"How much longer?" I asked, my hand tightening on Shane's hip. 

"We're nearly there," a man with salt-and-pepper hair said over his shoulder. "We usually leave the cars on the edge of town. Less—"

"Noticeable. We know," Sacha said from where he was just ahead of me and Shane.

Silence fell again. None of you really seemed to know what to make of our brusque manner. 

We'd been walking through town for better than an hour—mostly in silence—and Shane's arm had grown progressively heavier where he had it draped across my shoulders. A bead of sweat traced down the side of his face from his temple, his hair and shirt damp with it.

I could hear his breath wheezing in his lungs. His eyes were dull with fatigue and fever, fixed on the horizon as he forced one step after another.

Stupid. I was so goddamn stupid. How could I have possibly missed how bad he'd gotten?

"Knock it off," he rasped quietly, grimacing at what I suspected was a sore throat. 

Startled, I looked up at him, both of us swearing when he stumbled slightly. I looked over at just the right moment to catch you watching us curiously. You whipped your head back around as soon as you met my eyes. 

"Knock what off?" I muttered.

"Blaming yourself." He turned his head, coughing, steps slowing even more. I bit my lip to keep from swearing again, and couldn't stop myself from looking around nervously, waiting for the sound to draw some undead attention.

I just snorted in reply when he managed to regain his breath as best he could. We had trailed a little farther behind the others, and I glared at the back of Dad's head for the quick pace he was keeping.

Shane's hand squeezed my shoulder and I looked up to find him giving me a frown. Sighing, I muttered, "I'll stop just as soon as I stop hearing your lungs every time you inhale. Deal?"

"No," he grumbled, but wisely didn't say any more.

Two long-ass years together and he knew that I was going to stay mad at myself until the problem was taken care of. By now, the wheezing had morphed into a rattle that turned my stomach with nerves.

It just sounded ugly.

Kyle brought up the rear and I could hear the sand and small rocks strewn across the asphalt crunch under his boots as he pivoted every few minutes to watch our back-trail. 

This served two purposes: to make sure nothing was following along, and so he could create a reverse map in his head. We didn't know what we might run into, but we didn't want to risk getting caught unawares and being unable to work our way back to the last place we saw Aaron and Viktoria.

Cassidy, Danielle and Sacha walked in front of us, keeping a barrier between our group and theirs. Even as sick as he was, I knew it was driving Shane crazy to not be the first line of defense.

What? 

Look, just because my dad was there, just because you'd offered help and medicine didn't mean we were jumping onto the trust ship. Honestly, you should know that by now.

We are all suspicious as hell. Why? Because the world has continually tried to wipe us from existence. What's that saying? It's not paranoia if something is actually trying to kill you?

I get it. I heard your story. You were in a part of the country that was pretty much cleared out. Evacuations were almost non-existent because the virus hit so damn hard here. You might have been swimming in dead people, but at least they were just dead people.

And I heard the rest from Dad or Lisa. Everyone you met more or less fell in or got the hell out. That sounds nice. Wish I could have been there.

But we weren't. So you'll excuse us if we weren't exactly dying to make friendship bracelets and, I don't know, sing freaking kumbaya around the fire.

Despite that, and because you had something we needed, we continued following you to the west edge of town. Shane grimaced, but didn't once complain, even though I knew he was miserable. No matter what he'd said, it was my fault. I hadn't paid attention when it was just a little cold, so it had morphed into something nastier and harder to deal with.

But we kept at it, the sun climbing higher and beginning to beat down on us, not doing much to help Shane's fever. The weather hadn't gotten too hot yet, it was still cool in the mornings and at night, but the middle of the day was beginning to get a little toasty.

We were two streets away when Cassidy suddenly asked, "Did one of you scream?"

Your group looked back at her, blinking owlishly, then you all looked amongst yourselves. Some frowned, some turned pale and we all drew to a dead stop. Shane straightened, his arm dropping away from my shoulders. Kyle drew in a little tighter behind me.

"No," Dad said grimly. "When did you hear it?"

I scowled at him. Acting shifty wasn't really doing him any favors, but Sacha beat me to the punch.

"Probably around the same time you did," he said dryly. 

Dad grimaced, like he knew he'd just made a stupid mistake. I had the wild thought that the old man was losing his step. I guess I should have known better, huh?

"It was to the east," Cassidy added.

"The opposite direction from where we came," you pointed out. You bit your lip, shifting from one foot to the other, eyes flicking to Dad. "We were investigating when we ran into y'all. It wasn't anyone from your group?"

I gave you a droll stare that set you blushing slightly, but it was Danielle who answered. "No. And we were doing the same thing. Searching for who it was when we came across you."

"I take it you didn't find anything," Dad finally said, hand going to the rifle-strap at his shoulder.

"Obviously," Kyle muttered. A little louder, he asked, "Do you know who it might have been?"

I was luckily watching you. I mean, I hate to break it to you, kid, but you've got no poker face. Your eyes went straight to Dad, your mouth opening, then closing. You were obviously unsure if you should speak, and I took note of that.

