Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Evan Buckley left home at nineteen, tears stinging his eyes as he left his sister in the rearview mirror, he had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t have a plan - just picked a direction and started driving, determined to keep going until something stopped him. Towns blurred past in a haze, the months slipping by.

He never expected that ‘something’ to crash into his windshield at two in the morning in the middle of nowhere, Virginia - snarling, bleeding, and trying to take a bite out of his arm.

The end of the world came quick.

It started as a headline on the news, one Evan didn’t pay much attention to as he stopped in a small-town diner for breakfast. A few people were found dead in their home, torn to gruesome shreds. He remembered tuning out the reporter at first, until the screaming started. The patrons went silent as they turned to the old, staticky TV mounted above the small bar.

The news anchor was a young red-haired woman that Evan had absent-mindedly noted as gorgeous. She stood in front of a small white farmhouse, fields stretching far into the distance. She was nodding at the screen, describing the scene that had unfolded behind her in the house just an hour or so before.

She turned around as someone behind the camera screamed, her microphone dropping slightly.

“Sir?” she asked, her voice muffled, both from her lack of microphone and Evan’s distance from the TV. “Are you alright?”

There was a commotion, and that's when the camera began shaking, the side of the yard beginning to fill the screen as the camera moved backward.

The red-haired reporter, Taylor Kelly, the reel at the bottom of the screen read, ran toward the ambulance. Suddenly, a lurking shape tumbled out through one of the open doors. Many of the patrons around Evan gasped at the sight.

It was a paramedic. He was covered in blood, and more was gushing from a giant gash on his neck. He stumbled and almost fell to the ground as Kelly walked closer, exclaiming in alarm.

“Sir-”

The man froze. He opened his mouth and tilted his head in the air, cocking it from side to side. Later, Buck realized it reminded of a documentary he watched once about how some animals opened their mouths to scent their surroundings.

His stance lowered and suddenly, he pounced on the woman. He grasped her shoulder harshly, pulling her down. He opened his mouth wide, his teeth red and bloody, and with a sickening crunch that Evan would never forget, he bit down onto her shoulder, pulling out a large chunk. She screamed in pain and pushed him away, falling to the ground as she grasped her wound. The paramedic stumbled back, unsteady on his feet, before throwing himself onto her downed form once again.

The camera fell to the ground with a crack, and the cameraman himself ran toward the pair, but it was too late. Taylor’s arm fell slack on the ground, and the screen went black just as the camera man threw himself between them.

The diner was quiet after that, and Evan, like many of the other patrons, quickly paid, their appetites gone.

The radio later reported that there were more attacks much like the first; people reportedly gone mad and violent. They speculated that it was a virus, a sickness of some kind. 

Buck never found out if they were right.

A few hours later, a little after two in the morning, Evan was yawning behind the wheel of his beloved jeep, debating if he should just pull over or push through the night, when something stumbled into the road.

Evan’s eyes widened as he slammed on his brakes, but it was too late. The body collided with his front bumper, flipping over the windshield and landing with a sickening sound on the road behind him. The jeep spun slightly onto the shoulder, ending up facing a different direction.

Evan gasped for breath. His hands shook, heart racing.

“Shit,” he breathed. “Shit, shit, shit.”

It took him a few times to get his buckle undone, but when he got it, he finally fell out of the car. His headlights broke through the darkness of the night, highlighting his tiny strip of road. About twenty feet away lay a heap and Evan felt sick to his stomach.

“Oh my god,” he breathed, dragging a hand through his hair as he bent over, “Oh my god. Are you okay?”

There was no answer, and his stomach dropped.

“I killed her,” Evan whispered with a hysterical laugh, “I killed her.”

He stumbled toward the heap of a woman, his legs like jelly. Her hair was fanned out around her head. Her body was bent at an unnatural angle, and when he saw the marks of her dragged along the road, Evan lost the battle with his stomach.

He fell to his knees on the side of the road as he heaved, not paying any attention to his surroundings as he sobbed.

It wasn’t until he stopped to take a breath that he heard it over the din of nocturnal animals. There was a light scraping sound, like something dragging across the floor. Evan turned his head. Then fell on his ass.

“What the fuck?” he questioned, his eyes wide and disbelieving.

The woman was scrabbling at the ground, her arms flailing for purchase. Her nails bit into the old asphalt as she began dragging herself toward Buck. Her eyes were foggy and unseeing, not focusing on anything as her mouth gaped like a fish. Her legs were unmoving behind her, heavy weights that dragged as she moved. She didn’t seem to care about the bone sticking out of her arm or the open wound across her chest.

Buck scrambled back, grit biting into his palms.

“This is a dream,” he told himself. “This is all a dream.”

But it wasn’t. Buck could feel the burn of the marks his seatbelt left across his chest, the whiplash in his neck. He pressed his hands into the gravel until they began to slightly bleed and he winced in pain.

Definitely not a dream, then.

The woman continued to drag herself toward him, her body still mangled.

“Can-Can you hear me?” Evan asked, hoping that this wasn’t like what he had watched earlier.

He stayed still as she got closer, frozen as he continued to take in her form in the glaring headlights of his jeep. She was a few feet away when Evan reached out, his arm trembling uncontrollably. She froze and cocked her head to the side, and Buck’s heart stopped. A sudden smell overtook him and he gagged again. It smelt like pure rot, like roadkill left out to sit in the heat.

He pushed himself backwards as quickly as he could when she lunged, feeling guiltily grateful that her body was so broken, and she didn’t make it very far.

He kept scrambling back until he reached the edge of the road, his hands digging into the grass. He looked blindly around himself for something he could use to protect himself and almost sobbed in relief when he saw a large stick a few feet away. 

He got to his feet, stumbling toward the makeshift weapon and grasping it with both hands as he turned around. The woman was still crawling toward him, and he knew this was going to haunt his nightmares forever.

Evan held the stick in front of himself as he walked backward to his jeep. He had to get out of here.

A sudden snap in the underbrush behind him had Evan whipping around. He watched in horror as another person stumbled out of the trees on the passenger side of his jeep. He almost sagged in relief until he took in the lopsided gait, and as he got closer, the giant hole in his stomach.

“Shit,” he said. It was becoming his new favorite word.

A sudden touch to his ankle had Evan yelling and kicking out, causing him to fall onto the road. The woman had made it within touching distance while he had been distracted and latched onto his ankle, mouth scarily close to his skin. He kicked out again, wincing as he made contact with the woman's face and felt a crunch. He forced himself to his feet, grabbing the stick he dropped and running toward his jeep. The man was standing a few feet behind the car now, but lurched forward as Buck wrenched open his door.

