We had only made it another hour before there was banging on the back window.

"Stop," John said, annoyed that Grant had kept driving even though there was no way he didn't hear the banging.

The brakes squealed as we stopped. John got out and I followed, not wanting him to face this alone. I had snuck my Beretta to the training class, knowing I'd have to hand over any guns they would give me.

Cassandra was apparently going into convulsions in the bed of the truck. Colt was standing up beside her, his hands interlaced on the top of his head as he freaked out.

"Oh my god, oh my god," he repeated over and over again.

"Get out of there!" John commanded.

Colt looked over at John, the words not sinking in.

"Somebody help her!" Colt screamed as she started to flail even harder.

I could hear the sound of a bone cracking as Cassandra lurched into the side of the bed. This is why you normally had to move everything out of the way of seizing people.

"Colt, get out of there," I hissed.

I planted a foot on the tailgate only to have John yank me back.

"Like hell you're goin' back there," John said angrily.

"The stupid idiot isn't getting out," I pointed to the shocked brother.

John went to the side and made a grab at Colt, "You need to get out of there now!"

Colt jerked away from John's hand. Cassandra stopped convulsing, settling into an eerie calm. Colt let out a few choppy breaths and leaned down to her.

"Cass," he laid a hand on her forehead.

"Don't touch her!" I commanded as I peered into the bed.

Cassandra's left arm was at an odd angle, the shoulder way out of its socket. She appeared to be still except for the rapid movement behind her eyelids.

"Son, you need to-," John's words were cut off as Cassandra reared up.

Her teeth sunk into the side of Colt's face and his scream pierced the air like a siren. Grant jumped out of the truck, his handgun squeezed in his meaty fist. He didn't say anything as he shoved John out of the way.

Cassandra's corpse continued to grope at Colt and he screamed, too shocked to move away. He was using one hand to push her away and the other was clasped to the side of his face that was now bleeding profusely. Red squirted from between his fingers and ran down his arm like a leak in an aquarium.

Grant aimed and shot Cassandra through the side of the head, her body flopping to the side. Colt stopped screaming, but remained in place staring at his fallen sister. When Grant raised his gun again, John grabbed his arm.

"Hey, hey, hey," John said, fighting against Grant. "You can't just shoot him, he's still alive!"

Grant shoved John off, "Not for long he ain't. He'll turn just like the girl."

"How do you know that for sure?" John said, placing himself between Colt and Grant.

"'Cause everyone whose attacked by those things, turns."

John's eyes flashed to mine and I shook my head, praying that John wouldn't tell the Sergeant about my scratches. After what happened last time, I wouldn't be volunteering that information.

"You a scientist now?" John said back to Grant, his anger rising.

Grant's jaw popped out. Like a snake, Grant shot forward and grabbed John by his collar throwing him to the ground. He lifted his handgun quickly and shot the grieving brother in cold blood. Colt's body fell forward, landing on top of his sister's.

"Should've done that an hour ago," the Sergeant said before he got back in the truck.

The horrified faces of Sheri and Mark were staring out of the back window. I'm sure my own face was wearing a similar mask. Was I destined to keep seeing people get shot in front of me? It's a sight I don't think I will ever get used to. To witness the life leave someone's eyes is something I'd hoped to never see. Anything I saw on T.V. paled in comparison; it didn't even come close to capturing how horrifying it really was.

I ran over to John and helped him back to his feet.

"Fucking asshole," John muttered to himself.

I don't remember ever hearing John swear like that before. Not that I disagreed with his statement of the Sergeant, but it was still odd to hear that come from John.

"What now?" I asked.

John looked at me and I could see a mixture of pain and anger in his eyes. This had hit a nerve with him, probably reminding him of what happened to Taylor. John swerved around me, heading straight for the driver's side door. John ripped open the door and yanked a surprised Grant from his seat.

This was going to be bad.

"You're goin' to clean that mess up, not us. We ain't takin' care of your dirty work," John scowled at Grant.

Instead of spewing split-second words at John, Grant moved in really close to him so that they were almost face to face.

"I ain't doin' shit."

John gave nothing away as he tackled Grant to the ground. He got in one good hit before Grant was able to assess what had happened; then the fists started to fly. They rolled on the ground, fighting.

I spotted a couple of infected a couple of yards away; the noise from everything that happened drawing them in. Where the hell was the other truck? After we had picked up the siblings, they had taken the lead and gotten a fair bit ahead of us. They should have noticed we weren't behind them anymore.

Sheri got out of the truck with Mark right behind her.

"The dead are coming our way!" Sheri announced like a lookout yelling, "Land hoe!"

"Then get the fucking guns and help!" I yelled back.

To my surprise, she didn't get defensive and instead, ran to the truck to get the guns. I turned back to John and Grant.

"Are you two stupid?" I yelled. "We don't have time for this!"

They ignored me as they continued to fight like a couple of kids on the playground. John may have gotten a few good hits in there, which I was okay with, but Grant managed to gain the upper hand. He got up in a kneeling stance above John and started in with the powerful hits.

