It's been three days. The funeral had already happened, and the body has already been buried with the photograph I took from Chris's house, but still people continue to mourn.

It's not surprising, really. Nearly everyone in Abel attended his funeral. Even with his quiet nature, it was obvious a large amount of Abel liked him. Many people were crying; Some of them I didn't know, and some of them I did. But there were many tears, many sobs, and much pain. I wish I would have been able to cry with them.

I did shed a few tears, out of respect for Chris and also the guilt that keeps reminding me if I had done something he might still be alive. Yes, I did cry about that. But it wasn't the same as everyone else's cries. They knew him, cared about him on a deeper level than I did or probably ever could. They have memories that make them laugh and also cry. I don't.

I saw him around Abel many times, waved hello, gave him a smile, but the only time we talked was when I first met him, and right before he left on his last run. Other than that he is a stranger to me, and yet I still feel bad about his death. I still feel guilty.

It's like Lem, I think. I didn't know him in the slightest, but I could tell he was good inside. He was a genuinely good person. I just hope I'll get to see them both when I get to heaven.

While I'm not as faltered by Chris's death other than guilt, Sam isn't taking it so well. He and Jody were some of the ones who were closer to him. Jody was usually his running parter on missions that weren't about his studies, and Sam, well, he looked up to him like he was a hero.

He was a hero.

I've been trying to comfort them but it hasn't been going so well. My skills in doing that is basically crap to put it lightly. I'm just... not good at it. Never have been and never will be.

Just how some things are I guess.

I rub my arms as I walk through the Township. It's Halloween already, and I know by tonight the children will be scampering around in their silly little costumes getting candy corn and the occasional piece of chocolate or fruit candy. I know Sam had planned on dressing up, but I doubt he will now. In all honesty I feel no inspiration to dress up either, especially in the old wedding gown with a tiara that was picked out for me.

I know it will disappoint Penelope, and possibly her brothers, but I have no interest in dressing up. It's a waste of time honestly, but I'd never tell them that, or Caleb or Sam. I know they'd all be upset to hear-well, see-me say such things.

I pull at my long sleeved shirt, one that Janine gifted to me after Kytan and Cameo came back from a clothing supply run. "To keep you warm," She'd said. Her voice was mechanical and stiff, like always, but if I tried hard enough I could imagine a hint of a smile pulling at her face.

I keep walking, the cold seeping into my skin as if the clothing isn't even there. Each breeze, each gust of wind sends a chill straight down to my bones, but I don't stop walking because I don't want to go back to my sleeping area. There too many people there chatting excitedly about tonight and how excited their kid is about getting to dress up or how excited they are about the little party some of the adults are having to celebrate the holiday.

I was invited, even though I'm not really considered an adult, but I still have no plans on going. I've never been one for parties. It's not something I enjoy. The last time I went to anything close to a party-which was really just a teen girl lock in for my youth group-I ended up hiding in a corner with my church friends Sarah and Zoey eating chocolate and discussing Disney movies.

Maybe if Caleb is feeling better we can do something to keep us entertained, but if he feels better then he most likely would dress up in his pirate outfit that he likes so much.

There's a twinge of disappointment at the thought but either way I just hope his chest will stop hurting, even if he is stubborn and doesn't want to tell me what's wrong.

With a small huff I look ahead, noticing I've walked away from most of the lit up buildings and into the darker part of the Township-the part that will be pitch black when night falls in a few short hours-near the graveyard. I've never been there until Chris's funeral. After all I never had meaning to. No one has passed since I arrived and there's no one in here for me to visit.

The graveyard isn't big, but it isn't small either. I think it might be because some bodies weren't able to be brought back after they died, because they were too far away or there was too much of a fear of getting infected from touching it.

I look ahead, watching the sun as it begins to set; It casts a certain glow on the wooden crosses that replaces headstones and almost makes it look beautiful.But that's not all I see in the graveyard. A certain dark haired man with a love for role playing games sits on ground, staring sadly at one of the crosses.

I don't move toward him, not at first. I know how much Sam looked up to Chris, and I'm not sure to I should try to comfort him because he just might want to be alone.

And I doubt I'd help him feel any better anyway.

But as I observe him-his face, the expressions-I see a sadness in them, a hurt. It's a look I've seen on many people these last few days but with Sam it makes me feel... sympathetic, pity. His face holds no emotion, just emptiness. It's numbness. I've seen it before when you lose someone you cared about.

