Stage of Salvation

9.02 The Last of Us

The shades were drawn, and Mark and I crouched side by side, cautiously peering through them. My grip tightened on my bow as I spotted a small group of people gathered outside, standing motionless, as if waiting for something.
"What the hell are they doing?" I muttered, narrowing my eyes.
Mark glanced at me, his expression grim. "I'd say they're trying to figure out how to get us out or how to get themselves in." Behind us, I could hear Sam unsheathing a hunting knife, the sharp rasp of steel cutting through the tense silence. He inspected the blade with care while Dean methodically loaded shells into his shotgun. Sam cast Dean a few anxious glances, his worry evident, though he said nothing. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass pierced the quiet, followed by Pam's panicked scream. We all tensed instantly. Mark and I exchanged a quick look before we bolted for the lab, Sam and Dean close behind.
"Oh God!" Pam's voice trembled as she stood frozen over a shattered vial of blood, her face pale with fear. "Is there any on me? Am I okay?"
Dr. Lee stepped forward quickly, placing a firm but calming hand on Pam's shoulder. Her eyes scanned Pam's clothes and hands for any trace of the spilled blood. "You're clean," She reassured her firmly. "You're okay."
Pam's voice cracked with desperation. "Why are we staying here? Please, let's just go!"
"No, we can't." Dean shook his head, his voice firm. "Those things are everywhere."
Pam crumpled to the floor, her breath coming in shallow gasps. "Oh god..."
Dr. Lee kneeled beside her, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "Hey, shh, shh. You're gonna be okay."
I turned and walked back over to the men, keeping my voice low. "She's right about not staying here. We need to get the survivors out, somewhere safe, not stuck in the middle of ground zero. Maybe the Roadhouse, Bobby's place, or anywhere else we know that's safe."
"And we need to warn people," Sam agreed, his tone resolute.
"Yeah, good point." Dean grimaced. "The Night of the Living Dead didn't exactly have a happy ending."
Mark spoke up, his voice heavy with concern. "I'm not sure we have a choice. A lot of folks around here are good with rifles, but even with all your guns, we're sitting ducks. Unless you've got explosives..." Sam and Dean both looked at me, a silent question in their eyes. I glanced between them, surprised they thought I'd carry something like that.
"I don't exactly carry dynamite in my backpack, guys," I said dryly. "But..." I tapped my lips thoughtfully as my gaze swept over the room, landing on a shelf lined with bottles of medicine, medical supplies, and chemicals. My eyes narrowed as a memory flickered in my mind, the time Lydia and I had crafted a self-igniting Molotov cocktail to take down Peter Hale, the alpha werewolf who'd trapped us in Beacon Hills High. A smirk tugged at my lips as I strode toward the shelf. I grabbed a bottle of Potassium Chloride and turned back to them. "We can make something work." The frantic pounding at the front door caught all of our attention. We ran toward the sound, hearing a man's desperate voice shouting from the other side.
"Hey! Let me in! Please!"
Mark's pace quickened when he caught sight of who it was. "It's Duane Tanner!"
He threw the door open, and Duane stumbled inside, sweating and clutching a backpack. "Thank God," He gasped.
"Duane," Mark said, guiding him further into the room. "Are you okay?"
The boys and I hung back, tense. Dean leaned toward Sam and muttered, "That's the guy I, uh..." He mimed shooting with a click of his tongue.
Sam rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I know."
Duane, still panicked, looked around wildly. "Who else is in here?"
Before he could get far, Dean grabbed him by the arm, his distrustful expression as sharp as ever. "Whoa, easy there, chief." He turned his head toward the lab. "Hey, Doc!" Dr. Lee stepped out, wiping her hands. "Give Duane a once-over, would you?" Dean asked.
Dr. Lee nodded and motioned for Duane to follow her. "Come on. Pam, help me out."
Duane hesitated. "Who are you?"
"Never mind who I am," Dean replied curtly, keeping his grip firm. "Doc, go."
Mark crossed his arms, eyeing Duane closely. "Where have you been?"
"I was on a fishing trip up near Roslyn," Duane stammered. "I came back this afternoon, and I saw Roger McGill being dragged out of his house by people we know! They started cutting him with knives! I ran. I've been hiding in the woods ever since." He paused, his voice cracking with emotion. "Has anyone seen my mom and dad?"
Dean exchanged a quick glance with Sam and me, his lips twitching with inappropriate humor. "Awkward..." He muttered.
Duane sat on a stool as Dr. Lee examined his leg. Her face tensed as she noticed the deep gash. "You're bleeding," She said, her voice sharp with worry. Everyone in the room froze, the tension rising.
Dean's gaze hardened as he stepped closer. "Where'd you get that?"
"I was running," Duane said quickly, waving it off. "I must've tripped."
"Tripped?" I echoed, crossing my arms skeptically. "Yeah, sure. Real convenient."
Dean turned to Mark. "Tie him up. There's rope in the other room."
"Wait—" Duane protested, standing abruptly.
Dean instantly cocked his gun, his voice thunderous. "Sit down!" Duane flinched, his hands going up in surrender. He looked to Mark for help, but Mark's expression was grim.
"I'm sorry, Duane," Mark said quietly. "He's right. We've gotta be careful."
"Careful? About what?"
Dean's glare sharpened. "Did they bleed on you?"
"What?"
"Answer the question!" Dean barked, making Duane jump again.
"No!" Duane cried, panicking. "What the hell? No!"
Sam turned to Dr. Lee. "Doc, is there any way to know for sure? A test?"
