"Here," Ellis said, setting the kit beside Coach. "Never figured you one fer' a surgeon."

Coach let out an incredulous laugh.

"Boy, you should see what the hell I've done this past week. They gon' start callin' me chief medical director before the year is out."

While Ellis tried to make sense of what he'd meant, Coach turned back to Phyllis.

"You pay that son o' yours no mind, Mrs McKinney," Coach said, kindly. "I got an eye good enough. I can't undo your hurt, but I can at least hold it together some. I'm Otis by the way - but most call me Coach. You raised a fine boy, ma'am."

She smiled at that, and looked over at Ellis. He smiled back at her. On the side of her face which wasn't hurt, her eyes had crinkled, like they did when it was genuine. She had always complained about her crow's feet, which she'd had as long as he could remember. He'd not really understood why - to Ellis, they were just a part of her. A warmth filled him as he looked back at his mom, as, just for a brief moment, it felt like it did when she had been proud of him. She smiled that way when he'd won little league in sixth grade, when he'd graduated from high school (even if it was by the seat of his pants) -

The first time I brought Polly home.

"He's a good boy, when he wants to be," she said, still smiling.

Ellis's guilt squirmed in his guts at that. He felt that he didn't deserve her words. Or her love. Her being alive was all he had wanted, but it was tainted by the horrors she had gone through. Where he'd not been there for her; separated in the maelstrom of a birthing apocalypse. How he'd failed to protect her from the awful things that had happened to her.

I'm sorry, mama. I'm so, so sorry.

Coach's words were calm enough to reassure Phyllis to move her hand away from the wrapping. He offered her two painkillers (tramadol, which she'd taken for her back a few months before) with a shot of the whiskey Ellis had taken the night before to calm his nerves. She accepted, taking both in a big gulp.

"You a doctor, son?" She asked him, curiously. Coach shook his head.

"Before this all started," he said, unwrapping her bandage, "most I done was first aid. Sprained dodgeball ankles, the odd dislocated jaw from a bad pitch, skinned knees here an' there. That kinda thing. Let's say I learned a thing or two these past few weeks."

"I was a nurse. You could probably teach me a thing or two these days."

When her bandage came away, Ellis was met with a fresh bout of anguish. His mother's injury had thankfully begun to crust, but her skin was loose, threatening to peel back under gravity now Coach had freed it. Coach's face was composed, but Ellis could tell that it had shocked him, too. His lips were drawn, like they often were when he was concentrating, but he knew him well enough by now to tell when something had gotten under his skin.

(Think of something else please don't use those words)

Ellis saw Nathalie across the room; she was fidgeting with the hem of the shirt Zoey had dressed her in, while staring at her knees. He knew – well, he couldn't really know, but wanted to try at least – that today had been hell on earth for her, and he was worried for her deeply. While Coach began disinfecting the needle and thread he would use to keep the wound together, he went over to the little girl and sat beside her.

"Y'okay there, little lady?" Ellis asked softly. "Need ta get outta here?"

She shook her head.

She probably doesn't want me around.

To his surprise through, she reached out for him. Ellis hugged her, holding her to him. Her hair was matted with sweat, dried blood caking through her blonde locks like grim highlights. She buried her face into his shirt, crying quietly as he stroked her hair.

"Shh, shh... hey now," he said gently, rocking her gently back and forth. "You alright now, y'hear? They're gone now. They'll never hurt you again."

Nathalie was quiet for a moment, before she spoke to him for the first time.

"You promise?" She whispered, gripping his shirt with her little fist.

Her voice startled Ellis slightly. Before then, she had been almost feral in her fright. She was so very young, and had been through such incredible darkness. He found himself thinking again of the life that she'd have had, had it not been for all of this. Playing jumprope. Learning the piano. Doing that weird thing that girls do at sleepovers when they try and speak to the dead. Going to the mall. Going to dance classes. That future that was meant for her, before this nightmare, had gone.

It broke his heart.

She turned his face to look at him, her wide eyes brimming with tears as she waited for his answer. He wiped them away carefully with his thumbs.

"I promise," he said, sternly, looking right back at her. "And I will never, ever let anything hurt you again."

He meant it. Her face broke into a smile and, much like his mother had looked just before, it was if, for the briefest time, she was a normal little girl. The moment flickered by, then, as if all of her emotions had flooded through at once, she broke down into tears. Ellis held her in his arms, soothing her gently as she let it out. He figured it had been a long time coming. While it was devastating for him to see her so sad, in a strange way, he was also relieved. When they had first met her, he had worried that the world had broken her so much that she would be forever paralysed in her waking state of catatonia. In many ways, she still was, but letting out her feelings was a big step.