Wes had that same look after Joey died. After I...

I sigh, the breath of air coming out in a puff just barely visible from the cold. Then I approach him while trying to be as quiet as possible, creeping over to him as to not disturb him too much. He still hears my feet crunch on the grass as I walk though, and turns his head to gaze up at me. A half of a smile graces his lips, but I can see right through it. It's fake-forced.

I don't sign a hello, or any 'are you okay's, because I know he isn't. No one is ever okay after losing a friend. He's mourning; He's suffering; He's hurting. What would be the point of asking whether he is okay when I already know the answer?

Instead I sit down next to him with my eyes on the cross with the name 'Christopher McShell' engraved on it. Rays of the sun flash as the bright ball of light continues to lower itself from the sky, making the scene and silence almost peaceful.

"It's weird, you know," Sam speaks, "how someone can be here for so long and then just... be gone."

He finally turns to scan my reaction, and I nod. 'It's crazy, really.'

"A lot of people are already happy and having fun for Halloween," He states lamely, hollowly. "Why aren't you out there with them?"

'Didn't feel like it,' I answer. 'If you don't want to talk we don't have to.'

"Isn't that why you're here? To talk to me?" He asks in a half shrug. "Not to be rude but you didn't exactly know Chris that well." His eyebrows furrow together and he grimaced. "Although you didn't know Lem that well either and you still felt pretty bad about that."

'I came because I thought you might want the company,' I sign with a slight frown, 'but it seems that you'd rather be alone, so I will leave you be.'

I start to stand, but Sam is quick to stop me. "No, that's not what I meant!" He blurts out. "I just... you came out here just to be with me?"

I shrug, not daring to look him in the eye. 'Thought you might need it. I mean, I can't do much in consoling you since I suck at it.'

This makes him laugh. It's not loud or boisterous, but just a small chuckle. It's still something, though. So I sit down once again, a small smile on my face.

"I'm sure you're not that bad."

'Yes, I am. I haven't gotten any better since we first met when I tried to give a comforting word-' I stop just as I fully realize what I'm saying and was about to say.

Jesus on a boat, Five. You'd think with the fact that you can't speak you'd be able to keep from saying stupid crap like this!

"What do you mean? When we first met?" He repeats, confusion swirling in his brown irises, but then it only takes a moment for it to dawn on him. "Oh, you mean Alice."

I swallow, and then nod, and another painful silence falls on us like a thick blanket, although it does nothing to keep out the cold. I bite lip in trying to think of a way to make this a bit better; A way to backtrack somehow, but no matter what words come to mind none of it seems like it would really help erase what I've said-the added pain I've caused.

I seem to be good at causing pain. If I had maybe asked to go with him, Chris might not be dead.

'Do you...' I hesitate, 'want a hug? I'm probably just as bad at that as I am at comforting you with words but...'

Sam's eyes are large in surprise of me asking such a thing, since I've only hugged him once, and that was a very awkward experience. I'm a bit shocked myself, but I'm trying to be a good friend here and friends go out of their comfort zone for other friends, right? I mean, I was willing to do just about anything for Wesley, and... my sister.

His eyes soften and a sympathetic smile appears on his face, as if knows how hard this is for me to say. He scoots closer to me and slowly wraps one arm around my shoulders, as if one wrong move will make me rip myself away from him. I awkwardly wrap my arms around his waist and rest my head on his shoulder, trying not to blush because I know this isn't the time to be thinking about silly crushes.

"You're not terrible," He says softly. "A bit out of practice, and kinda tense, but not bad. A little more work and you'll be a professional hugger."

My lips purse I glance up at him, but his eyes are staring straight ahead. I assume he's watching the sunset, but it might just be because he doesn't want to look at me. I can tell this is a bit awkward for the both of us, but I don't want to pull away, and apparently neither does he, so we simply stay in this position until it becomes comfortable.

"I sort of... feel like it's my fault, you know?" He whispers. "Like, maybe if I could have been on coms with him, I could have warned him. I could've-I could've saved him."

He looks down at me, and I shake my head, telling him it's not his fault, or trying to. I don't want to move my hands, or pull away from him. This here, even with the pain and guilt and suffering, is the comfort.

"Yeah, I know. I've heard basically everyone and anyone tell me it isn't my fault that he died," He says. "Jody thinks if she had gone with him, and-and Maxine muttered something about it she only had a way to do those plasma transfusions like they did at Jeffro to keep Van Ark alive, and there's a dozen more but... but still I just-he knew so much. He killed so many of them... if they could get him..."

