I dreaded telling you what happened next when I learned Luke was bitten, and I wished I could say that I would have done things differently, but that would be another lie. I see him in my dreams, sometimes when I'm awake, I can see him smiling at me from afar when I walk along the streets or during my patrols. For a moment, I think he's still alive, but when I turn around, he is gone. Was.

Then I'd remember the blood, the tears, and the last words. The dirt in my fingernails as I buried his body into the ground. The silent days where I stared at the windows for hours, listening to the wind. The others trying to coax me out for fresh air, to keep my mind off of things that would eat you alive from the inside.

It's all coming back to me now.

I'm going to tell you of the day I first killed a man—not a vector—but the one that still thinks and feel...the first time I had taken true life.

"I forgive you," Luke told me.

Perhaps he meant it, scared as he was, trying to make me feel better, still watching over me. Despite his forgiveness, I'm never going to forgive myself until the day I die.

——

The airport was burning by the time we reached its outer perimeter. We watched it all burned down to the ground just as a massive horde of vectors continued to stream through the broken walls. I reckoned about half of the vectors probably came from Albany itself. We didn't bother going in as we didn't see any aircrafts flying off the premises—we were too late.

I didn't know if Clemons survived as the university was also destroyed, but if he did, he might have been flown away to another safe-zone that was much secure than Albany. I gathered that we would be on our own from now on, left to survive off the destroyed landscape of the eastern seaboard, now a wasteland of death and monsters.

I was glad to see many vehicles driving away from the burning city. I felt better knowing that others made it out aside from us. We drove west in silence, following the refugees, but as we drove further and further, we lost track of them as they turned to other streets, trying to find their own sanctuary.

Peter drove the humvee aimlessly around, looking for our own refuge. There were roads blocked the military (now long abandoned), the highways clogged with more abandoned vehicles, and so we had to use the backroads just to navigate westward. We hadn't seen towns for hours now, only an expanse of forests.

Luke sat at the very back of the hatch, cuffed onto his chair by Peter. I knew half of the others wanted to throw Luke out, but they didn't have the heart to say it to my face. Instead, The others huddled to the front except for me. I stayed close to him, and I might have threatened the others that if they as so much as breathe onto Luke's direction, they're gonna have to go through me. My mind was left in a daze, clutching Betty on my hand, ready to shoot anyone who might try to attack Luke. Perhaps I was preparing myself too that if Luke turned, I would be the one to kill him.

But Luke didn't turn. He was one of the slow ones.

Don't get me wrong. I knew Luke was sick, but I couldn't help it but see him as the same man as when I woke up that day. I couldn't, no, I refuse to imagine him like one of them, and perhaps, that's what caused me to decide not to do the most logical thing thereof, which was to throw him out of the car. I didn't want to be that heartless, especially to a guy I was falling for.

I tried holding Luke's hand, but he pushed me away. I realized he was afraid that he'd kill me if he turned right then, and so he kept telling me to put some distance between us, but I'm not going to leave Luke all alone. I knew he was petrified—everyone was—and it must not be easy for him to know that the disease was slowly spreading inside his body. At this time, we knew little of the disease, what it does to your insides, and if he would remain asymptomatic until the point of no return when he's tearing someone's throat.

I stayed close to him, anyway. He didn't want to admit it, but my close proximity made him feel a little better. Eventually, I felt his fingers tentatively touched mine, and I reached out, intertwining my own with his. We held hands throughout the entire ride after that.

I kept my eyes and ears on Luke, his breathing, the changes in his skin color, or the vector's horrid twitches. None of that happened. Luke remained like he was earlier this morning. He had no fever, no scratchy throat, or any runny nose. Despite the tender numbness on his bite, he said he felt fine. I told him to tell me if there were any changes.

Logan kept staring at me, and I reckoned he wanted me to move away from Luke to be safe, but I shook my head, and he left it at that. Though I saw that the rifle he carried with him was aimed at Luke, hidden underneath the jacket he took off and laid over the weapon resting on his lap. I wanted to shout at him to point it elsewhere, but I didn't want to scare Luke. I crawled across the hatch until I'm between Logan and Luke. I gave Logan a deathly glare, but he wouldn't meet my eye.

