Scott heard nothing from Noah – or anyone else for that matter – for seventy-two hours after the meeting, which was a mercy given the relevance of the following day. The date meant very little to the bunker's residents. Some might have recognised it as the nine-month anniversary of Z-Day, but to the Tracy family it held a greater significance and Scott planned to honour it by doing absolutely nothing.

Kayo's birthday. Kayo, who was still missing. She was alive – she was too damn stubborn not to be, but also it was inconceivable to think she could be lost forever. She was out there somewhere, beyond the burnt coast and froth of polluted waves, presumably with Penelope at her side, as formidable as any GDF unit. Kayo would probably laugh in the face of bandits.

Scott had found it easier to feel hopeful when they'd been out in the open – to look up at a cloudless sky and know Kayo and Penelope were seeing the same stars. Down here, it seemed as if they weren't just separated by oceans and land but by another timeline entirely.

When he'd had his wings, the world had seemed very small. Thunderbird One had brought everything within his reach. Now, it seemed impossibly large. A tiny, fearful part of him wondered how the hell they could ever hope to find each other again. It had taken them months to get this far and they had only travelled across a handful of states. Plotted on a map it was almost pitiful.

He knew it would be a bad day and he'd prepared for that as best he could – showering the night before and changing into the comfiest clothes he could find in the closet, leaving a glass of water and a cereal bar on the bedside table as he knew breakfast would be a step too far come morning. Sure enough, he awoke to that painful sense of absence.

It wasn't like the overwhelming feelings or utter numbness he'd experienced previously. It was just a sense of grief as if his heart had been hollowed out of his chest to leave an ache as his body tried to fill the gap left behind. But it was more than that – it was the feeling of failure as raw as an open wound because Kayo should be with them, but he'd fucked up and made the wrong call on that satellite and now they were here and she was gone and-

So. Clearly stewing in bed wasn't a healthy option. He was getting better at recognising which thoughts would result in spirals which would drag him back down into a pit until he couldn't see any way out of it again. He forced himself to drink all of the water and choked down the cereal bar before Virgil could fuss over his blood sugar levels again, then stumbled out of bed as if sleepwalking. Perhaps he was – there was a certain unreal quality about everything and his own body didn't fully seem to belong to him, acting without conscious thought. He put one foot in front of the other and only registered the choice after he'd already completed it.

His surroundings looked like they'd been soaked in the grey light of overcast clouds – that dreary, haggard hue as if the world didn't have enough energy left in it to produce anything vivid. Scott could relate.

He crashed onto the couch facedown and made no attempt to move for the next hour. Comms were set to priority calls only and any alarms had been switched off – this was a day dedicated to mourning what could and should have been in another lifetime. Death was never clearer than when celebrating life. He buried his head in the cushions and listened to the distant hum of circulated air.

They all had their own ideas of how to spend the day. Marisa kept her distance, sensing that this was a family affair, but Theo and Jasmin rallied around Alan. Scott could hear them clattering around in the kitchen – a distant clamour of cutlery, the chime of ceramic bowls and the high-pitched whine of an electric whisk followed by the scent of sugary batter. Careful listening revealed that the three were baking a cake. Alan had confessed that it felt wrong not to mark the occasion – and that Kayo would yell at them for moping around if she could see them – and so Theo had talked him into making a birthday cake in her honour.

While Alan wanted to talk about Kayo with anyone who would listen, Virgil didn't want to speak about her at all. Scott understood why – it seemed far too similar to the way people reminisced about loved ones at funerals. Gordon was a wildcard – he had given no indication as to his feelings about Kayo's birthday and as he had yet to show his face it remained a mystery. The only other person who hadn't put in an appearance was John, who had left before the lights mimicked sunrise and was undoubtedly holed up in the comms hub.

"Hi," Gordon announced, approximately an hour into Scott's attempt to fuse with the couch cushions. He blotted out the lights, a shadowy figure with crossed arms and an unimpressed stare. "Is this your impression of a statue? Are we in drama class? Is it an improv session?"

Scott rolled over, words muffled as he grumbled, "What?"

Gordon hesitated.

"She wouldn't want us to sit around feeling miserable." He toed the edge of the artisan rug, shoulders hunched defensively as if anticipating a shout. "I'm just saying. Alan's got the right idea."

"Alan's eating cake for breakfast," Scott pointed out.

"Cake for breakfast is acceptable on birthdays," Gordon shot back, wilting slightly as he added, "Even if the birthday girl herself isn't here." He swatted Scott's ankles. "Anyway, point is that Alan's not the one moping on the couch or locked in his room, so."