She's so strong. She shouldn't have had to be, but she is.

"They hurt my mama," she whimpered between sobs. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't know that was where we were going. I would have said no."

Like had been the case for Zoey before, her words triggered Ellis's mind into overdrive. He looked down at her straw-coloured scalp, wanting to reply but being unable to; his mouth completely dry. Images flashed through his mind, his imagination depicting the worst of the horrors for him.

She saw it. She saw it all.

He wanted more than anything to take those memories away. More than anything to bring her mama back. He realised exactly how lucky - how damned lucky - he was that was to have his mom still alive. Broken and bruised - most definitely - but alive, with hope still, somehow, in her eyes. As awful as it was, it hadn't felt like luck at all at the time - seeing her as she was, and what he knew had happened to her. There was always that saying that life was unfair, like his Dad had always said to him when he complained -

(Don't think of him right now don't)

- but in this world, the unfairness was rife, unforgiving and incredibly cruel. Particularly to this little girl, who, just a few weeks before, was colouring in art class and laughing with her friends.

"Don't you dare," Ellis whispered, his voice wavering yet again. "Don't you say that, sweetie. It ain't your fault. Not a bit of it. You an' Max - you're the reason we're alive. We're here now because of how so, so brave you were."

Little by little, her sobs stopped. She clung to him tightly, her breathing slowing – and Ellis realised then how tired she must be. In the night after they had found her, her sleeping patterns had been broken; often permeated by nightmares that caused her to scream and thrash in her slumber. He hadn't known what had caused them, then - that they were more than just the nightmares of the Infected that they all shared, at least once in a while.

As she stilled into sleep, her grip relaxed and her head lulled to the side. He grasped a cushion next to him, propping her head up gently. He wrapped the old patchwork quilt - one of his mee-maw's specials - around her small frame, trying not to disturb her as she did. But she didn't stir. Max trotted to her side, laying down droopy-eyed in his usual spot by the couch. He knew that neither of them would move for the next few hours. Seeing her at peace, after so many days, made him happy.

Sleep tight, little lady.

Leaving her there, safe with Max, he turned to Coach. He had almost finished; a trail of neat stitches holding together the horrendous injury that had been inflicted upon his mom. Phyllis had seen that he'd been soothing Nathalie and had - bless her heart - bitten down on one of the pencils she always kept next to the phone. Coach worked quickly but carefully with the same drawn expression, each puncture of the needle followed by a small grunt from his mom as she fought against the pain.

"There," he said at last, tying off his last suture. "Should hold 'aight now. Thanks for stayin' so still, you did good."

He held out a damp washcloth to Phyllis, who took it gratefully, carefully dabbing the blood from her face. She stayed still while he bandaged it, wincing a little as the alcohol-soaked wraps added fresh stings to the dull pain of her wound.

"You know Ellis," she said, still smiling, "you were ten pounds when you were born. Nurses still said I was the quietest birth they ever seen."

He tried not to laugh. She'd told him that story so many times, wearing it as a badge of pride. Coach guffawed, clapping a hand over his mouth to quiet himself. Nathalie shifted slightly, but swiftly fell back still.

"Me an' my missus had three lil'uns," Coach said. "All over eight pounds."

"Was she quiet, your missus?"

"Nah, she screamed the place down. Damn near broke my hand. But Lord, was I proud of her. It's magical, every single time."

As they talked, they heard the back door open. Rochelle and Nick burst in, flushed. Hand in hand, they marched through the room -

"Hey, y'all -" Coach began, but they were in a world of their own. They left out the other side, the front door going, then an outside thump as they got into the armoured truck out front. Ellis watched them, his face the picture of confusion.

"Coach, what -" he began, but Coach shook his head, cutting him off with another chuckle.

"I heard 'em the other night," he said, keeping his voice low enough so that Nathalie couldn't hear if she woke. "Shhh now, they don't know I know, but be surprised if the whole key didn't. Was wonderin' if they was finally gon' talk things through like grown adults - and thank the Lord above, looks like they did."

Ellis couldn't decide how he felt - he was stunned. He'd always thought Rochelle kinda hated Nick, and that the feeling was altogether mutual. He scratched his head, but soon found himself slowly grinning from ear to ear. Coach joined him, the two of them snickering at the unlikely pair.

"Huh", Ellis said, amused; the chuckles having died down. "Reckoned she was into that Francis guy."

"Naw. See son, her and Nick, they ain't so different," Coach said, wiping away a stray tear. "I been expectin' it a long time. Nothin' like the end of the world at the end of the world to get folks in touch with they feelins."

Ellis smiled at that, his eyes wandering to the ceiling as he did.

