Harringdale's medical facility, as the community called it, was nicer than Grace thought. It was in the gym of what used to be a school and had a mix of mattresses with plastic covers, tables, plywood boards with gym paddings, and actual examination tables. There were dividers and curtains in some areas, but it was mostly an open room.

Not to mention, everything smelled like rosemary and lavender.

Grace was the last one treated from her group due to her injury. A cut that the doctor present deemed in need of stitches. She tried not to flinch every time the needle pierced sensitive flesh while Zach stood to the side.

The doctor was a tall, black man with broad shoulders and understanding eyes. He must've been in his late thirties or early forties, Grace thought, as he looked neither young nor old. He wasn't wearing a mask.

"That should heal nicely," the doctor said as he tied off the last suture.

Grace nodded before beginning to stand, but the doctor set a firm hand on her shoulder to keep her seated.

"One more thing." He grabbed a jar of some paste that sat nearby and smelt even stronger of rosemary. "Do you know if you're allergic to aloe or rosemary?"

"No? I don't think I am."

"Good." He slathered on the paste on the cut and a few scrapes on her hand. "Are you folks planning on staying here long term?"

"We were planning on it," Zach muttered, and Grace gave him a pointed look.

"Oh?" the doctor pried.

"We're just concerned with how things are run, that's all," Grace said.

"I see." The doctor screwed the lid back on the jar and set it aside before leaning against a table with his arms crossed. A small smile played on his lips. "I may be able to answer your questions."

There was a slight pause before he let out a small "ah," and reached his hand out for a handshake. "I'm Marco Cooper, by the way. Co-leader of Harringdale."

Grace automatically shook his hand out of habit and subconsciously smiled back. "Grace Sheppard, and this is my brother, Zachary. I guess you should be able to answer our questions."

"Yeah, I have one," Zach said while shaking Marco's hand after Grace did. He continued before Grace could stop him. "Who was the roguishly handsome weird guy who 'inspected' us?"

Marco laughed at the description, rubbing his eyes with one hand. "Was it the blonde or the brown-haired one?"

"I wouldn't call it blonde, maybe a dark blonde," Zach said with a shrug. "But yeah, that one."

Marco opened his mouth to reply, but there was a click of the gym's side doors opening and someone walking nearby.

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear," Marco muttered before calling out, "Eric."

A pause and a hesitant, "Yeah?"

"Come over here."

The inspector from before peeked around the corner about thirty feet away, his eyes narrowed. His voice was slightly muffled from the distance through the mask he still wore. "Did you use the paste yet?"

Marco looked to the ceiling in exasperation. "Would I ask you to come here if I didn't? Sit down."

The blonde raised his hands in surrender before walking over and sitting on a makeshift examination table across from them. He clasped his hands in front of him.

"What's up?"

"These folks want some answers on what happened."

The blonde glanced at Grace and Zach, eyeing them for weapons before looking at Marco again. "Am I gonna get shot?"

"I don't know."

"...If this is about the whiskey—"

"Oh, it is. Keep talking."

"Marco—"

Marco looked Grace dead in the eyes. "He's infected."

Zach was the first to react. "WHAT?!"

The next few moments were chaos. Zach scrambled away from Eric, patting his sides for his gun, while Eric did the same but without looking for a weapon. Both were cursing wildly, but Grace could only make out incoherent screeches from Zach while she was pretty sure she heard Eric say something along the lines of, "Marco, you bitch!"

Grace only gripped onto the table she still sat on, trying to rationalize that Eric wouldn't be in the camp in the first place if he was dangerous. That didn't stop her fear, however, and her hand slowly crept to the handgun at her side.

Marco, on the other hand, watched with a satisfied smirk. He watched as Zach continued to swear and frantically look for his gun as Eric hid behind a table while horridly trying to explain things. However, he was impressed by how Grace managed to keep herself in control and think through the situation before reacting, but he could see the fear in her eyes. Deciding that the youngsters had enough of a heart attack for the day, he silently pulled out his gun and shot at the ceiling.

A light shattered, and everyone went silent.

"Well, there goes another light," Eric mumbled before he slowly stood up and motioned to Zach. "Your gun is behind you, by the way."

"Oh." Zach patted the small of his back. "Thank you."

"No problem. We'll work on that." Eric went back to sit on the table, fiddling his hands slightly and carefully watching Grace and Zach's stiff body language. "So, let's start from the beginning now that we got that out of our systems; thanks a lot, Marco."

Marco only chuckled.

"I'm Eric Sagan, co-leader along with Marco, and..." He squinted at Grace. "You look familiar now that you have your mask off. Have we met before?"

The name struck a memory in Grace, back before the apocalypse and back before she even entered college. It was a memory, back when her family lived in a tight-knit cul-de-sac, in a small town along the slopes of Tennessee's Appalachian Mountains. There were near-weekly barbecues, and all the families knew each other.

While there were many children her age and even a few around Zach's age, there was one boy already in high school while they were in elementary. He wasn't mean to them, but there was the small roll of his eyes when he was told to watch the younger kids as they played in the woods or went sledding when it snowed. Always the older kid who talked with the adults.

The last she saw him was when she was dual enrolling into the local university, taking the same psych 101 with the then-college senior who needed the credit to graduate. But this was months before he was accepted into medical school, and a few days after that, his mother lost her battle with cancer.

By the time the news was broken to her, the only son of the Sagan family had already moved north to Nashville, and the widowed father soon followed.

With really nothing to say to him, Grace commented, "You were a bit of an asshole back then, by the way."

A surprised laugh bubbled out of Eric. "I'm sure I was. You're one of the Sheppards, right? Gabby...? Gwen?"

"Grace."

"Grace! Yes, sorry. It's been a while. It's nice to see you again, though. Glad you're alive." He looked at Zach. "And you're the loud one, Zach."

Having since forgotten he was talking to a conscious zombie, he looked at Eric like an affronted cat. "That's how you remember me?"

"You always remember the loud ones," Eric said nonchalantly.

"So you know each other?" Marco asked.

"Yeah, we lived in the same neighborhood before I went to med school and moved to New York."

"So, what brought you back down to the south?" Zach asked next.

Eric quickly looked to the side, his fidgeting starting again. "Probably the same reason you stayed. I was hoping I could find my family."

Grace immediately changed the subject. It was common courtesy in apocalyptic culture to not talk about lost family. "How did this happen?" She motioned to him as a whole.

"Oh, this." Eric gave a rueful laugh, lifting the mask marginally to scratch where it dug into his skin. "It's a bit longer of a story than you might think."

Acquaintances reunited by unfortunate circumstances, but perhaps they'll grow closer together. Don't forget to leave a vote or comment!

Word count: 1388