Safe Haven Village

written by confunded - illustrated by Nowhere and Samara/ContemplatingSketches

CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
EPILOGUE

Notes

This idea has been kicking around in my head for a while, and I'm glad I finally got the motivation to write it. It's been a long time since I wrote anything substantial, for this fandom or any other, so I'm very excited about this! Since this is an AU, sort of, I took a couple of liberties, the most important one being that Kyle is not diabetic in this story. It seemed too impossible for him to survive for very long without insulin, proper supplies, and a way to keep the insulin cool, so I decided to cut that part of his character out (as much as it pained me to do so). South Park has ignored it for over ten seasons, so hopefully it's okay that I ignored it, too. I'm pretty sure they forgot that he's supposed to be diabetic, anyway.

---

-1-

It started during the camping trip they took after graduation. Or at least, that's when it reached South Park. Or, fuck it, maybe it started in South Park. It wasn't as if anyone would be surprised by that. It didn't matter, really; however it began, the important thing was that by the time Kenny and the rest of his friends drove back into town, something was wrong.

That something was that the town had become infested with zombies.

"What the fuck?" Cartman muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he navigated around the slow, stumbling husks. The streets were mostly clear, with only a few of them wandering about, but it didn't take long for everyone to jump to the same conclusion. The town itself was dark, bleak-looking despite the sunny day, and the only sounds came in the form of undead groans. Kenny wasn't sure what to think; usually by the time something like this reached such magnitude in their town, he'd already been dead for days.

The noise from their car attracted a few of them, so they pulled into Cartman's garage and ran into the house as quickly as possible. Locking the doors could only help so much, so the next step was to gather in the basement and hope that if any zombies broke into the house, they wouldn't know where to look for the living. Cartman immediately commanded everyone to sit down at his meeting table. It hadn't been used since middle school, but if anything called for a serious meeting, this would be it.

Kenny wasn't surprised that Cartman jumped at the chance to take charge, but he wasn't going to complain about it either. For his part, he wasn't one to panic in these situations. After all, he'd died in worse ways before - had even been a zombie at one point already - but no one else was so experienced in death and a little guidance was necessary, even if it was from Cartman.

"Did everyone make it?" Wendy asked, her voice shaking.

Kenny glanced around and saw that everyone who had been crammed into Liane Cartman's van was indeed sitting at the table: Cartman, Stan, Kyle, Wendy (who had gone with them because she was dating Stan), Bebe (who had gone because Wendy went), and Butters. And, of course, Kenny himself. He figured they would have noticed if someone was attacked on the way from Cartman's garage to his basement, but it didn't hurt to do a quick head count.

"So... what do we do now?" Bebe asked cautiously, once everyone was accounted for. "We can't stay down here forever."

She was right, of course, and the room erupted with sound within seconds. Everyone began talking over each other, offering different advice on how to deal with their situation and arguing about it as though any one of them should have been prepared for something like this.

It didn't take long for Cartman to step in. "Everyone! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" Silence fell. "If all of you assholes are finished making enough noise to bring hundreds of zombies to my front door, I suggest we get started here."

He looked around, daring anyone to talk back. No one did. Kenny looked over at Kyle, who was the only one who might have argued, but he was sitting with Stan looking petrified.

"First thing's first... the zombie apocalypse has apparently happened."

Butters gasped. Cartman rolled his eyes.

"Or maybe not," Wendy offered immediately, giving Butters an unconvincing smile.

"Whatever, Wendy. You're welcome to go back outside if you want to, if you actually believe that. But what we just saw driving into town suggests that you should fucking stop babying Butters," Cartman snapped. Wendy glared, and no one made a move to defend her. After all, Cartman was right. "And Butters, don't you dare start living in denial because of her. The town is full of zombies, and if the movies are anything to go by, the rest of the world is full of them too."

"Or it could be like last time," Stan suggested. "And it's just the town, and we just have to... what did we have to do?"

"Kill the one that started it all," Kenny offered bitterly. Of course they wouldn't remember how that actually ended, naturally, because it involved killing him. He looked at Kyle, the one who did the deed, and judged, by his blank expression, that no memories had suddenly clicked into place.

"Right," Stan continued. "And then everyone else got better."

"How are we going to find out who that was without just killing all of them in the process?" Bebe scoffed." We weren't here when it started!"

"Somehow I doubt this was caused by putting Worcestershire sauce in a dead body instead of embalming fluid," Kyle said, speaking up for the first time. His face was stark white, and it struck Kenny as odd that of all people, he would be the one most afraid of all this. "And even if it was, we have no way of knowing that without-"

"The Jew's right, we're going to have to kill them all anyway."

"That isn't what I said, Cartman! There could still be a cure. Just... Bebe's right, we can't waste time trying to figure out which one of them will magically turn everyone else back to normal. We'll just end up killing people who might not need to be killed, who might have a chance-"

"Kyle, please, they aren't people anymore."

"They could be! There could be a way to undo it!"

"Even if we could do that, Kyle, why would you want to?" Wendy asked. "You saw the ones who were following our car. Some of them had limbs missing and their... you know, their guts hanging out. Curing the zombie thing wouldn't fix that."

"So you're saying we're all fucking orphans now?"

The room grew silent, and Kenny finally realized why Kyle looked so scared. While everyone else had been focused on their own safety, Kyle had been thinking about his family's. It started to sink in, for himself and for everyone else, that they all might have to confront their parents and siblings... or what used to be them.

He glanced up at the sound of sniffling, and saw that Butters and Bebe had both begun to cry. Kenny felt his own throat tighten; he wasn't particularly sad for his parents, who had always been violent, neglectful drug addicts, or Kevin, who had taken an unnatural liking to Karen once she started to go through puberty. His sister, though...

No. He shook his head, not wanting to think about what might have happened to Karen. Not yet. She could still be fine.

"We should go to our houses and look for them. Maybe they're okay. Maybe they've been hiding out somewhere," he said, and there was a murmur of agreement.

"Or we could always try calling them," Wendy suggested, looking like the last thing she wanted to do was leave Cartman's basement. "Our cell phones might still work."

"Fine, Wendy's right. We can call them," Cartman said before looking up at the ceiling thoughtfully. "God damn, I didn't even think about my zombie-mom hanging around upstairs."

They listened for footsteps and were met with only an eerie silence. Gradually, everyone began to take their phones out, but no one made a move to call anyone. No one wanted to be met with voicemail, or worse - nothing at all, because that would mean the worst might have happened.

"We have to," Stan said, breaking the silence. He looked around, meeting only frightened faces. Finally, he made the first move and lifted his phone to his ear.

With bated breath, they waited. And waited. And after a minute, Stan let his hand fall to his side, face white and unsure. No one had to ask why. With some resistance, everyone forced themselves to call their loved ones. No one got any answers, only voice recordings or silence. Kenny only heard Karen's excited voicemail message, which she made that Christmas when she finally got her own cell phone.

"We can still look for them," Stan said quietly, more to Kyle than the rest of the group.

Bebe hummed thoughtfully. "I'm going to call Red too. And Annie."

"That's a good idea, there've got to be some survivors."

"Don't say survivors like that, like there's no hope for anyone who's already... there could be a cure," Kyle mumbled the last part, as if he didn't actually expect anyone to listen to him. They didn't.

Kenny scrolled through his phone and paused on Craig's name. They'd been hanging out a lot recently, but he bluntly refused to go on the camping trip, stating that all of Kenny's ‘other friends' were extremely lame. Clyde wanted to go because Bebe was going, but Craig put his foot down and Clyde stayed home with him. Kenny had been secretly glad about that, because Clyde was dating Bebe and Kenny had been sort of in love with her for a long time. This trip gave him the opportunity to get some alone time with her, even though it didn't lead to anything more than good conversation. He regretted being so selfish now; he could have bribed Craig somehow, forced him into going. Then they'd be safe, too.

But there was still a chance, even if it was small. So Kenny called him.

"...Hello?"

"Craig??"

Everyone stopped dead and all talking ceased. No one seemed to breathe for a few moments.

"Kenny? Where the fuck are you? If you're still camping you'd better stay there because this town is fucking overrun-"

"Yeah we came back just now..."

"Where are you?"

"Cartman's basement. All of us. Where're you?"

"We're in my basement."

"We? Who...?"

"I'm with Clyde and Kevin."

Kenny cupped his hand over his phone and turned to the group. "Craig's alive, and so are Clyde and Kevin. They're at Craig's house."

"Tell them to get the fuck over here," Cartman snapped, talking over Bebe's relieved sobs. "We need manpower and an explanation."

Nodding, Kenny brought his phone back up to his ear. "Can you get here?"

"Yeah. If we're not over in ten minutes, consider us goners."

"Don't say-" A click, and silence. Kenny rolled his eyes, but he was going to be seriously pissed off if they didn't make it and the last thing Craig did was hang up on him.

"Are they coming?" Bebe asked, and Kenny nodded. She smiled and wiped her tears on her sleeve, and Kenny wished he'd asked her out sometime before all this. Not that he had anything to offer her - he could barely afford to put shoes on his own feet, let alone hers, and Clyde was known to spoil his girlfriends. Besides, Kenny had always known that his unfortunate tendency to have 'extended absences' from life would get in the way of having a real girlfriend.

There was very little talking while they waited for their friends to arrive. No one really knew what to say. Kenny certainly didn't. There wasn't much to say, not until they knew more about what was going on, and not while they waited to see if the other three made it to Cartman's basement alive. He occupied himself with thoughts of Bebe and what might happen if he put his arm around her now, determined not to think about what was happening around them.

After what felt like an hour, the basement door creaked open. "Don't shoot, we're human!" came the voice of Kevin Stoley, sounding unnecessarily happy considering their situation.

What they looked like coming down the stairs was oddly unexpected. The three boys were dressed to the nines in survival gear and hunting equipment, all of which looked unnatural on them. Kevin and Clyde were also wearing huge backpacks that contained God only knew what, and Kevin, at least, looked like he was experiencing some sort of adrenaline rush.

Stan stared. "...What."

"If you're seriously surprised that we came prepared, Marsh, then you need to think harder about what the fuck is out there right now," Craig said as he carelessly dropped his crossbow onto the table.

"Tell us then, because we really don't know," Kyle snapped, and Kenny suspected he wasn't sure whether or not to be glad that Craig was alive.

"Four days ago, a couple of them wandered into town and then people just started dropping like flies... I mean, one bite and you're basically done. Some people tried to rally the town together and fight, but..." Craig glanced at Stan. "It didn't really work. By that time they just got overwhelmed and... yeah."

"You're talking about my dad," Stan said flatly. Kenny saw Kyle reach for his hand under the table, but Stan moved it away.

Craig nodded. "He did his whole ‘town leader' thing. But... this is serious. His group was small, too many people turned already and most of the ones who didn't were too afraid and decided to hide instead. But they've all been found by now, too."

"The whole world's gone to shit. It was like one day there were news reports of some kind of outbreak and then the next day, nothing. All the TV stations were on standby, and then no radio, and then no electricity..." Clyde trailed off, looking far more put off by everything than either Craig or Kevin did. "We're so out of the way, South Park was probably one of the last places hit. You're really lucky that you and Craig's cell phones are still working; the cell towers are probably all going out by now."

"Verizon, man," Craig said, shrugging.

"So how did you survive?" Wendy asked, eyeing their arsenal of equipment.

"Kevin."

"Kevin?"

"Dudes, I was prepared for this thing. I've been prepared," Kevin said in a tone that was absurdly proud. "I've had a zombie survival kit for like, years. I tried to convince my whole family, but they thought it was stupid..." His smile faltered, and no one had to ask what happened to them.

"Is that it?" Butters asked, pointing to Kevin's backpack.

"Yup. First aid kit, flashlights, spare batteries, my sleeping bag," Kevin confirmed, ticking off his fingers as he listed. "A hatchet, a few maps, a folding shovel, matches, some dehydrated food, water, uhh... my clothes and shit. Some toilet paper, a multi-tool, a couple of pocket knives, rope, playing cards-"

"Okay we get the picture," Cartman said. "God damn it, Kevin. And here I thought you were going to show up with your stupid plastic lightsaber."

"A lightsaber would come in handy for this. Only a real one, though."

Cartman rolled his eyes.

"The only thing I don't have is a tent, because my backpack got kind of full and I forgot to grab my family's from the basement, you know, in all the panic."

"We still have our tents and all the camping stuff in Cartman's van," Bebe said.

"Sweet, so you're like halfway there for when we go on the road."

"On the road?"

"We can't leave yet," Kyle said, sounding slightly panicked.

Kevin sighed. "We have to go on the road some time. Everyone who knows anything about zombie movies knows that we need to go to the coast or up north or something. If we stay, we'll run out of supplies and we'll never be able to thin out the population just sitting here forever."

"Thin out the population?!"

Stan coughed and gave Kyle a look, ending any further argument against killing the zombies by suggesting, "We could also secure the town and stay here."

"If South Park was prepared for apocalyptic conditions, I'd say sure. But if you haven't noticed yet and weren't listening before, there's no electricity. Once the sun goes down, you'll be down here in the dark," Kevin said, pointing to the couple of hopper windows near the basement ceiling. "No electricity means no heat. Are you prepared to stay here all winter with no heat?"

No one argued with that.

Kevin shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and knelt down to root through it. Seconds later, he produced some maps and dumped them onto the table. "So, there are a few places we can go. First, there's a government survival center built into Cheyenne Mountain. It was built for nuclear blasts or something but it would totally work for this, too. It would only take a couple hours to get to the mountain and then it's just a matter of finding the place. If it's, for some reason, inaccessible or overrun, there are other options. We can head east. There are some bunkers in the D.C. area and the Adirondacks built for national disasters. Either they're empty and usable, empty and unusable, or they'll have other survivors. Two out of three of those options sound good to me. Right?"

- Nowhere -

Everyone nodded, amazed and grateful that Kevin bothered to do research in advance. Kenny watched his finger move around the map and could barely follow what he was saying, only able to process the word ‘survival'. In his experience, surviving seemed highly unlikely, but if his friends could manage it then he'd go along with anything. He'd throw himself in front of a pack of them if it meant the others would live. He'd always come back, but once they were gone...

"Damn, Kevin, if I'd known you were doing this two weeks ago I would have laughed at you and kicked you in the nuts for being a fucking loser," Cartman muttered, brows furrowing as he examined the red markings on Kevin's map.

"Well someone has to prepare for these things. Besides, zombies are cool. Or, they were cool, you know... before they actually happened..."

"Before we go anywhere, you guys need better gear," Craig noted. "And more supplies."

"My uncle owns - owned - a gun store." Stan cringed as he was forced to use the past tense.

"Perfect! We'll have to go there," Kevin said as he zipped his backpack up. He stood and slung it back over his shoulder. "Well let's get going! There are a couple hours of daylight left, I bet we can hit a few houses."

A few of them glanced uneasily at each other, unprepared to face the reality of what was happening, and, more importantly, the prospect of seeing their undead families.

Wendy was the one to finally voice it. "What happens if we see someone we love?"

"You're going to have to put them down," Kevin answered seriously. "Craig and I already have... and then some. It's been tough. But... necessary."

"Necessary is putting it lightly," Craig muttered.

"Think of it this way - would you rather have them walking around for eternity, decomposing but still moving, never resting and never satisfied? This is more humane. It's hard to look your mom in the eye and then hack into her skull, but... really, it wasn't my mom. And it wasn't my sister. They were walkers."

"Walkers, Kevin, seriously?"

"We all know that nobody in zombie stories actually calls them zombies. And as someone who owns every volume of The Walking Dead in individual issues and compendiums, I feel most comfortable using ‘walkers', Cartman. Also way to interrupt me while I was talking about killing my own sister, dude."

"You actually did it though? What if there's a cure?" Kyle chimed in, cutting Cartman's retort off.

"Kyle, dude, there's not going to be a cure. There's never a cure. Even training them like they did at the end of Shaun of the Dead was really pushing it, even for a comedy."

"This isn't a fucking movie, Kevin, this is real life!" Kyle shouted, beginning to get hysterical.

"And honestly, that makes a cure even less likely. Who the hell is going to make a cure? A team of walkerologists who magically all survived and are holed up somewhere in a secret lab?"

That shut Kyle up, which was a good thing. Whatever was out there would be able to hear them if they grew too loud.

"Weren't you upset about it at all?" Bebe asked, her eyes still red and wet. She'd gravitated to Clyde's side at some point and their fingers were intertwined tightly.

"Not really," Craig said. "My family was a bunch of assholes anyway."

"He's lying, he was upset. It is sad, don't get me wrong. It's just... dudes, in the apocalypse, you do what needs to be done. No use dwelling on it. Personally, it was more upsetting seeing my fam like that than actually doing the deed."

"We also had to put Tweek and his parents down," Craig added. "He had one of those retarded apocalypse kits in his closet too... I thought he was insane when he first told me about it. But now... well, we had to get to it, obviously."

Kevin nodded and then jerked his thumb at the staircase behind him. "We really need to get a move on, though. Time is of the essence in an apocalypse setting."

Reluctantly, they each took up a weapon either from Cartman's pre-existing stash or Kevin's, and headed out. It was easier, according to Kevin, to walk to each house, not only because cars made noise, but because the zombies in South Park were spread relatively thin.

"It's good practice," he said, just before swinging his hatchet into a walker's neck. The gurgling sound it made was pretty horrifying, even for Kenny, who was used to the gruesome nature of death. "Once we're out in the real world, there'll probably be more of them. South Park's so out of the way that mostly all the ones that are here were residents, and me and Craig already thinned out a lot of them."

Bebe was the next person to actually kill one. They didn't recognize him as Skeeter until afterward, but quite a few of the ones they put down on the way to her house were completely unrecognizable. It wasn't long before they decided to avoid trying to identify the bodies if at all possible.