He slammed it shut quickly and repeatedly pressed the lock button, slouching in his seat as all the doors successfully clicked.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, wincing when he touched his nose. He must have hit it earlier. As the adrenaline began to wear off, Evan’s entire body began to ache. He leaned forward onto his steering wheel, taking a few deep breaths as he tried to make sense of what just happened.

A thunk made him jump, and he turned to find the man pressed against his door. His forehead was pressed against the glass, making a dull thunk, thunk sound as he hit the glass. One of his hands was scratching at the glass, making an unpleasant noise, but what made Buck’s heart stop was the hand pulling on the handle.

“Oh, what the fuck?”

He hoped God would forgive his poor use of language that night.

Chapter Text

The end of the world was quiet.

Buck used to like silence. He would lay awake late into the night when he was a child, watching the stars twinkle outside his window, just basking in it. It was a calming presence, one he used to yearn for when his parents began yelling and the beeping of hospital monitors became a constant ringing in his mind.

Now, it was haunting. 

Every building loomed in the quiet, every rustle feeding Buck’s paranoia, his hand tightening on his weapon as he held his breath.

Since the Rockies, Buck had made his way steadily west, hugging the backroads. He was somewhere along the Colorado-Utah border, he hoped. He’d lost his map weeks ago, ambushed by looters on the road. Now, he was just guessing. Trusting his trained instinct and memory.

The town he was in was small, nestled at the bottom of the Rockies. The mountaintops in the distance were white with snow, and Buck only hoped he could beat the winter. Trekking through them had been nerve-wracking. Not only did he have to worry about animals and the cold chill, but people had taken to blocking roads, making it extremely difficult for anyone to pass through. The world had become a war zone. No one was safe anymore.

Buck learned that the hard way.

The town had been previously evacuated, old barricades in the road and houses empty. Places like these were a reprieve, while he still stayed on guard, the chances of running into a horde were much lower.

He was making his way to California. A few of the people he traveled with for a while, some SEALs-in-training before everything went to shit, had told him how they were ordered to get to LA. He met them down in Carolina about a year into the apocalypse, and they traveled together for a while.

Until... well.

The military was in control there - or at least, that's what they'd heard.

Buck didn’t think there was much of a chance of that anymore. Years had passed since the beginning of the end. There had been dozens of places trying to rebuild; they all failed. He didn’t suspect this one was much different.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t hope.

No matter what he went through, Buck had to hang on to that hope. It was all that made him human, what made him survive. After his group, his friends, his new family , were slaughtered, he had to hope that there was a place he could be safe. For them.

Sometimes, when he lay awake at night, muscles tensed at every noise around him, he could hear their voices. They were stuck in his head, their laughs and faces permanently scarred into the recesses of his brain. Marcus. Luke. Ana. Joel. He could still hear Joel laughing as he fixed up the jeep's busted radio, rigging it to get a better signal. His laughter had been warm, the last warm thing in the world, and Buck hadn’t heard it in a long, long time.

Most of the houses here were empty, already looted or things just taken with the families during evacuation. The stores weren’t much better. Most of the selection left was rotten and Buck didn’t even attempt to discern what once was.

His old jeep was parked inside an old garage at an auto shop, tightly locked and barricaded until he returned. That old car was all he had left - the only reminder of Maddie and what once was, now dented and refurbished to protect against the Turned.

The sun was setting by the time Buck hauled his meager findings back to the shop, climbing up the dumpster in the back and pulling himself through the upper window. He landed with a light sound, trained after years of living in the quiet and shadows. He clicked on his old flashlight, his other hand wrapped around a knife.

Even if he had cleared this place out before, it didn't mean something couldn’t sneak in. Those fuckers were terrifyingly intelligent - in their own way.

At first, most survivors thought they were just zombies - the generic kind from the movies. But Buck knew better. 

The way they cocked their heads, scented through their mouths, fucking pounced on their prey like feral animals. He knew there was something more to them.

He knew it that first night in Virginia, when one pulled the handle on his jeep door.

They’re creatures of habit, he learned. When turned in their own cities, they returned to familiar places - work, grocery stores, town squares. That's what made big cities death traps: they were always so full.

But just one out-of-place noise, and they would snap to attention, converging as one for the hunt.

They were silent. No breath to wheeze. No words to speak.

They liked to stalk their prey, watching and waiting for the right moment to attack. Their skin, bloated and decayed as it was, helped mask their footfalls. Half the time, you didn’t know they were there until it was too late. Their eyes usually went first, decay eating them away quickly. They relied on their smell and taste, somehow evolving it to eerie levels like that of an animal, ruled by their instincts.

He once saw one standing at the edge of the lot at an old gas station, still as a statue with its head tilted - just waiting. It never made a sound. He hung back, listening to the feeling in his gut, and watched as another small group walked out of the store, oblivious to what awaited them. The thing cocked his head and bunched what was left of its muscles. Within minutes, all four of the people were dead. 

They never even heard it coming.

Buck stopped underestimating them after that.

The shop was thankfully empty, just as it had been since Buck cleared it out a few days ago. There had only been two Turned in the shop when he opened it up, back in the staff room. The door was once blocked with chairs, the room itself filled with a small stock of food and water alongside two sleeping bags. Everything was covered in a layer of red, rusty and dried. The two were wearing uniforms, and Buck assumed they worked at the shop before it all went down.

He stumbled upon them by accident, having been on the road all day and sleep-deprived. He knocked over something, the metal crash echoing through the building.

He crouched with a swear, his back against the wall and holding his breath. For a moment, everything was quiet, until from down the hall came a quiet jangling.

One of them walked out from a hallway, a set of keys still attached to his tattered belt. One of his eyes was missing, the socket gaping with dried blood, and the other was milky white and unmoving. His stomach and chest were ripped open, what organs he still had hanging black in the light, long shriveled and dried.

One of his legs was bent at an awkward angle, causing his gait to be off as he crept into the room. When he reached the fallen tire iron Buck had knocked over, less than ten feet away from where the man now crouched, he froze. He cocked his head in that tell-tale way, mouth hanging open to show that his tongue had been cut out. Buck wondered if that affected their sense of smell at all.

The thing's head suddenly turned in his direction, an arm flinging out before freezing again. Buck cursed himself in his mind, adjusting his grip on the old machete on his belt, slowly removing it from its holster as quietly as he could.

The handle was worn smooth by repeated use, rewrapped in old leather. The blade was freshly sharpened and glinted in the weak light that shone through dusty windows.

