The former Dominion of King Edward, Vermont, The Time of Xir

"Tabitha. Stay with me." Carol urges her companion as they stumble through the darkness of the tunnel. Carol cradles her baby with one arm, the elbow tracing the contours of the tunnel's wall while her other hand, slick with sweat, tightly grasps her friend.

"Don't think I can make it." Tabitha gasps harshly, "Lost too much blood ..."

Tabitha's legs wobble as pain floods through her entire body, emanating from the wound in her gut. An insidious cold begins spreading alongside the pain, gently urging Tabitha to just lie down. Lie down and rest for a bit.

"Come on!" Carol almost yells as she pulls Tabitha hard, "We've made this far. Remember our promise? Maine or bust."

"I'm going to bust." Tabitha groans, almost delirious by now, "No chips left for me. The bouncers are going to throw me out ..."

"Tabitha, please." Carol almost begs, "You're the only friend I have left in the world."

That's true. But not the reason why Carol wanted Tabitha to keep tagging along. Carol a lifetime ago, had fancied herself a strong woman. But the world had ways of ripping lies away. First was the virus, throwing her entire world upside down. But then she had her husband Jack, a reliable port in a storm. With Jack managing things and the Immune passes they had received, it appeared that the virus was a blessing in disguise for their family. They were guaranteed to be among the survivors standing once everything was over. And then she and Jack managed to beat the odds as Immune. An actual pregnancy. A one in a million event.

A real, bona fide miracle.

Then Jack died. At the hand of people Carol trusted. Of course Carol didn't know anything for sure, but she has suspicions. Very strong ones. Her first instinct was to reach out to Danny, someone else likely caught up in whatever conspiracy Jack had fallen victim to. Carol had thought that this was a winning move, foiling whatever plans were being hatched in the darkness. But Danny abandoned her, merely telling Carol to meet him later in Maine.

Left to her own devices and heavy with child, Carol was cast adrift in a world falling into madness. The Herd had come to town and were waging all out conflict with the state law enforcement and national guard. The line was held for awhile, but with every battle, more and more good men and women at the front line were infected with the virus. The National Guard quickly quarantined anyone who fell ill, shutting them inside abandoned buildings and welding the doors and windows shut, with just a tiny porthole to pass meals to those unfortunates. As news of these increasingly harsh measures spread, many front liners made the decision to surrender to the Herd once they got infected, adding to the mob's already frightening strength. Carol didn't blame them. Better to take your chances as an infected marauder than waiting for death in a grotty cubicle.

It didn't make the evacuation any easier though.

One fine day, the line broke. Just like that. Guardsmen were fleeing for their lives and helicopters were buzzing overhead, loudspeakers blaring, ordering all residents to evacuate urgently . Fires blazed in the distance as the Herd began razing down entire blocks of the city to sate their insatiable thirst for carnage. As Carol drove Jack's car down the packed roads choked with other panicking people, she heard from the radio that there was strangely no looting by the Herd. The rioters were not interested in TVs or shoes. The news anchor even praised the Herd for their discipline and single minded devotion to their ideals.

All bollocks as Jack would have said it. As someone who had been infected before, Carol knew exactly what was going through the Herd's collective minds at the moment. Being infected with the coof is usually a death sentence. Carol remembered the physical discomfort of the coof ravaging her lungs all too well. But there was something else as well, a pain that went deeper, beyond merely physical suffering. A kind of sadness, like is this really it for me?

And from that sadness, rage is born. Carol felt it herself. Why did she have to get infected? Why did Jack make her fall ill? For the first time in her life, Carol hated Jack. She hated her husband at an almost raw, visceral level. If the pain of the coof was not so overwhelming, Carol would have killed Jack with her own two hands. The only thing that could relieve Carol of that hate was the catharsis of lashing out. The satisfaction that if she was going to die, she would at least take someone down with her.

It was frightening. This emotion that nearly drove Carol insane while she was in the ICU. When both Jack and herself recovered, they would never talk about their experiences fighting the virus. But the odd looks they gave each other were all the proof of them needed. Carol and her husband had felt the exact same thing.

They were going to die. So everyone else had to die as well. Everything had to die, including the world itself.

Its only fair right? This is justice. Carol didn't do anything wrong. She didn't deserve getting infected. So its only natural that -

No. Carol pulls her mind back to the present. No more of that. The virus not only scarred its victims' lungs, it laid its mark on their souls as well. A little something all Immune shared with each other. That's how Carol and Jack realized that Danny was faking it, that he was not truly one of them. He was too unburdened. Danny enjoyed the gathering for what it was on the surface, a time out with friends. But to an Immune person, the gathering had a far greater significance.

It was to prove that they were still human.

And so it should have been no surprise that their "friends" could so easily slip back into becoming monsters. Carol had no idea why they did what they did, neither did she care. Surviving took all her attention now.

That was why she became weak. Not out of choice, but out of necessity. The scars left on her soul by the virus would flare up whenever Carol got worked up or upset. It was as if she had grown naturally predisposed to violence. Carol might be Immune, but ironically she had internalized the vicious lesson imparted by the virus during her illness. The more she tried to be strong, the more those lessons would assert themselves. If the choice was between being weak and letting your humanity be steadily eroded, then Carol would always pick being human. It was a choice every Immune was faced and had to make their peace with.