Scott lifted his head from the cushions. "Virgil's locked in his room?"

"Like an emo teenager," Gordon confirmed with a grin. "But I can fix that. C'mon, Scooter, time to get off your ass. We're having cake for brunch. Jazz has promised me that we won't get food poisoning, so that's good enough for me. Should be good enough for you too given the amount of dodgy taco trucks you've trusted over the years."

Scott dropped his head back down with a groan. "But I'm comfy."

"Tough luck." Gordon prodded him sharply in the ribs, grinning like a madman when Scott shot him a betrayed look. "Rise and shine, buckeroo, it's cake time." He planted his hands on his hips in a motion painfully reminiscent of their grandmother. "Come on, Scotty. Please?"

Scott reluctantly hauled himself off the couch. "This cake had better be frickin' worth it."

Gordon patted him on the back, still beaming. "That's the spirit!"


The kitchen was shockingly in order. The only trace of chaos was flour baked into the grouting between floor tiles and purple fingerprints smeared on the faucet from food colouring gone astray.

Alan and Theo were sat in front of the oven to soak up the fading warmth. They were back-to-back so that they could lean against one another, Alan's hair a shock of blond where it met Theo's dark mop. For once, Theo was quiet, listening intently to Alan's stories of various antics he'd gotten up to with Kayo. When Alan's voice faltered, Theo reached around and caught his hand, squeezing twice before letting go.

Scott couldn't shake the idea that he would be intruding. The moment held a sort of vulnerability, easily shattered. He knocked on the doorframe to alert the pair to his presence.

Alan hooked a chair with his ankle and pulled it out for Scott to sit down.

Theo lifted a hand in greeting. "Heya, Scott."

"Hi," Scott replied, unable to keep fond amusement out of his tone. "How's the baking going?"

Alan didn't reply but tipped his head back against Theo's again.

Theo took this as a sign to keep the conversation going. "We made lemon cake. Alan said it's Kayo's favourite because-"

"-it sounds bitter but it's actually really sweet," Scott finished for him. He propped his chin in his hands, conscious of just how soft his smile had become. "And the purple icing?"

Alan splayed his fingers across the tiles to surreptitiously link his pinkie with Theo's.

"She always chose purple-themed avatars whenever we gamed together," he admitted quietly, sounding a little uncertain. In a large family, moments shared between just two people were precious and had to be kept secret and Alan especially had few memories which were his own alone to treasure. "So. Yeah. Purple icing."

Scott sidestepped the pair to inspect the cake. It was a little lopsided but that gave it character. Alan had made a concerted effort at drawing Thunderbird Shadow although this was difficult to accomplish with icing sugar. It had probably used up nearly all their rations for the week, but Scott couldn't bring himself to care about that, not when he was faced with Alan's genuine smile and Theo's matching grin. Even Jazz, perched on a chair and eating leftover lemon – miraculously maintaining a neutral expression the entire time – looked proud of herself.

"It looks great, right?" Gordon slid across the floor in fluffy socks with yellow-and-black stripes as if he'd stamped on a pair of oversized bumblebees. "Congrats, gremlins. You didn't fuck it up."

"Language," Virgil chided from the doorway. He offered a weak smile when Scott looked at him. He clearly hadn't slept at all, eyes underlined by bags and blinking slowly as if dazed. He'd developed a sort of waxy pallor and Scott got the impression that it wouldn't take much more than a strong breeze to knock him over.

Gordon seemed unconcerned. "Oh, please. Jazz has been hanging out with me too much, it's too late to save her. Alan's been a lost cause since day one. And Theo…"

"I'm just a menace to society," Theo suggested.

Gordon grinned.

"Aw, hell yeah, same!" He offered a high five which Theo had to reach up to meet. "Up top, my guy."

Virgil pushed himself away from the doorway and fell into a chair. Scott tried to stealthily examine his brother. Virgil had found the fight ring deeply disturbing and the experience was still taking its toll. It was plausible that he hadn't slept since. He was wearing the same rumpled clothes from yesterday morning. His hair was greasier than the pan Alan had used for the cake. Now, yawning his way back into awareness, he glanced sideways and raised a brow.

"Finished staring at me yet?"

"I'm not," Scott protested. He coughed. "Staring, that is."

"Uh huh." Virgil laid his head down on the table and closed his eyes. "Sure, you weren't."

Gordon moved to stand between their chairs. Scott glanced up in time to spy the genuine concern in his eyes, dark with worry but clearer than they'd been in several days. Today was – ironically enough – a good day for him, as if Kayo had sent him some of her strength in honour of her birthday.

