1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello guys! Right now I'm very nervous. This is the very first time that I actually publish something that I have written. Also, English is not my native tongue but personally, I think my usage of the English language is not that bad. But if I am mistaken, please feel free to tell me so.

Now to the story. In Germany we just saw the fourth season of The Walking Dead and while I sat on my couch and tried not to chew on my fingernails I got this idea, that Jack O'Neill would fit really well in this show. I mean, he is a born survivor!  
>So I thought a little more about it and now, two weeks later, I have pretty much figured out the whole plot. Now it just needs to be written. This being said, I guess it is a given that this story is AU. Please note that in my story, there is no stargate, no stargate command and therefore no sg-1. That means that original characters will show up, but not with their usual roles, military positions, personal histories and relationships. I don't own them, I just borrow them to play.<p>

As for the timeline: Since the zombie apocalypse in Walking Dead started in 2010, this story is located in that time too. This means that I can't use the birthdates of the show. So in this story, for example, O'Neill is not in his sixties but in late thirties and Carter is about 30.  
>For this story I need him to be absolutely fit and her to have an amount of experience that comes with the years of military service, hence the reduced difference in the years between them.<br>While I have already mentioned these two, yes I will pair them, because really…nothing else makes sense. But it takes its time for them to lip lock, because those nasty Walkers will demand a lot of their time. If you don't like this pairing, then you should maybe not read this story.

Now I think there is just one more thing to say: If you already know the Walking Dead you are familiar with the gore and horror that this show provides. Be warned that I want to try to keep that up in this story. So if you don't like exact description of violence and various body parts being smashed and hacked or bitten off, then don't read this. This story will definitely be rated MA.

I know this was a rather long A/N, but since it's my first time I hope you will forgive me. Here come the first two chapters that are already finished and I sincerely hope you will like it.

Have fun!

Chapter 1: Breakfast News

Breakfast is the most important meal of the day. Like this, or similar, her mothers lecture always sounded in the morning, while she made a show of looking at her sternly over the top of her newspaper. Every now an then she also sprinkled her speech with some medical terms or definitions on how the human body needed the right nutrition to support her brain in the almost always dull hours spent in school. And sometimes, like the good daughter that she is, Cassie Fraiser lets herself be convinced to eat at least a banana or a yoghurt. But more than once the young girl decides to follow her rebellious streak, as it is her job as teenager, refuses any kind of solid food and argues that a cup of coffee is more than enough. 

This every morning game between them is a fixed part of their routine and has meanwhile grown into a loved characteristic of their mother and daughter relationship. It is also a relict of a time when the two of them were still getting used to the idea of being mother and daughter and trying to deal with their respective individualities.  
>But this morning everything was different, not because mother and daughter had grown apart, but because the world they knew had changed in the short span of a night. <p>

A cup of fresh coffee stood forgotten on the kitchen table while Cassie used the remote to turn up the volume on the television.  
>The screen showed the anchorman of canal 12, who desperately tried to keep up with all the breaking news being transmitted on the teleprompter but failing miserably, as his strained voice started to flounder. In the background you could see external shots from the streets of Washington D.C., where people seemed to move aimlessly and in a chaotic haste through the city. A reporter on side tried to halt people to get a comment from them, but only a skinny man holding a piece of cardboard with verses from the bible on it took pity and mumbled something about the apocalypse.<p>

The anchorman now welcomed a man wearing a white lab coat and introduced him as an expert in virology. Cassie listened with growing confusion to the statements of the expert and his explanation on the crazy actions people all over the state displayed. You didn't need a doctor as mother to notice that the experts words were erratic and vague. A bad feeling was creeping up in her bones as the tv next showed pictures of a gagged man howling and hissing while being hauled into an ambulance.

Just as the tv reports started to repeat her mother joined her in the kitchen and turned off the tube with an annoyed growl.  
>"Cassandra, why are you listening to this? It's pure scaremongering." Janet Fraiser told her daughter and helped herself with a yoghurt out of the fridge, while looking reproachfully at her.<br>"But mom, doesn't this seem strange to you?"  
>"Darling, it is actually normal for people to engage in other peoples hysteria and show irrational behavior."<br>Her mother had this lecturing tone again, causing Cassie to roll her eyes irritated.  
>"Does this hysteria also animate people to attack their neighbors?"<br>Although it was not officially confirmed, there were many rumors about persons assaulting others like wild animals. Those who claimed to have seen this live, even talked about people trying to bite or claw at each other.  
>"Some drugs are known to cause this kind of aggressive behavior. It could also be a chemical spill. Many chemicals cause severe hallucinations. " Her mother tried to reason.<br>Cassie knew she just wanted to soothe her, to protect her. But her mothers evasive words only triggered the contrary reaction and she shot her a look that clearly said: _I know that you know that this is not the reason_.  
>Janet sighed in understanding as she realized that she could not fool her bright and perceptive daughter.<br>"Please don't worry about it. Our healthcare system is among the best of the world. Whatever this is, I'm sure our experts will be able to keep this under medical supervision."  
>It was meant as a reassuring comment, but one look at Cassys face and she knew it was for naught. <p>

The blow of a horn announced the arrival of the school bus, effectively ending the heavy conversation.  
>"Come on, time for school." Janet said, trying to sound unconcerned, but failing as the words came out in a choking sound.<p>

„Maybe I could come with you today?"  
>Cassies faint and insecure question was almost to much as Janet tried to fight of the guilty conscience upon her next words. But from her own experience in such situations, she knew that it was important to maintain a certain amount of normalcy and routine.<br>"I'm sorry, but I think it would be the best for you to go to school. Meet your friends and try not to worry so much." She advised.  
>For a moment it seemed that the girl wanted to say something in return, but then she shouldered her schoolbag dutifully and sighed a quiet <em> okay <em>in response.  
>With a caring arm put around her daughters shoulder she walked her to the door and watched her getting into the school bus. <p>

If Cassie Fraiser would have known that this was her last glimpse on the house she called home, she would not just have taken her seat in the bus. She would have run to hug her mother like live depended on it and never let go. Or she may have been in an hurry to get this picture from her friends and herself, showing five broadly grinning girls in pajamas and their brightly colored toenails. Memories of loved ones and irreplaceable time spend together.  
>But she did not knew and she did not even foresee what would happen in the short span of the next 48 hours. How could she? No one did. It hit them all unexpected.<br>So she simply took her usual place in the bus and waved a chaste goodbye to her mother, her home and the life she knew.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2: a not so normal morning

When Janet Fraiser arrived at work, approximately one hour after sending her daughter to school, she was delighted to see that the emerging panic had not jet found its way into the Air Force Academy Hospital. Both, military and civilian personnel, were used to extraordinary and rather threatening situations. More important, they were used to work calmly and professionally through a crisis, without giving away into fear or helplessness. If you once saw the results of bullets boring its way into the body of a screaming and jerking human or the traumatizing outcome that war had on once proud soldiers, now reduced to sobbing men, you had no other choice than to develop a high tolerance to shocking pictures.

So the calm and practiced professionalism her team displayed when a national guard unit came in with two injured team members was no wonder, but a result of a highly trained medical staff working almost perfectly together. Hand in hand they tried to save the two men's lives.

Specialist Miller had an ugly looking shot wound on his shoulder. Fortunately, his attacker must have been a rather bad shot. Although the torn flesh looked ragged, her nearer inspection showed that it was just a surficial trauma. Janet ably cut away the destroyed flesh, cleaned the wound and attended it with a soothing ointment. This would really hurt a few days, but not leave more back than a scar.

Private first class Monroe on the other hand, didn't get away that lucky. His body suffered from three wounds and his bloodied uniform was a good indicator on how much blood was already lost.  
>It was still unclear how and especially who hat attacked them. Apparently someone had ran amok and shot them from a hideout, while they were carrying out their order to close off a neighborhood.<br>But his was not her business right now, this man needed emergency surgery.

Clad in blue surgical gowns and a sharp scalpel in hand, Fraiser cut through Monroe's skin to expose the inner organs, where she expected the most severe traumata's. Her worst fear seemed confirmed.  
>Monroe' abdomen was filled with blood, making it almost impossible to locate the origin of the blood flow. The floor was soon covered in bloodied towels and gauze as the mans chance of recovery slowly turned from bad to worse. He was loosing so much blood, too much. Almost two hours later Janet sighed sadly as she peeled of the disposal gloves. She could see sergeant Daniels, the units leader, sitting forlornly on his examination bed in the emergency room, awaiting news on his team members and friends.<p>

She hated these talks. Delivering the bad news of someone's death was part of being a doctor and since working for the air force she had her fair share of seeing people die under her hands, but it never got easier. She never got used to it, never got accustomed to loosing good men and women. Bracing herself for sergeant Daniels grief and self blame, she quickly changed into clean scrubs. He didn't need to see his friends blood, a sign of imminent death. Upon hearing her approaching steps his head shot up with an expectant look. He himself had gotten away with nothing more than a few scratches and a sprained ankle. His facial muscles worked hard trying to maintain a stoic appearance while he came to terms with sitting here almost unharmed, when in the next room his friend was loosing the fight against death.  
>"I'll stay with him." He said and slowly walked to Monroe's bedside, shaky steps betraying his composed appearing body language.<p>

Even as the mood in the emergency room changed to a somewhat more calm atmosphere, nurses and other medical staff still kept a concerned eye on private first class Monroe an his CO, awaiting the inescapable.  
>The shrill sound of the phone startled everyone mistaking it for the flat beep of the heart rate monitor. But it was just Harriman, asking Janet to General Hammonds office immediately.<p>

Thinking that this was about the health status of the national guard unit, Janet quickly changed into her uniform and covered the way to the head physicians office.  
>The General waved her in instantly, while he seemed to be in a deep discussion with two men in black suits sitting in the visitor chairs. That sort of black suit, that screamed government.<p>

She announced her presence with a loud harrumph, causing the two black clad men to turn their heads. For a moment no one moved, then the older one gave his colleague a pat on his shoulder. His answer was to roll his eyes scowling, but he still cleared his chair for her and moved to lean irritated on the closed door, casually locking everyone else outside the office out.  
>Janet pretended not to be confused by the presence of the unknown men and instead concentrated on the general.<p>

"You wanted to see me, General Hammond."  
>"That's right, Major. How are you newest patients?" he answered immediately, also ignoring the two men as if they were rude intruders in his territory.<br>"Specialist Millers injury's are superficial. He should be fit for light duty in about a week. Private First Class Monroe though…" she sighed sadly "…I'm afraid we have to prepare for the worst."  
>"The rest of the team?" Hammonds voice couldn't conceal his shock at losing a man, although he straightened up in his chair to his full height, as if not to appear weak in the eyes of the other two men.<br>"Sergeant Daniels and private Tyler are both well…physically speaking. How well they are taking the outcome of their mission otherwise is still unclear. I would recommend a meeting with Dr. MacKenzie for both of them." She completed her report and observed her CO intently.

If general Hammond was anything, than protective and caring toward all officers and soldiers coming through his hospitals doors needing medical help. He always took it to heard when one of them was hurt, or even worse, killed in the line of duty and he never ran away from personal condolences to those left behind. But as she stared at his petrified face, her gut feeling told her that there was more weighting down on his shoulders than those men's unsuccessful mission.

Her own attention now relocated back to the two unknown potential government men. One of them still blocking the door, while the man sitting beside her gave the general a hard stare, before his surprisingly shrill voice spoke to them.  
>"General Hammond, we don't have all day."<br>"Our arrival is expected in one hour." The guy from the door added harshly.  
>Janet found their burning gazes fixed on her and tried not to fidget under the uncomfortable attention.<br>"Sir, what's going on?" She turned, seeking help from the general. He was uncharacteristicly quiet as he handed her a plain white envelope.  
>"Sir?"<br>"These are your new orders. You are being transferred."  
>"What?!"<br>She tore the envelope open flabbergasted and stared at the printed words.

She was really being transferred. With immediate effect she was no longer head of the emergency room at the Air Force Academy Hospital, but part of an emergency team consisting of doctors and scientists under the direction of the department of health and human services. Which in reality was just a trivializing name for disease control. Again she skimmed trough her new orders. They had all necessary signatures and seals, making them cast iron proof. She had to leave, most likely with these two mysterious men.  
>"What the hell does that mean?"<br>The angry words were directed at the quiet man beside her, but it was his sidekick who answered.  
>"It means that you are an air force officer and that your country needs your work somewhere else. So pack up." he retorted with absolute inept casualness, given the situation.<p>

"And I think that you are not an air force officer, hence you're not in the position to give me orders. Besides… I can't just leave my staff behind like that." The last part of her words came out like a plea and were directed at the general, but the regret in his face showed defeat.  
>"I'm sorry Janet, but my hands are tied. This is issued from the very top." He added with a glance at the phone on his desk.<br>Still not grasping what was going on, Janet responded with stubbornness, folding her arms in a gesture that clearly showed off how angry she was.  
>"Are there more time-killing questions to come, or are you actually willing to follow your orders now?" the man behind her rudely interrupted her staring holes into smooth wood of Hammonds desk.<br>"I'm not going anywhere, until someone tells me what is going on." She grumbled, set on not giving an inch till she had all the information she wanted.

In the meantime the silent guy beside her was kneading his hands undetermined before he addressed the resolute looking woman.  
>"I guess we may have approached this situation a bit impersonal. Doctor Fraiser, my name is Matt Phillips and this is my partner Bob Palmer. We work for the department of health and human services."<br>Behind them, Palmer was rolling his eyes. He was obviously not pleased with the slow pace his colleague had set.

Although Phillips words were spoken in a calm tone and the smile he gave her seemed genuine, Janet wasn't fooled. She knew what was hidden behind the harmless and bureaucratic sounding name of the department. It suddenly made sense as her confusion was chased away by a deep certainty of impending disaster.  
>"This is about the events of the last days? What makes the people go crazy…it's a virus? An epidemic?"<br>"To be honest with you, we don't know." As Phillips admitted this, the sweat that was glistering on his forehead revealed the shame he felt about his departments displayed incompetence.  
>"That's where you come into play, Doctor. Word has spread that you have quite the knack for extraordinary diseases." Palmer offered from his position on the door, clearly enjoying that Fraiser had to turn around to answer him.<p>

"If this is your way of telling me that you need my help to do your job properly, you might want to act a little more civilized." Janet fired back, pleased with having returned some of that hostility to its source.  
>"What my partner tried to express, was that the department is loosing this fight. All of our experts are currently working on this, but up to now we still have nothing to show. You see, Doctor Fraiser, we have the highest respect for your work and hope that your knowledge about unknown disease patterns will be the key to cure this. So I ask you, in the name of the government, to accompany us."<br>Phillips almost begged while describing the current situation and for the first time since meeting the man, Janet noticed the distress in his eyes.  
>"We will force you, if we have to." Palmer added and made his words sound like a threat.<br>"Palmer!" Phillips tried to admonish his rude counterpart, but with his high-pitched voice it sounded more like a girls hiss and therefore lost all its authority.

Janet stopped the budding dispute between the two government men with a raised hand and gained herself a quiet moment to process what she just had learned. Someone with her experience and knowledge hadn't been fooled with the reassuring news coverage, even if she tried to maintain a calm demeanor for Cassies sake. But on the inside her instinct, trained through many days in military service, had already told her that a catastrophe was looming above them. These symptoms resembled nothing medical that she had ever heard of and even if she wasn't very religious or esoteric, she'd still relate the last days events rather with end-time scenarios than a disease that could be isolated and cured quickly. So maybe she should just advise Palmer an Phillips to find themselves some exorcist or sect leader promising a peacefully afterlife, while she packed a few essential things, got her daughter and than ran for life.

But this was just the frightened thought of a dedicated mother fearing for the life of her still young teenage daughter. As her military training kicked in, it shoved away all those angst and brought back the experienced air force officer that she was.  
>"Where are we going?"<br>Her new orders did not contain this information. While Janet would have preferred to work in her own familiar and well equipped lab, it was the normal procedure to gather the medial and scientific elite at some hermetically sealed place and bundle their knowledge against the forthcoming outbreak.  
>"We'll take you to Schriever Air Force Base. There you will board an osprey and flown out to Washington D.C. joining one of the departments emergency teams." Phillips explained willingly, while Janet pondered the existence of multiple emergency teams.<p>

Several teams, most likely allocated all over the states. A protective measure if something went wrong. One infected individual could be enough to erase the whole team. But if you located a number of teams at different sites, the loss of one team could be absorbed through the others.  
>This course of action was another indicator on how serious this situation was and her maternal instinct returned.<p>

"I won't go without my daughter. I want her to come with me."  
>While she got sympatric looks from Hammond and Phillips, the third man reacted with another cold remark.<br>"You still don't get it. This is a national emergency with potential to affect world population! We don't have time to chauffeur parents, uncles, daughters or beloved guinea pigs through the states. If you don't understand that…"  
>"Stop that! Palmer, wait outside." The older black clad man interrupted calm, but dominantly.<br>His younger colleague didn't look very pleased to be shut up so effectively. But he still left the office, albeit more than a little furious, if him slamming the door violently behind him was a clue for that.

"I apologize for my partners disrespectful behavior. We are all under a lot of stress. But I fear he is right. As a matter of fact, we really don't have the time or resources to pick up your daughter."  
>Sensing that the Major sitting beside him was getting ready to argue her case again, he quickly continued.<br>"But, I am sure General Hammond would be more than willing to help us out?" this was spoken out as half question, half command and the General instantly assured his help.  
>"Consider it done. I'll send out two airmen at once."<br>Hammond had already the telephone receiver in hand and gave orders to summon Cassandra Fraiser at her school loud enough for her mother to hear, when Phillips pulled out his business card.  
>"Please tell your men to contact me when Miss Fraiser arrives at Schriever. I will take her to her mother personally." He assured and sounded sincere.<p>

"Since we sorted this problem out, are you ready to go doctor Fraiser?"  
>Phillips was already out of his seat and holding the door open of her.<br>Sensing that this goodbye might not include a _see you again_, Janet sought out her COs eyes and tried to silently convey the respect and friendship she felt for him.  
>"Godspeed, Major."<br>"Good luck, General. For you and your family."  
>George Hammond, the family man, looked sorrow-stricken for a moment at the mention of his family but then his composed alter ego, the seasoned General, slid back in place as he returned her rigid salute.<p> 


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: lost and found

"…and then Mr. Samson really bit this national guard guy! On his neck! Can you believe this! There was so much blood. It was so gross! And then Mrs. Samson came screaming out of the house waving paper towels and tried to wipe the blood from the ground. I tell you, she was totally nuts! Some paramedic had to sedate her." Lizzy van Dyk all but shrieked as she told her astound class the sunday events of her normally peaceful neighborhood. Although it was well known that Lizzy was not the brightest crayon in the box, one would have expected her to realize, even if it was subconscious, that her little story was not something to be proud of. But the blond girl was also not known for her keen perception. So she sat in her chair, in a room full of nervous and frightened looking students, as if it was the coolest thing ever to have a sick neighbor ripping flesh out of peoples necks.

"Well, thank you Lizzy…" Mrs. Pruitt gulped hard at her students rather graphic description of her weekend, "…but when I asked if some of you experienced something memorable lately, I didn't have that in mind. Does anyone of you have anything to contribute?"  
>The silence in the woods greeted her and she sighed worriedly. Okay, it was not a revolutionary idea to ask the students about their weekend. But given the gravely news these last days, Tabitha Pruitt had hoped to distract them a little bit. She was her teacher and therefore responsible not only for their grades, but also for their mental health.<p>

"Anyone? Anything? No?" she tried again before resigning.  
>"Okay. Than let's continue our work on this formula…if x is y then…" Tabitha was about to write said formula on the blackboard, when she heard the telltale sound of fingers snapping. The source of this sound sat in the last row and the dutiful teacher smiled approvingly at her best student. Threatening students with mathematics always worked.<p>

"Yes, Cassandra, you want to tell us about your weekend?"  
>"Err…actually, no. I wondered weather you might know something more detailed about what's going on here?"<br>Cassandras question didn't fall on deaf ears and in an instant every one of her 25 students was talking simultaneously, shouting similar questions at her and demanding to go home.  
>"Hush! Everyone!"<p>

Quieting down a herd of pubescent and therefore naturally noisy teenagers was not easy and Tabitha had to resort back to a shrill whistle and soothing gestures.  
>"I know that you are all scared and confused. We need to stay calm and trust the authorities to handle this situation. There is nothing we can to, but keep calm and maintain our routine."<br>Her well chosen words did nothing to assure the upset youngsters. They were still rattled and it wasn't helping that two air force soldiers, clad in full uniform and even wearing handguns, had chosen this particular moment to enter her classroom.

While Mrs. Pruitt eyed the soldiers disapprovingly she missed Cassie sitting straighter in her chair and examining the airmen expectant.  
>"How dare you! This is a class room and not a firing range. I want you to go, or I will call the police."<br>She tried staring the uniformed men down, but they seemed unfazed.  
>"M'am, we have orders to pick up Cassandra Fraiser." One of them answered curtly.<br>"Well, she is not a member of the military. You can't just come here and kidnap one of my students. Cassandra is underage and only her mother is allowed to…"  
>"It's okay, Mrs. Pruitt. I'll go with them." Cassandra piped up was already in the middle of packing her backpack.<br>"Your student will be save with us. Major Fraisers CO himself, General Hammond, gave the orders." The other soldier added helpfully.  
>"Still, I'm responsible and if something happens…" Tabitha tried to shove herself between Cassandra and the door, but the girl was amazingly swift and beat her to it. By the time her teacher took her first step, Cassie was already out of the door with the two airmen flanking her and leaving her dumfounded classmates behind.<p>

Sitting inside the black limousine the two airmen, Dickson and Mills as they had introduced themselves, were quick to reassure the teenage girl about the whereabouts of her mother. Although they weren't very specific about what was happening, their explanation managed to calm Cassie. At least a little bit.

When she was sure that the men wouldn't give up any more information, Cassie busied herself with watching the scenery outside the spotless windows of the limousine. The car sped along interstate 94, leading out of the city. As the amount of space between them and the city grew, the traffic volume did too. Soon enough Dickson was forced to slam on the brakes, tires squealing and leaving dark skid marks on the street.

One could confuse it with holiday time. The road was crowded with cars that were completely packed, using every space to store something potentially useful. But the difference to holiday time was, that instead of happily expectant smiles, worry and fear was engraved in the faces.

"Aww, shit." Dickson mumbled.  
>Sitting up straighter and trying to look over the roofs of the cars in front of them, hoping to catch a glimpse of what caused this traffic jam. But all he saw was more cars. Hundreds of them aligned in front of them, beside them and, with a increasing rate, behind them too.<br>It seemed that every single one of the 400.000 residents of Colorado springs had decided to leave the city in this particular moment.

"Looks like were stuck." Mills summed up, made a grab for the cell phone in the glove box and continued: "Better give them at Schriever a heads up that we'll be late."  
>Upon seeing Cassies worried look through the rear view mirror, Dickson turned around in his seat and gave her a flat smile.<br>"Don't worry, they won't leave without you. Your mom would throw a fit."  
>"Yeah, she sure is stubborn." Mills added casually, a slow frown forming on his forehead as he looked at the cell skeptically.<p>

Having seen his partners confusion with the technical device, Mills turned his attention from Cassie to the man beside him.

"Something wrong?"  
>"Piece of shit doesn't work."<br>"Give it to me." Dickson quickly snatched the cell out of Mills fingers, dialed the phone number and held it expectantly to his ear.  
><em>Beep! Beep! Beep!<em> Then the line went dead.  
>"So?"<br>"Line's dead."  
>"Didn't I just say that?!"<br>"No. You said the cell didn't work."  
>"And that's different, how?"<p>

"Ehm, guys?" Cassie tried to halt the arimens bickering but they were so focused on each other that her voice never reached their ears.  
>"Snap to!" this time her words showed the desired effect.<br>They both turned slowly to her and had the grace of looking slightly guilty for their nonprofessional behavior. Now, that she was sure of her attendants alertness, Cassie pointed to something that happened in front of them.

Around their car the dynamic of the scenery had changed suddenly. More and more people climbed out of the delusory safety of their cars and stared at each other clueless. Some were already walking down the road to see what caused the agitation. Others accessed to old fashioned honking, earning them the annoyed looks of those who decided to stay in their cars. But it was not before a woman came running in their direction, disheveled looking, screaming at the top of her lungs and wildly pointing to something behind her, that the situation got out of hand.

It took a few painfully slow seconds before people started to act, but when they did, it was pure panic. Car doors were torn open. Panicked parents clutched their kids near as they ran. The cracking sounds of metal clashing against metal filled the air as some not so smart people tried to ram their way through the lines of parked cars. Others were climbing over the guard railing on to the opposite street, running blindly into the opposing traffic.

Inside the limousine, Dickson slammed his hands agitated on the steering wheel.  
>"What…the…hell!" Mills commentated, emphasizing every word incredulous.<br>They were both breathing heavily, obliviously undecided what to do.  
>"I'll take a look." Announced Dickson finally and tossed the useless cell phone at his partner.<br>"You sure that this is a good idea?" the other man replied, casting a look at their precious cargo at the backseat and gauging her mood. He had no experience with teenagers and if the little Fraiser would try something stupid, there better be four eyes to keep her in check.

But his companion seemed oblivious to this fears. Instead he fiercely took the safety of his gun and opened the car door.  
>"I guess we have no other choice. Stay put till I come back." Dickson instructed and stepped determined into the chaotic mass of running people, where they quickly lost sight of him.<p>

The minutes that followed were filled with oppressive silence as Mills fiddled with his own gun, nervously checking his watch every few seconds. The dull noise from outside that reached them trough closed doors and windows was getting louder still, causing the hairs on Cassies neck to stand up. She got the uneasy feeling that staying were they were was not safe and fought against her flight instinct.

"That takes too long." Mills mumbled after checking his watch again. With his head tilted to the side, he pondered their possibilities. When he opened the passenger door with the intent to follow his partner, Cassie released some of that banked up panic in a frightened shriek.  
>"Don't leave me!" she screamed. Hating that she sounded so babyish, but still grabbing a piece of Mills uniform over the seat to prevent him from leaving her behind.<br>"I'll be back soon. You're safe here." He tried to reason. But his openly displayed desire to flee belied his words.  
>"Please." The fear now creeping not only into her voice, but also into her eyes.<br>The man grit his teeth, torn between running for his life and the air force values. _Serve before self, _the harsh voice of his former instructor echoed in his head and Mills made his decision.

"Stay close to me." He instructed the girl as he wound his arm around her middle and used his bigger body to block them a way into the closely huddled mob of fleeing people. Not in the position to decide where to go, they let themselves float in the scared mass and tried to keep a grip at each other. The movement of the knot of people became more and more hectic. And it was so loud! Screaming, grunting, moaning and groaning all mixed together in a desperate and unhuman cloud of noise. Feeling utterly helpless and unprotected Cassie pressed herself tighter to Mills and tried to avoid the arms and elbows that the people around her used to move forward.

Only a few meters later, they both had fully lost their orientation. So, when Mills spotted a relatively clear path through the mass on the right he clutched Cassies hand tight and made a dash for it. But as fast as it had been there the path vanished again, replaced with what seemed like hundreds of people suddenly running in the different direction. The airmen and the girl had not enough time to prepare themselves for the impact. They both grunt out in pain as their bodys collided with the opposing persons. Stumbling clumsily backwards, she extended desperately her arms to find a piece of Mills uniform to hold onto.

She suddenly lost her footing and was stamped down by the madly fleeing people around her. Her first instinct was to curl into a tight ball to ward off the kicks coming her way. But she knew she had to move. If she didn't, they would stomp her to death. Painfully coming to her knees, Cassie didn't even bother struggling to her feet.

Instead she crawled in the vague direction of the guard railing separating the two opposing interstates, in hope for the opportunity to find some shelter there.  
>For dreadfully long minutes all she did see was the dirty street below her and the hundreds of legs and shoes around her, kicking and trampling her body. Finally the silver shining metal of the guard railing appeared before her and Cassie grabbed onto it. Mobilizing her last strength she pulled herself under the small space between road and railing. There she laid, allowing herself some much needed breaths of air.<p>

Beside her hundreds of people were still running and screaming, but their direction changed again. Abruptly the giant group parted frightened and revealed the most disturbing, shocking and horrendous thing she had ever seen.

Before her laid the lifeless form of airman Mills. His uniform was dirty and tattered. His limbs grotesque twisted. His eyes were lifeless and his facial expression seemed to be frozen in a moment of absolute terror. He seemed to be dead, at least Cassie hoped he was. Because he was not alone.

The breath caught in her throat and she could feel the cold sweat making its way down her temples. Beside him crouched a pale man, clad in filthy jeans and a bloody shirt. His hands were digging deep into Mills belly, ripping and tearing at the smeary and bloody organs and stuffing them in his mouth.  
>The man was smacking his lips pleasurably as he moved to shove his whole head into his victims body, gnawing at the bones he found there. Soon the pool of blood was so big, that it threatened to soak her own pants.<p>

Cassie tried to move, but her body wouldn't obey. She was held captive in her own body and on a steady way to hyperventilation. Stars were slowly forming before her eyes and the strange ringing in her ears was getting hard to ignore. Gradually loosing control over her body she wasn't able to stop the choking sound that escaped her mouth and provoked the attention of the panting and bloody man. He ended his dismantling of Mills body and staggered over to her. His body moved stiff and his limbs hung loosely from his torso. Head bobbing up and down, a viscous mixture of blood and saliva was dripping out of the wide opened mouth.

As her body eventually caught up with her mind, the fearful paralysis lessened and Cassie was able to move again. Still breathing too fast she crawled backwards and out of reach of this mans greedily outstretched fingers. The staggering figure tried to follow her, more stumbling and falling over the guard railing than climbing. This gave her a valuable time advance. Turning around she realized that the road leading into the city was almost deserted. Just a few sporadic cars sped past. The drivers possibly very aware of what was happening on the other side of the road and therefore not slowing down to help.

Cassie had no time to contemplate why the people on the jammed road were still running around wildly instead of using this part of the interstate to flee. Panic did strange things to otherwise capable brains. A gurgling breath behind her made Cassie aware again of her bloody pursuer and she ran.

Boundless relief flooded her when she saw a military truck standing on the parking lane with hazard warning lamps flashing. Hope pushing her forward she rushed towards the uniformed men emerging from the truck. She knew from the direction they had come from that they would drive back to Colorado springs and that meant away from her mother. But right now, Cassie did not care. She just wanted to get away from this nightmare. Thinking, that maybe she would wake up but not counting on it.

A/N: Finished tormenting Cassie…for now. Next chapter we see what Jack is up to. I don't think he will like it.


	4. Chapter 4, Part 1

A/N: Hey guys! Sorry for taking so long but winter semester is really taking a toll on me. Exams are just one month away and 24 hours seem not enough for a day. This chapter is originally planned longer but I just can't find the time to sit down an finish it. So I decided to split it in two and give you the first part. I still plan to continuously write this story but I don't think I will have the time to update before I've finished all exams. But maybe you'll like a little forecast: next chapter will be the second part of this chapter; then Carter joins the fun in chapter 6 (she has to get rid of her fiancé and finds a new friend); what else? Oh yes, Daniel will be there too; If you are missing Tealc, I have sad news for you, because It will take quite a while for him to show up

So, I hope you will like it anyway.

PS: A professor of mine told us in a lecture that us silly humans need reactions from others to gauge our own behavior and maybe adjust it accordingly. So, wanna prove his point and tell me if you like it?

PPS: FUBAR BUNDY = Fucked up beyond all recovery, but unfortunately not dead yet.  
>This just fits the Walking Dead Universe like nothing else, methinks.<p>

Chapter 4: FUBAR BUNDY Part 1

This day had already started shitty and was now headed to totally fucked up in a remarkably fast rate. And it was not even noon yet. O'Neill was pretty sure that by evening, their situation would have morphed into _save your sorry ass if you can_. He stood on one of the watchtowers near gate five of Ford Carson, arms braced tensely against the railing of the observation deck. For the last hour the colonel had busied himself with supervising the incoming flood of refugees from this elevated position, wondering where to put them and simultaneously barking orders through the radio.

Since the rather edgy president had declared a state of emergency a few hours ago, it seemed that the floodgates were opened. In a matter of hours almost two thousands of freaked out residents of Colorado Springs and the near proximity had sought refuge in the base. Their cars glistening in the morning sun as they stood in line on the access road to the gate, nervously and jumpily waiting to enter the refugee camp.

But they were to many. That much was already clear.

He knew that. His soldiers knew that. Heck, he was pretty sure even the poor people of Colorado Springs, currently seeking protection in Fort Carson against whatever this was, knew that this could only be an interim solution. So, no one said a thing, but everyone knew. Everyone but the clown some idiot at the Capitol had made general and who`s real name was Kinsey. More precisely, two star general Robert Kinsey. Presently hiding in his office and letting his unfortunate secretary Walter negate the physical presence of his holiness Robert Kinsey the first. Formidably competent in ass kissing his way up the ranks, but pitifully bad in portraying anything resembling to the army values and thus lacking trust and respect from his soldiers. If you wanted a tip which bandwagon to jump on, Robert Kinsey was your man. But if you were looking for guidance and determination, he was definitely not a source of wisdom. The only good thing about Kinsey right now was that the man seemed to know about his incompetence in everything related to crisis management and therefore refrained from giving orders. Still, the general was the boss and sadly the only boss they had and god forbid even Jack, albeit very well versed in ignoring authority and bending rules as he pleased, didn't have it in him to run over the chain of command. Sooner or late he would have to talk to Kinsey, asking for useful orders and certainly getting nothing but empty words and dismissing gestures.

But he had no time to ponder the Generals cowardice. His radio crackled to life suddenly with a agitated voice calling for help. O'Neill recognized the speakers urgency immediately, although the transmission was meager, at best.  
>"This is Sergeant Wallace speaking, we need help!"<br>"O'Neill here, go ahead." Jack responded and tried to find the matching face to the voice and name coming through the radio. If he was not mistaken, there were only two Wallace's on the base. One of them was National Guard and therefore had been send out with his comrades hours ago to secure the city. That left only the Wallace that worked as male nurse in the hospital. Which meant trouble. Big trouble. Because that was where they had quarantined bitten people in hope of helping them, or at least keeping them separated from the rest of the base.

O'Neill had some experience with measures to contain an outbreak from his time spend in malaria infested areas in South Africa a few years back. Isolating infected people from those who were still healthy was number one in fighting a plaque. And it was exactly what Dr. Nick, head physician of Ford Carson's medical department, had been trying since the first contaminated man had set his foot on the army base. So, not the place you wanted to get an emergency call from.

The answer he received from Wallace was barely understandable. A frantic sequence of hurriedly spoken words sounding much to terrorized to be spoken by a supposedly well trained soldier.  
>"Sergeant Wallace, this is Colonel O'Neill, say again?" Jack inquired and tried to gain Kowalski's attention with a resolute wave. The major was positioned in front of gate 5 and tried to calm down the people still waiting, and begging, for entrance. He was supported by Captain Hanson who had, a little to threateningly in Jacks opinion, drawn himself up besides Kowalski and apparently used his very presence to keep the refugees in check.<p>

They were both in the process of quieting down a hysterical woman, when the major suddenly turned around and met his COs gaze. O'Neill and Kowalski had served so many years together, that they understood each other blindly. Literally speaking. It required just a small motion of the head towards the radio from Jack, and Kowalski understood the message.  
><em>Trouble ahead. Hold the fort. Talk to you asap.<br>_A lopsided sneer, combined with a nod, was the answer.  
><em>All right, boss. Have fun.<em>

This wordless communication took only a few seconds and Jack was fully concentrated on the radio by the time Wallace's voice drifted through again. Fortunately the sergeant seemed to have used the short time of radio silence to collect himself. His voice was much clearer now.  
>"This is Sergeant Wallace. I'm at the hospital. Someone just died and then…he came back and I…"Communication stopped again in a rush of incomprehensible static, but it was enough information to make O'Neill carry out a meticulous and gracile turn-around on the heels of his black boots. With quick strides he almost flew down the stairs of the watchtower. When he reached the final landing, Jack simply jumped over the handrail and ignored his vehemently protesting left knee.<p>

The poor soldiers and civilians who hat the bad luck to cross his path had just enough time to dodge the running colonel, as his sprinting figure disappeared in the direction of the hospital. He clearly knew that his behavior would be the source of further insecurity among the refugees. But the consequences that impended, now that someone on the base had returned from the dead, were far more dangerous than a few more freaked out civilians.

The Evans Army Hospital lay not far eastbound from gate five. The fact that Fort Carson had its own hospital had been one of the main reasons, that the refugee camp was now located within the bases walls.

O'Neill entered the three-floor building from the western entrance. On normal days the Evans was a bustling place. Thousands of soldiers came here every day to be examined, treated or otherwise counseled. Hundreds of doctors, nurses, orderlies, psychologists and chaplains took care of the military members and their families. But this was not a normal day. Far from it. So the clinics usually buzzing facilities were now quiet, deserted and abandoned.

Right after the first infected man had been admitted, Kinsey and Dr. Nick had decided to erect an isolation ward in the rooms of the ICU. Other patients were transferred to surrounding hospitals, most of them to the Air Force Hospital. It was a security measure to prevent the virus from spreading around and to quarantine already infected people. Surely Dr. Nick and his team hoped to keep the contagiosity as low as possible. But if you considered Sergeant Wallace's freaked out radio message, it sure seemed that those security procedures had failed. And badly so.

The steps of O'Neills heavy boots echoed unnaturally loud in the dark hospital floors. Purposefully striding to the stairway, he took two steps at once until he reached the second floor. Already the sounds of strained grunting could be heard. If the source was human or not, was not certifiable without indivisibility. As he pushed the door open with force, the handle banged against the wall and the impact let small shreds of white plastering rain down onto the grey linoleum floor.

The now louder grunting and groaning contrasted menacingly against the emptiness of the floor. He circled around the orphaned reception desk and turned right. Before him lay the ICUs entrance and his trained brain needed only seconds to comprehend the dimension of what he saw.

The big swing doors leading to the treatment rooms were closed. Two uniformed men, the insignia identifying them as Sergeant Wallace and an unknown MP, blocked the doorway using their weight as they braced against the quivering doors. They seemed to be in dire need of help, as they were forced back again and again. Obviously someone, or something, was clashing against the doors from the inside.

"What's going on?!" O'Neill demanded to know as he came to a stop a few meters in front of the men. Wallace and the stranger seemed infinitely relieved to see their CO, as a new impulse from the other side of the doors almost made them loose their footing.

"Colonel! We can't hold them back any longer!" screamed Wallace and as if to confirm his words, the boots of the two men moved squeaking across the floor as the slowly opening doors forced them back. Ash-grey fingers appeared through the emerging gap between the doors and groped around eagerly. Not thinking twice, O'Neil crossed the meters between him and the door and threw his body with everything he had against the wooden panels. A hollow bang could be heard as the swing doors jammed shut. The grey fingers that had been so busy a few seconds before, now stilled in motion as they were severed from the hand through the force of the impact and fell lifeless on the ground.

Jacks glance wandered around to find something to secure the doors. He found the MPs handcuffs and grabbed them from his belt. With his back against the shaking wood he applied the cuffs around the door handles and let the locks latch. The three stepped back in sync to test their impromptu blockade. Again the doors bucked up violently, but it seemed to work. For now.  
>Safe for the moment, Wallace took a deep breath and braced on his knees, while the MP leaned wearily on the wall. From the other side of the door heavy groaning reached them like a harbinger of death.<p>

"What the hell happened?" he wanted to know and stared at Wallace. The younger man gulped gravely as he struggled for breath.  
>"Not sure, Sir. I was just sedating a woman when I heard screams from the other room and then…" he stopped and shook his head doubtfully as he remembered.<br>"And then…?"encouraged O'Neill with a gentle nod.  
>"I left the room. It was all haywire on the floor. Everyone was screaming, doctors and patients. At first I didn't realize what happened. But then I saw them."<br>"Them?"  
>"Yes! The dead! Three guys. Had been admitted together. They were so badly scratched and bitten and running a fever. They were practically burning. We couldn't help them. Nothing worked." Again he paused to rub his temples. His breath was coming in short, vigorous waves and his eyes glazed over.<br>"I swear, they were dead! There was no way we could have known that they would transform so fast. I swear!" His panicked eyes strayed from the swaying doors to the tall figure of his CO.  
>"It's okay. I believe you. But you have to tell me everything." He assured and tried to gain the male nurses attention. O'Neill knew the first signs of a full blown panic attack when he saw them.<p>

A breath rattled in his windpipe as Wallace continued.  
>"Dr. Nick stood in the middle. He tried to calm everyone down. His back was to the room. He couldn't see them coming." Sobbing accompanied his next words. "Suddenly they were there. Just walking through the door. They swooped down on him. My god…they ripped him apart…I have never heard screams like that. When they were finished with him, they came for us." By now he was openly crying and big tears streamed down his face as Wallace swayed alarmingly.<p>

O'Neill and the MP leaped forward simultaneously and grabbed his arms before his knees sagged. He hung like a sack of potatoes between them. They helped him carefully to the floor where he curled into a ball and shook his head violently.

Jack couldn't blame him. It didn't need a rocket scientist to know what happened next. He decided to give the male nurse a moment to collect himself and looked at the MP.  
>"No survivors?" he asked, although he already knew the answer.<br>The other man shook his head grimly. "No, Sir. I came as soon as I heard the screams. But there were more than three of them. They were everywhere. I had just enough time to grab Wallace and get the hell out of there. It was close. We almost couldn't hold them back." Rubbing his right shoulder unconsciously he summed the events up and looked suddenly a lot more pale than a moment before.  
>"Good work." Commended the Colonel and examined the fresh blood trails on the wall. Right where the MP had leaned. His scrutinizing eyes lay on the suspicious shoulder.<p>

"Are you injured?"  
>The other man needed a second to realize that he was spoken to, but then he met the inquiring glance of his CO with a blank one.<br>Taking a step closer Jack clarified "Your shoulder."  
>"Oh…Just a scratch, Sir." It was meant to appease but backfired. No sooner than the words had left his mouth, he recognized the true meaning behind them an his eyes bulged in alarm.<br>"A scratch? From them?" O'Neill didn't like it, but he had to ask, while his guarded eyes never left the other man.  
>"No! Just an old wound. Nothing more. Really." The assertion appeared sincere but Jack couldn't count on it.<br>"Is it a bite?"  
>"No!"<br>"You sure?"  
>"Yes. Yes!"<br>For a moment they just stared at each other. The Colonel clinical and taxing, the MP tense and ready to flee.  
>"Let me take a look." Jacks order came with another step closer and the other man's reaction was prompt and vigorously.<br>"NO!"

This was all the answer the Colonel needed and the MP knew in the same instant that he had revealed himself. He drew himself up to his full height and raised his tightly clenched fists. Ready to defend himself. It was no problem for O'Neill to repel a blow that was driven by despair as it came. In a matter of seconds the bleeding man was overpowered and lay prone on the floor, arms twisted on his back and the Colonels knee pressing down on the tailbone. Immobile like that, the couldn't prevent that the collar of his uniform was pushed down to reveal the shoulder.  
>"Goddammit!" the other man cursed as he saw the bloody wound. It was definitely a bite.<br>"I'm okay. Sir! I don't feel sick. It doesn't even hurt!"  
>It wasn't easy to block out the tearstained begging, but Jack had to made a decision.<p>

How this virus thing precisely worked was still unclear. Although there had been a short briefing, the information content was uncertain. Gathered in the officer's mess, the nasally words of a little virologist had oozed more arrogance then useful facts. A doctor Robin? Randy? Ronald, no, Rodney! Dr. Rodney Mc…something. That he didn't keep much was not because he couldn't comprehend what the little guy in his too big white coat mumbled. It just tired him. All this juggling with too long scientific terms, combined with derogatory stares and snide remarks. So he had made good use of one of his most excellent skill. Zoning out through most of the blah blah blah but still getting the point.

How he understood things, this shit worked like this: you get a bite, or any kind of wound from these things, something _from them_ gets _in you_…you fucking die. And then you come back. But not as yourself. No, amigo! You'll come back a as a walking dead freak whose only goal was to make a big mess of ripping people apart.

Aside from the fact that the MP was in pretty deep shit, it may be theoretically possible that those eggheads would find a cure. But even if they did, it was more likely that the soldier transformed long before they could help him into a disgustingly drooling thing that wanted to take bite of you.

The MP was a dead man. Still, this wasn't easy. But he couldn't take the risk. The whole base was his responsibility, not just this one man. At the end, he had no other choice. Using cable ties that he carried around in his jacket pockets, something about being always prepared, he left the doomed man bound to a handrail.

Wallace followed him deadly silent and visibly shaken. The midday sun greeted them outside, warming their skin and almost mocking them, as the male nurse closed up to the Colonel.  
>"What now?" he wanted to know.<br>O'Neill looked him up and down thoroughly to assess what he could expect from the man regarding the last events. He seemed okay, but there was no way to know what was really going on in his head. The last hours events were a lot to stomach. Then again, their situation was unpredictable and he needed every uniformed man and woman. Especially one with medical knowledge. Now that Dr. Nick and his team was dead. Wallace would have to bite though…ouch, what a bad wordplay!

"Sergeant, I want you to go to the emergency accommodation. Help with the treatment if you can."  
>Jack wanted his order to sound notably strict and commanding. He hoped that it would help Wallace to slip back into his military routine. It seemed to work. The nurse raised himself up noticeably and gave a jagged salute. Then he jogged away, his footsteps a little groggy but still purposeful.<p>

Jack allowed himself one last glance towards the hospital before he chased away all gloomy thoughts about the bitten MP and mutated medics in the isolation ward. Brushing off the sweat on his brow he set into a jog deeper into the heart of Fort Carson. It was time to talk to the General. Kinsey had played hide and seek long enough. Like an ostrich he stuck his head into the sand and hoped that someone would solve his problems for him. But now he had to make a move himself. He WAS the General, after all.

In the administrative part of Fort Carson Sergeant Walter Harriman was intently shredding documents. Under the present circumstances of an impending pandemic one would think of this diversion as improper. But not Walter. He was loyal till the end and an order was still an order. For more than 15 years now he worked in this office. During this time he had served many Generals. He knew their preferences and annoying habits inside out and was prepared to follow their orders in hard times. What Walter was not prepared for, although it shouldn't surprise him, was Colonel Jack O'Neills furious face as he almost took of the hinges while storming into the office.

Walter felt never comfortable when in the presence of the Special Forces soldier. Firstly, the man had a really horrible sarcastic humor which led right to reason two. Because O'Neill had the annoying habit to show this cynicism preferably when in the same room with General Kinsey. A painfully obvious roll of the eye here or a rebellious snort there was enough to ruin the Generals mood for days. And guess who was left to carry the can for that? Right, him! And last but not least there were the Colonels stares. He had never met anyone with such a piercing glance. Whereas others needed a battery of words, O'Neill just used one of those brutally honest glances and you knew you were in trouble. Just like the one he wore now. One that clearly said: _You better not try to fool me. I know exactly what's going on._

Despite, or maybe exactly because of that glance, Walter pointedly stood up tall behind the solid presence of his desk and faced the angry Colonel with squared shoulders.  
>"What can I do for you, Colonel…" but he didn't get to finish the sentence as he was interrupted quite rudely.<br>"Don't bother. I'll manage."  
>Aware of the great discrepancy between O'Neills physical strength and his own he had no alternative but to watch the taller man violently tear open the door to General Kinsey's office.<br>Walter counted silently and just reached four as he was face to face with the displeased eyes of one Special Forces Colonel.  
>"Where is he?!" the man demanded to know and left no space for misunderstanding for who he meant.<p>

„The General is not here." Answered Walter and clutched a thick folder protectively to his chest. O'Neill seemed not to be satisfied with this answer and there was that glance again. Harsh, inquiring, stern and just a tad threading. It was a glance normally reserved for less respectable people like terror suspects, strayed informants or obstinate soldiers and now him, Walter Harriman, too.  
>"Oh? Well, where did the good General go?" behind the feigned politeness sarcasm screamed loudly.<br>"You missed him. The General left office 20 minutes ago."  
>"Oookay…but where did he go?"<br>"Something important came up and…"  
>"Ack! Don't give me that bullshit."<br>The colonel huffed and thrust an annoyed forefinger in his direction.  
>"Again, where…is…Kinsey?" With every emphasis of a word O'Neill came a step closer until his finger was tapping on the brown paper of the folder.<p>

Harriman felt sweat forming on his forehead as he stammered:"General Kinsey…well, I don't know where he is right now."  
>"But he is still one the base?" the question sounded suspiciously like a growl and Walter had to force himself to hold the Colonels glaze.<p>

"The General doesn't always bother telling me about his whereabouts or travel destination." He finally answered and realized in the same moment that he had spilled the beans. The Colonels triumphantly face confirmed it.  
>"Travel destination, huh? Pretty lousy time to go on a cruise? Whaddaya say?"<br>It was obvious that O'Neill expected the full story, now that he had found out that the General hadn't just called it a day. But the haggard Sergeant still wrangled with loyalty for his General. Sure, Kinsey wasn't the epitome of correctness or leadership ability. But he WAS the General and never in his military career had Walter refused a direct order. And the last one had been really precise: don't tell anyone, especially not O'Neill.

The tall colonel seemed to sense his moral dilemma and instantly some of that rugged harshness left his eyes.  
>"Look Walter, this is not the time for blind following. In case you didn't know, there is an apocalypse going on right now and I really need to talk to the base commander. Think you can help me with that?"<br>Harriman blinked astonished. He had never heard so many words leave the mouth of the otherwise uncommunicative man. Normally he preferred cynical one-liners or expressive glances for communication. In short terms, O'Neill was not what you would call a polite conversationalist. That he now felt the need to speak without his usually omnipresent sarcasm was a crystal clear sign that something ugly was about to happen. As long as the soldier was his grumbling, eye rolling self, everything was under control. But if he was civil or downright encouraging, big problems were ahead.