He runs his hand through his hair, using the one that isn't wrapped around me. I squeeze my arms around him a bit tighter. I know I can't help or really ease the pain; I've realized that, but I can help by listening. I'm pretty good at that, or at least, I like to believe so. It's not like I can interrupt with my hands occupied.

"I know I'm going to lose runners. I know that most of them will get bitten someday. I mean, you're my fourth Runner Five. Summer Swan is my third Runner Seventeen. It's not like I don't know you'll eventually die, but still it... it still hurts."

His voice cracks on that last bit, and I can't help but feel sympathy for the radio operator. I mean, he's only a few years older than I am, so watching people-his runners, his friends-get bitten, watch them die, I don't know how he can bear it.

I don't know how he's still so sweet and good and kind.

"I know after someone dies, people don't talk about them anymore. It's like they-they want to forget them as if that'll make them stop hurting." He pauses. "I think that's sort of like you. You don't like to talk about the people you've lost, and I guess there's nothing wrong with that but... I just don't see how you can do it. I don't see how you can just make yourself forget."

I don't. I never forget. I can never forget... Even though I wish I could.

"It just hurts, Five." He pulls me closer using the hand he has wrapped around me. How I wish I could speak to tell him it will be alright and that it's okay to hurt. I want to tell him that with my voice, but it's gone forever, and even if I could talk I'm sure they'd come out just as bad if not worse than with my hands.

The sound of childish laughter gains my attention, and Sam and I both turn back to look. The sun is gone now, hidden and not coming back for another ten hours or so, but in the short distance, with the lights glaring through the night's new darkness, I can see the silhouettes of children scampering around in their little costumes.

Sam laughs; It's a forced one, not like the one I drew from him a while ago. "Funny. I remember how excited I was for today. I ended up having some runners get me that Perplexa costume I wanted when you went on that entertainment run. Got teased relentlessly for it, but I was so excited to wear it and now I'm not even going to be wearing it. I'm just sitting out here... with you."

I send him a raised brow, unsure whether or not I should be offended, and he smiles sheepishly at realizing just how that sounded.

"N-not that that's a-a bad thing," He stammers. "This isn't as bad now that you're here. You're a really good listener, although I was hoping on seeing you in that costume Penelope had picked out for you."

I want to sign a response to him, but with the light now gone it's too dark for him to see anything I'm saying anyway, so I pull myself I bit closer to him. He's warm, and comfortable.

Too bad we both know this is a thing that will never happen again.

He turns his head back to look at the children and adults all laughing happily, and then Sam pulls away. The cold hits me harder now that he's pulled away, and I have to clench my teeth together to keep them from chattering.

"They're probably all gathering to the square," Sam states. "We should probably go; I'm sure Caleb and the children are looking for you."

I feel disappointment settle in my chest, but I ignore it. This was simply me being a good friend, nothing more. It will never be anything more.

But still there's a part of me that wishes for it. I'll never say anything though, so I just nod and stand up, and together we walk back to the bright side of Abel.

•

Eight people stand in front of a small grocery store, scared and afraid. As far as they know this place hasn't been raided. It's not very well known and most of those who did know about it never shopped there because of its expensive prices. At least, that's what Great Aunt Connie and Grunkle Mike told everyone before they left.

Soon to be Runner Forty-three, later to be known as Runner Five, and currently nicknamed Singer, stands along with those around her. She wishes Katelyn were here, or that she was at the abandoned home with her, but she knew the deal made by the parents of the group. When they go raiding, they all must take one of their children, since it would be unfair for them to be risking their kids' lives while another parent's children stays safe at home. It's understandable, but that doesn't mean she'd have to like it.

Still, the twelve-year-old doesn't complain. After all, she'd rather it be her than her ten-year-year sister. So it's her and her mother, Wesley's mother and father, their eldest daughter Brittney, Great Aunt Connie and "Grunkle" Mike, and their eldest daughter Jessica.

"Remember, we have to be quick," Grunkle Mike reminds them. "No matter what, don't go anywhere alone, especially you kids."

Jessica and Brittney both roll their eyes, since they are both now adults, but Singer just nods, and takes a step closer to her mother, Michelle.

"Everyone have a weapon?"

They all nod, holding up various things that could be considered 'weapons'. A screwdriver, a hacksaw, a shovel, a baseball bat, nun chucks... only two of the adults have actual guns, but Singer has learned anything that can bash the head in will do the job.