"What d'you think, Virg?" Gordon asked teasingly, although his touch was painfully gentle as he laid a hand on the nape of Virgil's neck and squeezed slightly. "Cake time?"

Virgil exhaled slowly. "Maybe. Should we wait for John?"

"Has anyone heard from him?" Gordon looked to Alan.

Alan shrugged. "I tried his comm but he's either turned it off or he's just not answering." He looked slightly crestfallen about it. "He's been gone since, like, four? Four-thirty? Something like that?"

"Four-twenty," Virgil amended, confirming Scott's suspicion that he hadn't slept. "He's trying the radio again."

Jasmin did the maths in a flash.

"For six hours non-stop?" She dropped her lemon rind. "That's intense."

Alan dropped his gaze to the worn fabric of his jeans and the ink where he'd drawn stars on the cuffs. "Yeah, well." He leant a little more heavily against Theo. "It's Kayo's birthday."

It was Kayo's birthday and John had spent the past six hours trying desperately to reach her on radio channels which had been dead for months. It was Kayo's birthday and John – who always knew where each of them was and could contact them at a second's notice – couldn't find her. It was Kayo's birthday and John would search every frequency until his fingers bled and his ears rang and he couldn't see straight but he still wouldn't give up unless someone physically dragged him away from the comms hub.

Scott went to stand up, but Virgil pushed him back into his seat.

"I'll go."

"Are you sure? I don't mind."

Virgil's tight smile was more of a grimace.

"Yeah," he confirmed. "I'm sure." He swept a hand through his hair with a sigh. "Stay here, Scott. Hopefully I won't be gone long but you know how John can get."

Gordon plastered on a hollow smile. "Better hurry, Vee. We might eat all the cake before you get back."

Jasmin rolled her eyes. "We won't."

"Won't we?" Gordon stage whispered.

"No, dumbass, we won't."

"Hey, hey, what's all this language? Respect your elders."

Jasmin took a delicate bite of lemon, then bared her teeth in a shark smile. "I'm so sorry, old man."

Alan snorted. "What's that make Scotty?"

"A fossil," Gordon quipped.

Scott dropped his head onto the table with a groan.

"What have I done to deserve this?" He side-eyed Gordon accusingly. "I miss when you were little and thought I was cool."

"I still think you're cool," Theo declared, eternally loyal. It was doubtful whether he'd ever shake the starry-eyed awe at being around International Rescue.

Virgil's smile grew slightly more genuine. "Good luck with this lot, Scott."

"Thanks," Scott deadpanned, earning a chorus of sniggers from the room. "I'm gonna need it."


They gathered in the living-room. Marisa joined them after a little while, but kept to herself, curled into the embrace of an armchair with her feet tucked up under her. She buried her nose in a book, only speaking occasionally to remind Theo about volume control and to chastise Jasmin if her jokes grew slightly too sarcastic.

Plates of crumbs laid about the place, perched on armrests and discarded on the floor. Finch hoovered up these scraps and eventually flopped down in the middle of the carpet looking very pleased with herself. Gordon propped his head on her flank, absently braiding her tail. He'd fallen quiet again – although that was not so uncharacteristic for him these days – and seemed to find comfort in simply listening to the murmured conversations going on around him.

It was possible that his hearing had grown muffled again. He kept tilting his head slightly to the left to favour that ear. His fingers tightened in the fur of Finch's tail. She snuffled his hair, then planted a paw over his shoulder and rested her chin on his head, curled around him but sensing that he was still hurt and so had to be treated carefully. She'd gravitated towards him ever since he'd been released from Medical and although she was still Alan's dog at heart, she'd taken to following Gordon around, sleeping on his bed at night and barking whenever he was overcome by a dizzy spell as if she were a trained service dog.

Alan was also on the floor, but that was nothing unusual. Theo was sat on the sofa above him, and Alan had tipped his head back slightly to lean against his friend's knees. He'd drawn his legs up to his chest so that he could balance his sketchbook on top while Theo had propped his own on the armrest. They were sharing a collection of watercolour pencils but had to make do with the corner of a damp sponge due to the lack of paintbrushes. Virgil was trying not to cringe at the sight.

Alan had been falling back on art more and more often when his emotions were too complex to pick apart with words. Yesterday evening, Scott had stumbled across him coaxing soft lines out of a dark, hastily scribbled nest of ink.

"What happened there?"

Alan had shrugged.