Buck took a small breath through his mouth, trying not to gag at the fact that he could practically taste the damn thing. You would think after so long, you would get used to the smell of death, but decay had a way of sneaking up on you and clinging to you with its acrid sweetness.

If this one moved fast, Buck wasn’t sure if he’d have enough time to react. He’d seen it happen. Survivors becoming complacent, overconfident. 

A single twitch, a single lunge, and he could be dead.

He always hated this part. The waiting. The stillness. 

He was always a man of action, he always had to be moving. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging. It reminded him too much of the hospital. That quiet, breathless stillness before someone flatlined.

The Turned stayed still as Buck slowly pushed himself up off the wall, machete clutched tightly and ready to swing. Just a few quiet steps, that's all he needed.

He made it within a few feet before it lunged.

Buck swore, dodging sideways and kicking out. Its mangled leg collapsed under its weight, crumping into a brittle heap.

Buck flipped the machete and pushed it through the empty eye socket, pushing hard until the blade cracked bone. He yanked it free with a boot braced against its chest.

There was no time to breathe.

Something moved in the corner of his eye. He went down with a grunt, landing hard on the first body. The second Turned lunged, biting at his face. His machete skidded across the floor and he cursed.

He shoved an arm under its throat, holding it back. His free hand scrabbled for the knife on his belt. Gritting his teeth, he jammed it upward through the soft underside of its jaw until it went still.

He panted as he pushed the body off of him and stood up, hurriedly grabbing his other weapon. His eyes scanned the room, but nothing else moved. It was just him, the blood, and the quiet.

When he finished searching the building, happily noting that all the doors were previously barricaded and still going strong, he gleefully stocked his car with all the food and supplies he could find in the building. It seemed those two men survived for a while, and with how well barricaded everything was, he guessed one of them had been bit outside.

He set his flashlight down, allowing it to illuminate most of the room as he emptied his pack of the day's spoils. It really wasn’t much. He found a few water bottles, a can of sweet corn, and a pack of socks.

The socks were the best part.

He quickly ripped open the package, shedding his shoes and the worn, damp pair of socks he had been wearing for who knows how long, planning to burn them the first chance he got.

“It’s the little things,” he told himself, voice raspy and unused.

He spent the rest of the night packing away his things in the jeep and taking inventory before he left the next morning.

He had enough food to last him about another week or so before he had to start rationing again. His water and drink supply was good, he had a rain catcher he set up at night that kept him afloat. His ammo supply was scarily low, but that wasn’t surprising. Guns were used heavily in the beginning. They were an easy way to take down a horde, but then they just kept coming toward the noise. It was much safer to use a melee weapon.

He had five different sized knives placed around the jeep in case of an emergency. There was another strapped on the side of his leg and two on his belt. He had a machete on his waist, as well as an axe and crowbar stashed in the trunk.

It was as good as he could get for now.

He replaced the spare tire on the back of his car before placing another in the backseat. He had already changed the tires the day he pulled in and checked the air pressure just in case he picked a bad one. He checked over the rest of the jeep quickly, but luckily it was still in relatively good shape as he had always taken care of it.

Once he was done checking everything, he pulled out a can of beans, eating them cold on the roof of the shop, enjoying the cold night air. 

It was times like this that he longed for his group, for people around him. But they were gone, and they weren’t coming back.

Before the end, the drive from the Colorado-Utah border to the Nevada-California border would have only taken eight to twelve hours on a straight-shot drive down I-70.

For Buck, it took four days.

Not only were the interstates and highways a definite no-go, but almost all other roads were blocked as well. It resulted in a lot of off-roading, turn-arounds, and “can this shit go any faster??”

Buck had always wanted to visit California, maybe even move to LA. It was a pipe dream, one that would have never been possible even if the world hadn’t ended.

And, well. 

Here he was driving through California - Nevada behind him, Arizona somewhere to his left. He had to say he was severely disappointed.

He’d pictured beaches. Crowds. Maybe inviting Maddie one day, finally making up. Now, it was just a smear of bombed out buildings and the smell of rot.

Spray-painted on the side of a building was a radio station, and Buck hurried to turn on his dusty radio, hope blooming in his chest.

It spluttered to life, every station a continuous sound of static. It hadn’t played music since the first month after, and the survivor broadcasts lasted only a year.

He landed on the station and waited with bated breath, but nothing happened. The same static noise filled the jeep, and Buck wanted to cry.

He hadn’t cried since Marcus and Ana died, their bodies lost to the hoard that overran their camp. They were the last two in their group, other than Buck. Joel and Luke were gone a few weeks before that.

His eyes burned with hot tears as he pulled his jeep over by an abandoned building. He took a deep breath, rubbing his eyes when-

“Safe zone… coordinates…” a faint male voice buzzed. Buck sat up, his hand reaching for the volume, but there was nothing else.

“I’m going crazy,” he whispered, leaning against the steering wheel, his actions and emotions mirroring that of the first night everything happened. “There’s nothing there, Buck.”

The radio clicked again, a few garbled words coming out as Buck stared in disbelief.

“Holy shit.”

He kept the radio on, just sitting in the car, waiting - hoping for another sound, but none came. He knew it was dangerous to keep sitting here, even with most of the buildings destroyed. He needed to find somewhere safe. Already, he could see a few distant figures, too many to take on his own.

The rest of the drive was filled with the constant buzz of the radio, but no more voices.

Buck decided that since he was here, he might as well cross something else off the bucket list.

His group had stayed in many of the national parks - they were remote, had good hunting, and were pretty. He was all alone now, but he still kept up the tradition when he could.

Sequoia National Park was beautiful. When Buck pulled in, there were only three other cars, so Buck took it as a good sign. His radio was still on, to no luck. There were no more garbled words. No more coordinates. Just static. 

Maybe he really was going crazy.

He wouldn’t be surprised.

The trees were gorgeous. They towered above Buck, piercing the sky. The bases of some of them were so big that it would take a dozen of him to wrap all the way around.

He hid his jeep as best he could in some fallen foliage, just in case, before deciding to take a small hike. The air was fresh and clear, and Buck never really wanted to leave.

Here, he could almost pretend nothing was wrong. Here, he was just on vacation. He was just camping, and his sister was fine at home with Doug (or as fine as she could be, he groused in his head) and there were no undead freaks with a taste for flesh walking the earth.

After a few hours, many spent just laying down on a trail, watching the leaves far far above him sway, he made his way back to the jeep, deciding that he should probably see if any of these cars or buildings have supplies.

The first two cars yielded a few water bottles, snack bars, and rotten fruit that he threw out the window. Buck tried to not look at the two car seats in the back, their buckles broken and cushions covered in glass.

