Looking back on it now, I should have been more suspicious. It just didn't make sense for the universe to right itself the way it had.

We woke up the next morning, Kyle was fine. His hand hurt like a son of a bitch, but it wasn't infected, he didn't have a fever. Everything was just freaking peachy.

Then, because that wasn't enough, we found a bunch of supplies. I'm talking food, water, gas, clothes. Anything and everything you could want. Including weapons.

I actually vote that it's a good thing that a machete was a clichéd weapon in any zombie story before, because we found like three. People just "preparing", right?

A machete is actually a pretty good weapon for someone my size, which is to say, about five-six. Machetes are less likely to get stuck than say, a hatchet, and the length of the blade makes it easier to swing through something.

There were plenty of zombies to practice on.

Needless to say, we were feeling pretty good about life, so we decided to just keep going. Just ramble on if you'll forgive the Zeppelin reference. We were actually about as close to great as you'll ever get in the apocalypse.

So of course it had to turn sour, because why on earth could it just go right for once?

We had probably been moving for about three days after leaving that town, and spent those nights outside. You know, there's more open space in the northeast than I'd ever thought, but that's kind of an off track observation.

Anyway, that morning, I woke up to the smell of coffee. Honest to God coffee and all I could think was, Son of a bitch. Did I die in the middle of the night and somehow get to Heaven?

I opened my eyes and sat bolt upright, scrambling out of the truck to find Shane over a fire, pouring himself a cup of hot, black coffee from a kettle we had found along with some other camping supplies.

He smiled at me and handed me another cup, pouring for me. "Instant coffee packs. I just found them."

I took a sip, not even caring when it burned my mouth and sat leaning against Shane with a sigh. Kyle grinned at me from across the fire nursing his own cup. I smiled back, then frowned at how pale he looked. I just shrugged it off though because he'd had the last watch of the night. 

Like I said at the beginning, we know pretty much everything about each other. When Kyle is tired, he does tend to look pale, and I knew that by then.

And I didn't want to borrow any trouble by automatically jumping to the conclusion that something was wrong.

The apocalypse life lesson here: It pays to be a pessimist.

We sat there, enjoying the morning, content to just relax and be with each other.

I realized something might not be completely right when Kyle turned his head and the side of his neck was red.

I knew something was wrong when there was the sound of a branch breaking.

Kyle bolted to his feet, then swayed, having to catch himself on a tree to keep from falling over.

Shane and I had stood up as well, and I watched as Shane looked between where we'd heard the branch and Kyle. He looked at me and I said, "Go."

He nodded and took off toward the sound, while I went over to Kyle. He shied away from me and said, "I'm fine. Just a head rush."

"Kyle, let me look at something," I said, making him sit down. I pressed my hand against his forehead. He felt warm, but nothing like the boiling fever that accompanies turning into a zombie. I tugged at the collar of his shirt and frowned when I saw that the skin of his shoulder was red.

He pulled away from me, standing again just to run right into Shane.

"Kyle," I said sternly. "Sit down."

Kyle growled but did as I said. I pulled at his shirt again. Shane sat on his other side, looking at me, waiting.

"It's fine," Kyle said through gritted teeth when I finally found what I was looking for. "It's just a scratch." 

He shifted away from me, but Shane didn't really give him much room to maneuver.

"Dammit, Kyle!" I said, reaching for him again. "It's infected!"

Kyle batted my hand away from his shoulder, then cringed when he accidentally knocked my fingers into his shoulder.

"See," I said with grim triumph. "It's red, hot and hurts to the touch." I sighed. "You're gonna need antibiotics."

I actually need to revise my earlier statement. We hadn't found everything. We hadn't found the one thing we needed right then.

Kyle scowled. "Yeah well, we don't have any of those."

"I saw a pharmacy in that last town," Shane said, tugging at the finger-less gloves he'd acquired. "It's not silent, but we can get in and out."

I frowned. It was a different town from the one Kyle had gotten attacked in, but it was probably more than fifteen miles back and there had been a lot of movement. But I wasn't about to point that out. I would take any risk at the moment.

That's Rule #19: Risky isn't bad.

A lot of people confuse the two things. When I say something is risky, I don't mean it's bad.

