They got to the fence of the safe zone. Apollo gave a push to the hurt grunt, getting him up and over the rusty gate. Grunt number 2 provided them cover with the last clip of ammo he had for the rifle. Apollo got up the fence himself, his bloodied hands slipping on a patch of cracked blue paint.

"Give me you hand!" he demanded. Grunt number 2 shot an approaching viral in it's leg, before turning around. The viral stumbled over and fell, yelling it's rotten lungs out in anger. It tried to get up, but was pushed to the ground by a volatile rushing by. Apollo pulled the grunt up on the fence right in time. The volatile crashed into the gate, sending both of them down on the ground. Apollo got to his feet and rushed to the hurt grunt. He tried walking to the house by himself, though he only made it half-way there before his bitten leg didn't allow him to go further. Apollo grabbed his arm and they started limping to the safe house. Only now did they notice that it wasn't as safe as they'd hoped. The UV lights were down, there was nothing that would deter the dead. Grunt number two was right behind them, panting wildly and begging them to hurry.

Crossing the yard felt like it took hours. They dragged their feet through the mud, slipping all over the place. Apollo lost his balance once, and almost dragged the hurt man to the ground with him. He stopped himself with his left hand and jolted back to his feet, ignoring the palm that got pierced by a nailed plank on his way to the ground. They got to the door. Apollo tried turning the handle. It didn't budge, and he could feel his heart skip a beat. He turned his face to the gate. A volatile was on top of it, and in the next moment it was down on the ground, charging them. Apollo tried the handle again, leaning against it will all his weight. It squealed and cried, rusty metal gears turning for the first time in God knew how long. And then it clicked. Apollo could feel his knees melt down into a hot mess, as they awaited a much deserved break. He pushed the door open, rushing the hurt man inside and following him closely. Grunt number two popped another bullet in the volatile, before bolting for safety behind the door himself. He closed it and locked the latch, leaning against it and breathing heavily. He got startled and jumped back as the volatile collided with the door.

"Lantern!" Apollo yelled from behind him, snapping him out of his trance.

"The door!" He responded, his stomach tied into tight knots by fear.

"It'll hold," Apollo tried reassuring him, "unlike your friend. We have to move fast."

Apollo pulled the sleeping bag off of the mattress and laid grunt number one on it. He was bleeding profusely, his skin turned pale and his breathing heavy.

"Do you have a knife?" Grunt number two's face turned just as pale as his friend's.

"Wh...what..."

Apollo kneeled down besides the mattress, frantically searching the small medicine pouch he pulled out from beneath his shirt.

"Cut up his pant sleeve. I need to get a better look at the damage."

Grunt number two approached the mattress. With shaky hands, he pulled a butcher's knife out of it's improvised hilt. It wasn't ideal, but it would suffice. Or so he'd hoped anyway. He grabbed his friend's foot, holding onto it tightly, and began cutting away at the torn material.

"Try to cut a few longer pieces if you can. We need to improvise a tourniquet to stop the bleeding," Apollo blabbered between the rattles of the pouch he searched. Finding that damn injector should've been easy. Not in the faint light of his small, dying flashlight however. And certainly not with shaky fingers, flailing wildly between various bottles with questionable contents at best.

"Okay, what now?" Grunt number two asked, holding a couple of long pieces of cloth.

"Tie them tightly, right below his knee."

He leaned over, and Apollo stopped him with the palm of his right hand.

"And by tight, I mean as tight as you can manage," he continued. He then made his way around grunt number two, trying to decide where to best administer the shot of antizin he'd prepared.

'His arms won't do,' he thought, 'the antizin would spread to slowly.' He got to his neck, and pressed his index finger against his trachea. A weak pulse pushed back at it every so often.

'His neck won't do either, it'll spread to fast. Think, Apollo, think...'

All of the thick textbooks he read in his three years as a medical student were now miraculously escaping him. He could remember faint outlines of words and anatomic pictures of various kinds, but their meanings were beyond his grasp. He learned how to be a medic, but he never learned how to be a real medic. He hated how his fingers started shaking whenever an emergency would strike. He hated the fact that his mind would shut down under the stress. But most of all he hated that he would cave in from the pressure of holding a fading life in his hands.

He looked at grunt number two, hoping to distract himself if even for a second. Maybe then, his mind would cobble itself together for just long enough to come up with a solution.

"Let's wrap this up before he turns and tries to bite us," grunt number two mumbled to him as he tied the last knot.

'Bite. Rabies. You go for the abdomen, duh...'

Apollo swiveled around on the spot and reached for grunt number one's shirt. He pulled it up, revealing his abdomen. It was rising and falling ever so slightly under his labored breath. He placed the injector three inches above his waistline, and pulled the trigger. The needle pierced his skin with a weak pop, and Apollo's eyes fixated on the bottle of antizin as it drained. He stopped it when a quarter of the bottle emptied, then pulled out a small piece of cloth and some rubbing alcohol from his pouch. After a few quick dabs on the cloth, Apollo handed the rest of the bottle to grunt number two.

