The faint shapes of Armin and Victor neared the camp, and Dussander rose to his feet, cocking his gun before striding out to meet them. The light (what little of it was left) was behind them, and made their silhouettes visible even if the rest of them was not.

“Mendel!” Dussander spoke a little too loudly, and behind him he heard Stand and Roger hiss.

The smaller silhouette of Armin halted to a dead stop. And quivered. Armin’s head snapped up toward Victor, but Victor wasn’t watching. He kept going.

“Mendel!” Dussander hissed,” Come here.”

Armin snapped out of whatever trance he’d fallen into and whipped around, surging toward the rise of the trees. His eyes were locked onto Dussander now, and at that moment he would have given anything to be able to see his expression. Why the shock? Dussander clenched he jaw and turned away stiffly, moving behind the trees and ushering for Stan and Roger to get up.

“We go back at this distance. We don’t know how much gasoline is left in the sand, but we can’t afford to-“

“We should go to the ship first, captain,” said Victor, stepping forward with the goggles dangling from his fingers,” The mission is pointless if we don’t.”

Dussander took the goggles from his hand very delicately and tugged them over his head there they dangled around his neck. He fixed his hat back in place before answering,” Going to the ship is pointless. No one will survive that, and if they do, the infected will be reminded of our presence and follow us home. Its over a days journey on foot. We need to sleep more than they do.”

“I…agree with Victor,” Roger stepped up before them, scratching his neck again,” We’ll all be dead if we can’t get any radio equipment, at least some ammo, something.”

“You won’t get another rescue ship to come, and ammo is useless. It’s likely that our friends have already eaten what was left.” Which was a lie. There would be something left. They couldn’t tear through the remains of the ship, and their jaws weren’t strong enough to bite off chunks of metal, or else Dussander wouldn’t have bothered with this crap in the first place.

But he wasn’t going back. He was going to live through this.

“We need something,” Roger continued,” I don’t want to make a fool of myself, and we’ve got plenty of guns. If you guys have another grenade, or maybe the ship…”

“Either way,” Stan piped up,” They might not have gotten back to the ship yet.”

“And you think we’ll get there faster than them, do you?”

If Stan didn’t clamp his mouth shut, he should have. He didn’t speak again.

“We’re going back to the settlement.”

The monsterous shape of Victor surged forward. Dussander whipped around, hand on his holster…but Armin got their first. His gun was pressed to Victor’s neck, forcing his head backward. Dussander let his hand fall to his side and stepped up to them.

“Let him go, Armin.”

Armin’s hand quivered. He was sucking in short, quick breaths. Hyperventilating? It stopped shortly and the man nodded, stepping away and lowering his gun.

Dussander turned his attention to Victor,” We go back to the settlement if you want to survive. No arguments.”

The group quieted down. No affirmations were given, but no more argument were raised. Dussander continued,” We go around from a distance, we stay away from trees once we start. They eat them. There is to be no talking, no needless noise, and most important no light. We move slowly, especially if someone sees danger. Use knives if you have them, or guns with silencers, nothing else.” He turned on heel and slipped the goggles over his eyes, starting forward.

Victor was the first to follow after him, and after them came Stan and Roger together. Armin was last, staring back over the landscape before turning and hurrying to find a place amongst the group. Everyone was on the outside.

This was not a time for cowardice. The situation wouldn’t allow it. And it was no time for distractions, the landscape was littered with bright, red figures. None of them too close, but Dussander didn’t want to let his guard down just to find one of them on his ass the next time he bothered to look.

He cast a glance over his shoulder. Victor was following close behind, Armin near his side, a little behind, and looking cold through the goggles. He wouldn’t be able to keep up for long. None of them would.

But what would sleep cost them?

Two lives, at least.

They weren’t dead. They’d been alive the entire time. Dussander had been alive the entire time. Watching them. Not helping him, not signaling him, just…watching. His stomach churned at the thought, but Armin resisted the urge to throw-up. That would do nothing more than attract the infected.

He didn’t need to…do w hat he did. He would have been fine.

Fuck, he could have shot the man and been fine.

Armin rubbed his fingers against his scalp, squeezing his eyes shut. Not that it mattered. It was pitch black either way. The only way to tell where he was was to be jostled or to brush against someone. Breathing helped to, so long as he himself didn’t breath too loudly. Everyone was breathing raggedly, puffing out ice-crystals from the cold. Everyone was tired.

Everyone was alive.

Armin’s jaw clenched and his fist tightened around cold metal.

Armin hadn’t needed to do that to survive.

He lifted his head, stroking his eyes to his right. He couldn’t see, but Victor’s heavy steps were sloshing the sand beside him. He breathed quietly, carefully, but those footsteps were hard to cover in the sand. Right there, right beside him.

But he didn’t have a silencer on his gun.

If he waited he wouldn’t need one.

Armin let his gaze drift away, wiping his mouth almost reflexively, and stared off into the darkness to think.

They walked for hours, and the few infected that came to close met the sharp, silent bullet of one of Dussander’s borrowed revolver. If one of them got really, enough for another member of their team to see, it often felt the bite of several bullets. Armin never shot. Dussander didn’t give him a gun with a silencer. And, as much as he wanted to squeeze that trigger, he didn’t want them all to die.

