sun, sinking low in the sky. "Also, if you take the angle and-"

"No creepy maths stuff, thanks," Gordon quipped, making to elbow him but deciding to be nice for once and settling for prancing ahead to swing his arms out as if about to perform some sort of modern dance. He twisted to walk backwards so that he could face them.

"It was Physics, technically," John corrected him.

Gordon rolled his eyes. "Eh. Tomato, to-mah-to. Point is, shut up, you make me feel dumb. Anyway, Al, how the hell are you bored? Is the constant threat of annihilation not so much fun?"

Alan shrugged. "We had near-death experiences on a daily basis, so this is more normal than it should be, you know?"

Gordon's smile dimmed. "Put like that, our lives are very concerning." He stumbled over a loose rock and was forced to turn around again before he could trip over and do something idiotic like break an ankle. "Huh." He came to a halt as the full scale of the destruction ahead became apparent, searching for the correct phrasing. "This is…"

"Haunting," Virgil finished quietly. Not quite robotic, but too close for comfort. He tugged the rucksack higher like a shield.

Gordon frowned. "Not the word I was looking for, but… honestly? Yeah. That's accurate."

Along the horizon was evidence of a city, or at least a very large suburban area. Crumbled tower blocks clawed the sky with jagged edges, torn metal twisted into unrecognisable monsters. Red sunlight reflected off shattered glass. Power lines swung slowly in a deadened wind with strange, high-pitched squeals. Even all the way out here, several miles from the outskirts, the stench of rot carried on the wind.

Virgil clasped a hand to his makeshift mask and tried not to gag.

Gordon slapped him on the back cheerfully. "Don't puke."

"Thanks," Virgil deadpanned, trying not to choke on the smell. "That's so helpful."

"I know, I'm a genius."

The place had to be teeming with infected. It was on such a large scale that there were bound to be thousands of people who had all turned. The stench only confirmed this theory. Scott scanned the horizon for an alternate route because heading into the heart of zombie territory was not his idea of a fun time. Suddenly the weight of the rifle hooked over his shoulder seemed a comfort. He wrapped a hand around the grip and tried to avoid Virgil's searching look.

John carefully unfolded the map, examining pencil marks where he'd traced routes north. There were several possibilities but all of them added at least two extra days onto the trek. The longer they had to walk, the higher the chance of that radiation storm catching up with them. But there was no choice about it – heading into the heart of the city was a death sentence – so onwards and around it was.

"More walking," Alan sighed, as if he hadn't voluntarily joined a cross-country team during his stint at boarding school. "Yay."

He looped a hand through the bandana he'd tied around Finch's neck, crouching at the dog's side to let her sniff the seal where his helmet met his suit. She still didn't seem sure about it, ears pricked uncertainly, but was happy enough to receive a fond pat.

John folded the map back into a neat square, scouring the road ahead. "There should be a left turn in about two miles. We'll take that, detour around the outskirts. We'll still run into a few of the infected, but nowhere near as many as if we continued straight."

Gordon retrieved a knife and noticed everyone staring. "What?" He lowered it to direct a defensive look around their little circle. "Hey, if anyone else wants to take a turn then go ahead, but until I hear a volunteer, I want to be ready to take out whatever rotter comes running at us. They're sneaky when they're less decayed. I'm not gonna be ambushed by some fucker without a face thank-you-very-much. Not a cool way to die."

Alan made a face. "Dude."

"Seriously, you look at me like I'm a complete freak. Well sorry for trying to keep us alive. Who else is gonna do it? Because Al, no one's expecting you to try, Virg, you can barely even touch that knife, John, you'll freeze up and Scott… The less you have to kill the better."

Virgil yanked the knife out of Gordon's hands and gripped it in shaking hands. "You don't get to make that assumption. None of us have any idea what we're capable of nowadays."

"Yeah, but…" Gordon put out a hand for his knife back. "C'mon, Vee, don't kid yourself. I'm not saying it's a bad thing. But there are certain roles. You're our friendly neighbourhood medic and I'm the local zombie killer. It's chill."

Virgil was silent for a long moment. "Next time we come across an infected," he said slowly, rotating the knife so that the blade gleamed in orange sunlight, "I'll kill it."