What I mean is that you need to think real damn hard about whether or not it's worth it. Make sure the reward outways the risk, and take into account that, sometimes, there's always going to be something or someone you would take absolutely any risk for.

But also know that sometimes there is no debate. Kyle needed medicine, we were getting some goddamn medicine.

That's the one aspect of humanity I think we've clung to. We've let the other aspects slide more than a little, but not that willingness to do anything, and I mean anything, for the ones we love.

Of course, that could be one of the causes of the sliding.

Kyle didn't exactly see it that way at the time.

But that's because he's an idiot. As is evidenced by this part of my story.

Kyle shook his head furiously. "No. No way. We're not risking it for something so stupid!"

Shane reached over almost absently, and popped Kyle in the back of the head. "It's not stupid. Raleigh's right. And you're just being stubborn."

Kyle scowled, rubbing at his head and opened his mouth, but before he could argue, I interjected, "You've been outvoted, Kyle. Shane and I can backtrack and get the antibiotics,"

"I'm coming with you," Kyle snapped, then blinked hard like he was trying to get his eyes to focus.

I couldn't believe I hadn't noticed this until now.

I wanted to argue, wanting him to stay and rest, but Shane shook his head at me. He pulled his cap down lower over his ears. "We're all going. Makes no sense to split. Kyle can walk and I, personally—I don't know about you—I'm getting really fucking tired of sleeping out in the cold. Town means house means warm."

I repressed a laugh, seeing as how it probably wouldn't be appropriate given the circumstances.

Shane hates the cold. I swear it's because he's cold-blooded. You know, like a lizard? He's only warm if his environment is warm, otherwise, he's freezing.

So we put out the fire and got into the truck to head back. Once the cab had warmed up, I turned to Kyle and said, "Okay. Strip."

I laughed when they both looked at me and clarified, "Just take off your jacket and shirt so I can get a look at your shoulder." Looking back at Shane, I grinned and said, "You know, because he doesn't wear like seventeen layers."

Shane narrowed his eyes at me. Like I'd said, Shane hated the cold and as a result, was currently wearing probably four or five layers.

It's kind of a pain in my ass, and my only real revenge is merciless teasing.

 Kyle sighed but did as I asked, accidentally whapping me in the face with the sleeve of his jacket. "Sorry," he muttered.

I knew it was as bad as I had thought when Kyle paused in taking off his shirt. He looked at me meaningfully and with a touch of embarrassment. I knew what he was asking and helped him get his shirt off.

I bit back a gasp when I finally saw it. Kyle had wrapped it up, but not very well because it was kind of in an awkward position, along the back of his shoulder.

Honestly what Kyle called a scratch, any sane person would call an attempt to filet his shoulder. I couldn't understand how he'd hidden the severity of this from both Shane and myself for the better part of three days.

I also didn't understand how he had done this just going through a window, because that was the only thing I could think of that would have caused this.

I won't even get into the whole 'why' debate.

The wound was an open gash, slicing around the top of his shoulder, down toward his bicep. It wasn't too deep, but it was long and infected. It looked like he had a little bit of sepsis, and I clamped down on the urge to start yelling at him.

I couldn't see any major vein discoloration, which was good, and his pulse was strong, which was better. Still, if I hadn't seen it when I did, he'd probably be dead. Like I said, he's an idiot. But he's an idiot that I love so, what are you gonna do?

I touched it gently and Kyle made a choking sound, jerking away from me. "Sorry! Sorry!" I said, then couldn't resist adding, "But you shouldn't have hidden it. You've got a fever and it's a little septic. All because you didn't show me when you went through that stupid window!"

Kyle scowled. "I didn't know it was there until the next morning when I found blood on the bed."

He didn't explain why he hadn't told me after that, but Shane was more than willing to.

"Typical," he muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Shut up, Shane!" Kyle snapped before struggling back into his shirt. His shoulder bumped mine, and he doubled over in his seat, clutching at it. I rubbed his back until he started breathing again, sitting back up.

"Is there a pattern of previous behavior?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. I suspected there was since Shane had the same damn pattern.

Kyle surprised me by smiling sheepishly, though it was Shane who answered. "Yeah, you could say that."