"Alright then," Grunkle Mike nods. "Let's go."

They all head inside, cautious, worried, but they set that aside, or at least try to. Singer tries not to let her fear get the best of her. After all, she only has the screw driver in case she meets a zombie. That doesn't mean she will.

At least she hopes it doesn't.

They all spit up into four groups: The mothers with their daughters and the two men go together. Wesley's dad-Reggie-gives his wife the pistol and trades it for her hacksaw, saying he'd rather make sure she and Brittney stay safe than him.

Signer walks down the isles of canned food, grabbing everything she can and stuffing it into the bag her mother has opened and ready. Most of this stuff looks disgusting, but there's no telling how long this... thing will last. Because well, even though it's only been going on a few days, this virus isn't slowing down. It took an entire town just last night. If it wasn't for them all hiding in the basement that smelt so bad of mold and mildew that it masked their scent... they would've died too.

"Mom," Singer says in a voice so low it's nearly inaudible, "do think we'll be able to go back home?"

Michelle sighs. "I honestly don't know. The disease may have already spread to Arkansas, but there's barely any service. I managed to make a call yesterday to your Grandmother but it cut off before I could get more than two sentences out."

Singer's gaze hardens as she shoves some canned pears into the sack. "I'm starting to wish we never came here for a visit, or that Wes and his family came with us-"

Her words are cut off by a scream, a shrill and loud one. Singer and Michelle make eye contact for a split second before racing towards the sound which is coming from the deli section. The screams echo across the wall, and when the two get there they have just have enough time to see Wesley's mother-Robin-screaming on the ground as a zombie has a hold of her ankle.

Brittney is kicking it, trying to get to release her mother who is using her other foot to push it away. She points her pistol at the zom, but before she can pull the trigger the zombie pushes forward just enough against Robin's foot to sink its teeth into her other ankle.

If they thought her screams were loud then, then it's nearly deafening now.

The others make it just in time for her to pull the trigger, and ending the undead creature.

"Robin, are you alright?" Reggie asks as she pushes herself away, effectively pushing the gun away from her and toward Singer's feet.

He tries to take a step toward her, but Robin holds out a hand. "Don't! I-I've been-it got me." She lets out a cough as she stares down at her bloody ankle. Brittney is already crying, and Connie is holding a hand over her mouth. Michelle has her head lowered sadly.

"But-but you can't-" Reggie starts, his voice cracking. "There has to be something we can do."

"There is nothing we can do," Mike says, his voice sounding hard as stone. "We have to kill her."

Brittney lets out a loud sob.

"No!" Reggie pleads.

"Can't we just leave her?" Michelle asks, and Mike sneers at her angrily.

"And let her turn? How is that any more merciful than ending her suffering now? She's going to die anyway. This'll just stop her from becoming one of those monsters!"

"Can we not try to maybe amputate her foot? Just below the knee to stop the infection?" Jessica pipes in, eyeing the coughing blonde on the floor.

"We've seen others try it. That doesn't work."

Singer tunes out the rest of the arguments, and instead watches Robin. The woman's baby blue eyes are full of sadness and fear. She knows. She knows she's dying.

Singer knows what will happen. One of the wo things: They kill her and finish their raid quickly since the first gunshot must already be attracting the undead, or they don't kill her and she turns and attacks, infecting more people until there's only two or three of them returning to those at home.

And some of those people might who could be killed could be her or her mother. And if that does happen and she and Michelle don't return then...

Then who will protect Katelyn?

"We can't just kill her like an animal!" Reggie barks. There's a vein throbbing at his temple, but Mike won't let up.

"She will turn! She'll end up killing us a-"

His words stop immediately when a gunshot echoes across the room. It shocks everyone, and Singer looks at the body with wide eyes and heavy breathing. She looks up, and everyone around her is staring in shock.

Then she peers down at her hand, and the pistol she has in it. It's beautiful, powerful, and dangerous. Only then does she realize she's just taken someone's life.

What will she tell Wesley?

•

My eyes snap open, and I take in a sharp breath of air as I sit up. The darkness surrounds me, but even so I can still make out the shadows of sleeping people all around me.

But I don't care about them. I only care about the thought that's pounding against my brain.

First kill.

A/N: New chapter! Yay! Gave you some fluff just to be nice, but anyway, hope you enjoy and please be sure to vote and comment for me! Thanks and have a blessed day!