Freedom was sweet and intoxicating like a warm summer's evening, complete with the accompanying nostalgia. It was hope and disbelief blended together to create a cocktail of excitement and breathless delight. The sky was big and blue and the world was vibrantly green and wild. Sunlight graced everything in gold and the breeze stirred heat-heavy air into something more bearable.
Scott sort of expected to wake up back in the bunker at any moment. A tiny fear suggested that this could be another hivemind trick and maybe he was still there too. But the world was too vivid to be anything other than reality.
He flopped on his back and stared at the sky until the sun stained spots into his vision. The rest of field was filled with knee-high grass which the breeze wove through, but the shadows thrown by the concrete outcrop which led down to the tunnels harboured a soft carpet of moss. It felt like damp velvet under his fingers.
They had left behind an empty world hollowed out by radiation in which nothing remained beyond dust and decay. They had returned to a world reclaimed by nature, bountiful with life, a smack of hope in the face of humankind's demise. Not everything had been lost and that which remained could and would recover. How had they ever taken it for granted before the apocalypse? The world was by no means perfect but it was precious.
A thin trail of ants marched between an old log and lilac flower – some sort of orchid at a guess. A cluster of blossoms bobbed their heads as the breeze rustled through the grass. The closeknit canopy scattered shade although Scott doubted he would ever get enough of the sun. He basked in the pool of light, closing his eyes to focus his senses on the world around him. He could hear birdsong and the rush of running water, so presumably there was a river nearby.
"Oh my god," Theo whispered with scarcely concealed glee. "It's so close."
Scott cracked open an eye to spy a tiny, fluffy creature perched on the nearby log. Months without human activity had made it brazen, unafraid of their presence. It crouched there, tail tousled by the breeze, eyes bright and beady, nose twitching.
"Pine squirrel," Ellis identified quietly so as not to startle it.
Scott sat up slowly, shucking his coat as he did so. The squirrel eyed Finch, whose tail swept loose grass from side-to-side, paws outstretched as she dropped into a classic dog play bow. The squirrel was, predictably, uninterested and began grooming its whiskers. Finch was rather put out by this non-reaction and circled the log until she found an acceptable patch of sun in which to curl up.
It was as if the light held a rejuvenating quality; the shadows which had clung to each of them for so long were finally cast aside in favour of young hope, still vulnerable like a new fire with the potential to spread far and wide.
"When was the last time you saw something like this?"
Scott tipped his head back against Virgil's shoulder. The sky seemed vaster than he could recall, unfathomable in its boundless quantity. There were no clouds, just inviting blue. Even looking at it felt like coming home, like stepping through a gate and walking up the path but hanging back for a minute to admire its familiarity before actually unlocking the door. He might not have had access to wings yet but he was partway there.
It took a moment to register Virgil's question, by which time his brother had switched focus to the squirrel. It was admittedly pretty cute, the sort of animal which Gordon would once have melted over, so the fact that he had yet to react knocked alarm bells ringing in Scott's head.
He glanced across to glimpse Gordon's face, jaw clenched against emotion, eyes haunted by the desolate wonder of what-if. He was staring at Alan as if his brother had upended one of his fish tanks – that unbearable weight of betrayal and something else too which cut even deeper.
"What the hell were you thinking?" He didn't sound angry, but sort of horrified, maybe even afraid with a splash of resignation in there too. "Alan, what the fuck?"
"Uh…" Alan jerked a thumb at the squirrel. "I was thinking that this lil guy is super cute and we could probably tame him if we break into El's sunflower seed stash."
The joke fell flat. He shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Gordon's gaze, picking bits of grass off his shoes where it had stuck to the drying blood.
"What do you want me to say?" He finally looked up, a spark of that classic Tracy stubbornness creeping into his voice. "Sorry for saving your life? Because I'm not going to apologise for that. It's kinda what we do, remember?"
"Not at the expense of your own life," Gordon snapped.
Alan sent him a deadpan stare. "Dude. That is literally what we did all the time."
"Did. Past frickin' tense."
"Are you seriously angry with me for saving you?"
Gordon looked tempted to throttle him. "No, I'm angry with you for putting your life on the line. I don't want you dying for me, Alan. I mean, shit, I know you're not this dumb. You know what I'm getting at. You don't get to risk yourself on my behalf just to ease your own guilt. We've talked this through twice already - it was an accident. I don't blame you. What's it gonna take for you to forgive yourself?"
"I don't know." The squirrel fled at Alan's shout. He took a deep breath and repeated, softly, "I don't know."
He looked as though he'd been slapped; curled inwards, eyes downcast, uncertainty rooted in every inch of his hunched shoulders. He was twisting Jasmin's hairband around his wrist to keep from biting his nails.
"Maybe Brains will invent a time machine," he tried to joke, but he both sounded and seemed too small for the humour to catch on. Finch nuzzled his knee to comfort him. "But just in case he doesn't… I dunno. Maybe it'll be easier now the Hood's gone. Also, is anyone else like… he's gone, you know? Doesn't seem real. He did definitely get eaten, right? Am I a horrible person for being happy about that? Doesn't it seem kinda… anticlimactic? All his schemes and then bam, just like that he's dead. Weird, right?"
"He's definitely dead," John confirmed. He was sat with his back against a tree, reacquainting himself with the open sky. There was a brief pause but he didn't offer any further details.