The third car made Buck curse.

This car was fresh . There were no weeds growing through the tires like the others, the windows were clean. Someone had arrived here recently.

Buck looked toward the visitors center, taking in the boarded up doors and windows with suspicion.

He quickly ran up to the building, looking around the outside before drawing his flashlight, clicking it on as he made his way to the door.

The door was boarded up, the glass unbroken. Buck pushed and pulled, but it was locked. He took a step back, surveying the building again, and noticing another door along the back. He put his flashlight between his teeth and unsheathed his small knife, making quick work of the lock. 

He grabbed the flashlight again as he eased the door open, quickly flicking it from side to side as he gripped his weapon. He closed the door behind himself, wincing as it clicked, although, if there was anything in here, they probably would have made themselves known when he wrenched open the door.

The door opened into what looked like a small staff room. It had been cleared out except for a few boxes. Buck absently noted that there wasn’t dust.

He quietly walked to the other door, opening it without a sound. There was a long hallway, filled with displays and souvenirs. He walked out, and heard a slight shuffle to his right.

He shone his flashlight over to find what looked like a small bed. There was food stacked against the wall alongside water bottles. He took a step closer, ready to attack if whoever stayed here turned out to be dead.

He froze when he heard a whimper, his shoe squeaking harshly against the wood floor.

The dead don’t make noise.

He lowered his weapon slightly, still not letting his guard down. After all, humans were worse than the dead.

The whimper sounded again, and Buck moved his light, highlighting a small figure bundled into blankets, pressed into a corner.

Buck’s heart broke as he looked at the little boy with red glasses.

He dropped into a crouch, his weapon going to the floor as he held his hand up.

“Hey,” he said, his voice not much more than a harsh whisper. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey, I’m not gonna hurt you."

The little boy curled up tighter, his eyes wide in fear as he took in Buck’s large form. And, honestly, he couldn’t blame him. Despite the constant fight for food, Buck had grown and bulked up over the last few years. He was a giant compared to the kid.

“D-dad said not to talk to strangers,” a little voice said.

Buck nodded, “And he’s right. There are some really bad people out there.” He paused for a minute. “My name’s Evan, but my friends call me Buck.”

The little head poked out a little more from the blanket, but he didn’t say anything.

“What’s your name?” Buck asked.

“Ch-Christopher, but m-my friends call me Chris.”

Buck smiled, “It’s nice to meet you, Christopher.” He looked around, noting the lack of any other person. “Are you here alone, kid?”

The boy looked down, before blinking back at Buck a few moments later.

“He told me to stay here and stay quiet, so they wouldn’t get me.”

Buck blinked, his gut twisting.

“So who wouldn’t get you?”

“The ones in camouflage. They took daddy.”

Buck rubbed a hand over his face. Fuck.

Did he mean the army?

Is the army is actually here?

“What about- what about your mom?” Buck asked, his mind reeling.

“She’s with grandma. That’s what Daddy said. She went to go say hi to her when she was sick.”

Buck closed his eyes again. Of course she had.

“How long have you been here alone?”

“The sun went down after they took him,” Chris said, pushing himself toward the edge of his bed, his blankets now only loosely wrapped around him.

“Just one time?”

The boy nodded.

Buck swallowed. He couldn’t imagine how scary that was - a night all alone, followed by a crazy stranger breaking into his safe house? A strong, protective feeling settled in Buck’s chest. He couldn’t just leave him here.

“How old are you?”

The boy paused, thinking. “I was three when everyone got sick.”

Buck did the math in his mind. There had been five winters since the end, with another around the corner. It was always a struggle to tell the time. So, about eight? Maybe nine, if he had an earlier birthday.

Shit, he was so young. Just a kid.

“Are they gonna take me too?”

The question was so quiet, so innocent.

Buck’s heart shattered. 

“No. No, bud,” Buck assured him. “I’m not gonna let anyone take you, okay? I promise.” 

He reached out a hand, softly placing it on Christopher's shoulder. 

“I’m going to help you find him, alright?”

The boy didn’t say anything, but he nodded softly before launching himself at Buck, squeezing him into a tight hug.

As Buck wrapped his arms around the small boy he made a vow.

He didn’t know where Eddie was, or who exactly had taken him. But he was going to find him and bring him back for Chris.

Even if it was the last thing he did.

Chapter Text

Buck quickly learned that Chris was a crazily intelligent kid. One that could easily keep up with and sometimes even run around Buck. They spent the rest of that first night together talking.

Buck brought in a few of the old candy bars he had stashed in the console of his car, much to Christopher's obvious delight. Chris showed him where his dad kept the small propane camping stove, one that “I am never allowed to touch or play with” he told Buck.

The dinner consisted of SpaghettiOs, but to Buck, it might have been a four course meal. He couldn’t tell you the last time he had something warm to eat, something that was cooked all the way through.

Buck also learned that Chris had CP - Cerebral Palsy. He had a small pair of dented red crutches, held together by duct tape and dreams. They creaked loudly whenever Chris used them to walk to the bathroom, and Buck wondered if he would be able to find a new pair for him sometime. If they needed to escape or had to be quiet, those could pose a problem.

The little nook Chris had was decorated with picture upon picture, all drawn by Chris. They mainly consisted of Chris, a man in uniform, and a woman in a yellow dress, but there were other people sprinkled in as well.

“That one’s m-my abuela. She lives in California, on the beach with my Aunt Pepa!” He happily told Buck as he pointed to the two women. “We’re going to visit them and live with them now, but we got stuck when everyone got sick, and people turned mean. They grabbed my mom and hurt her, and she got sick too.”

Buck gently brushed the boy's hair back, thinking of a way to comfort him. After a moment, he pulled out an old worn photo from his pocket.

“This is my big sister, Maddie,” he told him, smoothing out the rumpled edges. He had folded and rubbed it so many times that the texture was soft and feathery, worn in some places. “She’s a nurse. She… helps people.”

“Did she get sick too?”

“I don’t know.” Buck answered honestly. It was something that plagued him over the years, “I haven’t seen her in a long, long time.” Buck bumped his shoulder, “But she’s strong, just like you, me, and your dad. I don’t think she’d get sick if she could help it.”

Chris nodded, “Do you think we’re gonna get sick?”

Buck quickly shook his head, “No. I will do everything I can to make sure you never get sick, alright?”

He looked at the cracked watch on his wrist, “Alright, bud. I think it's time for you to go to bed. We gotta start looking for your dad tomorrow, okay?”