Was it so much worse than Walter thought? After all, General Kinseys departure had been spontaneous and felt somehow final. But the man loved being the boss, so what would make him leave his command like that? On the television they said that the military had the situation under control, but could they be lying? The General would have had access to more current situation reports and…oh god! Something in him wanted to scream as the pieces finally connected.  
>"General Kinsey is not attainable…he…"animated through O'Neills circling hand movement Walter continued, " He took our last available chopper and left for Schriever Air Force Base. He is about to be evacuated with other high ranking officers."<p>

He suddenly felt entirely empty as he collapsed into his chair. The brown folder slipped from his hand an landed rustling on the ground. Doubtfully peeking out from under the lenses of his reading glasses Walter studied O'Neill stomaching this latest information. A salve of powerful curses left his mouth. Or more precisely the most impressive arsenal of crude and blunt curses he had ever heard. But in the context that General Kinsey had left them to die while he saved his sorry…no, he couldn't possibly say that, a General was still a General and…and screw following the orders, his rebellious side kicked in. If Kinsey could abandon his men, he could as well call him an ass. There! Kinsey was an ass! So this ass had left them to die and Walter suddenly felt like cheering the cursing O'Neill on. But the man had already ended his rant and looked at him amused.  
>"Walter? Whatcha thinkin'?"<p>

"Nothing! Just…how bad is it? Are we really that deep in…a mess, Sir?"  
>"You can say it as it is. We ARE in pretty deep shit."<br>"How deep, Colonel?"  
>O'Neill sighed and rubbed a large hand over his face. But a second time he was interrupted by the radio's noise before he could think of a proper answer. Instead he just said what came to his mind.<br>"I guess we'll find out soon enough."


	5. Chapter 5

Hey guys, finally another chapter. Hope you like.

Chapter 5 FUBAR BUNDY Part 2

"Boss, this is Kowalski. We could use some help. We are being steamrolled!" reported the Majors astoundingly calm sounding voice, even as you could hear the loud bangs of shots in the background.  
>"Kowalski, are you shooting?"<br>"Can't be helped. Those critters are everywhere."  
>"I'm on my way. Try not so shoot me, okay?"<br>"Can't guarantee. Kowalski over and out."

Walter wondered if he was the only one who thought that this communication had been more that a little weird. Indecisive, he searched the Colonels face over the paper littered desk. He realized shocked that O'Neill was already out the door and on his way to help Major Kowalski. His brain worked hard as it tried to find out what to do next. Should he obey his orders and stay, or should he rather follow his instinct and flee? But O'Neill, despite his shortage of interpersonal relationship skills still a good officer, was already at least one step ahead. His gruff voice called out "Walter! What are you waiting for!" and made the decision for him. Sergeant Walter Harriman disobeyed his orders, for the first time in his life, and fled.

If Jack had known before that his job had him running around the base all day, he would have packed his running shoes. His brand new, dear money and still unused running shoes. He hadn't even unpacked them. They were still sitting in the shoebox and waiting to be used. And it looked like that wouldn't change in the near future. But there was nothing he could to about that now. His feet were stuck in heavy boots as he sprinted over the base with Walter Harriman in tow. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Walter trying to stay in his slipstream to avoid a collision with one of the many straying civilians.

As they left the administrative Complex of Ford Carson they found themselves in the middle of a chaotic appearing anthill of refugees. Like a beehive countless people, civilians and military personnel, were running around aimlessly. Petrified screams joined together with shots that grew louder, as they neared Gate 5, where he had left Kowalski and Hanson.

In such situations he was thankful for his superior height. While the smaller Harriman had serious problems to navigate in the mass of people, Jack could just look over their heads. But what he did see made him almost wish for less view.

A few hundred feet ahead of them lay the Watchtowers of Gate 5. Even from this distance, Jack recognized that the trellised gates were closed. About a dozen soldiers stood spread into two groups on the towers and let rain down bullets on the bodies outside the gate. For a short, awful moment, O'Neill feared that his men were shooting at humans. But he dismissed the thought quickly. Kowalski was a good guy, he would never allow the situation to get out of hand. But this left just one conclusion. Those bodies outside the gate were not humans, they were the dead. The walking dead.

Walter and he had no other choice but to use their elbows to find a way through the meandering mass of men and women. Inhuman sounds filled the air. Watery, stertorous breathing. Muffled wheezing. Growling. Hissing. Grunting. And continuously gunfire in addition to Kowalski's bellowed orders to hold the line.  
>"Aim at the heads! Shot them in the head!"<br>Harriman breathed hard as he clambered up the stairs of tower one behind the Colonel. Not just the strain made it difficult to breathe, but more so his fear. He was pretty sure that his starched uniform was the only thing that kept him up right now.

They reached the observation platform and stared horrified at the spectacle at the ground. For a few seconds Walter thought he could see real discomposure in the eyes of the usually expressionless soldier, but it took just a split second before his detached mask was back in place.  
>"Kowalski, I want an update." barked O'Neill at his Major and risked a glance through the gun sight of his sniper rifle.<br>"They just came out of the friggin' woods. Must be over a hundred. We had to close the gates or they would've steamrolled us." Was his laconic summary.

Walter dared a glance towards the gates. What he saw there, provoked a nausea and he had just enough time to throw his upper part of the body over the rail, before his breakfast forcibly left his stomach. But maybe it would have been more wise to puke at his shoes. His head hung over and as the retching stopped and he found himself eyeball to eyeball with one of those tings. It stood right under him and just stared back. Harriman had never seen live what this virus caused and it was ugly.

The first thing he saw were to rows of dirty teeth in a mouth that snapped greedily at him. The nose was wrinkled up, like a dog that got the scent of his prey. Out of two deep eyeholes stared glassy eyeballs. Embedded in the waxen skin of the face stretched a drooling tongue towards him. It was a woman. Or an ugly man with long, greasy hair. The leathery skin was so bland and the eyes to empty, that every human trait seemed to be gone. His eyes swept unbidden over the mass of will less and live less bodies. Kowalski was right, down there were at least hundred. They moved like a giant, synchronized clumb of white, cold an dead flesh as they pushed against the doors.

The shots, the soldiers panicked shouts, the refugees cries, all that moved into the background as Walter and this thing eyed each other. The gates metallic groan under the weight of the dead bodies reached his subconscious unusually clear. He could feel his pulse vibrate in his temples. He was feeling nauseated again. Dizziness crept over him and he grabbed the railing hard.  
>A thought repeated in his head. <em>Oh, god! We can't stop them! We'll all die!<em>

These were his last thoughts as he felt his body getting slack and soon he sank helplessly to the ground and everything went black. He didn't know how many time was gone when he felt two strong hands grip his arms. He was still dizzy as those two hands straightened him up against the nearest wall. The next thing he felt was the stinging pain of a slap in the face, that tingled on his right cheek. Colonel O'Neill stood right in front of him and wore a expectant expression. Then Kowalski joined him. Both exchanged some words, but he couldn't understand them. His body felt like it was wrapped in cotton wool.  
>"Sergeant! Hey, Walter, wakey-wakey!"<p>

The Colonels voice reached Walters brain slowly. Everything became clear in slow motion. The numbness in his ears disappeared und his vision cleared.  
>"That's right, Walter! No time for a nap." Encouraged O'Neill. "Just keep breathing, nice an slow."<br>"Welcome back." Commented Kowalski humorless and patted his shoulder.  
>"Colonel! What happened?" asked Walter finally. He still felt a little uneasy.<br>O'Neill and Kowalski exchanged a worried glance.  
>"Can you walk? Yes? Good!"<br>The special forces soldier left him no chance to answer. Instead the grabbed his shoulder roughly and dragged him impatiently along.

Kowalski took the lead and raced down the stairs while Captain Hanson covered their back.  
>"No time for explanations, Sergeant. We have to get lost. Pronto." Muttered O'Neill and shoved the still weak Harriman forward.<br>"Sir?" This time he got no answer for his washy question, as he stumbled down the stairs with the three soldiers. Immediately they were surrounded by a frantic crowd, as they tried to get as much distance between themselves and the yielding gate. A few times his knees gave out and he had to be supported by Kowalski and O'Neill. Hanson walked before them and used his broad body to clear a path for them.

"Hanson, car pool!" shouted the Colonel and looked disgusted with himself. Kowalski grunted as they shoved and pulled Harriman along. "We got no choice. The base is lost." He stated defeated.  
>The facial expressions of the two men spoke volumes. Anger, fury, helplessness and frustration. Both were men of action. Badass soldiers. Used to solving problems, not running away from them. Or even worse, fleeing. The feeling of giving up, or declaring something as lost was foreign to them. They'd rather want to stand back and fight. But two or three of them against hundreds? No Chance and no other choice than to give up Ford Carson. Even as they may hate themselves for it.<p>

Behind them the noise doubled as the locks were forced to yield against the vigor of the shoving dead bodies. Like a flood wave the dead poured into the base. They chased after them stumbling, staggering and scrambling. Within a minute they found their first victims. Bloodcurdling screams filled the air as cold claws tore at skin. Gruesome smacking as sharp teeth sank into soft flesh. Slurry gurgling as arteries burst and throats rattled desperately as humans suffocated in their own blood. The air was heavy and smelled like death and decay.  
>A few minutes later the group of refugees was thinned out significantly as the drill ground of Ford Carson was turned into the stage of a massacre.<p>

Up front Walter and his three comrades hat worked their way to the top. The four of them tried to ignore the impending danger. If they wanted to survive this, they had to concentrate on their goal, the car pool. As they crossed the quarters of the 101th. Special Forces Unit, the group of survivors had been diminished again. By the time they reached the car pool the screams and sounds of agony died away slowly and O'Neill, Kowalski, Hanson and Harriman realized that they were alone. No one else had made it this far. But they had no time to think or doubt. With Walter between them and Hanson up front, they headed straight for the single remaining military truck. They came to a halt as two undead men rounded the truck. One of them staggered towards the small group of survivors, while the other one sank to his knees and grabbed with his scrawny arms at something under truck. Something…or someone, realized Walter suddenly. What if there was a human under that truck? They had to do something. But again O'Neill had already analyzed the situation.

"Hanson, get they keys. Kowalski, stay with Walter." His order was hardly spoken when the Colonel headed straight for the two undead. He whistled loudly and in an instant the second dead man left whatever or whoever under the truck alone and came drooling to his feet. Apparently O'Neill seemed to him like an easier prey. It took two single shots and the two men fell to the ground. This time really dead. At the same time Hanson came running out of the gatehouse, in his hands the saving keys of the truck. Carefully Hanson, Kowalski and Walter closed the gap on the Colonel.

O'Neill knelt beside one lifeless bodies, his face was hard. Walter coughed shocked, Kowalski murmured something unintelligible and Hanson reacted in no way. The both bodies that had seemed so menacing just a few seconds ago now lay in their own juices. They were pale, slack and live less. And they wore uniforms. The men were two of them. Two of their own people had been bitten, transformed and forced Colonel O'Neill to kill them. This fact made the horror real and seizable in a way that had Walter wish for a switch to turn of his feelings. He couldn't imagine how it felt for O'Neill to kill two brothers in arms. Walter knew parts of his file. The man was a soldier for almost his whole life. He probably couldn't even remember how it felt not to wear the uniform day in and day out. And now, having been forced to kill two fellow soldiers, even if he knew at some level that they had been dead by the time one of those tings had bit them…it must feel awful.

A movement ripped Walter out of his gloomy thoughts. O'Neill cocked his head to the side and kneed beside the truck. His whole body stiffened as he shifted his weight to his left body half and stretched his right arm towards someone.  
>"Hey, you." He said with a softness that Harriman had never heard before. Behind him Hanson whirled around und worriedly watched the car pools entrance. Up until now they had jet so see another of those things, but now the muffled sounds came close again.<br>"Colonel" warned Hanson. "We have to hurry."

If O'Neill noticed the Captains warning, he gave no sign. He was still talking gently with the person under the truck. Although just a few minutes had passed till the Colonels outstretched hand was seized, it felt like hours for the three other man.

A young girl came scrambling from under truck. She was about 14 years old and had shoulder length dirty blond hair. She had the Colonels hand in a death grip but he didn't seem to mind.  
>"Colonel O'Neill, Sir!" warned Hanson again and rolled his eyes as he was ignored again. Instead of reacting to the Captains warning, he folded his tall body and focused on looking less menacing.<br>"Kiddo, I know you're afraid. But you gotta give me my hand back. Think you can do that?"  
>The girl seemed indecisive as she bit her lip. O'Neill put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and nodded in Harrimans direction.<br>"I'll be right back, promise. I just have to open the gate. Why don't you hold Walters hand for a while. He's a little wobbly and could use someone to hold his hand, right Walter?"

Walter understood the Colonels intention to calm the girl and wanted to help him. But he made the mistake of moving jerkily, causing the girl startle and grip O'Neills hand harder. The taller man threw an angry look at him.  
>"You have to excuse Walter. Good personnel is hard to find, right?" he joked and tried to coax a smile out of her. It didn't work, but at least she loosened her grip on his hand.<br>"I promise, we'll take you with us. But first I have open that door and I need both hands for that. Think we can manage?"  
>The four men waited tensely for her decision. None of them had any desire to force the clearly freaked out girl. Relieved breathing could be heard as the girl finally released the Colonels hand.<p>

The man was quick to return into his role as officer and barked his orders like gunshots.  
>"Hanson, get behind the wheel. Rev up the engine, I want to be gone as soon as that gate is open. Kowalski, secure the truck. Walter, get on the loading floor and watch that girl."<br>As soon as the words were spoken the tall Colonel jogged away to open the gate. While Kowalski aimed his assault rifle on the entrance to fend off the monsters that announced their presence with loud groaning, Walter helped the girl in the truck and Hanson swung himself behind the wheel and started the engine.

The truck worked with a pneumatic break and had to build up some pressure before you could drive. The Captain drummed impatiently against the wheel, waited and observed the Colonel as he threw himself against the heavy sliding gate. It took him forever to open the second gate, but as soon as it was open he raced back to the truck. Before he engaged a gear Hanson risked a glance in the rear view mirror to see where Kowalski was and startled as the man drummed demandingly at the window.  
>"Wait up, someone's coming!" he called out and disappeared again.<p>

Jonas stretched his head out of the window to see what caused the delay. The Major had taken a position a few feet away and waved energetically at a group of people that came running in their direction. They were six people, four men and two women. Hanson groaned frustrated as he saw that a mob of those things followed them closely. This group had let them right here.

One of the men was fat, there simply was no other word for that. His short legs tried to move faster, but his weight slowed him down. While the other five had already reached the truck and climbed exhausted on the loading area, the monsters had almost reached fatty. Kowalski provided him some time as he opened fire and brought down a considerably amount of them. Then he grabbed him by his soaked shirt and pulled him to the truck. The back of the truck sagged noticeably as fatty hauled his big body in the truck. Finally Kowalski tore open the door on the passenger's side and Hanson geared up just a the first monsters grabbed the canvas cover. As they passed the opened gates Jonas slowed down and O'Neill jumped into the loading area. Walter had to grab his jacket as the Colonel was about to fall right out again when Hanson speed up. The tall man breathed hard and gave a jagged nod as thanks.

He sagged down and allowed himself a moment of exhaustion. Beside O'Neill the girl gave him a glance that was part open admiration and part insecurity. Jack smiled encouraging at her. Only now did he realize that there were six other people in the truck with them. One of them, a younger man with shaggy brown hair and askew sitting glasses looked at him questioningly. The very young and very beautiful dark haired woman latched to his arm mirrored his question. Apparently they expected some kind of speech or explanation. Well, they'd have to wait a long time for that. He was not in the mood to explain anything.

While Captain Hanson drove the truck away from the hell of Ford Carson, the people in the back of the truck were eerily silent. It was the heavy man that eventually broke the silence.  
>"Dio mio!" he exclaimed gasping and his double chin wobbled. Jack looked him up and down. He was no linguistic genius, but he had understood that.<br>"Tell me about it." He agreed finally.  
>These were the last words that were spoken for the next few hours.<p>

Sooo, O'Neill and his little group of survivors got away. In the next chapter Carter has to decide between her fiancé and her conscience. Any ideas who that fiancé could be?


	6. Chapter 6

Here is chapter 6. No action in this chapter, but I promise Carter will get her chance to kick some zombie ass real soon.

Chapter 6: Chaos Theory

Chaos research, often referred as Chaos Theory, described a scientific area of physics and mathematics. It specified in the order of dynamic systems that on first glance appeared deterministic. But their outcome was in truth not predictable, but highly unforeseeable and, well chaotic. What developed from that was called deterministic chaos by scientists like major Samantha Carter. And right now she felt caught in such a deterministic chaos.

When two days ago the first reports of the scary behavior of some people appeared in the newspapers, nobody could have predicted this rapid and dramatic development. At first, people believed it to be simply a prank or maybe a really bizarre flash mob. But by the time the first persons were hurt badly and even died, wild speculations arose.

Newspapers called it first a vampire virus and then, right after it leaked trough that the victims had bite wounds all over the body and not just on the neck, is was renamed as cannibal virus. In next to no time panic and chaos swamped the big cities and small villages equally. Highways became clogged, the waiting halls at the airports were overfilled and the train stations incapable to cope with the amount of travelers. All public life had been quickly affected. Schools sent their students home, adults refused to go to work and instead stormed grocery stores for panic buying. The National Guard closed off whole streets and city blocks while irresponsibly members of the press participated in wild and sensationally speculations.

For a brief hours politicians openly discussed the possibility of a terroristic attack with biological or chemical weapons, but ever since identically outbreaks had accrued all over the world, that possibility had resolved itself. It was almost unfortunately that it was not a terroristic attack, because then they would know how to act. But no one knew what this was. A virus? A bacterium? Or maybe a degenerative progress in the human brain? Where did it come from? Who was patient zero? And most of all, was there a cure?

Carter rubbed her burning eyes tiredly. Two days ago her world had been whole and in order. It felt as if that days were months ago. Yesterday night she had gone to bed with the small and maybe even naïve hope that in the morning someone would have found a solution. But instead she woke up in a world where the dead hounded the living, gormandized their flesh and made them one of their own. This world already showed first signs of disintegration. If she were religious she could find solace in the bible and think of it as a pervert version of resurrection or as slowly destroying apocalypse. But her scientific mind refused and struggled against all kind of spiritual explanations. And the soldier in her fought vigorously and with everything she had against the paralysis that rose from fearing to be a witness of the end of the world.

Her sight circuited through the sticky room but found no one that appeared even a little bit fiercely or confidently. Together with about one dozen other scientists she was stranded in this room at Schriever Air Force Base and waited for evacuation to Washington D.C. Although she knew none of the other attendants, she was sure that they were experts in their field of work. Doctors, virologists, chemists, biologists and all of them wore their stereotype white lab coats and appeared to have been torn out of their everyday life just like herself. They were taken care of by an Air Force major, who had explained to them that they had been chosen by an impersonal authority to be part of an crisis management team in the capital city.

But no one seemed particularly confident to reach that goal. Wherever she looked Sam only saw empty, confused and frightened glances. Although that wasn't entirely true. There was one person, a female doctor, that acted anything but withdrawn. Contrary to her admittedly small size, she displayed a fierce temper. Since she had been brought here a few hours ago, the woman gave the poor major hell. Her vehement performance contrasted plainly with her ashy colleagues and their tired postures.

Sam was one of the few attendants that felt sympathy for the small woman. She apparently had been separated from her daughter and now feared that something bad had happened to the girl. The woman repeatedly told the major that some federal agent hat promised her to find her daughter and demanded to speak to said agent. But so far neither agent nor girl had arrived at Schriever.

The desperate mother alternated between screaming and begging and slowly but surely attracted her colleagues sour attention. The major tried to sooth her appropriately to his options, but his halfhearted empty words encouraged her even more. Carter studied the scene with sympathetic eyes. She could empathize with the woman, even though the roles were somewhat interchanged. She was a daughter that had lost her mother and here was a mother that feared loosing her daughter in the chaos outside the base. It was a horrible and brutally honest thought that forced it's way into her mind, but the female doctor couldn't even be sure that her daughter was still alive. Sam cringed and tried to block out hurtful memories of the moment that had ended her youth violently. So yes, she felt the woman's pain as if it was her own.

Looking for some distraction she sought out her fiancés familiar form. She spotted his body, clad in an expensive blue suit, in a corner. With his back to her, he was focused on his new smart phone and refused to accept that mobile phone networks had collapsed. She knew he tried to contact someone he knew at the White House, but his effort was wasted. The landline and internet were down too, leaving them no possibility to contact anyone outside the base.

Sam sighed. Joes presence should give her strength, but the opposite was the cause. It was sad, but Joe only added weight to her shoulders. It was not his fault that she felt this way. But seeing the desperate mother, she asked herself if it was fair that the woman had lost her child while she had her fiancé with her. It seemed unfair.

Joe must have registered her depressed mood, or he was just finally ready to accept his smart phones uselessness, anyway he let his body fall tiredly onto the seat next to her. Wordlessly he grasped her hand and squeezed it. His hand was clammy, cold and shaky. Sam sensed that this touch benefited Joes mental state more than hers. She squeezed back nonetheless and even managed a weak smile.

"Everything's going to be okay. You'll see, we'll be save in Washington."  
>Although his voice sounded robust, his nervous hand, that stroked her cheek more clumsily than loving, showed his strained emotional state. Sam left his words unanswered. Instead she thought about how to use Joe's position to help the desperate mother. Joe was not a scientist or military. He was a congressman and the only one with some kind of political discretionary power. She nodded towards the despaired doctor.<p>

"Can you do something for her?"  
>Joe breathed hard.<br>"I'm sorry about her daughter too. But what are we supposed to do? We don't know where she is right now."  
>He sounded tired and drawn. Sam examined him from the side. His body hung slack in the chair and didn't fit his appearance. The highly priced suit was freshly starched and fit his body perfectly. Although it was stuffy and too warm in the room, his tie stayed accurately around his neck. In contemplation of the raging chaos outside his meticulous clothes looked out of place. But Joe was like that, in every possible situation anxious to appear calm and in control. Sometimes she wished for less formality and more substance in his actions.<p>

"I hope her daughter get's here before the chopper does." Sam let her scrutinizing eyes roam the room. There were not many people appearing sympathizing with the female doctor and some were throwing angry glances her way. "I don't think," she continued worriedly, "that the others will wait for the girl."

Joe must have detected the hostile undertone in her voice, because he felt the need to come to the others defense.  
>"They're just afraid, Sam."<br>"How do you think that girl feels? She's all alone out there."  
>"We can't know that. Maybe she's at one of the refugee camps."<br>His voice sounded pacifying and Sam sensed that he wanted to avoid this discussion altogether.  
>"Still. She doesn't know anyone at those centers."<br>Joe grimaced and had the nerve to appear almost irritated.  
>"Let it go, Samantha."<br>Jep, he was definitely irritated. Irritated and obtrusively patronizing. Sam felt anger rising in her body. How dare he sit here and feel bothered when there was a girl all alone in this chaos?  
>"But we can't do nothing!"<p>

The dark haired congressman rubbed his eyes and sighed in annoyance. Abruptly some tension returned to his body as he tried to restrain the need to raise his voice.  
>"I don't know what we can do, but I know what we can't. And we can't stay here and wait for this girl. These people here are specialists and we need them in Washington. Think about it Sam, they could be our only chance to heal this. We can't throw that away for one person."<br>"We're talking about a kid here, Joe."  
>"That's not our problem!"<br>His tone was degrading and determining. It was clear that he thought that this discussion was over.

Sam didn't even look at him as she spat a riled "Fine!" She was fuming and gave into the sudden urge to move, to reduce the tension. She leaped from her place next to her fiancé and headed of a few steps deeper into the room. She tried to compose herself. Told herself, that she shouldn't interpret to much into Joe's indifferent words. Sam risked a short glance his way. He massaged his temples. He certainly didn't really mean what he said. He was just stressed, like all of them. Just because his suit fit him perfectly didn't mean that his temper was in the same condition. He was just swamped and scared. And fear made people do and say things that they wouldn't do under normal circumstances.

But still, she couldn't stop herself from feeling offended. No matter how hopeless the situation, it was wrong to let the situation paralyze you. Arms crossed over her chest, she examined the room. The mood was testy and far from compassion and directed towards the small doctor. Many of the present scientists showed off an immense amount of disinterest and tried to appear unknowing to her obvious pain. No, this mother could not count on her fellow colleagues to help her. And although Sam could understand Joe's argument, she still thought it wrong to close yourself off from the female doctors plea and justify it with the common good.

Sam drew herself to full height, braced her shoulders and prepared for the coming encounter. At the moment the female doctor and her disappeared daughter were hopelessly outnumbered and it was time to level up the balance of power. Hell-bent on supporting the desperate mother, Sam walked steadfast to the entrance area, where the major still tried to soothe the upset petite woman. But Sam didn't get the opportunity to intervene. Without warning a loud and booming voice could be heard from the floor. A few seconds later the owner of said boisterous voice came into view as he entered the small room.

The new arrival was a medium-sized man in his sixties. His gray hair and shrunken body were a clear sign for his age. Completed with a wrinkled face and age marks on the neck, he looked like a grandpa. But not like a nice one. The man wore an olive-green army uniform and the two stars on his shoulders identified him as an army general. So, no surprise that his appearance oozed the aura of a man that was used to his orders being executed without a question. This was a man that did not discuss and only tolerated his own words. His small, cold eyes wandered seeking through the room and pointedly found the major.

Major Davis, as his nameplate said, swallowed hard and saluted jaggedly.  
>"General, Sir!" greeted Davis and stood still.<br>The General didn't bother with salutations, but came straight to business.  
>"Where is the helicopter?" he barked and infinitesimally particles of salvia splat on the major's face. Davis didn't visibly react and kept his professional face.<br>"There have been some problems. We hope that the helicopter will arrive any minute."  
>The General displayed implacable fury.<br>"You hope! Do you have any idea what is going on out there?! Get on that damn radio and make sure that the pilot gets his sorry ass here. If the helicopter doesn't arrive in ten minutes, I'll make personally sure that this is your last day in the Air Force. Am I clear?!"

The female doctor's request momentarily forgotten, major Davis silently nodded.  
>"Yes, General, I'll tend to it right now." He said and left the room. In the few minutes the major was absent, the generals heavy breathing dominated the mood in the small room. The others eyed the old officer anxiously. It was apparently hard for them to see that even a seasoned army general was affected by the common amount of fear.<p>

When the major reappeared a few minutes later, with a loosened expression on his face, the mood instantly lightened up.  
>"The chopper's here."<br>Relief flooded the room. Their saving departure to Washington D.C. was really happening. But not everyone responded well.

"What about my daughter?", demanded the female doctor to know and clarified, "I won't go without my daughter!"  
>Major Davis raised his opened hands in a gesture of compassion but didn't get the chance to say something.<br>"What is this talking about your daughter?" the General asked. Despite his harsh tone, hope budded in the mother's teary eyes. Believing to have found a supporter in her matter, and on top of that someone who had high-ranking authority, she plead her cause.

The grayed man eyed the agitated woman up, then looked questioningly at the major.  
>"Am I right to assume that you have orders to get all attendants on that chopper?"<br>Davis answered with a curt nod and the general shrugged his shoulders pettily. "So, forcer her. I don't care how you do it, but this chopper will depart as planned."

The female doctor was momentarily speechless as she stomached this. Sam thought she could see tears of desperation form in her eyes. Her honest despair was so clearly to see for everyone, that Sam felt herself getting annoyed with the others indifference. Without taking the time to think about it, she marched up to the general and glared at him. _Screw the chain of command_, she thought, _this is insane. _

"With due respect, general, but I think you're wrong." Sam heard herself say and was pleased at how self-assured she sounded.  
>The eyes of the older man narrowed dangerously.<br>"What did you just say, major?" The emphasized her lower rank to show her that he was not willing to let a subordinate talk as she pleased. But Sam wasn't ready to step back now. Out of the corner of her eyes she registered two things that encouraged her further, firstly the mothers thankful eyes and secondly, Joe's startled face. His mouth hung open and gave him the look of a goldfish behind the aquarium's glass. The congressman knew his Samantha to be thoughtful, calm and seeking harmony. He had never seen her acting insubordinately and raise her voice like that. But Sam was not in the mood to think about her carrier or Joes opinion of her actions. This was about an innocent girl that was about to be sacrificed if nothing happened to prevent it.

"I said, that you can't order a mother to be forced to leave her child behind. Nothing gives you that power, not even two stars on you shoulders."  
>As soon as she had said it, Sam held her breath. She had stood up and openly challenged a superior, and it felt good.<p>

The generals eyes widened again and his face turned into a unhealthy shade of red. He bared his teeth and snarled with a menacing breath "So she stays here."  
>This said he turned again towards the sweating major und repeated his orders. "You either force her now, or she stays. I only care about that helicopter."<p>

His icy voice knifed through the fuggy air in the room and caused the emotionally charged atmosphere to discharged in angry words spoken against the petite female doctor. Apparently motivated by the generals pitiless attitude, the other scientists argued for departing immediately and leaving the mother behind if she wasn't ready to be reasonable.

Sam was stunned and stared into crowd helplessly. She had wanted to help the female doctor, but all she had achieved with her rebelliousness was to weaken the mothers position further. They were ready to leave mother and daughter behind now, without a guilty conscience. Even more so, since a two star general had approved it.

But the doctors will to combat was not broken yet. With arms akimbo she countered her colleagues stubbornly.  
>"Okay, I'll stay."<br>Again the room turned completely quiet and a few attendants gawked shocked. Obviously no one of them had believed that the woman would indeed willingly stay behind. Instead they had been so sure that she would relent to the pressure. The only one who didn't appear affected was the coldhearted general.  
>"Whatever." He commented thin-lipped and fixed the major with a deadly stare.<br>"Is the chopper ready?" Major Davis looked at the mother with remorse in his eyes.  
>"Major, I am the highest ranking officer, not her!" barked the general as he registered the major's silent apology. "Answer my question!"<br>Davis tore himself away from the female doctor and conceded.  
>"We are ready to go. The pilot has clearance for takeoff." He answered and continued with a flat voice, "Please follow me. We'll go to the landing field together."<p>

As soon as the major, closely followed by the general, had left the room the others wasted no time to follow him. In a matter of seconds the room was empty but for the crestfallen mother, her female supporter and the rightly embarrassed congressman. Joe stepped beside his fiancé, opened his mouth so say something but then decided to remain silent. He was a politician and word were his preferred weapon, even if they were empty of substance or tasted stale on his tongue, but now he was at a loss of words. As he thought of something fitting to say, he completely missed the heavy look between the two women.

Sam felt incapable to turn away from the other woman's grief-stricken eyes. In her expression lay silent gratitude and noble understanding. It was as if the woman forgave her for being inept to do more and for leaving now. While the mother may be able to forgive the blond woman, Sam wasn't as understanding towards herself. She couldn't go now. Couldn't flee and leave mother and daughter behind. It was just plain wrong.

Painful memories of her own mother fought their way to the surface again. She hadn't died immediately at the crash scene but made it to the hospital barely alive. There she laid, badly hurt, in a sterile hospital bed and had fought for her life and for a chance to come back to her beloved husband and children. Four days later, her mother had lost the battle. Sam had just been fifteen when it happened. Much too young to have really known her mother as the wonderful person she had been. But she knew one thing, her mother would have done everything to have more time with her family, but the chance had been brutally taken from her.

And now Sam was face to face with another mother that fought the same battle that her own had lost. This woman was equally despaired and strong willed to see her daughter again. Sam had been impotent to help her mother, and she still felt guilty over that. But she could help this mother.  
>She felt Joe's hand around her arm and the pressure he put on to pull her with him. Sam shook his hands off and distanced herself, emotionally and physically. She had made a decision. Sam couldn't and wouldn't leave this woman and her daughter behind.<p>

She wasn't sure if her decision war particularly brave or just plain stupid. It was probably both. She just knew that it felt right, and this was what counted. It wouldn't do her any good to flee to Washington D.C. and hate herself for it. And it was not just the bitter memories of her mother that motivated her. There was also a very stern and very familiar voice in her head. It was her father's grouchy baritone. _No matter what happens, Sammie, never lose sight of your principles._ It was the right decision.

She glanced worriedly at the confused Joe and realized that he wouldn't understand it. They were engaged and Sam knew that she had a responsibility for him and them and that it was unfair of her to break her promise like that. But there was not other way. She didn't decide against Joe and their life together, she just choose the right thing to do. Now she just had so tell him gently.

Joe must have sensed what was about to happen and grasp her both hands into his and held onto them weak-spirited.  
>"Sam?" His voice trembled with emotion.<br>"I'm so sorry, Joe. I'll stay, too."  
>In the background the female doctor's eyes turned big with astonishment.<br>"I…I don't understand." Whispered Joe, his tone fogged. He swayed like a groggy boxer.  
>Sam felt the urge to make him understand for his own sake, but the words she had were not meaningful enough. She shrugged helplessly.<br>"Because it's right." She finally murmured.  
>"But…why?"<br>Joe's question was so brutally honest and loaded with lack of understanding that it forced tears into her eyes. Strangely enough she felt sorry for him, but not for herself. She was oddly content with her decision.

A hoarse "I'm sorry." was all she could offer him, before a sob escaped her mouth. But it wasn't enough. Joe gulped clumsily and pressed a hand to his face and his trembling lips together. With his right hand he wiped his tears away as his left still clutched her hand.  
>"Please," he wailed and appealed to her love for him, "Please don't do this to us."<p>

Sam felt her emotions threatening to overwhelm her determination. She loved Joe and knew that Joe loved her. He didn't deserve it to be hurt that much by the person he loved. It would be so easy to follow him to Washington. To be safe. But how could she look at her reflection in the mirror and still believe in herself if she cracked now? No, she had to let go, completely and definitely.

Her fingers moved almost unconsciously and pulled the golden ring from her left ring finger. When Joe saw that, he turned even more pale and shook his head disbelievingly. At first he refused to take the ring back, but then he let her press the sign of their promise to each other into his hand. A heart-rending sob escaped his lips and shook his whole body.

It was so hard so see him like this, knowing that it was her who hurt him so deeply. But it would have been unfair to keep the ring. With the attempt to give him something to hold onto, Sam put her hands on his chest and adjusted his tie lovingly.  
>"You can give it back when we see each other again."<br>The proposal sounded hollow and empty in her own ears, maybe because she didn't believe it herself. Sam was quite sure that this virus would change their world drastically. It was possible that this was a final goodbye. They may never see each other again and she could tell that Joe knew this, too.

He touched his temples gingerly and staggered unsteadily. Then he turned bitter eyes on her. In an despaired act to be near her one last time Joe buried his hands in her hair and crushed her body to his. His kiss was neither passionate nor affectionate, rather desolate and salty from his tears. When he let her go again, his eyes were puffy and red.  
>"I love you and I forgive you."<p>

Joe let his eyes wander across her beautiful face one last time, then he wiped his mouth and turned around. With every step that separated them his body won back tension and dynamic. As he reached the threshold, he froze shortly and Sam almost hoped the would give her one last glance, but then he disappeared though the door and out of her life.

Standing in the room without her fiancé, Sam felt as if a big part of her energy had left her body. Doubts if her decision had been right arose. It was not too late to follow Joe. She felt herself succumbing. But again her fathers admonishing voice boomed in her head. _If you've you're your decision, stand by it._

Sam felt a soft hand on her shoulder and startled. For a short moment she had forgotten everything around her and found rare solace in her fathers voice. The petite doctor looked at her worriedly, but also grateful and admiring.  
>"You don't have to do this." She offered Sam a last way out.<br>"I know, but I want to."

The other woman perked her eyebrows and let the words sink in. She eyed Sam thoroughly, then reached her hand out. Sam seized the offered hand and drew unexpected assurance from the gesture.  
>"My name's Janet."<br>"Hi, Janet. I'm Sam."

"Sam?" asked Janet confused.  
>"Oh, yes…that's short for Samantha, but I think it's to girlie, hence Sam."<br>For the first time since the paths of the two women had intertwined, Sam and Janet could share a honest smile. It was not a hilarious or exuberant smile, but one that offered courage.  
>"Hey, Sam?"<br>"Yes, Janet?"  
>Janet paused before answering with a two words, that required no further clarification.<br>"Thank you."

End Chapter 6

I hope you liked it, and if you did, please be so kind and leave a review. I'd really like that.  
>PS: A little forecast for Chapter 7: O'Neill contemplates his little group of survivors, tries to talk to a stubborn teenage girl an discusses chocolate bars.<p>

This being said, have a nice rest of the week!

Now some words for possible German readers, so English readers can ignore this.

PPS: Ein Hallo an alle die diese Geschichte lesen und deren Muttersprache auch Deutsch ist oder die generell die deutsche Sprache besser beherrschen. Ich habe die bisherigen Kapitel auch in Deutsch und beim Durchforsten des Fanfiction Archives bemerkt dass es ja nicht wirklich viele Geschichten auf deutsch gibt, vor allen Dingen lange, so wie ich sie mag. Falls also jemand nicht so gut mit der englischen Sprache zurecht kommt oder generell Interesse daran hat die Geschichte quasi im deutschen Original zu lesen, dann teilt mir das als Review mit und ich würde das Ganze in diesem Archiv zusätzlich auf Deutsch veröffentlichen.  
>Das war es so weit von mir, schönes Wochenende euch allen.<p> 


	7. Chapter 7

Finally, next chapter. I know it takes me a lot of time to update. But this is real work for me and the first time that I write something this long in english, and not in my native tongue. So please bear with me, I'm really trying to type faster. About this chapter, it turned out way longer that I planned and contains necessary background information about the characters. I promise more action in the next chapter.

PS: Thanks to all those who typed a review. It makes me smile to know that you like this story so far. Feel free to continue !

* * *

><p>Chapter 7: Wunderbar*<p>

It was still early in the morning, but the sun was already bright and hot. Under the blue sky the cold night's air was warming quickly. The high temperatures announced an above average summer, figured O'Neill. Not really the weather you hoped for, if you knew you'd have to spent an amount of the next time outdoors. Heat would only worsen their situation and complicate necessary duties, like cooking, collecting firewood or even body hygiene. But it was still better than coldness or constant rain.

O'Neill formed a shield with his right hand and sheltered his eyes from the bright sunlight, as he let his examining sight wander around the camp. Although 'camp' might me a an overrating word for their meager compound. They'd literally just plunked down their stuff at some clearing in the woods and that was it. The centre consisted of a soot blackened spot that normally contained a campfire for cooking or boiling water. But they had decided to slacken the fire during nights as not to alert wild animals or worse yet, straying walkers. So now instead of a burning fire, the spot just housed some dying embers. Social life in the camp also concentrated around the campfire and even now the first group members gathered at the fire to eat a spartanic breakfast of canned beans. For sleeping they had set up a medium-sized green tent Hanson had found in the storage area of the truck.

At the moment they all used the green tent, but it couldn't be permanent. Jack knew that there would be trouble in the long run, if they continued this. Almost a dozen people sharing the small living space was unbearable. The first conflicts already simmered beneath the surface and made living together even harder. Which was the reason why he made a habit of sleeping outside. This way he had his space, some quiet and could watch the stars. But no way was he spending his time in that already stinky tent. Not just the lack of space and privacy was stretching everyone's nerves, they still suffered from the last day's developments. Jack thought of it as a giant mass depression, with everyone hanging around and nothing to do but waiting for the next shoe to drop.

It had been one week since the outbreak, and if you asked him, since the their world ceased to exist. Barely gotten away from Ford Carson with their lives, they'd tried to find a place within the other refugee center in the city. They tried their luck with the local high school. But that turned out to be a big, almost deadly, mistake. The city resembled apocalypse when they reached the emergency shelter. It was utter chaos, with thousands of people in panic and trying to storm the already overcrowded high school. Even the national guard had lost control and retreaded into the enclosed school buildings.

The next minutes proofed how hopeless the country's prospects really were. Seconds after the national guard's retreat, the characteristic whirling sounds of helicopters filled the air. Soon six of them crawled along the sky, slowly losing height and hovering above the high school. For a split second O'Neill had entertained the idea of rescue, but something about the scenery was not right. Following his instinct, it never failed him before, he had ordered his group to get some distance between the high school an themselves. They'd followed, not without protest, but in the end it saved their lives.

Instead eagerly anticipated rescue, the choppers brought death. Jack took a deep breath and released it slowly. It was hard and painful to think about what had happened that day in the city. It forced him to call almost everything the had worked and fought for into question. Made him realize that all those highly praised values and morals quickly lost it's worth when confronted with an intractable conflict. The choppers spent some minutes hovering dangerously above the streets, then they descended down and started shooting. Just like that. No warnings, no order to clear the area and not chance of surviving for those in the streets. Without hesitation and cold blooded the shots rained down on the defenseless victims. In a matter of minutes the streets of Colorado Springs turned into a sea of blood. It had been a butchery, a bloodbath. O'Neill would have never thought his government to be capable of such a massacre against their own people. But it had happened and was a hurtful hint for the future.

They still had no accesses to internet, cell phones or landline. No tv or radio. No way to find out about the latest developments. They were literally cut off. What happened in other cities, if there was a plan for rescue or if the government had given up on them, all that was beyond their knowledge and would stay that way. But that massacre spoke loud and clear, it was all the intel O'Neill needed to make up his mind.

There was no police, firefighters, military, ambulances or technical emergency services to bee seen. It seemed that administrative and governmental crisis management hat ceased to exist. They'd vanished and with them a great deal of population. For Jack, it completed the picture. He was convinced that this disease had reached and overwhelmed the whole country. He was no scientist and had no clue how fast this virus spread, but considering that even a tiny scratch was enough to kill and resurrect, it needed no genius to calculate that hundred thousands, maybe even millions were already infected. And really, it had been one week. If the government or military, on condition that they still existed, had found a way to fight this, there would've been some signs of activity. But nothing happened, and nothing would happen, Jack was sure. They were on their own.

His scrutinizing eyes roamed the little group of survivors. He tried to keep his gloomy thoughts to himself. The last thing they needed was the feeling that their leader was bonkers. Because that was his role now, he was the leader. Jack really had now clue how that had happened. Why they had chosen him, of all people. He suspected it was because of the uniform and the fact that Kowalski and Hanson called him 'Sir'. Of course there had been no official election or formal nomination, but he just felt it. O'Neill noticed how they watched him closely for any sign of fear, how suggestions and agreements needed his blessing before they could be executed or how some of them unobtrusively tried to stay near him. As if he could protect them. No, there hadn't been an official expression of their trust in him, it had rather been a quiet process, but he was the man now. The man to protect, delegate, guide and lead. He wasn't crazy about being in charge, but it was his responsibility and he took it seriously. They trusted him and Jack didn't want to fail them.

As Special Forces commando he'd seen, experienced and sadly done terrible things. So, over the years Jack had developed some kind of tolerance against seemingly desperate circumstances. He knew how to remain level-headed, well, more or less anyway. But the others, his new teammates so to speak, they were students, teachers and housewives. There was even an archaeologist, for gods sake! How were they supposed to cope?

This utter uncertainty about their own and the whole countries' fate and the always existent brutal fear of dying, and even worse, of dying and coming back, created a dangerous mixture of negative feelings that threatened to explode with the smallest spark. Jack was pretty sure that his experience and capabilities, not to forget his stubborn streak protesting against giving up, were the only things that kept him from running around and ripping out his hair. He was afraid too, it would be hypocritically to say otherwise, but he refused to let the fear rule his thoughts and action. O'Neill rather tried to concentrate on those things he could actively influence and control. He had no way to know what was happening right now in the rest of the country, or even the rest of the world. It was fruitless to think about it. But what he could do, was work hard for their surviving and he was determined to do everything in his might to justify the trust the others put in him.

But he couldn't do it alone. Not even with the help of Kowalski and Hanson. They would all have to work together, instead. Therefore Jack had invested some time into quiet observing and careful talking. They were still a randomly cobbled together bunch of strangers. They didn't know each other and they didn't trust each other. But if they wanted even the ghost of a chance, they would have to rely on each other. This little group of survivors had to become a real team, close knit and supportive. But the process of becoming such a team was long, hard and resided with O'Neill.

He'd done this before, building a team. It was not much different from planning a clandestine mission and pulling together a punchy team. The procedure was the same. Knowing the enemy (nasty critters), the terrain (Colorado Springs and surrounding) and the goal (surviving) was just the first step. Step two was filtering possible soldiers and finding those, whose skills, character and temper complemented each other. But opposed to planning a Special Forces mission, where he had detailed files about possible candidates, he had to do the ground work himself. The tricky thing was getting to know everything about the others, without offending them. It wasn't enough to know if they could shoot, build a fire or run fast. This was just rudimentary knowledge. What O'Neill needed to know were essential and profound details about characteristics, fundamental beliefs and inner life.

It was essential for their survival that they stuck together as a team, and not just a group of lone wolfs. The worn down cliché 'all fore one and one for all' made him grimace, but it was still very true. It was just the spirit they needed. So Jack had used the last days to watch, talk and first and foremost, to listen closely. Now, talking and conversing were not his strongest talents, but he had still managed to gain some basic knowledge.

Firstly, his eyes fell on the man that he trusted more than himself. Jack was pretty sure, if he had to witness apocalypse and man eating monsters, he'd rather do it with Kowalski having his back. It felt like he and Kowalski had always been best buddies. They'd met in basic training and became friends quickly. They possessed an equally talent to attract trouble and annoy superiors and together, they'd made their drill sergeant's job hell. More than once they'd endured extra rounds on the obstacle course together or scrubbed tanks on the weekends.

After training they'd been sent together to Kosovo and Iraq and he had also to thank Charles Kowalski for the so far best thing in his life. Without Kowalski's, admittedly less sensitive, encouragement Jack would've never spoken to Sara. He would've never met and fell in love with her and Charles would have never gotten the chance to become namesake to a little boy. His best buddy had been with him when Charlie was born and Jack thought of it as pervert irony of fate, that Kowalski had also been there when his son died.

In retrospective, O'Neill knew full and well, that he wouldn't be here now without his buddy. There hadn't been much left of him after his son's death and divorce from Sara. He'd been a wrack. Pathetic, shabby and depressive. Not exactly someone you would keep faith in and Jack had never blamed Sara for giving him up. After all, he'd given up on himself long before his ex wife had. But not Kowalski. That man was much too stubborn and most of all loyal to surrender. So good ole' Charles had done what he did best and annoyed Jack to no end with his sheer endless amount of energy and confidence. He'd screamed, encouraged and even hit him once, until O'Neill decided one morning that his life was not over yet and that he had still something left to give. Even if it was not much or very valuable. All in all, O'Neill couldn't imagine anyone that he trusted more than his buddy.

The second man in uniform was captain Jonas Hanson. He was the newest addition to the unit and had been hand-picked by both his superiors, O'Neill and Kowalski. Although he'd shown excellent performance during selection testing, his membership in Jacks Team had been on razor's edge for some time. Hanson should've made major by now and there were some black marks in his file that implied psychological problems. But Jack didn't think too highly of shrinks, doctors or any other kind of scientists for that matter. Some might think he had mighty prejudices, but he thought of it as healthy suspicion against doctors of all kind. He was unwilling to ruin someone's carrier based on an one hour examination.

Jack knew that he worked with people and not machines, his men and women were allowed to make mistakes. You couldn't get to know someone on the basis of standardized questionnaires or splashes of black paint on paper. To know someone inside out was just possible after many hours spent depending on each other during dangerous missions. Only if you had to rely on your teammates to come back home safely, did it come to light who you could reckon on and who not. Hanson hadn't gotten the chance to do that because the apocalypse got in the way. But Jack didn't hold it against him. Instead he was willing to give the man a fair chance, even if he couldn't trust him fully just yet. He trusted his skills and training, but not the man himself.

The third military member who survived the massacre of Ford Carson was Walter Harriman. O'Neill couldn't believe it himself, but he was pleasantly surprised with Harriman. The grey haired man proved to be mentally and physically more robust than expected. Walter did not just radiate a comfortable calm, but also started to organize camp life. He'd taken over managing their sparse supplies and arranged their truck's regularly maintenance. He'd even made a plan which integrated everyone in their daily chores of boiling water or gathering firewood. With doing so, Walter not just ensured their water and firewood supplies. There was also the useful side effect that everyone was occupied and had less time to think about their fears and worries. However, not everything with Walter was rosy. O'Neill was pretty sure that Harriman was afraid of him, or at least he thought he was an idiot. They rarely talked and if they did, Walter mumbled something and left even before Jack had a chance to acoustically understand what he wanted to say. So they'd come to a silent understanding of using Kowalski as negotiator. Of course this wasn't ideally, but it worked and Jack had no desire to change the status quo.

The biggest part of this little group consisted of civilians without military training of any kind. The only one whose former job resembled the soldier's skills was this ex detective. Nevertheless, Jack felt ill at ease to count on his abilities. The Shanigans, or was it Shazams? Whatever, Pete and Dana were a young couple from Denver. He'd been a former policeman, but lately he'd earned his money as a security firm's consultant. Again and again the guy bragged about his police operations, but Jack was quite sure that most of his heroic deeds were bogus or at least filigreed.

While Petrie talked way too much, his wife did the opposite. Dana talked to no one and wasn't active in other ways as well. The redheaded woman sat at the camp fire all day long and stared into the flames. It was obvious that she suffered from some kind of PTSD and was literally scared to death. To top it all, her husband encouraged her uncertainty and instability by patronizing her. He never left her side for too long and was always ready to help, or rather to seize control from her hands. But it was possible that this behavior was normal for their live together. After all, their communication seemed to follow rules that could have been established before the outbreak. When they were together, Petey went on and on and on and on while her answers never varied from gloomy 'Yes, Pete' or 'Yes, sure, Pete'. Though the others, like Tony, tried to get something else out of her, she remained withdrawn.