"Know whatcha mean, Coach. Bein' in these crazy times, well... guess it makes you braver than you'd ever be if it weren't."

Ellis didn't feel all that brave. Not right now. He was scared through to his boots to go up there. Scared of hearing the answers to the questions in his head. He'd spent the last few hours searching for the right words - for the thing to say that would make her somehow be alright. He knew that they were both changed, forever, in ways that they'd not yet truly begun to understand. He also knew that meant that then other things were probably changed too, like the way they had been with one another. His feelings hadn't changed for Zoey one bit - if anything, they were stronger than they'd ever been.

But he was afraid that hers had. Through no fault of her own – not one single bit – but even the thought of finding out was eating him inside. The moments of joy he'd had with her were about the only thing keeping him going, and he couldn't help – even though he knew it was unfair to her – wanting to hold onto them, even just for a little while longer. If he went up there –

(I can't I don't wanna know, I)

The huge concern he had for her though, right now, overrode his stupid, inconsequential feelings by a mile and then some. Just to see if she was okay -

Dumbass. Course she's not okay!

She wasn't. He knew that. Hell, he wasn't either – not by a long shot. It would have more been crazy if she had. He wrestled with himself; his heart as heavy as it ever been, before settling onto a final, determined thought.

I'm there for her. Whatever happens. Whatever she needs, I'm there.

And, as if she'd read his thoughts - something he'd never been good at hiding from her - his mom spoke up.

"Why don't you clean up, hon?" She said, in the tone she always used to feign indifference. "You look like you need it. We'll all have words in the mornin'. You see to yourself, ya hear? I'll be alright, don' you worry none. It's been a shitty enough day and I wanna see the back of it. We'll watch over the little one - no bother."

The sound of her cussing made her laugh; last time she'd overheard him cuss - about a year ago at a major Falcons loss - she'd clipped him about the head so fast that he'd spilled his beer all over Keith.

"Listen to yo' mama now, " Coach said, in his teacher voice. "Rest'll do us all some good. Besides - that girl up there - I saw how she looked at you. You might be about the only one here who can talk some sense to her, and she badly needs someone right now -"

"- but clean up first," his mama interrupted. "I din' raise no slob, ya hear?"

Ellis laughed, a little embarrassed at her telling him off. He never thought he'd miss it as much as he had.

"Alright mama, alright. Saves you layin' into me."

His legs were like lead from the nerves he felt,but he forced himself to get up anyway; his stance shaky. The stretch as he got out of the easy chair caused him a twinge of pain, making him wonder if his ribs were cracked.

Worry about that later.

"You watch your mouth, Ellis - or I'll watch it for you."

Her words passed over Ellis as if he hadn't heard them. He swallowed, hard.

Don't be a coward, now. Be a damned man.

Ellis made his way upstairs to the bathroom. Someone –

(Zoey)

-had recently used it – a rise of rust-coloured stains around the rim. He showered for a long time, his thoughts unwelcome companions; his hands uncontrollably trembling.


The faucet, like last time, was still leaking. Zoey could not have known, but it was something that Ellis had been promising his mother that he'd fix for months, and had become, as usual, distracted along the way. Given that they were due to be leaving – or alternatively, be blown to dust – very soon, it was a forgotten chore on the pages of history. The droplets struck her big toe, running down her foot before joining the bathwater. It was discoloured an ugly muddy-pink; a combination of grime and blood from the horrors she had faced. She didn't have the energy to drain and re-run it - her exhaustion as emotional as it was physical.

In a way, she was grateful. Right now, her entire body disgusted her. She felt as if it wasn't really hers and wanted nothing more than to crawl out of it. The maroon soup of diluted gore covered the physical evidence that she had been held against her will. She had scrubbed and scrubbed with her good hand until parts of her skin had turned red with scratches, but the feeling still remained.

(How long does it take a human to down)

(Does it hurt?)

Zoey tried to push the whirl of morbid thoughts from her mind, feeling a pang of anger at herself. So many people - smarter, kinder, more deserving - people were dead, and she was alive. The fact that she was still breathing and that so many who she loved were not –

I owe them. I owe them all.

She found her thoughts, against all her efforts, turning then to Ellis. She observed them, as they drifted through her mind. The sound of his voice, singing. His laughter. His smile, and the little furrow his brow made when he was worried. And as she thought about him, limbs drifting either side of her exhausted body, her heart began to race.

Men had always made her feel nervous, not so much in the terrible context of the day's events – until now, at least – but romantically. Being friends was easy, but anything else? Nada, zip. There had been an awkward moment with one of her guy friends behind the bleachers at her high school graduation where they'd gotten to second. She felt worse about it because she knew he'd been into her since the beginning of time - but she'd just not felt ready. They'd stayed friends, but it was always a little weird between them after.