"Shouldn't we give them proper funerals?" Wendy asked as they waited for Bebe to gather supplies. Her house was empty, but they remained vigilant as they moved from room to room.

"It would waste too much time and energy. Honestly the faster you stop thinking of them as human, the easier all of this is going to be."

"Kevin, how the hell did you become such an expert?"

"I don't only like Star Wars, you know. I've watched a lot of movies and read a lot of comic books in my day," he replied nonchalantly, peering down the basement stairs for any movement. He whistled once, and when there was no response, he motioned for them to follow him down. "The Zombie Survival Guide is in my backpack, you're all welcome to read it whenever. It's proven to be super helpful so far."

"Would this be okay?" Bebe asked after a minute, taking a somewhat rusty shovel off of the wall. Kevin shined his flashlight on it for a closer look and nodded.

"A good skull bashing weapon that also has multiple other uses. Sweet find."

Once she was ready, they set off to Butters' house. On the way, they ran into a zombie that was very clearly Randy Marsh, despite the entrails hanging out of his shirt and his lopsided, unhinged jaw.

Before anyone could say anything to Stan, he'd already fired two rounds with one of Cartman's pistols - one flew past Randy, but the other hit him, causing him to crumple to the ground. There was silence, and Kenny stepped forward to examine the damage.

"Nothing," he said quietly. "Went right through his eye."

"Its eye," Stan corrected. He looked pale, but his face was grimly serious. "That wasn't my dad anymore."

"Exactly," Kevin said, though he and the others in the group looked uneasy. Witnessing Stan shoot his own father was extremely sobering, even if what he said was true. "But, uh, you want to avoid using guns when you can, that's like, rule number one of not attracting more of them. So it's good to get used to using knives and shit. We should book it to Butters' house before any more of them figure out where the sound came from."

They looked back and saw a couple of them slowly moving toward the group, so there was no argument to doing exactly as Kevin said. Even Cartman seemed to accept that Kevin knew best, at least for the time being.

Butters' house was empty and posed no trouble, and the same went for Wendy's. It wasn't until they got to Clyde's house, with a few more backpacks and an array of unique household ‘weapons' in tow, that another unsettling event happened: they ran into Mr. Donovan.

"It's uh... not uncommon in stories for walkers to hang around places they knew in life," Kevin offered unhelpfully. Clyde stood frozen. The walker groaned as it noticed them.

"I can do it for you," Craig said, putting his hand on Clyde's shoulder. They'd learned earlier that Clyde had yet to do any killing himself - Craig and Kevin had taken to the situation much more naturally.

"N-no. I can... you guys wait outside."

Although it felt like they shouldn't leave him alone, Kenny ushered the group outside. Despite his uneasiness, if Clyde wished to do it alone, it was best to respect that. They anxiously waited on the front porch, no one daring to speak or even breathe too loudly. The only sounds were the groaning from inside and Craig muttering ‘damn' every time he missed a walker with his crossbow.

"Is he coming back?" Bebe asked no one in particular, and Kenny didn't have the heart to tell her he wasn't sure. Clyde wore a look of grim, tired acceptance when he went inside, as if he was already too drained to deal with everything. Kenny knew that look well; he'd worn it on his own face many times, usually just before he killed himself.

But after a few minutes, Clyde did come back. He stepped outside, covered in blood and clutching his pocket knife. Kenny couldn't help but notice he also had a gun, one that must have belonged to his family, since he didn't have one when he entered the house.

"That was my dad," he whispered hoarsely, blinking tears out of his eyes. "I killed my dad."

"No, Clyde, you-" Bebe started, but before she could reach him or finish her sentence, he had already lifted the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.

A few of them cried out as Clyde's body fell to the floor, but Bebe's scream would haunt Kenny forever.

-2-

If there was one thing Eric wanted to do that night, it was sleep. But between Craig's crying and Bebe's crying and Butters' God damn crying, it was not going to happen easily. It was actually really annoying that everyone was so broken up about Clyde, it wasn't like he was going to be any help at all when it came down to it.

Clyde was a total pussy, may he rest in peace.

He didn't hate Clyde, per se, but he definitely would have been a liability, and if they were going to survive the zombie apocalypse, it was best to cut out the weak links early.

As far as Eric was concerned, the rest of them were probably weak links too, each in their own way. On a scale, he'd have to put himself first, obviously. He was going to be the leader and kick the most ass, and also get the most ass (if he had anything to say about it). Bebe would have been lower on the list if he'd thought about it earlier, but she stepped up when they were going from house to house. Stan surprised him too; Eric would have pegged him as someone who was too lame to shoot his own father. But there was still plenty of time for Stan to pussy out, and he eventually would because it was in his nature.

Craig was clearly going to be worth keeping around for a little while, at least until he became too annoying. Same with Kevin. At the moment, Kevin knew what was up. He was a valuable asset. But Kevin was irritating as hell and there would come a time, probably soon, when Eric would be forced to shove him into a herd of zombies as means of allowing the rest of them to escape with their lives.

There was always a sacrifice in zombie movies. Kevin wasn't the only one who knew about the standard tropes. Usually it was a black guy or a fat guy (or a fat black guy) and since Token was clearly already dead, Eric was certainly not going to be the sacrifice. Time to start a new trend - the Asian sacrifice.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

Butters was going to have to die, that much was true. Not only was Butters a useless, annoying person in general, he was also a pussy. He stopped taking orders from Eric sometime around eighth grade, and that was only going to get him killed now (and he'd deserve it, too). Kenny was okay, and if anyone knew about living in substandard conditions, it was him. He'd probably fucking outlast them all.

Wendy was probably going to end up being a good asset to the team, but more importantly, she was a girl, and girls were going to be valuable down the line if they wanted to start repopulating the world. Even more importantly, she was a hot girl, and Eric had definite plans of banging her before all this was over, Stan or no Stan. If he was going to die - not that he planned to, but if he did - it certainly wasn't going to be as a virgin.

And then there was Kyle. As infuriating as he was, and even though his people were probably responsible for this epidemic somehow, the Jew was important. He was smart and resourceful and would probably end up being a badass zombie killing machine.That would be hot, and it was all the more reason to get Stan out of the picture at some point.

Eric finally dozed off to sleep that night with dreams of being the head of a post-apocalyptic tribe. They'd live off the land, hunting and gathering, and he'd have killed so many zombies by that point that they wouldn't even be a threat anymore. Wendy and Bebe would have a bunch of kids by him and also do all the mothering and housekeeping and farming and body burning, and Kyle, unable to have children for obvious reasons, would exist solely for Eric's pleasure. He'd live like a fucking king with hard working peasant wives and a concubine chained to his bed.

Eric, Kyle would moan as he was being fucked mercilessly, you're so unbelievably sexy when you protect us from the living dead, how would I ever survive without you? Cartman, Cartman! Cartman!

"Cartman! Wake up!"

Eric jerked awake, ready to kill whoever ruined his dream - but it was Kyle. Kyle was waking him up in the middle of the night while everyone else was asleep. Oh ho ho, what do we have here?

He rubbed his eyes and attempted to get rid of his boner through the sheer force of willpower. "What do you want, Jewface?"

"I need you to help me with something."

Kyle looked so serious and terrified that Eric had no choice but to swallow any sexual comment he might have made. "...Okay, what?"

"Come with me to my house."

"Are you fucking crazy?" Eric hissed as he sat up. He was definitely flaccid now, thanks to the idea of going back out into the infested streets. "In case you forgot, there are zombies, or walkers, or whatever the fuck Kevin wants us to call them, out there waiting to eat us."

"Shhh, keep your voice down. Just come with me! There's something I have to do and I can't do it alone."

Eric frowned, suspicious. "Why didn't you ask your boyfriend?"

"He's not my- whatever, Cartman, we don't have time for this. Please, come with me. And without waking anyone up."

It was so hard to say no to Kyle, especially when he was coming to him for something instead of Stan. It was an opportunity he couldn't pass up, even if it was going to get him killed. And maybe if he was really awesome at protecting Kyle, that asshole would realize whose dick he should be pining for.

So he got up and, as quietly as possible, they put on their coats and grabbed their weapons of choice. Kyle chose an axe that had been, earlier that day, hanging by Eric's workbench. Eric brought his machete, which, ironically, he'd purchased a few years earlier for the purpose of killing Kyle. He also brought his pistol, just in case.

"Want to kill your parents in private too and needed a witness to your suicide?" Eric joked once they got upstairs and out of earshot, though he seriously hoped that wasn't the case.

"No. And that's fucking horrible, don't joke about Clyde."

"Too soon?"

"It will always be too soon to joke about any of this. Our lives are over now. No one seems to fully get that yet. You think this is a joke and you aren't even sad about Clyde. Kevin and Craig seem to think this is some kind of video game and... it's just... this is serious."

"So what are you doing then?"

"I want to see if my family is alive. And if they aren't... I want to put them someplace where they can't kill anyone."

"So why're we doing this alone, at night, instead of with everyone else tomorrow?"

"Because I don't want to kill them. I just want to hide them."

"What the fuck? Why?"

"There could be a cure, Cartman!" Kyle snapped, stopping in the foyer. The look he had on his face was so desperate that Eric almost felt bad for him. It must be hard to be so full of hope. For his part, Eric couldn't really care less about what happened to his mom. He might care if he saw her, but that's why he hoped to get the fuck out of town without seeing her. Out of sight, out of mind.

"You heard Kevin, it's more humane to put them down. And this cure bullshit is getting annoying."

"They aren't sick animals, asshole, they're people. If a cure is found, even if I have to be the one to discover it - and I will, somehow, if it comes down to that - then I don't want to have to live with the fact that my family died when they didn't have to. I want to be able to come back here and fix them. I want that option. I need that option, Cartman."

"Alright, alright. Fine, I already said I'll help. It makes no difference to me," Eric said, holding up his hands in surrender. Partially, he just wanted Kyle to shut up, because he was starting to get shrill and that would either wake the others up or attract walkers. Mostly, though, he just didn't care, because he knew there wouldn't be a cure. For all they knew, they were the only survivors. The only way to fix anything would be to start exterminating.

"Good. And by the way, I didn't ask Stan to come because I knew he wouldn't understand. You saw the way he killed his father today. He doesn't think there's any humanity left inside them," Kyle said, moving toward the front door. "He wouldn't have let me do this."

"And why did you think I would?" Eric asked, watching the back of the shorter boy's head. It didn't need to be asked, really. He'd always had a nasty habit of encouraging Kyle to do stupid things that might get him killed, but in this case, admittedly, maybe he should have done it Stan's way and put his foot down. But then, Kyle probably would have done it anyway.

Kyle swung the door open. "Because you don't care about me," he replied simply, and stepped outside.

Oh how wrong you are.

They moved in relative silence, keeping close to the houses and checking around corners. Kyle made his first kill on the way, though it took two swings of the axe to really get the damn thing to stop moving. The disease, if that's what it was, certainly made bones a lot softer, but crushing skulls was still going to take some effort.

"I'm surprised you can even lift that axe," he whispered, watching Kyle attempt to wipe the blood off his jacket. He'd decided not to point out how, by Kyle's logic, he technically just committed murder. "You probably weigh less than Bebe's titties do."

"They aren't that big. And shut the fuck up, I'm stronger than I look. You of all people should know that."

"I don't need your sass, I can turn back at any time."

"Then don't make fun of me."

When they got to Kyle's house, the first thing they did was attempt to see inside without actually going in. Eric watched for walkers while Kyle checked the windows, and it wasn't long before he heard Kyle inhale sharply.

"They're just sitting there," he whispered.

"Are they...?"

"I can't tell, they aren't moving."

"We'll just have to go in and find out. You didn't see any others?"

"No."

Kyle struggled with his house key. His hand was shaking so badly that Eric finally just took the key from him and opened the door himself. He held it open for Kyle, something that might have gotten an offhand comment in a less serious moment, and closed it quietly once they were both inside.

The light from the moon outside barely did any good, but luckily they both knew the house well - Kyle from living there, and Eric from years of sneaking in. "If they're zombies, what's your plan?"

"I was thinking I'd lure them to the basement and lock them in."

"And get yourself killed? Kyle, wait," Eric hissed, grabbing him by the shoulders and staring down into his face. "Do you understand that those things in there are not the normal parents you know and love? Your crazy Jew mom is not sitting in that living room plotting ways to be a nuisance to society. Your dad's not dreaming about his piles of secret riches. They will not pop up and come running over, glad to see you're alive and ready to shower you with hugs and kisses. They will, however, come running to tear your guts out and slurp them up like spaghetti. You're not usually an idiot, so don't start being one now."

Kyle nodded, blinking back tears, and Eric almost felt bad for being so blunt. Almost. He enjoyed making him cry too much to actually feel bad. "Get off," Kyle said simply, and Eric let go. "They'll follow me to the basement. You go open the door and get ready to shove them down the stairs."

"... Alright. Don't die, okay? I don't want to be held responsible and cast out of the group before we even leave town."

Eric thought he saw a flicker of a smile on his lips, but he blinked and it was gone along with Kyle, around the corner. Knowing there was no time to waste, Eric dashed to the basement door and flung it open. He could hear Kyle saying "Mom?" as if she was actually going to be alive, and he couldn't help but roll his eyes. Flattening himself against the wall, he took a deep breath and waited.

Seconds later, Kyle rounded the corner in a sprint, his walker-parents following suit at a slower pace. Well they certainly sprang into action, Eric thought grimly.

"Now, Cartman!" Kyle yelled, leaping past him to hide on the other side of the door. Mr. Broflovski got there first, and Eric easily grabbed onto his shirt and tossed him down the stairs. He landed somewhere in the darkness with a loud crunch and Kyle let out a sob that made Eric's heart wrench.

The last thing he was going to do was let Kyle get bitten, especially not by someone he hated as much as Sheila Broflovski. So as she lumbered toward them, Eric was prepared to wrestle with her if he had to. Not only did she make an extremely horrifying zombie, she was also much heavier than her husband, so when Eric pushed her, she didn't fall so easily.

Instead, she turned her focus to him. He thought she was hideous before, but with blood and rot covering any exposed skin, she was completely disgusting. He grabbed onto her arms to keep her gnashing teeth away from his face and drove her backward as much as he could. By that time, he could see that Kyle's dad was already coming back up the stairs.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" he shouted, unsure how he was going to get her off of him without killing her. The smell of her was starting to get to him, and she was fucking strong. "Kyle, the door in three, two...!"

He lifted his leg and shoved his foot into her stomach as hard as he could, letting go of her arms in the same moment. Thankfully, very thankfully, she stumbled back just enough to lose her footing on the stairs. She fell back into the darkness, knocking her husband down in the process. And then the door slammed shut and it was over.

Eric sprang forward and twisted the lock as Kyle sank to the floor, sobbing. He wasn't really sure what to say or do, his first instinct being to laugh or make a joke at Kyle's expense. But that would definitely not go over well, and he didn't really want to be thrown into the basement too.

"Kyle-"

"Don't. I'm fine," he said, though he clearly wasn't. After a moment, there was a loud bang against the door that caused Kyle to cry out and spring to his feet.

"Maybe we should block the door," Eric suggested, not wanting Kyle to notice that he was shaking with fear.

"Y-yeah."

Together they pushed the couch all the way from the living room to the basement door, attempting to ignore the blood stains and the stink of newly decomposing bodies as they did so. On top of that, they piled on an armchair and the coffee table, and shoved the dining room china cabinet in front for good measure. By the time they were done, they were exhausted and breathing hard, but the banging on the door and the accompanying groans persisted.

"Do you think they'll starve down there?" Kyle asked when they were more composed, and Eric couldn't believe he was still concerned about them after what they just went through. If anything, being up close and personal with zombie-Sheila convinced him even more that human beings were the last thing these creatures were. In fact, he wasn't sure why the hell he didn't just kill them. That would have been easier, and Kyle would have gotten over it someday.

"Nah," he said, and it wasn't just to comfort Kyle. As far as he knew, zombies didn't starve. At least, they didn't in the movies. Those two gross fucks would be down there moaning and groaning for years to come. "They'll be fine."

Kyle sighed. "I guess I should get some of my stuff so we don't have to come back here tomorrow."

Eric followed him upstairs, and the house was eerily quiet once they were away from the basement. He watched as Kyle packed some clothes and necessities, as well as some other things - pictures, primarily, something Eric hadn't thought of at all. Kyle took his copy of The Great Gatsby out of his bookshelf and slipped the pictures inside. Eric didn't see what they were of, but he was willing to bet they were of his family and probably Stan. Asshole.

"I should take a picture of my mom with me when we leave," Eric said, the tenderness in his voice surprising even himself.

Kyle looked up like he'd forgotten he was even there. "Oh, yeah, you should. You'll want something to remember her by if we live through this."

It was comments like that that made Eric wonder if Kyle truly believed in a cure, but he didn't say anything. But once they moved on to the bathroom and Kyle packed a bunch of girly looking hair products, he couldn’t hold back from joking any longer.

"Planning on doing an Herbal Essences commercial sometime soon?"

"I don't use that crap, and no." Kyle sighed and ran his fingers through his curls. "I've worked hard to get my hair to this point and I'm not turning back now just because the world is ending."

"You're such a fa-"

"Wait!" Kyle said, shoving Eric's shoulder to cut him off. "Do you hear that?"

There was a soft creaking in the ceiling, almost as if... "Footsteps."

Carefully, they entered the hallway and followed the sound to the entrance of the attic. The footsteps seemed to stop as soon as their own did, and for a moment Eric thought they imagined it.

"Kyle?" It was soft, hard to hear through the ceiling, but it was there, and certainly not imagined.

"That's my brother," Kyle whispered, looking too stunned to move. "That's Ike's voice! Ike!"