But it was late, very late, perhaps late enough for the planets sun to be trying to peek in between the mile deep cloud of dust. Armin was chilled to bone, rubbing his arms as he walked, now, with little choice but to do that or have them freeze in place. His jaw was clenched painfully tight, eyes screwed to beady slits to keep himself from making any more noise than was needed. The rest of their group couldn’t have been fairing any better. They might be moving together now, with body heat to keep them warm, but they’d been in the frigid cold for too long now.

They needed to stop, to rest, and to warm up.

Dussander stopped and turned slowly around to face them, lifting both hands so one would press against Victor, the other Armin. They stopped at his touch, and Stan and Roger halted behind them.

“There aren’t many of them here. If we’re going to risk rest, I suggest we do so now. No sound, no light. Try not to fall asleep.”

They bit off groans and let themselves sink into the sand to stare blankly at the black sky. Or…not the sky, the dust, but it was shapeless and inky like the rest of the landscape.

They kept close together, for warmth, but no one touched more than they had to. Most of them fell asleep.

Armin did not. He was tired, but sleeping in a place like this meant death. The last time he’d fallen asleep he’d been attacked…and Armin only had one bullet left, and didn’t want to get close enough to have to use his knife. Of course, none of that mattered now.

Armin rolled to his stomach and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He leaned toward Dussander, eyes wide but seeing nothing. The man’s breathing was shallow and even. He was asleep. Armin shifted his weight to his left arm and peered over at Victor. Asleep as well.

He shuffled closer, reaching out a hand to brush the man’s arm. Victor woke quickly, but quietly, and a hand snaked around Armin’s wrist, pulling him closer.

“I would like you…help you again, Victor,” said Armin, his voice barely audible.

“Not here. Your captain might be angry,” Victor chuckled breathlessly and pushed himself to his feet. Armin followed after him, running his hand across his belt. Everything in place.

He left his gun in the sand and followed after Victor’s quiet breathing.

Dussander woke with a start, gun whipped from his belt and pointing out through the darkness. He flipped the goggles over his eyes. Nothing.

Armin was beginning to rub off on him.

Dussander slid his gun back into place and lifted himself to a sit. The rest of the group was still sleeping, or, if not asleep, at least lying very still and very quiet, which was all he could ask for. Or…three of them were. Armin was at his side, curled against himself with his fingers draped over his gun. Stan and Roger were behind him…who was who Dussander couldn’t tell…but Victor was gone.

Dussander gritted his teeth and surged to his feet. Back to the crash site, or ahead with out them? Each was as likely as the other. He couldn’t have gotten far. A quick glance across their group showed him only Victor’s weapons were missing, and Stan had the rifle still.

Would he have left them that?

Dussander narrowed his eyes and scanned the horizon. Pointless. There were warm figures everywhere. Some a little too close for comfort, but nothing to worry about yet.

Never-the-less it was time to get up.

Dussander bent down and jostled Armin. The boy started and Dussander let out a hiss, before muttering,” Wake up, Mendel.” Armin calmed down after that, but forced himself to his feet none-the-less.

“Wake up the others, we-.”

There was a groan. Not from near them, but much too low to be an infected. Victor. Dussander’s brow furrowed and he turned toward the noise. There were red shapes everywhere, but none-

Cold. Victor was cold. Warm enough to still be alive but not the same red shade as any of the rest of their group would be. Dussander could see him, propped against one of the ragged trees, unmoving.

“Wake the rest of them, Mendel. I’ll be back,” he whipped the hat from his head and wrenched the goggles off, tossing them toward Armin. The boy caught them and nodded, a minute movement in the darkness. Dussander turned away and started toward the feint shape of Victor and the tree.

It didn’t take long to find him, he hadn’t gone far…but Dussander kept his distance.

The air was thick with the scent of blood, and Victor didn’t seem capable of much more then groaning.

“Ge’ d’ ‘ell away fr’m ‘e.”

“Victor?”

“Cap’n?”

“What happened to you?”

There was a gurgling laugh, cut short by a vicious, liquid cough,” D’n’t be stupid, cap’n. D’nt play dumb wi’ me.”

Dussander frowned and stepped forward. Could he risk light? It wouldn’t matter. The blood would bring them anyway. Already screeches had sounded, much too close. Dussander whipped his flashlight from his belt and flicked it on.

Victor was butchered. There was no other word for it. His face had been slashed and bloodied, both his eyes gouged out, his lips were fat and bleeding and when he pulled them back to give a pained hiss Dussander saw missing teeth. The whole front of his body was smothered in blood and welts, pooling most heavily across the man’s crotch. He’d been stripped naked, and where his clothes were Dussander didn’t know. No where he could see. Both the man’s legs appeared to be broken, which explained his slumped position against the tree and the reason why he hadn’t tried to get back to camp.

“F’nny little guy, innit ‘e?”

Armin.

Dussander wet his lips and dropped the flashlight in the sand. The light shone upward, illuminating Victor’s bloodied face. Dussander turned away and moved back toward the camp.

And stopped, wheeling around and jerking his gaze upward. The man’s clothes were the tree. There was something thin and white hanging out of one of his pockets. Dussander moved back toward the tree and hoisted himself up the ragged branches. He caught the slip of paper between his fingers and dropped back into the sand.

A letter. From Dr. Hurst.