"It's weird," Gordon agreed eventually.
His eyes were overly bright, glistening in the light, trying to convince his heartrate to steady itself as he watched Alan sprawl on his stomach, hair turned gold by sun and grass stains replacing the blood on his shirt, alive, alive, alive. Gordon dropped down beside him and roughly tousled the kid's hair, cackling as Alan squawked and tried to shake him off.
"They'll be okay," Virgil murmured so that only Scott caught the words.
The world was soaked in sun. Trees rustled in the light breeze. The air had that metallic taste indicative of a dry storm in the not-so-distant future. The rush of freshwater was a background melody alongside the birdlife, a welcome contrast to the hours of clicks and creaks and cries that had echoed in the dark.
Finch lolled on her back, black-and-white fur turned orange by dust, tail wagging as Gordon rubbed her belly. Alan propped his chin in his hands and watched, smile impossibly fond, proof that he'd have made that same call in the tunnels even if he hadn't been burdened by guilt.
Theo and Jasmin tackled one another into the grass, wrestling over some petty argument or another. Marisa folded her jacket beneath her head and laid back to watch the sky. Ellis cupped sunlight in her hands and wondered. John was either asleep or listening; it was hard to tell.
"Seems like a good place to set up camp," Scott suggested, leaning a little further against Virgil's shoulder as tiredness swept in to replace his adrenaline rush. "Take a nap then get some kindling. Maybe check out that river. We've not got any deadlines to keep anymore."
"Mm," Virgil agreed absently. "Sounds good."
"Are you falling asleep?"
"…No."
It was only early afternoon. The air was thick with heat and pollen. Ellis nursed swollen eyes and a red nose as her hay-fever made itself known with a vengeance. In the middle of nowhere there were no signs of any infected, just the local wildlife and the thrum of awakening cicadas as the sun began to sink.
Scott slept through until dusk when the sky was painted a gradient from midnight purple to lilac with a dab of fiery peach as the sun bid a final farewell. The cicadas were out in force now and their chorus was oddly nostalgic. He pushed himself upright, wincing at the collection of newfound bruises, and tracked down John and Virgil at the river.
The river carved a path through a series of large, flat rocks. The water was fast-moving, splashing into white froth at the edges, but smoothed into a slower, wide channel which curved leisurely through the trees. A collection of gnats and other such dusk-drawn insects flitted from the spray, but small birds still braved the water, successfully catching silver fish and other aquatic creatures.
The rocks had retained enough heat to still be warm underfoot. Newly washed clothes were spread over them to dry and Scott added his own to the collection, gritting his teeth as he tried not to react to the cold water; scrubbing away grime from the tunnels was more than worth the chill.
He flaked over the hot stones and watched the stars creep out, batting away the occasional mosquito. A sudden splash announced Finch's presence as she plunged into the river. John let out an indignant shout as water cascaded over him. Virgil openly laughed which was a dangerous game as John promptly tackled him off the rock.
Scott briefly considered joining them, but he couldn't bring himself to move from the rock. It was warm and relatively safe and oddly comfortable. He was still trying to consolidate the idea that this was real with his fear that it was just a dream whilst simultaneously fighting off any thoughts of how good things tended to be the precursor to horror.
Virgil clambered out of the river and shook water from his hair like a dog. John, still glowering but without any real heat to his glare, swiped excess droplets from his arms and slipped back into his mostly dried shirt before the mozzies could attack him. Finch trotted about the rocks, claws slipping and sliding over the surface, panting slightly in the air. Summer heat refused to fade so easily even in the face of night.
It was so peaceful that it seemed unreal. Scott wasn't sure how to feel about any of it. It was the closest he'd come to happiness in a long, long time and as such he didn't trust it. But they couldn't stay here forever and so as it would inevitably end, maybe he could dare to enjoy it while it lasted.
For tonight at least he would surround himself with people he cared about and listen to a natural symphony of cicadas and rustling leaves, animal calls and the gentle whispers of the river and the wind. He'd hold onto the light of the stars and the campfire and the glow-in-the-dark keyring on Theo's backpack until the darkness became a distant memory. Maybe this time he could shed his baggage and leave it in the past where it belonged; he knew that was a false hope but it was certainly nice to imagine.
Finch flopped down at his side, her wet tail whacking his shins as she gleefully pushed her nose into the crook of his neck. She took his startled yelp as confirmation to continue and proceeded to clamber closer until she was practically sprawled on top of him.
He dropped his head back against a tuft of lichen and resigned himself to the weight of a fully grown dog on his chest, which wasn't really a hardship at all because Finch was warm and soft and he could feel her steady heartbeat against his own. He craned his neck to glimpse her wide, brown eyes and lopsided ears and was overcome with a rush of affection.
"Having fun?" Virgil asked, impossibly fondly. He stood over Scott, blocking out the moon so that he was cast with a silver halo. "Scott? You awake?"
"Uh huh." Scott ran a hand down Finch's spine. Her fur was drying quickly in the warm breeze. "I'm just…" He picked out the star which gleamed faintly orange. "…thinking."
"Don't strain yourself," John's disembodied voice echoed over the rocks. He was filling up bottles from the river and so was out of eyeshot but Scott flipped him the bird regardless and hoped Virgil would pass the gesture along.