"Made a mistake," he'd explained without looking up. "But I can still make something cool out of it. I'm not gonna let one mistake ruin the entire sketch."

He took ugly memories from his head and translated them onto paper. Sometimes he'd burn them with a borrowed lighter. Other times he would fold them into the back of his sketchpad and leave them there until he could figure out how he felt about them. He refused to let anyone see them other than occasionally Theo and, once, Virgil. Scott respected the kid's boundaries and didn't look when Alan left the sketchpad unattended despite the temptation. Art seemed to be helping him, so Scott was going to do all he could to encourage the hobby.

John vanished into his room when Virgil first dragged him back from the comms hub. He didn't emerge for another ten minutes, at which point he slipped into the living-room like a ghost and stole a space at Scott's side. He held himself perfectly still at first as if fearing the repercussions of letting himself drop his guard. His eyes looked sore, bloodshot and glassy in the aftermath of tears, and there was a faint tremor running through his hands which he couldn't shake.

Alan dropped his sketchbook into Theo's lap, left the room, then returned with a slice of cake, a glass of water and the peppermint rub which Gordon had been using to ease his headaches. He held them out to John wordlessly. John, mildly bemused by this turn of events, accepted them with a murmured thanks, and watched with a smile as Alan retrieved his sketchbook and settled back down against Theo's knees. Apparently Virgil wasn't the only person in the family who dealt with grief by taking care of others – it was a significant improvement from punching mirrors.

They stayed in that one room, taking comfort in being together until the clock hit one minute to midnight. Nearly everyone was asleep by then. Shockingly, John was amongst them, head pillowed on Scott's shoulder and his feet tucked under Virgil's legs to keep warm. The kids were also out for the count. Marisa had abandoned her book and was nursing a mug of chamomile tea with a dash of honey, a luxury she was going to sorely miss once they left the bunker. Gordon was curled around Finch, one arm wrapped over the dog to keep her close.

Virgil whispered faintly, "Happy birthday, Kayo."

Gordon offered a watery smile. "Happy birthday, Kay, wherever you are. We love you."

Scott tipped his head sideways to rest against John's. Grief was as familiar as the sky and yet he would never be used to it.

Happy birthday, Kayo, he thought, willing the words to float through the ether and find her. Please stay safe.


The call came through early on Wednesday morning. Scott had fallen asleep at the kitchen table after scrolling through the notes he had requested Ellis send him. His brain was not built to handle intense biology at such a young hour. He knocked his chin painfully against the table at the sudden blaring noise, then nearly tipped backwards in his chair as he fumbled for the holo-projector to turn the darn thing off already.

Thankfully, Noah had put through the call on audio-only. This was a mercy as Scott was pretty certain his hair resembled a lightning strike victim and there was an imprint of creased paper on his cheek from where he'd been leaning on his own notes. It took a moment to understand what he'd just agreed to and he was still comprehending it even after John walked in and set the coffee machine to brew the darkest, richest blend possible.

"Do I want to ask why you have that ridiculous look on your face?"

Scott blinked blearily, still half asleep but aware enough to recognise the embers of excitement igniting under his skin. "I just got asked to fly."

John turned to face him. "Come again?"

"That helicopter? Noah Warren has put through a request for me to pilot it. Wants me to run a perimeter check, see how far the horde has spread. I might get chance to scout out Duluth at the same time, see if I can spot any useable boats."

John stared at him for a long moment. "When?"

"This afternoon."

"Fuck. I would come with you, but I've got a- an arrangement."

Scott resisted the desire to roll his eyes like a teenager. "You can just say it's the Hood. I'm not going to fall apart at the mention of his name."

John winced. "Okay, fine. I'm meeting with the Hood. But that's beside the point."

"What is the point?"

John retrieved two mugs from the top cupboard.

"The point," he called over his shoulder, "is that you should take someone with you. You'll have one eye on the instruments the entire time. Don't scoff – it's been a long time since you flew rotary and it'll never come as naturally to you as fixed wing. So, take one of us. It'll reduce the chances of missing something important."

Scott glared at his brother's back. "I hate it when you make sense."

John ignored that comment.

"Take Alan. Virgil's… a little delicate at the moment and Gordon obviously isn't an option. Alan would leap at the chance to get back in the sky." He poured coffee which resembled tar into the two mugs. "It'll be good for him."

Scott shoved his notes on Ellis' theories into a rough pile. "Will it? I don't know what we'll see."