On first sight, Tony was no candidate to survive in the wilderness or during Armageddon. He was extremely overweight and, fittingly, a cook. Yet, he tried hard to make himself useful. His physical state kept him away from anything too strenuous. Instead he insisted on cooking for them. Although cooking was not the right word, heating up was more like it. At the moment they lived of canned ravioli and beans. Jack would've rather have a steak, but it could be worse.

While most of them began to detest their 'food' even after just a week, the young man named Jonas Quinn shoveled it in with ravenous gusto. Quinn was a machine engineering student and had earned his money as pizza delivery boy. According to his qualification, Harriman had assigned Quinn the upkeep of their truck. It was unusual to check a truck every day under normal circumstances, but Jonas understood how important the truck was for them. Without the large cargo area, they had no chance to flee together if they had to. So he checked the vehicle every day without complaints.

Though his cheerful nature helped to keep up the team spirit, Jack preferred to keep him at arm's length. It was not that he didn't like him per se, but still, Quinn was a tad to pushy for his liking. If he didn't knew better, he's say the kid thought he was a hero. Every time they he crossed Quinn's path, the young man stared at him awestruck and called him consequently 'Colonel O'Neill, Sir'. Jack expected his honorific from Kowalski and Hanson, but to hear it out of the mouth of this kid made him feel old.

Then there was Louise Astor. She'd been a teacher in an elementary school and obviously didn't now anything about cartoons, or humor. Two days ago he'd tried to crack a joke and called her Edna, but her face had remained blank. There was not much else to tell about her, but that was okay as long as she participated in their daily chores.

Sitting around the campfire was another young couple, but their dynamic varied significantly from the Shanahan's. Those two talked all of the time, but not in English. Jack supposed it was a Persian dialect of some kind, but he was no linguistic genius. The man's name was Daniel and he was the archaeologist. Not exactly the profession designed to manage the end of the world, but at least he didn't cause extra work. He'd probably met his girlfriend during a dig and she proved to be a real blessing. Because Daniel had the annoying habit to presume that everyone else shared his enthusiasm about foreign cultures. So he talked nonstop about that crazy theories of him and didn't even realize that no one really understood his reasoning. His girlfriend represented a nice buffer in this constellation. If she wouldn't spent so much time with Daniel and distracting him from bugging Jack about Egyptian gods or aliens building pyramids, he'd have to gag the talkative archeologist to a tree.

The woman herself mastered just a few words English, and yet she possessed no reservations. What Daniel didn't translate, she communicated through mime and gestures and if even that didn't work out, she just drew a picture into the ground. O'Neill hadn't really got her name, but he was pretty sure that it sounded somewhat like Sherry and he figured he wasn't so far off with his interpretation of her name, because every time he called her that, the very young woman just smiled good naturedly at him and mumbled something like 'silly'.

Last but not least in his little inventory came the youngest member of their group of survivors. It was the clever teenage girl who'd hidden herself under the truck during the downfall of Ford Carson. The girl had guts, that was sure, but Jack still worried about her. He estimated her to be about 14 to 16 years old, which rather made her a young woman, instead of a girl. Her name was Cassie and she lived in Colorado Springs, but that was all she'd told about herself.

She was extremely quiet, withdrawn and just talked if she couldn't avoid it. Cassie even managed to completely ignore Daniel's and Sherry's attempts at familiarity, and those two could be really persistent. The young couple meant well with their affords, but the young woman didn't react to it. At the same time Jack felt certain that this passivity was not her normal behavior. Every now and then some emotion crept into her stoic face, that O'Neill interpreted as streak of humor. Yesterday evening, for example, Tony had managed to inflame his shoes at the campfire and cut quite a foolish figure at extinguishing his feet. Jack would've sworn that a mischievous grin flashed over her face at that moment, but it disappeared as soon as he risked a closer look.

Usually O'Neill was not the guy to force his help onto someone else, but in this case he was ready to make an excuse. Not alone was she so very young, but also very alone. She'd already been running around alone in Ford Carson and had yet to bring up loved ones or persons close to her which could've been with her. Maybe she'd lost her family members or friends during the chaos . There was also the possibility that her family was dead by now. Jack hoped otherwise, but if he thought about it, Cassie must've thought about it too and if he knew one thing, than that she was way to young to cope with this uncertainty alone.

Another weighty reason for his interest in the girl's welfare was the fact that he could emphasize with her parents. He'd been a father too and no day went by without him remembering how it felt not to know if your own child would live or die. Jack knew exactly how her parents suffered, if they were still alive. He knew this dreadfully agonizing stadium between hope and fear. Those tormenting times hoping for the best and fearing the worst. It was like a hand around the neck, slowly and mercilessly choking him to death. If he were in their shoes right now, he'd hope for someone who'd help her.

Of course O'Neill was aware that he wasn't the ideal person to care for a teenage girl. And much less in such exceptional situation. But who could do it instead? The others were too occupied with licking their own wound's, to find the strength for helping a young and troubled woman. Besides, Jack guessed that he had already connected with Cassie on some level. After all, she'd let Jack pull her out from under the truck and trusted him enough to follow him. No, he couldn't see anyone else to shoulder the responsibility.

But how could he reach Cassie? He was good with kids, but teenagers, Jack had no experience there. Since Charlie, O'Neill had avoided the company of other people's children and therefore his contact with others narrowed down to adults. But maybe he could convert this flaw into an advantage. He indeed knew nothing about teenagers, but he knew how he'd felt as a teenager.

With 16 he'd been rebellious, defiant and hell bent on proving the whole world that he had to be taken serious. So, he maybe hadn't read the newest parenting guides, but he knew that all a teenager desired was respect and equality from adults and that, he could do. The solution was not treating Cassie like a helpless child or confused youngster, but like a an equal.

Hence he'd come up with a master plan, Jack would just need a reason to talk to her. Preferably something where he could use humor, his preferred weapon. His searching eyes eventually found a lonely wildflower that grew between green grass blades. With a shake of his head O'Neill plucked the flower. He'd had better battle plans in the future, but this had to do.

Cassie sat a few feet away, under the shadow of a tree, and plucked out innocent leaves of grass. He crossed the distance with casual steps and let himself fall ungracefully beside her. When after a few minutes of waiting she still refused to acknowledge his presence, he simply stuck the flower towards her. She could impossibly ignore the big hand with the delicate flower in her face and was forced to respond. She lifted her head and watched him uncertainly, still not taking the flower.

Because he detected a blatant question about the reason for this disturbance of her grass shredding session in her glance, he shrugged laconically and answered offhandedly.  
>"It's a flower."<br>This spartanic information was apparently not enough and she looked at him like he'd lost his mind and maybe she was right. How could one be so crazy and voluntarily talk to a moody teenager? But now that he'd started, he couldn't back down.

"And you're a woman." He tried to help Cassie along. The young woman was aware that she was missing something important here and that he man wouldn't leave until she talked to him. So she accepted her fate and narrowed her eyes suspiciously at him. It was clear that she didn't know what to think of him, but that was exactly his intention. This way he forced her to deal with someone else than herself.

It took her a few seconds until she answered equally short and crisp and in a bored tone that just teenagers could muster. "I don't get it." She said finally and Jack was more than ready to explain his line of thoughts to her. He pointed alternating at her and the flower.  
>"Well..this is a flower…you are a woman. Woman like flowers. There's no denying it, it's an intergalactic rule."<p>

This time her reaction was prompt. She grimaced in dislike and fired ill humored glances at the poor flower. Jack wondered if it was possible to inflame something with thoughts alone. Obviously Cassie wasn't amused to be integrated into such a corny cliché. Maybe she was even a little bit mad at him.

O'Neill congratulatingly clapped himself on the shoulder in his mind. His plan was working nicely. Jack would never see himself as a charmer who understood women and knew how to charm them. But he had another talent with women, he knew how to make them really furious at him. This was his great strength. On the surface it didn't make much sense, but it was still useful to him. Countless times when Sara had given him the cold shoulder, with Jack having no clue what he'd done again, this skill was the solution. He just had to make Sara furious at him again, up to the point where she would ramp and rage like a banshee, and sooner or later she'd spill the initially reason for her fury. Granted, this was maybe not the most sensitive way of managing a marital quarrel, but it worked and that was enough for him.

But as Cassie threw a rather impressively fuming glance his way, Jack felt forced to defend himself.  
>"Hey, don't shoot me! I didn't make that rule."<br>"Anyway," she squeezed out finally and brushed his hand, including the offered flower, away. "**I** don't like flowers. I really hate them."  
>"But that's the rule." Jack insisted stubbornly and showed her the flower again.<p>

She exhaled an annoyed breath, grabbed the flower and threw the little thing rudely over her shower. "I'm not an adult, so your stupid rule doesn't apply to me." Cassie hissed this words and then grinned slyly. It was obvious that she thought she'd found some kind of backdoor and had tricked him. But Jack just rubbed his hands. If she just knew. Cassie had walked straight into his trap. But it was not yet time to spring the trap, he had to play along for a few minutes longer.

He slapped a hand at his head and quoted one of his hero's. "D'oh! Now I see it. You can't be older than 10 or 12, right?"  
>If he wouldn't know that it was physically impossible, he's say there was smoke coming out of her ears now. At first he'd called her a typical girl and that offended her, now he was even calling her a child. If his master plan didn't work out, he'd land on her official shit list, that was for sure.<p>

Jack waited patiently for her answer and wanted to jubilate spontaneously when she finally did.  
>"I'm no child. I'm 16." Her voice was strained and her brows wrinkled. She looked like she was whetting her knifes internally. But now he had her where he wanted her to be. Jack drew a deep breath and started a frontal attack.<p>

"So, if you're not a child, tell me why you behave like one?" he started and continued when she remained speechless. "You're not talking, you're not taking help and you don't contribute in any other way. That's not clever, that's childish and stupid."  
>Cassie still refused to meet his inquiring eyes and stared at the ground instead. "I can take care of myself. I don't need a babysitter, I don't need anyone." She mumbled with a cold finality.<p>

"Didn't look like it on the base. I thought you'd never let go of my hand."  
>O'Neill knew that he'd struck a chord as she yanked up her head and looked squarely into his eyes. There was something vulnerable and ashamed in her posture. Jack was aware that she probably felt embarrassed about her panicked behavior at Ford Carson. He had no intention of attacking her confidence or courage, but he sensed that it was necessary to chip away at her ego a bit if he wanted her to open up. These last days had left all of them with a trauma. If you wanted to look at it pragmatically, they'd lost <strong>everything<strong> stabilizing and granted in their life. That was hard to swallow for everyone. Even more so for a lonely 16 year old. O'Neill had his fair share of traumatic experiences and seen enough hard ass soldiers break down for less, to risk Cassie making herself sick over this.

"Listen, I'm not really an example par excellence for taking help. But this ain't child's play. You'll just end up hurting yourself."  
>Cassie shrugged her shoulders unemotionally. "Who cares." Not a question, but a statement and her blank voice alarmed him. The way she talked about herself so insensitively bothered him. Something war terribly wrong here.<p>

"Hey! That's bullshit and you know it! What about your parents? I bet they're worried sick!" he warned her harshly, but instantly regretted it as her eyes watered. So, okay, he tended to get rude sometimes, but she'd surely heard worse, right?  
>"I never met my father and my mom's dead!"<br>Jack pressed his hand against his eyes in shame. He really was a royal asshole. All those things he could say, and of course he choose to bring up the absent dad and dead mom.

"Argh, shit…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…damn! I'm really bad at this. So many people died this week and…" Jack hoped his clumsy stammering wouldn't driver her further into isolation. Cassie wiped her wet face with the sleeve of her shirt and shrugged belittlingly. "It's okay. My mom died when I was 12. Long ago."  
>O'Neill disliked her resigned posture and almost reminded her that four years weren't such a long time to mourn a severe loss, but Cassie started talking again before he could.<p>

"It's not like it was a big loss, really. She wasn't a mom of the year. But I guess she did what she could…it just wasn't much."  
>Jack kept silent. She was in a flow and he didn't want to interrupt her. The girl was so quiet the whole time that she must have build up an enormous need to talk. Instead he directed his full concentration on her, signaling that he was fully listening.<p>

"My mom always liked to drink. She was in the Air Force. Then she came back from a mission and things got worse. She drank..a lot. Preferably vodka. Didn't take her long to get discharged."  
>"The Air Force didn't help you?" asked Jack and felt the rage rising. It was preposterous to leave a soldier alone with this kind of problems. Especially if little children were involved.<br>"She was dishonorable discharged. After that, no one cared. Out of sight, out of mind." Commented Cassie and resumed yanking grass. "In the end she was drunk all day. Drank away all our money. We had to live in a small trailer."

"What about friends? Family? Did no one check on you?"  
>It was still hard to understand that someone was left so utterly alone in misery. It was a no go for Jack. If one of his men or women, didn't matter which, had problems it was his job to get help. Even if said person was no longer part of his unit or even the military. Once a buddy, always a buddy. No one got left behind, that was his credo.<br>"My grandparents died in a car accident before I was born and the few friends my mom had were like her. Commitment wasn't their strong suit. Most of the time it was just my mom and me…or rather just me."

O'Neill slowly began to understand. "You took care of your mom." It was a statement, not a question but she answered nevertheless. "There was no one else. What could I have done? I didn't want to leave her…she was still my mom." Cassie added doubtful, almost as if she wanted to defend herself.  
>"I'm sure you did all your best." Jack was quick to assure.<br>The young woman snorted bitterly. "Wasn't enough."

He sensed that she wasn't finished and gave her some time to compose herself. If she needed to unburden her heard, it could only happen in her own pace. Feeling in control of the situation was important for her self esteem. Cassie swallowed hard and sped trough the rest of her story as if she wanted to get it over and done as quickly as possible.  
>"One day after school I found her passed out on the couch. When she didn't wake up I called the ambulance. They took her to the Air Force Hospital."<br>She saw his questioning glance at that and explained with a haunted voice, "They saw her dog tags and figured she still belonged to the Air Force. But it was to late. Nothing left to do. She was already dead."

The end of her upsetting story left a depressive silence between them. Jack had seen and endured a lot of dramatic crap. Life had awarded him with a sad level of expertise in this particular field. But this bitter fate was hard to top. No one should have to suffer like that. It was moments like this, when O'Neill wished he could have a few words with this phantom some called god. He'd give him or her a serious tongue lashing. As a kind, his parents insisted on him attending church, while he could've thought of better things to do on a sunny Sunday morning. He hadn't thought about those times for years. But after Charlie, the priest's words would often come back to haunt him. Words about god's grace and how he never placed a burden you couldn't handle. But that was just bullshit. It wasn't about the amount of grief you could handle, it was about whether you deserved it or not. And Cassie clearly didn't. Such christian phrases were no comfort, but mockery and cynicism in his purest form.  
>She deserved more than stale solace or gibing encouragement.<p>

Suddenly he understood why Cassie was this way. She wasn't hostile, but scared. She didn't ignore, but panicky tried to stop anyone getting close to her for the fear of losing this person again. If you had to suffer such a big loss, you'd do everything in you power to never feel like this again. He knew what he was talking about.

"What happened to you?" he probed carefully and was surprised when a big smile appeared on her face. "Then, I met Janet."  
>Jack blinked and dared to hope that at least something good had happened to this brave girl.<br>"Who's Janet?"  
>"She was a doctor at the emergency room. Janet was there when my mom died and took care of me afterwards. She became my legal guardian later so I didn't had to go into foster care."<p>

"Wow, she sure sounds like a great person."  
>"She`s the best." Affirmed Cassie and immediately afterwards her eyes started to water and her lips quivered with emotion.<br>"And now I don't even know where she is. We got separated and…What if I never see her again? She's been more like a mother to me than my own ever was. Oh god…what if she's dead? What am I going to do then?!"

She was breathing hard and erratic by this time and would start to hyperventilate soon if she didn't calm down. Without thinking too much about it, Jack reacted like only a father could. He stroked her back as gently as he could and talked soothingly to her.  
>"Hey, hey, hey...don't even go there. I'm sure she's okay. She's Air Force too, right?"<br>Cassie nodded with a big sob.  
>"So she had very good training. She knows how to take care of herself. If someone's got a chance to survive this, it's Janet. You gotta think positive, okay?"<p>

"But I don't know how." Cassie admitted brokenly, as if the whole world's burdens laid on her shoulders. Jack sighed in understanding. "I know it's hard, but it doesn't have to be. You don't have to do this on your own. You can trust me."  
>She understood his intention, but couldn't summon the strength do believe him. A still wary glance met his encouraging one. Silence spread between them.<p>

Jack stifled the urge to run his fingers trough his hair in frustration. Cassie was really a hard nut to crack. Maybe it was time to rethink this strategy. Plan A, making her realize that she needed to trust someone, was about to fail. It was time for plan B.  
>"Okay," he broke the silence, "How about a deal?"<br>Cassie answered his innocent sounding question with question marks in her eyes. Certainly, it was hard for her to imagine that she had something to offer, because a deal was usually an exchange relationship. You gave something and got something in return with appropriate counter value.

"What kind of deal?" she wanted to know eventually and wiped her tears away. Although there was still some doubt in her face, she also looked curious.

"Well, these are dangerous times," he started and saw her nod slightly in agreement, "I could use someone backing me up." Explained Jack and waited intently for her response. Cassie's poker face, which was rather impressive for a 16 year old, remained intact but she risked a confused look at Hanson and Kowalski. She obviously couldn't understand why he wanted her help, when he had two of his men with him. O'Neill brushed her quiet query away with a airy movement of his hand and tsked. "I know what you're thinking. Kowalski's my buddy and I picked Hanson myself, but they're both soldiers, you know what I mean?"  
>A blank stare met him, she clearly didn't understand.<br>"They have a certain way to think, to look at things…you know…well, like a soldier. But I could use some insight of another kind. Whaddaya say? I've got your back and you've got mine. We've got a deal?"

Jack held his breath while she mulled this over. _Moment of truth now_, thought O'Neill and waited. Cassie had to ultimately decide now if she wanted to take a step towards or away from him. Her face was like an open book now and he could literally read as she pondered his suggestion. She bit her lip contemplatively and wrinkled her forehead. She looked ten years older suddenly and Jack found himself thinking that it didn't suit her.

Abruptly her eyes cleared and determination flared up. "Okay, I'll do it." She declared in such a casually manner, that he almost missed it. But as Jack realized that she'd accepted his deal, plan B always worked, the wanted to rejoice. He'd finally gotten through her thick teenager skull. O'Neill neither wanted to patronize her, nor boss her around. But they both knew that she couldn't make it alone. She needed someone taking care of her, even if it was just a tiny little bit. At the same time Jack understood while Cassie hesitated. She'd had to grow up too fast, taking care of herself and her drunken mother at a too young age, while her peers played hike and seek. Long years, there had been just one person she could really trust, namely herself. This was her defensive mechanism and now that she had lost her adoptive mother too, she resorted to it and clammed up.

Their deal as equals gave her the option to accept help without loosing her independence. She wouldn't trust him because she was weak, but because it was part of the deal. It seemed like a good solution and Jack was rather proud that he'd come up with it.

He expressed his gratefulness with a grin and clapped his hands. "Sweet! Gimme' a high five!"  
>His next gesture gave her a little foretaste what she had to expect from him in the future. It wasn't easy to deal with a teenager, sure, but handling a Jack O'Neill was no cakewalk either.<br>He cheerfully spit in his right hand and held it out to her invitingly. At first she grimaced repulsed and hesitated. But then something like humor flashed over her face and she grinned knowingly. Resolutely she spit on her hand too and met his offered one with a firm handshake.

They shook hands for a few seconds and tried to outdo the other one with composure about the yucky feeling of spittle squishing between their hands. Afterwards, Jack had to stifle a grin when he caught her wiping her hand a little too unobtrusively on her pants. But he didn't call her on it. Enough of hurtful truths now, time for some fun.

O'Neill stretched his long legs and rested his head in his hands, leaning relaxed against the tree behind him. Beside him, Cassie mirrored his relaxation. It was nice to see that she already felt save enough with him to drop some of her tension.  
>"By the way," he started casually, "I forgot about the most important part of our deal."<br>"What's that?" she wanted to know and threw him a curious glance.  
>"Okay, listen. We'll not only have each other's back. We'll also share."<p>

Cassie thought about this and eyed herself skeptically. The clothes she wore were the same she'd put on that fateful morning when the outbreak happened. She literally had nothing else. Nothing she could share, which was why she didn't understand what O'Neill was smiling about amused.

"You know, useful stuff like socks, caps, matches…a yoyo…"  
>"A yoyo?!" she burst out with lack of understanding. She eyed him as if he'd lost his mind, but Jack ignored her dubious eyes and continued unfazed, as if was the most natural thing in the world to ask about a yoyo now. "Yah sure, got one?"<br>"No! Where am I supposed to have one? I can hardly pull it out of a hat." She answered miffed and stubbornly crossed her arms. O'Neill couldn't stop smiling, it was obvious that Cassie though he was pulling her leg.

"Okay, okay…I got it. No yoyo. Pity. What about chocolate?"  
>Cassie exploded with laughter and turned her pockets inside out meaningfully. "Sorry, no sweets. Should've chosen someone else for your deal." But Jack saw no reason to regret his business partner. He had a solution for that problem.<br>"Ack! No problemo, I'm ready to supply."

The young woman watched him like a hawk as he rummaged trough his jacket pocket. She was in for a surprise when he finally presented a chocolate bar in yellow wrapping. "Ta ta! Whaddaya say now?" He pointed the bar at her eagerly. If he couldn't win her over completely with this, he didn't now what else to try. But his worries unfounded.

When Cassie recognized the brand of the bar, she lost any restraint. With enthusiasm that only someone this young can muster, she shrieked delightedly and whipped the bar out of his hands.  
>"Oh, wow! A wunderbar*! That's my absolutely favorite chocolate bar!" she heralded in the thrill of anticipation. Jack felt a crooked smile on his face. Maybe they had more in common than being lost in the woods together. "Mine too. Best chocolate in the word." He agreed with her and carried forward, "There's nothing better than this. Anyone who says otherwise, is just nuts."<br>"I know. Lots of people think peanut butter and caramel don't fit. But hey," she snorted her disagreement, "the combination is pretty awesome."  
>"That's exactly what I'm saying." Jack declared and asked with childish eagerness, "So, wanna share?"<br>Cassie nodded, "Yes please."

Using his trustworthy swiss army knife, he cut the bar in two equally sized pieces and made a big show of measuring both as if he was terribly afraid of getting the smaller one. Jack was rewarded with her toothy smile for his comedic interlude.

As soon as Cassie got her piece, it was stuffed into her mouth in record time. She sighted delightfully and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like "hevnly." Jack savored his portion of the best chocolate bar in the whole wide world in the same manner. While he chewed indulgingly, he wondered about their weird pact. Other people cut their hands and became blood brothers. They cut chocolate and were chocolate buddies. He liked the sound of it.

As the last part of the stick candy was swallowed, they simultaneously liked their fingers and wore the same dopey happy look on their faces. Daniel choose this moment to pass by. He carried some dirty mess kits and was probably on his way to their impromptu sink. As he noticed their smug smirks, he stopped dead in his tracks and eyed them puzzled for some time. They stared back. Then Daniel adjusted his glasses and shook his head in astonishment before he continued his way.  
>Jack and Cassie couldn't suppress their laughter at Daniel's confusion. To top it all, the poor archeologist heard their sniggering and turned around again. With inquiring eyes the younger man tried to assess if the amusement was directed at him or not. Jack acknowledged Daniels investigation with a nonchalantly wave and a dry look on his face. Beside him Cassie pressed her hands on her mouth to avert roaring with laughter. Daniel probably didn't feel to good right now, but his flabbergasted face was just to funny.<p>

As they'd managed to calm down again, Cassie leaned comparatively towards him and commented in a whisper: "He's a nice guy, but a little nerdy too."  
>"Ain't that dern-tootin' right?" Jack panted and offered her his hand for a approving high five, which she accepted eagerly. Afterwards, it was O'Neill's time to sound plotting.<br>"So, whaddaya think of those other folks?"

For the next hour or so Jack let her almost carefree chatter wash over him and allowed his mind to wander. He knew that he felt way too relaxed right now, given their hopeless situation. It was quite possible that their civilization was destroyed and replaced with an army of brain dead cannibals. He was stuck with a group of untrained strangers and a bagful of responsibility he didn't want. And the worst of all, he had no clue what to do, besides living from day to day and hanging on. But strangely, it didn't trouble him much at the moment. When he cast a glance at the young woman beside him, now sounding more like a teenager and less like a desperate recluse, it gave him a good feeling of having mastered this day. And that counted for something.

* * *

><p>PPS: About 'wunderbar'*<br>I just realized this small mistake as I finished this chapter. Said chocolate bar is called 'wunderbar' in germany, but apparently is known elsewhere as 'star-bar'. But I don't want to /can't change it. I choose this title and chocolate bar because it's a wordplay. Wunderbar is german and means something like wonderful, terrific or marvelous. But it's ironic, because their situation is anything but 'wunderbar'. Besides, I felt like O'Neill needed some kind of catalyst to break the ice with Cassie and since there was no cake, I choose this particular chocolate bar. So much for an explanation.

I hope you liked this chapter. Have a nice day….


	8. Chapter 8

So, here comes the next chapter. Again, sorry for the delay, but I just couldn't stop writing.

Chapter 8: Days gone by

Her eyes were practically fixed at the wall clock. There was nothing more to do, than watching the time go by. Crouched on the gray floor, handcuffed to Janet Fraiser, she could do nothing else but watching, doubting, worrying, hoping and criticizing herself. She should have actually known that something like this would happen. Those few times she'd acted spontaneously in her life, it had gone awry. Some people could do it. Being spontaneous, improvising and in the end, against all odds, land on ones feet. But Sam Carter was the last person to belong to this exquisite group. She didn't work that way. Quite the contrary. She relied on and felt more confident if she thought things trough before acting. Every possible opportunity for action, including side-effects, every nuance had to be considered extensively.

If she didn't proceed this way, everything went wrong. Just like the moment Joe had left the room and boarded the helicopter. What happened afterwards, was the reason for their lousy situation and it was solely her fault. She hadn't thought, but just acted on impulse. At that point of time Janet Fraiser had been worried dead for her daughter and not been able to think straight. Thereby the responsibility had been on her shoulders alone. And she'd failed.

* * *

><p>-Flashback-<p>

After Joe was gone both women remained silent, knowing that there was no time to deal with being left behind. What now? The purpose of their resistance was to find that girl. But how, when and where? Should they go right now, or should they wait until the turmoil in the city and region had cooled down? Was it wise to go on their own, or would they need help? And, most importantly, where should they start their search? Everyone and everything was so confusing, that this girl could literally be everywhere. In the city, her school, some refugee center, at a military base, jammed at one of the clogged highways or even at home. So many possibilities and variables. Carter doubted that they'd have the time to check off every option. The problem was basically not that the people felt the need to flee, but that they didn't know where to.

In the absence of useful information, they had then set the goal to leave the building to find a set of wheels and hopefully a speedy drivable access road into the city. Together they had rushed through the seemingly vacated corridors and only stopped when Janet had determinedly flung open the door to the outside. She, understandably, felt very certain about their plan. She was so set on finding her daughter, that the flaws of their so called plan carried no weight at all.

In front of the administration building they saw a disorder bordering on anarchy. Normally, an Air Force base was a model of discipline, rule and order. Basically it was like a giant anthill, a composition of norms, planning and structure. But at this time, nothing of this was to be seen. Instead, both uniformed and civilian staff, were running around confused and wild. Nobody was interested in orders and instructions.

The last incentive to utter mess was a loud bang. Somewhere a few miles away, something had exploded. Carter was looking for a clue in the sky and spotted a slowly rising cloud of smoke. Involuntarily she sighed with relief. Whatever was burning, it was definitely in opposite direction to the city center.

But that was the only good thing you could say about the explosion. On the base, the dark smoke let every last bit of control disappear completely. Everyone was in a hurry just to get away. Carter and Fraiser were rooted to the ground for a moment, not knowing how to react to the situation. An uniformed man hurried past them impetuously, bumping into Fraiser with his elbows and leaving a bruise on her ribs. That was all Sam needed to break out of her immobility.

"Lieutenant! Come back here!" She called after the man when she had deciphered his rank insignia. First, the man went on and ignored them, but when he heard his rank, he paused glancing over his shoulder warily. His eyes fell on Carter's golden oak leaf and his shoulders tensed as he realized, that he could not just leave and disregard a superior officer.

Reluctantly he jogged the few feet back and came to a halt in front of the two women. He stared over Carter's shoulder as if he expected a tongue-lashing. But Sam had nothing like that in mind. While she was in fact his superior officer, she had to admit to herself that she had also lost control over the situation. She was just as disoriented as everyone else here. Addressing reproaches to the Lieutenant for something she herself didn't know how to deal with, would be highly unfair. She simply wanted some information.

"What's going on?" She came straight to the point. The man wiped a layer of sweat from his forehead and glanced worriedly over his shoulder. Almost as if he was expecting an ambush every moment. "We lost contact with the other military bases about 10 minutes ago. The last thing we did hear was a distress call from Ford Carson." He began and then continued in a hoarse voice. "They have been conquered. Ford Carson is lost."

Carter frowned and tried to understand the meaning behind the Lieutenant's words. Ford Carson was the largest military base in the area. It was maintained by the Army and housed some well-trained special forces. To imagine that something so dramatic had happened there, was hard. Even more because she knew that Ford Carson accommodated a considerable amount of refugees.

"What do you mean, conquered? By whom?" Inwardly, she knew that it had to be connected to the virus, but her brain still baulked at the idea of linking this war-like state to the outbreak of this illness. No way would've she expected that a disease could manage to throw the entire country into total chaos.

"They did it. These things! They're like ... "he trailed off, searching for the right word as he suspiciously looked over his shoulder towards the central parking lot and squinting his eyes. Apparently, he was in a hurry to get out of here. "... grasshoppers!" He ended his thoughts and finally added gloomily, "It won't take them long to get here too. I just want to get away as fast as possible."

The urgency of his words was underlined by his unmistakable nervousness. He hooved back and forth impatiently, wringing his hands tensely. "Please, ma'am." He begged, but Fraiser was not ready to let the man go. So far she had stayed in the background, but now she sensed a hint of her daughter's possible whereabouts.  
>"Where you want to go?" She asked, hoping for a useful information. The man didn't disappoint her. "I'm going home to get my wife. Then we'll drive to the city center. The National Guard established a safe zone. I want to be there before they close it off. "<p>

Fraiser looked excitedly at Carter. How high was the possibility that her daughter was also there? Not significantly higher than the chance of her being anywhere else. But it was their only tangible clue. Maybe they had some kind of list of all refugees there, perhaps they could even tell her where her daughter was. Carter cocked her head and thought about it. It was worth a try.

"Can I go now, please?" The Lieutenant interrupted their silent dialogue. Fraiser shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly , leaving the decision to Carter. It wasn't an easy one. On the one hand, it would be wise to join forces. On the other hand, they might not have the time for a detour to the Lieutenant's home. Sam knew how these things went. The martial law had been imposed and the National Guard cordoned off an entire city. Everyone would now try to go there, looking for shelter and help. This would result in congested roads, overcrowding and riots. It wouldn't take long before the safe zone was full and closed off for the fear of outrages.

Carter looked the man straight in the eyes and nodded. "Good luck Lieutenant." The man was so relieved that he almost slumped to the ground, then he returned the greeting and rushed off into the opposite direction. A moment later, the two women began to move, too. They started in a light jog, but soon they felt infected with the general pressure and fell into a sprint.

Sam glanced at the other woman. She ran by her side and her white doctor's coat flapped in the draft. Her features were hardened, but determined and Sam felt a little confidence return into her. Perhaps their search would indeed be easier than expected. Maybe the girl had really made it safely into the city, into this safe zone. And maybe they would not only get that disease under control soon, but also solve this chaos without harming any more people.

They rounded the fences that separated the parking lot from the rest of the base and came to a halt as they stared at the flood of cars there. People ran around and there was loud honking as the cars piled up in front of the already too small exit. Both had been brought here by the Air Force and thus none of the vehicles parked here was theirs. While it would be easy for Sam to short-circuit one of the cars, it was again a matter of conscience, like so many choices these last few hours. Because stealing one car for themselves meant their escape, but also robbed the real owner of his or hers chance for flight.

They encountered another man who, much to their amazement, moved against the general stream and was in a hurry had to return to the base. He had his hat pulled low into his face and remained rooted to the spot when he looked directly at the two women, recognizing them. Carter and Fraiser knew the man, too. It was an airman that had assisted major Davis for a few hours during the evacuation.

He stood perplexed in front of them.  
>"Major, doctor, what are you doing here? Why are you not with the others?"<br>Carter indicated with a silent gesture that Janet should answer this question.  
>"We're looking for my daughter."<br>The man knew, of course, about the disappearance of the doctor's kid, but he would have never thought that the small woman would carry out her threat and refuse evacuation. Even more so that she was not alone, but had found someone who was willing to help her.

"We're going into the city." Clarified Fraiser, watching along with Carter as the man's facial features derailed.  
>"The city?" He panted and shook his head jerkily. "No no no. You can't do that. It's too dangerous. " He retorted, grabbing Fraiser's sleeve and trying to pull her along, but the doctor shook the man's hand off roughly. The airman regarded her doubtfully.<br>"You need to come with me. Both of you." He argued and tried again to grab the stubborn doctor's arm. But she avoided his grasp and put her hands resolutely on his hips.  
>"I won't. I'm going to get a car and than I'll search for my daughter. In the city." Fraiser made that unmistakably clear. The man took off his cap and ran a nervous hand through his close-cropped hair. "That's not a good idea. What do you think will happen, when hundreds or even thousands try to get into this safe zone? This zone will be anything, but not safe. "<br>"I need to find my daughter." Insisted Janet again. She was not ready to give in.

The man took a step towards them and gestured wildly. "And where do you start? You can't even know if your daughter is still alive."  
>The question was completely justified, but absolutely insensitive and the airman earned himself a resounding slap in the face. While the skin of his cheek immediately started to glow red, Fraiser looked threateningly at him.<br>"Don't you dare to say such a thing again. My daughter is alive. I know it, I feel it."  
>The man held his burning cheek, not surrendering.<br>"And what use are you for this kid when you're trampled to death before you even see this safe zone?" He clarified and Carter had to admit that he had a point. They didn't know what was going on exactly. How much of the panic had spread across the entire region, into the city or the streets, let alone whether there even was someone who was responsible and who they could ask for help. The rational part of her brain spoke up vehemently and appealed urgently not to run unprepared into a dead end.

"What do you suggest?" She wanted to know from the airman and put a calming hand on Fraiser's arm. There was no use in quarreling or starting to panic. Logic and order would serve them better than impulsive action. The man thought for a moment and then raised his hands soothingly, because he feared the doctor's renewed resistance.  
>"Over there," he pointed to one of the smaller buildings with multiple antennas sticking out of the roof, "we have a radio unit. You should first try to contact the National Guard and ask about the state of things before you go."<br>Carter frowned in confusion. "I thought the radio network is overloaded?" At least that had been her latest information. After all, it had been nearly impossible for major Davis to contact the pilot of the helicopter or his superior officer for hours.

The man in front of them glanced at the floor before he answered. "It was. But only briefly. We've been able to send and receive again for about a hour, now."

"Just like that? How could this happen so quickly?" pressed Carter.

"Do you want to stand around here all day and discuss wireless technology with me, or try to find this girl?" The Airman added a quiet 'major ' when he realized how soggy his statement sounded.

Carter and Fraiser exchanged a few deliberating glances, each of them internally busy considering the pros and cons of following the airman. Janet was fed up with waiting, she wanted to do something. For nearly 12 hours she had been put off, always with the feeling that no one really cared. She was tired of waiting and shook her head negatively. Sam could understand her reaction perfectly. A good mother was ready to do anything for her children. Ready to risk her own life if there was only the slightest chance to help the own child. But that also made her prone to impulsive kneejerk reactions. Right now she was high on adrenaline and it was Carter's job to keep them balanced with her logic, offering an antipole to the doctor's emotional chaos.

She cocked her head and looked at the other woman intently.  
>"If we could contact a person in charge, that would be a great advantage. Maybe your daughter left a trace somewhere or has been registered in one of the refugee centers. If we go now, without a lead, we might end up further away from your daughter." Sam pointed out.<p>

"If we'd invest just five minutes, it could get us much further than spending hours searching everywhere." She added, trying to gain some control and structure over their situation. Fraiser's petrified face slowly cracked, as the argument of the blonde woman made itself heard in her mind. Finally Janet agreed, although not completely convinced, with a curt nod.

"Five minutes, then we're out of here." She insisted, again pointing out that she was not ready to accept any further delays. "Five minutes. I promise." Confirmed Sam, signaling the airman with a gesture that he should lead the way.

The man began to move right away and jogged towards the building with the antennas. Again, they had to move against the flow, as most only wanted to get away from the complex. This got them a few bruises, but with all the adrenaline in their veins the pain went unnoticed. The airman stopped in front of the entry door, looked around conspiratorially and fished for the right key in his key ring. By the time he found it, his hands were shaking so much that he had to take a moment before he could open the door.

He gestured with his right hand along the empty corridor and towards the gray metal door at the end. "The radio unit is right there, on the lower floor. Through that door, and then down the stairs. But be careful, the light's busted." He took the lead again, but threw them a suspicious glance, as if he expected an attempt to escape anytime.

The metal door creaked as if it was no longer in use and in fact, the space behind was pitch black. The man pulled out a small flashlight, but the dim light was just bright enough that they could see the next two or three steps. Sam and Janet followed him, orienting themselves towards the dim light and feeling their way in the dark using the cold wall like a handrail. Downstairs, the Airman clenched the small flashlight between his teeth and began to work on another door. A ponderous groan rang out and Carter recognized the material by it's sound. It was definitely a heavy iron door. While her brain still wondered why someone would secure a radio room with a heavy iron door, the man pushed both women through said door and into an also pitch black room. Immediately, the musty-oily smells attacked her nose and her pulse quickened. She knew that smell from somewhere. It was familiar in a strange way and at the same time made her skin crawl… Now she knew! It smelled of concrete and steel ... just like in a ...

Sam held her breath startled and whirled around in the darkness, towards direction in which she assumed the front door. But it was already too late. With a creak, the heavy door slammed shut and the grinding noise that followed implied that a lock was used. A moment later it beeped a few times and the numbers of an electronic combination lock shone briefly.

"Airman! Lights, right now! "She ordered in an authoritarian tone that she rarely used because it made her sound like her father and she hated that. In response, two latticed lights on the ceiling flickered to life and the room was enveloped in a cold light. The man stood in front of her and was wise enough at least to appear as if he regretted it. Sam and Janet looked around frantically. Saw the bare, windowless, gray walls. The heavy iron door with the combination lock. The metal shelves which stored supplies packaged in shiny cellophane. The dusty bunks and gas masks. Carter spun around again and stared at the man with an angry look. There was no doubt, he had not led them to the radio system, but into a bunker.

"I'm sorry, major. I saw no other way to keep you safe. You wouldn't have come with me otherwise." The man finally justified, but didn't sound too conscience-stricken. Carter, however, had no desire to stay there longer than necessary and certainly no patience to deal with the man's flimsy reasons. Next to her Fraiser nourished apparently similar hostile thoughts, because her whole body tensed.

"Airman, open the door. Immediately." Ordered Sam and her eyes sparkled angrily. The man swallowed hard. It was really very rare that somebody brought Sam Carter to the point where she was willing to use physical violence. But this was one of those seldom moments. The man had intentionally deceived two direct superiors. Worse for Sam was the fact that she had been so stupid to fall for it. Of course she had noticed the man's jumpy behavior, but she had pushed it away as a simple response to the general confusion. Now she was smarter, but that didn't necessarily consoled her.

The man took a small step backwards and stood at attention, almost as if he hoped to cushion the blow of his next words. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't. "  
>"That was not a request but an order." Growled Sam and had to make an effort so she wouldn't lose her composure completely. Not only the feeling of being trapped, but also the knowledge that her own naivety had made her willingly walk into it was gnawing hard on her self confidence. Her father had not educated her to be so stupid and he would be ashamed if he knew how she had not just gotten herself into this trouble, but Janet Fraiser too.<p>

"You don't listen. Even if I wanted, it won't work. This is an automatic lock. When the lock code is entered, it can be re-opened exclusively after a period of time."  
>Carter was angry and a breathing heavy as she ran her fingers through the long blond hair. She knew what that meant, but wasn't ready to accept.<br>"You mean, we can't open the door from inside?"  
>"Right, that's not possible. This is a bunker in case of an attack with NBC weapons. The programmed time span is intended to prevent people opening the door too soon."<p>

Enraged she walked up and down a few steps, dreading Janet's eyes. She didn't want to see the accusation in them. After all, she had convinced the other woman to come here. It was her fault alone. Her brain searched desperately for a way out. But if the door really wasn't build to open before the end of the period, there was not much she could do. Suddenly she felt very tired and rubbed her burning eyes.

"How long?"

The man bit his lower lip and Janet sighed distressed when he remained silent.  
>"I asked you a question. How long until we can open the door?" Repeated Sam and looked the airman directly into the eyes. He answered with a hoarse whisper and they almost didn't understand him.<br>"A month."

No sooner than he uttered the shocking truth, he had to fend off an angry Fraiser who attacked the man with fury, "You bastard! You had no right!" She shouted, hitting every bit of his body she could reach with her fists, trying to inflict as much damage as possible. But the airman was physically stronger, grabbed her by the shoulders and threw Janet roughly to the ground. Carter reached out a helping hand out and pulled her up again, then marched resolutely to the door. Her trained fingers felt attentively around the edges of the electrical combination lock.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Demanded the airman to know and took a threatening step towards her. Sam raised an admonishing finger and the man stopped in mid-motion.  
>"I'll try to manipulate the lock. If you interfere, I will personally ensure that you spend the rest of your career behind bars, have I made myself clear?"<br>It was a bold poker. As fast as the situation had developed after the outbreak of the virus, there was no guarantee to know that the structures still existed which allowed her to insist on her higher rank. But her threat seemed to work. For now. The man raised his hands and walked away again. However, the peace was not of long continuance. Sam had just managed to take the cover off the combination lock, when she heard a telltalecracking sound behind her. The sound of someone cocking up a gun.

"I'm really sorry ma'am, but I can't let that happen."  
>Carter froze in her movement and slowly turned around. As expected the man stood in front of her, pointing a gun threateningly at her. Behind him Janet leaned on the racks, her eyes wide with shock. Sam felt like kicking herself. <em>Stuip, stupid, stupid!<em> Not only had she failed to interpret the man's dubious state of mind correctly, but she had apparently also lost her wits in the haste and missed that the man was still carrying his service weapon, while Fraiser and her were completely unarmed.

"Stay calm, Airman, we can talk about it."

She tried to calm him, knowing full and well that they were at his mercy now. She tried to take a step towards him, but stopped as she watched how his finger moved dangerously on the trigger. Normally, she would try to disarm the man. Yes, he was bigger and heavier, but also seemed mentally stricken. Surely he would not be able to react as quickly as usual. In addition, her close combat skills were excellent. One of the few things for which she was truly grateful to her father. He had bee the best teacher. But at that moment she was afraid to launch an attack.

On the one hand the man seemed extremely nervous and it would not take much to motivate him to pull the trigger. In addition, the narrow space provided too little room for offensive or even evasive maneuvers. Plus, she had to consider the presence of Janet which complicated the situation further. If she wrestled with the man for the gun, she risked Janet or herself getting shot. The risk of a dangerous gunshot wound, without the opportunity for adequate treatment was just too big. So she had no other choice than observing the man very closely and waiting for a sign of carelessness, acting as harmless as possible in the meantime. But instead of accepting her suggestion, he threw her a pair of handcuffs. Instinctively she caught the metal and held it inquiringly in her hands. A sense of foreboding traveled trough her body.

"What now?"  
>"Chain yourself to the doctor. What are you waiting for? Now!" Barked the man and with every moment he was in control, his confidence seemed to grow. He obviously enjoyed that he was the one giving orders now. Sam hesitated, trying desperately to find a way out, but the airman didn't give her enough time.<br>"Now! I swear to God, I'll shoot you."  
>Carter believed him. Not necessarily because he had a gun, but because she could see the naked fear in his eyes. People who felt that kind of scared were capable of everything.<br>"Okay, okay." reassured Carter. She made sure that her movements were gently and slowly when she first cuffed Janet, and then herself. She avoided looking the other woman in the eyes, she felt too ashamed about her big mistake.

"Sit down." He instructed and relaxed, now that here was no danger to be expected of the two women. He sat wearily on one of the bunks and leaned his head against the wall exhaustedly. Beside Carter, Janet clenched her hands into fists to relieve some tension. Her features were strained with anguish.  
>"What now?" She finally squeezed out.<br>The man scratched his head with his hand and shrugged. "We wait."  
>"And what are we waiting for?" Again Janet.<br>She sounded awfully tense, almost as if every breath was strenuous.  
>"That somebody out there get's the matter under control."<br>"Is that realistic?"

The airman perked his eyebrows in annoyance. Apparently he didn't like the direction of the conversation.  
>"I don't care whether it's realistic or not. I know only one thing, now way in hell am I going out here again. Everyone who does, dies." He announced, and did not even flinch slightly when he saw Janet understanding his comment's implication for her daughter's fate. She winced as if she had been beaten. But then some compassion and decency fluttered across his face. He rubbed his temples and sighed with regret.<br>"I know that sucks. And I'm sorry for your daughter, really. But you have to accept the fact that she is probably dead. If we go out there, we'll just end up the same way. So, at least we have a chance."

Janet pressed her eyes together and turned her head. The first bitter tears made their way down her face and Carter felt incredibly sorry that the doctor didn't even have some privacy to shed her tears. Instead she had to expose her grief to this coward.

"We'll have to get out of here at some point. You can't hide in here forever." Sam replied instead. But the man didn't respond and ignored her pessimistic comment as if she never had said it.

-End of Flashback-

* * *

><p>Nearly a month had passed since and the only thing Carter had to sufficiency, was time. To think, mainly. And to kick herself for this mess. It was all her fault. She was used to people boasting her for her sharp intellect and then all it took was a simple trick to fool her. She probably had spent too many years behind her desk. Her active time in Afghanistan* was a long time ago. Apparently, her instinct had suffered more than she would've expected. The comfortable life behind a computer screen had done her no good, and she had to learn it painfully.<p>

The worst of all was watching Janet suffer. Someone who didn't knew her would think that she held up well, but Sam had spent nearly one month within her presence and knew better. Under other circumstances, they would most likely have become good friends. But Carter doubted that Janet could forgive her that she had destroyed all hopes of searching and finding her daughter. Although the doctor might put on her stoic mask and tried to distance herself emotionally, deep inside she suffered. Her mood only brightened briefly when she talked about her daughter. Sam's respect and admiration for this woman grew each time she talked about Cassie.

Who so unconditionally supported another human being, a traumatized and withdrawn young girl non the less and regardless of the impact on her own live, deserved nothing more than her admiration. Whenever Janet talked about the girl that was not her biological child but that she still loved more that anyone else, Carter could hear that the doctor had not given up hope and it only accentuated her admiration. Fraiser was able, against all odds, to love another person so much that she clung to the hope of a reunion, even if it meant that she only suffered even more. Because letting go, would be so much easier. But instead she kept hoping, staring at the door and waiting for that damn month to end and the door to open.

But what then? When the door opened? What should they expect? It was impossible to predict how the situation had developed in the meantime. But the fact that no one had come to free them, spoke volumes. Maybe there was no one? All dead, or worse, infected. Carter shook her head at herself and her wild thoughts. The United States had about 318 million residents. It was practically impossible that a country with so many resources couldn't beat a virus, even if they had been caught so unprepared. It was just...not plausible. And she should know it, because she had lots of time to calculate it. Probability calculation was the magic word. It was more likely that the government had managed the crisis. Maybe they were still busy cleaning up the mess and simply had not yet reached Colorado Springs? It was possible, it was probable, but it still provided no confidence. Some anonymous voice in her head told her that this was just the beginning of a disaster on an unprecedented scale.

Perhaps they had to accept it. Perhaps it was nothing more than another step in the evolutionary chain. A disaster destroyed all human life on earth, clearing the way for a new, more vigorous and resistant life form. Evolution was the keyword. Why should they be better off than the dinosaurs millions of years ago?

Almost as bad as the uncertainty about what happened outside, was the fragile mood in the bunker. The airman, his name was Gregory Milgram, showed serious signs of paranoia. She was not that kind of a doctor, but she saw her presumption mirrored in Janet's serious expression. One would have thought that his increasingly unstable condition would have given them an opportunity to free themselves, but ironically his paranoia gave him an advantage. He was extremely suspicious and cautious. The two women were not just chained to each other, but also under observation all of the time. When he wanted to sleep, he just chained them to a bunk so they couldn't possibly move without alerting him.

This fact made it impossible to try to overpower the man. He also still had the gun and he was not stingy with throwing it into their faces, showing them that he was the boss. But now, also the physical side effects of their confinement started to appear slowly. The artificial light have her a headache. Since they were practically just lying around, her muscles like jello and the stuffy air made her feel dizzy. Judging from Janet's and Milgram's pale faces, they were not much better off and in Milgram's case, it also added to his confusion.

For that reason alone, Sam couldn't wait for the door to finally open again. Although she had no calendar and no daylight to estimate a normal day-night cycle, she had a wristwatch with date display and this proved to be her greatest treasure. Every time the black figures on the display changed and indicated the dawn of another day, it was a big motivation. Only 35 more days 33, 24, 19, 12, 5, 3, 2, 1 ... and now only a few hours left. She found it hard to concentrate, which was why she didn't remember the exact time they had been locked up in the bunker. But certainly, the door would open today. Despite the uncertainty, she could hardly wait. No matter what kind of world would meet them outside, she couldn't stand being jailed any longer.