Virgil crouched beside him, gently brushing a burr out of Finch's fur. "Good thoughts or bad thoughts?"
"Both?" Scott eased Finch off his chest so that he could sit up. She refused to leave him, instead curling up as tightly as possible in order to fit in his lap. "This feels too good to be true. I don't want to wake up and realise it was all just in my head. I don't know if I can do that again."
Virgil frowned. "Again?"
A startled curse was followed by a splash.
"Johnny?" Scott called. "You okay? Did you fall in again?"
"Fuck you," John muttered, then, after a humiliated pause, "Yes."
Virgil made a vague, exasperated sound deep in his throat and gestured to the expanse of flat rock beside them. "Just sit down before you crack your head open."
John picked a path up the bank and gingerly lowered himself to the ground, careful not to slip for the hundredth time. His shirt was soaked again and he peeled it off, tossing it aside where it landed on a branch with a soggy thud. The faint flush of sunburn already marked his shoulders where he'd fallen asleep earlier.
"You're a walking disaster," Virgil informed him.
John ignored the comment. His attention had been drawn – inevitably – to the stars and would likely remain there for most of the night. The last time they had seen the sky was months back and that occasion had been marred by tears and terror and too many monsters which should have remained in horror movies. This time, it seemed safe to just sit and watch for a while. Alan's map placed them somewhere within Jay Cooke State Park which had so far proven to be void of infected.
"So…" Virgil casually knocked his shoulder against Scott's. "What did you mean by again?"
John laid back and laced his fingers behind his head to maintain the pretence of stargazing as if he weren't very obviously listening in.
"I had an… experience in the hivemind."
Virgil's concern was notable even in silence and Scott shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, secretly wishing for literally anything to break the tension. Seriously, he'd even settle for one of those dumb cryptids featured on that show Gordon was obsessed with. Or maybe a meteor so that John could launch into a space rant and successfully distract Virgil from the worry that was bordering smother-hen levels.
"He reached Nirvana," John deadpanned.
Scott let out a very dignified snort thank-you-very-much.
Virgil stared at them both as if they'd suggested a trip to Vegas – pre- or post-Z-Day, either would be sufficiently shocking. Still, the tension melted into the river and was carried away in a ribbon of silver light. John tilted his head slightly to glimpse them both, his tiny smile revealed by the moon, eyes expectant but not pressing the matter.
Scott busied his hands in Finch's fur. "The hivemind showed me… I don't know, another version of reality, I guess? It wasn't real but it sure as hell felt like it. I've still got flashes of memory of a life that I never lived. And it was… I was happy there, but it wasn't real, so now I'm here and I'm… content, I suppose, but I can't help but wonder if this isn't real either."
Virgil was silent for a moment. He scratched behind one of Finch's ears, expression unreadable as he contemplated the latest revelation. Then, genuinely curious, he asked, "Tell me about it?"
Scott dangled his legs over the edge of the rock until the fine spray of the river tickled his ankles. He couldn't get over just how beautiful the world seemed after so many months spent detached from it.
"We were younger," he began haltingly. "I was a helicopter pilot, search and rescue out in LA. Nice apartment, great friends, even greater girlfriend – not that I can remember any of the details. You were in medical school. We were all home for your birthday. Finch was our family dog. It was a summer day like when we were kids, you remember how Gordon used to run wild through the sprinklers and tread water in the house? Alan was a lot younger. I didn't see Kayo but she was there. So was Grandma. And… Dad was around too. But then I went inside and Mom…"
There was a strange depth of emotion in John's eyes that couldn't be untangled. He returned his gaze to the sky but there was a sense of grief about him too, or maybe it was guilt, although Scott couldn't figure out for the life of him why John would be feeling guilty.
"You saw Mom and Dad?" Virgil's voice was barely a whisper.
Scott lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. "Yeah. That's when I began to realise it wasn't real. Or at least that something wasn't right because I saw them and the grief was just…"
He ran a hand through his hair with a broken laugh.
"It's weird, because… God, it hurts. But I got to say goodbye this time. Sort of, anyway. I knew it would be the last time I'd see them, so I guess it's the closest I'll ever come to closure."
Virgil took a breath to steady his voice. "Did it help?"
"Maybe. I'm not really sure."
Scott pushed the heels of his hands against his eyes with a damp chuckle.
"Goddamn, I could do with a drink right now." He exhaled slowly. "Yeah. I think it helped. It still hurts – hurts more now actually – but it's different. More like… Hell if I know, I'm not a wordsmith. It's just… Before, moving on felt like giving up. Now, it feels right. I'm not going to be happy until I do. Even if it does still feel a little like betrayal. But they'd… they'd want that for me. To be happy. Right?"
John draped an arm over his face to hide overly bright eyes. "I hope you realise that's a ridiculous question." His voice sounded sort of twisted. "Obviously they'd want you to be happy, idiot."
Virgil picked at a patch of lichen. "Why do you even need to ask that?"
"I don't know, Virg, probably because I'm fucked in the head- Ow. Sonuvabitch." Scott rubbed his poor bicep which had just suffered a punch à la Virgil. "What was that for?"
"You know exactly what."
"A verbal warning wouldn't have sufficed?" Scott shot him a wounded look whilst shuffling out of range. "If this leaves a bruise I'm gonna be pissed."