Gordon faltered. "Give me the knife, Virg." He tried to lay a hand on Virgil's wrist only to be rebuffed so sharply that he nearly flinched. "Virgil, come on, give me the fucking knife. You don't have to prove shit, okay? No one's judging anyone for what they will or won't do, least of all me. That's the whole point. I'll do the dirty work. There's no point in both of us living with that guilt. Just let me handle this, yeah?"

"Virgil," Scott prompted, practically whispering. At his side, Alan was frozen, Finch held close to his chest as if he were scared to let her go, fearful that she might tip the moment into the deep end. John had that unreadable expression again, turned away slightly so that the sun brought blind tears to the surface that didn't belong to any set emotion. He appeared to be holding his breath.

Virgil took a step back. "I'm keeping this." He clutched the knife closer, staring Gordon down as if he were a threat. "I said I'm keeping it."

"That's-" Gordon held up his hands in surrender. "Okay. Okay, man. You can- It's cool. We're all cool, right? But uh… maybe take a breather for a second."

"I don't need a breather."

"Humour me." He dropped his gaze to the dust covering his boots. "Please."

Virgil stayed frozen for another painfully long minute before finally relenting. He slid the knife into the side of the rucksack. "Happy now?"

John lifted a hand cautiously until he was within Virgil's line of sight. "Can you do me a favour?"

"What?"

"Count down from ten."

"Why?"

"You humoured Gordon, now I'm asking you to humour me."

Alan rose to his feet and backed away silently. Finch followed him closely, tail between her legs, sensing there was more at play here than a polite discussion. He wrapped his arms around himself, cradling the bat to his chest so that he could rest his chin on top, eyes fixed on the bleeding sunset. The stars were scarcely viewable through the haze, but he searched for them anyway until the wind drew tears and he had to blink. Silhouetted against the sky, as far away from the group as he dared stray, he seemed very lonely.

"Alan," Scott called quietly. "Hey. Al." He glanced over his shoulder, but John seemed to have the situation under control, so he stepped away to stand at Alan's side. "Alan?" He put a hand on Alan's shoulder. "What's going on up there?" He rapped on the helmet.

Alan shrugged. "Dunno. A lot." He studied the chipped wood on the side of the baseball bat where a game had clearly once grown too violent. "It's… I kind of want to hit something."

Alright. That wasn't what Scott had expected, admittedly, but at least the kid was confiding in him to a certain extent. He followed Alan's gaze to the remains of the city, an ugly scar against a vivid sky.

"Because you feel angry?"

Alan shook his head. "Because I feel too much." He dropped a hand to Finch's head with a heavy sigh, propping the bat against his shoulder. "We should start walking again if we want to find somewhere to hide during the night."

Scott twisted to catch Gordon's eye. Gordon was leaning against the nearest fencepost, flipping one of his many throwing knives between his hands, shoulders hunched. There was a tiny cut on his thumb where the blade had caught him. He looked up, sensing eyes on him, and forced a smile.

John had an arm around Virgil's shoulders. "Grab your stuff. We're leaving."

Alan looped Finch's leash around his wrist. Scott lofted the rucksack higher. Gordon tipped his head back to glimpse the darkening sky above and didn't move for a long moment. When he finally did, he kept to their heels as if he were unwelcome in the heart of the family. Scott couldn't work out if Gordon genuinely believed that, or if it was a guilt complex. Either way, it hurt.


Night set in quicker than anticipated. The infected might not have been able to see very well, but their sense of smell and hearing seem superior to a regular human's. This technically put them at an advantage, so Scott made the tactical decision to remain on higher ground amongst the crops where they could see if anything approached from the city suburbs. He didn't like being stuck in the open, but it was safer than the alternative.

Temperatures plummeted as soon as the sun set. He'd forgotten just how cold it could get without shelter. Stars were mostly concealed by the constant dust haze, but it was still an empty sky and without cloud cover all the heat leaked into the upper atmosphere. Instinct had him wanting to build a fire, but it would draw anything and everything to their location and besides, they had no fuel. Crops would send up too much smoke and they'd inhaled enough toxins as it was.

Alan flopped on his back, trying to leech heat from the ground. The dirt was scorched by the sun but had cooled just as rapidly as everything else. He rolled onto his side and curled around Finch, drawing her close to his chest to bury his face in her fur, having abandoned the helmet for the time-being to give the filter a break. Finch hooked her paws over his shoulders and pushed her nose under his chin, seeking his body heat just as much as he sought hers.

