The Zombie Apocalypse with MCR (Complete)

Early Theories

"How many?" My voice is strangled and strained and faint.

We're all crammed into an elevator. It actually works, but it's a jerky ride upwards. We're in the tallest, shiniest building this community boasts; both a point of command and a hub of science. It's also the doctor surgery, the dentist, the vet, and the A+E.

Kyle leans against the opposite wall, arms over his chest. No one encroaches on his space.

"Didn't you keep count?" One dark eyebrow pops upwards.

"I keep count of the rounds in my gun and the litres of fuel in my vehicle and the number of people I never managed to save."

Frank fingers close around my wrist, but I don't need his comfort. It is a tally I must keep in my mind if I'm to keep those numbers low.

"There are one-hundred and fifty-four people out there." Kyle says, and there is pride and awe in his voice.

Natalie puts a hand to her mouth and Gerard gasps softly.

"That's including the soldiers as well? All the people who were here already?" Alissa asks, her tone sceptical.

Kyle shoots her a scathing look. "No. They all live on Dailey Way."

Alissa barely contains the roll of her eyes.

Kyle's crystal clear gaze finds mine, a little baffled. Maybe he's surprised to find they are not in awe of me, as he so clearly is. He'll learn soon enough that I don't deserve the pedestal.

"Does that number outweigh the tally you carry with you, Nevaeh?" He asks, gently.

My voice is strangled again, "Yes."

"It won't make up for it," Kyle murmurs, and there are nightmares in his eyes and ghosts on his shoulders. I see them because I have them too. "But it might..."

"Lighten the load?" I offer, smiling without humour.

He smiles back, and I know that he sees my nightmares and my ghosts.

The elevator dings open, and we step out onto a carpeted hallway with periwinkle walls.

"Now, the Major might be a little-" Kyle winces, "Over-bearing. He's a bit of a pain, cares a lot about image and morale and getting through this with the strength of our will, sorta thing-"

"So you're asking me not to dampen his mood?"

"I'm asking you not to stomp on his world-view with your rotten attitude." Kyle grins.

"My attitude might have improved these last few years," I scowl.

"Unlikely." A snort, "Let the Major fawn, and he'll stop everyone else from fawning."

"He's a Major General, then? Shouldn't you be referring to him as General?"

Kyle winces, "He doesn't like to be reminded that there are no other General's. He's the highest ranking official of the British Army left - at least, as far as we know."

We stop in front of a door that has Major General Tully stamped across it in bold letters. Kyle knocks, and a voice calls for us to enter.

The office is nice, if not a little lived-in. There are personal items strewn about, and coffee mugs, and a sofa in one corner with a blanket strewn over it; often used, it seems.

The man behind the desk jolts to his feet.

He must be fifty-five, at least, but he's still handsome. A strong, angular face, with fair hair and a fairer moustache. He's in good-shape, wearing informal army uniform. A short sleeved shirt and cargo trousers. Unarmed.