"Don't talk badly about yourself then."
"That cuts out roughly sixty percent of my vocabulary."
"Good," John drawled, still hiding his face, "Then we won't have to listen to as much of your idiocy."
"John." Virgil twisted to throw him a look.
"Are you serious? I can't see your face. Scott, is he serious?" John finally hauled himself upright, glaring at them as if daring them to mention the tears in his eyes. "Okay, Virg, go ahead, claim I'm being too harsh again."
"That's not-"
"Yes, it is. You've criticised me for it before, remember? But sometimes being harsh is the only way forward and you've got to understand that." John studied the familiar landmarks across the lunar surface, faint unease threaded through his voice as he confessed, "I watched him die."
"The Hood?" It was difficult to believe that he was actually gone now. Scott kept expecting him to pop up again like a cursed jack-in-the-box with that insufferable sneer.
"He begged me for help and I just watched. Not just because he deserved it – which he did – but because it fixed the issue. We kept going in circles and it was only going to end with a grave. I wasn't going to let it be one of ours. So, I let him die." John tried to gauge their reactions. "For the record, I feel awful but not guilty."
"Just uncomfortable knowing what you're capable of?" Scott guessed. "Yeah, it sucks."
John shook his head with a tiny smile. The moon had turned his scars silver like lace spread over his arm from those healed bites. He let the silence settle for a few minutes, before venturing, "Hey, Virg, how are you doing?"
Scott spared a moment to silently curse himself for not realising that today had only been Virgil's second time killing an infected. Everything had happened in a rush. The tunnels had already faded to a blur. All he could recall of those final moments was panic and the sickening knowledge that he'd frozen again, something which he was trying not to dwell on.
But now, trying to pick apart the memories, he remembered the way the rotter's skull had crunched and how blood had coated everything, cold and sticky like melted ice cream. He picked sand out from under his nails and resisted the urge to toss himself back in the river and scrub until he was certain there was no trace left on his skin. There hadn't been a single spark of humanity in those eyes - dark and hungry like a shark's – but that didn't take away from the fact that it once been a human, something that he was very conscious Virgil still struggled with.
A pale line of light streaked across the sky as debris burned up in the atmosphere.
Make a wish, Scott thought absently, recalling that night on the train when Alan had done exactly that. Maybe wishes were fanciful things but they carried hope and wasn't that the most important part? The Hood hadn't been wrong when he'd claimed that hope was a powerful agent on its own, but it was meant to be used in the name of good not evil and that was where he had been mistaken. After all, it wasn't hatred that brought humanity together but compassion.
"It's easier to consider it giving someone mercy," Virgil confessed eventually. "But it's not supposed to be easy. Although if the roles were reversed, I'd be grateful. Turning into one of those things… This entire situation has made us no better than animals. Violence is natural – predators kill for survival. But humans are supposed to be more evolved. I don't know. It just feels like we've gone back in time and I hate it. But I don't feel guilty for killing them anymore because it is a mercy, and that in itself is…" He studied the stars with a weary sigh. "…unbearable."
A heavy silence followed. Finch trotted down to the water's edge for a drink. Cicadas upped their volume to near deafening levels. A moth floated on the breeze, delicate and pale like a ghost.
It didn't feel like the apocalypse. It didn't feel like the end of anything really, more like a beginning; one door closed, onto the next chapter, something like that.
"Even after everything, it's still worth it," Virgil murmured.
John shot him a curious look. "What is?"
"Life."
A gentle breeze gathered pollen from the trees and carried it northwards, shimmering in the moonlight like glitter. Distantly, leaves rustled as some type of mid-sized animal crept through the night. If Scott propped himself on his elbows and squinted, he could just glimpse the warm flicker of the campfire through the trees and hear faint laughter as Marisa and Gordon exchanged jokes.
"Yeah," he agreed softly. "It is."
According to Ellis, the state park was roughly fifteen miles southwest of Duluth, but that was once they hit the road and there was still an hour's hike through the wilderness before they reached that point.
They set out early while the sun was still rising, striping trees in gold and highlighting clouds. The air tasted of future rain and their clothes prickled with the static of potential lightning. Finch seemed to sense it, sticking close to their sides and scenting the wind every few minutes. It was relatively cool to begin with but dry heat was already beginning to bake the land and the soil hardened to cracked scales the further they travelled from the river.
It seemed unreal that only twenty-four hours earlier they had been shivering in the dark. Now their clothes were soaked in sweat and they couldn't shed enough layers. The trails were so overgrown that it was impossible to distinguish them from the rest of the vegetation, so they had to pick their own path. It was a near miracle that no one tripped into poison ivy.
"This is like a holiday," Alan declared as the trees thinned out into a clearing of tall grass and partly obscured picnic benches. "Or a hiking trip, but hey, same thing."
"Holidays are supposed to relaxing," Theo griped, sinking onto a bench with a groan. Even with his shirt tied around his waist, he was practically dripping in perspiration. "This is not relaxing. You know what would be relaxing? A hotel. A really, really fancy hotel with room service and a pool bar and those lil cocktail umbrellas. And a beach. I've always wanted to learn how to surf."
"You have a terrible sense of balance," Jasmin pointed out, flashing him a mischievous grin as she knelt to retie her laces.