He jumped to grab the drawstring and yanked the ladder down, and sure enough, crouching at the top of the stairs was Ike Broflovski. Eric couldn't believe it. Ike nearly fell off the ladder in his rush to get down, and the moment his feet touched the floor he launched himself into Kyle's arms.

"You're alive!" he cried, unashamed of his tears. "I thought I'd never see you again, I thought I'd die up there, I was so scared, I-"

"It's okay, shh, you're safe now. We all made it back from the camping trip - we're gathering supplies to leave town and find a safe place to stay. Have you been up there this whole time?" Kyle asked, his own eyes shining.

"Ever since mom and dad... I didn't stay long enough to see them, you know... I don't think they ever figured out I was up here. Are they...?"

"We put them in the basement. I couldn't just..."

"It's okay. I don't blame you," Ike said, composing himself quickly enough and detaching from Kyle. "Except it's probably better to kill them. Where are you staying? The whole town's overrun - I could see it from the window."

"Cartman's basement."

Ike looked at Eric like he only just noticed him.

"A Jew hiding in an attic, big surprise there, heh," he said, having felt the need to comment on that since the moment Ike came into the picture. Kyle rolled his eyes.

"Can we go?" Ike asked, turning back to his brother. "I'm starving, I ran out of snacks two days ago."

"Pack some stuff from your room first. We're not coming back here, so take whatever you think you'll need."

While Ike was doing that, Eric kept an eye on Kyle. He certainly seemed happier now that he knew his brother was alive, but all Eric could think about was whether or not a twelve year old kid would be a liability. Ike had proven himself useful in the past, though, and having a genius around couldn't hurt. And Ike was pretty okay, for a Jew (probably because he wasn't born one).

And if Eric could take an ounce of credit for helping Kyle find his brother, he was prepared to milk that for all it was worth. He was there for it, not Stan. He made Kyle happy, maybe even for the first time. It felt good, better than it felt to simply get a rise out of him.

On their way back, they only had to take care of two walkers, both of which were Eric's kills. The machete proved to be very useful, and he got to pretend he was protecting Kyle. Even though the Jew was capable of doing that himself, Eric knew he was too focused on Ike to properly dispose of any threats, at least for the time being.

Sneaking back into the basement without waking anyone up was easy enough. They grabbed some bread and peanut butter from the kitchen before heading down, but Ike barely finished his sandwich before falling asleep next to Kyle.

Eric watched Kyle wrap up the bread to keep it from going stale, which he thought was ridiculous until it occurred to him they needed some food to bring with them. After a minute or so, he realized Eric was staring at him and looked up.

Eric quickly pretended he was looking at the wall instead.

"Hey Cartman?" His voice wasn't angry, or even annoyed, which took Eric by surprise.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for coming with me. I couldn't have done that alone."

"Yeah, well, couldn't have you running off to die." He was glad it was too dark for Kyle to properly see the blush on his face. "You owe me one now, though, remember that."

"Right. Well, goodnight, Cartman."

Eric dreamed again before dawn came, but this time Kyle was fighting by his side rather than acting as a sex slave, and he sort of liked it better that way.

-3-

Kyle had some explaining to do the next day, and no one was more pissed off than Stan. It was unsurprising, but he sort of hoped that any anger over his sneaking out would be forgotten in favor of being happy that Ike was alive and well.

"How the fuck could you just leave like that without waking me up?" Stan snapped at him while they were at Jimbo's gun shop. Everyone else was off collecting ammo and guns they thought looked cool but didn't know how to use. Despite his warning to avoid using them, Kevin wanted everyone to have at least one with plenty of ammo in case they ran into mobs. "Kyle, you could have died."

"But I didn't! I had to go. I couldn't sleep, and we were going to everyone's houses anyway, I thought it'd be helpful to get mine out of the way," he lied, not wanting to reveal the real reason he went. "Cartman went with me, anyway. And we found Ike! Isn't that what's most important?"

"Sure, but, fucking-" Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Kyle wanted to smack him. "It wasn't safe. Especially not with Cartman. He could have fed you to the walkers! It's Cartman, for Christ's sake. How could you have been so stupid?"

"It wasn't stupid." Well, maybe it was, a little bit. "It was necessary. I got my supplies and my brother, who might have died from starvation if it took us any longer to find him."

"He said he only went without food for two days, not even."

"Still!"

"I don't know why you're getting so defensive! You shouldn't run off like that in the middle of the night, Kyle, this is a seriously dangerous situation!"

"You think I don't know that?"

"I don't know, do you?"

Kyle glared, but Stan didn't back down. This sort of standoff was typical of their fights, but Kyle wasn't in the mood to deal with it.

"Stop patronizing me, I'm not a child."

"That's not what I'm doing, don't fucking pull that card. You always do this when I show any concern for you."

"It is so what you're doing! You waited all fucking day to pull me aside, and now you're talking to me like I'm stupid, like I can't take care of myself! Well I can. You aren't the only one who can kill walkers, you know! Fuck you and your concern."

"You're getting loud, Kyle," Stan warned, his voice low. He reached out to touch Kyle's arm in an attempt to calm him down, or diffuse the situation - whatever the reason was, Kyle didn't care. He jerked away from the other boy.

"Careful, you wouldn't want Wendy to see," he spat, giving Stan a glare that dared him to continue down that road. Really, Kyle wanted nothing more than for Wendy to see. For nearly a year now, all he wanted was for Stan to man up and bring everything out in the open. But that was wishful thinking. Stan didn't even want to express worry in front of everyone else for fear that would give away too much.

"I'm just saying that I want to know what you're thinking and where you're going. I want to keep you safe, and I can't do that if you don't let me," Stan said, his voice softer though he kept his distance. "If anything happened..."

Kyle dropped his gaze. It was true that what he did was reckless, but he didn't want to admit that now.

"Don't pull away from me now. Please. Not when one of us could go at any moment. Do not start shutting me out. I can tell that's what you're trying to do, even before all this happened, on the camping trip. Please, just stop."

"Fine. Fuck it. I promise I won't wander off without a proper escort from now on," Kyle snapped. He wasn't exactly sure what possessed him to always make the situation worse, but it really came down to the fact that his resentment toward Stan had begun to push him over the edge during the last few weeks. The other boy was right, he was pushing him away, but only because heartbreak was inevitable in this situation and he'd already let it go on for way too long. Hating Stan was beginning to seem like the easier, safer way to go.

"That isn't what I was saying at all. I just meant -" Another sigh. "- You know what, whatever. When you're ready to talk reasonably, come find me. In the meantime, just know that my only concern here is your safety. I lo-"

"No. Don't you dare. I am not having that conversation again, not with her probably lurking around the corner," Kyle said. "You know how I feel about saying that while you're still with her. It's a total lie, for one, and you're also taking a beautiful, meaningful phrase and pissing all over it. Saying it isn't going to make me forget that you're ashamed of us, and it's not going to stop me from being annoyed with you."

Just as Stan took a step forward and opened his mouth to say something, Ike popped up beside them. "Hey guys? You better pick out some gear, Cartman wants to be on the road in ten."

Kyle shot Stan another withering look before side-stepping around Ike. He didn't exactly want to end the conversation on such a negative note, because it would probably be their last moment alone together for some time, but there was really no getting around it. He was so upset over everything else that he almost forgot that Stan was the one that was supposed to be mad at him.

They ended up on the road twenty minutes later instead of ten, and that was mostly because Wendy wanted to do a bag check to make sure that everyone got everything they needed out of their houses. It was annoying because it was Wendy, Kyle thought, but it was a good idea to double check. They weren't coming back, after all, at least not for a good long while.

Stan brought his car, and he offered Kyle shotgun (probably as some kind of lame apology). Wendy, of course, rode with them, along with Ike and Bebe. Everyone else piled into Cartman's van along with all of their supplies and gear. Some of it fit into Stan's trunk, but not much, so if Cartman's van was somehow lost or compromised, they were all pretty fucked.

"We're going to have to learn how to siphon gas from other cars," Stan said on the way to Cheyenne Mountain. "I'm only at about half right now and that won't last long."

"Well with any luck, we'll only have to drive as far as that bunker Kevin was talking about," Wendy replied, presumably in an attempt to sound optimistic.

"Yeah, don't count on that," Kyle said bitterly, without looking away from the passenger side window. About every hundred yards there was at least one abandoned or overturned vehicle. Blood stains were baking in the sun, and yet there were no bodies to be seen. He shuddered. "It's wishful thinking. Too good to be true. Something will go wrong."

"You don't know that."

"It's smarter to prepare for the worst," Ike chimed in, and Kyle was glad that, of all little brothers, he had the one that didn't need anything sugarcoated. Ike was twelve now, anyway, he was old enough to be a little cynical.

Stan glanced into the rearview mirror. "Not the worst. We'll be practical, but we're definitely going to get through this in one piece. Kyle's right, though, we shouldn't get our hopes up about this bunker."

Kyle smiled to himself, and maybe he was imagining it, but he could feel Wendy's annoyance radiating from the backseat.

"The likelihood that it will be open for the taking is slim to none. It's a government run center that's occupied year-round; any officials there will have already locked it down and they won't be letting anyone in. Your friend Kevin is living in a dream world," Ike continued, saying all this as though he wasn't phased in the least by how uncomfortable he was making some of the other passengers. "We're probably going to have to learn to hunt and stuff and live in the woods. We aren't important enough to end up in a secured location, despite my previous affiliation with government-related... things."

Kyle and Stan exchanged glances and rolled their eyes, overcoming their issues at least for that moment. Ike always liked to brag about his involvement in Obama's presidency and other, top secret security matters.

"They're following us," Bebe spoke up suddenly, the first time since Clyde's suicide. "I can see them in the side mirror."

They all twisted in their seats except for Stan, and sure enough, in the distance there were a few figures clearly walking down the road. "They're far enough away... and slower than us," Ike reasoned, still trying to sound brave and logical.

Stan tapped the gas, nearly tailgating Cartman's van as though it would speed things up, but it was useless. With the abandoned cars in the road, they couldn't just speed carelessly down the highway.

"They won't catch up," Kyle said softly, and had to stop himself from reaching over to touch Stan's arm. He was still mad, of course, but he'd grown accustomed to putting his anger and resentment on the back burner. "We're going what, forty-five? They've got to be going three at the most."

"Yeah... you're right. Nothing to worry about."

Still, they all continued to watch. The figures grew smaller and sometimes left their line of sight as the road dipped and turned, but they knew they were there, and that was enough.

When they reached the outskirts of Colorado Springs they pulled over next to Cartman's van and piled out to stretch their legs. Kevin had his map of Colorado spread out on the hood of the car, and he and Cartman seemed completely absorbed in it.

"We need to keep watch," Kyle said to Stan, eyeing the trees around them warily. "They could jump out at any moment. Ike, stay close to the cars."

"According to Kevin and every zombie movie ever made, cities are dangerous fucking places." Craig stepped up beside them, crossbow at the ready. "We need to get in and out and attract as little attention as possible."

"There's no way to go around?" Butters asked. He had a gun in his hand, but as far as Kyle knew he hadn't gotten the chance to use it yet.

"Doesn't look like it," Kevin said, indicating the map. "The only fast way to get there the way we came is to stay on Route 24 and then hop on Interstate 25, but that requires dipping our toes into the city. It's only five miles, but... who knows what the roads are like."

"It might be impossible to get through," Bebe said. "Then what?"

"Then, we'll have to backtrack and take side roads. But that isn't ideal. I'd rather not get off the highway if we can help it. The walkers will be on the streets, definitely, but the interstate will probably be clearer."

Kyle frowned, still squinting at their surroundings. The way Kevin drew out the word ‘probably' made him uncomfortable. "And if we make it through the city?"

"Then it's a pretty simple drive... we get off the highway, stay on that road for a minute or two, take a left and then exit off to the complex entrance. It's not as far up the mountain as I was hoping, but once we're in, we're safe. Hopefully."

"We should get going, there was a group of walkers following our cars before. We haven't seen them in a while but they'll catch up if we keep standing around," Wendy said impatiently.

"The bitch is right, if we're going to get ourselves killed, might as well drive right into it instead of stand around waiting for it."

"Shut up, Cartman."

The interstate was, as Kevin guessed, nearly jammed with cars. They had to drive on the median most of the way and it was difficult to ignore the presence of walkers on either side of the road, wandering between cars with nowhere to go.

"Jesus," Wendy muttered, staring out the window in awe.

"Looks like everyone was trying to get out of the city," Stan said offhandedly as he slowly navigated around an overturned trailer. "They just got themselves fucked in the process."

As the walkers began to notice and follow the sound of their cars, all talking ceased and the only thing Kyle could hear was the thudding of his own heart. If they were in a movie, surely one of their engines would stop working or one of their tires would blow out. But somehow, thankfully, they made it off of the highway, albeit with a trail of walkers behind them.

The roads leading to the complex's entrance were even more terrifying, with less obstacles in the road but more zombies hanging around the buildings.

"Good thing we don't need to make a pit stop here," Ike joked, though his laugh was nervous.

The gate to the complex was open, which was already a bad sign, and the security station was empty (an even worse sign). However the road that took them up into the mountain was clear; so clear that Kyle felt bad about being responsible for bringing walkers into the area.

Cartman sped up, and so did Stan, but they all knew it would be fruitless if they couldn't get into the bunker for whatever reason. The walkers weren't going to be shaken off so easily; their group was food to them. Guiltily, Kyle acknowledged that it was getting increasingly difficult to imagine them as parents and children and real people.

The tunnel that made up the entrance to the bunker, which, according to Kevin, had been featured on Stargate SG-1, was dark and foreboding. Kyle wasn't sure what he expected, seeing as the complex was built inside the mountain, but the tunnel was definitely uninviting. Something out of The Lord of the Rings might have been nicer, but even then, characters always ended up trapped and attacked if they went inside a mountain.

Still, they drove on. Anywhere there might have been a security check was abandoned, and Stan commented that the whole complex might be abandoned and there for the taking. Kyle thought it was more likely that everyone who worked there might have simply gone inside and initiated a lockdown.

His worries were confirmed when they came upon a big blast door that was closed.

Both cars came to a halt and they all stepped out to assess the situation. It seemed pretty grim; not only were they apparently locked out, but there was an unknown number of walkers slated to catch up to them in a matter of minutes.

Butters started looking for a doorknob when there clearly wasn't one and the rest of them began readying their weapons of choice. Kevin confirmed that guns would be fine in this setting, since they were in an enclosed, albeit spacious, area set far enough away from the city limits.

"Are you sure you don't want to just sit in the car?" Kyle asked Ike, uncomfortable with the idea of him being involved in something so dangerous.

"Kyle, we live in South Park. A lot of strange shit has happened, and I'm pretty sure I learned to fire a gun when I was four."

"Yeah, but-"

"Jesus Christ, Kyle, let the kid be involved," Cartman said without looking up from loading his own pistol. "Worry about yourself for once. If he goes down, at least he won't be going down a pussy hiding in a car."

"Exactly." Ike smirked at him.

"Fine." Kyle threw his arms up. "But do not get yourself killed, Ike. This isn't a game."

"I know, Kyle. I saw our parents get attacked, in case you forgot already."

And that was the end of that. Kyle realized he was treating Ike the same way Stan had treated him earlier, but in a way that just annoyed him all over again - Ike was his little brother, a child still, basically. His own relationship was Stan was completely different.

"There's a video camera!" Kenny shouted suddenly, drawing everyone's attention. In the corner of the doorway, following their movements, was a security camera. Someone was in there watching them... watching them, and failing to allow them inside.

Before anyone could comment on the unfairness of the situation, the groaning began. They all turned to see a horde of zombies stumble into the tunnel.

"Fuck."

"Don't panic, just... fuck them up," Bebe growled, her ferocity surprising even Kyle, who had seen her pissed off many times. "Think of this as getting revenge for our families. And our friends. And... everything."

And just like that, the walkers were on them. It was a rush, but in a surprisingly good way. Kyle never thought he'd feel so alive from getting spattered with blood, from running the risk of dying and overcoming that fear, or from driving an axe to the skulls of what used to be people. He vaguely recalled having done this before, years ago, and with another weapon... but to whom, he couldn't remember.

He didn't have time to dwell on it, or even to see what was happening with everyone else, but in the back of his mind he was praying for his friends and, especially, his brother. He couldn't stop to look, could only take their shouts and cursing as evidence they were fine. Their collective skill when it came to killing people was less than adequate, but Kyle found himself nearly tripping over rotting corpses, so they must have been doing something right.

It seemed like time both sped up and stood still, the fight lasting seconds and hours and everything in between, and at the end of it all, when the bodies stopped coming and the groaning stopped echoing in the hall, Kyle doubled over and vomited. From the stench or from the sheer physical exertion, he didn't know. Probably both.

When he looked up, Stan was standing over him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, are you?"

"Yeah."

For a moment, it was almost like it was them against the world and Kyle wanted to make a joke about how he wasn't going to kiss Stan with the taste of puke in his mouth, but the exhilaration from what just happened wore off as quickly as it came.

"Butters, God damn it!" Cartman's voice rang out, breaking the moment and tearing Kyle's gaze away from Stan.

"What happened?" Kevin called, rushing toward him. The rest of them followed suit, all equally covered in blood. Cartman was hunched over, pressing his hand to a wound on Butters' shoulder.

The silence in the moments that followed was crushing.

"You fucking asshole, why is your aim so bad?" Cartman snapped, and Butters just groaned - it might have been an attempt at an apology, but Kyle couldn't tell.

"How-?

"He was shooting and his shots kept hitting their fucking God damn crotches and I kept yelling at him to aim higher but the asshole got bitten!"

Butters groaned again. "I feel all woozy..."

"I couldn't get the damn thing off of him in time. God damn it, Butters, I knew you'd be a liability."