Chris nodded, laying down on his little mat, yawning.

“‘Night, Bucky,” he mumbled sleepily.

Buck's heart squeezed, and without thinking, he leaned down and pressed a kiss against the boy's forehead, “Good night, Christopher.”

Buck settled down a few feet away with an extra pillow and blanket, already far used to sleeping on uncomfortable surfaces, and watched over Christopher. He had known the kid for less than half a day, and he already knew he would do anything for him.

Buck always wanted a family. He wanted kids to spoil, to love. To make sure another child never felt the same pain, the same loneliness, the same disappointment he did from his own parents.

Was this what it felt like to have a kid? A family - something to love unconditionally. Something you would die for? Something you’d kill for? Buck didn’t know how long he would be with Chris, but he was going to make the best of it, and help him any way he could

The next day dawned warm and sunny. Buck made quick work of their breakfast before moving as many essentials as he could into the jeep. He helped Chris pack  three small bags - one for toys, one for drawings, and one for clothes and medicine.

He felt guilty opening Eddie’s, that's what Chris told him his dad’s name was, car and looking through it, but needs must. He grabbed Chris’ carseat and spent a good thirty minutes triple checking that it was completely secure. When that was done, he rifled through everything inside the car, trying to guess if anything was important enough for this stranger to keep. He found a small photo album, a medal, and a few other odd keepsakes that Chris said his dad would appreciate before he finally finished loading his jeep.

He buckled Chris in tightly, making sure that while he was secure, he could still get out if he truly needed to. He set Chris’ bags beside him, and slid his crutches onto the floorboard before giving everything another once-over.

He was closing the glove box of Eddie’s car when he noticed a slip of paper. On it, written in shaky, quick handwriting were the words, Safe Zone.

Buck dropped into the passenger seat, not believing his eyes. It was real. It was real. He wasn't going crazy over what he heard on the radio!

Was that where those military men had taken Eddie?

Alongside the paper was a map, which Buck gleefully grabbed before running back to his jeep. The map was already marked with directions to this place, and Buck could have sobbed in thanks.

“Daddy said we were gonna find s-somewhere safe,” Chris said. “But then… those men came.”

“You guys were going to go here?” Buck asked, double checking as he held up the map.

Chris nodded again, “Dad said it's safe there. The sick people can’t get in and hurt us anymore.”

Buck smiled sadly, “Well, if it really was the military that took him, I bet thats where he went. We’ll find him, Chris.”

The drive from Sequoia aimed to take them through Bakersfield, and it took them over three hours to get there. The roads were even more of a struggle on this side of the country.

California was hit hard in the beginning. Rioters took to the streets, burning the Turned as well as buildings. They thought an easy way to get rid of them all was to bomb them. But the dead didn’t care. Their bodies felt no pain. They just kept getting back up - unless you hit the brain.

All the bombing did was kill the surviving, leaving easy meals to the Turned to rise up and join the hordes.

Many of the first survivor broadcasts called it a No Man’s Land; to go there was to die, until talks of a military safe zone began circling. Buck remembered hearing it on the radio years ago, Joel’s echoing scoff, talking about how it was just “dramatic bullshit.”

But then Joel died, the broadcasts stopped, and no one scoffed anymore.

Outside the windows of the armoured jeep, the Turned stood and watched. They lined the shattered streets outside, weaving through the blasted-out holes scarring the pavement. The stillness was the worst part, no matter how many he saw. There was no snarling. No scrambling - just the quiet gaze of the dead as they watched them pass. The eerie stillness that filled them as the jeep crawled by made Buck on edge. His hands tightened on the steering wheel as he stayed as far away as he could.  He kept Chris occupied by asking him to read him one of his storybooks, using it as an excuse to help him learn.

The little gas he could siphon from the cars at the park and along the way was running low, and Buck’s nerves were fraying. The sun was setting on the horizon, highlighting the husk of a town. Buck knew they needed to find somewhere safe, and soon.

They couldn’t stay here; it was too open, too many Turned to sneak up on them at night. He continued driving for another hour, the pace painfully slow, even as the debris thinned. They found themselves in another town, a few miles off the highway. It seemed this city had survived most of the bombing, and there were quite a few buildings that they could potentially take shelter in. He pulled up to a large house, one on the outskirts of the town with few houses in the immediate vicinity.

“Hey, Chris,” Buck whispered, turning to the backseat. The boy had fallen asleep not long after they reached Bakersfield. He lightly tapped the boy's knee until he blinked awake. Buck gave him a smile, “I’m gonna go check this house out alright?”

The boy looked sleepily around, yawning, “W-where are we?”

“I’m not exactly sure, bud. A lot of the signs are gone.”

He quickly made sure his weapon was secure, then carefully pulled one of his extra knives from under the passenger seat.

“Chris,” he started, holding up the weapon. “I’m going to give you this while I’m gone, okay? It’s not for play, and you’ll only use it for emergencies.”

“Okay, Bucky,” Chris nodded, his hands careful as Buck showed him how to quickly and safely remove the knife from its protective sheath.

“If anyone comes here, I want you to get down, and stay quiet. Don’t make any noise. If you have to-” he paused, wishing he didn’t have to explain this to such a young kid. “If you have to, stick this under the jaw, okay? Push as hard as you can.”

Chris looked at him with wide eyes, but nodded seriously.

Buck smoothed a hand over the boy's hair, caressing the side of his face, “There are some snacks in that bag right there if you get hungry, but I shouldn’t be too long.”

He pulled away, but Chris grabbed his arm, hugging it tightly to his chest, “Be careful, Buck. I don’t want you to get sick too.”

He squeezed the boy's hand, “I’ll be just fine, Chris, I promise.”

He gave the boy one last smile, took a deep breath and opened his door, stepping out onto the California soil. He made sure most of the doors on the jeep were locked before removing his trusty machete from his waist and quietly walking toward the house.

Like always, he did a quick perimeter check of the front and back yard, staying below the windows in case there was something inside. When that was done, he snuck up to one of the side windows, slowly peeking into it from the corner and letting out a breath when it was clear. He did this for the rest of the windows on the floor, and after determining that there was no immediate danger should he go inside, he carefully eased one of the windows up and pulled himself into the living room.

The room was stuffy, a thick layer of dust laying undisturbed and coating everything in sight. There was no strong scent of death in here, and Buck took that as a good sign of the house being clear. He still continued through the house in a low crouch, weapon at the ready as he checked every nook and cranny. He opened closets, bathrooms, cabinets, he even opened the attic and waited for something to make its way down, but nothing was there.