Theo waved her off. "Yeah, but it looks cool."
"I could teach you," Alan volunteered. He drew his feet up to sit criss-cross on the tabletop, voice softened by memories of South Pacific waves. "I'm pretty good. And by pretty good, I mean freaking awesome."
"Not awesome enough to beat my record," Scott teased.
Alan shot him a betrayed glare. "Shut up, Scott."
"Yeah, Scotty," Gordon sing-songed, propping his elbow on Virgil's shoulder as he beamed at Alan and the kid paled with the realisation that his brother was about to humiliate him, "Stop ruining his attempts to sound cool. He's a weird little nerd, he's gotta find some way to impress Theo."
Alan let out a series of protesting squeaks at a pitch only audible to dogs. Theo looked as if he wanted to be engulfed by a black hole.
Gordon looked very pleased with himself. "Are you sunburnt already, Allie? Because your face is so red right now."
"I'm gonna feed you to a zombie," Alan hissed.
"Nuh uh." Gordon's grin widened. "You saved me from getting eaten, remember?" He patted Alan's shoulder as he swept past. "Onwards, people! We do want to get on a boat before nightfall, right?"
Alan scowled. "I hate him."
"You love me," Gordon called back.
"I hope you fall in poison ivy."
"Whatever gremlin, pick up the pace."
Alan slid off the bench, still grumbling. "Don't call me gremlin, asshole."
"Language," Scott chided, mostly on autopilot as he dug through his backpack for a bottle of water. He was hard-pressed not to laugh as he watched Alan stomp sulkily into the undergrowth, muttering insults under his breath. Jasmin rolled her eyes and followed him, dragging Theo with her.
Marisa watched them go with raised eyebrows. "Teenagers, huh?"
"Teenagers," Scott agreed with an amused sigh.
By the time he caught up, everything had gone suspiciously silent. He briefly entertained the idea that they had run into trouble but logic dictated that there'd have been some sort of commotion had that been the case.
Even so, he broke into a jog until he burst into another clearing. This one was smaller, shrouded with shrubs and younger trees, soaked in sunlight as rays navigated gaps in the canopy. Gordon held up a hand, gesturing for him to be silent and approach slowly.
A vividly orange butterfly danced around the clearing, so bright that it seemed to have stolen its wings from a sunset. Alan held himself perfectly still, eyes shining with delight as it flew so close that it nearly brushed his nose. Theo looked to be holding his breath, his smile rivalling the sun as he committed every detail to memory for future drawing.
Gordon motioned for Jasmin to step closer.
"Here," he murmured, catching her wrist. "Keep your hand flat and steady like so… yeah, that's right, exactly like that. Now stay still and wait a moment."
The butterfly alighted on her palm. Jasmin stared at it incredulously, blinking back wonderous tears, eyes as wide as saucers as she observed the tiny creature. It remained on her hand for a few more seconds, sunning itself before it took flight and vanished beyond the trees.
Gordon grinned. "Pretty awesome, right? Monarch butterfly. They're actually- Woah, hey." He was momentarily stunned as Jasmin threw her arms around his middle and buried her face in his shoulder. "What's all this, kiddo?" His voice softened. "It's just a butterfly, Jazz."
"It was really cool," Jasmin mumbled into his shirt. "Thanks." She stepped back and sniffed, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. "But never call me kiddo again."
Alan tossed his brother a fond look. "Yeah, good luck with that. I've been asking him to stop calling me kiddo for years and he still doesn't listen."
Gordon sank his hands into his pockets with a snigger. "Oh, boy. I could make such a great joke right now. I mean, sure, it would be a little dark, but-"
"No," John interrupted. "Do not make a deaf joke."
"Aw, Johnny. You know me so well."
There was a sharp intake of breath from behind, so quiet that only Scott heard and even then only because he was standing so close to Virgil. He turned to spy his brother's wide-eyed, awed gaze, struck into silence by beauty as the butterfly landed on his wrist.
Scott found himself holding his breath. He hadn't seen such pure wonder on Virgil's face in a long time – the sort of devotion usually only dedicated to the world by children. The butterfly remained there, wings fluttering lazily, making no move to fly away any time soon.
"I think it likes you," Scott remarked.
Virgil's smile was breathless. "Seems like it." He raised his wrist to study the butterfly in greater detail. "It's incredible."
And there, right then - that precise moment was when Scott caught a glimpse of his brother as he had been pre-Z-Day. The old Virgil was still in there, hidden safely beneath layers of newly created defences and sharpness in the name of survival, protecting himself from further grief.
Scott didn't take his eyes off the butterfly until he lost it in the sunlight. It faded into the expanse of blue and left wonder and hope in its wake. He turned back to Virgil, certain that his brother's smile was mirrored on his own face.
"Magic still exists in the world if you know where to look for it," John commented softly.
Alan seemed to come alive, bouncing on his heels. "Oh, isn't that from one of the stories you wrote during my first semester at Whartons?"
John shot him a bemused look. "You still remember those?"
"Obviously."
"But actual quotes?"
Alan nodded emphatically.
"Duh. I practically lived for those stories. Whartons sucked but at least I had something to look forward to each week, y'know? And that's one of the lines which stuck with me. Seriously, it was one of my thoughts when Dad took me into orbit and I got to see Earth from space. It's like, woah, that first time, right? It doesn't seem real. So that was the first thing which came to mind. Magic still exists if you know where to look for it. And hey, the world's mostly dead now, but here we are."