"There's... a few other groups around," Dad finally said, which actually kind of surprised me. 

Information is power. That was one of his favorite things to say to me when I was a kid. Know everything you can, because maybe someday you'll know something someone else doesn't, and you'll be happy you do.

Never once did he mention anything about sharing knowledge.

Shane's hand turned to a fist, the muscles in his throat cording as he clenched his jaw. His stormy eyes darted around the area like these other groups would magically materialize around us and most likely make life hell. Before he could say anything though, I stepped forward, glaring at Dad.

"What other groups?" I hissed, and Dad leveled that goddamn look on me.

You know the one. The "hush now, Daddy knows best" look. The look that makes you believe you're out of your depth. That you don't know what you're talking about. The one that tells you to step back and let him do the talking, because obviously he knows what he's doing.

It took everything I had in me not to sneer and call the whole damn thing off. The rasping sound Shane made every time he took a breath is about the only reason I didn't do exactly that.

An older woman with sandy blonde hair in a pixie cut said, "They've been around for a while." Her voice was soft, non-combative. Her glance toward Dad was deferential and I very nearly wanted to gag. "We don't have any problem with them."

"So it was one of them who screamed?" I crossed my arms, eyes still riveted on our father. "Why?"

Dad's face had now shifted to his "I'm annoyed but still patient" look, and I ground my teeth, hands tightening into fists. 

"There is still a large number of the dead around here," he said finally. "My guess is someone ran into more than they could handle."

It annoyed me that he'd said exactly what I had thought this morning. But I wasn't done quite yet. I'd always excelled at pushing Dad's buttons, and I guess old habits die hard.

The corner of my mouth lifted in an incredulous, sarcastic little smirk I knew drove him absolutely bonkers. I raised an eyebrow, mock-curious. "So... you guessed someone you didn't know probably got surrounded and still went looking?"

Dad's brows lowered disapprovingly, his mouth pulling into a deep frown that used to mean I was about to get a lecture revolving around respecting my elders... or superiors. It was always hard to tell with him, which one he really meant.

"But isn't that what you guys were doing?" you asked, making Dad shoot a warning glare at you.

Ridiculous as it sounds, my heart swelled a little with pride when you simply ignored him. Made me consider that you weren't so cowed by him as I'd initially believed. I guess that stubborn streak did come from Dad, huh?

Cassidy shrugged. "We're a little new to the area," she said. "We didn't know what it might be, and we've found that generally it's best not to let things stay a surprise, you know. It seems a little odd that you'd go to check it out if you already knew what caused it, though."

The practicality of the answer seemed to catch Dad off guard a little, which wasn't shocking. He'd always believed logical thought was his domain, moreso than anyone else's.

Arrogance doesn't even begin to cover it, but I suppose you knew that too.

"At any rate," he said, quickly recovering. "We know it's nothing to worry about."

Shane snorted at that, meeting Dad's cold glare unflinchingly. Neither said anything, but I wasn't crazy about the tension already prickling between the two. I mean, it was more or less what I'd expected, but that didn't mean I had to enjoy it.

"You'll excuse us if we have a hard time wrapping our heads around that," I said, tone snide. "Generally speaking, when people start screaming that's a good time to get concerned."

Both Shane and Dad looked at me, the former grimly amused, the latter unsurprisingly irritated. I raised an eyebrow. "We don't much like hanging around, so do you think we could get a move on back to your place?"

I caught a ghost of a smile flash across your face, and was delighted when you turned and started walking before Dad could say anything. The others started moving, a few glancing at Dad, then toward the east. Their wary expressions made a chill crawl down my spine, but there was nothing to be done about it now.

Shane, grimacing in apology, draped his arm across my shoulders again and we continued walking. 

We ran into a little snag rounding the last street corner. Namely, the ungodly number of dead people shuffling around the three vehicles that belonged to you guys.

Immediately reversing course, we moved silently to the nearest house, your people right behind us. Using the corner as a shield, Shane quietly asked, "Anybody get a head count?"

"Forty to fifty," Kyle immediately answered, Cas nodding in agreement.

I let out a heavy sigh, sliding out from under Shane's arm. "Fighting through or drawing off?"

"Drawing off is too risky," Danielle said, her pretty face grim. "If there really are that many zombies around, it's too likely we'll run smack into another herd and sandwich ourselves in the middle."

"She's right," Dad said, making me look over. He met my eyes. "Fighting through is the better option."

One thing I guess I can say for Dad is he always did have a spine.

Knives, machetes and hatchets made an appearance in a rustle and slide of metal being withdrawn from sheaths. The wooden handle of the hatchet I'd been using for months was worn and smooth in my hand, but I still eyed the machete you were using with envy.

I missed the one I'd lost. A machete isn't as inclined to get stuck as a hatchet is, but, hey—beggars, choosers and all that.