Yousef still sat at the backseat right behind Logan. At first, he was quiet, taking quick glances at Luke, and when he tried to climb over into the back hatch, Luke told him to stay away. After that, Yousef quietly cried. He lost Aria, and now he was losing his best friend. I didn't know what Haskell must be feeling, but he stood by the turret, no doubt readying himself if Luke turned, and the same went for Peter, who stole glances through the rearview mirror, his holster lose, making it easier for him to grab his gun. Alfie didn't dare look over his shoulders, but I was more surprised that Miguel actually fell asleep with his back still facing us. I stifled a smile.

Peter stopped the car at the side of the road. I looked around and realized that we were in the middle of nowhere, entirely surrounded by trees. Was this it? Was this where Peter and the others were going to hold me back as they dragged Luke out of the car and leave him at the side of the road? I held tightly to my gun, and I felt Luke's hand gripped mine hard. He was thinking the same thing I was.

"What's going on?" Logan asked.

Peter looked over the driver's seat. "We're out of gas."

I frowned.

"I thought the tank was full when you got this," Haskell said from the turret.

"We've been driving for four hours if you haven't noticed," Peter huffed. "We're gonna have to walk."

"We can't just move around without a car. There are vectors!" Alfie said.

"Is there a gas station nearby?" I asked.

Peter studied me for a moment. "I saw a sign a mile back that says the gas station is about ten miles along the road."

It was almost six in the evening, and the sun was going down in an hour or so. If we're going to get the gas, it will take an entire day—twenty miles. It's a country road, so there wouldn't be a town for miles longer than where the gas station would be. I looked down on my bandaged leg. I wasn't looking forward to a very long walk, limping all the way.

"It's gonna be dark soon." I reminded the others.

"I saw a mailbox next to a private driveway back there." Peter pointed behind us. "It'll only take about a minute or two to walk over there. Perhaps we'll find a private residence to hunker down for the night, maybe they'd have some spare gas. If not, we'll talk about who's coming with me to walk over to the gas station tomorrow. For now, we'll hide the humvee behind those bushes."

"What if there are people?" Miguel asked.

Peter sighed. "Well, um, let them know that we're friendly folks. Aren't we?"

I looked around our little group. All of us were men, armed to the teeth, and with no resources to trade with since we basically left most of our bags up on the rooftops. No stranger would trust us if we approached. Hell, I wouldn't trust us. We looked like marauders that were going to raid and rob a house.

When no one answered Peter, we started getting ready for the walk. I approached Peter, but he already knew what I was going to ask.

"He's not going with us," Peter said.

I gritted my teeth. "The hell he isn't. I'm not gonna leave him behind here. The night gets cold—"

"Suit yourself."

I shoved him away. "The fuck is wrong with you?" I pushed him again on the chest, but this time, he caught my wrist. He didn't let go.

"I'm trying to keep us alive," Peter said, swatting my hands away. "If you can't see it already, lover boy is going to turn in a few hours, maybe less."

"You think I don't know that?"

"And I don't want him near us when that happens."

"I'll take care of it when he does. But for now, he's still human."

"Who knows what's going on inside his body. He could pass the infection to us by touching us with his sweat, or from his saliva alone. He's dangerous, Bren. Be reasonable."

"Then, I'm staying."

"Are you out of your mind?"

"Step into his shoes for just one moment, Peter. He's terrified, and leaving him like he's discarded trash is only going to make him feel worse. I don't want that to be his last moments. It's fucking terrible already, and I feel like I'm breaking inside. I know he's dying, but that doesn't mean I should stop treating him like a person."

Peter paced back and forth, clenching his fist. If he was going to punch me and knocked me out, then I was ready for it. I glanced over my shoulder and realized that the others had stopped what they were doing and listened in, including Luke. Our eyes met, and he looked away.

"Fine," Peter finally said. "But your boyfriend is your own responsibility. If he turns, you're the one who's going to take him out of his misery. I'm not gonna lose another man on my watch." He turned and looked at the others. "You all got that?" No one answered. Peter didn't expect one.