He whistled to Finch and led the way onwards as if he hadn't just shattered John's worldview.
There was a brief silence.
"C'mon, space case," Gordon announced cheerfully, clapping a hand to John's bicep. "Save your existential crisis for later. Jeez, anyone would think it was a secret just how much Al's always idolised you. It's not as if literally everybody knows it or anything. It's like how we all know that Scott's a terrible cook – it's just common fact."
Virgil – the traitor – laughed.
Scott flung up his hands in protest. "I am not a terrible cook!"
Gordon tossed a wry smile over his shoulder. "Sure, Scotty. Whatever you say."
It was hotter than a frying pan by the time they reached the interstate. It wasn't a good sign given the sun was still rising. Temperatures were almost unbearable even in the shade of the national park – travelling on foot in the heat wasn't an option.
Scott left the others crouched in the treeline and ventured up the grass verge, flat on his stomach to remain hidden from anyone on the road be them bandits or infected. The only movements were swaying grasses which had sprung up through cracked tarmac and a crow plucking slithers of skin from a mostly decomposed body in a crashed car.
He fished the binoculars out of his pack and surveyed the road. The majority of vehicles had been heading away from the city, so the southbound lanes were blocked for miles. Some were in good condition but most had collided in the attempts to flee and crumpled, glittering in the sun like discarded candy wrappers.
He turned his attention to the northbound lane. The signpost drooped, worn by wind and dust, but he could just pick out the mile marker for Duluth. He shuffled back down the bank then retreated into the trees to join the others.
"You've got a plan," John identified before Scott had even spoken. "You've got that look on your face again."
Scott raised a brow. "I have a look?"
"So, you do have a plan?"
Sometimes John reminded him eerily of Kayo.
"There's an SUV," he explained, electing to ignore John. "Not too far away. Looks in pretty good shape. Virg, reckon you can get it running?"
Virgil tilted his head, considering. "Possibly. Depends on what condition the battery's in. Also, whether it has enough fuel. Weren't bandits syphoning gas?" He shrugged. "I can give it a go."
"That's the spirit."
Scott turned back to the roadside, tracking the movement of wings as that crow soared above the treetops. He waited to see whether anything had spooked it but the road remained still and silent as if it had been frozen in time.
"Virgil, Mari, you're with me. Everyone else, stay here until we give you a signal. Jasmin, you're our best long-distance shot so you'll cover us from here. Alan, Gordon, keep an eye on anything approaching from the south. John, Theo, you monitor north. Ellis, make sure nothing sneaks up on you here. The woods seem empty but I don't want anything getting the drop on you. Everyone clear?"
Gordon, still flaked out on his back with a water bottle pressed to his forehead to cool down, gave a lazy salute. "FAB, cap'n."
Scott just looked at him.
"Yeah, Scott," Gordon sighed. "We've gotcha covered. Go fix us a ride."
There was a notable climb in temperatures even as they ventured out onto the road. The tarmac was like quicksand underfoot. Scott grimaced at it clung to his shoes, making each step a trial. He wasn't sure whether it was a natural heatwave or a result of the radiation; that storm might have dissipated months ago but the aftereffects hadn't faded.
He ducked into the shade thrown by the SUV and reached for a blade to wedge into the window, stepping aside once the vehicle was unlocked. Virgil slithered into the footwell and twisted to reach the wires.
Scott leant heavily against the side of car, squinting in the harsh light. The crow was circling high above and he tried not to take it as a bad omen. Marisa wiped sweat from her brow, startling slightly as a nearby rotter let out a long, hungry snarl. It couldn't reach them – none of the infected could as they were all trapped within rusting cars – but the sound was still disconcerting.
Virgil muttered a curse as he nearly whacked his head on the underside of the dash. He wriggled out from the footwell and caught Scott's offered hand to pull himself upright.
"The good news is that everything's in working order. The bad news is that we're all out of fuel."
Scott crossed around to the trunk. "Can you siphon some from another vehicle?"
"Sure, but good luck finding one with a full tank."
He pried the trunk open and rifled through the contents. There were some useful finds – a first aid kit, a tyre jack and several packets of trail mix – as well as two empty fuel cans.
"Mari, can you get everyone ready to leave?"
"Uh, sure." Marisa tucked her gun into its holster. "But what if you can't find fuel?"
A similar question was echoed on Virgil's face.
"Oh, trust me." Scott gave a meaningful nod in the direction of an untouched bus full of trapped infected. "I know where to find some. No sane person will go near that. There are so many that they could break the windows if they're riled enough."
"You're not sane?" Marisa queried dryly.
Virgil stole the second fuel can from Scott with a resigned sigh. "We used to put our lives on the line for strangers on a daily, sometimes hourly, basis. Some people call that admirable, but a lot would describe it as crazy."
Scott wiped grime off his hands onto his trousers, then stuck two fingers in his mouth to let loose a loud whistle. Several rotters thrashed in their seatbelts. A series of birds took flight from trees. Marisa hissed some sort of insult under her breath.
Virgil just turned to stare at him with an exasperated eyebrow raise. "Was that really necessary?"
