Armand snatched the letter from Bryan's hands and read:
Dad,
I don't know if you'll ever see this. Everything outside has gone crazy—gunshots, explosions everywhere. The news keeps talking about infected people rioting in the city. I'm scared.
But at least I'm not in the city proper. I've decided to take Angelina to Dallas to find her father. If you see this letter, please come find me there as soon as you can. I hope we'll see each other again.
Your daughter,June
Relief washed over Armand's weathered face. He tucked the letter carefully into his pack.
"Austin has fallen. When I came through, the infected from the bridge were moving this way. It won't be safe here much longer. I'm heading to Dallas. Would you like to come?"
Bryan fell silent. He glanced at Sarah, who sat equally quiet on the bed.
Finally, he shook his head.
"I'm sorry. Sarah's father and uncle are still out there. We need to find them first."
"I understand."
Armand had expected this answer. He sighed softly, pulled out a pen, and wrote an address on a scrap of paper, pressing it into Bryan's hand.
"This is where I'm going. If... and I mean if... you don't find them, you can come here."
He gathered his rifle, gave Sarah's hair one last ruffle, said his goodbyes, and headed downstairs.
Thump, thump, thump...
Bryan stared at the paper in his hand, listening to the fading footsteps.
"Thank you," he whispered.
...
After Armand left, Bryan formulated his own plan. Sarah's leg needed rest—she couldn't do anything strenuous yet, which meant they couldn't venture far.
He opened two cans from his pack for breakfast while considering their options.
Then inspiration struck.
If he couldn't go out searching, maybe he could bring Joel to them.
The house sat near a dense stand of trees. Bryan gathered armfuls of dry wood, piled it high, and lit it with his lighter.
Flames consumed the kindling. A column of black smoke rose into the sky—visible for miles.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Bryan returned to the house and began cataloging every useful item he could find.
He carried Sarah downstairs, gave her paper and a pen, and tasked her with inventory while he headed to the storage shed.
Last night, when he'd found the kerosene lamp, he'd also spotted a toolbox and stacked lumber.
Armand had mentioned the bridge horde was moving this direction. Bryan had no idea when—or if—Joel and Tommy would arrive. Better to reinforce the windows and doors while he could.
...
Meanwhile, at the highway bridge.
Last night's battle had been a massacre.
Hundreds of bodies lay heaped across the bridge deck. Blood painted the concrete in vast swaths, and the copper stench of death hung heavy in the air.
The military checkpoint stood abandoned. The soldiers had been overwhelmed and forced to retreat.
On a nearby hilltop, Joel peered through binoculars at hundreds of infected still shuffling across the bridge, heading toward the next city.
He didn't care about that.
His binoculars swept the area around the bridge, searching desperately. Exhaustion and anxiety gnawed at him.
After losing the infected horde last night, he and Tommy had made for the bridge—only to find it under siege. The gunfire and explosions had drawn every infected for miles.
They'd discussed it and agreed: if Bryan saw what was happening here, he'd never approach. He'd find somewhere nearby to hide.
So they'd begun searching the perimeter, moving carefully to avoid both infected and trigger-happy soldiers. Several times they'd nearly been spotted. Once, stray bullets had nearly found them.
They'd had to pull back and wait until the military evacuated before resuming their search. Now they'd been at it all night.
"Dammit, where ARE you?!"
Footsteps behind him. Joel turned to see Tommy approaching, an unconscious man slung over his shoulder.
"Weren't you searching the other sector? Who's this?"
"Hang on."
Tommy set the man down, produced some rope, and bound his hands behind his back. Then he pulled out an ID card.
"Found him sneaking out of the checkpoint. He's some kind of administrative clerk—probably got left behind during the evacuation. We've been searching all night with nothing to show for it. Maybe the military found Bryan and Sarah first."
It was possible. Joel grabbed a canteen, took a swig, and spat the water into the unconscious man's face.
The clerk sputtered awake, eyes wild with fear as he registered two strangers looming over him, his hands bound.
"Who—who are you? Why did you—"
Joel drew his pistol and crouched until they were eye to eye.
"Last night. Did you find two kids? Boy and girl, both thirteen. The girl had a leg injury. Answer carefully. Lie to me, and I put a hole in you."
The gun aimed at his head turned the clerk's mind to mush. He hadn't even processed the question—his whole body was shaking.
"I—I don't know anything! I'm just a record keeper! Please—AAGH!"
Joel didn't have time for this. He stood and stomped down hard on the man's knee.
Since that soldier had opened fire on them, Joel's hatred for anyone in uniform had reached a boiling point. If not for these bastards, he and Sarah would never have been separated.
He crouched again, studying the clerk's pain-reddened face. From his pocket, Joel produced a photo—him and Sarah together—and held it in front of the man's eyes.
"Last chance. Have you seen this girl?"
The clerk was cooperative now. Fighting through the pain, he managed:
"N-no, I swear! I was doing data entry all night! I don't know anything about—"
He stopped. Something had clicked.
"Wait! Before the infected attacked, we did rescue some civilians near the bridge! Dozens of them! We transported them to the quarantine camp in Houston per protocol! The people you're looking for might be there!"
"Bullshit!" Joel grabbed the clerk by his collar. "If you were rescuing survivors, why did your people shoot at us last night?!"
"Wh-what?" Genuine shock crossed the clerk's face. "That's impossible! Our orders were to rescue all uninfected civilians and escort them to the camps for processing!"
Joel and Tommy exchanged glances.
They'd assumed the military's orders were to eliminate all civilians along with the infected. But if that wasn't true...
A horrible suspicion began to form.
The clerk had reached the same conclusion. He struggled against his bonds.
"You have to let me go! This has to be reported immediately! Otherwise more innocent people will die!"
"Shut up." Joel's head was spinning. He pulled Tommy aside.
"What do we do with him?"
"Let him go." Tommy's answer was immediate. "This has nothing to do with us. Finding Sarah is all that matters. Let this guy deal with whatever conspiracy is going on."
"...Fine."
Joel considered for a moment, then nodded. He walked back to the clerk and dropped a knife at his feet.
"I'm not going to kill you. Figure your own way out."
He turned and started toward the town with Tommy. Houston was over 120 miles away. They needed a vehicle.
They'd been walking for about ten minutes when, in the distance behind them, a column of black smoke began to rise from the treeline.
They never saw it.