"Alan can handle it." John seemed convinced. "Besides, he's seen enough violence over the past nine months to know what's out there. He's not a little kid anymore. You can't protect him from reality. What do you think is going to happen once we leave? Are you planning to blindfold him as soon as we step out of those tunnels?"

"Now that's an idea…"

"Scott," John sighed, somehow managing to make his name sound like a curse.

"Okay, fine, I'll ask him along." Scott glowered at the smudged ink on his forearm. He was conscious of John studying him as if he were some sort of rare museum exhibit. "It's just… He's been doing better, you know? I don't want to knock him back into a spiral by putting him in a bad situation."

"Oh, believe me," John replied, suddenly sounding exhausted, averting his gaze to his coffee as Scott glanced over at him curiously. "I get that."

It took a moment for Scott to read between the lines. Oh. Just as he was reluctant to let Alan decide his own limits, it made sense that John had been struggling with the same issue when it came to Scott himself. No wonder Johnny had kept his sessions with the Hood secret. Maybe that was the real reason why he'd tagged along to the committee meeting – not just to gather information but to keep an eye on Scott.

"I'll ask Alan," Scott repeated, quieter this time.

A little of the tension melted from John's shoulders.

"Good." He held up the second mug like a peace offering. "Coffee?"


Noah's message said to meet him down at the bar. Scott spared a second to silently hope he wasn't going to be faced with taking a drunk passenger into rough skies. He shrugged on what was fast becoming his trademark leather jacket then set about retrieving weapons. They'd stashed them in the locked safe in the backroom several weeks ago for fear of unwanted visitors helping themselves to a new firearm.

Alan had unsurprisingly leapt at the chance to go with Scott. It was unclear whether he was more excited about the prospect of flight or just seeing the sky again for the first time in months. He was a livewire of excited energy, unable to keep still for longer than a minute at any given time. He tried to supress this anticipation, stamping it into submission and forcing an unreadable expression when they met Noah and co. He spent the five-minute meeting crushing spilled peanuts under his heels and eyeing up the newcomer.

The newcomer – Gerry, fifties, official owner of the twin-engine Bell GlobalRanger helicopter in question – seemed genuinely upset by the loss of his pilot. It had been several months since the aircraft had last flown, he explained. It was his pride and joy and he'd been reluctant to let anyone other than the deceased Drew fly it. He was impressed by Scott's skillset and so had agreed with Noah's plan for a surveying mission on one condition – he came along as a passenger.

Scott didn't have a problem with this. Gerry seemed reasonable enough, although he clearly didn't care about the morality of his associates given how close he was with Noah. They shook on it, then made their way up to the surface.

Noah hung back a moment, motioning for Scott to join him. "Why is the kid here?"

"He's my co-pilot," Scott retorted, picking up on a trace of hostility in Noah's voice. "Neither you nor Gerry know how to fly. If something happens to me, you'll want someone else in that cockpit who can take control."

Noah raised a brow. "Are you likely to keel over unexpectedly?"

Scott shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess we'll find out."

Stepping out into daylight was a shock to his system. He wavered in the doorway, momentarily stunned like a deer caught in car headlamps. At his side, Alan whispered something, eyes wide as he drank in the sight of clear skies with a sort of reverence.

A few scraps of cirrus clouds drifted very high up, promising colder temperatures, but the rest of the sky was a silk sheet of unmarred blue. The sun shone bright and merry, kissing the ground with golden warmth. Spring's dance was closing, stepping aside to let summer take the lead. The soil was already dry and overrun with crevices in anticipation of a drought. It was a complete contrast to the water-logged quagmire they'd arrived to.

Scott basked in the sunshine for a minute more before shifting his focus to the helicopter. Glossy cherry paintwork gleamed, freshly washed by some poor worker. There were still soap suds draining from the landing skids. He was itching with anticipation to get in the sky already, but this baby hadn't been airborne in months and he wasn't about to risk anyone's safety just to ease his own impatience, so he drew up his mental list and began running pre-flight checks.

Alan's sneakers crunched in the hard-packed dust. He tipped his head back, squinting in the bright light as he inspected the tail rotor. He was alive with energy again, rocking on his heels and fiddling with Jasmin's hairband which had somehow ended up on his wrist.

"Looks smooth up there," he remarked, hopping up to perch on the edge of the open passenger bay. He balanced his feet on the landing skid, leaning back against the heels of his hands to study the interior. "Probably some crosswinds above twenty-two thousand though."

"Good job we won't be flying that high then." Scott ducked his head as he crossed under the tail. "Exterior looks alright. Let's get her started and see what we're dealing with."

Alan grinned. "Hell yeah."

