He shivered like a child in the cold. Dussander couldn’t stand the sight of him, the sound of him, succumbing to such a trivial little thing as cold when there were hundreds of worse things to be worrying about. Dussander was cold, surely, but he kept himself moving. He swung his arms, pushed forward through the sand as hard as he could, built up a sweat…it kept him warm.

Armin was content to shiver and complain.

“Quiet,” he growled, gritting his teeth.

The muscles in Armin’s jaw tightened at the boy’s attempt at shutting himself up, but it didn’t last. Dussander could hear the irritating click-click-click of teeth, wavering through the otherwise quiet darkness. The boy was tired and couldn’t keep his mouth shut for more than a few minutes. Those insistent sniffles didn’t help his situation any. If he didn’t stop that soon Armin would find himself without a nose to sniffle with.

Dussander watched the red-purple form of Armin (he was cold) struggle through the sand. Dragging feet. Limping. Lagging. Slowing down.

Dummkopf.

He whipped around, squinting through the goggles toward the darkness behind them. The infected that had followed them since the crash had broken off. There was one red-warm shape in the distance that gibbered and quaked, but it wasn’t doing much more than wandering in circles. Perhaps they were out of range.

Dussander snaked out a hand and grabbed Armin’s wrist, yanking him downward. The boy lost his footing easily enough and fell to an inelegant heap at Dussander’s feet.

“They’re gone. We’ll take a break.”

Armin’s head tilted up toward him, expressionless (because of the goggles), but if there had been another source of light Dussander had no doubts in his mind that he’d see gratitude and relief staring up at him.

“Don’t take your goggles off. No light. No food. We don’t have water.”

The relief might have wavered and fallen there, but Armin nodded. And really, Dussander couldn’t tell, so it didn’t matter. He could pretend whatever expressions he wanted.

“Lie down.”

There it was. The uneasiness. The red form in his goggles stiffened a little, but there, again, a nod. A quickening of breath on the air, a tight, uneven heave of the chest. Armin laid himself back on the ground and rolled to his side, away from Dussander. Poor boy.

Dussander grimaced and lowered himself to the ground, flipping onto his back and hiking his arms up beneath his head, propping it so he could see out across the dunes. Poor, stupid, little boy.

Dussander wouldn’t risk doing anything stupid and getting distracted way out here. He certainly hadn’t become a hauptmann for his good taste in chardonnay and excellent people skills.

Armin stirred at his side, propping himself up on an elbow. He craned his head, confusion, perhaps, masking his face. Dussander could picture it there with his mind’s eye, even if he could not actually see it.

But the expression, whatever it was, did not last, and Armin lowered his head back to the sand and shoved his hat under his head to use as a pillow. Dussander listened to him. It was too quiet not to. His breathing was ragged as first, followed by those god-awful sniffles from his broken nose. It was like that for nearly an hour before Armin finally settled down and succumbed to sleep, breathing quietly from his mouth.

Dussander did not want to fall asleep. He was dog tired, and his limbs ached just as much as Armin complained his did, but sleeping out here would be dangerous. It was, after all, all too possible that he might wake up to find himself being eaten.

Or not wake up at all.

Shhhlt.

Shhhlt.

Shhhlt.

Armin’s eyes cracked open. The world was bathed in deep red for a moment and his heart shot up into his throat.

Goggles. Right.

There was a noise. Something heavy sifting through the sand as if it were half-buried there. And it was cold, but for a bit of warm radiating at his back. Dussander.

Armin craned his head back, eyes wide (as if that helped), and found himself nearly face to face with the red-purple form of an infected. Armin’s hand immdeiatly flew to his belt and wrenched his gun into the air. Something lashed out and caught his wrist, squeezing tightly before Armin could aim the thing.

“Don’t move,” Dussander’s voice was impossible low.

The infected swooped its head toward him and let out a low snorting-sniffling noise. It moved forward, one leg slipping over Armin’s, the other splayed behind it. It was hunched over itself, arms held rabbit-like against its chest. Slowly one limb extracting itself from where it was folding and moved outward, long, red fingers waving through the air as if trying to grab…to feel…

“It can't see us."

The infected whipped its head around toward him and let out a snuffling screech, swinging an arm toward him. Armin’s heart leapt to his throat and he shoved himself backward. Fingers brushed across his chest. The infected let out another squeal and surged forward.

Armin wrenched the gun out of his right hand and squeezed the trigger.

The infected fell backward with a thump. No more screeched came from it.

Dussander’s bright red shape rolled toward him, rose up, and slammed down across his chest, hands circling his wrists and shoving them into the sand. His weight was crushing.

“Dummkopf!” Dussander’s word came out as a growl.

“It was going to-“

Dussander released one hand to slap it across Armin’s mouth, silencing him,” Quiet.”

Armin nodded.

The hand removed itself and Dussander reached back, his own belt this time, and produced an object that was cold and slender in the infrared. A knife. Dussander waved it between his two fingers before resheathing it and rolling off of him.

“Get up,” his voice was still hushed.

Armin rolled to his hands and knees and pushed himself to his feet. Dussander was already there, brushing dirt off his pants, and surging forward. Armin tucked his gun back into his belt and hurried after him.