Gordon was giving Virgil a wide berth. Scott still wasn't entirely sure what the hell had happened earlier and apparently Gordon was confused too, but no one was about to bring it up. For now, Virgil remained on one side of the circle next to John while Gordon clung to Scott's side. He was sat like a kid, with his knees to his chest, rotating a knife over and over until it bit him a second time.

Scott reached over and took the blade. "That's enough."

Gordon didn't protest, just dropped his chin to his knees and stared into the darkness until his pupils practically overwhelmed his irises, fear keeping him too on edge to sleep despite the fact Scott had volunteered to take first watch. He shuffled closer until their shoulders bumped.

Scott could feel every tiny tremor running down his brother's spine.

"Talk to me," he murmured as Gordon knitted his fingers and took a sharp breath. "Gordon. What's going on?"

Gordon sent a pointed look at the opposite side of the circle. Virgil wasn't asleep but didn't appear present in the moment either. He was on his back, using the rucksack as a pillow and, in the faint light of the glowstick, Scott could spy a gleaming blade.

"Jesus. Is he still-?"

"Won't let go of it," Gordon confirmed. He bit his lip, reopening sores that had only recently stopped bleeding, cringing at the taste of copper. "I don't know what we're meant to do. I knew losing Two was gonna hit him hard, but it's like- I don't even know what it's like. He was still hoping there was a way back, you know? Back to the past. But now Two's gone, he's finally realised there is no going back and… The people we were before don't belong in this future. I just… I don't know how he's going to come to terms with that. You've got to want to survive."

"He does want to survive," Scott cut in sharply.

Gordon stared into the darkness. "Yeah. You're right. Sorry. I'm just talking crap as usual."

A desolate cry struck a chill deeper than the temperature dared reach. Gordon shivered. Scott instinctively reached for the rifle propped against his side. None of them dared move. Alan lifted his head from Finch's fur, blinking in the pitch dark, fumbling for his own weapon. John reached across and put a hand on his wrist.

"Relax," he murmured. "It's a long way off. Besides, we've got you covered."

Alan relinquished his grip on the bat. "I don't feel safe," he confessed, fiddling with Finch's fur to distract his hands.

John made a soft noise of protest. "Come here."

Alan shuffled closer. Finch whined at the loss of warmth and followed, curling up against his chest again as he flopped down at John's side. Another howl had them all tensing. Virgil bolted upright, eyes wide, pale in the light of dimming glowstick, undeniably haunted. He looked a little like he was going to be sick.

John set his gun down slowly. "It's going to be a long night."

"You can say that again." Gordon tugged a hand through his hair. "Shit. I hate this."

Alan tucked a hand under Finch's chest on the off chance that he might catch hypothermia through his gloves during the night and rolled over to use John's knees as a pillow. "Night."

Scott suspected no one was going to be getting much sleep. "Night, Al."

Gordon had gone suspiciously still. Scott nudged him.

"What's up?"

Gordon tilted his head, curiosity mixing with confusion. "Either I'm losing the plot, or John's acting weird."

"It's John."

"Weirder than usual."

Yeah, Scott couldn't exactly deny that. He'd been contemplating the same thought earlier in the day. And now, watching John hold himself completely still, eyes closed as if listening intently to something when the only sound was the whispering wind and Finch's slight snores…

Gordon exhaled through gritted teeth. "I have a question."

"Shoot."

"He killed that bandit."

Scott repressed the memory which tried to flood to the surface. "That's not a question."

"No, I know, I'm just- He didn't think he'd have to deal with that guilt because he was literally dying, but now… Fire's not a cure but it looks like he might have a lot longer to live with that guilt than he anticipated, right? So… Is he dealing with it? Or is he trying to repress it and failing miserably?"

"Damn, I'm finally better than him at something."

"Scotty, I'm just putting it out there – I don't think being better at repression is something to be proud of. Anyway, you're better than him at other stuff too. Flying, for one. Talking to women."

"Well, that's not hard. He's not even into women."

"He's not into anyone."

"Exactly."

Gordon tried not to laugh. "We'll just have to keep an eye on him, I guess."

"An eye on both of them," Scott amended, trying not to stare as Virgil finally dropped the knife and curled up on his side, hopefully getting some sleep.

He leant back on his hands, craning his neck to glimpse the sky. As the crops rustled, more dust formed clouds in the sky. John was right - it was going to be a long night.

Gordon tipped sideways to rest his head on Scott's shoulder. "You gonna be alright if I try to sleep?"