Buck let out a sigh of relief as he stood up and began locking the front door and all the windows before slowly opening the back door. He walked around the house to the jeep, and jumped in, backing the jeep into the backyard to hide it from passing eyes.

He unbuckled Chris and set him down with his crutches, “The house looks safe. Go explore. I think I saw some toys in one of the rooms.”

Chris’ face lit up and he quickly moved inside and Buck moved the essentials into the house - their pillows, blankets, and some food and water. There wasn’t much need for anything else, since they were only staying the night.

At the last second, he grabbed the map as well, and after checking on Chris, he closed all the curtains in the house and sat at the dining room table, looking over the route drawn out in red marker. His finger followed the route, and after a few moments, he was able to confidently say they were still on the right track. He recalled a sign for I-5 a few miles back, which meant they were getting close to the end of Route 99. He assumed they were around Mettler, but couldn’t be completely sure. He ran a hand down his face, the map crinkling under his elbow. They were close. If luck held, it’d be a straight shot to LA - provided the interstate didn’t eat them alive.

A sudden voice broke the quiet.

“Look what I found, Bucky!”

He held up a comic - Superman.

Buck smiled back, pulling the boy into his lap, “You like superheroes?”

Chris nodded excitedly, “Especially S-Superman. He shoots lasers with his eyes. Daddy found me one of these before, and it was so cool!”

He read the comic for the boy, pulling out all the voices he could, to the boy's delight! By the end of the short book, the boy was asleep in Buck’s lap again.

He set the comic aside, and carefully lifted the boy up, moving him over to one of the beds he had stripped earlier. He had instead placed their own pillows and blankets on it, and he knew they were both going to sleep well tonight.

The next day was much like the last; they got up with the sun, quickly packed the jeep and set off. The interstate was surprisingly clear, a lot of cars pushed out of the way to make a small space in the middle.

Signs and markings began showing up the closer they got to the big city, talking about a safe zone. The closer they got, the more nervous Buck became. There was a feeling in his gut that he couldn’t place, but he pushed it down as he looked back at Chris’ happy face.

It took two and a half hours to get to the city. They stopped to siphon gas as they went, filling up the tank as much as they could. Chris happily played in the backseat with the new toys he found at the house - a couple small figurines.

Before long, a giant wall loomed ahead of them and Buck slowed down, just taking in the sheer size. It spanned a small part of the city, large walls welded from trucks, fences, and whatever else they could scavenge. It glinted in the hot California sun.

“Is that it?” Chris asked.

Buck nodded, his eyes not leaving the structure. 

“I think so, Superman.”

The boy giggled at the nickname, a sound Buck would do anything to keep safe. He forced a smile as he began driving toward the large gates again. Movement caught his eye, and he looked in shock as a group of people made their way down a ladder.

Holy shit. The safe zone was real.

There were five of them, all outfitted in different uniforms, military and other.

A small hand grasped Buck from behind, squeezing tightly, “Those are the ones who took him.”

A chill went down Buck’s spine as he looked at the group again. These are the people who took Eddie. Eddie was here.

They were all outfitted with several weapons - guns, knives, the whole shebang.

Buck rolled down his window as they neared, his eyes sharp as he watched them circle the jeep.

“Name?” The leader, an older man with a moustache and a military uniform asked.

“Daniel,” he said, thinking quickly. Buck didn’t trust these people. Not with their gear, not with their guns, and definitely not with the look in their eyes - cold, practiced, and twitchy. They stood too still, reminding him of the Turned as they watched with their guns. He looked back at Chris, meeting his eyes and hoping he could convey his message with his eyes. To his surprise and relief, the boy nodded.

“This is my son, Evan,” he said, turning back to the man.

The leader leaned forward, looking over Buck and the boy, his eyes squinted. Finally, he nodded and pointed toward the doors.

“Pull through there, park, and make your way to quarantine,” he leaned forward again. “No sudden movements or you’re dead.”

Buck nodded his understanding, putting the jeep back in drive and pulling up to the slowly opening doors. They creaked open on rusted hinges, revealing a courtyard surrounded by barbed wire fencing and shipping containers stacked two stories high. Spotlights sat on top of them, soldiers watching like eagles as they slowly passed through. A second gate closed behind them, snapping shut with a bang.

When he turned to Chris, the boy looked worried, “Bucky?”

“It’s okay, Chris. You just have to follow my lead, and we’ll be fine. I don’t trust these people, so we have to be careful.”

The boy nodded, and Buck stepped out of the car slowly.

Armed guards lined both gates, with a few along the walls. He pulled open the back door, hiding one of his small knives in the boy's belt with a finger to his lips, and helped Chris steady himself on his crutches. He double checked the knife in his boot before closing the door and locking it, hoping that would deter them from going through his stuff for now.

They walked toward an open door, motioned forward by a few soldiers. 

Chris leaned into Buck’s side, his eyes darting between the guards, “They look meaner than the sick people.”

Buck couldn’t help but agree. There was always something worse when the enemy had that glint of intelligence and humanity in their eyes. Buck clutched the boy tighter to his side, trying not to hinder his crutches as they continued down a hallway.

The fluorescent lights burned Buck’s eyes, and he had to blink quickly to get used to them. Chris looked around the hall in wonder. He probably couldn’t remember what it was like to have electricity.

The soldier in front of them stopped in front of one of the many doors lining the hall, opening it and closing it behind them without a word, his face hidden behind a helmet.

The room they were left in was sterile and white. Buck had flashbacks to his time in the hospital as a child as he sat Chris up on the table, allowing him to rest his legs. He looked pale and far too skinny under the lights. He had a couple scabs in his knees, and a couple scars on his lower arms. His hair was shaggy, the curls dirty and frizzy, reaching to his shoulders in the back, giving him the look of a mullet.

Buck should probably cut it soon.

“Hey, bud,” he said, crouching down in front of the boy. His hands were tanned and dirty where they lay against the clean linen bedding on either side of Chris. “I know it's going to feel weird, but from here on out, around these people, we need to act like we're not ourselves, okay?”
The boy tilted his head puppy-like and Buck smiled, ruffling his hair.

“They’ll call you Evan, and refer to me as your dad. Is that okay with you, bud?”

“You take care of me, just like daddy. Doesn’t that make you one too?”

Buck’s breath caught, and he pulled the boy in for a tight hug, giving him a big kiss on the forehead.

“I guess it does, if you want it to,” he said, his voice shaky. “I love you, kid.”

He almost choked on the words the minute they left his mouth, but he meant them.

God, he really loved this kid. 

This kid who had seen so much, had gone through so much trauma, and still came out the other side loving and joyful. It didn’t matter that it had only been three days, he was never letting this kid go.

