Jackson stopped counting the dead weeks ago. If not even longer than that. There wasn't a point anymore. He stopped noting their names, stopped notifying the families (if any remained). It wasn't as if he didn't care. He cared deeply but the dead couldn't help the living and that had to be the focus. It was the lack of clean water that caused the most dire damage. It had become a poison to them all. They tried to boil it, make it clean, but it didn't always work. And the need for the liquid was greater than the ability to sanitize.

When told there was a chance in six months time they'd die from nuclear fallout from an event nearly hundred years ago Jackson tried to prepare himself. They all did. They had endeared so much, made it so far. This enemy too could be destroyed. Its hard to fight an enemy you can't see. A few left to attempt to battle, try to find a place of sanctuary for all to survive. He stayed behind dealing with the delayed sins of their ancestors not counting or thinking of who they had been as hearts after hearts stopped pounding. And when he is about to give up, accept the fate there was an enemy they would be destroyed by the ones left to save them returned; he knew by the small but tired smiles they won. Now he could count the dead.