She wondered were Zach was now.

Probably dead, like my parents.

It sunk in, like a rock breaking the surface of a pond, that she'd forced the thoughts of her parents from her mind since Ellis had found her that night in Rayford. Until tonight, that had been the worst night of her life. And, like a series of ripples, the memories came into sharp focus.

The sight of her mother, in the middle of shredding her father to pieces.

His eyes, the loving eyes that had been her world for her whole life, closing forever as she pulled the trigger.

And it was for nothing. That was the worst part.

She missed her parents, so much. Zoey knew, from watching horror movies, true crime documentaries and other macabre works that survivor's guilt was both real and natural. Knowing wasn't the same though as feeling, and it was hitting all at once in force. Her emotions were at breaking point; yet she couldn't cry. It was as if her body had frozen in overwhelm, like an oversized doll.

(Hi I'm Chucky wanna play)

Zoey still hadn't told Ellis what had happened. She looked at the still, burgundy surface that stretched out before her, unbroken but for her breasts and feet.

She wondered how Ellis was feeling, about what had happened. She'd seen how he'd looked at her. Looked at all of them. A part of them had been broken and they were all beginning the slow, agonising process of piecing themselves back together (with as many remaining parts left as they could manage). Despite that though, despite all of the huge things that were weighing on her, she couldn't help but worry for him.

Up until that point, there had been a gleeful spark in him - a light amidst the darkness. She'd wondered, bemused from the bridge when they'd first met, if he was for real or not. The more she had gotten to know him, the more it had been contagious. Since they had been in each other's company, he had somehow made her feel like the world hadn't been all that bad. Her fear had gone when she was with him and she'd felt -

(Safe)

(Happy)

(Alive)

A groundswell of warmth filled her chest, as she thought about how his lips had felt on hers. How he had tasted. How his hands had felt in her hair. How, for the first time in her life, she had craved the touch of another.

With him, she was home.

Selfish as it was, she realised how close - how incredibly close - she had been to losing that forever. Beyond mourning her bruised innocence from the incredible threat that she, Phyllis and Nathalie had faced, that was the one thought that was circling her mind, squeezing its way through her psyche like a crude garrotte. When they had looked at one another before, she had seen it in his eyes. The spark that was there had gone; like his soul had left his body. They were glassy – his expression distant and detached.

Seeing him like that is killing me.

Zoey rinsed her face, spluttering slightly as some of the water entered through her nose. She hadn't realised exactly how much his hope had been her hope, or how truly happy she had been over the time they'd been together. She'd always prided herself on being able to stand on her own two feet.

Zoey against the world, as my mother would say.

She realised several things, as she made sense of her mind, very quickly.

Firstly, how afraid - how terrified - she was at losing that hope.

Secondly, she was also frightened of how much of it was tied to Ellis. She was not afraid of him. She knew, person he was, that he would never, ever hurt her. But she was deeply, deeply afraid of just how intense her feelings for him were. How overwhelming they were becoming, and how rapidly.

Zoey'd had crushes before - heck, she'd had a little one on Ellis when they first met, what now felt like a lifetime ago. It had been his infectious hope, his simplicity and the fact that he wore every emotion on his sleeve that had brought those first butterflies. Now she had gotten to know him, had been around him - they had only intensified. The freedom about him, the way he lived life in the moment and the fact that he found a way to see something good in everything had lifted her up in ways she'd never have dared to imagine. When they'd been alone together, it felt like nothing else mattered. She'd tried to resist her feelings, tried to shove them down and tried to deny them, but it was useless.

I'm in love.

There. She'd said it out loud in her head.

She had fallen for him – of that, she was sure. She wanted so badly to hate it. In truth, it would be so much easier to not have. No connections with others, no obligations, not having to fear the pain of loss or the sting of disappointment. Living her life as a survivor, like she had in college – alone and distracted from her thoughts. Push him away, run off into the night somewhere... anywhere.

But she knew she couldn't.

And that was what scared her so badly.

Absently, Zoey looked at her fingers. The one that was broken had blackened; bruises poking between the pale bands of tape that she'd used to splint the break. She could hear it in her head - the sickening crack it had made - and feel the electrifying pain she had felt. The uncomfortable memory trying to surface, however, melted away; replaced by thoughts of Ellis.

She pulled the plug and stood up, watching the water circle slowly down the drain. She tried to send her memories with it - at least for tonight. She wanted, for once, to feel something that wasn't pain. And as she thought about Ellis, she realised something else.

That he needed saving, this time.

Or more that, to get through this, they needed to save each other.