“What happened two days ago is the least of it! Jesus Cameron! What is wrong with you?” she blew like a compressed tank of propane next to an open flame, “Every damn time something goes wrong, whether it’s a flat tire, hungry dead or lunatics with guns, you break your rules, play the hero, and put your head in the path…” she continued her verbal tirade hoping that common sense, reason or at least an insult would get through to the glacial wall in front of her,“...rules, and it’s the eighth wonder of the world that our medics have been able to put you back together!”

She didn’t have to say anything about the fact that their doctors and surgeons were limited to a few paramedics, a pediatrician, dermatologist and a Russian medical student who’d just completed medical school and had yet to start her residency. An awkward silence filled the air, and Cameron didn’t move, letting the unnerving silence say everything that he wanted to but could not be bothered enough to say, letting his mind wander. She reminded him of someone that he had once known and cared about, a long time ago, in another life, during his university days.

That “someone” he tried not to think about, even though she made his way in to his thoughts at least twice a day. He kept his mouth shut as she continued to lay down her opinions with accompanied reasons and justifications. His mind drifted, going straight to the fact that she would be alive if he’d moved faster or sooner. Three seconds, had been the difference between life and death as his mind continued to tick over what had happened so many years ago, “People said that I blamed myself for things that I could not have had any control over: Psychiatrists, doctors and other mother fuckers in their white coats and glasses, with their fucking clipboards and pens. Fuck them all. It’s my fault. If my last words to her had been “I love you” instead of “We’ll discuss this when we get home,” then maybe it would have been easier to accept and just get on with my life…” lost in his own thoughts, he was unaware, perhaps blissfully so as the first tear slid down his cheek.

That sight stopped her cold, and left her confused. She knew his skin was thicker that every insult she’d employed so far – she’d used them all before. She leaned forward in disbelief: She had made Cameron “Iceberg” Hunter cry. But it was in his eyes, a look, and a stare that she had seen a few times among people before civilization ended. The stare that one normally found amongst those that had served, fought and survived where their brothers in arms had died: The Ten-Thousand-Yard-Stare. Physically, she was in the room, but he didn’t see or hear anything she had said for the past couple of minutes, reliving some nightmare as he whispered something. Perhaps a name, but she only caught the last syllable of it, and even then wasn’t sure what she’d heard. One syllable, of a name and his tears together spoke more about his past than words ever could, “If there is a heaven, I will meet you there,” and with that one statement it all became perfectly clear to her, what Cameron was trying to do.

“You don’t want to live, but you don’t want to commit suicide in order to be with her… you go out there, you do what you do, risking your life whenever it’s called for because if you die, just doing the right then, you’ll get to see her again. You can’t suicide because if you do, whether or not there is an afterlife, you just burn in hell.” A statement, accusation and an explanation with all the pieces in their place, except for one: What should she do next?

He blinked and remembered where he was and who was in the room with him, suddenly exhaling to blow a curtain of toxic smoke directly at her. She blinked and coughed and in that moment, his tears vanished. His face wore a smile that was part sadness and part forlorn hope, and perhaps a touch of relief or calm acceptance that his secret was no longer a secret, “You heard. I know you did. So what are you going to do now?”

"You can tell me everything or you can tell me nothing. Either way, I’ll … stay until you want me to leave." Very timidly, she pulled him into her arms and embraced him tightly, her mind condemning her for helping the coldest bastard she knew, even as her heart commended her for being human, “You keep yourself under such tight control and your emotions on an even shorter leash. Practically no one has ever seen you laugh or crack a smile,” she pulled back and regarded him for a moment before playfully slapping the back of his head, “You don’t show real emotion not even to me, and I know you better than anyone else!”

He shrugged his shoulders in response and twisted free of her grip before standing. She could see his mind whirling like a computer but finding no traction as he shrugged and fell silent, sitting back down, timid and hesitant before gently taking her hand in his. She said nothing but perhaps an entire conversation had just been had. Despite the cold armor he wore, she realized that he did emit some warmth - After all, he was only human.

Neither of them kept track of time but when he stood, gently tugging on her arm, she took the hint and followed suit. She was confused then puzzled as he left her standing, and reached for the weapons and their holsters, “I think you should go…. I’ve got a couple of things to take care of.” The humanity he had shown her faded away as they stood at the door which he attempted to close. Her foot managed to wedge itself in the door as he blinked and stole a glance at the blockade, “What?”

“I get through your armor, revealing you have the emotion range of a human instead of the teaspoon you normally project and it terrifies the hell out of you doesn’t it?” he shrugged his shoulders, “And that defense mechanism is not enough to get me to leave.” The mixture of anger and frustration creased her normally soft features, “Nobody has ever seen what I just saw of you. What would it take to get to know you as a person? For you to quit hiding behind your past and whatever horror story it holds?”

He smirked, the ghost of a smile on his face, “You don’t want to get to know me better because my ghosts and demons would scare you and everyone else away. I’m not exactly short term boyfriend material or long term husband material either. I’m damaged goods. Find yourself somebody who’ll actually be able and willing to give a damn.” His speech concluded, he pushed firmly on the door, and she withdrew her foot allowing it to slam in her face. She stood and stared at the door for a moment, contemplating what to do, and realized there was nothing she could do. On the other side of the door, Cameron rested his forearm against the door, a further barricade to keep her on the other side of the door and away from him. He thought about it for a moment, about her and realized that he wanted to let someone in but wasn’t sure if there was still enough human in him to accomplish that.

Jaira sighed left clueless as to what exactly she should do to deal with him. Whatever he did, he did well, never shirking responsibility. She sighed, and leaned back against the cool glass door, and walked away, giving up for the moment. She had a few things to do, where she could make a difference.

In the distance, beyond the five or six hundred meter perimeter that the Spartan’s had established, there was movement. They were slow, unsteady, and uneven steps of a human shapes plodding down the street. The only lighting from the moon that hung high overhead, casting half shadows across everything its light touched. The figure moved forward as a moan escaped from its mouth filled with broken teeth. Another figure shuffled up, next to the first and took a hesitant step forward, groaning as it did so, as if in agreement.

Behind them, the street was filled with the not quite marching, but not quite walking either. Most seemed to lack a definitive clue as to where they were going, even if there were no doubts about the why. The entire horde of several hundred moved with the slow non-regimented pattern of an amoeba that could not decide in which direction it should go. The size of the horde meant that its own noise and movement was more than enough to sustain it and help it grow as more of the walking dead joined the moaning, groaning ranks of their ilk. They lumbered down the street their pale white dull cow eyes unseeing as they marched. The pitched gun battle in what used to be the heart of the city had attracted them and the Spartan withdrawal had forced the groaning horde to give chase moaning and drawing more and more zombies, scattered for miles around in to a single unified horde of death.

Sparta was not visible but something caught the attention of the zombie at the head of the horde, making it pause in midstride, as if something had tickled its nose and the back of its throat. But it recognized the scent born upon the wind: Living humans. It stopped for a moment and gave off a long deep moan, before adjusting its direction of travel, staggering forward as the rest of the horde, slowly took a step towards the only food source within the city