A few days had passed since their meeting, and they now had most supplies in surplus. People hadn’t gone against the evacuation order and when they had left, they left many things behind. Yet, for what they had, they were still lacking in one resource. Hence, Sammy and Earl now traveled to the one place in the community which they knew could provide what they needed.

It was 30 minutes away, the local police station had been built near the center of the better funded suburbs. Setting off at neither dawn or dusk, but an hour after midday, they attempted to stave off the worst of the prowling bands. Sammy had yet to fire her weapon but, in the days since she had received it, Earl had killed off another ten of the apply named hunters; labeled so by the one to commit the deed.

Down the streets they quietly traversed the snow bound land, silent but for their rhythmic breaths and footfalls. The world fluttered and moved in the wind around them, but they themselves were one of the few things solid and real. In this alien landscape not a word was spoken, for the luxury of sound was reserved for safety.

Sammy followed behind with a placid face, she found that if her body was without emotion she could emulate it in her state of mind. Her eyes glanced at the figure before her, watching for motions which would tell of what to do. Earl had, in these few short days, taught her some hand signals which she knew could be the difference between life and death.

She watched her surroundings too, the winter wonderland, giver of purity and taker of school. How nice it had been before the first reports just a month ago, when assignments and dinner had been her greatest concerns. She wanted to sigh, but she felt that even that was too loud. Internalizing her feelings she trudged on. The boy’s shoes she wore, probably once prided as a lucky pair, now soaked through with the wet and the cold; how precious things are only so when there are those to value them.

A steady crunch sounded out behind them, out of place from their own beats. Earl heard it too, he turned to look just as she did. An emaciated figure trudged into view from a backyard, on its knees groveling as if worshiping the sky. It's tongue, coated in saliva and blood, slid out along its lips when it viewed them. This was rare, Earl had told her that it was not often you met one which had starved. He didn’t say why, but Sammy had her own theories even though she had yet to see one.

It was sluggish, its fat developed from a life of civilization gone, and now it ate at its muscles. This marked it for death, yet Earl did not raise his gun nor approach to strike. Instead, he drew the unused wooden bat and handed it to her. He mouthed something like, “you gotta start somewhere” and that was all. Unlike with the gun there was nothing on it, she grasped it only to fall forwards due to the weight. Plummeting face first towards the snow he caught her shoulder and turned her around, directing her at the weakened foe.

It was heavy, the mass dragged behind as she followed his directive. Its trail snaked through the snow connecting her to where she had just been. And soon, there was no more distance to travel, she had arrived before the figure. Its snail pace deceitful of its true nature. She looked back at Earl; the hunter would not be able to reach her in the scant few seconds she used to commit this act. He nodded, and she looked forward once more.

The face that looked up at her hungirly was still human, it could be seen through the sunken cheeks and empty eyes. She looked at its full self, the bones visible underneath what seemed to be only skin. So little was there that at points the flaps of flesh would remind someone of bat wings, thin membrane upon dying bone.

She closed her eyes and raised her shaking arms above her head; though she feared to lower, to slay this thing, any could see that this would be mercy. Yet, as she let the bat fall she slipped back, the breath she held forced to freeze in the chilling air. It still crawled towards her, and she recoiled at the sight of it at her feet.

Standing once more she looked back, Earl looked unconcerned, but at his belt he firmly hovered his hand over his holster; she hadn’t been in any danger. Once more she rose the pole of ash, this time keeping her eyes open to watch, a lesson learned. Striking down, using gravity to accelerate the bat, it hit the hunter on the head, and nothing happened; the bat had bounced.

Panting from exertion she did so once more, again and again; It would not break. It shuddered under her blows and she watched as the partially human face morphed into a mess of flesh and blood. So much like a person, so much like herself; it could have been her. So easily could it have been her. She screamed, bringing the bat down with just enough force. It only cracked, but that was enough, already weakened it dropped from its pose of worship to rest in its eternal slumber.

Crying and panting she could not change her face, she could not hold it in. As her choking sobs escaped her lips she did not notice as Earl rushed her into a nearby home; she did not notice as he clamped his hand over her mouth, attempting to quiet her wheezing breath; and she did not notice as more hunters came and feasted upon what remained of the thin figure in the snow. They did not reach the police station that day.

The next day came, along with slightly puffy eyes and a hurting head. They exited their makeship adobe and stalked the streets once more, only 10 minutes away this time. Sammy wished to sniffle, snot tried to drool down her nose. Earl hadn’t said anything even when they were secure; she had waited for anger and all she had received had been silence. Not judging nor seething, just understanding.

Together they traversed the now disturbed snow, courtesy of the many hunters which had passed through the area in response to yesterday's events. Where she had been it was churned red, like the foam of a bloodied sea; none of the remains had been left behind. They walked past and although she breathed through her nose she did not smell it, the cold had frozen even the scent of blood.

By the time that they reached the location the sun was at its zenith, having left earlier this day than the last. There they stood before a partially submerged sign, of what was not covered by snow read, “Crawford Police De-”. That was all they needed, the glass doors neared and Earl placed his old hands upon the cold handles. To avoid attention he did not shake them nor break them instead opting to gently push and pull, they did not budge.

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Kneeling by the lock he drew two deformed paperclips, one of which was bent at around a sixty degree angle and the other folded in half. Positioning the latter into the lock he twisted it to allow the lock to turn slightly, and then inserted the first. Raking it along quiet clicks could be heard in spite of the gentle wind and soon he twisted all of the way, opening the door.

Stunned, Sammy watched on as he nonchalantly did this, like a spy from a movie. Her curiosity of who Earl had been grew in turn, as he, like herself, had yet to share much of their past. It should be minded however, that in her twelve years of life Sammy did not have much to tell of. Taking the chance she eyed the man still kneeling before her, and took in his scarred hands and leathery skin, it had to have been a rough life.