I turned around so that I wouldn't have to look Peter on the eye, but then I ended up meeting Logan's. He gave me a look—only for a split second—that I did not understand, one that borderline for pity and disappointment. I increasingly became uncomfortable. Logan frowned and whirled around, following the others toward the private driveway.

——

Halfway through the walk, Miguel had to carry me behind his back, which was a little embarrassing. I only tripped once when my foot got caught my a fallen branch, and I swore I could go on, but Peter insisted not to put too much pressure on my leg already. I could see blood seeping through the bandages, but I tried hard not to pay attention to it. Still, I ended up being carried on the back of a grown man like some toddler.

The long gravel driveway extended out for at least a quarter of a mile to a small farmhouse nestled in the woods. We walked across the large field, climbing over wooden fences encompassing the perimeter, passing by tractors, stacks of hays, and other farm equipment lying on the unkempt grass.

It didn't look like anyone was home, the house's windows were barred shut, but no lights were coming from inside. I also didn't notice any vehicles parked along the driveway. Peter and Haskell went into the house first, leaving us by the small shed as they cleared the interior for vectors. Peter walked out to the front porch and waved us in.

The house was empty. I half-expected to find a dead vector that Peter and Haskell had dispatched, but there was nothing. I surmised that the owners had left in a hurry, leaving the entire house in disarray, all shelves and cupboards opened, closets emptied, and the pantry almost gone. The lights and the water pipes still worked (as most of the eastern seaboard's electrical grid, still maintained by a dedicated and armed skeleton crew).

"I'll fix some soup," Miguel said, flicking his eye to Luke. He looked around the lower pantry and found a can of cream of mushroom. "This would do, I think."

"Thank you," I said.

Miguel gently squeezed my arm. "I'm so sorry, Bren."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

Miguel gave me a despondent smile. "I'll go fix you that soup."

We settled into the farmhouse for the night. It was a two-story house with five bedrooms, one down and four above, built for a huge family that had emptied its nest, walls filled with their happy, smiling faces of a brood of eight. Luke and I went to the farthest room on the second floor. Luke insisted on being cuffed to the bed. He never spoke of anything beyond that, not even to me. I tried talking to him, thought about a joke, but there was no use. I kept it to myself.

"Could you leave us for a minute?" I told Logan and Yousef. They both shared a concerned look before they walked out of the room, Logan lingering a little longer, maybe trying to make sure if I wanted to be alone. I nodded to him, and he left. I sat at the foot of the bed, but Luke wouldn't look me in the eye. "You know you can talk to me, right?"

Luke didn't answer me.

"I'm here, Luke. If you need anything...or even if you just want to have someone close...I'll be nearby."

Still, Luke stayed quiet. He lay down on the bed and turned away from me.

I held my tears, subduing the knot at the pit of my stomach as I rose off the bed and cleared my throat. I didn't want him to see my cry. I didn't want the others to see it, but it broke my heart to see Luke like an empty shell, counting down the minutes until the inevitable. Hell, we all were, and it was fucking painful.

I didn't think it would hurt this much.

"Well, I'll go help Miguel with the food. I'll bring you a cup. Maybe you're thirsty? I'll go get some water then," I said, mostly mumbling them, and strode for the door.

"Bren?" Luke whispered.

I whirled around as if all the air inside my lungs was going to burst out of my chest. "What is it?" This was good, right? He was talking, finally. Was he okay? Maybe he was immune to the disease? All kinds of things swam in my mind as I looked at him, finally meeting his gaze.

"It's not your fault, you know," he said. He never spoke for the night after that.

My smile dropped heavily, the house bearing down on me, but I couldn't anything to make it stop. I let it crash onto my body, and I took a step back, blindsided by his words, and I burst into tears. I hastily closed the doors, leaving him in the room.