"Go for it."

The moon tiptoed across the sky. Scott traced the edges of the rifle and reminded himself how to breathe. Without anyone else awake to knock him out of his thoughts, it was entirely too easy to focus on the tightly coiled pain in his chest. For once, he couldn't tell if it was an emotional ache or the result of having inhaled too must dust.

"S'gonna be a long night," he whispered to himself. "Real damn long."


By the time dawn broke they were already awake, jolted from uneasy sleep by the increasing number of lonely cries on the wind. The infected in the city were hungry and from the vantage point on the hill, Scott could already see a cluster of them heading into the suburbs. The wind was carrying the rot away this time, which was a small mercy in terms of breathing without nearly throwing up but was dangerous when he considered the implications – they could no longer smell the infected, but the infected sure as hell could smell them. Healthy humans were a five-star delicacy on modern menus. He roused Alan – the only person asleep – with a shake to the shoulder and coaxed the kid into walking before Alan had even fully processed the situation.

Breakfast was a hurried affair, eaten on the move: three cereal bars split between the five of them, although Alan wasn't hungry so only nibbled on a tiny square and John kept zoning out, accepting the piece Scott handed him without realising what it actually was. Gordon took up residence at the back again, swinging the machete between his hands as if it were a toy rather than a lethal weapon.

Finch ran on ahead as soon as Alan released the leash but didn't stray too far, remaining within sight at all times. She slunk back to their sides once they reached the busier streets. There was evidence of the infected everywhere. The stench of rot was back, overpowering, enough to cause waves of light-headedness. Human remains smeared roads and sidewalks. Abandoned cars lodged between splintered picket fences.

"The American dream," John remarked sardonically. "Look how it turned out for them."

A child's bicycle lay upside down in the gutter. Alan ran a hand over a wheel and left it turning, drawing tiny squeaks from rusted spokes. Something flitted out of view behind a scruffy curtain in the house behind and he jolted away, bat raised to strike until logic laid blame to the wind.

Scott was about ready to unload the rifle on anything which moved, including but not limited to old leaflets fluttering on the breeze, a stray crow, creaking tree branches and his own shadow. His heart kept doing strange tricks in his chest. He couldn't tell if the slight strain to his breathing was thanks to anxiety or the choking rot infiltrating his helmet.

Gordon came to a sudden stop in the middle of the street. "Something's tracking us."

"Like… a zombie or a bandit?" Alan shifted from foot to foot, wrapping his hands firmly around the grip of his bat. "Or are we talking about a coyote? 'Cos honestly, I'd prefer that."

"No coyotes out here," Virgil murmured, withdrawing the knife from the rucksack, pretending his hands weren't shaking as he did so. He glanced to Gordon. "Infected, right?"

"Right," Gordon confirmed, taking a hesitant step forward, lifting the machete higher in anticipation as he scanned the street for movement. Everything could have concealed a body – cars, fallen fences and trees, flapping doors, crooked curtains. "C'mon you fugly bastard, where are ya?"

Alan accidentally knocked his bat against the concrete and jumped. Finch flattened her ears to her skull and growled, low and threatening. The fur along her spine was bristling. She retreated to Alan's side, teeth bared, hackles raised in warning. Scott reached out without looking away from the row of seemingly empty cars and caught Alan's arm, tugging the kid behind him. Virgil sidestepped to bracket Alan between them. A few paces away, John switched the safety off the gun without a trace of emotion as if he'd practised it hundreds of times before.

Finch was still growling. Gordon put out a hand to gesture for silence. Alan cautiously patted the dog's back and she quietened instantly but didn't relax, still prepared to attack whatever tried to threaten her newfound family.

"It's in the house."

John's whisper seemed deafeningly loud in the tense silence. He gestured to the house directly ahead, off-white walls now stained with dust and decay, windows a row of bombed teeth, blackened by smoke. Scott took a step closer, trying to get a clearer view. There was definitely something about the place, but he had yet to spot an infected. Instinct shouted at him to run. Then- there, in the doorway, congealed drool and rotten flesh dripping from a broken jaw, stumbling down the driveway on a broken ankle.

Gordon lunged ahead before John could take a shot. "Don't shoot. They'll all come running, every one of 'em for miles." He lowered the gun with two fingers. "Stay here. I've got this. And uh, Al, maybe look away?"

"I've killed hundreds of these in videogames."

"Not the same thing. Scott?"