She glanced at Milgram, trying to assess his current state of mind. He was moody, daily alternating between euphoria and desperation. For several days Sam and Janet had pondered how they could convince the paranoid man to leave the bunker when the door opened. After all, he had locked them up in because he was afraid to stay outside.

They could of course try to overwhelm him, but the lack of natural light, the stale air, the insufficient emergency rations and lack of movement had left marks. Sam felt weak and tired out. Janet had assured her that it was a side effect of their enforced protective custody and that it would go away as soon as they could leave the bunker. But until then, it wasn't a very good idea to overpower someone. Even if they could strike down Milgram somehow, what was it good for when they injured themselves too? Nothing at all.

So they had waited for one month and developed a tactic to lure the man outside. After some whispered discussions, they had agreed to exploit his fear. He wanted to hide in the bunker because it offered protection and was filled with supplies. However, as soon as the door opened, this protection was over. Because not just could they go out, but also someone could get in. They could no longer hide from the world. In addition, their supplies were running low and they were sure that Milgram didn't fancy starvation. After all, his biggest motivation was to save his life. They had just to make him believe that his chances of survival were better on the outside.

Then things happened very fast. Her mentally preparations were rudely interrupted by a hissing sound. Beside her, Janet straightened and Milgram startled from his cot. It creaked when the heavy lock unbolted. The electric combination lock beeped and the numeric keypad shone green. Then ... the door opened by itself, giving a clear view of the still pitch dark corridor beyond. It looked like a mouth that wanted to swallow them.

Milgram licked his dry lips uncertainly. Then he jumped up and walked purposefully towards the door. Carter and Fraiser were expecting this and figured that he wanted to try to lock the door again. Synchronously they both shot up, which wasn't easy because they were still chained together and moved into his way.

"Out of my way." He ordered and tried to push the women away. But they remained steadfast, knowing that this may be their only chance to get out of here.

"I'll only say this one last time. Out of my WAY !" He shouted, waving the weapon in their faces, but this time not intimidating them.

"You don't want to shoot us." Janet implored.  
>"I don't, but I will if you force me." Milgram stated stubbornly.<br>"There's no use in shooting us." Sam pointed out. They had agreed to speak alternately to the man, not giving him time to think straight.

"Maybe I should just do it. You two are nothing but trouble, anyway. There would be more rations for me this way." He growled and pressed the barrel of the gun on Carter's forehead. But she remained very cool. Sam had imagined this confrontation a dozen times in her head and was prepared for this. She nodded towards the cardboard box that housed their last rations.

"You mean that stuff. That'll last just a few more days, even when you're alone. You have to leave the bunker eventually." Argued the blonde woman and noticed how he lowered the gun.

Milgram scratched his head frantically, shaking it in disbelief as he realized what the two women planned.  
>"No! No way! I'm not going out there." His voice vibrated with vehemence.<br>"Then just let us go. We don't want to stay anyway. Keep all your rations and let us go." pleaded Janet and at first it seemed as if the man thought about it seriously.

Again and again his head swayed back and forth. He was running shaky fingers through his hair and talking to himself. Fraiser's words made an impact and she peered again towards the open door. She was in a hurry to get out, understandably enough. The hope to find the daughter alive was not extinguished completely.

"You can't do that. I won't stay here alone." He said at last and the women knew that they had to put more pressure on him. Sam made a courageous step toward him, ignoring the gun and looking him straight in the eye.  
>"Sorry, but you have no choice because we are going now." She declared in a loud voice and then pulled Janet with her.<p>

"What? Just like that. Without clothes, without supplies." called Milgram after them and he was right. The only things they possessed were a pair BDU pants and a T-shirt each. Thank God there had been a few pieces of clothing stocked at all, so they at least hadn't been forced to spent a month in the same clothes.  
>"How far do you think you'll get, chained together like that?"<br>"We'll find a way to get rid of the handcuffs." Sam threw over her shoulder.

They walked on. Not looking back, but hearing his hard breathing.

"You can't do this to me. We have to stick together." He insisted. But the women ignored him. They ran on, faster as the approached the door. Both were tense. Milgram had just to lift the gun and shoot them in the back. It was now or never.

"No! Please!" He implored again. The whole self-confidence was gone from his voice. Instead, there was sheer terror. It seemed that Milgram wasn't simply afraid of the world, but also of staying behind alone. It was questionable which alternative he dreaded most.

They passed the door, taking the first steps and finding their way out. Outside, sensations attacked their bodies and nerves.

It was warm, almost hot. Spring had turned into summer without them noticing. The sun was bright, piercing and painful in their eyes. They needed a few seconds to get used to it again. Slowly the pain in their eyes and the noise in their ears vanished.  
>Sam put her head back and enjoyed as her muscles stretched. It felt wonderful to finally move again. She stretched her arms and legs. Janet did the same, groaning as she flexed a sore muscle.<p>

Only when they felt safe on their feet again, did they scan their surroundings. They stood in the middle of Schriever Air Force Base and were quite alone. It was quiet, almost too quiet. No one was here, everything deserted and indicating that it was this way since their involuntary confinement. A few dirty documents were scurring over the ground, but otherwise nothing moved.

"Where is everyone?" Janet wanted to know Sam and expressed her suspicion.

"I don't think that they even came back."

Janet gaped. "You mean, no one was here since we were locked up?"

"Doesn't look like it."

Fraiser looked back and forth uncertainly.  
>"Should we search the building?"<p>

Sam bit her lip. It would be only logical to search at the buildings, looking for someone or something that could help them. But she'd rather not stay here, felt watched and unprotected in a strange way. An unexplainable fear spread through her. It was creepy feeling this way, something she wasn't used to.  
>"No, no one's here." she conculed, not doubting it.<p>

Janet didn't question her words, but accepted them and instead tilted her head questioningly.  
>"Parking lot?"<br>Sam felt herself nod even before she understood it intellectually. It was strange, her body made decisions without her mind involved. It was as if some sort of backup program or instinct had taken control of her and decided what was good for her and what not.  
>"Yes. Let's get out of here."<p>

Fraiser ducked her head and looked around suspiciously.  
>"You feel that too?" She asked.<br>Sam sighed with relief. Apparently, she was not crazy when Janet felt the same uneasiness.  
>"Crazy, right?"<br>"Let's go."  
>With rapid steps they walked back the way they'd come just one month ago. Feeling haunted with every step.<p>

Halfway to the parking lot, Sam spun around, sure that someone was following them.

"Hey, wait!" Milgram ran after them.

Janet and Sam looked at each other questioningly. Was this why they had felt pursued? Had it been Milgram the entire time? It could definitely explain this vague fear. The man catched up on them and they noticed relieved that he had put the gun in his pocket, rather than waving it around frantically like he used to in the past.

Without a word he took out a small silver key and a they got finally rid of the handcuffs. His posture indicated that he yielded to their will, but didn't want to talk about his surrender. For once, they seemed to have some luck when they found a car, including keys in the ignition.  
>"I'm driving." Insisted Milgram. He probably wanted to get some control back.<p>

As the man drove the car from the parking lot and away from the base, Sam risked a last glance into the rearview mirror. She couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching them. She almost asked to stop the car because for a brief moment, she'd seem something move, like a shadow. But it disappeared when she blinked. Probably just her imagination.

"Where to?" Asked Milgram as they'd driven for a few minutes on the dusty driveway. Without hesitation, Janet gave her home address and then glanced at Sam, almost as if she wanted her approval. But Carter just shrugged her shoulders. They still had no clue what was going on so it didn't matter where they went first. Each option possessed the same amount of uncertainty.

They turned left at the next exit and onto the highway.  
>"What the hell?" breathed Milgram and the two women joined his confusion. The highway was full of abandoned and looted-looking cars. Windows were smashed, baggage lay scattered on the street and occasionally fuel filler flaps looked like someone had broken them up to steal the gas. Many evidences for human life, but no trace of the car's owners.<p>

They rounded the wrecked cars with big eyes behind the windowpanes.  
>"What happened here?" whispered Sam from the passenger seat. Her question remained unanswered.<p>

They saw scenes like a horror movie. She looked at the bleak scenery, broken down and somehow infinitely sad. Like all life had ceased to exist. They could very well be the last people in the world. What a horrible thought. Carter couldn't tell what she had expected to find, but definitely not this. It was hard to classify what had really happened here, they could only speculate. Where were the owners of the cars? Where had they wanted to go? And most importantly, what had persuaded them to pack up all their belongings only to hastily leave it behind again. In front of them, the city's outlines appeared. There was nothing welcoming about it, rather a bit eerie. It felt menacing, frightening and oppressive without being able to identify what exactly triggered that anxiety.

* * *

><p>After another 20 minutes driving trough seemingly desolate neighborhoods with Milgram maneuvering the car, they finally turned into Fraiser's neighborhood. From the back seat, Janet leaned forward and peered tensely between the two front seats. Finally back, just around the next corner and then she would hopefully see Cassie again, or was at least find a hint of her whereabouts. Milgram turned off right and they all held their breath in anticipation when a line of white single-family homes came into view. It was a nice neighborhood. Like the average American's dream of the own little house, white picket fence, 2.4 kids and a dog coming to life.<p>

Only this dream appeared to be over for some long time now. The total wasteland was present here as well. Many of the houses showed the typical barricades normally used when a hurricane or something similar announced itself. Nailed together wooden boards in front of doors and windows and padlocks in front of the garages. Parking spaces were empty, deserted gardens and it had been a while since a child had played football on the streets. Under the hot August sun the unwatered grass had burned and turned into yellowish hay, the paint that once had been carefully applied was now peeling off the picket fences. Nothing moved, everything was silent and abandoned. Carter suppressed her body's reaction to the rising unease and...

"Watch out!" cried Janet from the back seat and Milgram stepped hard on the brakes. He tried to dodge, but the worn tires spun on the wet asphalt and the car did a 180. Sam felt the force of the deceleration brutally accelerating her body forward. The last thing she saw from the corner of her eyes, was the vague outline of a bent figure that stumbled right in front of the car. Then her head collided with the airbag and she lost consciousness.

Her head felt pleasantly soft, like wrapped in cotton wool. As if she lay in her warm bed on a lazy Sunday morning. Determined to really sleep in just this once, but then still starting the day early, because she could never withstand the sun's first rays of light. This time, however, she felt no warmth of the sun on her cheek, concluding that Joe must have drawn the curtains. Maybe...  
>"Sam? Sam! Wake up ... "<p>

That was Joe. He was always woke early on Sundays. It was his habit to make the long journey to his favorite bakery to get them breakfast. The bakery had a little cafe, and on every sunday the crème de la crème of local residents met there, of course totally unplanned, and discussed the headlines of the last newspaper. Academics, businessmen or lawyers. Joe always allowed himself a quick coffee and a chat with his prospective voters. As if he didn't have to deal with them enough during the week. But he insisted that this one hour at the weekend was important. She suspected that he just liked to be approachable to his constituents. He listened to their concerns, talked shop about suggestions and absorbed their praise. He was a politician through and through and enjoyed the dialogue and exchange, the feeling of being important and needed. It had never before occurred to him to ask Sam if she wanted to tag along. Probably because he knew that she would liked a day in the week which wasn't dominated by their work. So, why was he waking her now? Maybe he'd lost again his car keys...

"Sam! You have to wake up now!"  
>Again this voice, but not Joe, she realized all of a sudden. There was a woman ... Janet! In a matter of seconds the imagination of her cozy sunday morning disappeared and was replaced by the merciless reality. But what had happened? She could only remember that someone had walked in front of their car. Milgram had slowed down, and then? Awkwardly she sat up in the seat and drew a sharp breath when a piercing pain exploded in her head. Instinctively, she touched the throbbing spot on her head and was shocked when her hand came back wet and sticky with her own blood. Before her eyes, the vision cleared up slowly when she felt someone carefully dabbing the bleeding with a rough cloth. She looked to the side and saw Janet leaning between the two seats and taking a hard look at her wound.<br>"What ..." started Sam and had to stop because her tongue did not obey. She had a terribly dry mouth. Carter smacked her lips a few times, charmlessly trying to her loosen her tongue from her palatine, then tried again.  
>"What happened?" She asked and registered with a small satisfaction that she had found her voice again.<br>"I don't know exactly. It happened too fast. I think we collided with something."  
>Sam nodded in agreement and recognized immediately afterwards that it was not a good idea, as the pain returned. But at least her memory resembled what had really happened.<br>"How long was I out?"  
>"Not long. A minute, maybe."<br>Carter refrained from nodding this time, instead breathing deeply in and out again and checked herself. No pain when breathing, no memory loss and only briefly unconscious. That was good. The chances that she had suffered a concussion or internal injuries were small.

"Am I okay?" She asked because she wanted to be sure. Janet put a gentle hand on her neck and felt for the pulse.  
>"Looks like it. Nausea? Dizziness?"<br>Sam was quiet for some time focused on her body.  
>"No, and no more."She eventually reported.<p>

The doctor exhaled in relief.

"That was a near miss. Which is more than you can say for Milgram."  
>Only now became Sam aware that there was another body next to her. Gregory Milgram hung lifelessly in between the seat belt. His head lay on the bare steering wheel and looked battered somehow. Blood trickled down his temples and started to dry slowly in the smoldering heat. His airbag hadn't opened and the force of acceleration had slammed his head frontal on the steering wheel's hard plastic.<br>"Is he ...?" Sam began and broke off as Janet nodded affectedly. The man had deceived them both, threatened their lives and held them hostage for one month. But never would she have wished him death. After all, he had only been afraid, just like everyone else.

Both women tried, out of piety, not to look the man's broken, lifeless body. Therefore their eyes met and widened as they realized something else at the same time. What about the person who had walked in front of the car? As quickly as her still somewhat immobile hands allowed, Sam freed herself from the seatbelt and almost fell out of the car. On wobbly legs, she dragged herself around the hood and experienced the shock of her life. Opposite her, and equally shocked, Janet pressed a hand over her mouth and nose.

In front of them the lay the grotesquely twisted body of a man. He was wearing holey jeans and a dirty shirt. His left shoe was missing, exposing a bare foot and a reddish sole that was almost chafed to the bone. Sam had never seen such a scrawny body. The skin was as pale as dead, bloodless and wrinkled like old leather. Wounds everywhere, like from a fight. The shoulder was twisted in an impossible angle, probably dislocated or broken. In the face, milky eyes stared out of their sunken eye sockets and stringy hair was plastered in old blood. It even looked like at least a few tufts had been ripped out violently. Just as leathery as at the rest of the body, the facial skin stretched over the protruding cheekbones. At least at those body parts where some skin was left. The lips were completely gone and revealed yellow teeth and rubbery gingival. The mouth was surrounded by a large, gaping wound of black discolored flesh. The nasal cartilage was missing completely. Half of the left ear was gone too and judging by the look of it…bitten off!?

But the worst part was the smell. Sam had never smelled something so disgusting. A sweet musk-like odor, mixed with a something like meat that had been lying in the sun for too long. It was the smell of a dead person, the appearance of a dead person. Of a rotting person.

Sam looked away and tried to suppress the nausea that arose when she realized who or what was in front of her. The man was dead and to judging by its appearance and smell, had been for quite a while. Nevertheless, he had been able to stagger around and in front of their car. He was one of them. One of the infected, the transformed ones. Carter forced herself to look at him again. Kind of an exposure therapy. Everything in her strived against looking at the body. But she had to toughen herself against the sight. There was a high probability that she would be confronted with more of those...things...in the near future.

Face of face with what looked like their future, she felt again gall climbing up her throat. She could not hold back any longer and fell down on all fours when her body tensed and forcefully spit out yellowish bile. Janet hurried to her, rubbing her back soothingly as she held the long, blond hair away with the other hand. When her body relaxed again and the nausea disappeared slowly, she straightened up and wiped her mouth.  
>"Better now?" Asked Frasier compassionately and Sam nodded.<p>

When she trusted her own two feet again, Carter took a few steps and looked testing back at the rotting body. Her stomach responded again, but not as severe as before. Well, at least she'd made some progress. Her eyes examined the neighborhood thoroughly. Lonely and completely deserted. Somewhere, something made a crunching sound and both women startled. Fearing danger they looked around frantically, but couldn't discover another one of these things. Only a rusty flagpole, which probably hadn't seen a drop of oil for a long time, held a lonely national flag that flapped in the wind, totally untroubled with all that apocalyptical mood.

Janet wiped her sweaty forehead, her hands were trembling and she couldn't hide how frightened and battered her nerves were. But she had a goal, someone to focus on and that helped her to maintain control. She nodded in the direction of one of the seemingly abandoned houses. It had to be hers, because it was the only house that was not barricaded. There had simply been no time to even think about it, because she'd gone to work shortly before the outbreak happened and hadn't gotten a chance to come back then because of those agents informing her that she was supposed to be evacuated to Washington D.C. as soon as possible. That morning felt like it was years ago, almost like from another life. At that time she had so firmly believed that they would be able to contain the virus, and finally defeat as well. Oh, she had been so painfully wrong!

Suddenly, the urge was too strong and Janet ran to her house without another word. Sam had no other choice, but to follow her. With shaky legs, she ran after the doctor and it felt as if everything happened in slow motion, as if she moved a little bit slower that everything around her. The noises reached her hear ears with a strange rustling. The flag pole squeaking, Janet's solitary steps crinkling on the shriveled grass. She wondered whether the sounds were real at all, or if her brain simply imagined it because it couldn't bear with the lifeless silence. She followed Fraiser through the door of the house that had been her home once and stopped in the hallway. Undecidedly, because she dreaded invading someone's privacy but also because her mind told her that it wasn't a very good ideal to storm into a house without knowing who, or what waited inside.

Sam opened her mouth to warn Janet, but only managed a hoarse whisper. Deeply concerned, she grimaced as Janet ran up the stairs, not caring that she made a lot of noise.  
>"Cassie? Cassie! Are you here? Say something, please!" she cried and Sam looked around and listened intently. If there was anything in here lurking for them, it surely was alarmed by Janet's voice. Upstairs, doors were opened and slammed shut frantically. The doctor came down again and rushed past her. Janet repeated her search in, Sam supposed, the kitchen and the living room.<p>

Carter remained motionless in the hallway, feeling oddly out of place. Like a burglar, an intruder into a family home that wasn't hers. At the same time she also felt impotent because there was nothing she could do to help. Janet's cries were now getting hoarse, quiet, desperate. Sobbing mingled with her faint voice and when she stepped into the hallway again, she was almost as pale as that dead creature on the road. Her shoulders were limp, her eyes empty and numb. For the first time since Sam hat met the other woman, it seemed that something in her was ready to finally give up. The stubborn expression in her eyes slowly died out as bitter realization replaced the hope that had been doomed to failure almost from the beginning.

'She's not here." Janet whispered finally and sank exhausted to the ground. Sam felt her own despair rise. She too, had clung to the idea of witnessing the wonder of uniting mother and daughter. That's why she gave up her place in the helicopter, why she gave up Joe, because she thought she could do something good and be part of a happy ending. And it hurt to see how the last glimmers of hope broke, together with Janet Fraiser, on the brown parquet floor.

But Carter refuse to give up so easily. The positive thing about uncertainty was, that theoretically everything was possible and nothing could be ruled out until proven differently. There was no way to know if the girl was dead and as long as there was still a chance, even a minimal one, to somehow find the daughter, she refused to give up. There would be enough time for despair and tears later. Determined she went to Fraiser, grabbed her hand and hauled the broken looking woman back on her feet.

"We have to go." she answered resolutely to Janet's silent, doubting eyes.  
>"Where to?" Her voice sounded unbearably weak. Nothing compared to the moment she had defied her orders and chosen to stay behind.<br>"Downtown. Maybe this safe zone is still there. That would explain why we haven't seen somebody else." Her words were not only chosen to motivate Janet, but herself too._ Yes, of course, that's got to be it, right?_ Certainly there were survivors and of course they would be in the safe zone. That's why they had left their houses and cars and that's why no one else was walking around. Because they were secure in the safe zone.

Fraiser nodded thoughtfully, as if to convince herself. "Yes, of course. It's logical, they have to be there." Then she added "She has to be there." and looked at Sam with pleading in her eyes. Asking her quietly to believe in it too, because Janet was afraid she wasn't strong enough to maintain faith alone.  
>"Let's go."<p>

Without so much as looking at the house again that had been her home for the longest time, Janet followed the other woman back to the road. But now what? How could they get into town? She looked around her neighborhood and felt her confidence fall when she realized that there were no cars. She swallowed hard, because she knew what they had to do now.

Since her eyes were directed disgustedly at the car, Carter must have reached the same conclusion.  
>"I guess we have no other choice." summarized the blonde woman. If they wanted to get into the city, they would need a car and the only one around was the car they used to get here. The same one, behind it's wheels Milgram's dead body still hung lifelessly.<br>"I just hope the car will start." commented Janet while Sam and she warily faced the open driver's door.  
>"Okay, how are we going to do this?" asked Sam and looked at Fraiser quizzically.<br>The doctor shrugged her shoulders uncertainly. "I'll take the right arm and you take the left one?"  
>"Let's try it."<p>

Just as they had agreed on, they grabbed the dead body under the arms and tried to drag him out of the seat. He was heavier than he looked and hung like a wet sack between them, complicating their task further. They tried not to stare in his face . It felt disrespectful, as they tore and yanked at his body. But there was no other way, they needed this car.

After five more minutes, they finally made it and laid the dead body on the sidewalk as gently as possible. They said nothing to each other for a few moments. It was hard to leave the man like that, exposed to wind, weather, animals and possibly those things too. He was completely defenseless. That Milgram would come back again, was a thought that didn't impose on them right now. It was still too fresh, too strange and illogical.

Sam was the first to turn away. She walked to the car with tightened shoulders and started to fumble around with the ignition lock. The key had been broken during the crash and the shaft was stuck in the lock, preventing them from starting the car. Janet watched in fascination as Carter's practiced fingers opened the lock and manipulated the cables there. It was not so different from the work Fraiser performed with her hands, when she repaired organs, nerve pathways or torn muscles.

The car spluttered and the displays flared up and went out again.  
>"Damn! Come on, don't let me down." implored Sam and tried again. And again. And again. Then the car arouse to life with a howl. The women shared a glance of pure relief.<br>"Yes!" triumphed Carter and her enthusiasm actually elicited a small smile from Janet.

With quick steps she walked around the car and dropped into the passenger seat. They were lucky that the car wasn't damaged worse. The other woman put the car into first gear and carefully pressed the accelerator. Slowly, the car began to move. Sam was about to speed up, when she remembered something and stepped on the breaks.  
>Janet looked at her questioning.<br>"Forgot something. I'll be right back."  
>Carter left the car in idling and ran back to the dead Milgram, searching his pants. First Janet didn't know what to think about it, but when Sam presented her the man's service weapon, she couldn't believe that she'd totally forgot about the gun. They didn't know what to expect in the city. This gun could come in handy.<p>

Carefully, Sam drove around the dead, rotten body and took the turn towards downtown. Away from the neighborhood, which had once been a nice place to live. But this time was over and probably wouldn't come back. If they had stayed just a few seconds longer, they would have experienced as Gregory Mills' body awakened to new life. As the battered skull rose slowly, a groan escaping his bloodshot lips and empty eyes scanning for potential food.

* * *

><p>Downtown Colorado Springs greeted with an overarching wasteland. Sam and Janet were forced to leave the car behind, because the streets were blocked with concrete barriers, so they proceeded on foot. It was like a ghost town. A strange creepy, menacing trepidation hung heavy in the air, intensifying the musty smell of decay between the buildings, like invisible clouds of poison. A silence that seemed to swallow every sound. Nothing moved, no life, not even a pigeon.<p>

Carter could not remember a moment in her life where she had seen or felt anything like this. Not even when she had flown huge military aircrafts over the deserts of Afghanistan, knowing that their bombs would bring destruction and death. A restlessness rose in her and she had to suppress the strong urge to take flight. Instead, she wiped the sweat from her face and continued down the empty streets. Watching and listening intently for everything. Her pulse quickened, her skin tingled with anticipation and she felt sick again. She couldn't stop it, it was as if her senses were on overdrive. As if her body already knew that something ugly would come and her brain hurried along to process it all.

They passed withered grass verges, bashed in shop windows, bullet holes in facades, sooty barriers, abandoned suitcases and other broken household stuff that littered the roads and footpaths. Sam saw a small teddy bear, smeared with something that was disturbingly similar to dried blood. She quickly looked away and tried not to think what had happened to its owner. It felt like she was inside a horror movie, just without the reassuring knowledge that it was all made up. No, far from it, this was real.

They'd been walking silently for about 15 minutes, when Janet suddenly stopped beside her, staring into the distance. In front of them the asphalt was heating up under the sweltering heat and the typical heat haze occurred. First Sam believed that her mind was playing tricks on her, but Janet's frightened breath convinced her of the opposite.

In front of them staggered a solitary figure down the road. It's long arms hung lifeless down the scrawny body. The movements were jerky and somehow seemed aimless. Sam recognized at once that it was one of those things. She backed away a few steps and saw with horror that Janet did the exact opposite. Carter tried to hold her back, but only caught hold of the white lab coat and could not prevent that Janet just slipped it off as she ran after the figure.

Sam didn't know where the thing came from, but she suddenly felt very certain that they shouldn't attract its attention in any case. A hoarse "No" escaped her, but it was already too late.  
>"Hello! We need help!" screamed Janet to the tottering figure and came to a halt a few meters away. Sam held her breath.<p>

The thing turned around painfully slow, the movements stiff and uncoordinated. As if half of the body refused to obey the brain. Carter had now caught up with Janet and tried to pull her away again. But the doctor stood stock still, not moving.

Sam had no choice than to watch with a shudder. The thing was even worse further ravaged than the last. From the head hung a yellowish skin flap, exposing the white bone of the skull. A fork was stuck in the right temple. The jaw was dislocated and swayed with every movement. Tongue hanging limply from it's mouth. It gasped as it came towards them, stumbling, awkwardly dragging the left leg behind.

Janet stared at the thing in front of her. At the pitiful remains of something that used to be a human. She couldn't move. The thing emanated perverse fascination. It was compelling and disgusting at the same time. And shocking, traumatizing. She was a doctor, the human body was her vocation. Nothing about it was unknown or concealed to her, not even decay.

What had her so paralyzed was not mere sight, it was the significance of this thing's existence. It was the personification of the fact that everything had changed, reversed into negative. The natural human rhythm of birth, life and death was no longer valid. These elementary rules of their existence were overridden. If she had been sure about one thing, especially as a medic, it was the knowledge that death meant the end of life. That death was the end. Your could fear this finality, but on the other hand it was stabilizing. It was a grounding effect, locating every living thing into the rhythm of life. If this basic rule of life and death was no longer valid, what other rules could last?

Overwhelmed by these thoughts, Janet felt the indomitable urge to submit the thing in front of her the natural course of life. She didn't want to see, hear or smell it. It disgusted her because it called into question all that she had previously regarded as unalterable. Life was for the living, after all. Her brain gave the order and her body followed. In slow motion, she watched herself pulling the gun out of Carter's pants pocket.

The blonde woman looked at her with frightened eyes and moved her lips. She shouted. No? Had she said no? Fraiser wasn't sure. The voice reached her as if from another world, faded and blurred.

It was actually a long time ago since she'd used a gun. Nevertheless, her hand raised automatically. She aimed at the thing, targeting the head and pulled the trigger ... The shot sounded loud and procreated itself in the silence of the city. The bullet pierced the thing's head. Immediately all life slipped away from it's limbs. It fell to the ground like a house of cards.

Her ears were hissing with noise. Fraiser could see nothing else than the lifeless body in front of her. That was her future, she suddenly realized. There was nothing she could do about it. Your soul, if you wanted to believe in such a thing, would die. But the body would come came back, rotting in the heat of the sun and there was nothing she could do about it. She would absolutely lose control. Would do things other people, attacking and eating them and without the power to resist it.

_Oh God!_ _Had the same happened to Cassie?_ Unbidden pictures invaded her mind. She saw Cassie. Her pleading look that morning when everything had still seemed under control. How she had pleaded not to have to go to school and how Janet had denied her this simple wish. As the young woman hurried through the city, all alone. Hunted by these things. They were catching up on her now, groping her, bringing her down and their greedy fingers dug into her body...

Anger dammed up inside her and erupted in more shots. Janet fired so long at the thing until the magazine was empty. And even then she didn't stop pulling the trigger. She couldn't. She was in a frenzy. Her body had finally found a valve to get rid of all the stress.

She stopped only when a warm hand touched her. Carter's face appeared before her, blocking her view at the thing and breaking the spell. Janet suddenly awoke from her state of intoxication and looked squinting at the other woman.  
>"It's okay. It's dead." Sam muttered, pulling carefully at the gun's handle. Janet eased her grip and the gun fell empty, thus with no more use for them, on the ground.<p>

Suddenly she was ashamed of her meltdown. The thing had died with the first shot. She had wasted all the ammunition for no reason. Even worse she had ,like a madman and infinitely brutally, demolished the body of another human being. Without remorse, without doubting the rightness of her action.

"I ... I need a moment." She stammered finally.  
>Carter didn't look excited, in fact she was in a hurry to leave. But she nodded nevertheless and took a few steps back to give her some privacy. Fraiser took a deep breath. The warm, moist air brought her no relief.<p>

What was wrong with her? Had this world already started to brutalize her? Macerating her to make her violent? For some reason it occurred to her that everything would be better if she could only find Cassie. That it was just her guilt that had her going ballistic. But it wasn't that easy to excuse her behavior. It was unfair to justify her mistake with Cassie's disappearance.

"Oh, no." Said an alarmed voice behind her.  
>She whirled around and realized immediately, what a big mistake she had committed. From the direction they had came from, a tottering group undead advanced. They moved asynchronously, slowly but steadily towards them in a menacing manner. The consequences of her shots became clear to her. She had been so stupid and had attracted the attention of those things. She had been fooled by the emptiness of the city, hadn't expect that the streets were not as abandoned as they seemed. She felt her heartbeat throbbing through her body. Her breathing quickened until she was panting. Fear crept through her whole body.<p>

Carter recovered first. She turned her eyes away from the threatening death, grabbed the other woman's hand and sprinted with her to across the street. Their shoes made a thudding sound when they ran over the hot asphalt. They had just made about 20 meters, when their hope for escape was crushed. A next group of undead appeared before them seemingly out of nowhere. Just as wheezing, stinking, decaying and hungry like the others.

The two women whirled around and ran back the other way. One group of undead behind them and one in front of them. Both slowly coming closer and encircling them. Soon the air was filled with moist panting and snorting and shoes being dragged over the ground. They tried to break out to the left and startled as the flickering contours of another group of those monsters neared. They were surrounded and there was only one clear path left, straight ahead.

They sprinted in-between the three approaching groups, passing two tall office buildings and seeking refuge in a narrow alley. Abruptly, they had to stop. Janet ran a frantically hand across her face. Sam felt despair and bitter tears rising. It was a dead end. Before them, the wall of another building extended into the air. A disgustingly stinking dumpster stood in the corner. A few cardboard boxes, but nothing else. No fire escape, no back door, no way back, both women had to realize painfully.

The three groups of monsters now met in the middle and gathered into huge clump of staggering dead bodies, effectively cutting them off the road. And they had nothing else in mind than eating.

Carter and Fraiser looked at each other in desperation. They were trapped. It was over.

* * *

><p>-In the meantime on the roof of a near building-<p>

On the hot roof of a nearby office building, lay three men and observed the scenario that took place on the street below. Colonel Jack O'Neill was between the two Jonas's, Hanson and Quinn, and regretting it already. He had to endure their bickering virtually in Dolby Surround Sound. It gave him a headache, complicating his thinking.

The three men had been off to a small shopping tour. Their target was a supermarket in the city to stock up some their scarcest inventories. Canned food, mainly. And hygiene items, lots and lots of soap. Not being able to have a good wash was slowly, but surely, freaking out the camp's residents more than their strongly cut rations.

The three of them were of course aware of the danger. It was not their first trip to the city and they had developed a so far successful tactic. They had noticed the small group of Walkers right after they'd reached their destination, but decided that they wanted to try nevertheless. A few of those critters weren't that big of a risk, if you did it properly.

They'd agreed that O'Neill and Quinn would search the supermarket, while Hanson, with his sniper rifle, positioned himself on the office building. He had a good view from there and was able to observe both the supermarket and the occasional groups of biters and could warn the other men in time if necessary.

And that was just what had happened. Hanson had discovered the women before, but didn't consider it necessary to give the others a heads up. Only when the smaller of the two had been so stupid to shoot around and attracted attention of all stray Biters within proximity, was Hanson forced to act. Because one of the group of Biters walked just past the entrance of the supermarket and there was always the danger that some of them would find a way inside, taking O'Neill and Quinn by surprise.

At once he had given them a signal with the radio and the colonel and Quinn had been able to leave the supermarket via the backdoor without being detected. Afterwards, they'd climbed a nearby fire escape before it was cut off and reached the rooftop safely. The trick was in fact to fly under the Walker's radar and if possible not to attract their attention. A trick, those two women surely didn't know.

Now they were on the roof and watched stunned as the two women dug themselves even deeper into the shit. While O'Neill watched in silence, the two Jonas's argued. O'Neill commented the women's stupidly with a shake of his head. How could they just be so dump and trudging through the city like a bull in a china shop. Without help, the women wouldn't get out of there alive.

To his left Quinn had probably recognized the same thing and now babbled incessantly at him. He appealed urgently to him that they had to do something to help the women. To his right Hanson argued against it. Jack tried to ignore them both.

"Colonel O'Neill, we have to do something. There's not much time." Quinn's urgent voice reached his ears.

"Oh, come on. They had it coming. Shooting around like crazy." retorted Hanson and suggested, "We'd better get lost ourselves. Can't get a better distraction."

Jack pressed the binoculars to his eyes and analyzed the situation. Hanson was right. All those critters had united in a bizarre race to reach the women first. Their clumsy jiggle was almost amusing, if they were not on the verge of tearing two people apart right in front of them. But fact was also, that the Walkers were so focused on their prey that they would not notice if three men sneaked past them. Their car was parked just a block away. If they left now , they could be out the city and out of danger in 10 minutes.

"We can't just leave. We have to help them." Implored Quinn again. And again Hanson argued against. "We have to think of ourselves first. After all, they ruined our shopping tour and got into trouble all on their own. Colonel, we should make the best of it and get out safely as long as it's still possible."

They were both right, as a matter of fact. If the women wouldn't get help quickly, they were dead. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that a rescue attempt would save everyone. They could just as well all bite the dust. But for Jack it wasn't about doing the pragmatically right thing. He was interested in choosing the morally right thing.

"But look closely. They are military, too. You can't just let your comrades die." Protested the younger of the two Jonas's and gestured towards the street. The two women actually wore uniforms. Camouflaged BDU trousers and black T-shirts.  
>"Oh, give it a rest! I bet they stole the stuff." Disagreed Hanson. His objection wasn't far fetched. A week ago, they'd discovered a mobile checkpoint of the National Guard. But unfortunately someone else had been there first. The makeshift store had been cracked open and completely emptied. They'd just found a few stray rounds of ammunition.<p>

"But what about 'semper fi'?" Quinn didn't give up easy. He couldn't believe that Hanson didn't show any kind of drive. He had always believed that there was a strong solidarity among military personnel.  
>"Those are the Marines. We're Special Forces." Hanson rolled his eyes and threw his colonel a look that seemed to say: <em>Can you believe this guy?<em>  
>But O'Neill didn't react and kept staring through his binoculars.<p>

"Okay, then just ... .opresso liber."  
><em>From opressed to free<em>, their unit's credo. It should lead them, help them make decisions and set up a moral standard. The question was just, was it still applicable to this new world?  
>"Those are just words." Said Hanson, shrugging his shoulders indifferently.<br>"So, they have to die because you're afraid of your own courage?"  
>Hanson refused to put up with that accusation. "What do you want from me? You've got no idea. This is real and not a movie. You can do whatever you want. Go and get yourself killed, but leave me out of it."<p>

"Oh for crying out loud! Shut the hell up, both of you. I gotta think." O'Neill's stern voice finally ended the cockfight between the two Jonas's. And he meant it. Their cackling drove him to madness. He couldn't work like that and certainly couldn't construct a rescue plan. Because, that they would try to help the women, had never been a question for him. There was no doubt that they would try to rescue them. He most certainly wouldn't lay up here in relative safety and play pocket pool, while two people were bitten to death. But for that, they needed a good plan. These things were neither clever nor quick, but the purest hell when coming up as a crowd.

While Quinn and Hanson were smart enough to shut up, O'Neill probed the situation. He cataloged the terrain, the Biter's position, the position of women, open and blocked escape routes and possible traps. He was in his element, and needed just a minute to come up with a useful plan. Now he just had to explain it to the involuntary Jonas brothers. There was not much time left. Maybe a few more minutes, then it was over for the women. He put the binoculars away again, rolled over on his back and waved both men closer.  
>"Okay, this is how we do it."<p>

While Hanson groaned unhappily, a wide grin broke free on the former student's face.  
>"So we help them?" He asked hopefully.<br>"You betcha." replied O'Neill with his usual ease. But he couldn't avoid feeling a little offended that it was obviously a surprise for Quinn that he had chosen a rescue attempt. For Jack, it was impossible to even think abut not helping. He'd assumed that the younger man knew him better than that.

Contrary to other beliefs, Hanson was no fool. He knew when he was overruled. It didn't please him, and in fact, it got him hopping mad that O'Neill wouldn't even consider to hear his opinion. Instead, he now presented some crazy hara-kiri plan. But the colonel was still the boss, so he complied.

At the end Hanson's part proofed to be the most comfortable, what he of course owed to his abilities. It wasn't even necessary for him to move from his spot for this dubious rescue. He was an excellent sharpshooter and his superior knew it. His skills were less useful on the street. O'Neill wanted him to hold his position to provide over watch and cover, if needed. He was supposed to watch and if necessary, eliminate those critters who came too close with some well-placed shots.

Meanwhile, O'Neill had intended the most dangerous part for himself. But that was not a very big surprise. Hanson didn't know him very long, but was already aware that the guy had a serious hero complex. There was certainly no use in denying the colonel's experience and skills, but he always had to play the selfless hero act. Hanson sometimes wondered why it didn't bother him most of the time, after all he, Kowalski and O'Neill had the same qualifications, training and thus the same value. Actually, it was rather intolerable that the older man always had to push himself to the fore. On the other hand, however, it also meant less danger for him to become critter supper one day. But one should not mistake his survival instinct for fear, because that would be wrong. He enjoyed the thrill, that's why he was a soldier. But he didn't think too highly of risking his life for something completely pointless.

This being the case, he made himself comfortable in the relative safety of the rooftop, while O'Neill and his lapdog, Quinn, conducted the main part of their unnecessary rescue mission. The two started to climb down the fire escape on the building's facade. Halfway between the roof and the street was a turn-off. From there a ladder led towards the street while a grid walkway connected the other side of the building with the fire escape and allowed the employees from those offices to save themselves in the case of an emergency.

While Quinn climbed the ladder, O'Neill took off into the other direction, reached the other side of the building, jumped down and sneaked up behind the group of Walkers on the women's right flank. The plan was to distract them somehow. How that was supposed to work exactly, Hanson had no clue. But the colonel was obviously convinced of his idea to set off the alarm systems of abandoned cars. They had observed that these things responded quickly to all kinds of noises, the louder the better. In addition, Hanson saw no realistic alternative. After all, that was a really big group of Walkers and O'Neill would have to make hell of a noise to make his plan work.

The older man had in fact planned that the noise could lure the Biters on the right side away. Once Quinn heard the first alarm, he was supposed to attract the women's attention. As soon as the first creatures walked towards the source of the noise, gaps and space would emerge, which both idiots in deadlock hopefully recognized and used to escape. The saving fire escape was at the other side of the street, diagonally opposite their current position. If those women were not quite as stupid as it seemed now and could ran fast enough, they had a realistic chance of reaching the fire escape before the critters got them. Quinn should help the women climb the ladder and then usher them up to the roof, where they would meet with Hanson. By then, the colonel should have enticed the Walkers away far enough for Hanson, Quinn and the women to leave the roof unnoticed, reach their car and head out of town.

When the Colonel had declared his master plan, Quinn had of course felt the need to contradict again. He wanted to know how O'Neill intended to get back to the camp. But the other soldier hadn't thought that far. Hanson himself didn't worry much. Somehow the colonel would get out of there again. For a single person, there were many opportunities to outpace those things or hide from them. After all, they moved slowly and awkwardly in the crowd. O'Neill was clever and fast enough to save his skin and if not...there were always victims.

The colonel had stopped any further discussion with a resolute gesture, after all, they were in a hurry. No wonder, Hanson noted. He took his time to reposition his body on the roof. Lying on his stomach and supporting his torso with his arms, he peeked through the gun sight of his rifle. It would be a tight squeeze for the women. He moved his eyes and discovered O'Neill on the street and Quinn waiting on the fire escape. The colonel scurried in a crouch between the filth on the street, moving forward.

It would start soon. Hanson put his neck back a last time to loosen the tension. Then he waited patiently for the time his skills were needed.

* * *

><p>-back in the dead end-<p>

In the impasse, both women pressed her backs against the cold wall behind them. It was a desperate, but futile, attempt to get as much distance between themselves and the approaching monsters. Carter felt the adrenaline pulsing through her body, her heart beat wildly and her hands stiffen into fists. She knew that it was a typical reaction of her body. A remnant from the Neanderthals. A reflex to prepare for an escape. But it was in vain.

There was no way out, no opportunity to get out of this deathtrap. They were surrounded and those monsters blocked every possible exit.

Dozens of decomposing bodies approached them agonizingly slow but relentlessly steady. The stench of their rotting bodies made breathing difficult. They groaned, gasped, growled and wheezed so loudly, that Sam thought her head would explode.

Although her body was not ready to give up and produced fight-or-flight hormones in abundance, she knew that it would be over soon. They needed a miracle now and that happened only in the science fictions movies she loved so much. Not because she liked the action or the storyline, but because Sam enjoyed uncovering the scientific errors. While she had the fun of her life, this habit of hers was less appealing to others. There was a good reason why Joe refused to go to the movies with her.

And even if they got a chance to escape, Carter was not sure whether she was even in a position to use it. The certainty that it was over, that it was only a matter of seconds until these things reached them, until they ... would tear them into pieces...

She feared the pain, having to witness how her skin was torn apart and her guts were ransacked. She was afraid to die and worst of all, to come back. All those fears were fighting against the last bit of will to survive she could muster. But soon the fear would subdue and paralyze her. Helplessly trapped in her own body and scared stiff. No choice but to count the agonizing seconds and watching as disaster approached.

The first monsters had reached the access to the dead end and tumbled towards them. As more and more arrived, their parched bodies wedged and clogged the access. A pause to take a breath. On the right, the undead were particularly persistent. One of them squeezed himself in-between the wall and the other monsters. Its cracked skin rubbed on the raw material along the wall and a big, rubbery flap of skin got stuck on the plaster. The monster went forward with unsteady steps. Drool running down its chin. It received a push from behind and faltered. The ankle twisted and you could hear a crackling sound as porous bone cracked. The thing reacted in no way, seemed to feel no pain at all.

Carter would have never thought that she would end this way, had never imagined her death at all. She just turned 30 this year. Not a young woman anymore, but still too young to think about her own demise. After all, she was working behind a computer screen, for god's sake! Her biggest risk was cutting her skin at the copy paper. Certainly, during her time in Afghanistan death had always been a possible risk. But even then she had refused to think about it. Although she wasn't superstitious in any way, she knew about the principle of self-fulfilling prophecies. The more she expected something to happen, the more likely it would actually happen.

But now, there was no need to imagine things, because it was real. It would be all over in less than a minute. Maybe it was even the most humane solution, if you considered this new world. Sam just hoped it would be over quickly.

She felt Janet's hand take her own, sweaty and clammy, but squeezing firmly. The doctor also knew that this was the end. The only thing they could do now was enduring this together.

Following an instinct, she closed her eyes. Maybe it was easier this way, if she didn't see disaster coming. But without vision, she was forced to experience her other sensory impressions more intense. The noise, the stench, the heat. Sam took a panting breath and opened her eyes again. She couldn't do it. It was much worse with eyes closed. If she had to die now, she wanted to at least see it coming. Wanted this last bit of control, estimating and calculating until greedy fingers ripped her skin.

Her breathing became fast and faster, more hectic, more desperate. Her body constantly told her to flee, but her brain refused. Still, she pressed herself more firmly against the wall. Felt the raw surface through the sweaty shirt. Blood roared so loudly in her ears, that it almost drowned out the noise of the undead.

Both officers failed to notice the shrill horn at first. The alarm mingled completely with the grunting. But then a second car horn howled, and another one, and another.

Carter and Fraiser registered the howling now, but couldn't relate it to their situation. Their concentration was focused fully on the mass of dead monsters. Although they couldn't yet unterstand the noise's importance for them, they observed the effect. Not withouth a certain fascination, they watched as the first undead turned their shaky heads. As mindless robots, they left their victims and staggered off in a different direction. Not all of them, but enough that their group thinned out considerably. Gradually, a clear path emerged. Could this be? An escape route?

Her mind had difficulties to keep up with what was happening in front of her, and the sun in her eyes made it even more difficult. Carter turned her head away, but the light followed her, blinding her. _But wait, since when could sunbeams track someone?_  
>It wasn't the sun.<p>

Excited, she tried to look past those things to discover the source of light. She recognized it on the other side of the street.

Sam blinked frantically and squinted her eyes to get a better view. Someone hung on the facade, no, he hung in a fire escape and ... was bending his wrist in a funny way. Suddenly he stopped, the light disappeared and he began to wave at them wildly. With the prospect of rescue, her brain started working at full speed again. The unknown man had probably used the glass of his watch to catch and reflect the sun's light, trying to attract their attention.

She felt tears of relief burn in her eyes. Confidence returned, spread through her body and escaped in a sob. Was that possible? There was actually someone who wanted to help them. That there was still a chance to get out of this seemingly final deathtrap.

She grabbed Janet's hand and pulled her along determinedly. At first she felt Janet hesitate, but then the doctor moved. They darted in between the bodies and the wall. Ducking, they hurried through the narrow strip of free space that had appeared because some of the things staggered away, distracted by the car horns. Some endlessly appearing seconds, all they saw they were bony, pale limbs. Bare feet, arms, legs, hands and mouths that greedy snapped at them.

Carter felt a cold hand grabbing her shoulder, but fortunately it just managed to catch some of the shirt fabric. Intuitively, she gave the monster a blow with her elbow and was able to shake it off. With her head down, Sam maneuvered them trough the group of stinking bodies.

And then suddenly, they had made it out of the dead end and were back in the street. But they were far from being save. Although their right flank was now almost clear again, they were still pursed from undead at the other side. Several dozen of them dragged themselves in their direction.

"Over here, quick!" Cried the man opposite them on the fire escape and beckoned. Sam gave Janet a shove and motioned for her to go ahead.

Janet understood immediately and sprinted on. Sam followed her and felt immense relief when she saw as the doctor jump, get hold of the bottom rung of the ladder and then being pulled up by the blond man.

Now it was her turn. The rescue was so close. She ran towards the ladder and counted the meters.

_15, 10, 8, 7, 5, almost there. Just a few more steps and then ...  
><em>

_Ow ... that hurt._

For a brief moment she was completely confused when she found herself lying on the ground. She'd run against something that materialized suddenly in the way. Before her mind could add up two and two together, she heard the characteristic shuffling of shoes on asphalt. Sam swallowed hard as she looked up to confirm her fears. In front of her stood four of those things and watched her almost pitifully. Their drool dripped down in long strands, landing right in front of her feet.

Carter almost howled with renewed despair, when she was forced to crawl backwards to extract herself from those thing's hands, but also distancing herself from the saving ladder. She looked past two bald heads and saw Janet, who stared back at her with frightened eyes.

Startled, she turned her head as behind her the groaning and shuffling grew louder again. Slowly but surely she, they circled her. _At least Janet had managed to get away,_ Sam thought as one of the monsters before her fell on its knees, a greedy and rotten hand grabbing her ankle.

* * *

><p>-About a block away-<p>

O'Neill swore when he saw the blonde woman fall. She'd been so focused to reach the ladder and entirely missed that a small group of scattered Biters had managed to sneak up on her from the left. She'd collided head-on with one of them and fallen like a sack of potatoes.

Until then the two women, especially the taller of the two, had done a good job. The smaller one was already save with Quinn on the fire escape, but the other one was running out of time now.

His plan to lure the Walkers away with the car horns had worked like a charm, otherwise the women wouldn't've made it out of the dead end. Now he was crouched behind a battered taxi, staring through his binoculars again. His undead pursuers knew where he was and closed up on him, but O'Neill estimated that he had still about one minute before it was time to move. More than enough time for a quick look to see how his plan worked out.

Jack felt a tingling in his fingers, as the urge to do something rushed through his body. But he was too far away, there was not much he could do. He looked at Quinn. The student was still standing on the fire escape, torn between the need to help and not knowing how. Even if he jumped down on the road, he would most likely get caught before he could even reach the woman.

O'Neill struck a fist against his forehead. _Think, think, think! Come on Jack_, there had to be something. Something obvious he was missing. The moment his mind realized it, he grabbed the binoculars and his eyes darted back to the roof.

_Hanson! What the hell was he doing up there, anyway? Certainly not his job! _

In fact, he found Hanson exactly where he had left him. But instead of supporting Quinn and the women's escape, the younger man had his scope focused at O'Neill. For his sake, Jack hoped that Hanson simply didn't know what was happening on the street and not, that he didn't care.