They trudged on through the steel frame into the once lackadaisical work space. Papers were placed in neat stacks on desks, some awaited their time sitting in the printer’s bins, and others lay half complete on desks. It was no different from other corporate workspaces except for the odd key and handcuff laying about; Sammy’s memories fit this, their area had never had much crime. It was eerie, as if the world had been placed in stasis and was just awaiting everyone’s return. If not for the fact that dust lay upon every and all surfaces one may assume people would be back shortly.

Earl continued on, seemingly unaffected by this, but Sammy stopped to look upon what had been left behind. Entering into an isolated space, most likely the chief’s, Sammy neared the papers upon the desk. They sat next to a cup of moldy coffee half drunk and half evaporated, the side decorated with crudely drawn stick figures and the words, “Best DAD Ever!”.

She did not touch the cup, did not dare to unrest its significance, and instead read the letter upon the desk. It had been folded in thirds, two lines trisecting the wooden pulp into equal parts.

Dear Harold,

As you have probably seen on the news, attempts at containment in Guyana have failed and the pathogen has spread to major US ports. Currently, in your area Chesepeak has, for the most part, staved off the worst of the ramifications due to the cold inhibiting those infected. Soon however, evacuation orders will be issued to areas like your own, not yet compromised but still in unsafe territory. I do not recommend following the masses and instead offer you and your family sanctuary at Fort Drum. In these pressing times I know that we have need of men like yourself, may you survive this calamity.

God Bless America,

Base Commander Gordon

It gave only a little more information than what the news spoke of, that being the advice to avoid evacuation settlements. Still, Sammy folded it once more and slid it into her jeans back pocket, there could be use of it later.

She left the office to follow Earl, and couldn’t find him; he had exited from the main space. Entering though the only other door which led further into the facility Sammy was faced with two alternative paths. The Armory and the Cells, both were dark and dismal, a lack of power did not help.

Drawing from her own backpack, which had been found lying near a child’s shoe shelf, she now grasped a flashlight. With a light click it turned on to illuminate the entryway of the rooms. Flickering shadows hounded the space between the glinting steel and welcomed her into their embrace. She walked into the place she thought Earl would most likely be; he was not.

Small handguns lined a section of the wall while vests another, there was not much more in the Armory. The only other thing was a container, filled with ammunition. They shone like jewels against the artificial light, she placed her hand within. They clinked and tingled their brass casing flowing against one another. She read their size, they would fit the pistol that she had yet to fire.

Stuffing some shells into her backpack as if it were penny candy she rose to view the vests in their hooks. It was appenent what they were, even to a child like her. Having once seen a police show when an errant babysitter fell asleep she knew them to be kevlar vests. Sliding it down she placed her head and arms through the holes to find that it did not fit in the slightest, where the bottom went past her waist and the sides extended out a few good inches.

Removing it with no small amount of disappointment she excited to enter the other area, hoping to find Earl. When she entered a familiar, revolting smell hit her; this time she did not vomit. Swallowing down her bile a quick check revealed him kneeling along the side of one of the cells, arm outstretched. She shone the light on him and, pushing through her disgust, opened her mouth to ask, “Are you alright?”

With that piercing rays the object of his attention was revealed to be a body and a knife, no signs of change, only of death and age. “Can’t believe he was here”, Earl said, “My brother, that fool, thought getting away from the city would get him away from the tap. Guess it didn’t, he even got locked up for it too.” She did not know how to respond, his seamless acceptance of his brother fate upsetting and off putting. Under the unwieldy atmosphere she grasped her hands within one another, a nervous tick which caused her to drop the light.

Reaching down she noticed the silence that followed, and did not like it. Wanting to end it her voice stepped in to fill the gap, “How old was he?” “Fourty, not sure if I should be say’in this to a kid but our parents got a little frisky in their old age.” He let out a chuckle, twinged with weight and sadness. “It might be best that it ended early, he was never one for pain.”

Sammy watched and realized he was mourning, just that he did not do so loudly but personally, an internal cry. She settled down onto the cold floor, scent forgotten and discomfort set aside. The scuffing of her denim jeans against the concrete a signal for another bout of silence. Sammy had nothing else to break it, all attempts died on her lips as her brain churned to have empathy where there was none, and sympathy of what she did not know.

She hadn’t experienced a loss like this, none had died and left her behind on this sphere of stone and life. And so, the voluntary quiet remained for a while longer, drawing itself thinner and longer than any she had known before. But everything has limits, and it broke just like anything else stretched beyond its capabilities. “He left a year ago, didn’t tell anyone where he had gone. One second he was living in the city, next a puff of smoke. It's been a while, but his face, I would always recognize that.”

Earl laid his pointer and middle finger upon the body's eyelids, fighting the chill and thawing them with his warmth so that he may draw them down. Once they shut he stood and turned, leaving the holding cells behind. Sammy watched this from the floor, she watched as his shoulders shuddered almost imperceptibly, and she watched as he prevented himself from crying. She could understand this feeling of vulnerability, she had held the tears in when she woke up alone a week ago.

Rushing up she hugged his back and with a childish naivety which she soon would not have she told him, “It will be alright.” The old man, seeming even older now, did not fold, did not cry, but he held one of the hands splayed across his stomach and said, “Thankyou”.

They did not draw his brother out of the cell; the ground was too cold to dig and a fire too noticeable for cremation. So they turned and, after packing the bullets and a few backup firearms, they left; Earl did not curse when his search for rifle ammunition proved fruitless. He sighed and that was it, not in the mood to anger. Outside the sun had lowered slightly, an hour or two had been spent in the station and that was all.