To even his own surprise, Craig had gotten quite good with a pistol. Well, one had to learn quickly when the country, maybe the world was in this state of affair.

Plus, he did have some help from Rick; he had never even held a gun before, but Rick had a great deal of military training, much to their fortune.

"I guess it was good for something after all," Rick teased Craig with a half-smile, but Craig could only swallow and place his pistol onto the coffee table, completely forgetting his own house rule concerning scratching the soft wood.

A person. He had just killed a person.

Rick wrapped his arms around Craig's shoulders, pulling him close, tucking his head neatly under his chin. It was supposed to be a comfort, but Craig only felt stifled. Rick pressed a kiss into his hair and muttered a reminder that these were no longer people, and chances were, they wouldn't be ever again, even if they were to find a vaccination.

He was right at home, Rick was- right in the middle of danger, of the action. This is what he had dreamed of when he entered the military, this is the life he had sought, Craig thought rather bitterly. And then he caught himself, remembered that it was that drive and motivation that would keep the three of them alive.

Every time Rick went on a supplies run, it was a gambol. Although Rick had confidence in his abilities, as did Craig, he couldn't help but anxiously hold Neil in his lap and stroke his hair for the next two hours until Rick returned, sweaty and bloody and grinning and laughing about how many he had shot as he dropped a duffel bag full of food and supplies on the counter triumphantly.

They did this at least once every few days, and it was always the same. Craig would take watch, his pistol right next to him. Neil liked to fall asleep in his lap, feeling safe in his father's embrace, and Craig had to fight the urge to fall asleep with him, just like they used to.

And finally, he lost that fight, waking to the sounds of pans clattering to the floor in the kitchen. With a start he nearly tossed Neil out of his lap, grabbing his pistol and carefully opening the bedroom door and peeking into the living room. His heart raced and adrenaline pumped through his system, and offhandedly he wondered how Rick could enjoy this at all. Neil, who sat curled up with his knees pressed to his chest, shivering lightly, asked in a shaky voice what was going on. Craig looked back and pressed a finger to his lips, warning him to keep quiet.

Straining to make out any shape in the kitchen, which was mostly blocked from view where he was by cabinets and the counter, he was forced to take a few careful, nervous steps forward, finger on the trigger, arms stretched but slightly bent and body turned to the side, just like Rick had taught him. He made out something moving, a human form. A formerly human form, anyway; now it was a mindless beast, the virus having eaten past his cerebrum and damaging the emotional centers of his brain and-

He took a slow breath that sounded too loud in the silence, and it looked up at him slowly. Craig immediately tensed; his- it's jaw was gone, teeth yellow and decaying and somewhat missing, some hanging or rattling in it's gums as it swayed uneasily side to side, it's hair had fallen out in patches, and the skin on it's face hung loosely from it's face. It stared at Craig like a deer in the headlights.

It was hungry.

It lifted one of it's hanging arms and almost- almost pointed at Craig. It began to shuffle around the counter, towards Craig. It gurgled, saliva bubbling in the space where it's jaw used to be. It must have some semblance of humanity left in it, he realized.

But Craig had a son to protect.

With his lips pressed in a line, and a slight tremble rattling his now thinner frame, he held the gun up, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The shock threw it off it's feet, knocking it back and slamming it against the kitchen tile. Blood almost immediately began to pour from it's now exploded face, and Craig didn't take the step forward needed to see where exactly he had shot it. He honestly didn't care, as long as it was dead.

He knew he needed to clean the mess up, because it would attract others of it's kind, but right at that moment, for his sanity, he needed to sit down and wait for Rick to return.

A screech sounded behind him, an inhuman screech, and before Craig could even turn around, claws were digging into his chest and stomach, pulling him backwards, holding him firmly in place. He grabbed at the hands that trapped him, but something warm and wet dug into his shoulder, piercing shirt and skin and forcing a cry of pain out of him. In a rush of pure adrenaline, he elbowed it in the chest, shoving it back and causing it enough of a shock to loosen it's grip for a moment, letting Craig force himself out of it's grip. He whipped around, not bothering to aim as he saw it recoil for a pounce, and fired four shots at it. His eyes had squeezed shut on their own, and when he opened them again, he saw it on the floor in a crumpled heap, and a mixture of blood and brown and green bile dripping down the wall behind it. His breathing refused to slow, and with a glance at his shoulder it only sped up.

Craig had been bitten.

His shirt was soaked with blood, and as he almost tore it off, he saw the row of marks where razor sharp teeth had dug into him.

That was three days ago.

Now, he was sitting here, with Rick re-bandaging his shoulder. He cleaned the wound so carefully, like an antiquarian dusting an artifact that was the last of it's kind. Dabbing at the two rows of marks with a cotton ball dipped in alcohol, wrapping gauze around it neatly and slowly, all the while Craig stared blankly at Rick. Neil watched in a mix of intense worry and morbid fascination; they didn't want Neil to see, but ever since, they had been scared to let him out of their sights.

The wound had scabbed, but had not healed. In fact, it was beginning to look infected, red and swollen and puffy. But Rick continued as always.

Rick finished wrapping his shoulder and pinned the loose end of the gauze with a safety pin. Their eyes met for a brief second, and that was all that was needed.

"Rick," Craig said in an almost monotone voice.

His husband ignored him, and continued screwing the small plastic cap back onto the bottle of peroxide.

Craig took another breath. "Rick."

"What?" he said firmly, refusing to turn towards Craig.

They sat in silence for another moment.

"Fact: Transformation seems to typically take-"

"Shut up."

Craig's eyes narrowed, and he hopped off the kitchen stool, but he had to hold the kitchen counter for balance. It was becoming increasingly hard to balance himself, he found. "Transformation-"

"I said," Rick turned around and looked at Craig with more anger than he'd ever seen, even more than that time he caught another man hitting on him at some bar they had decided to spend the evening at after work. "shut up. Yer not turnin' into no fuckin' zombie, y'hear?"

"We must consider the possibility," Craig said evenly and slowly. "No, the likelihood."

Rick growled loudly, causing even Neil to jump back. His large hands fisted in his black hair briefly, before ripping them out in a rage. "God fuckin' dammit, Craig, just stop talkin' like that!"

Craig continued to look up at him, face almost blank. The odds were against Craig, they both knew it. Rick would have a chance of surviving a bite, but not Craig. His immune system was too weak, his body too frail already.

And Rick knew what was going to have to happen.

"Just-" Rick's usually vibrant green eyes were dull and wide and full of fear, something his husband was not used to seeing in him. "Just stop, alright?"

Craig slowly looked down at his still trembling hands. Motor skills decreasing.

Only a matter of days, weeks. Maybe two, at the most.

His hands curled into fists, and he let them hang loosely by his sides. With another glance at Rick, he half smiled and shook his head.

Only a matter of time.