Tony's legs started aching a mile back, but the way his best friend kept marching through the forest undeterred had him afraid to say anything. He wasn't an athlete, and far from the type of person to take morning jogs. Though she was shorter than him, Chris was much stronger, and she could hike for days. Maybe once upon a time he had been jealous of her stamina, but not now. Now he just wanted to keep up. If he said it hurt to keep going, he knew she would stop and insist he take a break. They needed to get out of the forest [i]now[/i], not later.

Every now and then she would seize his arm and take off again. “Keep moving,” she would say. Sometimes he wondered if she knew she was saying it, or if it was just habit now. He [i]knew[/i] she wasn't aware of the time she muttered, under her breath, her grandfather's mantra. She whispered it to herself as she jogged, and sometimes in her sleep. Tony obliged, fumbling over tree roots and thick undergrowth, until Chris finally slowed down again. Her eyes darted about, her fingers restless around the baton. He could see the odd, tiny bead of sweat trickle through the dirt and blood on her brow.

“Do you feel that?” she whispered. Feel what? The hot air, the itch of dry blood on his skin, the throbbing ache in his calves? But he didn't think that was what Chris meant, and he was inclined to think she was hallucinating. “Something's watching.” She turned in a slow circle, stepping as quietly as possible and scanning the surrounding area. Tony suppressed a shiver, thoughts stuck on the way Chris said “something”. If it was another of the undead, why couldn't they hear it?

Then she stopped, dropped the baton and pulled the rifle over her shoulder into her hands. “Don't move,” she said into the trees. Tony inched closer to her and froze; he couldn't see what she was aiming at, or who. “If you try to kill us, I'll shoot you. If you're infected, I'll shoot you.”