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After fleeing the city, Carol made it to a refugee camp where her water broke. It was there she met Tabitha who helped with the delivery of the baby. Tabitha was just some teenager who had just finished her hasty training as a nurse and then conscripted into the relief effort. The unassuming girl had seen, as people would say, real bad shit go down. She was experienced in surviving what was becoming known as the virus waste. Carol latched on to Tabitha, helping around the camp while Tabitha tended to the baby during their free time.

In Tabitha, Carol had found someone who was strong and capable. Who could afford to be strong and capable. Tabitha was Carol's lifeline. But more importantly, Carol needed Tabitha as a friend. A presence to keep the malaise in her heart at bay. Of course nothing good ever lasted, and Carol and Tabitha were on the run after the camp was attacked by the Herd. But Carol never forgot what Danny told her. Maine. That was her ultimate destination. Which eventually led Tabitha and her to their current situation.

"Ground's inclining upward." Carol encourages, "We're almost through the tunnel." A morose grunt is the only response she gets.

With a surge of effort, Carol and Tabitha struggle out of the tunnel, into the manor's deserted basement. There might be no one about, but cacophony dominates the floors above.

"Hand me the gun." Carol whispers to Tabitha, taking in her friend's blood soaked clothes. Tabitha's right. She won't last much longer at this rate. The rifle slips out of Tabitha's weak fingers and Carol hesitantly grips it.

Kill the baby. Then yourself.

"Shut up." Carol mutters to the odd echo in her mind. Carol instead fastens her child in a sling hanging across one shoulder. Tabitha stumbles, almost sinking to her knees from fatigue.

"We need to get to the doctor's office." Carol says to Tabitha, "We should be able to do something for your wound there."

"Good idea." Tabitha pants, "I know how to treat gunshot wounds. Can guide you through the process. Hope you have a strong stomach."

"The strongest." Carol smiles hopefully, "Let's get moving. I remember this place's doctor is located down the drag." With that Carol begins leading Tabitha up the stairs to the ground floor of the manor with the rifle raised. Again not a soul is in sight, but the noise in the background grows steadily larger.

"Gunfire. And pounding." Tabitha groans, "Its coming from outside."

"Get ready." Carol nods before kicking the front door of the manor open.

Revealing utter pandemonium.

What looks to be the entirety of the settlement's population is gathered at the main gate, leaning into it with all their weight. There's a resounding thump as the gate buckles inward, sending the crowd staggering backwards before putting their backs into it once again. The ramparts are manned by a pitifully small number of fighting men, forced to keep their heads down by the sheer volume of incoming gunfire coming at them.

"We can't let them get through!" one of the men on the ramparts yells as he blind fires his rifle over the wall. The entire gate shudders as something is slammed into it again, sending splinters flying all over the place.

"Did all the Infected in Vermont show up for this fight?" a desperate voice shouts over the din, "It's like they've all gone crazy!"

Before anyone can answer this question, the head of a makeshift battering ram plows through the gate, impaling several defenders.

There is no escape.

Carol rubs her temples tiredly, her vision swimming. With a roar of triumph, the Herd surges through the gap, overwhelming the townsfolk.

Not for you. Not for anyone.

"Carol!" Tabitha shakes her companion weakly.

"Sorry. Spaced out there." Carol murmurs, "C'mon. Let's get going while the way is still clear."

Carol and Tabitha limp down the darkness of the main drag, as the settlement's residents make their stand at the gate, fighting for their lives. There's a creaking noise as another segment of paling comes crashing down, sending several militiamen tumbling.

Then Carol sees him.

A man dressed in dirty clothes, like the rest of the Herd. But the cut and fine leather of his dress is clearly a class above his fellows. Designer outdoorsman would be the best way of describing it. In the man's hands is a rifle, but no ordinary one. The frame is slim and marked with even punch holes, making the weapon look incredibly skinny compared to the optics attached to it. But again like the man's clothes, his weapon is clearly expensive and well made. A black leather sling bag is hung from his shoulder, cheerfully swinging about.

"No." Tabitha moans, "Its Bambi. Bambi's back."

But what really sets this man apart from other Infected is his head. Or rather, the mask he wears on his head. Stitched together from multiple deer heads, the man is literally wearing a panopticon of animal skin, with a deer head staring in each of the cardinal directions. Tabitha had originally given this Infected the name Bambi in derision, but that was before she and Carol realized how dangerous he was.

After Carol and Tabitha fled the refugee camp, they occasionally met up with Infected, but managed to evade them with some effort. Infected at the end of the day were savage, but not especially smart. Then Bambi showed up.

Bambi sniffs the air in an exaggerated fashion, before breaking off from the battle at the gate, a pack of feral Infected following him. That was the first advantage Bambi had over regular Infected. He was a pack leader. He could actually command the ravenous feral hordes. Though that's not really the correct description for Bambi. Bambi had a mission. He started showing up after Carol and Tabitha got away from the Herd a few times. No matter where they ran or how they tried to conceal themselves. Bambi would always find them.

Bambi was a hunter and the feral Infected were his dogs. He and his pack would stay in the distance, watching Carol and Tabitha ominously. But they were under no illusions that Bambi was planning something. So that's why they decided to stop hiding and join a caravan heading to Maine. Strength and safety in numbers was the plan. Too bad it did not work though. The caravan was too good a target for King Edward to pass up.

Bambi abruptly brings his rifle up and fires a shot straight into a nearby watchtower. A second later, the body of a militiaman falls out of the tower, taken down like a trophy buck. But Bambi pays the kill no heed, the heads of his mask scanning the area tirelessly.

Searching for his real prey.