It didn't take long to run system checks. All lights were green, and the fuel gauge showed three-quarters full. Rotors purred into action, churning dust until the air grew cloudy. Noah and Gerry strapped themselves into the passenger seats – high quality leather with memory foam padding – and hauled the doors shut.

Scott reached up to unhook two headsets from above the controls and jammed one over Alan's ears, trying not to laugh as it fell lopsided. Alan pushed it into position, knocking the mic into place.

Scott flipped the switch so that they could hear each other. "Ready?"

Alan clipped his harness together. "FAB."

The infected gathered at the fence were stunned by the sight. Their frantic clawing at the chain-link loops paused as they stared at the rising helicopter, heads tipped back and mouths agape like they'd been hypnotised. Several of them tried to reach for it, arms aloft as if in praise. The wake of the blades whipped the air into a frenzy and several rotters were physically blown backwards.

Helicopters handled very differently to fixed wing crafts. They were a lot more sensitive for a start, although this wasn't an issue as Scott was familiar with One's highly responsive controls. He eased them higher until the infected resembled an agitated ant nest.

It was warm in the cockpit, the sun's heat trapped by expansive windows. There were a few light winds, but nothing extreme. It was like being in a boat on the ocean, bobbed around by gentle waves with the occasional larger swell. He glanced sideways to spy Alan's wide smile.

"Having fun?" he joked, voice made tinny through the headset.

Alan let out a breathless laugh. "I forgot how much I love this."

"Yeah," Scott mused, pressing a hand to the glass to feel the warmth against his palm. The sky spread out in every direction, infinitely free. Just being up here again lifted a weight he hadn't known he'd been carrying. For the first time in months, it was easy to breathe. "Yeah, me too."

He inhaled deeply as if he could capture a little piece of the sky and hold it in his heart so that it would never let him go again. The helicopter might not have been his wings of choice, but she'd given him back flight and he loved her for it. He patted the controls fondly, then flipped the switch to add Noah and Gerry to their radio link.

"Who's ready to do some sightseeing?"

Alan mimicked a tour-guide's casual drawl. "If you look out of either window, you'll see the new apex predator, known by a variety of names, more commonly infected or rotters or, if you want to go old-school, zombies. These creatures are an intrusive species and so are not welcome. Bonus points if you spot any clear ground because holy shit, this horde is, like, endless."

He might have sounded melodramatic, but there was truth to his words. The horde stretched for miles. Stragglers were still approaching from the south and the west. Scott brought the chopper as low as he dared to get a closer look. The rotters were mostly in the Periculum phase, ravenous for human flesh. They snarled as the helicopter's shadow swept through their midst.

Travel above ground clearly wasn't going to be an option for anyone. Even an armoured tank wouldn't get through a horde of this magnitude. It was too dense – the infected were clustered together like tinned sardines. They were amassing at the bunker's fences as if drawn by a siren's song, unable to focus on anything other than breaking into the compound.

Scott momentarily blocked Gerry and Noah from the channel. "Hey, Al. Ever heard of Duluth?"

Alan blinked, trying to place the name. "Uh, port city on the coast of Lake Superior. One of the main cargo shipping hubs, right? Didn't Gordon have a rescue there a couple of years back?"

Scott couldn't remember. "Probably."

"What's the deal with Duluth? Wait." Alan bolted upright as realisation struck. "You found out where the tunnels end?"

"Exactly. But Duluth is also a dead zone, so we can't stick around there. We need to scout the harbour for anything seaworthy. I'm going to take us as low as I can. Think you can keep an eye out?"

Alan saluted him. "Aye, aye, Captain."

"We're not on a boat."

"Roger, skipper."

"No. Just no."

Alan sniggered.

Scott filled Gerry and Noah in on the plan, glossing over the real motives. He claimed he wanted to check if rotters were leaving the dead zones too. Gerry bought the story without question. Noah made no comment but as he wasn't at the controls he didn't have a choice but to go along with it. He actually sounded a little queasy, which was unfortunate given the minor turbulence they ran into on the approach to Duluth.

Alan, of course, found the experience exhilarating, tossing up his hands with a loud whoop as if riding a rollercoaster. There were several groggy complaints from the back, which Scott ignored in favour of grinning like a madman. He didn't actively seek out the worst swells, but he didn't exactly avoid them either. They were well within the Bell's limits and he was enjoying the challenge after so many months of being stuck on the ground.

"You know," Alan began conversationally with an evil smirk which didn't match his tone, "I think there might have been a useable boat back there. Maybe. We're too high to see it properly. We should probably, uh, dive down to take a closer look."