I eyed Shane with worry as he wiped his hand on his pant leg, then pulled his knife free of its sheath. He tossed a dirty look at me, but I just raised a hand in surrender.

There was no way I was winning that fight, and I didn't care to expend energy on a battle that was already lost.

However, there was no shame when I blatantly made eye contact with Kyle. Shane snorted, but the only way this was happening was if he let his brother and myself stick to him like glue. 

Cassidy, Sacha and Danielle seemed to have the same idea, crowding in a little closer to us. Shane muttered something about being treated like an invalid under his breath, making me nudge him with an elbow.

"A single unit," he said to us. 

We all nodded. We'd done this song and dance before.

By the way your people huddled up, you'd stepped to this number too.

Shane tilted his head toward Dad. "You wanna open the ball?"

I hissed like a ticked off cat when Dad didn't so much as nod, instead just started creeping toward the edge of the house. Shane rolled his eyes at me, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. 

Someone like my father wasn't enough to get under that thick skin of his.

I will hand it to your people. You moved easily, fluidly. There wasn't a single flinch when the first zombies groaned with excitement and started toward you. There were a few runners, but they fell easily enough.

Watching my father send his own machete through a zombie's head was a surreal experience. I mean, this was a man who didn't even like to watch MMA matches.

You didn't do so bad yourself. 

We filtered in after you in a sort of triangle, letting the zombies more or less break off you and roll over us, expending as little energy as possible. My world narrowed to Shane on my right, Danielle on my left and Kyle at my back. The hatchet in my hand. The resistance of skull and the sticky, cool spray of zombie blood and soupy brain matter.

But then zombies started filtering through the houses to our left, flanking us. Shane swore. I swore. Kyle pressed in on Shane's other side, leaving Cas and Sacha a little alone on the other side of the triangle.

Your people were still busy with the ones between us and the cars, whittling away at the mass of bodies.

We turned into a separate huddle, facing toward the zombies just as they crashed into us. Everything threw itself into overdrive as we tried to keep the zombies in front of us, to keep them from tearing into your now unprotected backs.

Suddenly it was a morass of snapping teeth, swinging weapons, being knocked into the person next to me, bony fingers grappling into my clothes, my hair, scratching at my skin. Danielle shouted Kyle's name, but I was too busy to make sure they were okay.

From the corner of my eye, I saw as Shane lost his knife in a zombie's eye socket. It dropped to the ground, taking the blade from his hand. He let out a filthy string of curses, grabbed the nearest zombie's shirt and belted it right in the mouth, trying to create a little space.

My heart stopped, but the zombie spun sideways, its jaw hanging crookedly and then Kyle was there, stabbing and slashing as Shane snatched up his knife. He popped up like a jack-in-the-box, ramming the blade up through the bottom of a zombie's mouth.

A gooey, decomposed hand wrapped around my throat. Nothing gets your attention quite like that. I had no room to swing the hatchet.

So I took a page out of Shane's book. My free hand wrapped around the zombie's wrist pressing its hand away from my windpipe. Twisting through my hips, I slammed my elbow into the zombie's temple.

To my dismay, the zombie barely tilted sideways. It opened its mouth, showing jagged, rotten stumps of teeth. I brought my hatchet up, beginning to get lightheaded.

The zombie's teeth came down on the hatchet blade. Another zombie grabbed my arm, keeping me from alleviating the pressure on my throat.

Spots were blooming, its hand crushing down on the arteries feeding blood to my brain. A distance shout sounded and blood sprayed my face. My knees gave as the hand released my throat.

An arm was around my waist, dragging me backwards as I hauled in breath after breath. My eyes cleared and I looked up to find Kyle had pulled me backwards.

I looked forward, terror gripping tight around my heart as I watched Shane plow his way through zombie after zombie.

"Back!" I screamed at him, voice raw. "Get back! You're too far!"

By now three or four zombies were between me and Shane. I yanked away from Kyle, stumbling over a body. But Danielle was there, lithe form weaving between the dead.

My hatchet bit into the back of a zombie's head, then through the ear into the side of another's skull. There were just enough of the dead that I couldn't quite make it to Shane.

My breath was harsh in my ears, lungs heaving as I swung my hatchet again and again, swearing each time it stuck.

The handle spun in my hand, which was slick with blood and sweat. A zombie lunged toward me and I swung. There was a sickening crunch as the blunt side of the hatchet's head smashed into its face. It stumbled back, nose destroyed, checkbone cracked, eye bulging in a gelatinous mass.

I didn't let up, hitting it again and again until it fell, its head a pulpy mess.

I looked up, wildly tossing strands of sweaty hair out of my face, but there were no more zombies.

Gasping for breath, I watched as Shane yanked his knife out of a zombie's skull. It was quiet enough that we heard the body fall, thudding to the asphalt.

Shane looked up, eyes a little wild as he searched for me, calming only when he spotted me. I nodded that I was fine. He smiled.

His chest heaved a handful of times before his eyes went blank. A choked little cry escaped me as he collapsed right beside the zombie.