Jack gave up his cover behind the taxi to waved at the man on the roof. The Walkers who had followed him were limping faster now, but that didn't matter. O'Neill gestured wildly with arms and hands and then took a controlling look through the binoculars to see if Hanson had understood his subtle little hint. He breathed a sigh of relief as the sniper rifle was realigned.

Jack watched tensely as the blond woman crawled backwards to avoid the Biters in front of her. One of them was even clutching her shoe. He waited for Hanson's shots. At first, nothing happened and O'Neill was about to send curses his way until he calmed himself and remembered, that he had to give the soldier time to aim.

A moment later the loud bang of a shot cut trough the sticky air.  
>"Fuck!" moaned O'Neill. No hit. But then three more shots followed in quick succession and this time Hanson was successful. Three bullets pierced their way through porous skulls and rotting brains. One by one, the three Biters slumped to the ground.<p>

Jack peered back at the woman. She was still lying on the floor, staring at the three lifeless bodies in front of her. It was a good pair of binoculars, he could even see that she was trembling all over. But otherwise, she didn't move. Their closest pursuers were dead, but the next one's weren't far behind. They would reach her in a matter of seconds and he knew that Hanson hadn't enough ammunition to ward them off.

"Come on, blondie." encouraged Jack. But she just didn't want to move.  
>"You go girl!" He repeated his silent support and finally ... some life returned into her.<p>

She kicked the Walker's dead body away from her, jumped to her feet and ran. But the next obstacle came her way. Two other Walkers stood between her and the ladder, stretched their scrawny arms at her. But rather than letting them intimidate her again, she quickened her movements, dived headlong in between them with a dive roll and elegantly coming to her feet again. Not looking back once, she jumped up and grasped the saving ladder with both hands.

Jack took a deep breath. He still had the luxury of a few additional seconds to ensure that both women would make it up the roof. Then he put the binoculars back into his pocket and sank to the ground behind the cab. Right now, he felt really tired and wiped the sweat from his forehead.

Now he had to think about his own escape. He couldn't hide here much longer. He wanted to take a look over the hood of the taxi, when suddenly a semi-decayed face appeared in front of him. Jack didn't think, just responded. His hunting knife in hand, he rammed the sharp blade into the bone there, the skull almost exploding from the force. Blood and brain splattered around him.

_Ugh!_ He absolutely hated it when that happened.

_Walker-blood, yuck! _

_Walker-guts, double yuck! _

_But Walker-brain-slopper? THAT was a triptastic I-need-a-chemical-cleaning-right-now kind of yuck!_

When he felt small chunks of bone and cartilage on his face, his mood deteriorated significantly.

Disgusted, he had no choice but to wipe the bloody knife in his pants. He peered over the Biter's right shoulder and realized that this one had just been the vanguard. The other critters had almost reached him. It was time to beat a hasty retreat. How exactly he'd get back to the camp, he didn't know yet. But he was good at improvising. He'd find a way. And if not ... oh heck, he'd cross that bridge when he came it.

With a last look at the office building, he saw the contours of four living figures scurrying across the roof. A satisfactory grin in place, he started to run.

* * *

><p>-At the roof-<p>

Carter grabbed hold of the edges of the roof and was grateful when the blond man pulled her up. Everything in her body told her that it was time for a break, but she knew that they didn't had that luxury. It was funny. She knew neither name nor anything else about her unknown savior, nevertheless she'd followed him willingly. Remembering Milgram, she hoped she wasn't making the same mistake again.

There was a second man waiting for them. He wore dark brown cargo pants and a black T-shirt. His dog tags were glinting in the sun. A soldier. His face displayed a irregular grown beard and an ill-tempered expression. She took a step back when she saw the sniper rifle and watched the two men with distrust.

"Don't worry. He's okay." Assured the blond man, pointing to his fellow.  
>"That's Jonas Hanson, I'm Jonas Quinn."<br>The two women looked at him incredulously, but he took it with humor.  
>"We're not related, or something."<br>"Hell, no!"agreed to the bearded man, drumming impatiently on the barrel of the rifle.

"What's your name?" asked the blonde Jonas and seemed quite exited to meet someone new. Before Sam and Janet could answer, the other Jonas started to argue.  
>"Quinn, save the hellos for later, okay. We gotta go." He stressed anxiously. The younger of the two frowned in confusion.<br>"What about the colonel?" The other rolled his eyes annoyed.  
>"The colonel is a big boy and can take care of himself. Honestly ...," he added because Quinn seemed anything but convinced, " ...the guy's like a cat. You know, seven lives and always landing on his feet? Besides, he gave us an order. And you do want to refuse his order, right?" His question was loaded with something sardonic, but Quinn remained unaware. Instead, he seemed horrified with the idea of ignoring an order from this mysterious colonel.<br>"No, you're right." he agreed and told the women, "We have to go. Our car's not far away. We'll drive to our camp."

"A camp?" asked Janet for the first time since she'd so rashly shot at the female undead, nearly killing them both. Her voice sounded shaky, but also hopeful. "You mean the safe zone?" She wanted to know.

The two men looked at her in disbelief.  
>"Yeah, sure sweetheart. We'll go to the safe zone. They've got milk and cookies and then we all join hands and sing kumba-ya." Sneered the man named Hanson and chuckled at his own lame joke.<p>

"No. The safe zone was destroyed right away. But we have a camp in the woods outside the city. Near Pikes Peak." Explained the younger man quickly and tried to keep the damage his colleague had provoked as low as possible.

Carter and Fraiser exchanged some silent glances. On one hand, it was not a good idea to follow two strangers to their camp. Especially not when one of them behaved like a total asshole and the third man, this absent colonel, was only referred to in third person. But Jonas Quinn had saved their lives and this Hanson guy must've at least helped some. Carter was pretty sure that the shots that had saved, her had come from his rifle.

But it was not as if they had another choice. They still didn't really know what was going on at all, what consequences to expect or how much of their civilization was left. And besides, where else could they go? They couldn't stay in the city. Especially not alone and unarmed. These things could be everywhere.

Besides , the word 'camp' sounded alluringly like other people. This past month, locked up in a bunker, had been terrible. The isolation and loneliness. Although she had found a good friend in Janet, she longed to see other faces and above all, smell fresh air.

She looked questioningly at Fraser. Her nod was almost imperceptibly. They would give this people a chance.

"Let's go." She said finally, and they followed the two men over the roof.

* * *

><p>AN:  
>*Afghanistan: I know that Carter served in the second Gulf War. But since this story is time-wise located in the Walking Dead Universe (taking place in 2010) and because I made her 30 years old she couldn't possibly have served in the Gulf War. So I had to change that detail and made her a veteran of the war in Afghanistan instead.<p>

By the way, I'm not very happy with the first part of this chapter. Cater an Fraiser locked up in a bunker. Probably not very creative and a bit farfetched. But I absolutely loved the first episode of the Waling Dead (also called "Days gone by"). When Rick Grimes wakes up, after a long coma, totally disorientated into a world he no longer recognizes. It was a very powerful and compelling moment on the show and I wanted something similar for Sam and Janet and couldn't come up with something else.

So, I hope you still can enjoy reading this chapter. I would be great if some of you could write a review, whether you liked it or not.

So long, have a nice weekend.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Back with the next chapter. Finally, Sam and Jack will meet for the first time. I know I've been eager to write this, so maybe some of you are eager to read it. If this is the case, maybe you could spare a minute or two, write a review and tell me if you liked it.  
>Greetings from sunny Germany and see you next chapter.<p>

*landmines=I guess I have to explain the usage of this phrase in Germany and in this chapter. If we say, for example, watch out for landmines, we mean watch out for dog excrement. So dog poo in Germany is often described as landmine because when you step in it…well, I think you understand. It's basically a joking and sarcastic use of the original meaning. I've been looking for a similar phrase in English, but couldn't find one and decided to use the German interpretation and explain it to you so you don't feel confused when you read it in this chapter. Hope that's okay.

Chapter 9: A tiny little bit of hope

As it turned out, the blond Jonas was right. The car was actually parked just a few minutes from their almost-deathtrap. About a block away from the death lock, the city seemed calm, almost peaceful. But today they had learned the hard way how deceptive the quiet really was.

While the bearded Jonas swung himself behind the wheel, the other one took the time to open the car doors for the two women. But they had no time to be surprised about his, given the danger, inappropriate politeness. Carter und Fraiser just wanted to get away. Fast.

They wondered briefly how Hanson planned to navigate the car through the barricaded streets. The answer followed swiftly. He skillfully steered the car on a messy zigzag course through narrow side streets and alleys. When they finally reached the city limits, Sam turned around and watched as the building's contours slowly turned smaller and blurred in the late afternoon heat.

Before the exit onto the highway, Hanson swung the car left and turned onto a sandy path leading into the forest that characterized Colorado Spring's leisure time. The dirt road gradually transformed into a forest road as they drove. Soil and grass replaced gravel and sand.

The shade of the trees surrounded the car as if it was swallowed by the forest. It was august and not much cooler in the forest than in the city, but Sam still felt relief when she rolled down the window and felt the fresh air on her face. Here, the blazing sun had found no way through the thick, green treetops.

She suddenly remembered how she and her brother had been camping with her father and why she had enjoyed these weekends so much. Certainly not because her brother and father fought all the time, but because she had always found serenity in the forest. It's solitariness was reassuring and grounding. It would be too easy to take refuge in that familiar feeling of calmness, but she couldn't allow herself to indulge in illusions. Her father and brother were not here and she was no longer a child.

Hanson steered the car for about an hour in a risky pace through the woods and along the forest road. When they reached the end of the road, he slowed down and the car came to a halt alongside a green military truck. Carter and Fraiser followed the men's example and got out. They greedily breathed in the earthy air. Such an nice contrast to the sticky air in the bunker and the foul air in the city. The provisional parking lot was surrounded by trees and shrubs, which wore splendidly green leaves, as if the midsummer's heat couldn't harm them. Contrary to the green areas in the city and the overgrown front yards, the vegetation here had no problems with water shortage. But a forest was a completely independent ecosystem.

A rustling tore the women from their thoughts. Something definitely moved in the bushes. It was probably just an animal, a squirrel or a mouse, but after their near-death experience they were both hypersensitive. But Hanson and Quinn showed little worry and their unconcerned behavior was confirmed, as a thin man with gray hair appeared trough the bushes. He held a crumpled piece of paper in one hand a pen in the other, while he examined the car expectantly.

"Sorry, Walter. Nothing to store today." grumbled Hanson and slapped a little too hard on the confused man's shoulder. "At least, nothing useful." added the bearded man with a sardonic grin, motioning with his hand in the vague direction of the two women. Then he shouldered his rifle and disappeared between the bushes.

The man named Walter casually rubbed his sore shoulder and stared silently at the two newcomers. "So, no supplies?" he asked, hunching his shoulders questioning. Quinn nodded vigorously, trying to give the story of their failure a positive twist and pointing optimistically at the women.  
>"No. But we found new friends."<p>

Walter held up a hand in an unconvinced greeting and then shook his head.

"Some won't like this." he muttered, turned around and followed Hanson.

Carter, Fraiser and Quinn remained silent. The young man finally coughed awkwardly and motioned for them to follow him.  
>"Come on, I'll show you our camp...well, I guess now It's your camp, too."<p>

The bushes were thick and it was easy to understand why the camp residents had decided not to cut some of the branches away to ease the access to the camp. It was a pretty good protective wall because it was impossible to see through it. Someone who was just walking by had no way to discover the campers.

They followed Quinn through the leaves and then stood directly in front of a clearing that housed the camp. Sam was not sure what exactly she had expected, but at first glance she was pleasantly surprised. Instead of a wild collection of sleeping bags, luggage or other junk, this camp presented itself as tidy and organized. One could even say, that whoever was in charge had a sense for systematical and logic processes.

Apparently the camp was divided into three areas. On the far right, camping tents were set up. It was the sleeping area. In the middle was a big campfire with a makeshift rack around it, maybe for cooking. Several tree trunks served as benches. This was the eating area. On the left lay a small pile of firewood under a blue plastic sheet. The still life was completed with a bucket, bowls, a big green tent and another plastic sheet that was stretched over four massive branches, looking like an improvised folding screen.

Quinn had noticed her appreciative look, grinned an spread his arms.  
>"Not bad, right? We had a few organizational problems at first, but now the have everything we need. Well, almost everything. Actually we've been in the city to look for a few things, but it's not that important."<p>

Carter lowered her head apologetically as she realized that Fraiser and she were the reason why these people were low on supplies.  
>"Sorry." Janet finally apologized, but Quinn ignored her. With a gesture, he wiped the guilt away.<br>"Don't worry about it. We can get this stuff later. What matters is that we're all save."

His eyes widened suddenly, as if he'd just realized something else.  
>"Oh, sorry. I didn't think! Are you injured? Do you need something?"<p>

Cater and Fraiser scrutinized each other in detail. Not only had they endangered these men, but they also risked the whole camp's safety if they were bitten. None of them had felt any pain, but everything had happened so quickly. Quinn turned around abashed as the women searched themselves. Because neither of them had visible cuts in their clothes, they only searched the bare body parts. Relief flooded them, when their bodies showed no bites or scratches.

"We're fine." Sam reassured and turned to Janet for a confirmation.  
>"Yes, Sam is right. No bites, no scratches and I should now. I'm a doctor."<p>

Quinn's eyes widened. "You're a doctor? Wow, that's great." he rejoiced openly and shook Janet's hand lively. "Welcome to the camp, Doctor...um?" Jonas was forced to interrupt his welcome and the women realized that they still hadn't told him their names.  
>"My name is Janet and this is Sam and..." began Fraiser and was interrupted when a rough-looking man came up to them. He was dressed like Hanson and an assault rifle hung over his shoulder.<p>

"Quinn! Hanson said you wanted to confess something. If you've taken apart that truck again, I swear I will..." he stopped abruptly when he saw the two newcomers. "Oh-kay...Hi!" he tried and glanced at Jonas quizzically.  
>"Ah yes, that's Charles Kowalski. Kowalski, this is Janet and Sam."<p>

Charles Kowalski shook their hands firmly, then massaged his neck. He didn't seem hostile, but also not really pleased with their presence. At best, concluded Sam, he didn't care.  
>"So Jonas, what about Hanson's babbling? What 'confession'?"<br>"Yeah, that. Unfortunately we couldn't get the inventories because..."

"Are you kidding me?!" Kowalski grunted angrily and combed a hand trough his black hair.  
>"You know there's not much left. This really sucks!" he scolded and Sam found her voice, because she didn't want Jonas to suffer because Janet and she had made a mistake.<p>

"It's not his fault. They just helped. We would be death otherwise." It was not easy to express this fact, but it was the truth and if they honestly thought about staying with this group, they couldn't hide something this important.  
>"It's true." agreed Janet.<br>Kowalski arched his eyebrows as she continued.  
>"We...I've put us in danger and without their help those things would have killed us."<p>

Charles nodded approvingly and clapped Jonas at the back.  
>"Not bad, junior. Oh hey, by the way, where's Jack?"<br>Quinn avoided the other man's scrutiny.  
>"I'm not sure." he admitted eventually.<br>"What's that supposed to mean? Where is he?" Kowalski asked loud and emotional.  
>Jonas tried to appease him. "Calm down. We had to split up. He distracted the biters. I'm sure the colonel's okay."<p>

"So, Jack was okay with them...you know..." Kowalski left his thought unfinished. But Jonas understood anyway. The soldier wanted to know if O'Neill had agreed to take in the women.  
>"Yes! He said to bring them back to the camp."<p>

"Okay then, fine with me." accepted Kowalski. "But the others won't be that understanding."

He muttered a few seconds quietly to himself.  
>"Oh, what the hell, the sooner the better."<br>Without further information about his soliloquy, he turned around and formed a funnel with his hands in front of his mouth.  
>"Hey guys! Everyone come here, we've got something to talk about."<p>

In less than a minute, seven people appeared from all directions and stared at the two new arrivals with curiosity. Kowalski cleared his throat before he spoke to the group. "Listen, these are..uh..Sam and Janet." He broke of and blew out a breath as he wondered how he could best explain the women's presence. He opted for the very short variant. "They're in our team now. So, let's extend a warm welcome to them." He stressed the last word and looked at the group invitingly. A inconclusive murmur was heard as the others, sill confused about meeting new people, uttered some half-hearted greetings.

When it was clear that the chilly mood could not get worse, Kowalski tried do divert the group's attention because the could see that their prying stares were uncomfortable for Sam and Janet.  
>"Stop that staring. We're not at a zoo. Go make yourself useful. We need to collect wood and water." Kowalski emphasized his words with a brisk gesture. Slowly the group started to disperse again.<p>

Two men stayed behind. One was Harriman. The other one had medium length brown hair and glassed that looked like they had been broken more than once and patched up with...was that duct tape? No wonder that the glasses sat askew on his nose.  
>"You need help with the loading?" the man asked and Harriman shook his head regretfully.<br>"They brought nothing. A group of biters surprised them." The gray haired man's explanations sounded neither reproachful or furious, but it was enough to fire up the group's suspicion again.

People turned around immediately and gathered again around Kowalski.  
>"Is that right?"<br>"When are you trying again?"

"What are we supposed to eat?"  
>"Why didn't you try somewhere else?"<p>

Charles raised his hands soothingly as they fired questions at him. He could understand their anger. Their supplies diminished more with each passing day. In addition, the last two trips had not been crowned with success and it had been almost two weeks since they had brought something back. There was some odd speculation that Jack probably didn't try hard enough. Whenever Charles heard such a comment, he set the source straight. He knew that his buddy was doing everything possible not to come back empty-handed. Jack always wanted to win, even if it was just about some canned foods. Still, the most important thing for him was his men's safety and so he wasn't willing to risk someone's life for a can of beans. And lately, those walkers were particularly persistent, almost as if something was spurring them on. Maybe the sun, speculated Kowalski.

His shrill whistle managed to calm the group.  
>"Quiet now, all of you!" he yelled and continued when he had their undivided attention, but didn't get very far.<br>"I worry too, but there's no sense in addressing reproaches or..."

"Why did it happen again, anyway?" asked a small man with short blond hair. He had his arm around the shoulders of a redheaded woman. She didn't look very happy with his accusatory tone. Kowalski snorted angrily.

"Well Pete, I don't have a clue. Maybe they've been attacked by those cannibals and had to run for their lives? But you're right. It's a complete mystery to me too, why they didn't risk their lives for some beans like you would've done." he replied snappily and stared at the man named Pete. Warning him to utter the real accusation behind his words. No one was allowed to blame his buddy Jack when he was near.

"Why don't you ask them?" said a cynical voice. It belonged to Hanson, sitting casually on a trunk as if all of this didn't bother him much.  
>Questioning faces stared at him first, then at Sam and Janet.<br>"Thank you for this very helpful advice, Hanson. Why don't you do something productive for a change?" suggested Kowalski sarcastically, trying to soften the impact of Hanson's words. But it was too late.  
>"What's that supposed to mean? What does he mean?" asked Pete and his confronting look landed on Cater and Fraiser.<br>Jonas Quinn stepped protectively in front of them, wanting to defuse the situation.  
>"We met them in the city. They needed help. There was no other way but to cancel the mission and..." he tried to justify but was interrupted rudely. The mood turned slowly from bad to worse.<br>"Does that mean it's your fault?" demanded a middle-aged woman to know. Pete nodded in agreement while Hanson hid a gloating grin behind his hand.

"It's nobody's fault. Sam and Janet almost got killed. They didn't put themselves into danger voluntary." Quinn tried to explain and Fraiser looked down in shame. Sure, she hadn't deliberately risked their lives. But she had acted incredibly stupid and negligent and that was just as bad.  
>"We have to stick together and share..." Quinn tried again, but it was pointless.<br>"You want us to share? Share what exactly? We don't have anything to share and that's your fault. It was your job to get the supplies. Instead you brought us two more people to feed." scolded the woman again.  
>"Exactly!" agreed Pete. "And where is O'Neill? This mission was his responsibility. He should take care of us first, not some strangers."<p>

Hanson applauded sarcastically and received Kowalski's furious and overwhelmed glance.  
>"Sure Petey, you should be the boss instead. I would start to dig my own grave right away." Hanson mocked the smaller man and Carter closed her eyes embarrassed. Janet and she had not just accomplished to almost kill themselves and endangered their saviors, but also managed to bring this group apart. They'd really been busy. Perhaps they should say thank you and just walk away. Of course, it would be nice to have a place to stay. A group to belong to. But they couldn't take those people's help for granted. They had a right to send them away. She was just about to open her mouth and offer their departure, when the man with broken glassed stepped into the middle of the upset group.<p>

Although he combed through his tousled hair nervously, he radiated a pleasant calmness. "Um...guys?" he began somewhat shyly and yet the heated debate silenced immediately. Apparently the man had a certain standing among these people. Maybe he was their leader?  
>"What are we arguing about? Jonas is right. Yelling and screaming won't help us. We have to remain level headed. I've been in the tent and checked on the supplies. We still have enough for about a week. Yes, we should worry. But fighting with each other won't do us any good. Our chance of survival is much higher if we stick together. All of us." he stressed the last words, nodding at Sam and Janet noticeably to emphasize that he included them into the group already.<p>

The agitated Pete snorted, but remained quiet. The woman who had agreed with him squared her shoulders stubbornly. When the speaker was sure that the atmosphere wasn't about to burst anytime soon, he took a step towards the new arrivals and offered them an almost sheepish hand.  
>"Hi Sam, Janet. I'm Daniel. Daniel Jackson." he introduced himself and then the others gingerly. Almost as if he was aware of their uncertainty and wanted to give them back some confidence.<p>

"You already met Jonas Quinn, Kowalski and Hanson."  
>He pointed towards Pete and the red-haired woman beside him. "These are Pete and Dana Shanahan."<br>"Louise Astor." That was the woman who still looked like she wanted to throw them out of the camp herself. Daniel continued unfazed.  
>"Walter here is our man for the supplies and Tony's our cook." With a sweeping gesture he pointed at the grey-haired Harriman and a really big guy who waved at them with a wide and warm smile.<p>

"My wife Sha're and our youngest member are getting some water. They should be back any minute." Daniel ended his round of introductions and a nervous silence returned.  
>"Signore Daniele!" started Tony with a booming voice when the silence became to much. "Why don't we show this bella donne our camp, eh?" he suggested with a strong Italian dialect. Daniel nodded eagerly and looked at them invitingly and open minded. "Very good idea, Tony. What do you say? Would you like to take a shower? We can't offer soap, but the water should be warm by now."<br>Sam almost moaned in anticipation. A real shower sounded heavenly. She felt like every dirt particle of the state was glued to her skin.

"That sounds great, but we really don't want to bother you." said Carter for them both and felt obliged to at least indicate that they were not obligated to help them.  
>"Don't be silly. If we were in your place, we'd hope for some help." Daniel noted and looked around to warn the others that something bad could happen to anyone of them at any time. While Louise Astor remained bone-headed, Pete lowered his eyes understandingly.<p>

"Well, then follow me.." began Daniel and beckoned them over. Suddenly he remembered something and frowned.  
>"I need to ask this first, where is Jack?" he inquired. Kowalski and Quinn stared at each other.<br>"The colonel insisted on staying behind. He distracted the biters so we could get away."

"Hmmm." Daniel thought about it and wasn't sure if was yet time to worry about O'Neill. But there was no need to make that decision.

The loud roar of an engine and spinning tires approached and then suddenly fell silent. Directly behind the bushed that served as a natural wall, a car door slammed and someone swore. Certainly O'Neill, and he didn't sound very enthusiastic.  
>"Speaking of the devil." commented Daniel and sighed.<p>

* * *

><p>A moment later, there was a rustling in the bushed and out strode a man. He looked like a wood goblin. Except that he was really tall and...really dirty. His clothes were filthy all over and small red dots splattered on his face. Odd clots sticking in his unruly brown hair. He looked as if he'd crawled through a dumpster. This had to be the mysterious colonel, thought Sam. The man who had enticed away those things. Who knows what he had to do to get away alive?<p>

If his expression was an indicator, then his day had been everything, just not fun. Carter was pretty sure that she had never seen someone so utterly furious. And apparently, he had a great desire to find an outlet for his anger. His eyes roamed around searchingly and glittered with rage.

Sam swallowed hard when he fixed his glance on her.  
>"You!" he blurted out and marched directly towards her. Beside her, Janet took a step back. Kowalski breathed a tense "Uh-oh" and walked around them quickly. He was a brave man, this Kowalski, because he dared to face the colonel.<p>

"Jack, buddy! Great to see you. I knew right away that you could do it. Why don't you sit down, drink some water and relax." suggested Charles and tried to put a friendly arm around the other man's shoulder. But he fended off the collegial gesture.

"Hey, I'm talking to you!" he said once more and again Sam found herself in his focus. Unsure, she looked around and noticed that the others had taken a precautionary step back. Hanson had completely turned around and pretended to hear and see nothing. Tony held a large wooden spoon protectively in front of him. Sam wished she could have such a spoon to. Although this guy didn't look like he found a spoon very frightening.

Carter peered at Daniel for help. He looked back at her, but just shrugged his shoulders. Obviously this was something like her baptism of fire. To prove that she could defend herself against this bully. But as she watched him marching to her like a steam engine, she sensed that this confrontation would not be an easy one. And somehow, the man was even right. Janet and she were indeed to blame and maybe he had been forced to hide in the gutter all day long because of them. She couldn't really blame him for his anger. In her mind she was busily forming an excuse, when the man said something that wiped away all her thoughts of an apology instantly. Instead, her stubborn fighting spirit rose.

"Yes, you Goldilocks!"

Sam snorted outraged and clenched her fists. Goldilocks! Due to her looks she'd suffered under a lot of stupid nicknames. How many times had some macho idiot called her 'Barbie'? She'd stopped counting sometime after basic training. Although they did that just once. Sam knew how to make them understand that it was only beneficial to their health if they stopped treating her like a blond bimbo. Over the time, she'd learned to hold her ground against the big boys. But never, and never meant never, had someone dared to call her Goldilocks. Just the thought about this terrible clichéd fairytale figure encouraged her own anger to a level that matched the colonel's one-to-one.

She had nothing, absolutely nothing in common with this little, blond, sugary, stupid and dopey looking girl. She was neither naive nor helpless and definitely not cute! Sam Carter was no damsel in distress, she was a competent and experienced major in the Air Force dammit! And she would ensure that this wannabe hero learned it quickly.

Daniel, Walter, Kowalski, Jonas, Pete and Dana, Louise, Janet, Tony and even Hanson held their breaths in awe as they watched Carter taking a few energetic steps towards the resentful man.

First, he showed no reaction to her. He stopped a few feet in front of her and Sam realized, that he not only looked like he'd crawled through garbage, but that he also smelled like it.  
>"What the hell is your problem!" he roared and Sam refused to let his accusation push her into defense.<p>

"I wanted to ask you the same thing." she retorted with a growl. For the fraction of a second It seemed that the angry man was impressed with her resistance. He opened his mouth, gasped for air and closed it again. His raised finger fell and he squinted inquiringly. Carter felt his eyes on her like laser beams. But then the moment was over and anger returned to his face.

"You've got some nerves!" he said and Janet twitched briefly, as she realized that he included her into his tirade.  
>"Jack, maybe you should..." tried Daniel but fell silent when he saw Jack's warning look. "I didn't say a thing." Murmured the bespectacled man and Sam knew that Janet and she were on their own.<p>

"How stupid can you get?" ranted the colonel again. Sam wanted to protest and was surprised when the seemingly uncouth man spoke his next words.  
>"Ack! I'm talking now. Have you guys any idea how much you endangered yourselves, eh?"<br>His harsh panting slowly died away. The absolute anger subsided. Instead, there was honest astonishment about their behavior and disbelief that they survived it after all.  
>"Going into the city and shootin' around like lunatics. You could have died. Damn, if we hadn't found you in time you'd be dead by now." he threw at them.<p>

Sam tried to withstand his reproachful eyes, but it was increasingly difficult. With irrational fury she could deal. Concern for them, for the two strangers he had risked his life for, however, was hard to ignore. The possible consequences of their stupidity fought their way back into her thoughts. If just a little thing had gone wrong today, more than just the two of them could have lost their lives.

Carter thought that this situation resembled being called into the principal's office as a child. Not that this had happened to her. She'd been a model student, even as a kid. A result of her father's authoritarian education. Her brother, however, had been a regular in the principal's office. From him she'd heard how it felt if someone bigger towered over you and gave a dressing down. Just like this Jack did, now. He stood in front of them just like a strict senior teacher. Like a drill sergeant ready to discipline his recruits. And although she knew that they had somehow earned this lecture, Sam was reluctant to submit to it.

"We're sorry. We didn't think." Janet expressed finally the excuse that Sam's pride forbid her to formulate.  
>"No shit!" replied Jack and ran his fingers through his dirty hair. He grimaced when he realized that his hair was full of sticky dirt and wiped the hand on his pants.<p>

Daniel took advantage of this brief respite and tried to intervene. He was reminiscent of a diplomat. Carefully he swept bits of dirt from Jack's shoulder.  
>"Maybe we should all calm down?"<br>"Huh?" grunted the colonel morosely because he knew that Daniel meant only him, when he talked about 'we'.  
>"Allegations will get us nowhere. We should be glad that everyone is still alive." he recommended, but his words fell on deaf ears.<br>"I don't think so. I think they need to hear this." retorted Jack and then muttered to himself "I just don't understand how one can be so stupid..."

Now it was too much for Sam's liking. She could take a certain amount of remonstrance, but enough was enough. She was not dump, and neither was Janet. Sure, their errors could have cost the lives of almost five people. But they knew this now. Such a mistake would never occur again. There was no reason to treat them like little kids. Years ago she had broken with her father because he expected justifications for everything she did. Sam hadn't been ready to question herself like that then and she would definitely not start now.

"That's enough. It wasn't a very pleasant experience for us, too."  
>Immediately a pair of dark eyes found her again. The colonel frowned with a mocking face.<br>"Oh, is that so? How inconsiderate of me. I apologize for my loutish behavior. Maybe I should be thankful for this little training session. I'd get fat otherwise, with all that good food here."  
>Carter raised her eyebrows dangerously.<br>"No reason to be cynical."  
>"Cynical? Who, me? What reason could I have to be cynical? After all, you girls are the ones with the bad day." His response dripped with sarcasm.<p>

Before Sam could work herself into this debate, a clanging noise drew the attention of the two adversaries to a fallen canister. The canister lay upside down on the ground and a torrent of water flowed through it's opening, seeping into the parched forest soil. Next to the canister stood a young and beautiful, dark haired woman. She had something exotic on her and carried a similar canister in her hands. On her face was an open question, addressed to the girl beside her.

The girl stood stock still and with empty hands, apparently she had dropped that canister. She was tall and had dark blonde hair. Her eyes were wide open in shock and her mouth formed a perfect O. In addition, Sam heard a sob and realized confused that Janet was crying.

"Mom?" whispered the girl, not ashamed of her tears. Meanwhile, the other group members stood perfectly still and watched the events deeply moved. Carter had the feeling that she was missing something important.  
>"Cassie?" sighed Janet and immediately afterwards, both rushed towards each other. The two met in the middle. "Mom!" cried the girl in the same time she flung her arms around Janet's neck.<p>

The two women fell entwined on their knees, whimpering and crying heartbreakingly. Only then did Sam realized which highly emotional moment she experienced. This was Cassie! Janet's daughter! This was the girl she had risked everything for.

Overwhelmed with emotions at seeing the reunion of mother and daughter, she put a hand over her mouth to hide her trembling lips. Carter felt the first tears in the corners of her eyes. It was incomprehensible and hard to believe that the happy end they had hoped for the past month was really happening.

Overpowered by her wild emotions she sought out the faces of her new comrades to find something to hold onto in her emotional turmoil and found, of all people, Jack. He seemed to be the least impressed. Instead, he looked like he couldn't believe his eyes. Cocking his head to the side slightly, he muttered "un-fucking-believable" and for the first time since Sam had met the man, they were of the same opinion.

After seemingly endless minutes of tears of joy and expressions of love, mother and daughter detangled their interwoven limbs. It was amazing that Cassie was the first one to calm down. She helped her mother to her feet, who was still shaking noticeably. The she ran almost equally enthusiastic towards Jack. He had just enough time to find secure footing in the dry soil before the teenager crashed into him. While Cassie squeezed firmly, the Colonel looked almost shy. Somewhat awkwardly patting the girl on the back, he could finally bring himself to give her one of this manly one-armed hugs.

"Thank you!" was all she could say with her hoarse and teary voice.  
>"Oy," Jack tried to distract her attention from himself and sounded surprisingly modest. "I've just helped a bit. You should thank her. She saved you mom's life. Saw it with my own eyes." He added and Sam noticed startled, that he nodded in her direction. She was a little confused, just a minute ago he had called her stupid and now he exaggerated her part in their rescue. He probably wanted to divert the attention from himself. She could see that the girl's open worship made him uncomfortable.<p>

Carter had no time to say anything else, as she found herself in a tight embrace too. She surprised herself how strong her body reacted to the spontaneous human contact. How much she had missed having someone near, this basic need of touching someone else. Not just physical, but also on a personal level. No sooner than the girl had detached herself from her, Janet took her daughter's place and her voice cracked because she couldn't possibly say all the thanks she wanted to.

* * *

><p>By the time evening set in, the agitated mood had cooled down somewhat. Witnessing the touching reunion of mother and daughter had called into mind that it was useless to argue. Instead they should be thankful that everyone was still alive and stick together to survive this. After everyone had realized this, Sam and Janet had gotten the mandatory camp-tour. Cassie had taken both women by the hands, dragged them behind her, shown them the camp and narrating the tour with a youthful chatter.<p>

They started with the tents in the sleeping area, walked over to the big green tent that served as supply depot and ended the tour with the improvised bathing area. When they were back at the campfire, Sam took another look around and concluded that it could be worse. Whoever was responsible for this camp must have some sense that a strict organization could effect more than just practical advantages. After all, they had lost everything. A clear division of responsibilities and tasks, order and routine gave you an certain amount of security and reliability.

Now they were all sitting together around the campfire and shared a modest dinner of rice and beans. According to Tony, these were the best rice and beans they ever had. But judging by the lack of enthusiasm of the others, it was probably the same rice and beans they ate every day. For breakfast, for lunch and for dinner. Nevertheless, Sam was gulping down her second serving. Even though she knew that the rations were sparse, no one seemed to be bothered about her appetite. Tony interpreted it as silent praise for his cooking skills. The only one who sill had problems with the new arrivals was Louise Astor. She had grunted contemptuously as Sam had gotten her second serving. But to Carters defense, it was a really small serving. And she was starved. Not so much for the food itself, but rather for the companionship.

Meanwhile the sun had set and the only source of light was the campfire, fanned by Kowalski until it flared up and bathed the group in a warm light. After putting away their dishes, Carter leaned back on her trunk, converted into a bench, and absorbed the comradely mood. The air had cooled considerably and was refreshing compared to the sweltering heat of the day. The crackling of the fire and the quiet murmur of softly talking voices were reassuring. It was an indescribable feeling, finally having other people around, and living ones nonetheless.

The only thing that disturbed the peace was the Colonel. Jack, she thought bugged. Unlike the others, he had skipped dinner and didn't sit with them now. Sam leaned back and watched him move near the big green tent. In the darkness she could only make out his contours. And the thud, thud, thud of his ax hitting the wood over and over again. For some reason he seemed to think that it was appropriate to chop wood, instead of spending the time with them. Whenever he finished a stack of firewood, he carried it to the campfire and let it fall to the ground louder than necessary. Sam tried to ignore him. So okay, he was still mad. She didn't care anyway what this brute thought of her.

Opposite her, Daniel coughed and she suddenly realized that the talks had stopped. Everyone was quiet and focused on the two newcomers.  
>"Sam, Janet, we wondered whether you have some new information. We haven't heard or seen something new for about a month now. Ever since this...pandemic started."<p>

Carter straightened up and exchanged a glance with Janet before she looked around. The others seemed exited and hopeful that the two of them had some good news. She swallowed hard and shook her head.  
>"I'm sorry. We don't know more than you do."<p>

She could almost watch as her words extinguished the hope in their eyes.  
>"Oh...that's too bad. It's just, we're sitting here since weeks and still don't know what's going on. We'd just been hoping that there was still some part of the government or military out there." Daniel explained with a disappointed face.<p>

The young woman beside him, his girlfriend Sha're, stroked his shoulder gently. She seemed to sense his frustration and muttered something in a foreign language. Sam couldn't understand literally, but the feelings behind those words weren't difficult to interpret. Throughout the whole evening the two of them sat close together and you had to be both, blind and deaf, not to understand that they were head over heels in love. But it was not like a short affair or a crush that flattened out after some time. They were able to read each other's mood and right now, Daniel needed a little encouragement. He answered her equally intimately.

"So, what did you do those last few weeks? I mean, since the outbreak." Kowalski took over the conversation when it was clear that the two lovebirds were in their own world.  
>"We were locked up." Sam started and quickly explained the rest of their story, when Kowalski's eyes skyrocketed in astonishment.<br>"In a bunker. We couldn't open the door before the expiration of a deadline. There was someone else with us...but he didn't make it."

Awkward silence spread. Kowalski mumbled "I'm sorry." and the rest of the group agreed with sympatric grumbling.  
>"And then the door opened and you decided to take a stroll in the city?" asked Charles and for a moment, his question felt like an interrogation. But then Sam reminded herself that these people were living here for a month and apparently hadn't met other survivors yet. They weren't trying to be distrusting, but they sure were curious.<p>

"We had no idea what had happened in the meantime." answered Janet and turned apologetic eyes on Jonas Quinn and Hanson.  
>"If we would have known how dangerous the city is, we'd never gone there unprepared."<br>Quinn accepted the excuse with a good-natured grin and Hanson just waved his hand casually. But Janet was not yet satisfied. Her almost fatal error still gnawed on her self-confidence. She felt guilt for what had almost happened and wanted to explain herself.

"I'm really sorry. I know I put you all into danger, but..." again tears streamed down her eyes and she put a trembling arm around Cassie's shoulders.  
>"...I just had to look for you." Mother's and daughter's eyes met.<br>"All this time, I knew you were still alive and that I had to find you. I would never give you up, you know that, right?"  
>The girl couldn't speak and therefore nodded mutely and accepted Janet's damp kiss on her cheek.<p>

"At least we've got our happy ending." commented Daniel and engaged the others into a conversation to give mother and daughter some privacy among them. Sam was really starting to like him. She would repair his glasses first thing in the morning. She was pretty sure she could do better than whoever had patched up the glasses with some tape. He looked like Harry Potter, she remembered and had to suppress a grin. Colonel Jack choose this moment to drop another stack of wood behind them. He grunted laboriously and was gone as quickly as he had appeared. Carter frowned irritated.

"What's his problem?" she finally couldn't hold back her lack of understanding any longer. Daniel shrugged knowingly.  
>"Oh...that's just Jack being...well, himself. He get's moody sometimes. Don't worry, he'll work it off."<br>Sam snorted. "Believe me, I definitely don't worry about him. He irritates me."  
>Daniel chuckled. "Oh yes, he has this effect. But he's really not a bad guy, if you get to know him and if he for once decides not to behave like an ass."<br>"Ah-ah." was all she could say. Inwardly, she rolled her eyes. Just what she needed. The world was doomed and she had to spent her time in the company of a guy that came with a thick user manual.

Cassie pulled up her nose and charmlessly rubbed her red eyes. She blew her nose on a paper handkerchief and then threw it into the crackling fire. Contrary to the nature of a teenager, she showed no sign of shame for her emotional outbreak, but still didn't like the attention.

"Hey Daniel, tell us again how you and Sha're met." she asked the man. While all women around the fire, except Louise Astor, wore almost dreamy faces, Kowalski and Hanson groaned.  
>"Cassie, for real? How many times did we have to suffer through this story already?" Charles groused whiny and Hanson agreed. "Seems to me like a 1000 times. I can feel my ears starting to bleed."<p>

The teenager ignored the soldier's lack of enthusiasm.  
>"Mom and Sam don't know the story." She remained stubborn and added,<br>"Besides, it's a beautiful story. Very romantic."  
>Janet looked at her in amazement. "I didn't know that you like romance."<br>She had just spent a few hours with her found again daughter, but she already knew that Cassie had developed. Something in her had changed, she appeared to be more mature and Janet hoped that her newfound sense of romance was the most severe change.

The girl shrugged. "It's not like we get a lot of distraction here. We had a card game once, but someone threw it into the fire." she said and threw Tony a playfully reproachful look. The big italian cook looked embarrassed. "Scusa! It was an accidente, I swear."

Cassie accepted the apology with a smile and a wink before she turned back to Daniel and his girlfriend. "Well, Daniel? Tell us how you met?"

He cleared his throat and whispered something to his girlfriend. It had to be amusing, because she chuckled heartily and hid her face in his neck. Daniel patted her arm and began to talk.

"We met 9 months ago. I was part of a scientific team at an archaeological dig. We searched for the lost grave of an Egyptian pharaoh."  
>Carter wrapped her arms around herself. Even in mid summer, the nights in Colorado Springs could get cold. That Daniels profession was archeology and linguistics didn't amaze her. It suited his diplomatic and open minded manner. Before dinner he had arranged a small round of introductions and they used the opportunity to introduce themselves. That Janet was a doctor delighted the group. Her own knowledge as a theoretical physicist made them less happy. Sam tried not to take it personally. In this new world, practical skills were more valuable. She would have to prove her worth, but that was no problem at all. She wanted to contribute and ensure that this group would stay together. There was a lot she could do and give. Starting with Daniel's glasses in the morning. As she looked him over again, she thought that he resembled more a little boy than a grown man with his askew and funny looking glasses.<p>

"Sha're and her family lived in a nearby village. We had hired the men to help us shovel sand and loading equipment. The whole village was very friendly and accommodating and welcomed us into their traditions. During the midday head they served us several jugs of freshly brewed mint tea. That's how we met." Daniel threw his girlfriend a devotional look and took her hand.

"Her father was the village elder and it was the women's duty to serve us tea. One day, it was a particularly hot one, she was standing in front of me. With her pot of tea and looking very nervous. Until she noticed that I speak her language. Since then, it's hard shush her."  
>Sha're was sitting next to her boyfriend and listened intently. Apparently she had already learned a few words of her new language. She responded to Daniel's interpretation of their love story and her need to talk with a punch on his shoulder. But her eyes said that she wasn't angry with him, but found his story amusing.<p>

"I know, I know. I'm sorry. Forgive me?" They kissed like the protagonists of a tearjerker movie. Hanson and Kowalski rolled their eyes synchronously and Cassie grinned mischievously.  
>"You have to excuse them. Actually, they are still newlyweds." explained the teenager.<p>

"Congratulations." complimented Sam sincerely. They were a cute couple, maybe a little cheesy, but definitely cute.  
>"Ahhh, amore." agreed Tony and grabbed his heart melodramatically, electing a laugh from the group.<p>

Sam and Janet joined in. It was good to laugh again and to share it with someone else. Meanwhile, the dark liquid in the pot was boiling. Tony had started to make some coffee a while ago and gave everyone a generously filled cup. Carter took a cautious sip and had to admit that this coffee tasted not as bad as expected.

Daniel inhaled his cup and continued his story.  
>"We're not officially married. At least, not in the USA. But we had a traditional ceremony in the village. Sha'res father brought us together. To be honest..." he hesitated and rubbed his neck abashed, "...It was quite a surprise for me. In their tradition, it is customary that the bride is given to her future husband as a present and..."<br>"Wait a minute." interrupted Janet with raised eyebrows, "Do you mean like a gift? And you accepted?"

"Not a gift in our meaning. In their culture, It's a big vote of confidence. The father has to find his daughter a worthy man. If I had refused, It would have been a big shame for Sha're and her family. In the beginning it was a bit...strange. But now I know that saying yes has been the best decision in my life." clarified Daniel.

He looked at the women beside him dreamily, as if he remembered the day of their wedding ceremony. But his muse was interrupted quite rudely. The colonel appeared suddenly out of the darkness. No one had heard him coming. How he'd managed this, Sam didn't know. Either they had all been too distracted with Daniel's story, or this guy could sneak like a panther. He squeezed in between Daniel and Cassie, flopping down on the trunk clumsily. His presence immediately dominated the whole scenery.

"Hey campers, what did I miss?" he asked and reached for the pot of coffee. He took a big gulp, right out of the pot, and showed Tony a thumbs-up.  
>"Yummy. Is that cinnamon?"<br>Tony squinted. "No, no cinnamon."  
>"Must be my imagination, then." shrugged the colonel.<p>

"The shower was probably in your imagination, too." said Daniel from the side and wrinkled his nose. In fact, the man looked as if he'd skipped the time for hygiene after his wood-chopping-marathon. He had taken a shower after his return from the city, but after the physical exertion there was not one clean body part left. His hair was sticking in all directions, soil was smeared on his face and his shirt was completely soaked with sweat and clung to him like a second skin.

Jack looked down at himself. "You got a problem?"  
>Daniel coughed discreetly. "Well, I don't know how to say this. But Jack, you stink."<br>Every other man or woman would have felt uncomfortable after such a comment, but not this guy. He just rolled his eyes annoyed.  
>"It's the smell of hard work. Of course, you don't know much about it, right, professor doctor doctor whatever."<p>

Daniel accepted the ironic accusation with a tired smile. Apparently, he was used to such banter. For Sam, however, this harmless teasing added itself seamlessly to the image that had already formed in her head about this man.

She sniffled disdainfully and muttered "typical."  
>Unlike some of the other campers, the guy heard her statement and fixed her with dark eyes.<br>"'Scuse me, you wanted to say?"  
>His question didn't sound particularly friendly, more like a challenge. Usually, she took no shit from guys like him. But tonight, she had no real desire to argue with a sweaty macho.<p>

"Nothing you haven't heard a hundred times already, I'm sure." she said instead.  
>At once his eyes narrowed as he tried to figure out the exact meaning behind her words. He was pretty sure that he had just been insulted. In order to gain some time, he took a strategic sip from his coffee. Now, all eyes were on the two squabblers. They were used to O'Neill's trademark whims and cynical comments. The fact that someone was actually willing to contradict him, was new. Daniel sometimes tried, but even his patience came to an end. Debating with Jack O'Neill was like talking to a wall, especially if he thought he was right about something. The man was so stubborn, that every argument bounced off him. All the more interesting, that Carter confronted him.<p>

"Really big talk for someone who could be dead." countered Jack and waited for her reaction. She knew that he wanted to provoke her and she didn't disappoint.  
>"I am very grateful for your help. But apparently I can't expect civilized behavior as well. Not even that everyone manages to take a shower."<br>Jack spread his arms, causing Daniel to dodge backwards.  
>"Oh, we're too boring for you and your big brain. Sorry to hear that." He sneered, but his next words were spoken very seriously.<br>"If you haven't gotten the news yet, honey, quoting poems and doing linear regression isn't going to help us. It can only work if we all tackle the problem."

Actually, his argument wasn't so wrong, but Sam was oblivious of it. Her thoughts were focused on the fact that, in her opinion, he had called her again by a devaluate nickname. He seemed to think that just because she was a woman and a scientist, she wasn't able to contribute. But she would prove him wrong, him and every single macho asshole she had to put up with in her life. Even if she had to challenge him to an arm wrestling.  
>"If you address me with anything other that my name again, I swear, you'll get to know a different side of me." she growled. But her threat missed it's intended effect completely. Now it was his time to accept the challenge. Something sparkled in his eyes, almost playful, and a wry grin crept into his face.<p>

"Maybe that's what I want. Getting to know the dark side of you." he grumbled back. His voice was smoky and somewhat saucy.

But before Sam could think of a appropriate response, Cassie used the pause to speak up.  
>"Wow! I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." she announced and revealed that she must have acquired a good deal of irony in the last weeks.<p>

Some laughed and the animosity instantly vanished into thin air. Well, almost. Across the fire, Carter and O'Neill still stared stubbornly at each other. Finally, Jack drained his coffee and grunted as he stood up.  
>"Hey, where are you going?" called Daniel behind him.<br>"Taking a shower. I'm no Neanderthal, after all!"

* * *

><p>She could feel every tiny stone trough the thin fabric of her sleeping bag. Nevertheless, Sam tried to lie as still as possible. She didn't want to disturb Janet and Cassie. When the first group members had decided to go to bed, the question about the sleeping place of the new arrivals had arose. The tents were all small and narrow. There was simply not enough space for them. It had been clear that Janet would sleep in Cassie's tent, even if it would be cramped. But it was touching, when Cassie offered Sam a place in her small tent too. The girl believed that without Carter's help, she would never have met her mother again. She was so grateful, that offering her tent to the foreign woman seemed to be the least she could do to repay Sam.<p>

Sam herself wasn't so sure about the importance of her role in their reunion. What had she done? Except making sure that they were locked up in a stinky bunker for a month. Although she didn't like to admit it, finding Cassie had been pure coincidence. Just dumb luck, nothing more, nothing less. It was not easy to acknowledge, especially for someone like Sam, that the amount of control she had of her own life had diminished rapidly. Still, she had accepted the offer. Because her body demanded sleep after the long and tiring day.

But she just couldn't fall asleep. She didn't even dare to toss around. Sam didn't know how much time had passed since they'd laid down. Thanks to her time in the bunker, she had lost most of her natural sense of time. Janet and Cassie had yet to close their eyes, or their mouths. At first they talked softly, exchanged their experiences of the past weeks. But soon, they became emotional. Very emotional. Sobbing and crying, they tried to make good of the time they'd lost and cope with the fact, that they could be dead just as well. They apologized not only for the day they had been separated, but also for all kind of things. Even for incidents that, under normal circumstances, wouldn't have been worth the effort of further words. Like Cassie stealing five dollars from her mother's purse because she wanted to buy herself one of those energy drinks that Janet, as a doctor, could only dislike. Or how Janet had not passed on the massage of a certain Paul because she thought that Cassie was too young for a boyfriend. Small stuff that was usually quickly forgotten. But now, faced with the time they'd lost and the life together that they would never have, even the smallest things could have the biggest importance.