"Cartman, I understand you're upset, but do you have to be such an asshole?" Kenny snapped.

"You're damn right I'm upset! Kevin led us here and we can't even get in, and we got trapped in here and now Butters is going to die because he's an idiot! I'm already starting to think I'd survive better on my own and we've only been on the road for like four hours!"

"Well maybe you should go out on your own! It's not like any of us even want you here," Stan said.

"Stop it! Cartman, you're not leaving," Kyle cut in, and the firmness in his voice surprised him. "And Butters is going to be fine, we just have to stop the bleeding."

"Walker bites are fatal, dude."

"Kevin, shut up! He's going to be fine!"

Wendy huffed and stood, marching away from the group and toward the blast door. The banging of her fists rang through the tunnel, drowning out Butters' wailing. "Let us in, God damn it! We know someone's in there! Let us in! One of our friends is hurt!"

"If they haven't let us in by now, they won't," Ike said, shaking his head. He looked, and smelled, like he'd been rolling around in rotting organs. That, coupled with his deadly serious expression, made him look quite frightening. "They aren't going to risk bringing Butters in there, especially."

"But how could they just sit in there while we're out here fighting and dying?!" Wendy screamed, rage and panic clearly getting the best of her. "It's not fair!"

Bebe stood and put her arms around Wendy, but that was all any of them could do or say. She was right, after all. It was very unfair.

"Attention trespassers, please leave the premises. This is a secure government location."

The voice rang out and each of them saw that there was a small speaker above the blast door. Not only did it confirm that there was indeed at least one person inside, it also confirmed that they were being deliberately locked out.

"The government is addressing the situation. Please find a place to stay until help finds you."

"Fuck you! We found a place to stay - here! Let us in! One of our friends is hurt!"

"I don't think they can hear you, Wendy."

"Shut up, Craig."

"I repeat, please leave the premises. Exposure is not in the facility's best interest."

Butters coughed, and the speaker didn't say anything else. By that time, Kyle had taken his jacket off and was pressing it hard against Butters' shoulder. "The bleeding isn't slowing down."

"It's alright, Kyle," another cough, "I wasn't too excited ‘bout killing the zombies anyways."

"No no no, Butters, you are not dying."

"Kyle, stand back," Cartman said, and Kyle looked up to see that he still had his gun drawn.

"Cartman, no!"

"He's dying, and when he does he's going to turn. We need to make this quick."

"No! We're all going to die if we don't even try to help each other when one of us gets hurt!"

"Butters, do you want to turn into a walker?"

In the childlike manner that was so typical of him, Butters shook his head as vigorously as he could before howling in pain.

"See? Stand back, Kyle," Cartman growled.

Stan pulled on Kyle's shoulder. "Kyle..."

All he could do was look into Butters' eyes. The desperation in them was obvious; he wasn't seeking medical aid, he was asking for an end to all this. Kyle stood and stepped away.

"I sure w-will miss you guys, and I-" he paused to cough and let out another groan. "I hope you kill all them zombies. I'll be rootin' for ya."

Cartman stepped back and looked down at the blond boy. He slowly lifted his arm, careful to aim directly at Butters' head. "Butters, I've thought a lot about killing you over the years, but I want you to know I'm going to take no pleasure in this."

"Th-thanks Eric," he replied, shutting his eyes tight in anticipation.

Most of them turned around then, not wanting to see. But Kyle didn't. He couldn't seem to move at all anymore. Then Cartman pulled the trigger and it was over, just like that, with a clean hole in Butters' forehead.

The echo of the shot made its way down the tunnel, until all that was left was the sound of soft sobbing.

-4-

They buried Butters outside the NORAD station, figuring it was the least they could do to give him some sort of funeral. With no walkers to be seen, they took the time to say what needed to be said, about Butters, and about Clyde, and all the friends and family they assumed were lost to them, even if they hadn't encountered them back in South Park.

Stan took comfort in the fact that the most important person was still with him. Kyle was his family, his only family now, and Ike by extension, and that was oddly good enough for him. He was sad about his parents and Shelly, even if she was a bitch sometimes, but it was like something inside him changed the moment he saw that his dad was one of them. Everything clicked, and he simply accepted that this is how life was going to be from now on. They were on their own, and there was no going back to a normal way of living.

In some ways, it wasn't any different from the kind of crap that always seemed to happen to them. They'd even dealt with zombies before. Stan felt like his entire childhood had groomed him to deal with something like this with minimal panic and denial. But in the most important ways, it was different from everything else. This was more serious, and certainly didn't seem like it was going to be conveniently fixed by something simple or stupid. Life wasn't going to reset, the town wasn't going to be rebuilt in a day. People weren't going to go back to their lives like nothing ever happened.

Cruel as it was, he was happy about that.

He sort of wondered if something was wrong with him, because everyone else seemed to be more upset over Butters, over everything, than he was. And their parents - he knew for a fact that Kyle, at least, was never going to get over losing his parents. But Stan felt pretty okay about it. Not glad, but not that broken up either. Just okay.

There was a good chance he'd have a mental breakdown at some point due to burying his "real" feelings, though, and he acknowledged that. But for now he felt fine.

A part of him thought they were all being kind of stupid, and that they should all be used to this crap. Prepared for it. Expecting it, even. But he wasn't about to voice those opinions. It wasn't like he was the one with the apocalypse kit, either. He was just as stupid as everyone else.

They camped outside of the bunker that night, having decided to hit the road again at first light. While they were sleeping, a few latecomer walkers turned up and they lost Kenny to them. After deciding they needed to take turns watching out for zombies from then on, they had another funeral with the moon shining down on them, and Stan felt pretty unaffected by the whole thing. Almost like it had happened a million times before.

He really wanted a drink, though. But that probably wasn't going to happen for quite some time. Sure, he could steal something from someone's house or even a liquor store, but he'd never hear the end of it. Wendy would yell at him about his priorities, and then there was Kyle... Kyle would just shut down, quietly accepting his relapse into alcoholism. That would hurt more than anything, that disappointment.

No, drinking wasn't an option. He needed to be strong.

He needed to be strong for Kyle.

In the week or so that followed, they gradually moved west. They didn't know where they were going, really, but west seemed as good an option as any. At least, it seemed like a better option than going North and having to go through Denver. If Colorado Springs was scary, Denver would surely be a complete nightmare. Kevin suggested heading toward Las Vegas. Despite the likelihood of the city being completely overrun, allegedly the Hoover Dam would keep running for months, if not years, and there was a possibility of other survivors reaching the same conclusion.

As the days went by, Stan grew more and more uncomfortable with having both Wendy and Kyle around. He hated being affectionate with her in front of Kyle, but ever since Butters and Kenny died, she'd grown more attached to him. And to make matters worse, he could see that Kyle was getting along better with Cartman and he couldn't understand why it bothered him so much, but it really, really did. Maybe it was just that he couldn't say anything about it without having his relationship with Wendy thrown back at him.

He got his chance to be alone with Kyle when they set up camp in the woods off of Route 50. He had first watch and Kyle had second, so he simply stayed up once Kyle came to relieve him. It was surprisingly easy, given how long it had been since they had a real conversation.

"Don't you want to go to bed?" Kyle asked when he came to sit by the campfire, which was only embers by that point, and Stan didn't make any move to leave. The way he said it had an undertone of resentment that he figured had to do with the fact that Wendy shared his tent.

"Not really. We haven't talked a lot lately."

Kyle shrugged.

"I miss you. Even though we're together all the time now, technically, I feel like you're trying to avoid me."

Kyle shrugged again.

"Baby, please talk to me," he tried again, keeping his voice at a whisper.

"Don't call me that."

"You like it when I call you that."

"Well, I don't want you to right now."

Stan reached for his hand and sighed with relief when he didn't pull away.

"I know you're mad, but you need to tell me what I can do to make it better. I really don't want to waste any more time with this silent fight, or whatever this is, especially if there's a good chance we could die any day now."

"You know what you can do to make it better," Kyle snapped, though he thankfully kept his voice low. "It was hard enough having to deal with you and her at school for months after you said you wanted to be with me, and standing on the sidelines for years before then while you did your on-again, off-again thing... but it's even more unbearable now that I have to be around it every day all day."

"I can't just dump her now, with everything that's been going on. She doesn't deal with rejection well at all and she's more stressed out than usual. We all are."

"Gee Stan, I'm so glad to know you put her feelings before mine. Thanks for reminding me where I stand."

"You know you're the most important person in my life."

"No, Stan, I don't know that. You talk a lot about how much I matter and throw around stupid, meaningless shit about how much you love me, but I'm still something you're ashamed of. I'm still in the background, still the ‘other'," Kyle said, and then he did pull his hand away. "She broke up with you. She broke up with you and then just when it finally seemed like decided you wanted to be with me, after we had those great few months, you fucking got back together with her. And you expected me to just be okay with that, like I should be grateful you even bothered with me to begin with."

Stan felt like his heart was being torn out of his chest. Part of him wanted to pretend Kyle was overreacting, but fact was that he wasn't doing that. He knew he fucked up, and he'd been systematically making it worse for months. He stared at the side of Kyle's face.

"Kyle. Look at me, please." He did, though he didn't seem happy to oblige. "You do matter, and I do love you. And I'm not ashamed, I could never be ashamed of you. You're amazing."

"You're ashamed that I'm a dude, then."

"No, not even. Wendy and I just have a lot of history and this - us - has always been a fear of hers and I know it would crush her. I needed a reason not to get back with her and I couldn't think of one that wouldn't come back to you... it's just been for show, anyway; we haven't even had sex since the last time we dated."

Kyle glared at him. "You're completely missing the point. This isn't about sex, Stan. If you care so much about her feelings, or mine, why the hell are you still playing this game?" He sighed. "I'm just... I'm so fucking done."

"I... you know how it happened, it's complicated."

"Yeah, I know how it happened," Kyle spat. "I know I waited my whole life for you to want me, and you figured that out somewhere along the way and took advantage. What I don't understand is why. I always hated Wendy in all this, but really you're the asshole. You've been taking advantage of both of us, cheating on both of us, and I-" Kyle paused and turned away. Stan knew that move; it meant he was trying not to cry. "I let you, because I wanted it so badly. I could have ended it when you got back with her. I could have told her. I should have. She's really the only one not in the wrong, and I can't live with it anymore."

"Is that why you've been avoiding me?" Stan asked, his voice strained. "You want us to be over?"

"I don't know. Sort of."

"Please, don't. I never meant to take advantage of you. That's not - that wasn't my intention at all. I wanted you so badly I wasn't thinking about what I was doing, and then it just seemed easier to pretend nothing changed when we were in public." It felt like he'd said all this so many times before, but Kyle either never listened or refused to believe him. "I've loved you forever. I loved you before I knew what love was. I'm pretty sure I must have loved you when I was three. Jesus, Kyle, I... the world has gone to shit and you're the only thing that matters now. You can't leave me."

"I need you to do more than just say that. I shouldn't have accepted the way things were for as long as I did. But it ends now. Either you end it with her, or with me. You have to choose."

"It'll crush her."

"I'm not going to be your backup, Stan. I'm done being a hole to fuck when you're bored of girls. It's the end of the fucking world, if you aren't going to really be with me now, when the fuck are you going to do it? Tell me you're in love with her and I won't bother you again, I'll go somewhere else, find another group to travel with-"

"Is that really what you think you are to me?" Stan cut in, desperation making his voice rise. He'd known for a long time that Kyle felt unappreciated because their relationship wasn't public, but he had no idea it ran that deep. Knowing it was a risky move but not really caring, he pulled Kyle closer. It suddenly felt like if he didn't grab onto him now, he'd disappear into thin air. "Why don't you believe me when I tell you I love you?"

"I don't know," Kyle muttered, his face hidden by Stan's shirt. "If you loved me you wouldn't have put me through this."

Stan sighed. "I know. It was stupid and douchey. I was afraid of Wendy's reaction and afraid of being labeled as gay... I know that's shitty. I was being selfish... I wasn't thinking about your feelings, or Wendy's, really... not as much as I told myself I was. And for a while you seemed to be okay with how things were...I'm sorry."

"I was just happy to have you."

He hugged Kyle closer still, reveling in being able to touch him, finally, after what felt like so long. Then he took him by the shoulders and pushed him back just enough to maintain eye contact. "Listen, and please believe me. You are my soulmate. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you. Kyle, literally, my number one goal in life has always been to keep you safe and happy and I've obviously failed miserably at doing one of those things. I'm not going to fail anymore, at either of them."

Kyle nodded and whispered softly, "Okay."

"It's been way too long since I've been able to kiss you," Stan said, grinning. He was, in a strange way, grateful for the apocalypse. He wasn’t sure he’d ever have grown the balls to fix things with Kyle otherwise, at least, not until it was too late. "Will you shove me into the fire if I do it now?"

With a quiet laugh, Kyle shook his head, and Stan didn't waste any time in yanking him forward. Kyle let out a small moan against his lips, something that never failed to make Stan's blood rush.

"Do you remember our first kiss?" he mumbled against Kyle's mouth.

"We were twelve and you got wasted and stumbled through my bedroom window at three in the morning," Kyle whispered bitterly, pulling away just enough to break contact. "You woke me up and told me you hated me and then kissed me... it hurt and your mouth tasted like alcohol, and I hated you for months afterward."

Stan flushed. He hadn't been referring to that first kiss; he could barely remember that and wished Kyle didn't either. "Not that one. The other one, the real one. Fourth of July after eighth grade. I wasn't drunk that time. And I kissed you and you told me you'd waited your entire life for that moment, and I loved you so much right then."

Kyle pulled away, and Stan felt cold again. "But you still pretended like nothing happened the next day. I wanted so badly to be good enough for you. I kept waiting for you to ask me out after that, or show up outside my window with your guitar or something ridiculous, but you didn't. You kept dating girls for another four years and then wondered why I wanted to stop having sleepovers."

Stan leaned in and kissed him again, tentatively, afraid Kyle was going to start another fight. "I loved that you finally demanded to know what was going on... I was going to run away from my feelings for you forever, I think." Another kiss. "I can't take back the last few years. But it's you and me now, that's it. I don't want to die with you thinking you don't mean the world to me." And another. "I'll tell her tomorrow."

And with that, Kyle grabbed his shirt and opened up for him, sighing and melting against his chest. "Stan..."

"Fuck, I love you," he whispered between kisses, hands grabbing at the redhead's hips. He had the urge to get Kyle inside his tent and fuck him senseless, to let all of his pent up desire and anger out, but that would seriously endanger the rest of the camp. Even the distraction of kissing was compromising their safety. Besides, Ike was sleeping in there and that would just be plain weird. But mostly it would be dangerous.

And, as if on cue, there was a rustling in the bushes. In half a second they were apart, guns at the ready, wildly searching for where the sound came from.

"It's me!" came a voice, and Kenny emerged from the trees with his hands up.

"Kenny?" Kyle called out, grabbing his flashlight to get a better look. "Where have you been?"

"I, uh... got out to take a piss a ways back and when I got back you all were gone. I think each of you must have thought I got into the other guy's car or something," Kenny said, and even though it sounded like a lie, Stan figured it must be true. He had a vague recollection of Kenny not being there for the past week, but couldn't remember when he'd gotten separated from the group. "I hijacked a car and just drove... first I went North but Denver was completely clogged with abandoned cars so I turned back and headed west. I'm glad I finally saw your cars on the side of the road, jeez."

"Were you followed?"

"Maybe a few, but they're a ways back."

They got an early start that morning, mostly to outrun the walkers that might have been on Kenny's tail. In all the excitement over Kenny's return and commotion from disassembling camp, Stan forgot to take Wendy aside, though he really did intend to break up with her. If he was going to survive in a post-apocalyptic world, he wanted to do it with Kyle. And more importantly, he needed Kyle to believe in him and trust him, fully and with no reservations, and that simply wasn't going to happen if Stan continued with what he'd been doing.

But one thing happened after another, and between driving and setting up various camps and fending off the undead, he never found the right moment. And day after day, Kyle grew more and more withdrawn.

Nearly everyone was gradually reaching the comfort level Stan had experienced right away - walkers were just walkers and killing them was becoming part of their daily life. After losing Butters, they'd all stepped their game up and gotten good practice with their weapons, sometimes going out of their way to hunt walkers just for the sake of "thinning the population". It was beginning to seem like a game, with Craig, Kevin, and Cartman keeping tally counts of their kills.

But despite that comfort, or maybe because of it, they weren't prepared for the small herd that happened upon their camp a week later, at the border of Colorado and Utah.

They'd just finished a meager dinner of canned beans and stale bread when suddenly Craig let out a shout. Before anyone could say or do anything, the walker had already ripped his throat out with its teeth and more were pouring into camp. Having no time to strategize or waste a moment to mourn for Craig, they all scrambled to grab their weapons.

Curses ran wild as they all began hacking and shooting away at any and all zombies they could, and everything seemed to blend together in the way it always did when they were doing any killing. It was hard to differentiate one walker from the next and none of them ever knew if they'd gotten hurt until after it was over. The aluminum baseball bat Stan brought from home continued to crush skulls perfectly, and it wasn't long before his shirt was splattered with brain matter and blood (not that anyone had been able to get the previous blood stains out). He caught glimpses of Bebe's wild blonde curls and Cartman's machete, felt the squish under his feet as he sprinted through the puddle of blood pooling next to Craig's body, but the camp was nothing more than a jumble of sounds and colors.

Except, as suddenly as it all started, everything came to a standstill when Stan heard Kyle let out a scream that wasn't simply one of rage and determination. This one was terrified. He fired a shot into the face of the walker in front of him before whipping around to locate Kyle. Wedged between two walkers, he spotted a flash of red hair. Kyle had his axe embedded in one of them, but another had grabbed his arm from behind, leaving him without a weapon as he struggled to keep away from its jaws.