Scott caught Alan's gaze without needing to say a word. Alan turned away, staring rigidly at the shattered windscreen of the Jeep behind them, gripping Finch's leash tightly.

Gordon took a deep breath. "Right. Okay. Fuck, I hate this, I really, really hate this, okay, okay, okay…"

The infected had wide, yellowing eyes which appeared to be weeping, leaving trails of blood down its face. It cranked open its mouth, that unhinged jaw dropping rotten teeth over the concrete. A silver filling pinged against a drain cover.

The deep-rooted primal fear was overwhelming, calling for flight over fight, but Gordon shouldered past John without hesitation, lofting the machete higher for maximum momentum upon striking. It didn't take one hit. One hit would have been easier, kinder, for both human and monster psyche, but bones didn't break quite so quickly. The skull audibly cracked, followed by a wet squelch and a long, desolate howl which fractured into something terrifyingly grateful.

They're not human, Scott reminded himself, fighting nausea as cranial fluid leaked along the tarmac and rotten fingers finally stopped twitching. Not human, unfeeling, uncaring, not human.

Gordon stared at the corpse at his feet for a long moment. He was shaking slightly, breathing as rapidly as his heartbeat, screwing his eyes shut as if he could wake himself from the living nightmare. Then, just as Scott went to speak, he jolted out of the trance. He wiped the blade against the overgrown front lawn, slotted it back into the holster, and delicately stepped around the pool of bodily fluids. There were specks of blood all over his boots.

"Let's go." He couldn't look at them. "There'll be more on the way. We've gotta get out of here."

Alan made a small sound of horror, morbid curiosity pulling his gaze to the body like an unwanted magnet. He practically flung himself as far away as possible, keeping close to Scott's side, hugging the baseball bat to his chest like a safety blanket.

"I told you not to look," Gordon whispered, voice breaking on the final word. "Just keep walking. Don't look back. Never look back."

Alan hunched his shoulders and didn't react. He refused to look at Gordon. Finch appeared to be copying him, also giving Gordon a wide berth. That machete seemed poisonous now, infecting everything around it, tainted its wielder with death too.

"Virgil." John held out the handgun. "Exchange. Give me the knife. You have this."

Virgil had been distinctly off for the past forty-eight hours – possibly longer, because Scott had given up on keeping track of time – but even he picked up on the glaring red flag. His steps stuttered, staring at the offered gun as if John had rigged it to blow.

"Why?" he asked eventually, slowly, listening for hidden messages, trying to read between the lines when listening to the surface level words was already challenging enough. "You want- You want a knife?"

John swallowed. "Yep."

"Why?"

He stared at the bloodied footprints left in Gordon's wake. "Please."

"I don't think…" Virgil shot a mildly frantic look at Scott. "Uh…"

"Virgil." John suddenly sounded exhausted. "Please."

Virgil reluctantly handed him the knife. John dropped the gun into his brother's hands and shifted his gaze to the blade, turning it over so that it reflected his own eyes back at him.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Virgil visibly shivered. "John," he began, but John broke into a jog until he caught up with Gordon a few paces ahead, still within earshot but far enough away to make it obvious that he wasn't willing to talk.

Finch let out a long, mournful whine. Scott glanced across. Alan had taken off his helmet, trying to silently wipe away tears before they could finish falling. Virgil fell into step beside them, unspeaking, trying to find comfort in their presence. All around, the infected were on the move, hungry, stalking the streets: the hunt had begun.


Scott hoped against the odds that they wouldn't run into any more infected, but the encounters grew too numerous to count. Gordon was determined to keep the guns as a last resort, such as if they became cornered by a horde or the blades became too dull to carve through bone. Given Scott was the one with the rifle, this made him fairly redundant, so his role became keeping Alan and Virgil calm while Gordon flung himself headfirst into fights, taking down zombies like he was in a real-life videogame. He was uncannily skilled at killing them, despatching each one without hesitation, breaking bone and slicing sinew as if it were second nature.

They'd almost made it completely out of the once populated area when the final zombie crept up on them without warning. It was less decayed than the majority which made it smarter, more agile, neatly dodging Gordon's first blow so that he was forced to stumble back. Panic slipped into his expression as he flailed wildly with the machete and Scott raised the rifle, aiming, struggling to line up a clear shot while Gordon kept getting in the way.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck…" His finger nearly slipped on the trigger. "Goddammit, Gordon, move."