I smiled. "I feel like there's a story here?"

Shane laughed. "The one that comes to mind is when this idiot was nine, he took his bike down this massive hill back home."

"It was a dirt road," Kyle said.

"Yeah," Shane snorted. "With this epic sand pit at the bottom."

"It was on a dare," Kyle defended and I laughed, still listening to Shane.

"Yeah, so anyway, I come out of the house to see some idiot flying past me. Except it turns out the idiot is my kid brother, right? And all of his buddies are standing at the top of the hill cheering, not thinking about the sand, or thinking he got through it okay. Of course, I'm already runnin' that way, 'cause I know how this is gonna end." 

Shane paused, having to dodge a few zombies on the road. Once it was clear, he continued, "Kyle hits the bottom and he's yellin', already celebrating."

"And that's when the sand got him?" I guessed.

"Oh, big time." Shane laughed and I looked over to find Kyle smiling wryly. 

Shane shook his head. "This little punk, he goes one way, the bike goes the other. The tires gettin' turned by the sand, you know? And he just plows into the dirt and I'm talkin' plowed. I swear there's still a gouge left in the road there."

I laughed and Kyle shook his head. "You're exaggerating."

"No I am not!" Shane grinned. "You ate dirt, little brother. Hard. But anyway," Shane glanced at me, getting back to the story, "so, he's layin' there and all I can think as I'm runnin' is: 'Oh God. Mom is gonna kill me if he's dead.' And I finally get to him and he sits up, hair all crazy and he looks like..." He paused, thinking, then he looked at me. "You ever watch The Sandlot?"

I nodded.

Shane laughed again. "He looks like the kid after all the vacuums exploded in the clubhouse."

I was almost in tears laughing over that image.

"Just, dirt all over him, his face all scraped up. And he's holdin' his arm kinda funny, but when I ask him, all he says is he whacked it against the bike. No big deal." Shane scratched at his jaw, smiling at Kyle.

"Don't tell Mom," Shane and Kyle said at the same time.

"Of course, I'm on board, 'cause I'm convinced Mom's already gonna tan my hide after lettin' him do something so damn stupid, so I'm almost cryin' with relief when he says this." Shane slowed down as we got closer to the town.

He pulled off the road just on the outskirts, once again leaving the truck among the trees.

It's really not a great idea to leave an obviously used vehicle where just anyone can see it.

Shane shouldered a backpack and checked his gun, just in case. We had laid off firing a shot for a while now, understanding that sound drew zombies. That, and the fact that Shane really appreciates the act of conserving ammo.

The town was quieter than it had been the last time we passed through, not a zombie to be seen, so Shane picked the story up again, his voice hushed. "So Mom and Dad get home, and we make up some bullshit that still ends up with her ticked at me somehow."

"'Always responsible for baby brother'," Kyle quipped. "Mom always said that, like I couldn't take care of myself."

Shane's shoulders kind of bunched in front of me, but he didn't say anything. 

Kyle picked up the telling. "So, she patches up my face and Dad's bitching at Shane, who's standing there, staring past Dad, hands folded behind his back, already halfway to jar-head." Shane hissed and Kyle laughed. "Sorry, I forgot. But you did look like some kind of movie, Shane. Like Dad was a drill sergeant instead of Dad and you probably just pissed him off even more."

"Had a knack for it," Shane muttered. "'Course, that was nothin' compared to two days later, when we found out his arm was busted."

"Two days?" I gasped, looking over my shoulder at Kyle.

"Uh-huh," Shane answered. "He spent two days in the dead of summer wearin' long sleeves to hide the bruising."

"Why?" I asked, but Kyle just shrugged.

"I don't know. I didn't think it was that bad. And money was usually tight you know? I was nine, I thought something like treating a broken arm would take food off the table—"

"It was broken in two places!" Shane interrupted.

I just shook my head. "That's insane! And the new rule is you don't get to hide that crap." I pushed lightly at Shane's shoulder so he'd know I was talking to him too.

No, that's not an official rule. Mostly because it seems like common sense, but, you know, some people.

Shane held up his fist, signaling for us to stop.

I looked around, waiting as Shane peered around the corner onto the next street. Kyle kept watch behind us.