Scott caught his brother's mischievous gaze. "Oh, that's mean. Let's do it." He projected his next words into the passenger area. "Strap in, guys, we're expecting a sudden drop."

Noah's alarmed squawk was just about audible above the thrum of rotors. Alan looped his harness around his hands and clung on, already laughing despite the fact they hadn't started falling yet. Scott shot him a sunny smile, then plunged the helicopter into a downward spiral. He was, of course, completely in control the entire time, but their passengers didn't know it. Gerry was howling.

Alan tried to catch his breath past exhilarated laughter as they levelled out. "That was fun!"

"If this was my official job, I'd be fired," Scott remarked, unable to hold back a grin. He switched his attention to the harbour. "Where's this boat?"

Alan snagged Scott's wrist and directed his hand towards the docks. "See? The green boat? Next to the really big cargo ship?"

Scott frowned. "You realise Lake Superior has some pretty big waves, right?"

"I think it's a bigger boat than you realise. It's just 'cos it's anchored next to a freighter. It's an optical illusion." Alan wiped smudges from the window, peering closer. "Anyway, it's our best bet. The others are all smashed up or overrun by rotters."

Scott banked eastwards to navigate the harbourfront once more. He didn't like the look of all the infected milling in the streets. They'd have to stock up on weapons before they made a run for it. Still, they had a plan now and that was progress.

He held up a hand and Alan high-fived him. The resounding smack rang around the cockpit. He glanced sideways to spy his brother's smile, mirroring his own.

"This could work," Alan whispered as if saying it too loudly would jinx them.

Scott turned for the bunker.

"It could," he agreed, silently thinking, it has to.


Gerry and Noah might have been disheartened by the reality of just how many rotters were surrounding the compound, but Scott and Alan were in high spirits. They were both still coming down from adrenaline rushes, so it made sense to enjoy all that positive energy while it lasted. They stopped by their quarters to stash weapons and encourage the others to join them, then headed down to spend the evening on the entertainment floors.

One of the rooms resembled a massive arcade. Old fashioned slot machines, retro classics, VR experiences – they were all packed into the neon-lit space, complete with a psychedelic carpet which looked as if it had been plucked out of an 80's bowling alley. Theo was not a talented gamer, but Alan and Jasmin were neck-and-neck and showed no signs of giving up any time soon. Scott initially challenged Gordon to a match on one of the Pacman games, but this was abandoned when Virgil and Marisa returned with armfuls of snacks. Even John seemed to have set aside his worries for the night, slamming down a deck of cards on the table.

The room grew busier as the evening rolled on. Scott paid other residents little notice. He was focussed on trying to call Gordon's bluff which turned out to be real after all.

"Shit."

Gordon cackled, grin electric as he sat back in his chair expectantly. "You gonna fold, Scotty?"

"Fuck off."

"That's not an answer," John chimed in, taking great amusement in Scott's recurrent losses.

Virgil peered over Scott's shoulder and winced. "Yeesh."

"Fold," Marisa chanted, taking a long gulp from her drink.

"He's too prideful," John commented.

Theo observed these ongoings with confused glee. He didn't understand how the game worked but he'd certainly gotten into the spirit of things, cheering on Gordon and laughing when Virgil and Marisa both lost in swift succession.

Scott initially disregarded raised voices from the other side of the room as overzealous competitors. He tried to ignore the background noise, considering his own odds versus Gordon's smug smile. Then Finch bolted from Theo's hands with an alarmed bark. Scott just knew before he'd even turned around. He threw himself from his chair in time to spy his youngest brother crash to the ground.

"You psychotic little bastard," a red-faced man bellowed, advancing with clenched fists. His shirt was flecked with spittle, every muscle quivering with rage. A thin trail of blood trickled from his nostrils to crust his upper lip.

"Don't touch him," Jasmin tried to grab the man's bicep but was shaken off. Her lower back collided painfully with a nearby arcade machine, leaving her breathless. "Alan!"

Alan scrambled to his feet. His fist was smeared with blood. It didn't take a genius to figure out whose.

"She's fifteen, you creep. You're like, what, forty?" He was breathing heavily, dancing out of range as the man let loose another wild swing. "That's not even the point. She told you no. You need to respect that."

"You're the one who needs a lesson in respect, kid," the man snarled.

Alan backed up another few paces, but he needn't have worried as Scott stepped in front of him, accompanied by Virgil, John and Gordon. Finch planted herself by Alan's side, growling, hackles raised and teeth bared.