His throat was dry and caked with sand. His nose broken and clogged with coagulated blood. He couldn’t bloody well breath without it hurting now. But his legs were fine, he could walk.

This was going to be an awfully long trek.

Dussander whipped around suddenly. Armin leapt, hand flying to his belt. He caught himself before he pulled the weapon out and rocked back on his heels, sucking in deep, painful breaths. At least the air was cold.

Dussander cocked his head. Possible a brow as well, but Armin couldn’t tell with the goggles.

“We’re going the wrong way.”

Armin’s brow furrowed. They’d been walking in the same direction for hours. They were supposed to land directly beside the settlement. They couldn’t have gone off that far. If Dussander had suspected-

Dussander surged toward him and Armin looked away. Dussander’s footsteps stopped as he did, and Armin knew why.

The settlement. It was silver, even through the infrared. There were red shaped wandering on top of it, two of them, like a guard post. Humans.

“Oh.”

Dussander caught his elbow and shoved him forward,” We have to hurry.”

“Why?”

Dussander jerked his head behind them. Armin glanced over his shoulder and froze.

The red-blue shapes of the infected were piling out across the sand, moving jerkily and speedily toward them.

“Noise,” said Dussander stiffly,” Is just as bad as light, obergefreiter. Remember that.” He took off in a run after that, and Armin spun around, forcing himself to follow him and not look back.

Remember that.

Even now his hand was itching to move toward his gun.

Armin collapsed against the building when the reached it. Dussander curled his lip at the sight and wrenched him away, backing them up until he could see the edge of the roof. The warm humanoid shapes had stopped at the edge of it, one of them crouching, the other standing at its side, some crude looking rifle hiked up over its shoulder.

“Who are you?” one of them shouted down to them. The standing one jostled the sitting and let out a string of hushed curses.

They apparently knew about the noise factor as well.

They also spoke English.

Dussander rubbed his jaw and stepped back, craning his head upward,” Buundeswher, German Defense. We were sent here to bring you back. Rescue you.”

The sitting one leaned forward, swinging his legs over the edge of the roof,” The army?”

“Ja…yes.”

“Where’s the rest of you?”

“Dead. We crashed.”

There were mutterings of ‘the explosion’ between the two before they turned their attention back to Armin and Dussander.

“Do you have any weapons?”

“Ja. A few.”

“But no ship?”

“Nein, no ship,” he spread his fingers,” Crashed.” God, this was demeaning. Must they be English? He jerked his gaze down toward Armin. The boy hadn’t moved much. He wasn’t watching the two on the roof. Rather, he was looking out toward the red-purple shapes edging across the horizon. He was shaking, not out of fright (but perhaps a little from the cold). This was a restrained sort of shake. One of…anticipation, anxiety. His fingers were twitching over the butt of his gun.

“May we come in?”

“Yeah, just a minute. We’ll get someone.”

There was an electric crackle and one of them lifted a heavy square-shaped cold thing to his ear. A voice crackled out statically.

“Hello?”

“We’ve got two survivors. Let them in.”

“Gotcha.”

The electric crackle stopped, and the heavy metal doors to their left scraped open. Dussander grabbed Armin and drew them both toward them. They stepped inside, heels clicking off linoleum, and the doors eased shut behind them. A heavy clang sounded as they locked.

It was warm.

“How well do you speak English, Mendel?”

Armin shook his head and sucked in a sharp breath. He spoke in English, when he answered,” Not good.” And with a terrible accent. Very thick, very heavy.

Dussander would have to do the talking then. Or leave Armin to make a food of himself. One of those options was supremely more attractive than the other.

“Take off your goggles.”

Armin slid them up his brow and tucked them half-way under his hat. There was a hiss of pain before Armin rubbed his arm across his face and bobbed his head,” Light.”

Dussander snapped his goggled off, lifted his hat to peel them off his head, and shoved them in his pocket. The light was too bright, at first, and Dussander blinked rapidly at the sudden intrusion. But his eyes adjusted and the light dimmed to a comfortable intensity.

Armin’s face was covered in dried blood, and he nose was crooked at an awkward angle, knobby and ruined. Hopefully the settlement had a doctor of sorts on board. Dussander loathed the thought of his soldier so…deformed for the rest of his life.

Footsteps sounded down the hall and Dussander peeled his eyes away from Armin to watch as a small hoard of people made their way down the hall, headed by a short brunette women, sporting glasses and a long, white coat.

Doctors indeed, then.

Armin took a step back at the sight of them, the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Never too fond of facing strangers unless he was going to shoot them.

Dussander stepped forward and offered a hand as they approached. The woman stopped in front of him and took it. She was tiny, but her grip has weight behind it.

“Good evening gentlement,” the woman nodded her head to each of them,” My name is Valerie Hurst, and I’m the resident medical officer. The scouts said you weren’t English? Can you understand me.”

“Yes,” Dussander shoot a glance at Armin.

Armin’s eyes danced, hands twitching at his sides, before he gave a nod.

Dussander turned back to Ms. Hurst,” Both of us can, but my ob- private does not know very good English.”

“You can translate for him, what he doesn’t understand?”

Dussander nodded,” Yes.”

“Good,” she turned away, waving the others off,” I’ll show you the facilities, and you’ll tell me what services you can offer. No one gets to live for free here. We can’t afford it.”