"Okay," Shane whispered. "I can see the pharmacy, but there's a few zombies hanging around. I count five."

Shane turned to us, smiling at the machete already in my hand.

What? It's not really that difficult of a weapon to master. It was easier to use than a knife and, like I'd said, I'd had plenty of practice over the last three days.

"Hand to hand?" I asked with an answering smile.

"Piece of cake," Kyle added, knife in hand. And I'm not talking about a little pocket knife. No. This was military, like Shane's. At least six inches with a wicked edge, curving gracefully to a point with a tactical hilt.

I was a little worried, since he was still pale, but he was right-handed, so he wouldn't have to use his injured side. That and I liked the odds of three to five better than two to five. And it wasn't like Kyle would just stay there anyway.

Shane pulled out his own knife. "So let's go."

As soon as we stepped from cover, the zombies came charging after us. They moved quickly, but in a shaky sort of way. They'd most likely been dead for a while.

My suspicions were confirmed when my machete sank into a zombie's head, and sliced through it as easily as I would a rotten melon. I wrinkled my nose as the top of the zombie's head slopped off, hitting the ground with a nasty splat.

Another of the zombies knocked into my shoulder and I turned, shoving the machete through the side of its head. I was surprised that I'd even had to take on two, thinking that Shane would have been quicker than me.

I payed for the joy of coffee with one of the most terrifying moments of my life that day. Because the universe is actually a vicious bitch.

I turned to find Shane running toward Kyle, who had one zombie dead at his feet and was trying to keep another from biting him. He cried out when the zombie's hand latched onto his shoulder, rotting fingers digging into his wound.

Kyle stumbled over the other body and fell, the zombie on top of him. His knife was stuck in the zombie's neck and its blackish-red blood dripped onto his face, painting him with thick, sludgy lines.

I ran, trying to catch Shane, watching as he went into a diving tackle, catching the zombie around the middle, ripping it off of Kyle.

But now Shane was on the ground, tangled up with the zombie. It bit into Shane's shoulder and I screamed, the sound tearing my throat, before getting close enough to sink the machete into the back of the zombie's head.

Tears were already streaming down my face as I shoved the zombie off of Shane, scrambling at his shoulder, expecting blood.

All I found at first was a torn jacket and the ripped clothes under it. Shane sat up and pulled at the collar of his shirt, looking down. "It's okay."

I put a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my sobs. Angry that he was trying to play this off, with tears still blurring my vision, I cried, "Shut the hell up!" 

I started crying harder.

Kyle knelt next to us, his face pale, eyes terrified. I was shaking, my chest hurting with the force of my sobs, still trying to see Shane's shoulder, refusing to acknowledge what this meant.

Shane grabbed my hands and when I looked up, he was smiling for some reason. "It just got my jacket."

I blinked. "What?"

Shane took my hand and slipped it under his collar. My eyes widened when all I felt was smooth, warm skin. He laughed at the look on my face, because he's a jerk, and stood up, pulling me with him. I buried my face into his chest, still shaking. Still crying.

Shane rubbed my back, kissing the top of my head, holding onto me tightly. With another laugh, he said, "Guess you'll have to quit givin' me shit about all those layers, huh?"

A small laugh bubbled up and I wiped at my eyes, still Velcro-ed to him. Shane kept one arm tight around me, reaching out with the other to place a hand on Kyle's uninjured shoulder, squeezing lightly. "I'm okay," he assured one more time.

Honestly, I couldn't have possibly heard those two words enough.

I had to take three or four breaths before I was finally able to let go of Shane. I yanked my machete out of the zombie's head, then surprised myself by hacking into it twice more, leaving its head a sliced up mess.

I turned and went back to the boys. Shane didn't say anything, just used his thumb to rub away a droplet of blood next to my mouth.

Kyle whispered, "Can we just get the stupid drugs now?"

Shane nodded, waving us forward.

He must not have thought I was watching him, because every now and then, he'd touch his shoulder, fingering the torn material of his jacket.

Every time he did, all I could do was thank God that he wears so many damn layers.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

For anyone who doesn't know Shane's Sandlot reference:

That is literally a story from my own childhood, minus the broken arm:) Just saying, I think the lesson here is that the sand will get you. Every time.