The boy hugged him back, his hands tightening in the back of Buck’s tattered old shirt.

“I love you too, dad.”

A few tears slipped down Buck’s face at the boy’s words, and he hugged him tighter - until Chris squeaked out a laugh in protest. Dad was said hesitantly, but it still warmed Buck as he held the boy.

The door clicked open behind them.

Buck was on his feet in an instant, instinctively stepping in front of Chris as he turned toward a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

“Hi, I’m going to be doing your check-ups throughout quarantine—”

His heart stuttered.

The voice was older. Softer. But he’d know it anywhere.

“Maddie?” Buck breathed.

Chapter Text

The woman looked up, brown eyes going wide as the door shut softly behind her. Her hair was longer, pulled back in a ponytail. She froze.

“E-Evan?” Her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled up in her eyes.

The room was quiet, ringing in Buck’s ears. Then Maddie let out a strangled sob and practically tackled him.

“Oh my god, Evan,” she gasped through her tears, clinging to him. “You’re alive. How are you alive?”

He held her tightly, like he might vanish if he didn’t.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he choked out with a watery laugh.

They pulled back just far enough to see each other’s faces, Maddie’s fingers brushing across his cheek like she couldn’t quite believe he was real.

Then a small voice piped up from behind him.

“Daddy?”

Buck turned, already smiling through the tears.

“Hey, bud. Remember that picture I showed you?”

Chris nodded. “Of your sister?”

“Yeah. That one.” He stepped aside. “This is her. This is my big sister, Maddie.”

Chris blinked up at her, those wide blue-grey eyes studying her curiously. “Does that make her my aunt? Like Aunt Pepa?”

Maddie laughed, wiping her eyes again, and gave the boy a watery smile. “If you want me to be, sweet boy.”

Chris beamed. “Dad’s gonna be so happy when he sees the friends I made!”

Maddie looked at Buck, brows knitting. “Dad?”

Buck met her eyes and gave a subtle shake of his head. Not yet.

Maddie smiled at him, and let it drop, although he knew she would be bringing it up again later. A few moments after, her smile dropped, too.

“We need to get you out of here.”

“What?”

“You can’t be here. Nobody can see you here, or know who you are.” She said, beginning to pace.

“Maddie, what-”

“You won’t survive this place, Evan-”

“Buck,” he corrected gently.

She paused, swallowed. But shook her head and continued, “Buck… this place isn’t what it seems. It’s not safe. It’s not a good place.”

He looked over at Christopher, who thankfully now seemed to be immersed in his figurines, whispering a few lines Buck remembers from his comic.

“Then why are you here?”

“Doug,” she whispered, as if saying it too loud would summon him. “He got me in.”

Buck stepped back, disbelieving, “ Doug? That asshole is still alive?”

Out of everyone, that selfish asshole survived?

“Language, Buck,” she admonished with a sigh, eyes flicking toward Christopher. “Yes, he’s still alive. Doug was one of the top surgeons in Boston. That got us flown out here early, before things collapsed, when all the reports first popped up. But it’s horrible, Evan. The things they do-”

“Hey,” he said quietly, hugging her again as her voice cracked. “We’ll get out of here. All of us will.”

He turned to Christopher again. He was humming, his crutches a bright contrast beside him as he flew his superman toy through the air.

“But first,” Buck said, his eyes not leaving the boy. “I need to find someone.”

Maddie leaned closer, eyes alight with determination, “His dad?”

Buck nodded, “He was taken a few days ago. Chris said it was the soldiers here.”

Maddie closed her eyes, “Shit. Okay. I’ll help look for him, but we need to do this quickly.”

She turned back to the clipboard she had discarded on a table.

“For now, you have to lie low, so I have to do these tests on you.”

After Maddie asked them a few questions about where they came from, if they had recently been in close proximity to the Turned, etc etc, she grabbed a small device from her belt. It was some type of scanner.

“It makes testing much easier,” she told him when she saw Buck’s questioning look.

“Testing?” Chris asked.

“In case someone was bit, or scratched by one of the- the sick people outside.”

“Like this?” the boy asked, lifting his sleeve.

Buck’s heart stopped when he looked at the skinny arm. High on his upper arm, almost on his shoulder was a giant scar - a bite mark. The edges were ragged and torn, several spots large and deep, where the teeth probably dug in.

The world spun as Buck’s vision narrowed down onto the bite. It was old, completely scarred over. The tissue was still a fresh pink in some places, but some of it had faded to a white color. His stomach dropped and he felt like he was going to throw up. He had seen this too many times. When you had a bite, you were dead. How had he spent the last three days with Chris and not known? How was Chris still alive? How was the bite healed?

Maddie gasped, her eyes wide,  “Oh my god.” she whispered.

“Chris,” Buck started, clearing his throat when his voice came out raw. “When did you get that?”

The boy blinked, confused by their reactions. “When Mom got sick,” he said softly. “At the beginning. She got really mad and bit me.” His voice trembled a little, but he kept going. “Daddy saved me. He put band-aids on it. It hurt a lot. He was really scared, but… it went away.”

“It went away?” Maddie repeated, stunned.

Chris nodded. “Yeah. I got a fever, and didn’t feel good, but then it was gone. Daddy said I was super strong.”

Buck’s mind was racing. No one survives a bite. No one. Not without turning.

But Chris was right here. Laughing. Talking. Alive .

“Chris,” Buck began again, “Are you sure it was that long ago?”

The boy nodded. “I was really little, but I remember it was when the lights still worked.”

“Holy shit,” Buck breathed, roughly scrubbing his hands over his face. His stubble prickled against his fingers, the light scratch helping ground him.

“Holy shit,” Maddie agreed. “We need to get you out of here as soon as we can, Evan. I’ll-I’ll help you find his dad, but if we…” she trailed off, making her voice quiet. “If we can’t find him in the next two days, you’re going to leave, no matter what.”

“What?” Buck asked, confused as she began to furiously pace around the room again.

“I don’t want to think of what they will do to him if they found out,” Maddie said, taking a deep breath as she stopped herself. She held up the scanner again, “The good thing about these is you can’t tell if it's been used on the same person multiple times.”

Buck smiled relievedly as he leaned against the table beside Chris, allowing her to scan him, letting out a deep breath when the screen shone green. She did it again a moment later, quickly writing on the clipboard.

“That’s everything I need.” She said, looking at Buck, her eyes glistening. “Be safe, please. Stay out of trouble, and stay away from Doug.”