"It's not the best candidate, but I can't for the life of me find any hydrogen peroxide, so it'll do." Grunt number two took the bottle with hesitation. Apollo cleaned the needle of the injector before stashing it back in the pouch, and then procured a roll of bandage from there as well.

"How big's that pouch of yours?" Grunt number two asked in amazement.

"Big enough," Apollo replied before pulling out a gauze sponge as well. He reached his hand for the grunt's butcher knife, then cut the sponge in two. "Your shirt," Apollo told him as he made his way around him.

"My shirt what?"

"Take it off."

"What?"

"I need to clean as much of the blood as I can before I try to disinfect the wound," Apollo replied as he leaned over grunt number one's bitten leg. The bleeding slowed down, but it didn't stop entirely. "I only have one sponge on me, I can't waste it with on cleaning the blood."

Grunt number two obliged. He took off his jacket, then tried to push the shirt up over his head against his sweaty, rain-drenched skin. It came off eventually, and he threw it in Apollo's outstretched hand. Feeling the cold, damp excuse of a shirt land on his arm, Apollo let out a sigh.

'It'd do," he thought. He began dabbing the wound with it, trying to remove both the fresh blood still gushing out, and the scabs that were already forming. Grunt number two crawled on all fours to grunt number one's side, placing his right hand on his forehead.

"You'll be alright, Bulut. You'll be fine. You have to be," he lamented, trying his best to hope against all odds.

'Grunt number one has been promoted to Bulut,' Apollo noted as he kept on dabbing the wound.

"What's your name?" He found himself asking grunt number two after a few moments of silence.

"My name's Doruk," he mumbled after a moment's thought, his sight still fixated on Bulut's pale face.

"Name's Apollo. I'm sorry we've met in these circumstances by the way. I'm sure you and your friend are good people."

"Brother. Bulut is my older brother," Doruk corrected Apollo. Hearing that, Apollo's heart sunk from his chest and all the way to the floor.

The next few minutes passed in silence. The cleaning was half-assed at best, but after using his own shirt as well, Apollo ran out of decently clean rugs he could use.

"Hand me the rubbing alcohol, Doruk," he said, outstretching his arm. He dripped a not-so-generous amount of it on one half of the sponge, as it was in short supply, and then proceeded to carefully rub the wound with it.

"Here," he said, handing Doruk the roll of clean bandages, "open it. I'll press the other sponge to the wound, and you bandage around it. Make it tight, but don't overdo it. The wound needs room to breathe."

Doruk made his way next to Apollo. With a curious look for a change, he unraveled the roll of bandage. When he was done, he cut one of the ends along it's length for 10 inches, strapping the two resulting threads around the upper end of the wound and making a loose knot out of them. He then began wrapping the wound, making his down on it, careful to keep the gauze where Apollo had placed it. Down, then up, then down again, and soon enough the bandage ran out. He cut the other end as well, and made another knot, this time tighter.

"And we're done," Apollo sighed in relief. He made his way to Bulut's head, to check his temperature, pulse and breathing.

'Nothing stellar,' he concluded after finding a weak heartbeat and heavy, labored breaths, 'but at least they're still going...'

"Where do you know all of this from?" Doruk asked as he got up his feet.

"I'm a medic. Well, not quite a medic yet, but I was getting there..."

"A noble profession. A noble profession indeed..." Doruk mumbled as he dragged the sleeping bag Apollo had cast aside next to the mattress. Now that he was done with his unexpected patient, Apollo wanted to get back to the matter at hand: rescuing his brother. He got up his feet and made his way to the door, leaning close to it, hoping to scope out the situation out there. The rain was pouring just as unforgiving as ever, and he could still hear the volatiles growling along the courtyard. Going out was still a no-go. With a heavy heart, he resigned, and made his way to the corner of the room opposite to the door. He sat down, with his back against the cold wall, flaky paint coming off of it as he brushed against it.

"I can't leave yet," Apollo spoke up after a few minutes of silence, catching Doruk's attention, "but I hope that, when morning rolls around, we can go our separate ways in peace."

His request was met with silence, and in his book, silence usually meant no. He didn't give up though, giving it another try.

"Can we, Doruk?"

"Yes," he answered after a few moments filled with soul-crushing silence, "you have my word."

"Great. I'll check up on your brother again in the morning. If he makes it past this night, he's gonna be fine."

Apollo knew that Bulut's chance was slim at best. Yet, while he still worried for his life, he didn't worry too much for theirs. A triple dose of antizin would be sure to keep him from turning for a full day after he'd die. Feeling the sweet allure of a well deserved nap, Apollo allowed himself to slide down against the wall, all the way to the floor. He bunched up in the corner, his right hand for a pillow, and he soon felt his grip on reality loosen as he fell asleep.

After what felt like an eternity, the crowd finally dissipated. Most of his body was in pain, and a hard hit to the head had left his ears ringing and his mind spinning like a merry-go-round. Still, as dizzy as he was, he knew he had to get up. He propped himself against the body now lying lifeless besides him, and pushed himself half-way up, before letting it go and getting up the rest of the way on his own.

"Hermes..."

His voice was weak and trembling with fear. The fear that he would be heard by the wrong people, but also by the bigger fear that the one person he wanted to be heard by would not be able to hear him anymore. Looking around, he decided to call out one more time. His world was still spinning too wildly for him to make out anything useful on the corpse-littered floor.