She had no other choice but to listen to everything and feeling terrible about it. Like someone that invaded their privacy unashamed and unquestioned. Like an intruder that forced herself onto a moment that was not intended for her. On the other hand, Sam didn't want to disturb or show them in any way that she was listening. The emotional ballast had to go and it would be insensitive to disrupt this process. But she also couldn't lay here awake and eavesdrop any longer.

As quiet as possible, Carter peeled out of the thin sleeping bag and left the tent. She slipped on her shoes and listened whether there was a response from within the tent. But neither Janet or Cassie seemed to have noticed her leaving. The camp was dark and quiet, the campfire the only light source. Undecided what she should do now, Sam decided to find herself a nice place at the fire and spend the night there.

The grass squealed under the soles of her boots. Thaw was already surrounding the fine green leaves. When she was a few steps in front of the fire, she saw that a lonely figure was already sitting there. She remembered that they had talked about a night watch. Apparently, the group members took turns staying awake during the night to look out for biters, as they called them. Because Janet and she were new and needed more time to adjust into camp life, they spared them from keeping watch the first few nights. But it seemed that Sam would partake in her first watch much earlier.

Curious about whom she would share the fire with, she focused on the contours. It was a man. Sam sighed frustrated when she recognized him. She had to be on a winning streak. It was none other than Colonel Jack. Him, of all people! He sat with his back to her, which allowed her to study his posture in detail. A rifle leaned next to him, arms crossed, leaning back slightly and staring into the night sky. She almost snorted loudly. For someone who had accused her of stupidity and carelessness a few hours ago, he seemed pretty distracted himself. He should at least try to keep a watchful eye on the area and not stare into the sky.

Oh, she would be very happy if she got the chance to tell him a few things on her mind, but she didn't want to fight again. Deliberate provocation was not her typical character trait. She always searched for a different way, tried to stay away from disputes and favoring discussing differenced objectively. But there was something about this guy that told her she wouldn't go very far with discourse. She knew those types all too well. Pompous and jacked up with ego, they weren't willing to acknowledge other accomplishments than their own. Especially not when it was based on brains and not pure muscle power. Her theory was, that those guys felt threatened by intelligence and therefore tried to undergird their position.

The man folded his arms across his chest and poked the fire with a stick. Then he turned around suddenly and fixed Sam with a knowing look, as if he knew that she'd been standing there for some time now. In the night his eyes were almost black and somehow threatening. She wondered. Sam had been of the opinion that she had crept quietly enough. And still he had managed to notice her, without showing her that she had been unmasked.

"You gotta' hear them, before you see them." he said casually and apparently expected her to understand his words immediately. But that was not the case.  
>"What?" Was all she could say at first, still amazed that with the fact that he had realized her painfully obvious try at sneaking up on him so easily.<br>"I said, you need to hear them first. If they catch you unaware, it's too late." he explained again, referring to the camp's outlines with a sweeping gesture of his right arm. Confused, she followed the movement of his hand and realized what he tried to say. She saw light sparkling everywhere in the bushes and trees. All kinds of metal and sheet hung between the branches, reflecting the light of the fire. She wanted to slap herself when she understood and wondered why she hadn't noticed earlier. It was pretty clever, she had to give him credit for that. Especially if you considered the limited resources. The metal, rims and empty cans, worked as a kind of alarm system. If one of the biters passed by, it would bump again the metal and produce noise. In this sense, the colonel was right. In the pitch black woods, your eyes could play tricks at you. It was easy to overlook something that was really there, and imagine things that weren't. But an acoustic signal was a clear proof, even in the dark.

She uttered an awfully wooden sounding "Oh". The man didn't flinch and turned back to the fire. Sam thought that he seemed unmistakably confident. Like he had just proven something important to her. His superiority. She paused uncertainly. What now? She really didn't want to sit down with him and so far he hadn't behaved like he wanted some company. But she also didn't feel like crawling back into the tent. Besides, she was no longer tired. Wide awake, actually.

"You wanted something particular?" the colonel's voice sounded annoyed, like he felt disturbed by her presence. Sam tried to think of any plausible reason why she was standing her, looking blatantly uncertain. She didn't want to show any kind of weakness around him.  
>"Toilet." she blurted out. "I mean, I have to... you know. So, is there a restroom?" she stammered and fought against screwing her eyes. During her career, she had borne up against all kinds of assholes, so why was this particular bonehead rattling her this much?<p>

The colonel turned toward her again and threw her a doubtful look. Then he eyed the camp as if he saw it for the first time.  
>"Well, I don't see a restroom around here." he remarked cynically. "But feel free to pick yourself a nice comfy bush or tree over there."<br>Sam opened and closed her mouth again. What could she say to that? Of course she knew that there was no proper toilet. What she had not yet processed completely, was the fact that many of her routines and vocabulary wouldn't function any longer. Little things, like the camping shower for example. Or brushing her teeth. At home, she used one of those high-tech electronic toothbrushes and she loved it. If she wanted to get her teeth any cleaner, she would have to use a sandblaster. But here and now she had not electric toothbrush, not even a normal one. She and Janet had been forced to use their fingers. Anything but clean and hygienic, but better than nothing. Just like peeing to a tree.

"Okay." she muttered because there was nothing else to say about this matter. To say she was surprised was an understatement, when she realized that the colonel stood up wordlessly. He shouldered the rife and apparently planned to follow her.  
>"Um...what are you doing?" she demanded to know.<br>He waved his hands towards the bushes.  
>"I thought you have to take a leak." he said lapidary. As if it was the most normal thing in the world that he wanted to accompany her using the toilet, or the tree. <em>Over my dead body, mister.<em>  
>"And how does that concern you?"<br>He folded his arms across his chest stubbornly. "No one goes anywhere alone, especially at night. Too dangerous."  
>"Look, that's not necessary. I've been doing this alone for almost 30 years."<br>The colonel raised his hands defensively.  
>"I hope so. But it's camp rule number one."<br>Sam snorted. "Like what? Thou shalt not pee alone?"  
>His expression hardened. "That's not funny. Think about what would happen if one of those walkers caught you with your pants down. Not a dainty way to bite the dust."<p>

"Don't worry about me."  
>"Oh, I don't even think about worrying. I just don't feel like cleaning up your mess when one of those things gets you!"<br>Carter gasped. That was a really nasty comment and he knew it. The moment the words left his mouth he realized how tactless his remark was, considering she'd almost gotten mauled earlier.  
>"You won't escort me. Under no circumstances." she said with more composure than she really felt like and was surprised when he did not object immediately.<p>

Instead, he rubbed his face tiredly and stared over her shoulders in thought. Having made a silent decision, he grabbed his leg holster, pulled out a gun and offered it to her.  
>"All right. At least take this. Do me the favor."<br>Sam took the gun and nodded, surprised that he had given in so quickly. Something told her that relenting was not his strength. He seemed to her more as the type of guy that was used to his orders being followed without question. Perhaps he wanted to make up for his disgusting comment. Whatever the reason, she was relieved that she could pee without him watching. That would be really strange. She nodded slightly and then walked over to a group of trees.  
>"Beware of landmines*." he called after her and she had to resist the urge to turn around, because she was pretty sure that he was wearing a smug grin in his face.<p>

Ten minutes later, she had successfully completed her mission. But not without problems. First off, she had to find a tree in the dark that was free from...well, excrement. She had just this one pair of shoes didn't feel like having to clean them from...stuff. Sam had looked around uncertainly, grabbing the gun with both hands. A breeze blew through the rustling leaves and for a brief moment, she had wished that she hadn't been so stubborn and insisted on wandering off in to the woods alone. Men were better off in this matters. They could just open the zipper and then, weapons free. But as a woman she was extremely vulnerable. After she was done, thank god she had found a paper handkerchief in her pockets, she hurried to get back to the safety of the camp. Despite the gun, she felt unprotected and exhaled a relieved breath when she approached the campfire.

The colonel didn't look up as she stood beside him, but held out his hand, a silent request to get back his gun.

Perplexed, she paused. She still had no desire to return to the tent. And the campfire's warm light was really appealing. Not just because of the light and the warmth, but because of the smoke. All day long, the sickening evaporations of the dead bodies had crept into her nose. Janet had told her that if you once smelled decay, you could never forget the scent. The smoke helped a little, overlaying the foul odor.

Coming to the decision that she wouldn't be able to sleep tonight anyway, she waited until the colonel was forced to act on her presence.  
>"Do you mind if I sit down?" she asked out of politeness when he looked at her.<p>

He shrugged. "It's a free country."  
>Without a word she sat down on a trunk and rubbed her hands together. The fire's flame was small and no longer produced any noticeably heat, but it was still strong enough to bathe their faces in a smoky light.<p>

"Sooo..can't sleep?" he asked after they had been sitting there in silence for a while. Sam was taken by surprise that he even wanted to talk to her. Thus, she couldn't think about an excuse and just said the first thing that came to her mind. "No...yes. It's just, Janet and Cassie are talking. Quite private stuff and I don't want to disturb them."

She waited anxiously whether he would answer at all. To her astonishment, he nodded a few times, as if he understood.  
>"We'll get you your own tent next time we go into the city." he offered and revealed a pragmatic character. Rather than expressing sympathy, he was already planning how to resolve the problem.<p>

Since they'd clarified the reason of her nightly presence, silence spread between them again. Some embers rolled out of the fire and he kicked them back. Carter felt as him thoughtfully watching her from the side. Either he took his time to look her over, or there was something else on his mind.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "If you wanted to sleep, I guess I could offer you my tent. I'll be up the rest of the night anyway and I think you should get some shuteye."  
>The colonel didn't look at her while he said this and scratched his head uncertainly. Carter needed a moment to comprehend his offer and the implications, then she rolled her eyes. He must really take her for a naive dullard. Yes sure, of course she believed him that his offer originated from his altruistic motives. She could already imagine what would happen if she accepted. As soon as she would lay down, he would follow, muttering some flimsy excuse and expecting her to be very grateful. Sam clearly remembered the last time she had been forced to share a tent with a man. It had been during her basic training and her tent had mysteriously fallen victim to the campfire, leaving her to share sleeping space with a fellow recruit. The same recruit had decided, because it was terribly cold and he feared to die from hypothermia or something, that it was a good idea to share body heat. When she was done with him, the last thing on his mind had been sharing something because he was busy licking his wounds and puffed up male pride.<p>

In any case, she was not so stupid to fall for the same lousy trick a second time. "No, thanks." she refused unrelentingly, expressing through her declining tone more than just rejection for the offered sleeping place.

Jack sat on his trunk and stifled the impulse to bit his lip. Okay, so maybe his offer didn't sound so great in her ears. But honestly, he harbored no other thoughts. He was aware that this fellows often regarded him as an ass. However, he wasn't that kind of an ass. He didn't need to trick a woman. Especially not miss niminy-piminy beside him.

She was such a typical scientist, he had a sure feeling for that. It was in the way she wrinkled her nose at the mere thought of sleeping in his tent. In addition to her mistake about is intentions, it was probably one of her nightmares to share space with someone like him. She already had him pegged as stupid foot soldier. Only muscle, but no brain. This woman thought that her dozen doctorates gave her advantage over him. That she was better because she didn't have to get her hands dirty. So of course you couldn't expect her to spend the night in some stranger's tent. Oh the horror, she could stumble over one of his socks! The very idea probably gave her an itchy rash. The typical scientist did not care much for hard work and favored his or her clean and gem-free office. Daniel was the an exception. But as an archaeologist, rummaging in the dirt was part of his official job description, so he didn't really count.

Opposite him, Sam had similar, gloomy thoughts. She had noticed how he responded to her refusal. Surely he thought of her as frigid now. In a fit of acute machismo, he was sure that any woman who refused to be reduced to sex was deranged somehow. After all, he had saved her live and therefore could expect some gratitude. _Well, if you think I'm that kind of a woman, you're not only barking up the wrong tree, you're even in the wrong forest!_

After ten years in the Air Force, she knew pretty much every sleazy ploy. And this one was pretty obvious. Just one more reason to hold his prejudices about her sex against him.

O'Neill screwed up his face as if tormented. After some minutes of silent brooding, he was visibly struggling with himself. A few minutes ago, he'd been completely content with ignoring little miss perfect. But then he realized that from now on, she was part of their group. Part of his team. And he was the boss, so to speak. It was his duty to integrate her into the team, to leady by good example. It was quite possible that they had to struggle in this constellation for a long time. He wouldn't have to talk with her about the deepest secrets of his soul, but a productive cooperation should be possible. For that, however, he had to cool down and make the first move.

Jack sighed and ran a hand over the stubble in his face. Then he held out his hand.  
>"By the way, name's O'Neill. Jack O'Neill. Two L's. Jack's enough."<p>

Puzzled, she stared at the hand in front of her face. Sam had gotten the message. Friends called him Jack. But she didn't want to be his friend. Rather than that, she was interested in drawing a straight line between them.  
>"I think I'll stick with O'Neill."<br>The small wrinkles that were forming around his eyes would have appeared kind in other circumstances and on any other man. But this brusque guy was not the least charming.  
>"Fine, Carter!" he spat and emphasized her last name, to make it clear that he could do very well without interacting with her on a more personal level. If she wanted to be stubborn, please, no biggie. Quite the contrary. In this camp, he was the master of stubbornness. In this matter, she could learn a thing or two from him.<p>

Silence spread between them again as both indulged in their prejudices about each other. Silence, but not tranquility, thank god. Sam didn't want to be left alone with her thoughts as the events of the day were catching up on her again. Somewhere in the dark, a few insects chirped an impressive concert. Unfazed by the chaos around them. Wind rushed trough the treetops and cooled the air. At the same time, the last flame flickered and extinguished, leaving back smoldering embers and taking light and warmth away. Suddenly feeling the chill, Sam wrapped her arms around herself.

Her discomfort hadn't slipped O'Neill's attention, but he did his best to ignore it. Stubbornness, he was really good at that. Like a mountain goat, just without the horns. Well maybe with one horn, but that's not the point. A small, squeaky and highly annoying voice in his head thwarted his plan of blissful ignorance. The voice sounded suspiciously like his grandmother. Granny had been a kindhearted woman and quite relentless when she saw manners at risk. She'd been unyielding with young Jack when he disobeyed her etiquette. Even now, out of her grave, she reminded him that a real man wouldn't let a woman freeze. Concerning respect towards women, good ole' granny, god rest her soul, had always been traditional and slightly clichéd. But Jack had loved her madly and just couldn't ignore her instructions, even if they came from afterlife. He couldn't help it, he'd never again tasted a lemon pie that good than the one Granny O'Neill had baked for him when he'd been a boy. Therefore alone, he couldn't refuse her.

He grunted in frustration because there were some people in his life, as much as he fought it, whom he couldn't refuse anything. _Okay already, I got it,_ he sent a silent salute to his grandmother and shrugged out of his BDU jacket. Wordlessly he handed the woman across from him the jacket and it didn't surprise him when she rejected this offer too. In fact, he had even expected it. But at least, he had tried.

"No, thanks. I'm not cold." she lied and he took her rejection with indifference.  
>"Whatever."<p>

An owl made itself felt. Someone started to snore terribly. But between the two people at the died out campfire, not another word was spoken. Although they were sitting across each other, there seemed to be miles between them.

Most people would think that the fact that two people had so little to say would feel awkward, but the silence suited Sam's mood. She could finally get some rest and think. About what had happened in the last four weeks. When not only her life, but maybe even the whole world had radically changed for all people. It would never be the same again, she just knew. Now, she had to adjust fast. She wanted to survive. If this want made any sense or if it would be better to give up and expect nothing, she couldn't know. Sam also tried not to think about Joe. Or about her family and friends. About everything she had achieved so far and still wanted to achieve, her goals and dreams felt worthless and useless at once. Parts of her existence, attributes she identified herself with, that constituted Major Samantha Carter as a person, were no longer valid. The dimension of changes was so big that it threatened to overwhelm her. Her normally capable mind couldn't grasp it.

It was a strange feeling, one she wasn't used to. The feeling of not understanding something was hard to comprehend, let alone to accept. Perhaps she should feel anxiety now and she wondered by she didn't. After all, It would be only natural. But Carter knew that fear and despair wouldn't improve or change anything. All she could now was survive. And at least, she wasn't alone anymore. Didn't have to fight this battle alone. She had allies, even if she would definitely have some problems with some of them in the future. Sam cast a suspicious glance at O'Neill. He had his hands clasped behind his head and watched the sky again. She decided to do the same. It'd been years since she'd last seen the stars in any other form than photos, recordings or prints.

The sight did her good, calmed and helped her to ground herself. It was consoling to know that no matter what happened on their planet, some things would always stay the same. Whatever would occur the next days or weeks, if she lived long enough, she could always count to the stars appearing at night. This certainty, combined with newfound camaraderie, gave her a tiny little bit of hope.


	10. Chapter 10

Hi guys, excuse me for the more than long wait for this chapter. I had a little bit of writer's block, then of course exams at university and there's been another story I absolutely had to write in one go. Said story is a crossover with Battlestar Galactica, if you want to check it out.

Plus, I find it really hard to live up to the standards the Walking Dead tv series set. Every episode features this special mix of depressing, frightening and threatening undertone/basic mood. For me, I's not easy to keep this mood up and still fit the different characters of Stargate into it. For example, Jack O'Neill is a completely different character than Rick Grimes and Sam Carter is nothing like Lori Grimes and of course, they deal with this apocalypse differently than the characters we know from Walking Dead. So it's not easy to integrate O'Neill's sarcastic jokes and still maintain the dark mood. Because of that, I sometimes have to think a long time before I can decide which words to use and this is a big reason why I can't accomplish to write a new chapter every week.

Hope you still bear with this story.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10: Walker shopping for beginners<p>

The next morning, she was awakened by the bright rays of the sun. At first, it was hard to orientate herself. It took a few moments until she realized that she was no longer stuck in the damn bunker. For that reason alone, this had to be the best morning for some time. Actually, since this whole nightmare started. Before she fully opened her eyes, Sam took in the smells and sounds around her.

It must've rained somewhere last night. The air smelled moist and clean and smoky. Petrichor, this particular smell was called. The smell of rain on dry ground. Blinking, she opened her eyes. The first morning of the rest of her life, as the saying goes. Still in that cozy stadium of half sleep, she watched her new acquaintance's morning rituals.

She saw Tony balancing a large pot on one arm and some cans on the other. Daniel, who almost fell out of his tent. His hair stood up in all directions as he waved at her in greeting. Then he tripped over a piece of wood lying around, picked himself up again and walked over to the big green army tent as if nothing had happened. Louise Astor was standing with her hands on her hips and a grumpy face next to her tent and was busily irritating Kowalski. The dark haired soldier rolled his eyes but still nodded. The blond policemen and his fiancée were on their feet, too.

It seemed that everyone was already awake and made oneself useful. All of them, except her. Sam startled awake when she realized that she was the only one still in bed. And that on her first day in the new group. Not exactly a good way to prove her usefulness. But that was probably because she'd been awake well into the night yesterday. Together with the unspeakably not charming Jack O'Neill.

Contrary to her claim to be not tired, she'd still fallen asleep sometime. Her legs were stretched in front of her and her upper body leaning against the tree trunk behind her. Certainly not the most relaxing sleep of her life. She could feel her muscles protesting already. But at least she wasn't cold. Even in mid summer, the nights in Colorado Springs could get cold. She resisted the impulse to snuggle deeper into the blanked that was wrapped around her shoulders.

The fabric was sturdy, but comfortably soft too. Like one of those cotton shirts which acquired that special softness after repeatedly wearing and washing it. Instinctively, she buried her nose in the blanket. The smell was a mix of sweat, soil, smoke and…was that gunpowder?

Compared to the oily-musty smell of the bunker or the rotting bodies, the blanket felt almost homely. Like the embrace of an old friend. The only thing that annoyed her was this sharp piece of metal poking her shoulder. She fingered it. It was sharp and somehow ragged. She pulled until it came off from the blanket.

Sam rubbed the last sleep from her eyes and studied the oddly shaped metal in her palm. It was a bird, a silver eagle, to be exact. And the blanket was not a blanket, but a dark green BDU jacket. She rolled her eyes when she realized what she had in front of her. This was certainly the same jacket O'Neill had offered her the night before in a rare soupcon of manners. Sam had refused because she didn't want to seem needy. When she'd still fallen asleep, he'd probably taken the liberties to tuck her in. It was a nice gesture, but she didn't know what to make of it or of him.

The man hadn't made a very good impression yesterday. Rather than that, he'd acted like a cocky choleric. She was reluctant to change her first impression of him due to one nice gesture. That had always been one of her biggest problems. She was just too trusting. He father would call it naivety and she reluctantly had to admit that he was right.

Too often, had she been ready to ignore or forgive the shortcomings of the men around her. Because she wanted to believe that there was something good in everyone and she could find it, if she mustered enough patience. As a natural result, she was rewarded for her good nature with being used repeatedly. But this shouldn't happen again. Not here and not in the midst of this nightmare. It was too dangerous. After all, she knew no one of these people. With the exception of Janet of course. And it felt like she knew Cassie pretty good too, after all, Janet had told her a ton of stories about her adopted daughter. But still, there were too many uncertainties, too many unknown variables in her formula. Sam had to learn to trust herself first, be careful around the others and meticulously choose the ones she could trust. And above all those things, she had to make clear in the first minute that she wouldn't be wrapped around one's little finger. She couldn't show weakness. If she offered no weak spots, she was less likely to be attacked.

It was best if she started right now. There had to be something she could help with. Maybe Tony could use some help cooking breakfast? She scrambled to her feet and brushed soot and dirt from her clothes. The provisional blanket fell on the ground and she bent down to pick it up again. Because there was a big smear of grime on it and she refused to give it back dirty, she tried to clean it first. Her hand brushed over the bright spot on the fabric where the silver eagle had been fixed and attached the insignia again. Doing this, she became aware of something.

This was O'Neill's BDU jacket, his name tag was attached over the right breast pocket. So, that was O'Neill's insignia too. A silver eagle. He was a colonel. Oh no! Frustrated because her mind chose this morning to be slower that usual, she wiped a hand across her face. O'Neill was the colonel everyone had spoken about. Sam had actually assumed that it was some kind of nickname. The stress of the last 24 hours had probably misled her to the wrong conclusion. Jack O'Neill was a colonel, a real one.

Thus, the man was the highest ranking officer at the camp and she as a member of the armed forces his subordinate. She suppressed the reflex to moan in annoyance. If she'd realized this earlier, she would've behaved a little more civil. Granted, O'Neill had irritated her. But normally, she was able to restrain her aversion and act respectfully towards higher ranking officers. But what was normal these days?

Worse, however, was that she had not only disgraced herself. She had also inadvertently confirmed all the stereotypes that existed about women in the armed forces. Namely, that women were much more emotional than their male counterparts and therefore not able to remain objective in stressful situations. That they were not only physically weaker, but also mentally.

Now, there was just one thing to do if she wanted to revise this picture of herself. She had to apologize immediately. Even if she didn't like the idea to eat humble pie in front of O'Neill. But he was her commanding officer and thus she was obliged to respect him. She didn't want to give him an opportunity to accuse her of disobedience.

With a sigh, she threw the jacket over her right shoulder and went in search of the colonel. Sam wanted it done before breakfast. She didn't want to imagine the humiliation if she had to say sorry with the others as witnesses.

She met Tony in her search. He dragged a pot full of slimy beans towards the smoldering campfire. She nodded at him and walked on. Following a hunch, she finally found the colonel in the bathing area. It turned out that the strange construct of branches and plastic sheeting housed two camping showers.

O'Neill stood in front of one of the showers, thank god, fully clothed. He was busy brushing his teeth thoroughly. When she thought about the lack of a own toothbrush, Sam put her hand over her mouth to test her breath. It she had to apologize, then surely not with bad breath.

He hadn't noticed her and she waited patiently until he spat out a barrage of foamy water and wiped his face with a small towel. He combed his fingers though his hair but couldn't do much against the wild strands. Sam took the jacket between her hands and cleared her throat carefully. Surprised by her presence, O'Neill whirled around and instinctively reached for the gun in his drop leg holster. Always on the watch, thought Sam. He relaxed again as he recognized her and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Sir, here is your jacket." She answered his silent question and practically threw the garment at him. O'Neill fished it out of the air without taking his eyes from her. His gaze was difficult to interpret.  
>"Okay. Thanks." He replied, but said nothing further.<br>Both stood across from each other with a tense silence between them. Jack eyed her closely and noticed that she was biting her lip. It seemed to him that there was something else on her mind, but she didn't know how to say it. And her posture was tense. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was standing at attention.

"Is there something else?" he finally asked when she continued staring indecisively at him.  
>Carter took a deep breath and closed her eyes while the words tumbled out of her.<br>"Yes, Colonel O'Neill, Sir. I want to apologize for my disrespectful and childish behavior. You are my CO and I had no right to talk to you like that. Sir, I promise that I will act according to my rank in the future. Again, I'm very sorry, Sir."

O'Neill was stunned. He thought he'd misheard when the first 'Sir' came from her lips. This submissive tone didn't fit the rebellious nature she'd hinted at the campfire. Last night, she'd left the impression of a woman who knew what she wanted and who didn't take shit from anybody and honestly, he didn't like the change in her behavior. Of course, he'd been annoyed with her and Fraiser yesterday. But the whole day had been crappy and the best part had been the dispute with Carter, because she'd presented the perfect catalyst for his pent-up frustration.

She hadn't yielded or sulked when he verbally attacked her, she had stepped up and hit back. And, he liked that. He liked a good fight once in a while. As much as Jack admired people who possessed an own opinion and own will, he despised suck-ups even more. So far, he'd actually thought that the both of them could get along well, despite their bad start yesterday. If she was going to continue with this submissive respect, he was probably forced to rethink his assumption. But as he eyed her up, he found something that gave him hope to see feisty Carter again. Jack could practically read in her face how hard that excuse was for her. He decided to test her and see how hard set she was on bootlicking.

"Sir? Colonel? Superior officer? Whatever happened to snotty Carter?" he demanded to know when exactly she'd lost her spine between last night and this morning. But his words apparently didn't reach her with it's intended meaning.  
>"As is said, Sir, I had not realized that your are my CO. I can only apologize and hope that you'll give me a second chance. I won't question you again." She stared over his right shoulder, avoiding eye contact, trying to justify something that wasn't worth worrying about in the first place, by Jack's standards. They'd both been hungry, tired and exhausted. They'd used each other to blow off some steam and that's it. No hard feelings, at least from his side.<p>

"And what if I don't want that?" He replied quickly, throwing her off balance.  
>"Sir?" Her confusion manifested itself in subtle wrinkles around her eyes.<br>Jack threw his jacket over a branch and shoved his hands deep into his pant pockets. She'd understood him completely wrong. Carter probably thought of him as a damned fusspot.  
>"Listen Carter, you don't have to Sir or Colonel me. If you really want to, fine by me. But O'Neill is good enough. For all I care, we don't have to play this superior-subordinate-number."<br>"I'm a little confused Colonel, what exactly do you want from me?"  
>Jack sighed and ran a hand trough his tangled hair.<p>

"That's the problem. I don't want to demand something from you you're not willing to give."  
>The small wrinkles around her eyes morphed into a full blown cluelessness.<br>"I'm sorry, but you've lost me."  
>"What I mean is," he started and made a sweeping gesture around the campground, "we're not just a group sharing the same space. We're a team and everyone does what he or she can do. That's the only thing I ask for. And another point, I don't play well with ass kissers and put-on authority, okay? So please, for crying out loud, don't act like a submissive sissy."<p>

Carter stared at him like he was some sort of incarnated puzzle.  
>"But you are my boss."<br>"Am I?"  
>"Yes, of course." She repeated in a doubtful tone, as if she was not so sure if this was a trap.<br>"That's just words, titles and ranks. I mean, look around. We've got no clue if the military structures still exist. Heck, we don't know if anyone but us is still alive. I see no reason why you should be forced to salute me. I don't need that and I don't want it."

She still appeared thoughtful, not really convinced of his argument, or of his sincerity.  
>"It's not as if I could sanction you. What am I supposed to do if you refuse to salute, spank your butt?"<br>It was meant as a rhetorical question, but she reacted subconsciously to it by defiantly crossing her arms over her chest. Her facial expression clearly said 'I'll rip you a new one, if you try'. There it was again, this rebelliousness, this strong-willed stubbornness. Carter may not see it, but O'Neill was sure that those two character traits would be more useful to her in the chaos surrounding them than blind obedience.

"Besides, it's enough for me that Quinn insists on calling me Sir. I feel like an old crock every time he does. Don't do that to me too, okay?"  
>He tried to undergird his half-sincere request with the most charming expression he could muster. At least she relaxed, even if only slightly.<br>"But Kowalski and Hanson call you Sir?"  
>Jack waved her words off quickly.<br>"That's something completely different. Kowalski and I have been buddies for ages. The Sir is more like a nickname. And Hanson is part of our unit. It's different for them."  
>He pointed at the entire camp.<br>"This is not a barrack and I'm no dictator. You can call me whatever you want, although I'd prefer O'Neill or Jack."

Sam had to smile as she imagined which other names she could call him. Apparently, he was very well aware at the most frustrating feelings he evoke in others.  
>"Roger that. No Sir or Colonel." She agreed finally. Although Sam was not used to not giving a superior the obligatory respect inform of a honorific, but he was right there. There really was no reason to stubbornly cling to a pecking order if they all felt better using a more casual tone. The military jurisdiction probably no longer existed and they could treat each other with respect without using ranks. It was most likely anyway more reasonable to get to know each other without the limits of their respective ranks.<p>

"Sooo….."he began again and scratched his head coyly before he held out his hand to her, like a copy from his gesture the night before.  
>"I call you Carter, you call me O'Neill? Deal?"<br>She could live with that. It was more comfortable not to be forced to show him respect that she maybe didn't even felt towards him. Still, she was not sure if she wanted to open up to these people. They were like companions in fate, not individuals who had agreed to team up.  
>"Deal." She finally agreed to his offer. He shook her hand in return. It was a firm handshake, she noticed, not too tight, but still energetic and powerful.<br>"Sweet." He commented, stunning her with his next words.

"Well, I'll go and leave you alone in our little wellness temple. You should hurry up if you want any breakfast, though. Departure is in 30 minutes. Too bad for you, but I'm afraid you'll miss the masseur today."  
>She stared after him as he walked away, trying to understand the meaning behind his words. Was he sending her away after all?<br>"Departure? Where to?"  
>He turned around and continued walking backwards. Hands buried in his pockets and a mysterious smile on the face.<br>"Getting you a tent. We'll try our luck at a shop selling camping gear in Anderson Creek today. I thought you might want to come along. If you feel well rested, that is."  
>She understood his hint at her falling asleep at the campfire after arguing that she wasn't tired, but refused to react to it.<br>"I'm ready, no problem." She answered with resolutely that was only half real.  
>Sam wasn't sure how she felt about leaving the relative safety of the camp so soon after barely surviving the city yesterday. She'd never been to Anderson Creek, but still knew that it was a small suburb outside Colorado Springs specialized in providing fans of hiking and other outdoors sports with suitable equipment. But the smaller size of the village was no guarantee for more safety. On the other hand, it was beyond question, that she wouldn't sit back at the campfire while others risked their lives to find her a sleeping back.<p>

Sam decided not to drive herself crazy. O'Neill didn't appear to be overly frightened at the thought of leaving the camp. Moreover, it was not his first trip. These people had survived like this for a month now, so they had to have at least a good tactic. Anderson Creek was probably just as dangerous as any other place right now.  
>"30 minutes." Admonished O'Neill again and his grin grew wider, when he heard her answer.<br>"I'll be ready in 20."

* * *

><p>Almost exactly 20 minutes later, Sam noticed that today's 'task force' consisted of the same members than last time. Plus her, of course. This time, it seemed that they would take the big green military truck. A sign that O'Neill and the others didn't plan to return empty handed. When she met the men on the improvised parking lot, Hanson and Quinn were already busy loading all kinds of bags and a huge bolt cutter into the truck.<p>

O'Neill stood next to the passenger side, listening to Janet as she explained him the contend of a list he held in his hand. Sam could imagine what it was about. Fraiser hat immediately taken over the job as camp doctor and checked their medicine supply this morning. To make it short, she hadn't been pleased when Harriman showed her the pathetic contents of a small bag. In her professional opinion, it was a miracle that none of the campers had died of an ingrown toenail by now. They didn't even have something to disinfect small wounds. Said list was likely her attempt to show O'Neill that it was important to eliminate this flaw quickly.

O'Neill held the list in his hand and looked at Janet as if he feared that she might explode at any moment. In fact, the small doctor had talked herself in quite a rage. She alternated between explaining him what kinds of drugs they urgently needed and almost ripping his head of verbally. When he tried to at least escape her admonitory voice with his eyes, he noticed Carter standing a few feet away and waved her over hopefully.

"Hey doc, look who's here. Why don't you show Carter everything we need? I don't understand half of your list anyway. Ya know, those long words confuse me." He suggested, grabbing Carter at her elbow and pulling her towards them. He then made a quick escape and called over his shoulder, "In the meantime, I'll do what I'm really good at. Confusing Daniel."

The two women watched his retreating form and Sam discovered that Janet wore the same doubting look, that appeared on her own face every time she had to deal with O'Neill. Yesterday, she'd been sure that he was just one of those domineering machos, today he behaved like the class clown. Sam didn't know what to make of the man and certainly not, if she could trust him.

* * *

><p>They drove to Anderson Creek in the military truck. Again, Hanson sat behind the big wheel, O'Neill occupied the passenger seat while Sam and Quinn sat in the cargo area.<br>Anderson Creek was a small village between Colorado Springs and the near nature reserve. Over the years, the village had developed a reputation as a port of call for adventurous outdoor jocks. Everyone who planned to spend some days or even weeks in the woods went there to buy rations or replacements for equipment forgotten at home. The village lay a little off the highway and possessed only one main road. Like a string of pearls, all buildings lined up along his road. There was a diner, a pharmacy, a liquor store and a big store for all sorts of camping equipment. Noting else, the remoteness of the forests began here.

Hanson parked the truck on the customer parking lot and remained seated, while O'Neill and Quinn got out. Sam didn't know if there was some kind of plan or routine, so she climbed out of the truck with Quinn.

Anderson Creek was as extinct and desolated than the city center. Like a ghost village. It looked as if the inhabitants had left their homes in a mad rush but could return anytime. O'Neill and Quinn rummaged in a large black sports back and she took a few steps to prepare herself for what lay before her.

A light breeze ruffled trough the hair and blew a faded newspaper page past her. Sam moved quickly and fixed the flapping paper by stepping on it. Then she bent down and looked at the article. It was from a six week old sports magazine. As her eyes scanned the contents, it felt like a journey trough time. A unnamed journalist argued about the chances of the national soccer team in the World Cup in South Africa. Who cared? It was just sports. Not until one was faced with the end of the own civilization, was it perceptible how many problems of daily life were not problems at all, but situations that had been unnecessarily complicated. Six weeks ago, by the time someone had bought this magazine, life had been so simple. At least for most people. Getting up at 7 o'clock. Newspaper and breakfast. Working 9 to 5. Dinner. Two or three hours of downtime. A quickie before bedtime. Then, after 8 hours of healthy sleep the rhythm began anew. Her own life had been monotonous and a bit boring, but at least safe and reliable. Sam missed it.

Before the outbreak she'd been, if she was honest with herself, anything but satisfied with her choices in life so far. But who could say that he or she was absolutely at peace with the world and oneself? Probably no one. How she longed to get back that boredom. Knowing exactly how the day would end by the time she got up in the morning. Sam had always interpreted this as daily monotony and grind. But now she knew better. In actual fact, it was luxury. Another breeze tugged at the paper in her hand and she let go. It flapped in the wind and landed in a puddle of dirty water a few feet away.

"Hey, Carter!" she heard O'Neill call to her, yanking her away from her depressive musings. She turned around and saw him standing at the back of the truck, a large knife and a gun in his hands.  
>"Daydreaming?" he asked and his voice featured a certain lightness that she couldn't afford herself. Sam shook her head without a word and took the weapons he offered. While she attached the holster and gun to her right leg, she noticed that Quinn had a knife but no gun. Perhaps he felt uncomfortable wearing a one? She couldn't blame him. Knowing that you had the power to extinguish a life with the small movement of a finger was not easy to shoulder.<p>

Still, she was grateful for the option to defend herself. The same dark sense of foreboding that she had felt in the city yesterday was creeping up on her. This underlying sense of a threat. It snuck up behind her and tried to overwhelm her senses. Sam felt observed and put it down to the fact that these things, these biters, could be literally everywhere. Maybe one of them was already lurking for her around the corner. If there was one thing that was certain in this new world, it was knowing that the undead were always close. Even if she couldn't see , hear or smell them. They were there and with them the certainty that she had to be ready at any time to fight for her life.

"Okay guys, that's the plan." Began the colonel and said it loud enough for Hanson to hear through the opened driver's seat window.  
>"Our priority is food, water filters, ammunition, drugs and bandages, batteries and clothing. In this order, but if anyone finds anything else useful, we'll take that as well. Jonas and Hanson, you'll look for anything we can eat or drink. Carter and I will take care of the rest. Any questions? No? Great, let's go!"<p>

Sam looked at the great display window of the camping shop and wondered what her comrades were hoping to find here. There was not light, but you could clearly see the degree of absolute devastation. The business must have been looted a few times already. The shelves were overturned. Different kinds of liquids covered the floor. Bullet holes in the façade accurately running from left to right in a half moon. How could they find anything useful in this camping shop, turned battleground?

But O'Neill seemed to have a plan, so she swallowed her doubts and followed him. They walked to the backside of the shop while Hanson waited in the truck. Shortly, she asked herself why they didn't use the front entrance but the explanation came swift. She heard a muffled knock and turned her head. What her eyes saw, froze her body for a brief moment. At the space behind the windows, that had seemed abandoned a minute ago, a mob of angry biters had gathered. Maybe customers or employees who'd been locked up when the power blackout kept the automatic doors closed shut. The things braced themselves against the glass of the shop windows. Pressing their meaty faces against it and scraping their brittle fingernails across the smeared surface. Sam didn't want to imagine the smell inside, those biters were probably locked up for weeks now. But at least, as long as they were locked inside the shop, they didn't pose a direct threat.

"Carter! You comin'?" O'Neill called again and Sam felt stupid because he had to rip her out of her mental paralysis a second time. She raised her hand apologetically and caught up with the two men. The colonel let his group to the big green roll-up door of the delivery entrance. Obviously, the warehouse had been his intended target and not the destroyed and biter infested shop area. O'Neill checked the heavy padlocks on the door and whistled pleased before he gave a signal to Hanson.  
>"Still intact." He commented while Hanson drove the truck backwards toward them.<br>"We've been here two weeks ago, but couldn't crack the locks." Explained Jonas Quinn kindly.  
>"Yes, but today, we've got big mama with us." Added O'Neill with a wry grin. Sam knew that it wasn't a very good idea, but she gave in to her curiosity and asked anyway.<br>"Big Mama?"  
>"The bolt cutter. You know, the mother of all cutters."<p>

Indeed, the gate looked like someone had tried to crack it open several times. Scratch marks on the green paint and on the chain links were a clear sign. But this time, the locks stood no chance. Hanson had parked the truck near them and shouldered the heavy bolt cutter. In teamwork, O'Neill and Hanson started to gradually crack the locks open. When the last links had lost it's fight, the colonel grabbed the door handle and looked at them questioningly.  
>"Everyone ready? Weapons up, we don't know what's behind."<p>

When the rusty roller door finally opened, all four of them held their respective weapons up and stopped breathing. But nothing tried to bite them. It was dark inside, the only light source the narrow windows at the level of the top of the storage racks. When they were sure that no immediate surprise was waiting for them, they divided into two groups. Hanson and Quinn dragged an abundance of bags and backpacks with them and walked further into the storage area to the left. O'Neill and Sam started their exploration on the right.

They entered the first aisle and looked for everything on their list. The air was stuffy and dusty because the midsummer sun was heating up the place. The smell was stale and putrid, indicating that some of the food here had gone bad. Dust particles danced in the gloomy light. And it was quiet, except for the sound of their steps and Hanson or Quinn throwing canned food into a bag.

The noises were both, blessing and curse. Firstly, it was a relief to hear someone except yourself. Secondly, silence would only seduce her ears to make up for the lack of noise and hear things that weren't real. Her nerves were tense because it was impossible to shake of her experiences in the city. This awareness that literal death could lurk behind every shelf was hard to ignore.

O'Neill must've felt a similar tension. He held his gun with a fierce grip, his eyes thoroughly scanning their surroundings for everything. Sam noticed suddenly, that they both unconsciously oriented towards each other. Without realizing it, they'd taken up a posture which allowed them to cover each other's dead angle. They walked side by side, in the same pace, subconsciously protecting the other. The only sign that they hadn't done this many times before showed itself when they bumped their shoulders a few times.

Securing each other like that, they searched the racks for the things on their list. They came to a cardboard box full of first aid bags for cars or motorcycles. It wasn't ideal and Janet was probably used to better equipment, but it was better than nothing. O'Neill let the bag slide from his shoulders and packet almost the entire contents. Then he put the now full back on the floor and left it there. It was easier not to carry the full bags with them, instead leaving those behind and collecting them when they were finished.

It wasn't easy to keep an eye on everything in the sporadic and meager lit hall. Suddenly, Sam felt very unprepared for what was expected from her. What the hell was she doing? She literally was O'Neill's life insurance and as much as he confused her, she didn't want to be responsible for his death. But she had next to no clue what to do. Her last combat mission had been years ago and even then she'd just flown a plane and pressed a button to fire the missiles. She wasn't used to close combat. Wasn't used to this feeling of utter disorientation. Sam risked a glance to the man next to her. If he harbored similar doubts about her abilities, he hid them well. He scanned the racks with focused eyes, his body was tense but not knotted, he balanced the weight of his body on the balls of his feet, always ready to move quickly and efficiently if he had to. The whole man was the incarnated red alert. The way he moved showed her that he knew exactly what he was doing. So maybe she should just follow the advice he'd already shared with her.

Hear them before you see them. According to this recommendation, she focused all her concentration on her hearing. If her visual sense was limited due to sparse light, she would just rely on her ears. So she ignored the poor vision, tried to break free from the anxiety and focused on what she could hear and interpret.

She listened to quick, heavy footsteps. The grinding of fabric being dragged over the floor. The clank of metal falling on metal. Those noises belonged to Hanson and Quinn as they filled their bags with all kinds of canned food, dragging the full backpacks over the floor because they were too heavy to carry. Carter was so concentrated on searching for new sounds, that she didn't notice those who were missing. The reassuring steps beside her weren't there anymore, it's source vanished.

Stunned, she spun to the side and found herself alone in the dark corridor. Where, just now, O'Neill had covered her back, dust and darkness had taken over his place. He had vanished into thin air, together with his weapons and backpack. She squinted her eyes and tried to find the contours of his body in the dim light, but he was not there. Or at least, he was not near. Carter forced herself to push back the emerging concern.  
>"Colonel? O'Neill?" She whispered into the darkness, but received no answer.<p>

She didn't know him well enough to know if it was time to seriously worry about him. Maybe it was typical for him to disappear like that? But that was not the impression she gained of him. Simply disappearing, leaving without a word didn't seem to be his style. That however, could only mean that something must have happened to him. Guild flared up in Sam, because hadn't noticed his absence earlier. She was far form saying that she liked him, but she didn't want to image what one of those biters could do to a human body.

If there was a walker on the loose, O'Neill was in danger and she had to help him. Immediately. For about a second, she debated whether it made sense to call Hanson and Quinn for help, but quickly decided against it. It was possible that the time she would need to find the two men, was exactly the time that made the difference between life and death. And she couldn't call out to them. The risk was too high that she would just startle other biters that possibly lurked in the dark. She fumbled at her belt and cursed under her breath, when it occurred to her that O'Neill had taken the radio. So she couldn't even use that.

No, there was no other choice. So many unknown factors that she had to take care of it herself.

Slowly, she crept through the corridors, hoping that he'd just taken a wrong turn. But she didn't expect that. After all, O'Neill was a colonel and those didn't get lost in a warehouse between canned ravioli and bunsen burners. She drew her gun and held it protectively in front of her, always ready to shoot anything that would jump her in the dark. Sam tried to act tactically clever while she scurried through the aisles, always mindful that she had one of the massive shelves in her back. Making sure, that nothing could sneak up on her from behind. Her eyes and ears attentive and her mind focused, she searched for anything suspicious. When she had covered about half of the path back the way they'd been coming from, she heard something.

There was rasping and a metallic clang. When it was joined by a strained breathing, Carter was convinced that there was indeed one of this biters somewhere and that it had got hold of O'Neill. The noise seemed to come from an aisle to her left, about five meters away. She took a few tentative steps towards the source and the noise only got louder.

She stopped near the aisle and listened. It wasn't easy to separate the sound of her loudly beating heard from the rattling. She was close now. The rasping and grunting became more intense. Whatever that was, it was lurking just a few feet away. Sam pressed her body flat against the front side of the rack and tried to peek in between two shelves, but she couldn't get a closer look. Before she ventured any further, she checked her gun. Then, taking a deep breath and counting to 10. And she hoped. Hoped that whatever she would find, wasn't the battered and bloody body of O'Neill.

With her weapon raised, Sam dived into the aisle, intending to make good use of her time advantage. Her eyes searched for the source of danger and the author of the telltale sounds. She couldn't see much. There was a metal box with grids, like a cage. A tall figure leaned on it, pulling with both hands at the bars. Bingo, she thought. There in front of her stood one of those beasts and it hadn't noticed her. Instinctively, she raised the gun and aimed at the head. Her finger tightened around the trigger. Her brain transmitting to her muscles that it was time to shoot.

She snapped out of her trance-like focus at the last moment.

There was something wrong with the figure's movements. They didn't fit with the experience she'd made with walkers so far. Far too fluently, too coordinated. Alerted by these observation, the finger around the trigger relaxed and she took the fraction of a second to look more closely.

It was a man. Coincidentally, about the same height and build like O'Neill. The same clothes, too. When Sam realized that it wasn't a hungry biter in front of her, but the missing colonel, she let out a low curse. Damn idiot! What had he been thinking? Had he been thinking at all? She'd almost shot him! If her mind would have worked a tad more slowly, she would have killed him. Asshole.

Hearing her angry breathing, he whirled around and drew his gun. For a second or two, they stood facing each other with terror in their eyes. Then they simultaneously realized that the other emanated no danger and put the weapons down, sighing with relief.

Sam couldn't help but curse again.  
>"I thought you were a biter. I almost shot you!" she scolded in an angry whisper.<br>O'Neill appeared to be far less upset about being almost killed and his terse shrug made her even angrier.  
>"One moment I hear you wheezing beside me, and the next minute you're just gone. Why the hell didn't you say something? I've been worried."<br>The roles were now reversed. It was her now, accusing him of frivolity. In response, he scratched his neck and muttered a quiet, but slightly guilty sounding "Sorry."  
>He looked like a schoolboy apologizing half-heartedly for smashing the hated neighbor's window with a baseball. Surprisingly, she noticed that her anger vanished. Something daring flashed in his eyes and the corners of his mouth turned into a grin.<br>"So, you've been worried…for me, eh?"  
>Carter rolled her eyes. "Think nothing of it. I've been mostly concerned for the radio."<br>"Yeah, sure. The radio. Would've been my second guess."

She put her gun back into the leg holster and fixed him with a stern glance. "Never, ever do that again."  
>This time, he managed a somewhat remorseful expression. He crossed his index and middle finger and pursed his lips.<br>"Promise. Scouts honor."  
>Sam snorted. "As if you've been a scout."<br>Shortly, he seemed genuinely appalled that she openly doubted his past as a scout. But an easy smile quickly replaced the expression.  
>"I was a scout. I swear….for about 30 minutes. Then they kicked me out again."<br>Sam closed her eyes and prepared herself for the silly story that was surely coming.  
>"Do I want to know why?"<br>O'Neill formed quotation marks with his fingers. "Apparently, I was hyperactive. But personally, I think I was just too cool for the uniform."

Sam shook her head and left this little anecdote uncommented.  
>"What did you want here anyway?" she asked instead.<br>A slightly shy expression crept into his face and he stepped around her so she could get a closer look at the cage behind him. She couldn't believe her eyes when she recognized it's contents. Hockey sticks. A series of colorful hockey sticks. Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief. That idiot! He'd slipped away, scaring the hell out of her and almost gotten himself killed through her hand because of a stupid hockey stick. A hockey stick, in the middle of august! What a infantile idiot!

"You can't be serious."  
>Sam knew the man about 24 hours, and already he was confusing the hell out of her. Bipolar would be an understatement. Sometimes he behaved like a tough and insensitive klutz. Then he was a bold tactician. Another time he was the class clown and now he looked more like a little boy than an adult man. While she was still trying to order the many conflicting impressions she'd gained from him, he stood coyly in front of her. Bobbing up and down on his heels, he looked alternately at her and the sports equipment. His mischievous eyes seemed to answer her question with 'What do you expect, I'm just a guy.'<p>

She breathed loudly when he turned back to the hockey sticks. O'Neill seemed stubborn about it. If she interpreted his longing look right, then he really, really wanted one of those. She almost feared that he would throw himself on the ground and start kicking with his hands and feet. Sam chuckled quietly as she imagined this ridiculous picture.