Scott beamed at him. "How else was I gonna signal the others?"
Virgil looked pointedly at the broken wing mirror at their feet. "Reflect sunlight? Walk back over there and tell them? Literally any other idea?"
Marisa pushed sweaty hair out of her face with a groan. "Just siphon the fuel before we all die of heatstroke."
The infected on the bus were a mess. They plastered their faces to the windows, sunken eyes reduced to goo which dripped from empty sockets like inky tears. They clawed at the tiny gap, mouths gaping with loud, desperate snarls. Smears of parasitic green coated the glass. Several loose teeth rattled along the window rim. The stench was unbearable.
Virgil made quick work of siphoning fuel while Scott kept his gun trained on the rotters, praying the glass would hold firm. There were already cracks spiderwebbing across it. He didn't relax until they'd filled the SUV's tank, locked the doors and were ready to roll.
Virgil claimed the driver's seat before Scott or Marisa could argue. A firm warning glare was enough to keep either of them from protesting. Scott stole shotgun and Marisa clambered into the back with a final grumble. Finch stuck her head between the seats and proceeded to scramble into Scott's lap, sticking her head out of the window to revel in the rush of air.
"Road trip," Theo announced, grinning from ear-to-ear. "We should have music."
Scott jabbed at the radio. There were a few tracks downloaded – nothing familiar but cheerful enough – and a series of caterwauls rose from the backseats as Gordon, Theo and Alan tried to sing along. John handed out trail mix in the hopes of shutting them up.
If Scott could disregard the apocalyptic road and occasional passing infected, he could almost imagine that it was a real holiday. He tipped his chair back and propped his feet on the dash just to annoy Virgil. Sure enough, a hand swatted his ankles, accompanied by an admonishing glare.
He pretended not to notice, turning his attention to the passing scenery. It was mostly just empty tarmac and overgrown weeds, but infected activity picked up the closer they got to the city. Massive placards had been hung from a bridge and Virgil slowed to read them.
"Anything important?" Ellis queried from the backseats. She was doing a remarkable job of not complaining about the way she was squashed against the door.
Scott exchanged a look with Virgil.
"Nothing," he replied as Virgil accelerated to put phrases such as point of no return and final warning and beware the undead behind them. "Just your standard apocalypse graffiti."
Reaching the suburbs was easy, but the deeper they ventured into the city the worse conditions became. The I-35 looked to be blocked for the next few miles, leaving them no choice but to find another way around. Scott wound up the window and eased Finch into the footwell so that he could sit up. He switched over from music to the radio but no one was broadcasting and eventually even the bursts of white noise petered into silence.
Alan propped his elbows on the back of Virgil's seat and leaned forward to examine the radio. "Is the date still accurate?"
"Is now really the time?" John eyed a cluster of rotters ambling out of a side street. "Take a left."
"That's gonna take us further away from the interstate," Virgil pointed out.
"We'll re-join it eventually. Take a left now and we'll cut across in a mile or so."
Years of following John's advice on rescues had Virgil taking a left turn. Scott lurched sideways instinctively as a rotter threw itself from a second story window and splattered across the tarmac only a yard away from the car. Finch flattened herself in the footwell with a low whine. From the back, Gordon let out an uneasy whistle.
"John…" Virgil's voice was more of a snap, tight with warning as he was forced to divert left again to avoid a new horde. Scott didn't think he'd ever seen a city so infested. The entire place was crawling. From above, he imagined it would have resembled a disturbed ant's nest.
John tightened his grip on the map until it crinkled at the corners. "Um…"
"Um isn't really helping here, Johnny," Gordon cut in.
John scowled at him. "Feel free to help navigate at any time, Gordon." He shoved Alan aside to peer through the front seats at the road ahead. "Okay, head left."
Scott twisted to catch his eye. "Again?"
"Yes, again." John was visibly trying not to shout. "It'll take us into a residential area which is less likely to be as infested given most people tried to evacuate. From there we'll head north then take the fifty-three east to merge back onto the thirty-five. Any more questions?"
"Yeah, just one." Alan stuck up his hand like a grade schooler. "If the radio date and time is correct, then we're missing a month. Actually, we're missing closer to two months."
John bit back a sigh. "Ignore him, Virgil. Keep driving."
Scott would have let it slide, except he glimpsed Alan's face in the rear-view mirror. Alan had good instincts and right now he wasn't making a fuss over nothing. He hadn't just decided to fixate on the date out of nowhere – something else had tipped off his curiosity. There was a grim suspicion in his eyes as he silently counted the months on his fingers and came up with another mismatching number.
"Okay," Scott humoured him, reaching for the radio. "Huh. This must be wrong."
"Is it though?" Alan looked doubtful. "What month do you think we're in?"
"June?" Ellis guessed.
"July," Marisa corrected.
John didn't answer, too engrossed in the map. Gordon cracked his knuckles and pretended to be studying the passing houses. His month in medical had warped his sense of time. Scott was in a similar position, unable to account for several weeks thanks to the Hood and his own mental health.
"Second week of July," Virgil replied distractedly, guiding the SUV around a mound of debris in the centre of the road. A partly crushed infected lifted its arms to the sky and groaned.
Alan shook his head. "You're all wrong. It's nearly September."