"Kyle!" Stan shouted, leaping over dead bodies to get to him. His legs may as well have been made of jelly, moving in slow motion and tripping over everything. Sounds were distorted and even though he knew he was moving in the right direction, it felt like the distance between him and Kyle never grew any smaller, like he was deep underwater and fighting against a strong current.

Before he could so much as lift his arm, a single shot took out the offending walker. It wasn't important who did it, Stan didn't care - the thing let go of Kyle and fell to the ground, and that was all that mattered.

Time resumed its normal pace and he shouted Kyle's name again as he finally reached him, vaguely aware that the camp was strewn with corpses and Kenny was finishing off the last of them. All that really mattered was right in front of him, and before he could think twice about it, he was kissing Kyle with a level of desperation he'd never felt before.

"Are you okay?" he asked when he pulled away, though it came out more like he was just yelling at the other boy. Grabbing him by the shoulders, he scanned him for any obvious wounds. "Kyle, fuck-"

"I'm fine," Kyle replied breathlessly, looking dazed and pale. "It didn't-"

Stan cut him off and kissed him again, grateful that it was just a close call. His heart was hammering and he could feel Kyle shaking as he moved his hands to his face. "Shit. I heard you scream and my heart stopped."

"Did you shoot it?" Kyle asked hopefully, looking at Stan like he expected him to be his savior.

Stan shook his head, suddenly feeling like a failure. "No, it was... I don't know, I didn't see, I couldn't look away from you."

"It was me." Cartman's voice brought Stan back to reality, bursting the bubble he and Kyle had been in. And he realized that they were surrounded by their friends, who were all watching them. "And what the fuck was that?"

Cartman looked annoyed, or angry, Stan didn't really care which, or over what. He let go of Kyle and looked for Wendy, who he found standing a few feet away with tears in her eyes. The moment they made eye contact, she turned and ran toward their tent.

"Fuck," he muttered, and gave Kyle an apologetic look. As he left to go after her, he could hear Kyle asking Cartman how he'd been so quick. Stan hated the fact that Cartman was going to get credit for saving Kyle. It should've been him, was supposed to be him, and it was suspicious that Cartman was keeping an eye on Kyle to begin with.

He'd deal with Cartman later, though.

"Wendy, I'm sorry," he said as he lifted the tent flap. She was putting his stuff in his backpack, clearly intending to kick him out of the tent.

"So was that a heat of the moment thing where on the brink of death you realized you loved him all along?" she snapped without looking up. "Or has that been going on for a while now?"

"I didn't want you to find out like that. I was going to tell you."

"Well that answers that question. How long?" She finally looked up, and she looked so hurt and livid that Stan almost wanted to take it back. "How long, Stan?"

You can't make everyone happy, he reminded himself. She'll get over it. She has to.

"A year, almost."

"A year?!" she screamed, and if any walkers were still in the area they were probably making a beeline for their camp.

"I'm sorry-"

"You knew I always suspected something was up with you two. Since we were thirteen, Stan. The least you could have done was tell me when you finally started fucking him. Fucking Christ, a year, really?1"

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings!"

"Wow, thanks for the consideration! A cheating, lying bastard who cares about my feelings. Fuck off." She zipped up his backpack and threw it at him. "And by the way, it's completely gross for you to be making out with him when one of our friends died not even twenty minutes ago."

Right... Craig.

"I- I wasn't thinking, I was just overwhelmed with-"

"Spare me the speech about your feelings for him, that's the last thing I need right now. Get out of my tent."

"Fine. But technically, Wendy, you dumped me last year, before I got with Kyle. Maybe I wanted to before, but I didn't do it until after we broke up. So really, when we got back together, I was cheating on him, not you." That was definitely the wrong thing to say, but he'd never been good at placating her. "And I still want to be friends. We need to stick together."

Her glare was murderous, and when she spoke her voice was much scarier than he knew it had the capacity to get. "Get. Out. Of my. Tent."

Sighing, Stan stepped back outside. He dropped his backpack in front of Kyle's tent and rejoined the group, who had already started dragging bodies to the perimeter.

"If we outline the camp with them, the smell of them might mask the smell of us and keep other walkers away," Kevin explained, though he wasn't his usual cheerful self. Stan knew he and Craig had gotten close since this all started, but he didn't know what to say.

"What are we going to do about Craig?" Maybe it was insensitive, but it had to be asked.

"He won't be coming back as one of them. I made sure of that already," Kevin replied quietly, and walked off to grab another body.

Bebe pushed her hair out of her eyes, watching Kevin's back with an odd expression on her face. "We have to bury him like we did with Butters. It's the right thing to do."

Stan nodded.

"And by the way, before you make a big deal about it, none of us are surprised about you two," she waved her hand in his and Kyle's direction, "but just because the world has ended doesn't mean it's okay to be a cheater. You're a douchebag, and that's all I'm going to say about it."

"Fine with me." He didn't want to get into details with Bebe of all people; if Kyle wanted to talk to her, he could, but Stan didn't really care what she thought of him.

Wendy didn't come out of her tent that day, not to help move the corpses, not even to help dig Craig's grave. It annoyed everyone, especially Stan, that she was putting her own anger and embarrassment over her obligation to respect Craig's memory, even if he was an asshole. But he was putting his own feelings first, too. Maybe it was selfish and probably disrespectful, but Stan couldn't really force himself to feel sad about Craig when he was finally able to sleep next to Kyle that night. It was like coming home again, and holding Kyle gave him some peace of mind. Despite the events of the day, he fell asleep feeling happy for the first time in weeks. If that made him a dick, so be it.

It was the apocalypse, after all. Rules no longer existed and morals were questionable at best, especially in a world where humanity's true nature was forced to take over. Everyone was selfish, had to be in a situation like this.

Stan didn't mind being selfish. It made things simpler. As long as he and Kyle were alive, that was all that mattered. Simple.

-5-

"My child."

He tried to open his eyes, but the blinding white light of heaven forced them closed again. Kenny let out a groan and pushed himself up off the ground - or cloud, whatever. Really, his eyes didn't need to be open to know who was talking to him.

He was rarely brought up to heaven unless they wanted something from him, so this could only mean that something annoying was about to happen. All things considered, he was pretty sure God caused that tree branch to fall and impale him after they crossed into Utah. A tree branch, of all things, in the fucking zombie apocalypse.

By Kenny's estimations, it had been about a month between his current death and the day all this zombie business began. He'd only managed to die another two times before this one, both from attacks, but each time it grew increasingly more difficult to locate the group, so, while expected, it was all very irritating. He woke up in South Park, would always wake up in South Park, and every time he had to find a new car and drive an even longer distance. Cell phones had stopped working weeks ago, so it was all up to his tracking skills, which were extremely lacking, to find his friends.

At least he knew what general direction to go in now. But time worked in strange ways when he was between this world and the next; he never knew precisely how many days had passed between death and ‘rebirth'. It really sucked, especially now, when no one would be around to tell him the date and time.

"Kenny, my son, open your eyes."

He sighed and squinted at them. Jesus and God stood before him, their expressions serious. Fuck. On top of everything else, being brought to heaven meant even more time passing down on Earth.

"I hope you're planning to explain what's going on down there," he said, his voice echoing eerily through the limitless white space around him. "Is this another way of smiting humanity?"

"It is a virus created by man, a biological weapon that got out of hand and spread before it was meant to, both in places it was and wasn't intended to." God paused for a moment before bluntly adding, "However we cannot, and will not, stop it."

"Why the fuck not?!"

"My child, there comes a time, like every couple thousand years or so, when the human race reaches a point of necessary purging. The modern world is full of hate, violence against innocents, wars waged in my name, and willful ignorance. People indulge in every sin without guilt or repentance. Snooki and the Gangnam style guy hold more moral influence than I do."

"Okay... you're saying the world has gone to shit so you're letting the human race die out."

"... Basically. But not entirely."

"There is no cure for this engineered virus, but the opportunity is there for survival," Jesus added, placing his hand on Kenny's shoulder. "Those with strength and persistence will be tasked with rebuilding the world. People will relearn the value of honest work and community togetherness."

"And if those who survive are just murderous assholes?"

"Then I'll flood the Earth again, or something."

It seemed like a terrible plan, overall. But then, it often seemed to Kenny that God never did anything right and it always fell on him to fix it. "Why are you telling me all this now? You didn't bring me up here the last couple of times I died."

"For now, all I can tell you is this - there is no cure, and the inhuman creatures you encounter down there have no soul left inside them. However, their spirits cannot find a resting place while their bodies remain animated. What has been done cannot be reversed. Be the servant of death you were bred to become. End their pointless existence."

"Good bye, child," Jesus said, and before Kenny could ask any more questions, a blinding white light flashed.

When his eyes readjusted, he found that he was lying in his bed. God and Jesus were always unnecessarily vague, and yet again they seemed to have thrust some ridiculous responsibility onto him without giving him a chance to argue.

He sighed and listened for any noise. Silence. No footsteps, no groaning. Even though he'd been back to South Park three times now, he had yet to see Karen. She could have wandered to Wyoming, for all he knew, but he kept hoping she would turn up in their old house. God's words echoed through his mind - ‘end their pointless existence'. He wanted to find his sister and give her body the rest it deserved, especially if her spirit was doomed to wander until that happened. All he could hope for now was that someone else had already gotten to her.

"So basically I have to kill them all," Kenny told the poster of Jenna Jameson that hung on his ceiling. "That's definitely the most annoying thing the universe has asked me to do."

With another sigh, he stood up and started looking through his closet for a weapon. Everything he brought with him so far certainly didn't reincarnate along with his body, so he was already down two guns and a pocket knife. Eventually he'd run out of blunt objects, too, if this kept up.

At least his luck was a little better than it had been when he was younger. It turned out that the excessive deaths in his elementary school days were meant to build his mental and emotional strength and force him to become unfazed by the process of dying. Gradually, the instances became less frequent and now he only really got into fatal accidents when someone needed him on the other side. God revealed that whole plan to him a few years back, and he'd never been more annoyed by anything in his life. Until now, anyway.

He never asked to be the savior of the world. Wasn't that Jesus' job? Why couldn't he come to Earth and kill all the zombies?

There was a baseball bat in the back of his closet, and he'd seen what Stan could do with his bat, so that was what he ended up choosing. It would serve, at least until he found the group again.

He hoped he'd actually be able to. They could be anywhere by now; he had no idea how long he'd been dead. The last time he died they were somewhere in southern Utah, but that might not help him now.

Sighing, he left his house and went in search of a car. The first time this happened, he took his parents' car. The second time, an abandoned car by Craig's house that still had the keys in the ignition. This time, though, he had no such luck. There were no keys lying around this time, and contrary to popular belief, he did not, in fact, know how to hotwire a car just because he was poor and unable to afford his own vehicle.

Eventually he decided to break into someone's house and steal their car keys. It wasn't like anyone was going to notice or miss their car, after all.

Kyle's mom had a pretty nice car, as far as he could recall. It had four wheel drive, anyway, and was fairly new and therefore unlikely to break down. And, deep down, he also liked the idea of driving a car that was wasn't a pile of junk, for once. But despite knowing that the Broflovskis were dead, he still felt guilty as he swung open their front door. He was never the type of kid who would enter a house without knocking, and as he stepped into the foyer it suddenly hit him that Kyle might be mad about this later.

By the time he wondered if maybe it was a bad idea to risk incurring the wrath of Kyle, he realized that the house was far from silent. There was a distinct banging coming from the basement, the entrance to which was blocked by various pieces of furniture.

"The fuck?" he muttered, momentarily forgetting about both the car and Kyle, and walked toward the noise. It occurred to him that whatever was down there probably wasn't human (anymore), but he couldn't leave without checking to make sure. So, he began to move the furniture aside.

Either Ike was performing some kind of experiment down there before Kyle found him, or this was Kyle and Cartman's doing, and the reason why they came here in the dead of night. Either option was equally likely, and equally creepy. Kenny held his breath as he unlocked and opened the door.

Sheila Broflovski, or what used to be her, burst through the doorway the moment it was possible, causing Kenny to leap back against the wall. "Holy shit!" he shouted, elbowing her in the throat as he fumbled to get a good grip on his bat. He barely had time to take in the gaping wound in her neck or the sight of her rotting teeth before his bat made contact with the side of her head. She fell, and he hit her again for good measure, judging his kill thorough only when she stopped gurgling.

"This thing is pretty sweet," he mused, mentally thanking Stan for the idea as he peeled a piece of skin off of the bat. He stared down at Kyle's mother, who really didn't look much like her old self anymore (not that his bludgeoning helped at all). Her hair was a wild mess of red, the blood from her wounds blending with it almost seamlessly, and her skin had become bloated, grey and waxy like the rest of them.

He frowned. "Why the hell did he put you down there?"

The steps creaked and he realized that there was likely another parent to contend with. He turned around just in time to see Kyle's dad ascend into the doorway, groaning hungrily when he saw Kenny standing there. The blood soaked clothing and hanging entrails suggested that his death was more painful than Sheila's, and Kenny was willing to bet she was the one that turned first. She turned, and instead of doing anything to her, Gerald waited for her to take him, too. Romantic, in a sick sort of way.

But now wasn't the time to come up with a story about how Kyle's parents died. So, he took his bat in hand and swung it hard, pinning Mr. Broflovski's skull to the doorway with a nauseating crunch.

It was only after he caught his breath and took in the situation that a thought came to him: Kyle did this for a reason, back when he was clinging to the hope of a cure. He was going to be pissed.

Maybe Kenny would just keep this little event to himself, at least for a while. It would be hard to explain that God told him there was no cure.

"What was I here for?" he asked. "Right, car keys." He looked down at Sheila's body. "Mrs. Broflovski, I'm taking your car."

And with that, he grabbed the keys off of the table by the front door and was on his way.

It took Kenny two days, three cars (he really needed to learn how to siphon gas), and countless kills to finally locate his friends' vehicles on the side of the road. It didn't help that he had no maps and had to depend only on highway signs to lead him west, but it was a pretty straight shoot across Utah and he knew the gang was intending to head to Las Vegas. He figured as long as they didn't go off course, he'd get to them eventually, and thankfully he did. Cartman's van and Stan's car were seemingly abandoned on the side of the highway, and there was a distinct trail of corpses leading into the woods. He parked, no longer having to worry about Kyle recognizing his family's car, and followed the makeshift path.

"I heard you go into Kevin's tent last night," came Kyle's voice, sooner than Kenny expected. Through the trees he could see bright red and equally bright blonde curls by a shallow creek. Kenny smiled fondly; they were doing laundry, of all things. It had to be done, he supposed, but it seemed ridiculous and pointless with the state the world was currently in.

"And?" Bebe replied, not looking up from fruitlessly scrubbing at a blood stain.

Kyle stood to sling a pair of wet pants over a low hanging tree branch. "Did you sleep with him?" he asked. "And before you answer, when I say I heard you, I mean I heard you."

"Then why did you have to ask?" She sighed. "It just happened. We were talking, and we've both lost friends, good friends... and I was starting to feel like, you know, I was the only one who cared about it. Like, everyone else seems so apathetic."

"We aren't apathetic."

"I know that but I feel uncomfortable like, being upset about everything, you know? Like I'll be judged for it, or they'll think I'm weak." Bebe scowled down at the soapy river water. "Like we're all expected to just get over everything and continue on like people we love aren't dead. And I thought Kevin was like that too, because he seemed so... I don't know."

"Like this is a video game?"

"Exactly. But Craig, I think, was the last straw for him. And it's hard not to get closer to people in a situation like this, so we'd already been talking... and I heard him crying last night, in his tent, and I felt bad because he was alone and Cartman was on watch duty and even if he wasn't, what a shitty person to share your tent with, right? So I went over, and it just... happened."

Kenny's heart hurt, though he knew he didn't have the right to feel jealous. Kevin was alive, consistently alive, and had really stepped up to the plate since all this started. And Kenny barely knew Bebe on a personal level, his boyish love for her was founded mostly on the fantasy of what it might be like to be able to have a girlfriend without feeling guilty for constantly, albeit unintentionally, causing her pain. If he could ever have a real girlfriend, she was the kind of girl he wanted, but the universe always had plans for him, and none of those plans involved settling down.

It was a good thing that Bebe had moved on from Clyde, and it was a good thing the person she found was someone like Kevin. That's what he had to keep telling himself, anyway.

"It was nice," she continued, and, clearly having given up on the stain, stood to hang the shirt to dry. "I just never thought my first time would be with Kevin Stoley, in a tent in the woods, during the zombie apocalypse."

"You and Clyde never...?"

She sighed, and when Kyle started to apologize for mentioning him, she waved him off. "It's fine, we need to be able to talk about the people we lost," she said, with unexpected strength in her voice. "No, Clyde and I were never together like that. I wanted to wait. I think he might have cheated on me because of it, but I can't confirm that now and I guess it doesn't matter anymore."

A walker came out of the trees and before Kenny had a chance to leap out to help them, Bebe had taken a knife out of her belt and driven it into its eye. It seemed so effortless, so part of their daily routine... neither of them so much as flinched.

"Christ," she said with an irritated groan. "If they fuck up our laundry I will be so pissed."

Kenny decided now was a good time to come out of the trees, before the conversation went back to sex. Despite his acceptance that he and Bebe weren't going to happen and shouldn't happen, he still didn't want to hear about her escapades with Kevin.

"Hey guys," he called out before they had the opportunity to think he was a walking corpse (ironic, since he sort of always had been). They looked up, and didn't look even remotely fazed by his sudden reappearance.

"Hey Kenny," Kyle said, and went back to washing clothes.

Oh, so this was going to be one of those rebirths. The kind where not only did they forget he died, they'd think he'd been there all along. Of all rebirths, that was his least favorite kind. The 'oh, hey Kenny' kind. It made him feel so invisible. Unimportant.