The infected let out a frantic screech, so loud and piercing that it left his ears ringing. Scott flinched instinctively, pain jolting through his head like a lightning bolt. Gordon lost his grip on the machete, slipping on the pool of gooey flesh dripping from the creature's stomach, slamming into cold concrete hard enough to knock the air from his lungs.

"Gordon, duck!" Alan took a wild swing with the baseball bat. The infected flung a clawed hand at him, raking splinters from the edge. Scott tackled his brother to the ground before those snarling jaws could get any closer. Alan's breathing was sharp-edged, rapid with panic, curling in on himself as Scott held him tightly.

Something wet splashed the concrete, trickling along his side, staining blue uniform purple. Scott lurched upright, heart jolting, unable to think until he'd seen that his brothers were safe. Virgil was standing a short distance away, still aiming his own gun in the creature's direction, but he hadn't been the one to take it down.

Gordon was collapsed on his back, eyes wide, ghostly pale beneath the coating of blood across his face. He gripped the fabric of his suit above his heart to feel his own pulse as if he couldn't quite believe he was still alive, slowly struggling to sit up, taking deep, rapid gulps of air. Even from the other side of the road, Scott could see how badly he was shaking, trying to wipe the blood from his skin but only smearing it deeper.

John was still crouched over the body of the infected. When he yanked his knife free, it came loose with a wet sucking noise. As he stumbled upright, Scott glimpsed not just one, but multiple stab wounds littering the creature's back like a dartboard. Old blood and decomposing skin leaked from the injuries, further coating John's shoes in gore. He wiped the blade against his jeans and tucked it into his belt, satisfied that it was clean, as if his own hands weren't literally dripping in blood. A fine spray of it covered his face too.

Scott was suddenly very glad he'd practically crushed Alan when tackling him, because it meant his youngest brother had been saved from witnessing the attack and based off Virgil's shellshocked expression and Gordon's tearful trembling, it had been more violent than he could imagine. He hadn't realised John was even capable of such a thing.

Alan jolted away subconsciously, smacking into Scott's chest. "Oh sh-shit, what the- Oh my god, oh my god-"

"Alan. Alan." Scott wrapped his arms around his brother. "Take a breath, bud. There you go."

Alan let out a strangled sob. Blood seeped over the road and into the gutter so that it dripped onto his own gloves too and he raked his hands across ragged concrete in a desperate attempt to clean them. Scott caught his wrists before he could cut his gloves to ribbons. Alan struggled for a few frantic seconds until he gave in and went limp, so still that Scott forgot how to breathe, thinking maybe he'd passed out but then Alan twisted to bury his face in his shoulder, holding on so tightly that it almost hurt. His nails were digging into Scott's back through the suit.

"H-hey." Scott's own voice was fracturing, a little like his soul, sinking to a new level of Hell he'd never thought he could reach. He wanted to card a hand through Alan's hair, but his own gloves were stained red. "Alan, it's okay, it's okay, we're safe, we're all safe, I promise."

"Nothing is okay."

"I know. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

John cleared his throat. "Um… we need to move. Blood attracts the infected."

Scott lifted his chin from the top of Alan's head to stare at his brother incredulously. John looked deadly serious, arms folded across his chest, eyes clear of the daze, blood steadily dripping from his fingertips to his boots. He tilted his head towards the corpse, as if Scott didn't know exactly what he was talking about.

"You have got to be joking."

John inhaled sharply. "Look, I get-"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Scott tried to lower his voice as Alan flinched, easing a hand down the kid's spine, pressing a kiss to his temple. "Sorry, Al." He lifted his gaze to catch John's eye, feeling physically sick with horror because John was inspecting the blood on his hands as if it were nothing. "John. Look at me. What the fuck? What the actual fuck? What is this? What was that?"

John's neutral expression shattered. "It was going to kill Gordon," he hissed. "I had to do something. There was no time and I had to be sure that it was dead."

Either the temperature had plummeted, or he was going into shock, but Scott was suddenly freezing. He wrapped his arms around Alan as if the kid needed protecting, except the zombie was dead so the only threat around was John.

John noticed the movement in an instant. Vulnerability was swiftly replaced by something cold and defensive. "Virgil hesitated. Alan missed. And you froze."

Scott flinched.

John didn't retract the statement or apologise. "I saved Gordon's life. You're welcome, by the way, all of you." He wiped excess blood onto the bonnet of a nearby car and quietly began walking, steps overly loud in the sudden silence, not looking back once.