"It's nearly what?" John looked up sharply from his map. "How did you figure that out?"
"I kept note of the date in my sketchbook," Alan explained. He leaned forward to tap the radio, enlarging the holographic display of the date and time. "All projectors in the bunker showed a different date. And then so much happened that you guys weren't exactly keeping track. But we were there a helluva lot longer than we thought and now this confirms it. I think it was another of the Hood's mind games."
Pensive silence settled over the car. Scott rested his head against the window and tried not to freak the hell out over the idea that so much time had passed unnoticed. No one said anything for a while with the exception of John's quiet directions. Alan looked vaguely nervous, wrapping his arms around his knees as he leant heavily against Gordon's shoulder.
"Well, shit," Gordon exhaled.
Scott took a deep breath and schooled his expression before turning to face them. "It's irrelevant now. The Hood is dead and the bunker's behind us."
"I don't like losing time," Virgil admitted, shifting his gaze away from a mauled body left in the gutter. It was suspiciously small in once-rainbow clothing, suggesting it had been a child. "It feels like another loss of control."
"Believe me, I get that." Scott reached over and gripped Virgil's shoulder. "But we're back in control now, remember? Speaking of which, John, any chance of a shortcut? I'm getting real sick of the scenic route."
Reaching the boat was a trial. The docks were smothered in rotters; too many to clear a path with weapons alone. Scott swapped places with Virgil without needing to discuss it, knowing that his brother wouldn't be able to bring himself to mow down creatures which had once been human. The SUV was battered beyond repair and there was half an infected stuck in the wheel rim, but no one stuck around long to truly examine it.
They reached the boat in triple-quick time, which in itself was a gamble as there was no guarantee the vessel was seaworthy. Scott kept the infected at bay along with Marisa and Jasmin while Virgil and Gordon coaxed the boat back into life.
"Any time today would be nice, guys," Scott called over his shoulder, earning a series of foul-mouthed complaints from both brothers. If he hadn't been one of the only things standing between them and death-by-zombie, he was fairly certain Gordon would have pushed him overboard.
The motor choked and spluttered into life. A merry purr rumbled through the entire boat. Scott took out a final rotter then turned and threw himself from the dock onto the deck in a running jump as the boat eased into the heart of the channel.
The infected gathered on the edge en-mass, snarling and howling as they reached for the boat which was already out of range. Several crashed into the water, disappearing in a fog of bubbles and gurgling cries.
"And that's how it's done, people!" Gordon flung up his arms with a loud whoop. "That's another point to us and one less for the apocalypse. We are on a roll today, baby."
Alan whirled on him. "Do not jinx us."
Ellis sank to the deck, gripping the edge of a bench with white knuckles. "I don't feel so good."
"Already?" Gordon patted her on the back. "Man, just wait 'til we get out on the open waves… All those big swells… Up and down, up and- Oh, there you go. Better out than in. That's some food for the fishies right there."
Alan shoved him aside. "You're such a dick, Gordo." He crouched beside Ellis, retrieving an unopened packet of gum from his pocket. "Hey Els, try this. It's spearmint. Might help."
"Heads up, folks." Marisa strode to the helm, jacket flapping as she checked and reloaded her gun clip. "We're about to have company above us."
Somehow – possibly in an attempt to reach other vessels as they fled the canal – several infected had scaled the Aerial Lift Bridge and now dangled limply from it, swaying in the wind like forgotten Christmas decorations.
As the boat approached, they seemed to become revived, jaws gaping, hollowed face scenting the air, hands forming claws which swept through the space below. A thick layer of drool dripped into the water. Sightless eyes rolled in sockets. A swollen tongue lolled between bloodied lips. One creature's stomach had been torn open by twisted rebar and distended guts slithered into the waves, dislodged as the rotter shifted to reach for the boat.
"Oh, gross," Jasmin cringed.
Alan, still crouched by Ellis' side, placed a hand on her upper back and shifted to block her view. He looked queasy himself; the sight of glistening entrails was enough to turn anyone's stomach. He ducked his head and refused to look up as the boat slipped underneath the bridge.
Scott kept his gun trained on the infected, but despite their desperate attempts they were unable to free themselves. He held up a hand for silence as Gordon went to speak, waiting until they had left the harbour behind them.
Marisa sank into a seat with a breathless laugh.
"That was suspiciously easy," John commented.
Scott finally let himself grin. "It's about time the apocalypse gave us a break." He turned to Gordon. "How are we looking?"
"Mostly calm, but we're still close to the shore." Gordon reached over to pat Alan's shoulder. "I call this a success."
"Do not-" Alan began.
"-Jinx it, yeah, I know."
Virgil stepped out of the main cabin, momentarily blinded by the bright sunlight. He took a moment to examine the sight of Duluth Harbour fading into the horizon, then leant heavily against the wall to scrub the exhaustion from his face.
"So," Gordon announced grandly, flopping onto the deck to sprawl in the sun. He tipped his head back to glimpse Scott. "What now, cap'n?"
"Please stop calling me that."
"Nah, it's fun."
Scott accepted this as a lost cause.
"What now?" He leant over the side of the boat to glimpse the waters rushing past. "Well, I know you don't want to jinx anything, Allie, but I think we're owed a celebration."
Impossibly, Gordon's smile grew even brighter. "Scotty, I love that plan."