He sighed.

"I hope you came over here to help us," Bebe said, looking both hopeful and annoyed.

"Uh, sure, I'll help."

"Good. Those other dickholes are so lazy. 'Guarding the camp' my ass."

Kyle hung up another piece of clothing. "It doesn't help that Cartman called it 'women's work' and assigned it to Bebe, Wendy, and me, naturally," he said, rolling his eyes. "Because clearly being gay makes me an honorary girl."

Kenny smirked. "So why is it just you two?"

"Wendy refused to come on grounds of sexism," Kyle replied.

"But really she just doesn't want to be around Kyle."

"Ah," Kenny said, feeling awkward. Apparently he hadn't missed much in the time he'd been gone, after all. Instead of pressing the subject further, he helplessly looked at the array of disgusting clothing and wondered where to begin.

"Don't think too hard about it," Kyle said, noting his confusion. "Washing them in river water doesn't do a whole lot of good. The goal is really to get rid of the smell and remove anything crusty. The stains are a lost cause." He handed Kenny the bottle of detergent.

"Right." Kenny wondered whether getting rid of the smell was actually a good idea, but he supposed it was awfully hard to deal with, even after getting used to it.

When they were finished, they took the wet clothes back to camp, which was a five minute walk from the creek, and hung them up again to finish drying. Kenny was relieved to see that everyone who was alive before he died was still there, and tried to ignore the fact that everyone acted like he'd been there all along. Dinner was canned soup, one per person, cooked over a pitiful little fire that Cartman made, and it was the first time in weeks that Kenny heard everyone talking and laughing as though nothing was wrong with the world.

They were all officially used to this life. It was both horrifying, because it meant that death and gore were the new normal, and satisfying, because they'd all become confident in their ability to survive. Kenny had no such confidence, but still found himself laughing along with the others to Cartman's retelling of the time they worked for the police department. It seemed like a story from another life - though he supposed, for him at least, that feeling was quite literal.

The only person missing from the campfire was Wendy, though she claimed it was because she wanted to nap before beginning her shift to watch over the camp. It was as good a reason as any, but no one believed it.

"How's it going?" he asked later that night, finding her sitting by the ashes that had been their fire.

"Fine." A moment of silence. "What do you want?"

"Can I sit?"

"Yeah."

He sat. "I think you should stop avoiding the group. It's not safe."

"I'm sorry, I haven't exactly been in the mood to hang around everyone lately," she spat sarcastically, with enough venom to make Kenny cringe. "Besides, no one wants me around. I make them uncomfortable."

"That's not true," he said, though maybe it was. "Everyone wants you around, you're part of the group. You're one of us. Bebe-"

"Bebe's been hanging out with Kevin, not me. And now they're fucking, on top of it, so I'm completely alone. And not only would I have to deal with that, but I'd also have to be around them." Kenny didn't have to ask who she meant; her tone made it clear enough that she was talking about Stan and Kyle. "Always together, always touching, with no shame and absolutely no regard for me and my feelings. Like they've completely forgotten I'm here. He cheated on me and I'm the one that feels awkward and outcast. Like an exile."

"No one's exiling you," Kenny offered unhelpfully. It might not even be true; he hadn't exactly been around a lot lately. She shot him a glare, and it was the first time he got a good look at her face since his return. Maybe it was the moonlight, but he thought she looked kind of sick.

"Sure they are. And besides, they all have this creepy attitude now that this is how life is going to be. They all act like killing those things is meaningless and I'm still so bad at killing them. I'm bad at it and I still find them disgusting and terrifying."

"They are disgusting and terrifying. Everyone still thinks that. They're just..."

"Desensitized," Wendy finished for him. She picked up a stick and began drawing in the dirt by their feet. "Well, they shouldn't be. But I wish I was."

"You'll get there," he said, half jokingly.

"No I won't." They sat in silence for a moment. "Everyone's pairing off. Pairing off or dying. And who do I have left to choose from? Cartman? He's an asshole and a sexist pervert. And all he ever talks about is Kyle. Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. It's always about him, with fucking everyone," she ranted, her voice gradually getting louder until she paused to contain herself. "I'm just so sick of him. I don’t get why everyone’s so obsessed with him."

"I don't know what to tell you, Wendy. You can't really avoid him, and I know he feels bad about everything."

"Of course he does. He acts like such a martyr and everyone feels bad for him, even Bebe, and she's my best friend. No one seems to care that he stole Stan from me." She tossed the stick into the pile of ashes. "But that's a joke, too. I never had Stan to begin with, let's be real here. I just didn't want to admit I failed."

"You didn't fail, sometimes things just don't work out the way you want them to."

"It wasn't even like I ever loved him, really. I was always on the lookout for someone better. I just... clung to him because I knew if I ended things for good he'd run off into the sunset with Kyle. And then I'd be the girl who turned her boyfriend gay. How unsexy is that?"

"You didn't turn him gay. He's definitely not gay, he was really into you. And he should've been, you're really hot," he said without thinking, and blushed. "Sorry."

"Thanks." She smiled at him. "My point, though, was that I'm going to die alone and it's a terrible feeling."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Kenny didn't really know what to say. It was a terrible feeling; he'd experienced it hundreds of times.

"Okay, look," she said suddenly, and turned to stare directly at him, her face oddly serious. "If I was literally on my death bed, would you help me die? Because I am going to die."

"That's a little morbid," he said, thinking she was talking figuratively about their overall situation.

"You don't understand." She sighed. "There's another reason, aside from Stan and Kyle, why I've been spending more time alone. I'm uncomfortable around everyone because of this..."

She pulled her sweatshirt down over her shoulder and he inhaled sharply. He didn't need her to tell him what was under the gauze and medical tape. Suddenly the reason behind her erratic behavior and apparent depression became clear.

"When?"

"A couple of days ago," she answered quietly, pulling her sweatshirt back up. "I told you, I'm not good at killing them. I wasn't meant for this, I was meant for politics."

Kenny didn't know what to say. Their other friends had died so quickly, just as he had the first two times. There wasn't time to dwell on it, it just happened. Wendy was living with it and going about her business, forced to pretend nothing was wrong because if anyone found out, they'd surely put her down.

"This is why you're so bothered by how desensitized they are."

"If they knew about this, they'd kill me. My friends. How terrifying is that? If your friends could murder you any moment over a little cut..."

"Wendy, if you were bitten..."

"I know. And I can feel it taking over. It's strange, like the worst fever I've ever had without any other symptoms. I'm fine but I know I'm not fine, I feel like I'm burning up but when I touch my skin it's freezing. The skin around the bite is rotting. I'm rotting, Kenny."

There were tears in her eyes and rolling down her face, but she was strangely stoic.

"I mean, it's not like I wanted to live in this world. I'm not cut out for it. I wanted to find the cure for breast cancer or become the first female president. Scrounging around for food and shelter in this hell hole doesn't appeal to me," she said, waving her hand almost flippantly. "So I want you to do something for me."

"... Okay," he answered, having a feeling as to what she was going to ask.

"I want you to kill me. And then I want you to kill me again. Just, be quiet about it, whatever you do. I don't want to make a spectacle of it."

They decided to do it just outside of camp. Without speaking, Wendy took the pillow out of her tent and followed Kenny to the edge of the clearing. He straddled her hips as she laid back on the grass and it was almost erotic, in some insane way, even knowing what he was about to do.

"You look really beautiful right now," he said, and it was true - her hair fanned out under her and the light of the moon was shining on her face at a perfect angle.

- Samara -

"Thank you."

Without really thinking about it, he leaned down and kissed her. Her skin was as cold as she said it was, but her lips were still soft, her mouth still sweet. She clutched at his shirt and her whole body shook with the sobs that were trying to escape her. He held her face, hands wet with her tears, and God's words echoed through his head again - "End their pointless existence."

"I'm glad it's you," she whispered when he pulled away. "I always thought you seemed otherworldly, like you knew all the answers but kept them locked away inside you."

"You have no idea."

"Do you think there's an afterlife?"

He smiled sadly. "I know there is."

She closed her eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm ready."

It was the first time Kenny had to perform a mercy killing, and he hoped it would be the only time. The way her body convulsed, hands wildly grasping at the pillow, sickened and horrified him, forced apologetic sobs from him even though he knew it was what she wanted. It was what had to be done.

When she stilled, and he took the pillow away, she still looked beautiful. Like she was just sleeping. He wiped his face on his sleeve and looked down at her, wishing there had been another option.

"I'm sorry it had to be this way," he whispered, and leaned down to press a chaste kiss to her forehead. Before he could even reach for the knife he'd brought to finish the job, she answered him with a groan.

"Oh, fuck!" he shouted, and a cold hand grabbed his arm as he tried to scramble away. Wendy's body came with him, eyes white and unseeing, teeth gnashing, fingernails scratching. He fumbled for the knife, but she was already on him. He screamed when her teeth tore through the flesh on his forearm, and by the time he jammed the blade into her eye - once, twice - it was too late.

Everyone was already awake and stumbling out of their tents when he dragged himself back to camp, all forced awake by the commotion he'd made. Kyle shouted and rushed toward him, seeing the blood seeping between his fingers as he uselessly tried to stop the bleeding with his other hand.

"What happened?!"

"Wendy - she was bitten, she turned," he said, purposely leaving the part out where she hid her bite for days and asked him to essentially assist her with her suicide. "She bit me before I could..."

Kyle held onto him as he fell to his knees, dizzy from shock and blood loss. He heard the familiar sound of Cartman's pistol.

"Move aside, Kyle. Gotta put him down."

"No! We're not killing Kenny!"

Kenny laughed at the irony of that statement and mumbled that it was really fine if they let him die, but he wasn't sure if anyone else heard him. He felt like passing out, could barely keep his head up. The blood wasn't stopping, and Kyle was screaming for supplies and for someone to start the fire back up. Vaguely, he could hear Bebe asking about Wendy.

He threw up.

It wasn't until Kyle had constructed a tourniquet underneath his elbow out of some kind of fabric and a screwdriver that he realized what he intended to do.

"Kyle, seriously, let me die, it's easier that way. I'll come back, I always do." But again, no one was listening to him. His vision was spotty, but he could make out Stan and Kevin at the campfire and Cartman standing by, still warily holding his gun. His arm felt numb.

"The bleeding stopped." Was that Ike? "We need something that will cut through bone."

"Cartman's machete?"

"That might work... Kyle, are you sure about this? Even if we can cauterize it properly, no one here is a professional. The blood vessels won't be tied off, and burning runs a serious risk of infection," Ike continued, and Kenny looked up to see him pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Even I don't have the necessary skills for this kind of thing."

"It's the only thing we can do. We have to try. I'm not letting another person die without making any attempt to save them."

Just let me die, please just let me die. I'll come back, I always do.

Kyle took Cartman's machete from him and Kenny screamed when it tore through his arm, not just once, but again and again. Ike yelled at someone to 'put the shovel in the fire', and Kenny wasn't sure he was hearing right through his pain - that didn't make any sense.

He was begging with them to stop when Stan finally came over and took the machete from Kyle. For one brilliant moment, Kenny thought he was taking mercy on him. But then Stan brought it down on his arm one more time and he heard his bone crack straight through. It was something that happened to him a million times before, but having a limb torn from his body never stopped being painful

Kyle's voice floated into his ears, seeming so far away even though he was sitting right next to him. "Stay with us, Kenny, you're almost done."

Bebe handed Ike the shovel and Kenny could feel pressure on his remaining body parts - Stan and Cartman were holding him down. The metal head of the shovel was searing hot when it came in contact with his arm.

He screamed again, and everything faded to black.

-6-

Eric knew from the start that cutting Kenny's arm off was a bad idea, so he wasn't surprised at all when it started oozing pus after a couple of days. Kenny's skin burned and he never seemed to stop sweating, and it didn't take long for Eric to get sick of the gibberish he was spewing about death and Wendy and saving the world.

He avoided that tent when he could, especially since they had no way of knowing if the amputation even worked. Kenny could go at any moment and Eric definitely didn't want to be in close quarters with him when he turned into one of them.

Kyle, on the other hand, refused to leave Kenny's side, as if he was holding himself personally responsible for his survival. He was responsible, in a way, though Eric blamed everyone fairly equally for this setback since he was the only one who wanted to shoot Kenny right away. But really this was Wendy's fault.

That dumb bitch.

One of Kenny's feverish ramblings lead to the discovery that Wendy had in fact been hiding a bite for days. She was willing to put all of them in danger to save her own ass, like she expected herself to be the one person in the world who was immune to the zombie "disease". Kenny said she was afraid. Well, she should have been afraid. Eric would have mostly taken great pleasure in shooting her in the face. Mostly.

It took all of three days for them to run out of medical supplies, partly due to Wendy having stolen shit from their first aid kits to deal with her bite, but mostly because Kenny's stump refused to heal even a little bit. Ike and Kyle pointlessly wasted most of their Tylenol and all of the shit they had for cleaning wounds when it would have been much easier to let the bastard die.

"We need to go into town," Kyle said one day, exiting the tent that used to be Eric's but was now, apparently, their medical ward.

"For what?" Kevin asked, nearly jumping at the chance to go on a supply run. Idiot.

"I don't really know, but I need to get to a pharmacy to get something, anything, for Kenny... more stuff to clean his arm with, for one, and everything we've been using to wrap it with is totally soaked through," Kyle explained, looking at everyone else for more suggestions. "He's not getting better, I don't know-"

"What the fuck do you think you can get at Walgreens that will fix him?" Eric snapped. "Fucking Neosporin? Kyle, he's fucked. Accept it. You cut off his arm and now he's going to die."

"He would have died if I didn't do it, asshole!"

"Guys, look," Bebe interrupted, stepping up beside Kevin. "We need to try, for Kenny's sake. I agree with Kyle, we've lost too many people already, and we've been too careless. If there's any possibility of Kenny surviving this, we need to do whatever it takes."

"Besides, we need to move camp anyway," Kevin added, taking Bebe's hand. "We've been here way too long already. More walkers are coming into camp every day, and it's not by accident. They know we're here."

So despite Eric's misgivings, they disassembled camp and lugged all their shit, plus Kenny, to their cars. Eric had to put up with Kenny moaning and groaning in his back seat, since the van had the most space, but it wasn't so bad because having him there meant having Kyle there, too. The other four went in Stan's van, so it was just the two of them. Well, the two of them plus Kenny, but he was delirious enough not to count.

Bebe had mentioned that there were signs for a town a few miles west, so that was where they headed, with Stan's car leading the way.

Supply runs were the worst part about living the way they were. Going into towns, or even simply through them, was stressful and dangerous, and every time they walked into a store they had no idea how many walkers were inside waiting for them. Eric hated that shit, and certainly didn't want to die from a zombie jumping out from behind a cereal display and eating his face off.

"You'll be okay, Kenny," Kyle said, turning around in the passenger seat. Kenny probably couldn't even hear him, he was so wrapped up in whatever pain he was in.

Eric groaned. "Shut the fuck up."

"You shut up! You aren't helping."

"Whatever."

They slowed down as they entered town, forced to drive around abandoned cars at a snail's pace as usual. But unlike the other towns they'd been to, Salina had just as many mutilated corpses littering the streets as it had undead ones walking around.

"Someone's been here already," Kyle said, in a way that made Eric shudder. They'd yet to encounter another group of survivors, and he wasn't interested in finding out if these ones were hostile.

"Well, hopefully they left."

They pulled up to the nearest pharmacy, and Stan was charged with guarding Kenny while the rest of them went inside with Kyle and Ike. While Ike ran off to the pharmacy with Kevin and Bebe, Eric followed Kyle through the rest of the store. He hoped to get some snacks out of this venture, too, so when Kenny ended up dying it wouldn't feel like a total waste of time.

But the shelves were sparse. Some almost completely bare, particularly the medical shit and, of course, the food.

"Whoever killed all those walkers came here, too," Kyle said bitterly, pointing to the shelves. "And recently. See? The dust hasn't completely covered where these bottles used to be."

"I thought the blood in here looked a little too fresh," Eric replied as he kicked a body aside. He was joking, of course - the blood here was just as crusty as it was expected to be.

As they rounded the corner, Kyle drove his axe into a walker and then carelessly shoved it into a Q-Tip display with an enraged growl. "Fuck this," he snapped. "There's nothing here! They cleaned out everything we could have used!"

"Don't get worked up. The last thing we need is for your inner Jew Princess to show herself," Eric said, smirking when Kyle glared at him. "Maybe Ike found some morphine or some shit."

"Yeah, maybe." He didn't sound hopeful.

They met with the others at the pharmacy counter, and quickly noticed that the shelves there were nearly empty, too.

"Nothing for pain or infections," Ike said simply, though he didn't look particularly upset about it. It seemed more like he viewed this as a small setback in some kind of experiment than anything else.

"The fuck is that?" Eric asked when Bebe showed up with a plastic shopping bag.

She flushed deeply. "None of your business."

"Birth control and condoms," Kevin answered proudly, and Bebe elbowed him in the gut.

Kyle let out a loud scoff. "Great, Kenny's dying and all you can think about is sex. This is a serious situation, you know!"

Bebe glared. "Excuse me, Kyle, but my best friend just died! And my boyfriend, not too long ago! I think I know this is serious," she snapped, poking him in the chest roughly. "We just thought since we're here already, we should take some preventative measures for certain things that couldn't possibly happen at a worse time!"

"Okay, we get it," Eric said, stepping in front of Kyle. "A cat fight will just attract zombies."

"No, I'm really annoyed right now and I have the right to say so! He knows how upset I've been all this time, but here he is acting like I don't care about Kenny, or that I'm treating all this as a joke by not wanting to get pregnant! The only reason he gives a shit about this is because it's his friend that's dying this time."

"That's not true!"