Without planning or even wanting it, she earned her first points with the gruff colonel. She sighed in resignation and pushed him quite rudely out of the way as she pulled a clip out of her hair. Actually, the clip had kept her long, blonde hair in shape, but now it fell in golden strands on her shoulders. If Jack wouldn't have been so focused on the racket of his desire, he would've probably appreciated the sight. But the was much too busy watching the woman as she used the clasp to manipulate the casket's lock. He noticed how her clever fingers worked and suspected that she'd done more tinkering like that. Maybe, she wasn't a typical egghead. He began to wonder, where had she learned that. She didn't look like a professional safecracker, but one never knew. This was definitely an interesting facet, he thought.

With childish impatience, he hovered behind her and peered over her right shoulder to follow the progress. Sam refused to be distracted by this unaccustomed closeness. When the door of the box finally opened with a crack, Jack couldn't wait any longer. Eagerly, he grabbed the deep blue bat and weighed it gently in his hands and as if to test it's weight.

In the meantime, Sam used the clasp to pull her hair into a firm braid. Her fingers working as thoroughly as she had worked on the casket lock. She liked her hair, but couldn't stand it if the strands fell into her face while working. Fighting against biters was hard enough, she didn't want to fight her hair too. Sam eyed O'Neill as he tested the hockey stick, first swinging it like a golf club and then like a baseball bat. She felt her mouth twitching upward with the hint of a smile. When the bat had apparently passed aptitude check, O'Neill gave her a satisfied grin.  
>"Sweet thing, thanks. I always wanted a blue one."<p>

With this silly comment, she lost all control of her facial features and couldn't any longer resist a full smile. Somehow, his childish joy was contagious. He grinned back knowingly, almost as if he knew exactly that she wanted to be strict but couldn't help herself being amused by his behavior. Shortly, the thought crossed her mind that he did that on purpose, just to break the ice between them. But she rejected this theory quickly because she was doing it again. Leaving behind all her doubt and caution for a somewhat charming smile.

"So, are you happy now? Can we go on?" she asked instead and waited for an answer while he tucked the racket between his back and the rucksack, now wearing it like a Samurai sword.  
>"For now." Was his multi layered reply.<p>

Her eyes fell on the empty bag he had put in a corner and she was reminded of why they were really here. They hadn't collected everything on their list yet. In a way, it felt wrong. What they did was stealing, even if it was an emergency situation.  
>"That's what you understand by shopping. Stealing." She voiced her remorse, hoping that a little humor would make it easier. O'Neill didn't disappoint. He cocked his head thoughtfully to the side, but his eyes seemed to tease her.<br>"Actually, I think the right term is pillaging."  
>Sam sighed. He wasn't helping much. In her eyes, looting was ever worse than stealing. Looting. That always sounded like exploiting an emergency and enriching oneself. But actually, these were just merely semantics. She tried to persuade herself with the fact, that this nightmare didn't leave them with many other options.<br>"Oh great. I'm feeling better already." She commented and realized that irony had sneaked into her words. Oh god, he was rubbing off on her already.

O'Neill harbored less guilty feelings, which fit his rather pragmatic mind. They faced a really big problem and taking what they needed to survive was the only solution. For him, it was easy like that. He grabbed the empty bags, displaying a playful bow as he walked past her.  
>"Always at your service."<br>Shaking her head, half amused, half frustrated, she followed him.

They continued their search for useful supplies and Sam realized, that the seedy darkness of the warehouse seemed far less threatening with another pair of footsteps beside her. Maybe it was like watching a horror movie? Those were half as creepy when you watched it with someone else. Or perhaps it was just because in a world of the walking dead, it was good to have another living, breathing person with you. Knowing that you are not alone made it easier somehow.

"So…" She started with a whisper because Sam had decided that now was a good time as any other to get to know the man next to her a little better. Today he behaved much more compatible that yesterday and she wanted to find out if this was the limit of his kindness or if there were other hidden talents.  
>"…what other rules are there?"<br>O'Neill didn't bother to look at her as he peeked into a passage on their right side, but she could see the confusion in his face.  
>"Rules?"<br>While he made sure that there was nothing endangering them from their right, Sam did the same with a corridor to her left.  
>"You know. Your camp rules. Rule number one: Don't pee alone. You emphasizing the one indicates that there is at least a number two."<p>

"Uhm…" began O'Neill and took a few seconds to think about it. Of course, these rules weren't written down, most of them not even discussed. And they were not rules per se, just a few behaviors that had come naturally to them. Simply because it was convenient and reduced the chance of ending up as biter dessert. But there was not a real control system. He was unaware of the fact that the night before, when he'd boastfully admonished her, he'd indicated something like this. However, he should have guessed that Carter was someone that had to weight his words and now that she asked for further rules, he didn't want to make a fool out of himself. After all, he had acted like the big shot. And now, he had to giver her something so she wouldn't think of him as a wind bag. So, his mind searched desperately for another rule. Preferably something that made sense.

"Well…" he raised an admonitory finger to give his words more substance. "…you should always have some kind of weapon ready." He finally managed and noticing at the same moment, how stupid that sounded. But it was already too late. Carter turned around and rolled her eyes in disbelief.  
>"Really? Wow, thanks for the hot tip. I'd never have guessed that myself." Her voice was slightly mocking as she watched him like someone would watch the biggest idiot one had ever seen. Apparently she had expected an advice with a little more content. Considering this, he had to do something quick or else he could flush his reputation down the drain. His eyes landed on the colorful paracord bracelets around his left wrist and a winning grin manifested itself in his face. He slid his pistol into the holster and undid the clasp of a blue one.<p>

When he put it around her wrist, Jack noticed her baffled gaze with a pleased one of himself. At least he had managed to elicit a reaction out of her that was not exasperated annoyance.  
>"You should always have one of those at hand."<br>His explanation didn't seem to convince her. Carter eyed her new, not so chic, trinket with suspicion.  
>"And what is it good for?"<br>He didn't have to think twice about that. After all, he had daydreamed about this several times during the lonely nights at the campfire.  
>"For example, to tie Daniel to a tree."<br>"Why should we do that?"  
>That was a question only one could ask who hadn't spend much time with the archaeologist. Jack, however, knew the man for a whole month now and knew that if Daniel started one of his lectures, there was not much that could stop him. Of course, his wife Sherry had an intimate, therefore really efficient way to shut him up. But this was no option for Jack. He liked Daniel, but not in that way.<br>"Honestly, I've got no problem with the man himself." He reiterated when her saw her skeptical look. "Just with him as a scientist."  
>"Why?"<p>

"Because he's got that annoying habit to think that everyone likes his stories about mouldy stones."  
>Sam shrugged, not seeing the problem. "So what. He's probably just passionate about his métier. I like that way better than objecting to everything." She gave him a meaningful look, but he choose not to notice.<br>"Says the woman who never had to suffer through his theory about how aliens built the pyramids."  
>Sam took the gun in her left hand and wiped the sweaty palm of her right on her pants, then repeated this movement with the other hand. It really was hot in here.<p>

"Many renowned scientists at least assume that the Egyptians couldn't have build the pyramids alone. At least not with their knowledge, resources and tools."  
>O'Neill sighed, but his face remained expressionless.<br>"That's why I don't like scientists. This obsessive habit to question everything. There has to be an answer for everything, even if there is not question. And of course, everyone hast to accept the sovereignty of science. But sometimes, a horse is just a horse."  
>"I see no horse here."<br>"It's a metaphor. You know, Ockham's Razor."

Carter eyed the man next to her surprised. She wouldn't have guessed that he knew something about Ockham's Razor. She just couldn't figure him out. He was like a puzzle with a strange pluralism of tempers and roles. He was a strict leader, a laissez faire Colonel, a class clown and not to forget, a ten year old in the body of a grown man. And he played very single role like a master. But at the same time, Sam felt that all of that was only superficial. What was a mask, and what was real?

"Tada! Here we are, Carter. Your own little camping paradise. Take everything you need, it's on me."  
>His jovial exclamation pulled Sam out of her brooding. She rolled her eyes because no one of them would pay for anything of the stuff they took. And for her, it was not just semantics. No matter what O'Neill would say, they were stealing. And Sam had never stolen anything in her whole life. Carters didn't steal. When a Carter wanted something, then hard work and ambition was the price. But she knew that they had no choice now. Firstly, they had no money and secondly, there was no one who could collect or use it. It was really weird. Given the things one would do for money, it was somehow ironic that it was absolutely worthless in this new world.<p>

With O'Neill at her side, she rounded a shelve with camping mats. Sam grabbed a silver one and put it right back, when the tall colonel shook his head vehemently. This was repeated two more times until she finally selected a mat that seemed to satisfy his strict standard for apocalypse-apt camping gear. Now, she needed a tent and a sleeping bag.

Meanwhile, Carter felt confident enough to go ahead. But when she entered the next aisle, she regretted this decision immediately. Not for the first time this day, was she glad that she wasn't alone. Before her lay a lifeless body. It was a man, wearing a shirt with the logo of the camping shop. An employee? His body was lying under a fallen over shelf. Hundreds of packages of chewing gum lay scattered around him. Perhaps he had tried to hide here during the outbreak? It would've been a logical idea. After all, there was enough food and water to sustain a single person for months. She wondered what had happened to him? Even more urgent was the question if he was really dead, or not?

Sam noticed only now that she was rooted to the spot and blocking the corridor when she felt a gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder. O'Neill pushed her aside and slipped past her in the corridor. He used the hockey stick to poke at the lifeless body. Both instinctively backed away when the dead man moved. His head snapped up, the milky eyes wide open and hissing and drooling as he started dragging himself across the floor towards them. The impulse to eat too strong to resist.

"What a mess." Commented O'Neill and put his hand over nose and mouth while Sam realized at the same time why the figure crept, instead of trying to stand and walk on wobbly legs like his counterparts. The sharp edge of the shelf must have separated the legs from the body right below the kneecap when falling over. While the man's ashen body laboriously moved towards them, his feet remained behind, still stuck in the shoes.

As she watched with a perverse fascination the movements of the biter, she felt O'Neill's piercing gaze on her face. She lifted her head and met his dark eyes. He seemed to size her up and all of a sudden she realized what he expected from her now. Sam narrowed her eyes and bit her lip as she waited for him say something and confirm her suspicion.

"That one is yours." She heard him finally say. He got straight to the point, without detours and euphemisms. Given their situation, it seemed appropriate that way.  
>Secretly, Carter had known that it would come to this. It had been clear to see for her that this 'shopping trip' had never been just a simple errand tour. He wanted to test her. To find out, what he could expect of her and whether she was ready to defend their group. If she could take care of herself, or if she was just someone else he had to worry about.<p>

But she would master his test, although something in her still struggled against what she had to do.  
>"You okay with that?" He asked, offering her an out. Sam didn't take it, instead nodding wordlessly and never turning her eyes away from the grotesque body in front of her. Since that disastrous experience in the city, she was aware of the fact that life as she had known it was over. This new world was cruel and merciless and if she wanted to survive, she had to kill. Her organism responded to this certainty, accelerating her pulse until her temples throbbed almost painfully.<p>

Carter had killed before. Throughout training in the Air Force, she'd been prepared to kill when she had to. Taking someone's life without thinking. Doubts were allowed, but only afterwards. She had learned to perfection, how to kill in many ways. By shooting a highly accelerated projectile in the flesh of another human being. How to cut delicate veins with a sharp knife. Which body parts were extremely sensitive for punches or kicks. The culmination of said training had been her flight instruction. Hundreds of hours in a flight simulator, practicing how to steer, aim and pull the trigger. Aiming and shooting, aiming and shooting, aiming and shooting. That was everything she had to do while sitting in a cockpit, the aircraft took care of the rest.

During her time in Afghanistan, she'd felt strangely encapsulated. Almost as if aircraft and pilot were separated from each other. Two independent entities which used each other as mere tools to serve a higher purpose. Killing in the name of your country. But this, this moment right here was different.

Although Sam had learned how to kill with a knife, fortunately she never had been in a situation to use this knowledge. Also, she'd never killed someone in close combat. She was the one that pushed the button of the launch facility. Always flying above the battlefield and far away from her targets and victims. Like an angel of death, but at the same time oddly distanced from it all. But now, she was so very close. Not only did she see the biter in front of her, but she also heard, smelled and felt it's presence. And she felt O'Neill' eyes, his doubt increasing with every minute that she remained rooted to the spot instead of acting.

Come on, just do it already! –her mind screamed. She just had to tell herself that the man was dead already and had been for some time now. He was not a human being anymore. No feelings, no awareness, no senses but the blatant lust for meat. With ending this miserable existence, she would help him. Carter would prefer a bullet in the head too, instead of tottering helplessly around and hunting people.

She lifted her arm. In her hand, the gun rested like an extension of her body, of her will to survive. Aiming and shooting. So simple, yet something that no one should be forced to do. She held her breath and bent her fingers. Just as she wanted to pull the trigger, she felt a warm hand on her arm. Irritated, she sought out O'Neill's eyes and silently asked why he was keeping her from doing this. Sam feared, that she might loose her courage if she waited any longer.

He shook his head slightly.  
>"Take the knife. Saves ammunition. Is quieter, too."<br>She let the breath she'd been holding escape through her teeth as she put the gun back into her leg holster. He was right. The knife was the better choice. Why hadn't she though of that, instead of instinctively reaching for the gun? Probably because using a knife was a much more intimate way to kill. With the gun, she could keep her distance, physically and mentally. But with the knife, she had to be real close to the man. Something she really didn't want to.

Sam was grateful that O'Neill spared her encouraging phrases.

You can do it. It's simple. Just let it happen.

Such two-faced advice wouldn't help her. Although she knew that there was no human life left in the body in front of her. That she was staring at an empty shell, there was no way to ignore the fact that she was about to ram a long, sharp knife into a human brain. There was nothing he could possibly say to help her get over the guilty shame she felt right now. But she had no choice. There would be more moments like this in her future.

Carter let herself be guided by her determination, pushed the compassion for the poor creature on the floor in the background and ignored the pained tightness that seemed to squeeze her lungs as she thought about how it would feel when the blade cut through the soft brain. Her face was marked by stubborn defiance as she crouched down. Her right hand gripped the knife's handle until her muscles arched. She hesitated, she brooded.

Don't think, just act! – her mind called again.

But wasn't that like a common theme through her entire life? She was always analyzing and overthinking everything. She thought so long and so hard until the occasion that had triggered the idea was already over. It was not her intention to ride out a problem, she just wanted the certainty that she had considered every alternative opportunity before she did something stupid. And yet, no matter how long she mused about it, the problem in front of her would not vanish into thin air.

This new world was not made for people like her, she realized. Overthinking was deadly. Surviving depended on gut feeling, quick response, strong nerves and improvisation skills. Suddenly, she felt terribly inadequate. She was a thinker, had always been. The question was, could she change? Could she be a doer instead? Attacking problems before they attacked her? She realized that the biter in front of her was not just O'Neill's test for her. It was not just about proving to the man next to her that she was a survivor, that she could be tough, that her will to survive was strong enough for this world. No, it was also an opportunity to prove herself for her own good, to strengthen the confidence in her own abilities. To see, that she could adapt. And she needed that kind of confidence more than O'Neill needed to know that she could use a knife.

Sam couldn't estimate how long she was squatting down and pondering over it. She just knew, that O'Neill seemed to be willing to give her all the time she needed. Maybe she had been wrong about him and he wasn't the harsh brute she took him for? But this was not the time to think about that.

She looked at the human body. The man had almost reached her. She watched in slow motion as he reached out his withered arm, scratching his broken nails on the fabric of her pants. This touch was the trigger she needed. Suddenly, she wasn't thinking any longer, but acting.

If it was even possible, she grabbed the knife harder. Her arm jerked upward, swinging over her head as she gained momentum. Then the blade soared through the air and right into the head of the corpse. The impact of steel on bone felt different than she had imagined. Not so personally, not so intimate and Sam was grateful for that. But she felt the force of the impact vibrating through her arm muscles and how the knife sank into soft tissues.

She'd finally done it. But, wait, something wasn't right.

The knife was stuck in the brain, but the creature wasn't dead yet. Instead, it bared its teeth, hissed and spat at her even more. Not in pain, because these things felt nothing else but hunger, but because his prey was literally close enough to touch. Not pain was it's urge, it was anticipation. From the corner of her eye she noticed how O'Neill reached for the gun in his holster. Carter also noticed how quick and efficiently his movements were. But she was faster. She yanked at the knife, trying to pull it out of the skull. But it was stuck. Sam pulled another two or three times, but had to accept that her movements were not coordinated enough. Her hands were trembling from all the stress, just like the rest of her body, as she realized with shock.

Bony fingers tightened their grip on her leg and she could feel the pressure of the dirty fingernails on her skin. Guided by her instinct, she grabbed her gun and struggled awkwardly with the fastener until she was finally able to pull the weapon out of the holster. Quickly, she wrapped her fingers around the barrel, not around the handle, of the gun. Sam swung the gun and struck the biter's head with everything she had. The man screamed and stretched useless arms to defend himself but she was stronger. Broken bones, blood, cerebral matter and cartilage sloshed around and she felt small, wet drops on her face.

She had to look like a madwoman. The way she uncoordinated, but hell-bent hit the head repeatedly. Until there was not much left that looked human. She moaned and grunted due to the exertion, but couldn't help it. Finally…finally, the body ceased to move. Carter had worked herself in such an emotional rush, that she needed a few moments to notice. Sam hit the bloody mess one last time, then she almost slumped down. It was dead. This time for good. The gun still in her hand, she stared at her macabre work. At the pile of slobberish bones, brain blood and other tissues. She must have kept hitting the head even after the biter was dead. Trapped in some sort of tunnel vision, Sam had lost all control over herself. But wasn't that what mattered? What she secretly had wished to do? Letting go of the thinking and just doing? Trusting the animal in herself and dealing out blows right and left until no one but herself was still standing? Did she want to be that kind of person?

She was so confused with herself, and ashamed. Feeling dirty and exhausted.

Carter didn't dare to look up, although she knew O'Neill was staring at her. What was he thinking of her now? Doubtlessly that she was mad. He probably couldn't decide who was more dangerous for the group, she or a mob of biters. The way she had smashed the skull distinguished sharply from his efficient and deliberate moves and the experience he displayed.

The man surprised her as he almost appreciatively whistled through his white teeth.  
>"Wow, you're a mess, you know that?"<br>"Yeah, I know." She replied and meant more that just the obvious fact that she was full of blood and other yucky things.  
>When O'Neill offered her a hand, she took it wordlessly and let him help her getting up. Their eyes met. She looked ashamed to the ground, but he kept seeking eye contact. His expression was fortunately neutral when she dared to meet his glance. There was no trace of what he thought about her performance in his mimic.<p>

When he was apparently convinced that she wouldn't fall over, he grabbed the hand that was still holding the gun tightly. The colonel almost had to pry the weapon from her fingers. Then he bent down and picked up the knife from the puddle of blood she had created, wiping it at his pants. Sam couldn't believe that he was willingly cleaning up behind her. Somewhat surprised, she took the weapons back when he held them out to her. She had expected, after her display of madness, that he would take care that there was at least ten foot between her and any kind of weapon.

This whole exchange was entirely wordless. What was there to say, after what had just happened? And to be honest, she was grateful for the silence. Sam neither wanted to hear some well-intentioned advice, nor having to say something herself. Even his next words were blessedly free of heavy meaning as he held out a brown bandana to her.  
>"For your face. You've got all kinds of stuff…sticking on you." He explained as she slow-witted stared at the cloth in his hands. Sam grimaced when she noticed that there was something tickling on her skin. The walker blood was already starting to dry on her face. Disgust spread in her at the thought. Quickly, she took the offered garment and rubbed it over her blood smeared face.<p>

Now, O'Neill managed an encouraging gesture after all, albeit a very modest one. He winked at her briefly. Then pointedly turned around, walked a few steps and leaned his back at one of the shelves. Giving her a moment of privacy to compose herself. While she scrubbed her face so long until her skin was red and hurt, Sam stared at the man's back. For the short time that she knew him, he'd represented a pure nuisance for her. But now? Maybe they'd just met under really shitty circumstances. Carter still had no idea what to think of him. But at least she was willing to consider that he possessed more social intelligence than she'd given him credit for so far.

* * *

><p>Jonas Hanson scratched his head with the barrel of his gun and grunted in annoyance when watched Quinn working. The younger man was the classic example for a bootlicker. Like the Duracell Bunny, the student hurry-scuttled around the warehouse, eager to collect everything that was vaguely edible. He was so absorbed in his work, that he didn't even notice that he was the only one still working. O'Neill's little pet. Hanson was pretty sure that the younger man had some kind of hero worshipping going on with the colonel. Quinn would do almost everything to gain O'Neill's respect, or at least a pat on the head. It was pathetic.<p>

At first, Hanson had helped carrying the heavy filled bags to the truck. He was someone who could hitch up his knickers and tackle a problem. Or else he wouldn't have made it into O'Neill's team in the fist place. But Quinn's excessive zeal irritated him. Their days were long, hard and tiring and Hanson couldn't understand why he should outspent himself. The colonel had planned to use the whole day to fill the truck with food and other stuff. So, no reason to hurry.

Quinn seemed to have no clue, but Hanson knew exactly how to ration his energy. The key was to take time for a break and that's exactly what he was doing at the moment. While Quinn, like a hamster in his running wheel, burned off all his energy. He was leaning casually against a shelf and took a sip of water from a plastic bottle while he watched the younger man. Hanson could only shake his head, but at the same time not thinking about suggesting a break to the student. Instead, he rummaged in the backpack standing at his feet. He'd found a box of sticky energy bars wrapped in shiny cellophane. Now his stomach growled and it seemed only fair, that he had the pleasure of indulging the first bar. After all, he found them first.

Hanson crouched down and searched the different flavors for something he liked. Cranberry, too sour. Hazel, too musty. Pink Raspberry, just for women. Ah, here was something made for him. A bar with chili. That would work, since he considered himself to be hot too. He, he, what a wordplay! He straightened up again and tore the wrap impatiently. When he held the bar in his hand, he broke it into halves and stuffed both completely in his mouth.

Finally, a different flavor than beans! He chewed satisfied and with all time in the world as Quinn hurried past him with packed full sports bag. The student stumbled slightly under the weight and his eyes found the wrap of the cereal bar that Hanson had carelessly thrown on the floor. The younger man shot the still chewing Hanson a punishing glance and even had the nerve to shake his head. What a unthankful asshole! Hanson send him away with a threatening gesture on his part.

What was the guy thinking? Openly criticizing him because he was smart enough to take a break. God knew, he more than deserved it. Actually, Quinn and the other civilians should fall on their knees every time they saw him. Without Hanson, all of them would have been made into stew already. They should consider themselves lucky that Hanson, Kowalski and O'Neill hadn't left the group behind at Ford Carson. After all, it would have spared them a lot of troubles.

They were exceptional trained elite soldiers and knew how to survive. It would be much easier for them, if they didn't have to drag the civilians along like a sack of rice. But no, because Saint O'Neill thought it was the right thing to do, they had to deal with these weaklings. Hanson had to take a responsibility he didn't want. Those people were a burden for him, nothing else. They did nothing to provide security for their camp. Instead, they always demanded the soldiers help and attention. His life would be so much easier if he didn't have to wipe the asses of those scaredy pants.

But it was not just that. What bugged him more was the fact that he couldn't take a break from that responsibility. Every day brought new problems, every time there was something that one of the civilians demanded from them. Whatever it was, they always called for O'Neill, Kowalski or him to help. And slowly but surely, it started to annoy Hanson. He was a highly trained soldier, ready to storm an enemy headquarter all by himself if need be. Instead, he had to bother with their small every day problems. But he was not a damn kindergartener! In his opinion, O'Neill was much too permissive with them. They were all dependent and the colonel let them get away with it instead of showing them their place among the group. The weak ones should accept their subordinate role, not the other way around.

Therefore, Quinn should refrain from criticizing someone who was essential for his surviving. Hanson made a mental note to show the ever eager student another side of himself, should he dare to look at him like that again. Meanwhile, the chili of the cereal bar burned in his mouth and fired up his bad mood even more.

Spurred on, he roamed the aisles. He had the sudden urge to do something. It was either moving or hitting Quinn in the face. How the hell did he get caught in this fucked up situation anyway? Just as it had looked like his life would finally take the course which had always been intended for him. With his unique skills and a healthy dose of ambition, he had won a place inside Delta Force. Hanson had been so close to living his dream. Accepting secret and dangerous missions and laughing in destiny's face. But no, it had all turned out completely differently.

This goddamn disease, virus, whatever! People died and came back as stupid cannibals and the whole world had gone mad. Chaos everywhere. Good for him that he possessed abilities that were more valuable than anything else in this new world. He knew how to kill. With a gun, a knife, with bare hand if he had to. He was a killing machine without nerves and doubt. That was what distinguished him from losers like Quinn. Hanson would still be alive long after the others stumbled around as biters. And he would kill every single one of them, should they cross his way. Without hesitation. Why? Because he was a doer. Because he was a winner, whereas others lost. Because he was a born survivor among people too frightened to move quick enough. Jonas Hanson would survive this plaque, he knew that without a doubt. Because he wouldn't allow anything or anymore to slow him down. And when the time came and he would eventually be the only still living person in the world, he would see it was a compliment.

Just when he had spurred himself on, he heard Quinn dropping something. If he guessed correctly, canned food. Those fucking beans!  
>Suddenly angry again, he kicked at door in front of him with full force. It was a metal door, and when it didn't show any kind of damage, it only made him angrier. Hanson raged. Kicked the door again, and again and again. Until he was sure he'd broken a toe. But the pain helped to clear his mind.<p>

Panting, now more out of exertion than out of anger, he braced himself on his tights and spat out. That had been so good, just what he needed. Letting off some steam. He needed that from time to time. Killing the biters yesterday had felt good, too. But not comparable with hitting or kicking something. Hanson craved this physical component.

Grunting in satisfaction, he decided to go back to Quinn. Just as he turned around, he heard a strange noise. A metallic, dull clan. As if metal hit metal. A loud bang. Louder and louder.

Bang

Bang

Bang

Whatever that was, it was right behind him. Hand on the gun, Hanson whirled around, ready to shoot. But there was nothing, except for the door. He took a step towards the door and almost fell when he stumbled backwards again.

Bang

Bang

Bang

The source of the noise was the door! Something behind that door threw itself repeatedly against the metal. Every time, the door frame creaked dangerously and was pushed open crack for crack.

Slowly, Jonas Hanson understood the whole situation. The door lead to the shop area. The same area that housed the huge crowd of biters visible through the shopwindow. He had probably startled them with his kicks. Not they knew that there was something eatable in the warehouse and they tried to break open the door standing between their hunger and potential food.

He had to grin and didn't know why. Those things were so pitiful. They knew nothing but hunger and eating like a pig. Unbelievable, that they were afraid of these monsters. But it wasn't the intellect of those things that made them dangerous, it was their sheer mass. A single biter was as hopeless like a bird with two broken wings. But a dozen of them was like a mob. They resembled predators and the whole world was their battleground. Hanson wondered, who would proof to be the more dangerous predator and he hoped that he could answer this question in his favor.

Fearlessly, he walked the few steps towards the door and propped both hands on the cold material. He shoved as hard as he could. The biters responded and thrust even harder.  
>"Hey, you hungry? You disgusting assholes! Wanna take a bite of me, huh? Come here! Try it! I'll blow your fucking heads off, I'll thrash your stinking faces!"<br>He yelled as he pushed against the door again and again.

At fist, his trained muscles could measure up for the biters combined weight. But he was quickly loosing the battle. The gap between the door and the frame grew bigger and bigger and soon countless chalky fingers and hands appeared, groping and grabbing for him.

Oh shit!

Hanson felt hot and cold at the same time when he stumbled backwards. Icy sweat ran down his back as he watched how the door lock gradually burst.

They would break through at any moment, and he definitely knew that he didn't want to be the first one they found on the other side. Without thinking, he started sprinting into the direction he had come from. Back to the entrance and to the truck. He wasted no thought on his colleagues.

Halfway, he collided with Quinn. The student watched him with a suspicious look.  
>"Hanson, what's going on?" he demanded to know, putting down a backpack full of cans.<br>The solider winced when he heard metal bursting and instinctively associated it with the broken door. He had neither the time nor the desire to tell the student in so many words what was going on. He just wanted to get away from here.

But he didn't get to formulate a plausible explanation when he heard the telltale sound of shuffling steps. With horror apparent in his eyes, he pushed Quinn into a dark corridor and pressed both of their bodies close to the wall, hoping that they could hide from the biters. Doing so, he bumped against the bag full of cans. It fell over and spilled its content jingling all over the floor.

He could feet the student struggling against his grip, but he stood no chance against the soldier's strength. Completely quiet and breathing heavily, the two men stood in their dark corner and peered fearfully through the shelves. Meanwhile, Quinn seemed to understand what was going on.

The shuffling grew louder. Moaning and wheezing joining. The shadows of bodies dragging themselves down the aisles filled their field of vision. They were coming closer. Hanson felt Quinn moving his hand and trying to reach something. The radio! Apparently, the student wanted to warn O'Neill and Carter. But Hanson was quicker. He gripped the fingers of the other man with his hand and squeezed so hard, that Quinn whimpered with pain.  
>"Try that again, and I'll break every one of your bones." Hanson threatened with a whisper. He couldn't let Quinn attract the biters.<p>

Instead, he kicked on of the scattered cans and hoped for a distraction. The can zoomed over the smooth floor and collided somewhere on the other side of the hall. Instantly, the biters responded to the noise. Their shadows stopped, then turned around and started moving into the direction in which the can had disappeared in the darkness.

Hanson remained a few moments in his stupor, until he was sure that the monsters were far enough away to escape. Then he pushed the student away and menacingly stared down at the smaller man. When he realized that Quinn was either too scared to fight back or wisely refrained from doing so, he grabbed him roughly by the collar and pulled him along. They path war clear, so he ran. Away from the warehouse and those beast who would now certainly hunt O'Neill and Carter. But that wasn't his problem.

If someone survived, someone else did not. If someone was a winner, there automatically had to be a loser. That was the circle of life. Jonas Hanson was at the top of the food chain, and he liked that.

* * *

><p>In the next chapter: Sam and Jack are forced to spend the night together (no, not like that!) and to get to know each other.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11: The woman who bites back

* * *

><p>Jack put his head back and grimaced, when his muscles protested against the movement with a crackling sound. His body had suffered from physically more demanding missions in the past, but nothing he'd experienced so far was comparable to the psychological pressure that was weighting down all of them. The constant fear to end up as vivid kebab skewer for those monsters left its mark on everyone. He was no exception. But what could else could he do but going on? He was not ready to give up his life, might it be unworthy to live right now. It was his life and he would fight for it until his last breath. He had straightened out that matter with himself weeks ago and drew strength from that. But maybe he was just better at hiding his fears than others. And currently, he sure was hiding it better than Sam Carter too.<p>

Jack was turning his back to her respectfully while she was busy wiping all kinds of body fluids from her face. He leveled inquiring eyes on her now and then, when he was convinced that she didn't notice it, ensuring that she wouldn't pass out on him. She did look little green around the gills. But that had been quite some show from her. One moment, he thought she would turn into a pillar of salt before his eyes, and in the next minute she was hitting the dead man's body like a madwoman. O'Neill was fairly certain that such aggression wasn't part of her normal self. If she was trying to conceal her feelings, she was far less successful than him. He could literally smell her shock. She'd probably scared herself quite a lot.

It was in the way she moved. How she eyed herself doubtfully, like she was disgusted with her own actions. Before him stood a woman who wasn't used to feeling out of control. For a second, Jack wondered if he should feel bad about it. After all, he'd been the one urging her to do it. But no, it had been necessary. Carter needed to do that, more for himself than him. If Jack had learned one thing about this new world, it was that every day was a struggle and they both had to see with their own eyes if she was capable to deal with the stress. And she had not disappointed. Although Carter might be pretty scared and disgusted with herself right now, she had still proved that she was a fighter. Faced with a threat, she defended herself. That was good. Not just for her, but for all of them. If they wanted to survive, he had to know exactly how much he could expect from each of their group. His current assessment of Sam Carter was, that she could haul truckloads of shit before she collapsed. She was probably the only one overlooking her inner strength.

Currently, however, she didn't seem to be very proud of herself. Understandably. She was still adapting to the new circumstances, preparing herself for worse things to come and trying to find her place among the walking dead. They all had to do that. It was a process that took its time.

One last time she wiped the cloth over her face, her skin red and irritated from the rough fabric, and let it fall to the floor. It dawned to him that he should say something, but what? Encouraging her? Pep talk? Or even lecturing her how she could get rid of those pesky biters a little less bloody? That was all crap and verbiage. Words meant nothing. It was always better to make one's own experiences and learning from it. That's the way he'd handled with his soldiers. It was not his style to mother someone and he certainly wouldn't start now.

Nevertheless, he wanted to know if she was alright. Simply because he didn't want her to think about him as cold-hearted asshole.  
>"You okay?" He decided to ask a simple question. His tone left it to her if she wanted to respond to it or not. For a moment, she stared at the at the dust particles dancing around them in the sparse light as if bewitched.<p>

Her response was accompanied by an almost scornful snort. She sounded almost bitter. Not a welcome sound in his ears.  
>"Do I get my old live back if I say yes?"<br>Jack recognized the rhetorical question for what it was and left it unanswered. Instead, he put the focus on what lay ahead of them. It was never good to wallow in the past. The past always included malevolent memories about things he'd prefer not to remember. Fatal errors he'd committed, events which couldn't be re-straightened. But the future carried at least the vague hope of doing something right.

Instead of uttering dumb words of sympathy, he helped her with her bulging backpack. Doing so, he noticed the look on her face and realized that she seemed to have caught herself. He had to give her that, contrary to all initial doubts abut her, the scientist was keeping up really well. With the neckerchief she hadn't just wiped the blood from her face, but also every external indication of self-doubt and despair.

Silently, they agreed to go on. There was still stuff left on their shopping list. Batteries, that was very important for them. Although they avoided using any additional light in the dark and thus attracting biters. Any kind of light enticed them magically, no matter if it was campfire or artificial. Nevertheless, none of them had superman-like eyes and could see in the dark. Stumbling around blindly in the darkness without any source of light wasn't so great either. From time to time, they needed flashlights if they suspected a pack of critters approaching them. The motto, if I don't see them they don't see me, was not working well with those Walkers.

Jack had just taken one step, when he nearly tripped over something that didn't belong in this aisle. He lifted his foot and bent down to examine the object in question in detail. Magically, a can of peaches had appeared in front of him. He picked it up and showed the discovery to his blonde teammate.  
>"Yummy, canned peaches. Is there anything better that this?"<br>Carter made a contemptuous snort in her throat. Apparently, she wasn't very thrilled about his unexpected discovery.  
>"Don't tell me you're one of those who claim to hate fruit?"<br>"Just canned fruit. My aversion is strictly confined to canned fruit."

O'Neill looked at the can skeptically, because Carter stared at it as if it was a bomb about to explode.  
>"Have you any idea how much sugar is in there? A normal peach has about 8 grams of sugar per 100 grams of fruit. But those cans contain more than 18 sugar cubes. This stuff has nothing to do with fruit. It's unhealthy and increases your blood sugar level to a level that messes with you organism for hours."<br>Jack was little impressed with her lecture. The prospect of finally tasting a different flavor than musty beans made him ignore pretty much everything she'd just said. In addition, the last problem he could think of right now was his blood sugar level. Quite the contrary, the word 'sugar' alone made those peaches look damned tasty. He was a sucker for sweets, there was no sense in denying it.  
>"Well, thanks of the info, Martha Steward. But I see no peach tree around here, so we have to take what we can get."<br>She fired a few dirty looks at the hated canned fruit, but then she gave in with a slight shake of her head. Still acidified about him throwing her diet tips to the winds, Carter turned around so that Jack could open her backpack and stuff the can in it. None of them felt a great desire to quarrel because of a stupid can of peaches.

Jack was just about to grace her with one of his patented one-liners, when the hairs on his neck stood up at once. He couldn't say exactly what triggered his spider senses. Carter noticed his tension and opened her mouth to ask, but he motioned for her to stay quiet. He cocked his head to the side and listened.

There! There was definitely something. A scraping, scratching sound. Not Quinn or Hanson. Heavy feet dragging along the ground. Unable steps. O'Neill squinted his eyes, wishing himself away even though he knew how childish this desire was. But all he saw behind his closed eyes were emaciated, nibbled off, stinking bodies dragging themselves aimlessly over this world. He hated that, this new substance of his live.

O'Neill's body tensed up as he leaned his back against the shelves, peering into the corridor ahead. In the twilight, he saw erratic shadows scurrying across the floor. Damn it! Biters! And from the look of it, lots of them. His body responded to the threat with goose bumps and pent up exertion. From biology classes, he knew that the hormone cocktail in his body urged him to flee. Right now. No matter where to, just away from here. But his will was stronger than panic. He suppressed the rising hysteria like one would quench a fire that threatened to spin out of control. Stifled his feelings with experience until there was only a healthy dose of fear left. Hysteria was deadly, made him headless and slow. But fear was helpful. Making sure that he was attentive, ready, fast and quick-witted. Everyone was feeling panic. One had to be dead not to feel panic in this hell. But it was important not to let those feelings overwhelm you. Who was afraid survived, who panicked died. It was as easy as that.

Carter was right there with him, understanding that they better hurry up now. He motioned to go the other way and she agreed, nodding. One after one, they snuck out of the corridor, Jack leading them while Carter covered their backs. Their breaths coming in a high frequency now. They had just covered a few meters, when O'Neill stopped so abruptly that Sam had no other choice but to collide with his back. She peered over his left shoulder to see what had persuaded him to halt.

The next pack of Walkers was right there in front of them, approaching steadily.  
>"Back, back, back." Whispered Jack, urging her in the opposite direction. There was no other possibility but to retreat in the corridor form which they had come from.<p>

On their hectic flight, the first biters discovered them. Motivated by the prospect of fresh meat, they sped up their unsteady gait. Stumbling over each other in their greed and stretching bony arms out at them. Their exited panting delivering the message that dinner was waiting.  
>"Fuck!" swore O'Neill, not whispering because it didn't matter anymore.<br>"What about Hanson and Quinn?" Asked Carter and if Jack hadn't been so busy trying to look for a way out, he would perhaps wondered about her. That she was thinking first and foremost about the other's welfare instead of her own. Crazy woman. Altruistic, but still crazy.  
>"No idea. But we can't reach the other side of the hall anyway."<br>"But we need to help them." She argued while Jack peered through the shelves, discovering the horror of even more pallid body parts on their way to them.  
>"We gotta help ourselves." He warned.<p>

It was an easy truth. They simply couldn't reach the end of the hall. Two groups of biters cutting them off effectively form any way out. His gaze wandered around. He wasn't panicked yet, but definitely affected. Today wasn't a good day to die, he decided spontaneously. Much too hot.  
>Meanwhile, the Walkers displayed a perfidious race to their hideout. The first walking corpse lurched towards them and Jack got rid of the thing with a targeted stab of his long knife. What used to be a man slumped lifelessly at his feet. But more were coming, encircling them. To many to fight back in the narrowness of the corridors.<p>

Behind him he heard Carter groaning painfully. Quick as a flash, he whirled around and it was almost too late. Bony hands stuck out between the shelves, holding onto her backpack and pulling her body backwards. She was struggling, trying to shake of the fingers, but the extra weight on her back slowed her down. Jack pulled out his hockey stick, letting the curved end whiz down on the eager arms like a samurai sword. There was a crash, as if dry branches breaking in pieces. The Biter's bones were broken below the joints, hands hanging down uselessly. Carter was finally able to free herself and hurried to get rid of her backpack. Jack did the same. There was nothing in them to use now anyway.

Ready to grasp even the smallest opportunity to save their lives, Jack grabbed one of the heavy metal shelves. Tried to knock it over as to erect a makeshift barricade between them and the Biters. Carter understood what he was trying to do, also pulling at the shelf. At first, it just wobbled, then it finally fell over. Sam and Jack jumped back just in time. A few Walkers had worse timing and found themselves buried under the weight of the metal. Their clotted blood quickly gathering in large, slimy puddle of blood.

Carter and O'Neill were both breathing heavily, but they hadn't achieved anything yet. Their maneuver had bought them some time, but nothing more. Carter's eyes stayed glued to the barricade, an idea forming in her head. Her eyes darted to the narrow window directly under the roof. O'Neill followed her gaze and understood. His mouth twisted into a grin. She was clever, the theoretical astrophysicist. Not just clever in the scientific sense, but she also possessed an amount of street smartness.

A discussion about the pros and cons of this effort resolved itself. Either they tried this, or they could just shoot themselves in the head.  
>"You first." Jack called above the panting and groaning and croaking of the angry Walkers. For a second Carter seemed ready to protest, but then she let it go. She hurried to the shelf under the window, grabbed the metal plank above her head with both hands, leaving one foot on the floor and placing the other shoe on another shelf. Tensing her body, she tried to use the shelf as a ladder to get to the top. She felt O'Neill's hand on her butt pushing her upwards. But Carter barely registered it. There was not time for vanity and hypersensitivity. When she had to stop her climbing to shake off more hands reaching for her through the shelves, she started to realize there might never be again time for that. You couldn't make it in this world with being thin-skinned and oversensitive.<p>

Her hands were sweaty, threatening to slip from the smooth metal of the rack. She peered down over her shoulder. Saw O'Neill as he braced himself against the shelf, trying to stabilize it so it wouldn't fall over with her on top. Meanwhile, the two groups of Biters had united on the other side of the barricade and were about to climb over the fallen shelf. Ready to take a bite out of them.  
>Calm! Stay calm! She encouraged herself. Don't panic! Just keep climbing.<br>She forced herself to control her wild emotions. This was their only chance to save their lives. If she let the horror win, she would ruin this for the both of them.

The hissing grew louder, sounding irritated. As if the Biters could feel more than just hunger. Impatience, maybe. Or anticipation about sinking their teeth in her warm flesh. Finally, her hands clutched the last shelf. Carter pushed her feet from the frame, throwing one leg over the top shelf and then heaving the rest of her body up until her body rested completely on the surface. She had just managed to catch a breath, when the hockey stick appeared in her view. Instinctively, she reached out and took the stick and a second later felt the shelf shaking violently. Now it was O'Neill's turn to climb the shelf and his greater body weight made sure that the shelf wavered, dangerously close to falling over. Carter tried to maintain her position on top, compensating for the fluctuations. She didn't dare to look down, fearing that relocating her weight would make them and the shelf topple over.

She heard O'Neill cursing while he climbed the shelf. His hands appeared firstly, then the shoulders, torso and legs as he climbed on top like she had a moment ago. At the second their eyes met, they heard a high-pitched squeal when the Biters threw their dead bodies against the shelf barricade and shoved the metal across the floor. With caution, Sam turned towards the narrow window. Now she was glad for the hockey stick, pondering if O'Neill's stubborn wish for the thing hadn't been childish at all, but an unexpected streak of genius. She used the curved end of the stick to smash the milky glass of the window, getting rid of the protruding shards on the frame the same way.

"Go on." O'Neill breathed, casting a worried look down. More and more Biters managed to drag their lanky bodes over fallen shelf. Trampling without any kind of emotion over the one who'd fallen. Like wild animals…no, this was much more worse than that. Actually, there was no description. Carter stuck her head out of the window, looking outside and checking the situation. On the road underneath, everything seemed quiet. Just a few isolated biters wandered around restlessly. Only god knew how long they'd waited in the dark corners of the extinct city, lurking for those who were still alive. And now they sensed that there was meat somewhere, but couldn't locate the source.

The way down wasn't as high like she'd feared. Maybe six, seven meters. Her mind roughly calculated the chances of making this jump. Her brain was doing this single handedly, she couldn't do anything about it. She multiplied the result of her calculations with the fact that she would land on the hard concrete. But it was possible and even if not, they had no other choice. She'd rather suffer from broken bones that a bitten off body part.

She felt O'Neill's hands on her shoulders. A silent call to move. The Biters howled directly under them. Their arms, covered with baggy shin, stretching greedily up. Carter decided to jump with her legs first and squeezed her body through the narrow gap. Her feet dangled in the air for a moment. Sam took a breath, preparing her body and mind for the jump and the pain. Even if she would get injured, she still had to keep moving. Nothing was more important. Just keep moving.

Then she was falling. Her body felt weightless for a few blessed seconds and she caught herself wishing that she could always fee like this. Like flying. But a moment later, her feet hit the hard concrete. Her body functioned automatically and she rolled off to derive the force from the impact. With a flight role, not very elegantly, she landed on the road. The momentum accelerated her body so that she stumbled a few steps, then coming to her feet again. But it had gone well. No injuries. Still, she felt adrenalin pushing forcefully through her veins. By the time she was feeling ready to go on, the stray Walkers had noticed her and staggered towards her position. That ,surprisingly, was the least of her worries. She was patiently waiting for O'Neill. What was taking him so long?

Jack O'Neill watched Carter disappearing through the narrow window. He listened intently, but couldn't hear her scream over the noise of the Biters. They were rattling, groaning, moaning and smacking their lips. He had no idea if she had hurt herself during the fall, but that couldn't be helped at the moment. Now, it was his turn. He copied her movements, crawled to the window, looked out and breathed out relieved upon seeing her unhurt. First, he threw the hockey stick out of the window. Who knew what it would be useful for? Meanwhile, almost everyone of the damned Walkers had met under his shelf. Their scrawny bodies pushing against it and making the metal construction wobble dangerously. It was getting more and more difficult for Jack to keep his balance. He almost fell over and decided this was it. He, too, was planning to jump with his legs first. O'Neill had just managed to squeeze his lower body trough the frame, when he felt the shelf tipping over. Carter had been able to perform a controlled movement, but Jack wasn't so lucky. His arms and hands lost grip and he felt himself falling uncontrollably through the window.

Jack tried to stabilize his body, but it was useless. His knees crashed on the ground, joints aching when they had to absorb the entire force of the impact. He suppressed the stabbing pain with a low groan. All air left his lungs and for the live of him, he couldn't move. He would have loved to stay here, laying on the hot concrete and screaming to the worlds a gracious 'Fuck you too!'

But Carter had other plans for him. He felt her tugging at his shoulders, nearly heaving him back on his feet all alone. His left knee buckled and he stumbled, almost falling on his ass.  
>"Can you walk?" He heard the woman ask, but her voice sounded like it was coming from someplace far away. In the corner of his eyes he saw two or three Biters staggering toward them. What a question. Could he run? Probably. Should he do so, given the fact that his knee was smashed? No, certainly not. But the real question, the only question that mattered, was: Did he had to run? Oh yes, definitely. As fast and far as he could. Jack blinked, his mind returning to the present, and shook his head to chase away the daze and pain. Carter gasped and looked at him startled, misinterpreting his gesture as him telling her that he could move.<p>

"I'm okay." He finally squeezed out, correcting her assumption. She pressed a pistol in his right hand and the hockey stick in his left. Motioning for him to use the bat as a crutch. Then she grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him along. Who had told her to take over command, Jack wondered as he stumbled after her. He was keeping himself on his two feet barely. But with a little bit of luck, he wouldn't have to go far. Their truck was parked on the other side of the building.

He tried to keep up with her as good as possible. But it wasn't easy. They met three Biters on their way to the truck. His muscles trembled as he raised his arm to shoot, but the dead bodes were already falling. Blinking puzzled, he searched for the source of the shots and found Carter standing there, legs apart, and with her gun in hand. It wouldn't surprise him if she was an exert shooter, too. The woman was full of hidden talents. She waved him on and he dragged himself across the street, leaning heavily on the hockey stick.

As they passed the large windows of the store, they both stopped. Couldn't avert their eyes. Stood there petrified. Although they knew that it was dangerous to stand still. Idleness was deadly in this world. If you wanted to survive, you had to keep moving. And still…the grotesque spectacle that was going on behind the shop window was too bizarre to look away. It seemed that the group of Biters in the warehouse was not all. In the sales area, behind the window, an even larger crowd had gathered. O'Neill had no clue where they came from. Perhaps, there was a nest somewhere? Like a thick tangle of rotting arms, legs, feet and heads, they huddled close together. The stinking flesh of their faces flattened against the smooth surface of the glass. Their hands were hammering against the window, their broken fingernails scratching and spreading grease and other fluids across the surface.

Resignation crept upon Jack and threatened to overwhelm him. Whether they made it out alive or not, one thing was already clear. They would have to forget this shop as potential source of food and other stuff in the future. It would take a lot of time before the Biters would leave the shop or the town. Maybe they would stay here forever. Shuffling around like ghosts. It was a shame. So many foods and other useful things lost for them. Their group could have lived for moths thereof. Now, they had to start their search for food anew.

A horrified gasp brought him out of his thoughts. He followed Carter's wide eyes and understood what was scaring her like that. There was a fine hairline crack, drawing from one side of the window to the other. And it was getting bigger, spreading like tentacles. Like an ice surface which threatened to break under the weight. If the glass broke…..

"Colonel! Colonel O'Neill!"  
>He heard someone call his name from far far away and tore his gaze away from the shop window. Carter was standing there, looking at him. What was the matter with him? Normally, he wasn't absent minded. Certainly not when all his instincts told him that he was in danger. It was growing difficult for him to classify matters correctly, to concentrate on what was going on around him. But he felt no dizziness or nausea. He'd know if he was suffering from a concussion. It had to be his knee. There was definitely something wrong with it, the pain radiating through his whole body. The only thing that kept him upward was probably the adrenalin. He'd better get going before the effect lessened. With a gesture, he gave her the sign that he was okay.<p>

Still, she ran back the few steps and didn't leave his side as they rounded the building together. They walked to the parking lot, expecting to see the truck and the two Jonas's….but…neither one was there. They halted abruptly, rooted to the spot. Looking around unfoundedly. Yup, the truck was gone. And the Jonas brothers, too. No trace of them.  
>"What the hell?" cursed O'Neill. For the health of the two other men, he really hopds that they had left because they had been forced to. If not, god help them. He was getting really angry now.<br>"Where are they?" Carter wanted to know. Her posture told him that she was equally pissed. Jack shook his head, leaning his whole body on the racket. It was more and more difficult to ignore the throbbing pain.  
>"No idea. Doesn't look like they had any trouble."<br>That was true. There was no visible sign of a struggle. No blood, no dead Biters on the ground, no bullets and they sure hadn't heard any shots.  
>But it seemed that they would get into trouble real soon.<p>

The grumbling and growling grew louder again. The source of the noise came closer, advancing on them. Behind the building appeared half a dozen Biters. Probably from the delivery entrance. When they discovered Cater and O'Neill, their noise got louder and eager. Their stiff legs moving faster, struggling to cross the distance between them and their possible dinner. Like puppets that someone else was controlling, someone who enjoyed this perfidious game immensely.  
>"Too many." Carter's stressed voice reached his ears.<br>"Let's go. We need to hide."