I tried to shove Grant off, but he shrugged off my attempts. He was built like concrete building, refusing to budge as his rage built. Seeing no other option, I drew my Beretta from the back of my waistline and placed my gun forcefully against the Sergeant's skull.

"You either stop, or we'll be dumping your body right next to theirs," I nodded towards the back of the truck, meaning every word.

Grant stopped his barrage of fists, stilling when he heard my words. We all jumped thanks to the tension as we heard shots being fired behind us. Sheri and Mark must have been shooting at the encroaching infected.

The Sergeant raised his hands up in surrender.

"Get off of him," I demanded, stomping down the urge to shoot him right where he kneeled.

Grant got up and stepped away from John. With the gun still pointed at the Sergeant, I helped John up once again. His face was already a mess, the left eye swollen shut and blood splattered all over, clashing with the purple bruising already rising. John wiped at the blood dribbling out the side of his mouth, spiting some onto the ground, and then tested out his jaw.

Sergeant Grant looked beat up, but not near as bad as John did. Grant kept a stern eye on the gun in my hand. If he was scared, he sure hid it well. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to say next, but I didn't have to worry about it as a female scream reached us.

We turned to see Sheri fall to the ground clutching at her side. There were no infected near them so I had no idea what could have happened to her. Putting our tense situation aside, we ran over to Sheri and Mark.

"What happened?" I asked as I leaned down by Sheri.

Fresh blood was soaking her shirt as she writhed in agony, her hands pressed to her back.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry Sheri!" Mark yelled hysterically, dropping his gun.

Grant quickly scooped it up and took out the still standing infected.

"Mark, what happened?" I demanded again.

Mark looked from me to Sheri, his brows drawn, "I accidently shot her!"

"My back!" Sheri yelled, pain forcing her voice higher than I knew possible.

"I told you that you weren't ready to handle a gun, you little shit!" Grant said, charging at Mark.

"I was trying to help!" Mark cowered as Grant stop inches away from him, looming over him.

"Look what you did!" The Sergeant stabbed a finger in Sheri's direction. "This is why we have this program, to prevent accidents like this."

I guess their gun control and training programs really did have a purpose other than exercising control over the populace. That could have easily been me, back all those months ago when I had been handed a gun for the first time in my life.

"Do you have a first aid kit or anything in the truck?" I asked Grant.

With one last glare at Mark, Grant took off to the truck and came back with a red medic kit.

"Move," he barked at me.

I shuffled out of the way and let the Sergeant get to work. Using the stainless-steel scissors, he tore Sheri's shirt around the wound and immediately pressed some gauze to it. Sheri screamed again as he put pressure on her wound.

"I need to slow the bleedin' before I can assess the full damage," Grant said to Sheri.

Sheri nodded and bit her lip as he continued to prod at the gunshot hole. I can't imagine how much it must hurt to be shot, but I was kind of impressed with how well Sheri was handling it.

"Bailey," John tapped on the shoulder. "Infected."

"You think we can move this to the truck?" I asked Grant.

"I'll try to bandage up the bullet hole. You keep those things away from us in the meantime," Grant commanded.

"You best head back to the truck, Mark," John said to the teen.

Mark didn't try to argue, "I'm so sorry, Sheri." He ran back to the truck, leaving me to take out the infected that were coming out of the tree line surrounding the road.

"I'll get the bodies out of the back of the truck, you keep those infected off of 'em," John nodded towards Sheri and Grant.

"You going to be okay doing that?" I asked, referring to how badly he was beat up.

"Been in worse scrapes than this," John said gruffly.

I nodded and set towards the bodies shuffling out of the woods. Their shadows became darker as they emerged from the woods like a tribe readying for war. The Beretta was fully loaded, but a person could easily rip through them all if you didn't take your time and aim. I picked off the one's that finally came clear of the overgrown trees. One was garbed in a bright orange construction workers vest, making it that much easier to hit. Irony.

The other truck in our convoy finally came back for the finale, stopping by our parked vehicle. John was currently lifting Cassandra's body out of the truck bed princess style. She hung limply, her arms and legs swaying as John moved. After he put her down, John and the driver shared some words. They sprang into action, getting out with guns at the ready. Some joined me and we formed an execution squad of sorts for the incoming infected. The rest ran to Grant to help move Sheri.

"This is gunna hurt," Grant said bluntly.

Both him and another man got Sheri to her feet and placed her arms over their shoulders. She cried out in pain as her torso was stretched. Grant had tied a bunch of gauze around her waist, holding the bunched up wad by her wound in place. Blood trailed behind her as they moved her quickly to the truck.

"Come on, let's go!" Grant yelled once they had gotten Sheri in place in the back seat.

I shot one last infected as I ran to join them. Grant shoved the keys at me.

"You're drivin'. Just follow the other truck and we'll get there."

I couldn't even argue as Grant jumped in to the back seat to look after Sheri. John got into the passenger seat, not even offering to drive. To be fair, he did have one eye swollen shut. I cursed under my breath and got in. The other truck honked as they started back to Hargrove; I punched the gas and followed them.