"So you're saying if it was Craig or Clyde, or Wendy, you'd be trying this hard to save them?"

"Yeah, I would be!" Kyle shouted, and although he probably believed it was true, Eric didn't quite agree. Kyle was selfish; they all were, lately. "We've all lost people, I'm just trying to-"

"Oh fuck you, you've barely lost anyone. Your brother is right here, your boyfriend is outside perfectly fine - just stop, okay? Stop judging," Bebe finished, and left the circle to make her way out of the store. Kevin shrugged at them and followed her.

Eric looked back at Kyle and saw that his face was red, like he was trying hard not to cry. He wanted to say that Bebe didn't mean it, or something like that, or make a comment about how Kyle had lost people, but everything he was thinking sounded wrong. He had a habit of making things worse when it came to Kyle, even though it was usually on purpose.

So instead of saying anything, he awkwardly reached out to touch his shoulder, but Kyle gave him a scathing look and jerked away. "There's nothing here. We need to go to the next store," he muttered as he turned away. Ike followed, and so did Eric.

But Salina had been all but cleaned out, and they were only able to scrounge enough material to change Kenny's bandages once. Gunnison, the town north of Salina, had all of its pharmacies and grocery stores looted, too, and each town they drove through seemed more vacant than the last. And with each store they checked and each disappointment, Kyle grew more and more frantic, and more annoying.

Eric was about ready to strangle him when they came across a sign by the road on the way to Spring City. He stopped dead, and Stan stopped his car in turn.

"Welcome survivors," he read out loud. The words were painted in a bright white and there was an arrow pointing in the direction of a wooded hill. As he was squinting, he heard the door click beside him and then a flash of red hair ran through his line of vision. "Kyle! What the fuck?"

He opened the door and practically fell out of the car in his rush to catch up, effectively abandoning Kenny inside the van.

"The top coat of paint is practically fresh," Kyle said when Eric joined him in front of the sign. He traced one of the letters and all Eric could think about was how soft his hand looked, even after weeks of slaughter and outdoor living. Kyle looked toward the hill. "Not wet, but... Cartman, there are people living up there."

"They could be crazy."

"Or they could be the people who've been cleaning out supplies from those towns. They could be able to help Kenny."

Kyle was giving him that look.

"Oh no. Fuck no, we're not going to fucking... waltz into these people's camp and ask for medicine and shit! They could be fucking cannibals!"

"Cannibals."

"Yes, Kyle, cannibals. Everyone knows that people turn into cannibals during the apocalypse."

"I'm so fucking sick of this 'everyone knows what happens in the apocalypse' shit! No one knows anything about the apocalypse! It hasn't happened until now!"

The rest of the group walked over before Eric had a chance to respond, and Kevin greeted them with an awkward, "Hey guys, what's up?"

Stan narrowed his eyes at Eric and took the opportunity to stand directly between him and Kyle. Eric narrowed his eyes right back. Over the weeks, he'd started to wonder if Stan had finally caught on to him, due in part to their close quarters and also because he'd been the one to save Kyle from that attack. He didn't particularly mind; if Stan became paranoid he might end up simply pushing Kyle away, and Eric couldn't complain about that.

He could, however, complain about the fact that Stan was fucking Kyle in the first place. It was unsurprising, but it was definitely gross to think about. And yet, for some reason, Eric couldn't stop thinking about it, even it was mostly to wonder about what Kyle looked and sounded like.

"It looks like there's a group of survivors here," Kyle told everyone, oblivious to Eric's thoughts. "I think they might be the ones looting the surrounding towns, which means they could have the supplies we need to help Kenny."

"Do you think they'll have food, too?" Ike asked, putting a hand over his stomach.

"You guys are assuming that they're even nice people," Stan said. "They could be psychos, or, like, cannibals or something."

"Oh my fucking God, they're not going to be cannibals!" Kyle snapped. Stan looked confused, and Eric couldn't help but laugh.

Bebe shrugged, having apparently calmed down from her earlier outburst. "There's only one way to find out. If they are cannibals, I guess we'll cross that bridge when we come to it."

They decided to leave Kenny in the van since he needed too much assistance to move and wouldn't be able to defend himself if the people did turn out to be crazy. Kevin volunteered to stay with him in case any walkers happened to pass by. The rest of them picked up their preferred weapons and one gun each, and headed off in the direction the arrow was pointing to.

"They want other survivors to find them," Kyle remarked as they passed another arrow, this one carved into a tree.

"Could be a trap," Eric said.

Eventually they came to a large clearing - or, rather, what Eric assumed was a clearing at one point in time. Around the outer edge was a brick wall that was twice as tall as he was, and no entrance to be seen. They all gave each other confused glances and began to walk around the perimeter.

Eventually, what looked like a guard tower came into view.

"Ahoy, travelers!" a voice rang out. Eric's grip tightened on his gun as they all looked up at the figure waving at them from the tower. "Do you come seeking refuge?"

"... Yes?" Kyle responded, though the man in the tower sounded somewhat ridiculous in Eric's opinion.

"Welcome to Safe Haven Village! Our door is open to all fellow survivors who are non-hostile and have the goal of rebuilding society! Please put down your weapons and someone, also unarmed, will be out shortly!"

And with that the man was gone. They all looked at each other, and Kyle was the first to throw his weapons down. Stan followed suit. Eric was the last to give up his weapons, but in the end he didn't have much of a choice.

Just as they were wondering if someone was actually coming, and from where, a trap door opened up just feet in front of where they stood. They hadn't even noticed it; the slab of wood that enclosed what looked like a simple pothole had been covered in leaves and dirt.

Three men climbed out, each with bright blond hair and toothy smiles. Immediately, Eric didn't trust them.

"Welcome," the middle one said, arms outstretched warmly, like he was inviting them in for a hug. "You are the first group to come to us since we painted our sign, it gladdens us to know we're not the only survivors."

"What is this place?" Bebe asked.

"It began as a self sufficient living space for people who wanted to enjoy a simple, independent life. Naturally, it was an ideal location to come across in times such as these. Once we arrived here, we began constructing this wall out of building materials they had set aside before this disaster struck. The brick was meant for housing, but the wall provides our residents with a much needed sense of security."

"This is John, by the way," the man on the left said. "And I'm Jeremy. Our other friend is Timothy."

"How did you come across our little sanctuary?"

"We've been surviving on the road."

"Whereabouts are you from?"

"Colorado," Kyle said, and Eric couldn't help but think he was being overly trusting of these people. Not that it mattered where they were from, since they weren't going back.

"You've come quite a long way, then, especially in such dire circumstances. Surely you'd enjoy a safe place to rest, at least for a while," John said.

Jeremy nodded. "Our goal is to welcome any passing survivors into our home, so long as they're willing to place their weaponry in our storage shed."

"Weapons are unnecessary at Safe Haven Village. Our officials take turns guarding the wall; you would all be quite safe here."

"Can we discuss it first?" Stan asked, and the three men agreed to step away for as long as they needed.

"These people are freaks," Eric said the moment they were out of earshot. "This is a fucking trap, I'm telling you."

"They just want to give people a chance for the sake of saving humanity," Kyle argued. "They said this was built to be a self sufficient town - that means they probably have water, gardens, maybe even electricity. They could help us save Kenny."

"We should at least check it out," Ike said. "See what they have to offer. If we don't want to stay, we'll leave. But this could be exactly what we need."

"Kevin would agree if he was here," Bebe added.

Eric couldn't believe he and Stan were the only ones who weren't sure about the place. Stan, of all people, was his only ally. But eventually they had to give in, and after a good ten minutes of bickering, they agreed to at least give the place a shot.

They beckoned the three men back over and Kyle stepped forward. "Our cars and supplies are back at the road, by your sign, with two more of our group. One of them is very injured and we were hoping you had supplies."

"We're well stocked in nearly anything you might require, including medical supplies."

"Do you have a doctor?"

Jeremy nodded, his smile never faltering. Eric still found them creepy, but he could tell by the way Kyle's shoulders fell in relief that there was no going back now.

The men accompanied them back to their cars and helped them transport their supplies, freeing Stan and Kyle up to help Kenny along. He looked like he was barely conscious, and the gauze over his stump was soaked through with yellowish pus. Eric saw their new "friends" exchange glances.

The town itself, once they were inside, came as quite a shock. The houses were small and eerily quaint, and there were vegetable gardens and chickens enclosed in fences. There were even children running around, and people chatting away like nothing was going on outside of the brick wall that surrounded them.

John brought Kenny to the clinic, which was a tiny building just beside the shed where they were forced to put their weapons, and Jeremy and Timothy lead them to their house.

"Elder Hales will be by to meet you shortly. In the meantime, make yourselves at home."

And then they were alone with their belongings, unsure of what to say or do as they waited. Eric made a comment about how they were probably going to be initiated into a cult or murdered in their sleep, but everyone seemed to be too preoccupied with their own thoughts to pay him any mind.

Elder Hales turned out to be just as cheerful as the other people they'd met, and he was apparently the leader of the town. It didn't take long for them to discover that the vast majority of the people living there were Mormon, which wasn't unexpected considering that they were in Utah. Elder Hales informed them that their weapons were in safe keeping and would be returned to them if they decided to leave, and also that Kenny was being looked after by their resident physician. Then he took them on a tour of the compound.

Eric made sure to pay close attention to everything. The tour was quite helpful, as they found out that the place had a fresh water well and ran on solar power. They had cleaned out the surrounding towns in regard to non-perishable food, more water for backup, medical supplies, gasoline, and ammunition. The village had already been growing its own food before the apocalypse even began, both in small garden patches and in a large community greenhouse. There was a large, but crude, mess hall and a latrine that also had real showers.

Eric got the impression that the people who built the place were a bunch of hippies, but there was no denying its value in the current state of the world.

He still didn't trust any of the assholes they'd met so far, but the more he saw, the more he wanted to stay. And staying, of course, would mean running the current leaders out of town and taking it over himself. He wasn't going to live under the authority of anyone, especially not a bunch of fucking Mormons.

They spent the next couple of days getting used to their new surroundings and meeting the other people that lived there. Eric had a little chat with Kevin the first night they were there, and they agreed to keep their eyes and ears open for any useful information.

The house they were given was a shack made out of stone and clay. It had three rooms, which were cramped and only big enough for their belongings and two cots each. They were forced to eat in the community center with everyone else in town, though that amounted to only about twenty other people. Overall, Eric hated it - it was hardly better than sleeping in tents and they had to answer to Elder Hales and his "officers". Eric despised not having absolute power over his own actions, and his efforts to investigate the town any further were always foiled by their watchful eyes.

But the rest of the group seemed to love it. Of course they did; they were all stupid enough to buy into the false sense of security the wall brought. They loved having fresh produce and a place to go to the bathroom (even if it was just a glorified hole in the ground), but mostly, Eric thought, they just liked having the opportunity to pretend everything was going to be okay.

That ended on their third day, though, when Jeremy and John came to inform them that Kenny had passed away during the night.

"We did all we could for your friend."

Kyle shook his head. "No."

"He was very sick when you came to us, and the amputation was, ah, less than professional. The infection-"

The two men glanced at each other and their faces grew serious. "Our doctor tried to reverse the effects of his infection, but the blood loss and high fever... we're very sorry."

"We are going to burn the body. You can come mourn for your friend if you'd like."

And the conversation was over.

Later that week, after Kenny's funeral, Eric was standing outside late at night wishing for a cigarette.

"You're still awake?" came a voice from beside him, and he glanced over to see Kyle. He smirked. Just the person he wanted to see.

"Yeah. Taking a piss?"

"Couldn't sleep," Kyle said, leaning back against the wall.

Eric stuck his hands in his pockets. He'd sort of gone outside because he couldn't stand listening to the whispering coming from Stan and Kyle's room, but that apparently wasn't going to be an issue now.

"Those assholes were lying to us," Eric said after a moment, his voice low in case anyone was lurking. He hadn't gotten the opportunity to talk to Kyle about this before, though he'd wanted to. "They killed Kenny on purpose."

"They said they did everything they could," Kyle shot back, like he'd been trying to convince himself of that for days.

Eric shrugged. "A lie. Kyle, I'm a fucking fantastic liar. I know how to lie. And I can tell when bad liars are trying to lie. They killed him, probably because they didn't want to risk infecting the whole fucking village if he turned. I mean, I would've done the same thing, but it doesn't make them any less fucked up."

"They wouldn't - they're nice people. Just because you're fucked up doesn't mean they are."

"No, I don't think they're as nice as they want us to believe." Eric turned to face him fully and took a step forward, lowering his voice even further. "I don't trust any of these people. Kevin and I were talking, and this town is too valuable to just sit here and take orders from some asshole Mormons who haven't even had to survive out there."

Kyle shook his head. "Cartman, don't start with that shit."

"What? You're telling me you don't get a bad feeling from Elder Hales or those three douchebags who've been stalking us for the past three days?"

"I... they're strange, but they took us in. They're feeding us and just accepted us into their group without a single question asked. We can't start stepping on toes here. I know for a fact that me and Stan and Bebe don't want to go back out into the wild, and I don't want Ike out there either."

"I don't plan on stepping on toes or going back out there," Eric said, his mouth pulling to one side. He couldn't believe Kyle couldn't see the big picture. "I plan on taking this place over."

"Cartman, no."

"Ike's with me too, you know. He recognizes the value in this place. It's too good to leave, and by not owning it ourselves, we're always going to be living day by day. The wall is just false security. Keeps us safe from the walkers, for now, I guess. But it doesn't keep us safe from other people. I know you don't feel safe with Elder Hales as the all-powerful leader."

"Like I'd feel safer with you?"

"You should."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I feel plenty safe, thanks. Don't go wrecking things for us here with some crazy scheme."

"You're lying," Eric said, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall. "I heard you and Stan talking the other night. Suicide pact?"

Kyle flushed. "That's... it's a backup. Just in case things get really bad... we don't want to live without each other."

"Ugh," Eric groaned, rolling his eyes. "It's cowardly, is what it is. If Stan's the kind of guy that would resort to a suicide pact instead of surviving, then he deserves you even less than I thought he did."

"It was my idea, asshole, and anyway - wait, what?"

"Nothing."

Kyle snickered. "No, you just said Stan doesn't deserve me." He turned to face Eric, eyes sparkling mischievously in the moonlight, like he just heard a great piece of gossip. "You think I'm too good for him!"

"No, not... I just hate him more than I hate you. That's all."

Kyle grinned and took a step forward to tug on Eric's shirt collar teasingly. "You want me, don't you?" he asked, laughing as if it were some big joke.

It was infuriating, but in a lot of ways, it was a big joke. It was a joke that Eric's life revolved around ruthlessly torturing someone for years with the ridiculous notion that it would get him anywhere, and then end up forced to admit defeat to Stan Marsh of all people. If he was a stupid pathetic loser, what the hell did that make Eric?

He grabbed Kyle's wrist and pushed it back, which only made the shorter boy laugh more. "Fuck you, Kyle. I don't give a shit about you."

"Right. Well, don't worry. I'm not going to kill myself any time soon. That is, if you don't fuck this up by trying to start a mutiny. I'm not under the delusion that we're completely safe here; it makes me uncomfortable not to have any weapons despite being blocked off from the walkers for the time being. However, these people took us in when they didn't have to. And I'm putting my faith in their kindness, at least until they do something to fuck that up."

Eric let go and attempted not to dwell on how delicate Kyle's wrist felt in his grasp. "That's fine, but your opinion doesn't mean shit. Me and Kevin and Ike are going to start making plans tomorrow to get this done as soon as possible. You can join us when the time comes, or defend these creepy fucks."

"Aren't you worried I'll tell them?"

"No, because you won't. You know as well as I do that it will get us all kicked out, so you're going to keep your mouth shut for once in your life."

Kyle scowled. "Fine. But when they figure you out, I won't be sad when they throw you out. And believe me, Kevin and Ike will put everything on you, so it will be just you out there. Alone."

"Please, I bet you'll cry your eyes out and feel totally responsible, like you have over everything else that's happened."

"I will feel absolutely nothing."

Eric narrowed his eyes, but Kyle kept looking defiant. "You will. You already do. You feel something, that's why you've been coming to me for favors and trusting me with important shit like the fact that your dead parents are still stumbling around in your basement. You felt something when I saved your ass that day instead of loverboy in there," he jerked his thumb toward the house, "and there's a reason why you trust me enough to be alone out here with me. You know I'd take a bullet for you, and you fucking love that feeling."

Kyle took a step back, shaking his head. "You're insane. You realize that ‘loverboy' is my soulmate, right?"

"He's an asshole and you know it. You came to me multiple times over the years, whining about his booze addiction and how he treats you like shit. You think that's going to change now? Jesus Christ, Kyle, he waited until the world ended to admit to fucking you." Eric matched Kyle's step back with his own step forward. "If it were me, I'd have been bragging to everyone from the start. And I sure as hell wouldn't have been dating someone else on the side."

"Uh, thanks, I guess. But why are you even bothering to say all this? You must have known my heart belonged to Stan from the start," Kyle said softly, with this horrible, pitying tone to his voice. "You have to be aware that you have no chance, no matter what he does."

Eric felt like punching him, but instead he lurched forward and grabbed Kyle by the shoulders. He swung him into the wall and did something he never had the balls to do before - he kissed him, hard. It was exactly how he'd always imagined it, right down to the way Kyle hit him in the chest until his fingers relaxed and curled into Eric's shirt. He had one hand in Kyle's hair, which he'd always fantasized about, and, amazingly, Kyle was actually returning the kiss, opening up for him like the sheer force of it knocked any sense out of him.

It was over too soon.

"You fucking asshole!" Kyle shouted, apparently not giving a shit if he woke anyone up. He shoved Eric hard, causing him to stumble back a couple of steps. He might have been annoyed if he wasn't too delirious to care about anything.

