Allison always-sensitive stomach turned a bit at the sight of the blood on the man's hand and arm. He told her softly, "She's already dead."

She couldn't help but wonder if it was her fault the other woman was dead, that she'd acted too late. Looking toward the burning truck and corpses surrounding it, though, Allison was sure she'd done all she could in a timely manner considering what she'd known at the time. She looked toward the infant laying on the ground wrapped up in a coat.

"Is she okay ... he ... whatever?" she asked with a less stern voice than she'd used before. 

The man answered, and Allison felt relieved. Then he asked, "So ... what's next?"  

She looked in the direction of the man's pursuers again, then told him, "Stay where you are while I check the other guys. I [i]mean[/i] it. Don't move."

She waited for him to indicate that he understood and accepted the order, then headed down her side of the ditch until she was directly across from the burning wreck. There was no movement amongst the men. She descended into the ditch, climbed to the road, and slowly circled the scene. She maintained her distance, pressing a mask she'd pulled from a pocket to cover her mouth and nose. The dead could still pose an infection risk, even if they were immune.

Allison found one of the men still breathing and conscious. By the singe marks, he was one of the two men caught in the explosion. She stared down at him a long moment, contemplating the reason he and the others had been chasing the trio. She understood the value and importance of Immunes, of course; they were the future of the human race. But she couldn't abide the idea of Immunes being forced into being part of the rebuilding of society.

She lifted the pistol and popped off one shot into the lone survivor's chest. He gasped a few times, then went silent and still. Allison headed back to the car in the ditch, looking to ensure that the man there was where she'd left him. She stopped before getting to near him.

"You're Immunes?" she asked, needing to her it from his mouth as he looked her in the eye. She waited for his answer, then asked, "You've been infected then? That's how you know for certain. It isn't that you just haven't caught it, right?"

Again, she waited for his response. She studied him a moment before saying, "My name is Allison. Allison McGee." She didn't actually ask him for his name but assumed that he would offer it. Looking to his wreck of a car, she said, "Gather what you need, and let's get out of here." 

She waggled her pistol toward the driveway, which was only twenty yards or so from the site. The bridge had been destroyed early in the pandemic to keep people out, and although the weeds had begun growing up through the no-longer-maintained gravel, the drive was still more obvious than not.

"We're heading that way," she told him. "You lead, I'll follow. Until I know you a little bit better, maintain at least 20 feet distance from me, more if your upwind in a breeze."