Dr. Lee sighed, hesitant. "I've studied Beverly's blood backward and forward," she began.
"My mom?" Duane cut in, his voice cracking again.
Dr. Lee continued. "It took three hours for the virus to incubate. The sulfur didn't appear in the blood until then. So... no. There's no way to know. Not until after Duane turns."
"Then we tie him down until we know for sure," I said firmly, moving toward Mark to help secure Duane. "Let's get him restrained."
"Wait," Sam interjected, stepping forward and pulling me back. His voice was low and serious as he glanced between Dean and me. "I need to talk to you. Both of you. Now." Dean gave Mark a look, and Mark nodded in understanding, taking over the situation. The three of us stepped out of the lab to talk privately. "This is my vision," Sam said, his voice heavy with tension as he looked between Dean and me, his worried gaze settling on his brother. "It's happening."
Dean nodded grimly. "I figured."
"We just won't kill him yet," I said firmly, stepping in. "We'll wait until he shows signs like Beverly. That way, we're sure."
Dean scoffed, shaking his head. "Pretty damn sure we already are. Guy shows up out of nowhere, he's got a cut on his leg, and his whole family's infected? Come on."
"Then we keep him tied up," I countered, crossing my arms. "We wait and see."
"For what? For him to Hulk out and infect someone else?" Dean snapped, stepping forward. "No way. We can't take that chance." He moved to push past Sam, but Sam stopped him with a firm hand to his chest. "Hey, look, man, I'm not happy about this either. But it's a tough call, and you know that." Dean glared at him, his jaw tight.
"It's supposed to be tough, Dean," Sam said, his voice low but resolute. "We're supposed to struggle with this. That's the point."
"What does that buy us?" Dean demanded, his voice sharp.
"A clear conscience, for once!" Sam shot back.
Dean's face hardened. "Too late for that."
As he turned to leave again, Sam stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "What the hell happened to you?"
I quickly moved closer, holding up a hand to mediate. "Guys, come on—"
Dean cut me off, his glare fixed on Sam. "What the hell does that mean?"
Sam didn't back down, his voice rising with anger. "You might kill an innocent man, and you don't even care! You're not acting like yourself anymore, Dean. Hell, you know what? You're acting like one of those things out there."
A dangerous fire ignited in Dean's eyes. "Mm-hm," He muttered, stepping past Sam. Sam grabbed his arm to stop him again, but this time, Dean exploded. He shoved Sam hard, slamming him into the far wall.
"Dean!" I yelled, rushing after him as he stormed into the hall. Before I could reach him, Dean spun around and slammed the door shut, locking it behind him. I rattled the doorknob in frustration, yelling after him. "Hey!"
Beside me, Sam recovered from the impact, his expression a mix of shock and anger. "Open the fucking door, Dean! Don't do it, Dean! Don't!" He called out, pounding on the door. To our surprise, no gunshot rang out. Dean didn't follow through with killing Duane as he had in Sam's vision. The confirmation came moments later when Dean walked back into the room, his jaw tight and his expression conflicted, carrying a tension that was hard to read but hinted at something deeper beneath the surface. Some time later, we sat at separate tables, silently assembling makeshift explosives, glass bottles with rags sticking out of their necks. The room was heavy with tension, the only sounds being the faint clinking of glass and the rustle of fabric. Sam kept casting curious glances at Dean, who remained focused, his expression unreadable.
Dr. Lee cautiously entered the room, her hands tucked into the pockets of her lab coat, her eyes shifting between us. "It's been over four hours," she began, her voice hesitant but steady. "Duane's blood is still clean. I don't think he's infected. I'd like to untie him, if that's all right."
I exchanged a look with the boys. Sam gave a small nod, but my gaze lingered on Dean, searching for his reaction. After a moment, he gave a subtle nod as well, lowering his head slightly in thought. I turned back to Dr. Lee and said, "Go ahead. Cut him loose.
Once Dr. Lee left the room, Sam turned to Dean, his expression unreadable but determined. "You know I'm gonna ask why."
Dean nodded, keeping his focus on the bottle in his hand, his movements deliberate as he avoided both our gazes. "Yeah, I know."
"So, why?" Sam pressed. "Why didn't you go through with it?"
Dean stayed silent, his jaw tight. I sighed, pushing back my chair as I stood. "We're running low on alcohol. I'll grab more."
Before I could leave, Sam held up a hand to stop me, shaking his head. "I got it, kid." Dean and I watched in silence as Sam walked toward the dispensary, leaving the room. A sudden crash and commotion erupted from the dispensary, snapping us into action. Dean, Mark, and I immediately arm ourselves, Dean leading the charge as he kicks the door open. Inside, Pam was hunched over Sam, blood dripping from her palm while she held a scalpel. Sam groaned, clutching a fresh gash across his chest. Without hesitation, Dean raised his gun and fired three quick shots into Pam's back. She convulsed violently before crumbling to the floor, lifeless. We stood frozen in shock for a moment, taking in the scene. Sam groaned again, his face pale as he pressed a hand to his chest to stem the bleeding. He reached out toward Dean, his eyes pleading. Dean stepped forward, his worry etched deeply into his features. Just as he began to reach for Sam, Mark grabbed his arm and pulled him back.
"She bled on him," Mark said gravely, his voice heavy with finality. "He's got the virus." Sam stopped short, withdrawing his outstretched hand. He looked down at the blood on his chest, realization dawning on him like a death sentence. Dean turned to me, his devastation plain as day, and I saw my own horror mirrored in his eyes. We both turned back to Sam, helpless and heartbroken.