She turned to Chris, “You too. I just met my nephew, and I want to spend as much time with him as I can.”

The boy smiled and giggled, his eyes bright, and glasses slightly skewed.

“Now, before I go, can you describe your dad for me?”

Chris nodded and happily began describing in great detail.

When testing was finally done, another armed soldier greeted them at the door, leading them out into the main compound, past a sign labeled ‘QUARANTINE’.

“You’ll be here for a day or so, just in case.” The muffled voice of the soldier told them. Buck nodded, walked over to one of the beds that lay in rows throughout the room. Very few of them were full, but he could see a couple talking in the back row. Their heads were close together, voices low. Planning something, Buck suspected. He didn’t really trust them.

Those still alive know that it's every man for himself, and leaning on another can get you killed.

The soldier came back a few minutes later and they were given a change of clean, plain clothes and shown the showers. Buck helped Chris get clean, the boy puffing out his cheeks and holding his breath as the water fell over his face, causing them both to laugh. After dressing him and letting him play with his toys he did the same, sighing at the lukewarm water that fell over his shoulders. He couldn’t remember the last time he had an actual shower. It must have been years since he had anything other than a water bottle or a quick dip in an ice-cold creek. He savored those few minutes under the water, knowing that he most likely wouldn’t get another one after they found Eddie.

Food was dropped off for everyone a few hours later, just as the sun was setting, and everyone joined together in the center for dinner. The people were nice, introducing themselves with a handshake and friendly smile.

Buck wished he could trust them, but there had been one too many times in the past to go about blindly trusting anyone anymore.

He learned that the Korean man was named Chimney. a name he really did not want to know the story behind, and he came with a black woman named Henrietta ‘call me Hen’ Wilson.

Before the fall, they were part of the LAFD, and after everything went to shit, turned their firehouse into a base of operations. Apparently they had it pretty secure and their families lived close by. Buck noticed that they did not tell him which firehouse - a smart move in case he wanted to loot them. Which he didn’t, but you could never be too careful.

They didn’t really seem to have a reason to be there, in the safe zone, and he had a feeling they were planning something. He found it interesting that they would come here if they had such a good set up going. He noticed that before they said something new, their eyes would meet for a split second, like people used to keeping secrets.

When they asked, he told them they were from a few states over, and heard talks a few years ago of a safe area, but weren’t able to reach it until now. It was mostly true, enough so that Chris wouldn’t have to worry about accidentally slipping up if he talked about being somewhere else.

The room was plain, filled with a few rows of bunk beds on one side. The other had a few metal tables and chairs where they ate dinner. There were a few barred windows lining the walls, high up against the ceiling. It got dark not long after they ate, and Buck tucked Chris into bed beside him, against one of the walls. The lights shut off a few moments later, the room going dark except for a few emergency lights along the wall that allowed them to dimly see. Outside, there were distant sounds of yelling.

The boy yawned, his jaw cracking as Buck took his glasses and set them carefully on the floor next to his crutches.

“Papa Buck?” he whispered, and Buck smiled, quirking a brow. “I’m trying to find the right thing to call you.” the boy answered, giggling at the look.

Buck laughed, pressing a kiss to his temple, “You can call me whatever you’re comfortable with, Chris.”

The boy nodded, his eyes droopy. “Do you really think we’re g-gonna find my dad?”

Buck took a deep breath, smoothing the boy's hair down, “Yeah, bud, we’re gonna find him. I promise.”

Buck had made many promises the last few days, and each time his heart squeezed a little more at the thought of not being able to follow them through.

The boy nodded with a smile, and promptly fell asleep as his head hit the pillow. Buck huffed a laugh at the boy before laying his own head down and closing his eyes, curling around the boy on the small mattress. It still amazed Buck, how easily the kid could sleep after everything. Maybe it was the safety. Maybe it was him.

He lay there for a while, just listening to the little boy breathe, trying to calm his mind after the crazy day. Buck hadn't prayed to God in a long, long time, but tonight, he squeezed his eyes tight, just like he had as a young child, wishing for his parents to give him the time of day. He prayed that wherever he was, Eddie would be safe and that they would find him soon.

The four of them were out of quarantine a few days later. The same soldier as before led them out of the building toward a series of large canvas tents.

“Men in this tent,” he pointed to the left. “Women here, and children there.” he motioned to two more tents and Buck froze, his hands tightening on Chris where he held the still sleepy boy, his crutches gripped in his other hand.

“I’m not sleeping separately from my son,” Buck said, his voice brooking no discussion. Chris tightened his arms around his neck, snuggling even closer.

The soldier turned, and Buck could feel his glare burning into him through the helmet. He pointed behind him.

“Children there," he said slowly, before pointing to his left again. “And Men there."

Buck planted his feet, his old boots sturdy and unmoving, “No.”

The soldier stalked forward. He was slightly shorter than Buck, but pointed his finger menacingly.

“Listen here-”

“They have permission.”

Maddie walked down the dirt path in front of them, dressed in her scrubs again.

The soldier stood at attention, “Mrs. Kendall, I-”

“His son has CP, so I gave them permission.”

“Ma’am, I-”

“Report to your commander, now.”

The soldier nodded and hurried through the tents.

Buck blinked alongside Chim and Hen. He had never heard her use that tone of voice before. It was quite intimidating.

“You four,” she said, motioning toward them with a flick of her wrist. “Follow me.”

With that, she turned back the way she came, and they hurried behind her to a small building pressed against the fence. She opened the door and held it for everyone before closing and locking it behind herself. The room was small, and the few windows were drawn tight, not letting in any light.

“I found Eddie,” Maddie said, turning around quickly.

Buck’s eyes widened as he was torn between wanting to get all the details he could and the two people beside him and Chris.

“Maddie- ”

“They’re friends, Evan. I promise. They’re going to help.”

“Wait,” Hen said. “You know him?”

Maddie nodded, “He’s my baby brother.”

“Wait, wait, wait. I thought the kid’s name was Evan?”

Maddie blinked, looking at Buck, who shrugged. 

“Did you think I was gonna give our actual names?”

Maddie sighed, waving her hands, “That’s not important. What’s important is that I found him, Buck.”

Buck straightened, “Where is he?”

Chris was looking at Maddie with wide eyes, though he stayed quiet.

“They have him training new recruits. On the other side of the safe zone. Or at least, that is what I was told. It’s almost impossible to get there without clearance, and Doug will question me if I go there.”

“Wait, who’s Eddie?” Chimney questioned.

“Chris’ dad. He was taken a few days ago.”

Chim and Hen did their glance thing again before nodding at Maddie.

“What’s the plan then?”