"What's going on here?"

Scott didn't realise he'd used his so-called Commander voice until the man automatically straightened, ex-military instincts overpowering rage. He wiped blood from his chin, lip curled as he sneered.

"Is this one yours?"

Scott's voice sounded icy even to his own ears. "Yeah, he's with me. If you've got a problem with him, you take it up with me."

"Listen, pal." The man swaggered forwards, jabbing a finger in Scott's chest. "Your brat attacked me first. Keep him under control. Put him on a fucking leash or something. He's insane."

Alan flung himself forwards, voice pitched with outrage. "You were hitting on a minor! She told you no. She told she was uncomfortable. We both asked you to leave."

"I don't take orders from children."

"Oh, so now we're children?" Alan was practically trembling with anger. "That didn't matter to you five minutes ago when you were perfectly happy to put your hands on her."

"You what?" Gordon sounded murderous. There was enough cold rage in his eyes to trigger a new ice age. He stepped up to Alan's side, shoulders squared in preparation of throwing a punch.

Scott had his own hands coiled into fists, mentally chanting, don't hit him, don't hit him. He was having a difficult time listening to himself. Then the man spat in Alan's face and Scott threw all logic out of the window to let blind fury take over. He was briefly aware of shouting. Someone was screaming. Cartilage shattered in a wet crunch under his knuckles. Hot blood sprayed over his face. He was almost sick with adrenaline.

The man did not go down without a fight. Scott smacked his head against the floor hard enough to leave his vision swimming. His jaw throbbed with a forming bruise. He rolled onto his knees and spat blood from his split lip. Virgil had the man held down, one knee pressed painfully into his lower back and a hand pinning his head against the rough carpet. Nearby, Gordon was nursing an aching fist, proof that he'd gotten a hit in. John was smoothing matters over with the security guards, ensuring that only one person would be detained for assault.

Marisa loomed over the man.

"Hey, asshole," she hissed, slamming a kick into his ribs. "Don't ever touch my sister or anyone without permission again."

There was a distinct crack. Gordon casually whistled as if he hadn't deliberately blocked the incident from view of the guards. Scott staggered to his feet. The taste of copper made him grimace, but it was unimportant. He caught Alan's shoulders, tilting his chin to examine him for injury. For once, Alan didn't bat his hands away.

Scott held Alan's gaze. "Did he hurt you?"

"No." Alan shook his head vehemently. "No, I'm fine. I just- He grabbed Jazz and I saw red, you know? And yeah, I get it – violence isn't the answer, but-"

"Fuck that," Scott shot back. "He got what was coming to him." He tugged his sleeve over his hand and wiped flecks of blood from Alan's face. "Unfortunately, zombies aren't the only monsters on this planet. I'm proud of you. And you know who else would be?"

Alan took a shaky breath, unsteady in the aftermath of adrenaline. "Kayo?"

"Kayo," Scott confirmed. "Although she'd have just flat-out murdered that guy."

Alan's smile was sheepish. "Believe me, I was tempted."

"That makes two of us," Gordon chimed in, looping an arm around Alan's neck. "Congrats, Allie. You punched a creep – Dad would be proud. He'd probably buy you a drink. And since he can't, I'm gonna get you one in his honour. What d'you want? Pick your poison, bro. I recommend something strong because we're all outta pain meds and that fist of yours is going to hurt like a bitch as soon as your adrenaline rush wears off."

Scott groaned. "Do not get him drunk, Gordon."

Alan patted Gordon's shoulder affectionately. "Thanks, but I think I'll pass." His gaze landed on Jasmin and Theo. "There's… something I have to do first."

Gordon moved to stand at Scott's side. They watched as Alan joined Theo and Jasmin's huddle and was immediately dragged into a fierce hug. Behind them, the man was still spitting curses, gurgling insults through a mouthful of his own blood as security guards hauled him away. John watched him go with a self-satisfied smirk.

"He's a good kid," Virgil commented softly. "They all are. But this should never have happened. We've got to get out of this place."

John excused himself from the guards and moved to join them. "Two weeks. That's our timeframe."

Scott glanced at him, openly confused. "Really? That soon?"

"That soon," John confirmed. He rested a hand on Finch's head as the dog plonked herself down at his feet. He stared down at her, face drawn with apprehension. "It might be a difficult fortnight, especially as security are going to be keeping close tabs on us."

Gordon shrugged. "We can handle it."

"Together," Virgil added.

Scott draped an arm around John's shoulders.

"Together," he agreed, glancing back at Alan. "No matter what."