They literally reversed gear. Turning on their soles and hurrying as best as they could over the parking lot and back to the street. Carter was running a few steps ahead of him. He hadn't asked for it. Nevertheless, it seemed to be only natural for her to clear the way for him. If Jack hadn't been in so much pain, he'd have smiled about it. His own personal blonde bulldozer. He was pretty sure she'd give him hell if she knew he was calling her that in his thoughts.

They managed to put some distance between the group of Walkers and them, still faster than the dead. But Jack could feel the power draining from his body. He couldn't keep up with Carter's tempo any longer. But he tried. Dragged himself across the asphalt, his movements resembling more the things he was running away from than a real human.

The sweat ran down his face and into his eyes. Jack could hear them coming closer. Before him, Carter had reached the road and paused to look right and left.  
>Where to now? Which direction was safe and where lurked the danger?<br>You're safe nowhere - his thoughts taunted him.

The decision whether to go left or right, was taken from them by fate, which seemed to have a perverse pleasure to see them failing. To her right was the front of the shop, including the damaged storefront. A loud clatter spread over the entire street when the glass burst under the pressure of the Biters. Instinctively, Sam held up her hands to protect her face. The window was made out of this glass that would burst outwards, dispersing the shards over the possible burglar instead of the sales area. Like a drizzle, countless pieces of glass in all different sized rained down on the street. In the blazing midday sun, the broken glass shone like a sea of precious stones. But the picture of conniving beauty didn't survive for long. As if in slow motion, she watched the first Biters taking staggering, swaying and tottering steps on the sidewalk. They were many. Like someone had pulled the plug from a full sink. A flood that could no longer be contained.

The terrible moaning and smacking filled the air. The stench of rotting bodies mingling with the heat to a calamitous mix. Everything seemed to have conspired against them. As she stood there, fused to the asphalt beneath her feet, she felt out of place again. This wasn't her world anymore. She didn't belong here. No one who was still alive belonged here. Like she was an alien trapped on a strange, hostile planet.

O'Neill appeared beside her, sweating and panting. His eyes took in the danger that hovered mercilessly above them. But unlike her, he seemed to have analyzed their situation in less than a second. He was the kind of person that knew how to help himself. The kind of person that acted instead of over-thinking. He grabbed her and tore at the fabric of her jacket. There was no real power behind it, due to his injury, but the meaning was clear. We gotta go, real quick!

They ran to the left. It wasn't a difficult decision, because it was the only way that was still Biter-free. With the desire to shake of the paralyzing chokehold of her overactive brain, she jogged along the street. As her pulse rose, she started to feel her body. It was a great feeling to get away from those things. To know that she could be so much faster than them. It gave her the feeling of being still the more advanced race. The wind in her face, the movement of her body. In this moment, she felt almost free. So she ran on. It reminded her of better times. Before the world had turned crazy and inhospitable, she'd loved to go for a run.

If she could spare the time, of course. Never slow, but quick. She needed the speed as compensation for her desk job. Running was the only free time she'd allowed herself. She couldn't afford more. Not with everything there had been to achieve. All those plans other people had with her. Her father, who believed that she could and should fly high with her career. Joe, who had been quite delighted when she'd fished her transfer to the Pentagon out of the mailbox. Moving to Washington D.C. would have given his carreer the long awaited push. Her boss, who'd been convinced that she was the ideal candidate to be his legitimate successor, and thus ensuring that the institute retained its scientific tradition.

All those people who had invested so much in her. Work, money and hope. Sam hadn't even dared to think about disappointing them. And now? Now, nothing of that mattered any more. Everything she'd achieved and had wanted to achieve….didn't mean anything. For nobody. She was no longer Major Samantha Carter, a brilliant scientist on her way to the world's elite. Now she was only a dirty woman running for her live. Like everyone else did. The death made them all the same.

Behind her, the groaning reached a new level of intensity. She'd never heard them making a noise like that. But there was something else mixed in it. Sam almost overheard it. This suppressed sound. It nearly mingled with the bluster of the Biters. But, now that she focused on it, she could clearly notice that the source couldn't be a Walker. They dead didn't sound like that. More than that, the dead didn't curse, only the living could.

O'Neill! The thought drove through her head like a flash. She abruptly stopped her run, almost stumbling. Then she whirled around, her eyes scanning the area. Scolding herself that she hadn't noticed that O'Neill wasn't with her anymore. This time, however, she was sure that he hadn't left her side willingly. Something must've happened to him. Only now did she understand, that she'd been running much too fast for him to keep up with his hurt knee. O God! She'd left him behind. Like a bait for the monsters.

They were so many of them! Dozens! They moved like a horde of locusts. Some faster, some slower, but all of them with the goal to devour the two living souls who had dared to disturb their slumber. Sam tried hard, but couldn't discover him among the dead. The first tears burned in her eyes, her view blurred. Stubborn, she wiped her hand over her face and forced herself to stay calm. At last, she noticed a movement that stood out among the jumpy motion of the dead. Over there, on the right side! The motion was too dynamic to be an undead.

She stumbled back a few steps, squinting her eyes. There was definitely something. Some Biters were laying over each other in a heap of limbs. She saw an arm protruding under the dead bodies, dressed in camouflaged fabric. O'Neill, certainly!

Her stubborn side prevailed. None of them would die today. Not if she had anything to say in it. Basta! Like a dervish, she turned around and sprinted towards the tangle of arms and legs rolling around on the floor. Rounding and ignoring the mass of biters that were quickly closing up on her. Blood pumping violently through her veins and spurring her on. Yet, she had no idea if her assumption was true and if it was indeed O'Neill laying there. Was he still alive? And unhurt? She was now just a few steps away and could feel her body tense up under the pressure she was feeling. A long knife appeared among the struggling limps, reflecting the sun and burying itself deep into the head of one Biter. The dead body immediately collapsed on top of the heap. The knife swung again, but missed its second goal.

Hope spread through her. That could only be O'Neill! And he was definitely alive. Struggling and fighting for his live. When she was about two meters away from the pile of bodies, Sam stopped, drew her gun and aimed. She had four bullets left in her magazine and each of them was a hit. As quickly as her agitated fingers allowed, she changed the magazine –her last one- and send another round of bullets towards the approaching Walkers. Buying herself and her companion a few precious seconds of time. Making good use of it, she crossed the distance between herself and the tangle of bodies with a few fast steps.

Sam rushed to the pile, not driven by the desire for her own safety, but by the fear of having to watch how a man was mauled before her eyes. That was even worse than imaging herself being eaten alive. She grunted hard as she grabbed the first Biter by the shoulders and pushed it on the ground. Her knife did the rest. Only in the background of her mind did she register how the blood was splattering all over her. She managed to kill the next undead just before it could bury its yellow teeth in her hip. She almost tripped over one arm greedily grabbing for her feet. A lunge just in time saved her.

She fell in a similar delusion as in the warehouse, when she had smashed –totally out of control- a man's head. However, this time she was victor over her panic. Instead of lashing out indiscriminately, she managed to take aim at the forehead and temple. Her whole body was in constant movement, slowly remembering what she'd learned in close combat classes. She quickly dodged all the hands, arms and mouths wanting to take a bite out of her. Her mind was fully focused on survival.

Still, it seemed to take an eternity until she had finally worked her way through the heap of limbs. A sea of dead Biters, blood and guts had accumulated around her in dark pitches. But she didn't care about all of that. The only thing that mattered now was O'Neill's face, battered but not dead, appearing under the last Biter. She watched the colonel's arms bracing against the dead body lying on top of him, but there was no real force in his efforts because the whole weight of the Biter rested on his injured knee.

Carter supported his attempts to free himself by grabbing the back of the Walker and pulling. Shelving away the feeling of the cold, leathery skin under her fingers. With joined efforts, they managed to roll the rancid body from O'Neill. The colonel's expression was nothing but pure strain when he sat up and gasped for air. His clothes looked worn and tattered, but he himself seemed thankfully uninjured. For a brief moment, their eyes met and his mouth twitched slightly, indicating a lopsided grin. The unnatural whimpering and whining of a Biter destroyed the moment quickly.

The colonel's eyes flicked on, saw the herd that approached them, stumbling like idiots. Hungry idiots. No word was spoken between them as O'Neill held out a prompting had to her. Sam understood the demand and hauled the man to his feet. There was no time to agree on some time of tactic, so they started walking. Down the road. Walking away from the huffing and puffing dead. Carter grunted a few times, almost buckling under the colonel's added weight, but she held herself –and him- upright. She noticed that he was trying to walk on his own feet, but the fall and the fight with the Biters must've given his knee the rest. He wouldn't get very far without her body to support him.

So Sam dragged herself and the Colonel on. It was monotonous work and she almost forgot everything around her. What mattered now was the empty street in front of her and the herd of Walkers behind. Under the heat of the august sun, she was losing her sense of time. She made the mistake of peering over her shoulder once, realizing with great shock that the Biters were making up good ground. Driven with the need to rebuild the distance between them and the monsters, Sam quickened her steps, but so suddenly that O'Neill couldn't adjust in time. The two faltered dangerously, nearly falling on their asses. A small mistake that could've ended fatal for them. As fast as the Walkers were catching up on them, it could be very well possible that they wouldn't get the chance to stand up again after a fall.

Carter felt the colonel's arm slipping from her shoulders and grabbed for his hand to prevent his body from collapsing …but he shook her helping hand off. She turned her head to see what was going on and he was already dragging himself painfully down a narrow side street. He limped heavily, dragging his bad knee behind. Halfway, he nodded at her and motioned to follow him. After almost dying in an alley just like that a day before, everything in her was reluctant to walk willingly in such a potential death trap again. But splitting up was no option either. In no case, did she want to end up alone.

So hurried ran after him. O'Neill was leaning with his body against the rough wall, then knelt down on the ground awkwardly. There was a blue cellar door and the Colonel pulled out his knife, plunging the blade between the two panels of the double door. Gently swaying it back and forth until he heard a crack, then he leveled the blade jerkily from left to right, effectively breaking the lock. Carter came to a stand beside him, pulling on the door until it opened with a loud creak.

Musty air and dust met her. She looked in the room below, which was wrapped in darkness. Like a maw that was opening and threatening to swallow her. It didn't feel right to go down there, not knowing what was lurking for them. But it seemed to be their only chance. Realistically, they couldn't outrun the Biters. Not if O'Neill could only hobble. Carter knew that she could possibly make it, but she wouldn't leave him. So she was following plan B. Hiding somewhere.

She felt O'Neill's hand on her back, urging her to go first. Sam took one last look over her shoulder. The Walkers had found them. Some where stupidly staggering past the alley, inattentively overlooking their pray. Others weren't so distracted, detecting that their foot had taken a different path and adjusting their shuffling. Without thinking about it, Sam and Jack rushed in the darkness of the basement. Maybe, death was waiting for them down there too. But they knew that if they stayed on the street, death was certain.

As he stumbled into the basement, Jack forced himself to ignore the throbbing pain in his knee. Not thinking about the injuries he possibly sustained. Instead, he slammed the door shut form the inside and used a bolt to lock it. Unfortunately, the bolt made no particular sturdy impression. Moreover, since he had broke the door lock himself. He loosened some paracord bracelets from his wrist and wrapped them several times around the latch and the deadbolt, forming an eight and reinforcing the locking mechanism standing between Carter and him and those monsters.

He pulled at them, testing the stability of his provisional design. The practical proof followed on foot. The first Biters hammered against the door from the other side. Wedging their bony fingers through the gap between the two panels. Thankfully, the deadbolt worked. Certainly, not forever and not if more of those things tried to break in. But maybe they'd get lucky and the critters were getting bored. Walking on and searching for other victims somewhere else.

Now gradually feeling the fatigue, he couldn't push back the pain any longer and sank to the floor. The old paint on the door peeling off and spreading on his back. But what did it matter? Looking good was not longer a goal to achieve. Wearily, Jack leaned his head against the door, not listening to the insistence on the other side. The silence in their dark hiding place was such a stark contrast to the noisy Biters out there, that the almost total absence of any noise boomed in his ears.

There was no other sound that their strained attempts to breath and O'Neill felt himself threatening to drift into a microsleep. But he couldn't. It was too dangerous. That was one of the advantage those things had. He was a man. Had to eat, wash, sleep, rest, couldn't be alert round the clock. Those Biters didn't have such problems. They felt no pain, no fatigue, frustration or depression. They could just go on and on and on. Continue running, chasing and eating the living forever. There seemed to be no limits for their existence. Jack opened his eyes again. Blinking while adapting to the prevailing darkness.

Carter stood before him. The gun still convulsively in her right hand. Although they both knew that her magazine was empty. But she kept gripping it firmly. Her breath coming in hard, unsteady waves. Jack wanted to say something, and had to clear his throat first because his vocal cords felt like sandpaper.  
>"Are you hurt?"<br>Carter eyed herself for a moment, then judged that she was okay. Physically, at least.  
>"No. You?"<p>

Actually, he should say yes now. His knee felt squished. The torn skin was bleeding and his muscles were shaking form the effort. He felt dirty and stinky. Everything hurt, even breathing. But that was not what she had asked. She wanted to know if he had gotten a bite or a scratch. He was relieved when he could say no to that.  
>"No."<br>It was strange, that they trusted each other blindly about that. After all, it was about a potential deadly infection. If one of them hand been infected, death for the other one was just a matter of how long this virus needed to break out in the infected body. So, it was a rather important thing. But neither Carter nor O'Neill seemed to feel the urge to control each others words.

He let his eyes wander and could make out a long workbench and some rusty racks and tool boxes. It smelled musty, like old machine oil and rusty metal. Their refuge had once been a small workshop. Beside their strained breathing, he couldn't hear anything else. But that didn't automatically mean that they were alone. They couldn't rule out the possibility that there was a lurker, waiting for one of them to stumble over him.  
>"Could you take a look around? Just to be sure. I need a sec."<br>His scratchy voice reached Carter's ears and even though he had whispered, she startled like he had yelled at her. It took her a moment to understand what he wanted from her. Then she nodded quickly.

He noticed that she was still clutching the gun like her live depended on it. However, without ammunition, the gun was useless.  
>"You've got no bullets left." Jack remarked, aiming for a neutral tone. He didn't want her to think that he was doubting her. Because he had no reason to. He was well aware of the fact that she'd saved his miserable live. And in an impressive manner, if he might add.<br>She blinked and looked blankly at the gun in her hand, almost as if she noticed for the first time that she was still holding the cold, useless metal.  
>"Oh. That's not good." Was all she had to say. Biting her lip, Carter peered doubtfully into the dark workshop. Her posture was withdrawn, inhibited.<p>

"You still have your knife." He reminded her. And Jack could even offer her some more light as rummaged through his pant pocket, searching for the small led flashlight that was tucked away there. When he found it, he tossed her the red battery-powered lamp.  
>"Here, take this. Better that nothing."<br>The plastic bounced off her palm and she had to grab for it a second time, until she finally caught it. When Carter pushed the on-button, the smooth glow painted a narrow column of brightness on the floor.

"Thanks."  
>Her first steps were inhibited, uptight and Jack concluded that she was slowly reaching her limit for today. A few minutes of rest would probably be enough to catch up and he'd loved to spare her wandering around barely armed. But contrary to him, she wasn't injured, which automatically meant that it was the only logical choice to leave the exploring of their hiding place to her. Physical fitness was the most important skill in this new world order. It was easy to outsmart a few Walkers. But a whole horde of those bastards made you running for your life and hoping for the best. It wouldn't do them any good if he stumbled around himself, barely able to stay on his own feet. It was rare for him to give such a task to someone else, but from time to time he was open for reason.<p>

He also knew his body pretty good, especially his knees. As long as he could remember, his joints had always been a tad prone for injuries. Most of the time, he could compensate for this weakness with clever movements and extra strength training for the muscles but now, looking at his trembling knee, he was pretty sure that he shouldn't stress his muscle tissue any more.  
>"Hey, there's probably nothing here anyway. We should just make sure. And I'm here too. I won't be much of a help, but still." He admitted with a shrug. Jack knew very well that, should she meet a Biter, he couldn't reach her quick enough to help. Ultimately, she was on her own. But sometimes, it was good just to know that you weren't alone.<p>

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and advanced into the darkness. Jack followed her with his eyes, grimacing when he lost sight of her. The workshop wasn't huge, but still piled up and contorted. Because his eyes were useless in the darkness, he concentrated on his hearing. Blocking out the noise from outside the door and solely focusing on Carter's cautious steps. For a while, nothing unusual reached his ears, then he startled when a clatter cut through the silence. Something heavy had just been dropped.  
>"Carter? Carter!" He shouted, not caring that his voice incited the Walkers at the other side of the door. Be became nervous, when there was no answer.<br>"Carter!" be barked again. Nervousness morphed into full blown concern. Despite the pain in his knee, there was nothing that could keep him sitting on his ass right now.

Laborious and cumbersome, he grabbed the edge of a workbench and pulled himself clumsily up. His knee relented to the weight, but he bared his teeth and swallowed down any protest. Yet, Jack had no idea how to make even one step without immediately falling down again. But he had to move, wouldn't sit around uselessly while Carter may be eaten alive or…  
>"Fuck!" He couldn't help but snarl at her as Carter's blonde head appeared before him suddenly. Uninjured and safe.<br>"Jeez, woman! Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

To her defense, she refrained from pointing out to him that he'd done something similar to her in the warehouse. Instead, she ducked her head and stared at him from beneath her lashed, holding the excuse in her hands.  
>"Sorry. But I found this."<br>She held up a dusty first aid kid, the orange color slowly fading. Jack was instantly willing to forgive her. Still desperately clinging to the workbench, he nodded gently.  
>"It's okay. But next time, say something." He complained while the vehemence left his voice. Thereby concealing the fact that the reason for his anger wasn't that she hadn't answered immediately, but because he'd instantly feared that something bad had happened and that she couldn't answer anymore.<p>

"Next time." She promised and took a step towards him. Holding up the first aid kid and nodding to his bruised knee.  
>"Want me to take a look at this?"<br>"I thought you're not that kind of doctor." Remarked Jack. It was supposed to be one of his patented bad jokes, but too late did he realize how hostile his words had sounded. He could practically watch how Carter's frail camaraderie she'd developed in the last hours towards him shattered.  
>"I'm the only doctor you have. Also, I'm a trained combat medic."<br>Jack swallowed. Wanted to apologize for his crude way, but didn't manage to do so.  
>"That would be great."<p>

With her help, he limped to the other side of the room where he sat down carefully on the floor and stretched out his injured leg. Carter knelt beside him, opening the first aid kid and pouring the contents out. There was not much left. Whoever had been tinkering in this workshop, he or she had a serious knack for minor wounds of all kind. It was striking that there was not a single patch left. Good for Jack that his wound required more attention. Fortunately, there was still enough dressing material.

Carter put her head to the side, leaning over the injured knee for a closer look and thinking about how to tackle this problem.  
>"I think I need to cut you pant." She reasoned finally, a pair of scissors in hand and a concentrated expression on her face.<br>Jack didn't mind. Like she'd said, she was the doc.  
>"That old thing? Go ahead, have fun."<br>"I can assure you, this is not my idea of fun."  
>O'Neill huffed and rolled his eyes.<br>"Of course not. I bet you're having a field day staring at numbers and calculations."  
>"Fun is relative. I guess you love reading joke books to improve you own humor."<br>Secretly, he was having much fun right now. Bickering with her. But he thought it was wise not to admit this. He grabbed the fabric of his shirt dramatically, right over his heart, and sighed.  
>"Oy, that really hurt. But still, point taken."<p>

As he watched her hands cutting open his trouser leg, he pulled out a packet of crackers. He was a little bit surprised that he could eat in this situation. But it had always been like that with him. No matter how hard the day or how much pain he was in, his appetite never let him down. Maybe it was some kind of coping mechanism? A weird form of comfort eating? He just knew that there had been only one time in his live when he hadn't been sure if it was worth the effort to keep his body alive with food. O'Neill blinked, protesting against thinking about this now. It was pointless. Now matter how many times he tormented himself with these thoughts, he'd never get the chance to make his amends. And it was good like that. A suitable punishment for him.

So it was fine with him when he caught Carter staring at him from the corner of her eyes. She looked away quickly, wanting to hide that she had been indeed staring. Yeah, like he wouldn't notice that.  
>"What?" He demanded to know what was so damn interesting about his face. At the same time, something in his mind told him that it was probably not a good idea to distract Carter while she was busy working with a pair of scissors near his bare skin. But he didn't get to choose his nurse. Or his temper.<br>"It's nothing." She mumbled.  
>Jack grunted. "Oh, please. Doesn't look like it's nothing. You're doing that scrunching up your nose thingy."<p>

"I'm not scrunching up my nose." She insisted, but her face betrayed her with doing just that.  
>"Of course. You're doing it right now. I notice things."<br>Carter paid no attention to him as she pushed aside the two pieces of his pant leg. The wiser head gives in, as the saying goes.

She sighed and furrowed her brows as she looked at his battered knee. Cautiously, her hands touched the swollen and bloodshot skin. Jack winced and involuntarily tried to escape her touch.  
>"Sorry." Carter apologized and he could hear that she meant it.<br>"It's okay." O'Neill breathed out, relaxing again as the pain subsided. His doctor leaned back and pursed her lips.

"I don't think something's broken. Looks like a pretty bad articular effusion."  
>Jack gave his knee a thoroughly once over and had to admit, it looked rather bad. The skin was swollen and sore, the color already turning into a brownish red, or reddish brown, depending on how you looked at it. It felt like the whole joint was burning up. He put a hand on his tight, just above the knee and tried to stabilize it, feeling the heat emanating form the injury. An inflammation?<br>"And this effusion…is it very bad?"  
>The way Carter stared a bit helplessly at the empty first aid kit made him uneasy. It wasn't his first injury. But he'd never listened closely when the doctors had explained him their diagnoses. Now he wished he'd at least looked at the x-rays. He himself couldn't identify the severity of his injury, except that it hurt like hell.<p>

Carter wiped a strand from her forehead and cocked her head thoughtfully to one side.  
>"I don't think so. My brother once had something like that, not quite as bad, but sill. The doctor performed a puncture to derive the accumulated blood."<br>She said this so casually, that Jack almost didn't realize the consequences of the indicated treatment.  
>"Puncture! Wait a sec! Nobody gets punctured!"<br>The blonde physicist was actually impressed by his childish objection. She appeared to be honestly regretting what she had to tell him.  
>"But we have to do something. If not, you're risking compartment syndrome."<p>

"A what?"  
>"Compartment syndrome. It happens when an increased tissue pressure leads to a reduction of tissue perfusion, resulting in a neuromuscular disorder or tissue and organ damage."<br>Jack closed his eyes briefly. The long and complicated words dancing before his pupils. He didn't understand a word. Except damage.  
>"Carter, I have no idea what you're trying to say."<br>She responded to his implied question with leaning back on her knees and propping her hands on her tighs.

"It means that the swelling and bruising squeezes down on the tissue underneath. Compressing the veins, too. More blood accumulates and the pressure increases. In very bad cases, the tissue bursts."  
>O'Neill shook his head in disbelief.<br>"It's like grilling a hot dog for too long. Eventually, the sausage bursts."  
>Jack grimaced. This comparison he'd understood very well.<br>"Urgh. You mean, my knee will explode?"  
>"In fact, it would be more like an impulsion."<br>"Oh, thanks a lot dear doc, I'm feeling so much better already."

For a moment, they stared at each other in silence. Jack with his typical stubbornness when it came to necessary medical treatments and Sam with a tenseness concerning what she had to do to help him. Determined, she reached for an object she'd placed next to the first aid kit. She was sure that this was the only way, considering their poor equipment. If they didn't do anything they were risking a worsening of the injury, maybe even ending in death for him.

"Normally, this is done with a wide needle. But we don't have such a needle, so…" She left the sentence unfinished and held up her knife. The colonel's eyes turned huge upon seeing this.  
>"Absolutely not! No way! Never ever! No frigging way!"<br>"But, Sir!"  
>"I told you, don't Sir me. Especially not when you're fidgeting with a knife in front of me. Over my dead body." He warned her and pointed an accusing finger her direction. But Sam didn't relent.<br>"You said it! If you don't let me do something, this will end with your death."  
>This seemed to stun him to silence, so she kept talking. "I don't see another option. The knee looks pretty bad and it won't be done with a simple bandage. The pressure has to go. The longer we wait, the more damage we risk. Think about how far you'll get if you can't run or walk properly."<p>

Her objection hit a nerve with him. O'Neill opened his mouth, but closed it again without saying anything. Instead, he let his head fall against the wall and squinted. His jaw tensing briefly.  
>"All right then. If you're sure you can do this."<br>His glance was so intense, that Carter had to fight against looking away.  
>"As sure as I can be."<br>"Hate to say that Carter, but that doesn't sound that much convincing."  
>"That's because I'm not convinced it's going to work. But I assure you, I'll do my best."<br>Jack grunted in agreement. "Wouldn't have expected anything less with you."

"Maybe you should close your eyes." Sam suggested when she saw his less than enthusiastic face.  
>"Ack no, I prefer watching disaster approaching me. Don't want to implore that you're not good at this." He added quickly. Jack was no idiot. He knew it was a very stupid idea to annoy the woman that was about to cut his knee with a sharp knife.<br>"I'm sure you'll do the best you can possibly do…considering the dirt, the absence of any medical equipment, with only a knife and all those gems and bacteria floating around…"  
>Carter's eyes went wide. She put the knife away and reached behind her.<br>"I almost forgot. I think I can do something about those gems."  
>She showed him a half-full bottle of whisky.<br>"I found this in the back. Not ideal, I know, but at least it's something."  
>"You mean, at least something high-proof."<p>

She smiled knowingly and opened the bottle. Professionally, she disinfected first the blade of the knife, then soaked a piece of gauze with the alcohol and wiped it gently over the swollen skin of his knee. This time, Jack managed to control his nerves and kept his body from reacting to the pain her touch was provoking. Maybe the alcohol could help him with that too?

"Hey Carter, what about me? Don't I get a sip?"  
>She pursed her lips denying.<br>"I wouldn't recommend it. This isn't a particularly good drop."  
>To confirm her words, she shoved the bottle under Jack's nose so that he could take a generous snuff. He sneezed and knew that she hadn't exaggerated.<br>"Oy, that stuff is evil."  
>"That's what I'm saying."<br>"But…I guess I'm not in the position to be choosy."  
>"At some matters, you should definitely be choosy." She insisted and Jack was willing to leave it there. The stuff wasn't worth a dispute.<p>

The next short minutes were spent with Carter making the final preparations. When she had everything ready she would need, Carter took a deep breath and looked him straight in the eyes.  
>"Ready?"<br>"Do I have a choice?"  
>"Not if you want to keep your knee."<br>Jack realized that he really couldn't get out of this and gave in with a slightly plaintive sigh.  
>"All right. Showtime."<p>

She took a lot of time to set the sharp blade on his skin, giving him the opportunity to prepare for the pain that was about to come. Jack squinted, trying to breathe deeply and regularly, even as the pain flooded his whole body. He couldn't suppress a soft moan as he watched her carefully cutting his skin open. A fine red line spread across his knee.  
>"Fuck, that hurts." O'Neill rasped and Carter's face contorted with regret and compassion.<br>"I'm really sorry."  
>Viscous dark, red blood sipped trough the cut and ran over his skin. Carter quickly put the knife away and dapped the blood with some more of the dressing material. In the meantime, Jack desperately tried to keep breathing and was genuinely surprised when the pressure and pain actually, albeit extremely slowly, subsided.<p>

"Wow, this is really helping." He remarked when he was sure again that he could speak a few words without bursting into tears. Carter gave him a rare, but all the more wide, smile.  
>"That's great. I'm relieved."<br>Jack snorted with amusement. "Sure you are. You're just afraid that you need to keep dragging me across the street."

As their tempers had calmed down a bit, and when she could trust her fingers to work properly, she started to dress the colonel's knee. Pondering what there was about this guy, that made her react so strongly. While he watched her fingers applying the gauze, Jack had similar musings. Why the heck were they always fighting or quarreling with each other? He certainly couldn't say that he didn't like her. Carter was quite okay. Okay? Was that the right word? After all, O'Neill didn't feel indifferent about her. People he didn't care about, couldn't evoke such strong emotions in him. But perhaps it was just the tremendous stress. Carter, if she would become a friend or not, had just saved his life and he wouldn't forget that anytime soon.

Glad that his injury didn't feel as bad as expected, he exhaled relieved. No sooner than Carter had applied a pressure bandage, the strain on his knee subsided. Then pain was still there, but slowly fading to a level he could tolerate without making an ass out of himself with his whimpering. With eyes half-open, he watched as she fixated the bandage with a metal clip. He sighed and met her searching gaze.  
>"What?"<p>

"You should try to get some sleep."  
>Immediately, she looked at him. Her eyes scanning him attentively and coming to a rest on his knee.<br>"You first."  
>He shook his head.<br>"No. You first."  
>"I'm not tired."<br>Jack groaned. Why did she have to be so damn stubborn?  
>"Carter!"<br>"You're hurt. You need the sleep more than I do."  
>She was right, of course. Had beat his recalcitrant stubbornness with her logical and analytical persistence.<p>

"All right, all right." He finally gave in. Because he was pretty sure that he wouldn't relent. It was actually only logical to go easy on himself, leaving her in the responsibility. He had asked her for her trust, now it was only fair that he started trusting her too. He took off his wristwatch because he knew that she didn't have her own watch.

"We have eight hours of sleep in front of us. I'd say that's four hours for each of us. We'll get up at six and take a look outside. That okay with you?"  
>Carter took the watch from him, fastening it around her own wrist and nodding in agreement.<br>"But hey, don't try to trick me. You wake me up after four hours and I take over. No ego trips." He warned, pinning her with strict eyes and it was good that he did that. Her look told him that she'd planned to do just that. Somewhat reluctantly, she nodded again.

When that matter was settled, he peeled off his jacked and patted it with his hands until he'd formed something that hadn't much in common with a pillow, but still served as such. He settled down on the cold floor as comfortable as possible, laying down on one side, mindful to protect his injured knee. Contrary to his expectations, he actually started to doze off. He focused on Carter's quite breathing, but her lulling sounds were interrupted by the Biter's hissing outside the door.

"Oh for crying out loud, shut the hell up!" Jack shouted back, knowing full and well that these things could perceive nothing else but hunger. As if an answer to his curse, the drumming at the door got louder again and he shot and heartfelt "Assholes!" afterwards. Carter chuckled at his contra-productive communication with the Walkers, but sobered up palpable. There was something on her mind and he could feel it. It was keeping him from settling down.  
>"What are we going to do tomorrow if they are still there. How are we supposed to get out?" She spoke up, voicing concerns that were on his mind too, but that he refrained from addressing. No sense in wrecking his head about something that was still in the future.<br>"We'll wait for Kowalski. He'll come and get us out."  
>"How?"<br>"I dunno. But he's a clever guy."

She was silent and he could practically sense her gnawing her lip.  
>"Don't worry so much. He'll come."<br>"How can you be so sure?"  
>"Because he knows I'll rip him a new one if he doesn't."<br>Her thoughtful "hmmm" told him that she needed something more substantial to believe in their rescue. He turned his head, trying to catch her eyes with his.  
>"Hey, Kowalski's a good guy. I've known him for a very long time. He won't leave us in the lurch."<p>

His strong words didn't seem to get through to her. She apparently needed a different kind of pep talk and Jack wouldn't even dream of pretending to know what this was. A bit embarrassed with his own inability to cheer her up, he winked at her and choose to lay down again. But sleep wouldn't come. Not when he could practically hear Carter's busy brain cells struggling to find something fairly logical in all this shit. Of course, to no avail. No one could understand this. Not even a genius like her.

Jack could have feigned sleeping when he sensed that rest wouldn't come to her quickly. But that was not him. He was far from claiming to know how to console or encourage someone. But when one of his people had a problem, he was there and after everything they had experienced together on this day, he looked at Carter as part of the team. If she had a problem, he had one too. It was simple like that. With a soft sigh, he sat up again, pain pulsing through his knee when he made the mistake of moving his leg.

"Look Carter, I'm sure we'll get our chance to scoot. Like I said, Kowalski will search for us. I trust him." He spoke these words with a heavy undertone, aiming at making her understand that he only trusted those who deserved it. You had to work hard for his trust, it wasn't to be had for nothing. And if she trusted him, and he trusted Kowalski, therefore she could trust Kowalski too. If that made any sense at all.

Carter thought about that for a while. Waiting if he was going to lay down again, if he wanted his peace because he had enough of her and her constant worries. When he did no such thing, she saw it as silent invitation to share her thoughts. Sam eyed him closely. She had a certain hunch about him, but wasn't sure if it was okay to address it. Normally, something like that was top secret. But on the other hand, what could happen? There was no one here anymore, who could controll classified information.

"You and Kowalski, you're Special Forces, right?"  
>O'Neill's astonished eyes met her like a laser beam.<br>"How do you know?" Jack was pretty sure he hadn't mentioned that. Part of his job was telling no one about the true nature of his job.

Sam shrugged her shoulders as if her thoughts were too trivial to share.  
>"It's the way you move. My dad used to move like that. Even when he was at home with us. Always tense, always on the alert, always ready to go."<br>Jack clicked his tongue approvingly.  
>"Carter, has someone ever told you that you're really, really smart?"<br>The question wasn't meant very seriously. He knew that she was aware of her high intelligence and therefore Sam left the question unanswered. Instead, she made an attempt to approach the mystery that was Colonel O'Neill.  
>"So, Ranger or Green Beret?"<br>O'Neill crossed his arms over his chest. But not in a refusing gesture, but in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. Apparently, sleep was no longer a serious option for him. So he settled down beside her. A long night ahead for both of them.  
>"Both."<p>

She made an appreciative sound in her throat, but remained silent for so long, that it was the Colonel who spoke up the next time.  
>"Your dad's a Ranger too?"<br>Smalltalk. Sam had to admit to herself, she was a tad disappointed about that. She felt the need in her to talk about more profound matters. About what was going on. But she knew it wasn't very polite to impose such conversations on someone. Added to this was the fact that she didn't even know how to voice what was going on in her mind and heart.  
>"Not really."<br>O'Neill stared broodingly at the ceiling.  
>"He was…" she began, but he interrupted her animatedly. Mischievous humor spreading on his facial features.<br>"Oh no! Don't tell! I like a good puzzle once in a while."  
>He tapped his index finger against his chin, imitating the classical posture of a thinker. Meanwhile, Sam leaned back, satisfied to let him ponder for a while. She was anxious too see how smart the good Colonel really was. And he didn't disappoint.<br>"So, Dad enjoyed a Ranger training, but is not really one. That means…Black Ops?" He accompanied his educated guess with snapping his fingers.

Now it was Sam looking at him in astonishment. Although he seemed to act uncouth from time to time, he was definitely hiding a razor-sharp mind behind it. And a good deal of knowledge of the human nature.  
>"How?"<br>Jack winked.  
>"I know my those guys inside out. Even trained some of them myself."<br>"Have you been a good teacher?"  
>"I guess so. I remember them cursing all of the time , so I must've done something right."<p>

The Biters outside choose this particular moment to renew their attempts to break in the door and effectively silenced their conversation. Both of them instinctively reached for their knives, knowing full and well that they stood no chance against the Walkers lurking at the other side of the door. Fortunately for them, O'Neill's paracord bolt didn't yield. Slowly relaxing again, Jack realized that he was indeed interested in continuing the conversation with Carter. Which was normally not like him. Talking with someone else. Willingly. But he blamed it on the strange mix of fatigue and adrenalin. He was actually so damn tired, that he was paradoxically also wide awake.  
>"Your dad, he's a real tough cookie, eh?"<br>He noticed her tensing up beside him. Uh oh, he'd probably touched a sensitive topic.

"You can say that again." She finally answered, but refrained from telling him anything else on her own. Jack was faced with the difficult decision whether he should leave it at that, or not. He didn't want to drive her into a corner, but still wanted to know more about her. So he opted for a compromise.  
>"You don't like talking about him."<br>His question was open enough to give her space for every possible option. She could answer if she wanted, or not. Both was fine with him.  
>"No, not really. We…we've never been close."<br>A humorless and peevish laugh escaped her lips. "The general wasn't exactly a storybook father."

Jack was willing to leave it at that, if it wasn't for this tiny little thing that made him sit up straight.  
>"You call your dad, 'General'?"<br>Carter wiped her eyes in a telltale way and sounded dejected.  
>"I guess I'm just a typical air force brat, born and raised. We used to move so often, that our family had no friends or acquaintances outside the base. The only people who came to visit were colleagues of my father and all of them called him sir. Sometime, I started to do the same. I think he liked it."<p>

Jack grimaced. In his mind's eye, he saw two small children's feet racing over the slippery parquet floor of the living room. The cheerful voice of his son threatening to deceive his mind and lacerate his heart. Charlie. He remembered the little boy having fun with saluting and calling his dad sir, too. But that had always been fun. Just a silly game between the two O'Neill men. It happened every time when the boy didn't want to go to bed, not listening to his mother's warning words. That had been the time for Jack's appearance. He'd mimicked a strict drill sergeant and ordering –with a broad grin totally betraying his fatherly authority- his son to take up a concealed position under the blankets of his bed. Charlie had used to react to this command with saluting as seriously as a four year old could and letting his father chase him up the stairs. Always happily screaming when Jack caught up with the boy halfway, throwing him over his shoulders in a fireman's carry and delivering his precious cargo to bed himself. The following good night story a welcomed opportunity to calm down and end the day with some warm and fuzzy feelings.

That had been a totally different kind of chemistry between father and child. If his son saluted and called him sir, it was because he wanted to play and have some fun. It had never been about authority, about domineering. Jack felt himself developing a serious dislike for Carter's father, even if he didn't now the old geezer. He'd once been a father too and it was his honest opinion, that if your own kid felt the need to treat you like a superior rather than a daddy, then there was something damned wrong with you way of parenting.

Upon hearing this little snipped of her childhood, something concerning Carter and her behavior clicked in O'Neill. Some kind of understanding, although he couldn't identify the character of this understanding. So he forced himself to swallow his own troubled feelings as well. Carter was damn smart, had a quick mind. She'd notice his resentment if he wasn't cautious. And how should he explain the reason for his resentfulness towards her dad, which he didn't know, without telling her about Charlie. Something he absolutely didn't want to do. He shoved the emotions back in the battered safe that was his heart. As he always did when it came to Charlie.  
>"I'm not like your dad." He had the strongest urge to tell her that. And more, now that he was at it. "And I'm none of those asshole macho-idiots that think women are small and delicate pixy-like beings that need to be protected from the world and themselves. Just so you know it."<p>

Carter's head whirled around. On her face, the expression of someone who'd been caught doing something that was forbidden. Jack looked back at her confidently, satisfied with his own ingenuity. Of course he'd noticed her latent hostility towards him. He knew he could act like a flipping idiot and it hadn't been particular difficult for him to realize what kind of problem she harbored. Coming to the brilliant conclusion what she probably considered him to be a chauvinist. And that was complete bullshit! He, a chauvinist? Pshaw! Never in a million years! He liked women just fine. Honestly.  
>"Come on, Carter. You're not that transparent. And as I said, I notice things like that."<br>"And what else did you notice?"

Jack shook his head gently, but answered nonetheless.  
>"A lot. All those things I learned about you today… You've got a sharp wit. You can pick a lot like you're an unofficial member of the Beagle Boys, you're an ace at the gun, you knew how to keep my knee from turning into a bursting wiener and on top of that, you're an expertise about whisky. You sure you're not at least part Irish?"<br>Charter chuckled like she really felt the amusement and it was like music to his ears.  
>"Nope. California girl."<br>O'Neill groused, sorely disappointed, and tsked.  
>"What a pity. You could've been my dream girl."<br>His remark was meant as a joke and nothing more, but Carter seemed to take him quite serious. She pretended to be suddenly very busy clearing away the remains of the first aid kid, but in truth she was looking for a way to hide her red face from him. And since it hadn't been his intention to embarrass her with his stupid joke, he quickly changed the subject.

"So. California?"  
>Thankfully, she accepted his invitation.<br>"Yes. With my dad's profession, we moved a lot when my brother and I were still children. We never stayed long in one place. But we've been the longest time in San Francisco. Almost one and a half years. My brother sill lives there with his family."  
>He couldn't help but notice that she was again trying to hide her face. But this time not out of shame, but out of sadness.<p>

What the heck was wrong with him? Why did he always manage to make the women around him cry? And why the hell didn't he even have the faintest clue how to make it better again? A pissed off Carter he could handle, but one shedding tears and frantically struggling to hide it, he had no idea what to do. But it was his fault, plus he was the only other living soul around. He had to do something.

"Hey Carter, come on…don't…I mean, maybe they're all right. Your brother and his family. We don't know what's going on in the other states. Maybe they made it to a safe zone. Maybe California is safe." He tried to comfort her, speculating that him mentioning her family had made her cry.  
>"I'm so sick of all those maybe's." She sniffed, confirming his suspicions.<br>Jack shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "Maybe is better than nothing." He offered, feeling incredibly dump and useless.  
>A bitter grunt was her answer.<br>"Maybe's not enough. Not nearly enough."  
>"I…I don't know what to say here."<br>"There is nothing you could possibly say."  
>"Yeah." He pondered, pausing for a second. "Just…don't give up. That's all you can do."<br>"It's hard."  
>"I know. Nothing is easy anymore."<p>

Silence fell over them. There was nothing more to say anyway. Amazing how many words gushed out of normal people on a normal day. And how meaningless and empty all those possible words were in this new world. There was simply nothing to describe adequately what they were suffering from. Sometimes, silence was gold and Carter seemed to think alike as she kept quiet and fiddled with the torn fabric of her sleeve.

* * *

><p>The next morning announced itself with bright light shining through the door slot and chasing away the darkness of the almost abandoned workshop. The soft light rays traveled trough the basement, finally landing on O'Neill's face. Slowly, he awakened and then startled when his perception realized that he was actually asleep. His jerky movements causing the dull pain in his knee to flare up somewhat, but not as bad as yesterday. He even had the feeling that the swelling had reduced a good deal over night.<p>

His eyes fell on Carter, who had curled up next to him like a cat. Still asleep and snoring…? Puzzled, he leaned his upper body towards her and listened. In fact, she was snoring, albeit very, very quietly. But still. Anticipation pushed a grin onto his face. Oh, he couldn't wait to razz the good doctor with the not so charming noises she made while asleep.

Although it was equally annoying to him that they had both fallen asleep. That was dangerous. Sleep made them weak and defenseless to the monsters threatening their lives. Those few seconds body and mind needed to become fully awake could mean their certain death. So no, as much as he didn't begrudged Carter and himself the few hours of blissful sleep, he wasn't happy about it.

He stifled a yawn and glanced at his left wrist, only to remember that he'd given his watch to Carter. His muscles protested as he leaned over to take a look at his watch on her wrist. His bones were definitely fed up with sleeping on the hard and dirty floor. The dial showed 10:28. So it was much later than they had agreed to get up in the morning. About time to wake up and figure out how to get the hell outta here.

At the same time, Jack was well aware that their chances were not particularly high. Possible that the Biters had left, but they couldn't know for sure. And even if the way was clear, he was sure that those beasts hadn't withdrawn for good. It was more likely that the Walker herd still lingered in the village and Jack knew that he stood no chance to outrun them with his bad knee. However, Carter was fit and smart enough. She would certainly find her way back to the camp. And Jack knew that she knew this too. That's why he was actually thinking hard how to convince her to leave him back and try her luck without out him as handicap. He had a feeling that it would be very difficult to persuade her. Carter seemed to be more like the hard headed kinda woman. But therefore, she had to wake up first and gentleman he was, Jack took over the duty of luring her out of sleep. Waking up someone gently was his specialty.

"Carter? Carter? Come on, wake up." He whispered softly, trying to avoid that she'd wake up as uncomfortably as he had. But she didn't respond, probably still in deep sleep.  
>"Carter! Wakey, wakey! There's a nice cup of coffee with your name on it!" He tried to bribe her, but to no avail.<br>Oh-kay, madame was late riser. He had to resort to drastic measures. O'Neill tapped her gently on the shoulder and, lo and behold, finally a reaction. Her eyelids fluttered and she frowned. Jack was just about to praise himself for his brilliant idea, when he realized that she was half awake, but not fully. Instead, her right arm flew towards him as she tried to wipe away his fingers like one would chase an annoying fly.  
>"Oh for crying out loud…"he muttered one of his favorite curses. Now, he was serious. Bending his upper body and looming almost completely over her, he patted her left cheek rather roughly.<p>

At last, some life returned to her body. Her limbs tensed up and suddenly she shot up in the air, apparently feeling threatened, not only by his touch on her cheek but also by his weight on her. Jack recognized her uncontrolled waking up and tried to immediately back away, but not quick enough.

He felt a sharp pain in his palm. Jack quickly pulled his hand back and stared dumbfounded at the bleeding wound there. Then his eyes fell on Carter. She was kneeling and also staring at him, more shocked about her actions than about his presence. When she understood what she had done, she put both hands in front of her face. She had bitten him. Sam Carter, major in the air force and professor dr. dr. something-something had actually bitten his hand.

And Jack could understand her irritation very well, because that was something new for him too. He'd never been bitten by a human.

Looking between his bleeding hand and Carter's bewildered face, his eyes finally stopped on her. He was looking at her, really looking at her and had to laugh out loud. The look on her face was priceless! She appeared to be so completely flummoxed that it was difficult not to find this whole situation funny. Her eyes were big as saucers, her eyebrows seemed to vanish into her hairline and her entire face was glowing with an adoringly shade of red. Her hair was fully disheveled from restless sleep, making the strands stand up like a bird had build his nest there. And then there was this biting irony of the situation. Here he sat in the dark and musty workshop because he'd wanted to hide from the Walkers greedy to get a bite out of him. After everything he had undertaken to not get bitten by the Walkers, Carter –of all things- was the one biting him. That was just to damn funny!

So he laughed. And he was having fun with it. Jack couldn't remember the last time he had such a good laugh about something….too damn long. For that very reason alone, he couldn't bring himself to be angry at Carter.

O'Neill was still gasping for air when the horrified expression on Carter's face was replaced by a sullen one. She had propped her arms on her hips, staring down at him in a clearly bad mood. Apparently, she wasn't happy about the fact that he could find her little action so amusing while she felt downright ashamed. Jack ignored her, he was having too much fun with it.

"Are you finished?" She asked grumpily as Jack was slowly calming down. When he spoke, he wasn't answering her snotty question, but saying something frighteningly honest.  
>"Thank you, Carter. That's exactly what I needed right now." He breathed, rubbing his stomach with his uninjured hand. He'd probably get muscle ache with all that laughing. The female physicist frowned, not understanding what he was thankful about.<br>"What-?"  
>"You've got no idea how good that felt."<p>

"That's not funny!"  
>"Oh yes, it is damn funny."<br>"It's crazy!"  
>Jack shook his head vehemently, starting to provisionally tape his wound with a cloth. "I bet to differ. Think about it. We race criss cross through the village to avoid being bitten, and in the end you're the one taking a bite out of me."<br>At the thought of the unintentional humor of the whole thing, he started to chuckle again. "What the heck were you thinking anyway?"

Carter pushed her chin forward stubbornly. Before she answered, she crouched down and loosed the makeshift tape around his hand. Routinely, she applied the last bit of gauze that was left from the first aid kit.  
>"I wanted to fight back. One second I'm asleep, and in the next I feel someone touching me. I thought I was being attacked by those things."<br>Jack's jaw fell open at her words. Oh, the sheer irony of it all!  
>"And so you thought it's a wise choice to bite back? Bite what tries to bite you? Carter, even your binary brain has to admit that this is funny."<br>She mumbled something, but seemed still inconsolable about this little incident.  
>"I think Janet has to sew it. It'll leave a scar. I'm sorry."<br>Honest regret stamped her voice.

O'Neill waved her off with his healthy hand.  
>"No biggie." He'd accumulated quite the collection of scars over the years. The more, the merrier.<br>Any next remarks were cut off when there was suddenly a loud knocking on the door. Both startled at first, but then glanced at each other with astonishment. They had noticed the same telltale thing about the sound. That was clearly a knock and only humans knocked. Biters hammered and scratched.

"Hey, somebody in there? Jack? Carter? Say something!"  
>O'Neill grinned broadly and Carter slumped with relief.<br>It was Kowalski! Good old Kowalski to the rescue!  
>"See? I told ya so. Always think positive." Jack noted, pleased with this change of events. Seemed that they would get out of there after all. He loved it when a plan worked.<p>

"Yeah, we're in here!" He called back and was immediately answered with some rattling at the door. Jack tried to stand up, forgetting that his knee wouldn't allow such movement in its current state. With a pained face, he fall back on the ground and felt Carter's hand on his shoulder as she walked to the door instead. As he watched the blonde woman opening the door, a thought struck him and drove a big grin on his face.

She really was something else, this theoretical astrophysicist with the many hidden talents. Carter - the woman who bit back. That was the spirit he loved!


End file.