"Hermes." This time louder. "Hermes!" This time even more so. "GODDAMIT HERMES! TELL ME YOU'RE ALL RIGHT!" Screaming his lungs out, he began shambling around, looking for his brother who wouldn't answer his calls. His world began to settle down, allowing him to distinguish some details. Enough he hoped to make out his brother from the crowd of downed people.

After shambling around for what felt like hours, he finally spotted Hermes. He got to him, and quickly kneeled besides him. He grabbed his left hand to check his pulse. To his horror, he could suddenly feel something warm and sticky trickling down his hand. Blood. His brother's blood. This wasn't good. The biter got him, and it got him good. His mind began wondering, trying to guess what would follow, and what would be the best course of action. He needed to stop the spread of the virus, that was top priority. He grabbed his own shirt and ripped a few long strips of material, tying them tightly on Hermes' left shoulder. That would work just like a tourniquet, hopefully holding his infected blood from spreading throughout his body, and preventing bleeding.

'Sharp, sharp, sharp...'

Apollo began wondering around, looking for anything with a sharp enough edge. The best he could find though were some small kitchen knives, and those wouldn't do. That was until he heard a few soldiers approach.

"Hey, you! Answer me! Are you still human?"

He quickly lifted his hands in the air, letting them know he didn't mean them any harm.

"Please, do you have anything sharp?" Apollo blurted out, shambling towards them with uneasy steps. He could feel his stomach bunching up into all kinds of knots, and his heart was racing out of his chest at the thought of what would follow. He had no choice though. Not if he wanted his brother to still be his brother by the next morning, and the ones after that. Getting to the soldiers, he could see one of them carrying a machete. It would suffice, seeing as time was of the essence. So he reached for it, trying to get it untangled from the confused soldier's belt. He tried fighting back at first, but when Apollo began talking, he calmed down and tried to help him.

"Please, I don't have time. My brother's been bitten on his left hand."

The soldier untied the machete from it's loose slot on the belt, and handed it to Apollo, whose hands were shaking wildly.

"Need any help?"

"Yes, yes..." He stuttered, walking towards an unconscious Hermes. Getting close to his brother, he could see him slightly opening his eyes, tears welling up behind them along with confusion. His nose was broken, his arm was bleeding, and the poor thing was probably hurting all over. Crying himself, Apollo tried to speak through the sobs, hoping to calm down his brother.

"It...it will be alright...little bro. I'm...I'm so sorry..."

A loud creak of the door awoke him from his nightmare. Yet, as soon as he opened his eyes and got blinded by the light of the morning sun, he realized he'd been thrusted from one nightmare into another. A tall figure, casting harsh shadows upon him, occupied the door to the small, dirty room into which they hid for the night. His mind jolted awake, sent into overdrive as he began squirming against the wall.

"Hello, doctor. It's a pleasure to meet you after everything Doruk told me about you..." The tall figure entered the room, followed closely behind by four other people. All of Apollo's instincts were screaming at him, so loudly that they drowned out all of his thoughts. He tried getting up, yet his feet wouldn't listen to him. He stumbled over to his right and almost fell, catching himself against the wall in the last moment.

"Tie up the good doctor boys, but be gentle. He saved the ass of that piece of trash after all."

Two of the men broke away from the group, and approached Apollo. His world was spiraling out of control. His stomach turned inside out as he fell to his knees. One of the men got next to him and pulled out a couple of zipties. He guided Apollo's hands to his back and tied them up. He didn't pose any resistance. All of this was so surreal that he lost his grip on reality. A city chock full of zombies, his brother was probably dead under a van, and now he was captured by none other than Rais' men. He expected to wake up any minute now, back in his rented flat in Boston, and be late for classes. One of the goons gave him a push, trying to get him up and moving, and the moment he crashed onto the floor, he realized that wasn't the case. If the tongue he just bit was telling the truth, this was no dream.

"Get moving already doc, you're embarrassing yourself. We'll only be gentle if you cooperate."

The two goons grabbed him from beneath his shoulders and helped him up on his feet. He took a few uneasy steps towards the door, guided from the back by one of their rifles. He got out in the courtyard, and was blinded by the sun that finally managed to pierce the murky clouds. The gates of the courtyard were wide open, a yellow van guarded by two more men with rifles closing the gap. He started walking towards it, dragging his feet through the thick layer of mud.

As he reached the gate, he managed to retake a big enough chunk of his mind from the madness that took over it to take a peek to his right. Out there, in the empty street, he could clearly see the two blue vans laying at it's end. Out of the corner of his eye, he managed to spot Amir diving for cover next to one of the corpses left behind by last night's brawl.
'At least Ayo managed to keep his end of the deal,' he thought to himself as he stepped in the back of the van, followed shortly by Rais' goons.

A/N: Sorry. Just...sorry...

If you want to go into a corner and cry, you can join me. In other news, I've started writing 'short' drabbles to get me into the flow before I start writing for the actual story. I'll post them as well. They're mostly happy fluff, with no impact on the actual story.