I didn't go downstairs. I went to another room, making sure it was empty before I poured everything that I had kept inside me out of my skin ever since I stood on that god-forsaken roof. I wanted to hide, to scream, or to jump into the water, forcing myself beneath the waves until I drowned, or for the ground to swallow me whole. I was so fucking exhausted that I wanted to pull the bones off my body, or my heart so that I could squeeze whatever I was feeling, letting the numbness and the stupor enveloped my nerves, almost absurd to think of, almost made me laugh out loud. For an outside observer, they might have thought I had lost it, snapped insane, or perhaps I was having a mental breakdown. I didn't let the others see, so I let the tears stream until my eyes turned red and puffy, and I knew that when I walked down the steps an hour later into the dining room, everyone already knew what had happened.

They never spoke of it, and I was glad for that.

I ate Miguel's soup and some vegetables he had found on the fridge, scraps from whatever he could find in the kitchen. The owners didn't think it was worth bringing the frozen perishables with them to wherever they were going. I didn't realize I was so hungry that I had to return for seconds. Luckily, Miguel cooked a big pot, and we all had our extra helpings, much to everyone's somber delight.

Without anyone with medical knowledge in our group, Haskell came close to it. All soldiers were trained to apply first-aid, and Haskell mentioned taking a couple classes more on the subject. Still, he wasn't Margot. He changed my bandages carefully, sacrificing the only roll we had left in his first-aid pouch and then dropped some antiseptic over the wound. I yelped in pain as the solution seeped into my muscles.

I punched Haskell's arm. "Fuck! Give me a little warning!"

"Sorry."

Once my wound was dressed clean, I put a tray filled with food on Luke's end table, but he only glanced at it, and when I returned an hour later, it remained untouched. Despite my best efforts to make him comfortable, I guessed he realized that the meal would be his last supper.

I left the food on the end table just in case he wanted it and left the room without a word. I knew he was awake, and I didn't see any changes in his mental or physical state.

"Where are you sleeping?" Logan suddenly whispered from the corner, bathed in the shadows.

I flinched. "Jesus Christ! Don't scare me like that!"

"Er, sorry."

"I could have shot you."

"Again, sorry."

"What did you say?"

Logan paused for a moment. "Oh. I said, where are you going to sleep?"

"Um..." I looked around. I had no idea where everyone was going to stay. I gave a small shrug.

"Well, Pete's going to stay up and keep watch from the living room. He says the windows give a good view of the field. He wants us all to sleep in one room, preferably the bedroom downstairs, well, except for Luke, of course."

I caught sight of an armchair propped against the corner right next to where Logan stood. "I'm going to stay up here."

Logan glanced behind me, glaring at the door. "I don't think that's a good idea," he said.

"Luke's cuffed to the bed frame. He won't go anywhere. Besides, I want to stay up here to keep an eye on him." I walked over o the armchair and sat down.

Logan narrowed his gaze at me, and for a brief moment, I thought he was going to prolong this and argue with me, but I was preparing myself for it. If he wanted to be stubborn about this, then I'd give him my all, and if he wanted me to shout and scream, I would. I guessed it must have registered on my face because Logan heaved a sigh and walked down the stairs.

Midway, he stared up at me through the railings, shook his head, and continued down.

——

Day 28: May 6th, Thursday

I awoke with a start, wincing as my back seized in pain, sore from sleeping on an armchair all night. There were pillows tucked behind my back, though, a thick blanket laid over me, and I was confused about how they all got there for a moment, realizing that someone must have brought them there when I was asleep.

After I got my bearings and remembered where I was, I jolted upward, my feet moving on their own toward Luke's room. I clutched the doorknob, slowly turning it, equal parts trying to be sneaky just in case he had turned overnight, and yet wishing he was still asleep and still very human.

The bed was empty; the cuffs dangling from the bed frame.

My eyes widened as I looked around the room. He escaped! There was no sign of him. "Luke?" I called out softly. I waited, but there was no answer. I called out again, and still, the same silence greeted me. I surmised that it was safer to step into the room, so I looked underneath the bed, in the closet, and even inside the bathroom. He wasn't in any of them.

Floorboards creaked from the doorway, and I whirled around, putting my hand on Betty tucked in my holster, ready to shoot. I hesitated midway, thinking that I would shoot Luke, and for a split second, I froze.

Fortunately, Logan was leaning by the doorframe.

"He's not here," he said.

Anger flashed through me, and I