Virgil made a tiny, choked sound. "I-"

Scott closed his eyes and inhaled as deeply as he could, until his chest ached and his lungs protested the pressure, but his mind wouldn't shut up. You froze, froze, froze, again, again- He relinquished his death-hold on Alan, running his hands over the kid's biceps until Alan finally met his searching gaze with wide, tearful eyes. Finch crept out from beneath the car and nosed at Alan's hands, uncaring of the blood, trying to lick the tears from his face.

"Scott," Alan choked out, trembling so violently that his teeth chattered. "Scotty."

"I'm here."

Virgil shook himself out of frozen shock, stumbling to his knees at their side to take over where Scott had left off.

"You're okay," he whispered, cupping the back of Alan's neck to coax his brother into collapsing against his chest. "I've got you, Allie. We've got you. It's okay, it's gonna be okay." He caught Scott's questioning look with a nod. "Go," he mouthed.

Gordon hadn't moved from the same spot, except to sit up slightly, drawing his knees to his chest, staring at the blood which he'd been covered in, caught in the spray from the knife. Scott knelt at his side, keeping every movement with his brother's line of sight, unsure whether touching was on the cards yet.

"Gordon?"

"It almost killed me."

"You're still here." Scott reached out and lifted Gordon's chin with two fingers. "Can you look at me? There you go. Still here, see?"

"I shouldn't be scared of dying."

"Gords-"

"I've legally died like twice already."

"Gordon."

"So why am I still terrified?"

Scott wrapped an arm around Gordon's shoulders and pulled him close. Gordon melted against his side, gasping for breath past panicked sobs. They were both covered in blood and Scott had never felt so cold in his life.

"I don't want to be a monster," Gordon kept repeating, over and over, like some sort of cursed prayer. He bit his lip viciously, tears cutting ribbons through the blood on his face.

"You're not going to turn into one of those things," Scott assured him. "I won't let that happen."

"But I'm already a monster. I saw John kill it. I saw the expression on his face. And- That's me, Scott, that's what I do, what I've done, I've killed so, so many, and- I'm just as bad, if not worse, fuck, worse, definitely- 'cos they aren't in control, but I am and I don't know how to- I never wanted to be a monster."

He listed sideways, heavily, until Scott was the only thing holding him upright.

"I don't know how to be human anymore."

Scott tightened his grip until he was at risk of leaving bruises on Gordon's biceps.

"I love you," he said firmly. "No matter what. I will always love you, all four of you. Remember what I told you before? On Five? You don't have to be anything, do anything, to earn that. So even if you don't know who you are anymore, the one thing you can count on is that I love you unconditionally. It may not be enough, but it's a start, and it's something you can hold onto, okay?"

Gordon doubled over his knees, shattering under Scott's hands. "Alan can't look at me."

Scott frowned, eyeing the abandoned baseball bat. "He tried to save you."

"You haven't seen how he looks at me now."

"He loves you, I can guarantee that."

"But he doesn't like me anymore. He thinks I'm a monster too."

The infected was face down in the middle of the road. Once upon a time, it had been a human, been a person, someone's family, a loved one, free to feel and experience. Now, it would slowly decompose until radiation claimed its bones for an ever-growing graveyard. It had died nameless, and it would be buried that way too - human existence made meaningless.

Alan picked up his baseball bat, swiping tears from his face with the back of his hand. He practically fell into the gutter in his attempt to avoid treading near the body. Virgil shot Scott a helpless look and followed their youngest brother. Dust was falling again. John's footprints were already mostly covered. The corpse was slowly being buried beneath a layer of decay.

Gordon tugged his mask back up. "We should go."

Scott reluctantly stood up. "Probably." He offered a hand. "Coming?"

Gordon fumbled for his machete. "Y-yeah. Uh. About that. Not sure how much standing is on the cards right now."

Scott hauled him to his feet and wrapped an arm around his shoulders before he could collapse right back into the dust. "I've got you."

Gordon tipped his head back to glimpse the sky. "Whole damn world's dying, huh?"

"You're not."

"Not yet anyway. Give the radiation a chance."

Scott tried to ignore the jolt of panic at the words. "Don't joke about that."

"Sorry."

A series of howls echoed along the road behind them.

"We should get going," Gordon whispered.

Scott tightened his hold. "Copy that."