"Oh, like you weren't creaming your panties in anticipation," Eric shot back, once he regained some of his composure. "You wanted it."

"No, I didn't! I literally just told you that you had no chance with me and you just-" he paused, substituting an angry groan for the end of his sentence. "I'm telling Stan, you know."

"Are you going to tell him you kissed me back?"

Kyle just glared, hands balled into fists at his sides. Eric prepared himself for an incoming punch, but instead Kyle just whipped around and stomped into the house.

And then he was alone again.

If Kyle did tell Stan, Eric would have to answer for it the next day. But for now, it seemed completely worth it. At least now he wouldn't die without kissing Kyle at least once, even if it wasn't exactly consensual.

It wasn't the love confession he'd always pictured either, the kind that would have Kyle shaking with need by the end of it. But, there was always next time.

He went inside after a minute and jacked off before drifting off to sleep with Kevin snoring in the other bed. In the morning, they would begin planning and investigating the inner workings of Safe Haven Village. It wouldn't be long before everything fell into place.... things were about to take a turn for the better, he could feel it.

-7-

"So what's the plan now?"

They were standing on the guard tower, the only place where they were allowed to hold weapons and one of the few places they could talk freely without being overheard. It was technically only Stan's shift, but he and Kyle sometimes kept each other company and no one really seemed to mind. Ike had only just joined them, sitting in the corner so he wouldn't be seen. He seemed to be under the impression that the Elders would become suspicious if too many people from their group congregated up in the guard tower. Stan could understand where he was coming from.

"Like you guys care," Ike said without looking up from his notepad.

"We care. We just don't think it's a good idea," Kyle replied as he aimed to take fire at a walker that just stumbled into the clearing.

Ike waited for him to take the shot before continuing, "So what makes you think I'd tell you what we're planning?"

"Because I'm your brother, and because I'm probably the only person who can talk some sense into you," Kyle said with a quick glare.

Ike rolled his eyes. "You're the one who needs some sense. The more I learn about this place, the more I agree with what Cartman wants to do. It's been three weeks now and they're still observing us."

"They just want to make sure we aren't crazy. Can you blame them for being paranoid? I mean, you are planning on taking them down."

Stan simply stood by and watched the exchange take place. He'd learned over the years that it was best to let Kyle do most of the talking, especially when Kyle felt cornered. If he said anything that could remotely be taken as defending Cartman's plan, he'd have to deal with sulking and resentful, passive aggressive comments for days. If he stepped up to defend their position against Cartman's plan, Kyle might think that he thought Kyle wasn't capable of standing up for his beliefs. And since he really couldn't seem to do anything right lately, he wasn't prepared to take the risk.

Kyle was always like that, though, ever since Stan could remember. He was so unpredictable, so unstable in his thoughts and moods, that it was impossible to tell what would set him off and when. It was one of the main reasons why a lot of their classmates didn't like Kyle. He could be hard to deal with sometimes, and Stan knew that better than anyone. But for some reason, he thought that volatile, back and forth nature was what made Kyle perfect. Stan's mood never seemed to change much, not since he was ten. It was Kyle's whirlwind of emotions that made his life interesting.

But something had shifted in Kyle since the apocalypse began. He was more resentful, less trusting of the people he should trust and too trusting of people he probably shouldn't, and he kept Stan at arm's length as often as he could.

They hadn't even had sex since before the camping trip. He'd barely been able to touch Kyle since before all this bullshit began, and it was driving him nuts in more ways than one. Kyle gave him blowjobs sometimes to make up for it, but he wouldn't allow any reciprocation.

It wasn't even just about sex, though. Emotionally, he simply wasn't there. The closest they'd come to addressing their relationship in weeks was when Kyle told him that he would kill himself if Stan died. It was somewhat unexpected, not to mention morbid, but Stan had always felt that way about Kyle so he couldn't really judge him. That night, Kyle let him get as far as unbuttoning his pants before pushing him away, saying it was too soon and he should be more respectful of Kenny's recent passing. How that related to their sex life, Stan didn't know.

And yet, he let Cartman kiss him. That was infuriating. Stan didn't really care how upset Kyle seemed to be about it, the point was that it happened in the first place. He knew Cartman was trying to move in on Kyle. He always fucking had been, it was so obvious now, looking back on it.

Stan's grip tightened on his rifle. If that bastard tried anything again, he'd-

"Right, Stan?" Kyle asked, his voice cutting into Stan's train of thought. He looked over and was met with a glare; Kyle knew he hadn't been listening to his tirade.

"Oh, yeah."

"Listen, my friend Sarah told me some fucked up shit today," Ike said, referring to a girl he'd been hanging out with. She was one of the original residents of Safe Haven Village, from before everything went down and the Mormons moved in. Cartman called her a dirty hippie. "She said that when Elder Hales and his people first came around, they acted like they wanted to live side by side with the people that were already living here."

Kyle bit his lip, looking like he didn't want to know what Ike had to say. Stan got the feeling their bubble was about to be burst, too.

"For a while they did, and it was their idea to build the wall for security. But right when they gained everyone's trust, right after Elder Hales was declared the leader of the group, things changed," Ike said, expression serious. "There were more people here before, Kyle, and they drove them out,"

"Why?"

"They didn't fit into Elder Hales' vision for the new world order or something. Him and his creepy lackeys sent them packing once the wall was up. Either they spoke out against his leadership, or they were simply not the kind of people he wanted around. Atheists, mostly, and the black family that lived here. Sarah's best friend was one of them."

"I don't believe it, they-"

"Kyle, face the facts. You don't know anything about those guys! Just because they seem nice doesn't mean they are. Cartman can seem nice too, when he wants something. Is he really nice? No."

Stan saw Kyle's cheeks redden. Maybe it was dawning on him that Cartman was only pretending to give a shit in order to get into his pants. Of course Kyle bought into that crap, he always fell for it when Cartman put real effort into his schemes. Well, Stan wasn't going to stand idly by anymore. He'd always been the one to pull Kyle back whenever Cartman sucked him in, he wasn't going to stop now.

"So why are you supporting his plot, then?" he asked Ike. "He's only trying to become president of the town, he doesn't actually care about anyone else."

"Kevin and I aren't planning on giving him total authority once this all goes down, because you're right, he'd probably be just as bad as Hales," Ike answered, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "We know what we're doing, don't worry. But Hales needs to go, regardless of what Cartman's motives are. Kevin's worried they'll kick him out soon because of his ethnicity. And what if they found out we're Jewish?"

Kyle and Stan exchanged glances.

"I don't understand... everyone we've met has seemed so genuine."

"As far as Sarah knows, most of the people in town aren't aware of what Hales' plans are. They were told at a town meeting that the people they kicked out simply decided to leave, or were attacked during the wall construction, or got sick and died 'mysteriously', like Kenny." Ike closed his notepad and set it aside. "The people who came here with him all believed that bullshit, but they aren't involved in it. Sarah's people didn't believe a word of it. They've been waiting for a group like ours to come in and band together with them."

Stan shook his head. "This is so fucked. I don't get it, the Mormons I met when we were kids weren't like this. My friend Gary was one of the most open minded people I knew and his family was really nice."

"Like I said, it's just Hales and those three guys that showed us around and always seem to be lurking, even now after being here for weeks," Ike said, standing up. "You guys really should rethink this. Our lives will be better, and we'll be safer, if we can get rid of the current 'administration', so to speak." He began to climb down the ladder. "See you at dinner."

Kyle had watch duty that night, and Stan decided not to join him. Instead, he stayed up talking to Kevin about the plan. Apparently, it was supposed to go into action within the next week or two. Cartman had been spending a lot of time sucking up to Elder Hales, and all Kevin had to do was sneak into the weaponry shed when Cartman gave him the go-ahead. Then they'd storm their homes in the dead of night and take them out when they least expected it. It sounded relatively simple, but they were waiting for the right moment.

Stan didn't see the harm in it, if these guys were really as bad as Ike said they were. Bebe had been convinced of it, too, so the only person standing in their way was Kyle.

But Kyle wanted so badly for things to work out, and he didn't want anyone else to die. He was willing to put all of his faith in people he didn't even know if it meant keeping everyone alive and safe, even though it was a stupid thing to do. Kyle had always been too trusting.

Stan was in bed looking at pictures when Kyle came back from his shift. "Hey," he said, glancing up. He almost wanted to hide the photographs under his pillow, but Kyle had already noticed them.

"What are you doing?" Kyle asked as he climbed into the bed they'd made by pushing two cots together. He smelled good, and Stan thought he must have showered just before his shift.

"I kind of went through your bag, sorry. I wanted to see if you brought any books to read, and I found this one," he said, holding up The Great Gatsby. "These fell out, so I never got around to reading. Are you pissed?"

Kyle shrugged. "I guess not." He moved closer, settling down against Stan's chest to see which picture he was holding. "I always liked that one."

It was a picture he'd taken shortly after their relationship started. Stan didn't remember exactly when, but it was early on, before he got back together with Wendy. Kyle was in his lap, holding the camera out and smiling wide. Stan had his face buried in Kyle's neck, arms locked tight around him. He'd been staring at this picture for a good ten minutes already; it was like looking into an alternate universe where things were the way they should be.

"You look so happy," he said quietly.

"I was," Kyle answered sadly, and reached for another one. This picture was taken by someone else; they were twelve and not paying any attention to the camera. "I already loved you in this one. Can you tell?"

"I can't believe I couldn't see it back then."

"You always had other stuff going on. And I didn't want you to know, anyway."

"Do you still love me?" he asked before he could stop himself. Kyle gave him a strange look.

"Of course I do. Stan, if this is about Cartman, I already-"

"It's not. It's about you and me. You seem different, like you'd never be able to look this happy with me now," he said, holding up the first photograph. "I get that everything's gone to shit, but... I'm kind of tired of being alone, dude."

"You aren't alone, I'm right here."

"No, you're not. You're a million miles away. And you won't let me touch you."

Kyle shifted away, looking absurdly offended by the prospect of Stan wanting anything physical. "Ugh, Stan, is this about sex?"

"You're damn right it's about sex! But it's also about you pushing me away every chance you get! If you hate me that much, or can't trust me still, for whatever reason, just tell me, okay? Wendy's dead for Christ's sake, what more do you want?"

Kyle gasped and shoved him. "I never wanted her to die, asshole! How dare you?"

"I know!" Stan said, backtracking as heat rose in his cheeks. That was definitely the wrong thing to say. "I know that, sorry. But I really do think you still hate me. And all I want to do is get us back and make up for my mistakes, but I guess if I'm not doing a good enough job for you... there's always Cartman."

"So this is about Cartman."

"It's not about Cartman! Just listen to me, okay?" Stan snapped, growing irritated. "It's the end of the fucking world, Kyle, we should be spending this time fucking and pouring our hearts out to each other and making sure we know where we stand! I told you not to shut me out and you've done exactly that. If there's something you're not telling me-"

"It's not - I know, okay? I know that's how it should be, but I can't do it. Every time I close my eyes I see blood and the faces of people we've lost, and all the people we've killed to get here. They were people, even if they aren't now. We're only here now because we've become animals. Murderers. I can't get the stench of blood off of me, no matter how much I try," Kyle said, and Stan sort of regretted opening this door. He could hear it in Kyle's voice, the self hatred he'd been bottling up. He felt selfish now, for thinking it was all about him. "Even though this place has real showers, I still feel disgusting."

"You smell nice. And you look perfect," Stan said, trying to get him to smile. "And those showers are really shitty. Water pressure's awful."

"Don't. I'm being serious," Kyle said firmly. "I haven't exactly been in the mood to let you even see me, let alone put your hands on me. And why should we be arrogant enough to think we deserve love after everything we've done? Our mistakes and oversights have cost people their lives and you have the audacity to think we should just forget about it? It seems disrespectful to the dead to even think about sex."

"I'm definitely not saying we should forget about anything, but dude... you can't mourn forever, Kyle. You might as well be dead too if you give up everything that's good about living."

"I know that, but I can't shake this feeling that letting you back in will just be... I don't know, rubbing our relationship in the faces of our dead friends, and all the people who won't get to experience it now."

Stan pushed the book and the photos aside and reached for Kyle, pulling him in as close as he would allow. "Listen. You aren't a bad person. I know you have the tendency to torture yourself with the responsibility of everything that happens to us, but the world isn't on your shoulders. It never has been. You're not a murderer, none of us are. We're just survivors."

He reached up and ran his hand through Kyle's hair. "And for the record, you're a lot cleaner than the rest of us are. Your hair's holding up really well, and I'm pretty sure you're the only one who still shaves every day. Kevin says even Bebe stopped doing that. I got the impression that he's really into it, too."

Kyle laughed, though Stan could tell he was trying not to. He smiled, knowing he'd finally found a way through the wall Kyle built around himself.

"Do you honestly think Kenny would want us to become celibate in his memory?"

"I guess not."

"If you aren't attracted to me because I have facial hair now and I've gotten used to not bathing every day, then that's one thing. But don't torture both of us because you're afraid people will think you've forgotten our friends and family."

"I like your beard!" Kyle shot back, as though he was horrified Stan could think his appearance was at fault here.

"Thanks."

"You could stand to take a shower, though."

"Yeah, probably."

Kyle sighed. "I do miss you."

"Bebe and Kevin have the right idea. People, survivors like us, need to just... find someone they'd lose an arm for and spend every waking moment with them, because they could go at any moment," Stan said, cupping Kyle's face with his hands. "You said a couple weeks ago that you wouldn't want to live without me. We've been living without each other. I'd rather get eaten alive than spend another day feeling like you're always just out of reach."

"Wow, really poetic," Kyle said sarcastically, though he was still smiling. "Well... everyone's asleep."

Stan's face lit up. He knew what that meant. "Really?"

Kyle nodded, and Stan kissed him hard, putting all of his desperation into it. Humming in approval, Kyle threaded his fingers into Stan's hair and arched against him.

"I'll warn you, though... it's been months," Stan said when he broke the kiss to pull his shirt off. "I'm not gonna last long."

Kyle laughed and tugged his own shirt over his head. "How are we even going to do this? You know I hate using spit."

"I brought lube. I mean, when we went to our houses for necessary supplies, it seemed like an obvious choice at the time." He kissed Kyle again, pushing him back onto the bed.

Even just rocking against him with their pants still on was enough to make Stan completely hard. Blowjobs were all well and good, but they couldn't replace the real thing. Just the idea of getting actual sex for the first time in ages was pushing him close to the edge.

"I need you naked. Now," he demanded, rolling off of Kyle to go retrieve the lube from his backpack. When he turned back around, Kyle was completely bare and touching himself. Stan grinned.

"I love it when you take control," the redhead whispered as Stan crawled over him and met his lips with another searing kiss.

Stan kicked his own pants off and tossed them on the floor indiscriminately before squirting a fairly liberal amount of lube onto his fingers. For one fleeting moment, he was afraid Kyle would back out, but he didn't, and the moment the tip of Stan's index finger circled his entrance, he was completely gone. And just like that, things were back to normal, at least in their own private world.

This was the Kyle he remembered, the one who arched at the slightest touch and gripped onto Stan like he needed to be anchored down. He pushed one finger in, and then another, reveling in the familiar tightness as his partner gasped and bucked his hips.

"Shh," he mumbled against Kyle's neck. "Can't be too loud, baby, these walls aren't that thick."

"I haven't even-" Kyle began, but was cut off by a moan erupting from the back of his throat. He flushed and put his hand over his mouth, and Stan laughed, having anticipated this problem just in time.

He added another finger and began moving his hand, thrusting in time with the bucking of Kyle's hips. There was nothing more enjoyable than watching Kyle squirm, needy and desperate, and for the time being, Stan decided to push the zombie apocalypse to the back of his mind. Right now, they were back in his bedroom. None of this had ever happened. The world was normal, they were in a far more comfortable bed, and Kyle was the only thing that mattered in the entire universe.

"Stan," Kyle gasped, clearly putting an enormous amount of effort into keeping his voice down. "Please."

"Please what?" he asked silkily, though his dick was leaking and he needed it too.

"Fuck me, please, please fuck me," Kyle pleaded breathlessly. "Now!"

"Now who's in control?" Stan joked as he removed his fingers and began to run his hand along his length. He was painfully hard, even without proper foreplay, and he had to hold himself back from thrusting the moment he was done positioning himself.

Kyle groaned, though this one was out of frustration. "I'm sorry, I get bossy when I'm desperate, you know that, just - please," he said, grabbing Stan by the shoulders and pulling him down. Their mouths met and Kyle opened up for him, biting his bottom lip and putting everything he was feeling into the kiss.

As Stan began to push in, Kyle moaned again, and he was glad his mouth was there to muffle the sound. He wasn't sure if it was just his imagination or if he hadn't been properly prepared in their rush, but Kyle felt tighter than he remembered. Stan broke the kiss to focus on what he was doing, not wanting to move too fast or hurt him. Kyle's fingers dug into his skin, and Stan watched his expression carefully as he eased into him.

"I love you," he whispered when he was all the way in, head dropping so their foreheads touched. He stayed still a moment, breath mingling with Kyle's as he ran one hand through soft curls.

Kyle pulled him closer. "Love you, too," he said, hips moving slowly, seductively, clearly wanting more than he was getting. But Stan wanted this to last, couldn't bring himself to fuck Kyle hard, not tonight. It had been too long, he wanted to savor it.

He began to move, slowly at first and picking up speed only when he was encouraged by the frequency of Kyle's gasps. "Fuck, I missed this, missed how you feel around my cock," he muttered, not caring enough to be embarrassed about his dirty talk. Kyle knew he was bad at it, but somehow still loved hearing it anyway.

Humming in agreement, Kyle lifted his hips to give Stan a better angle. "You know, we'd be in college now, if none of this happened."

"Yeah?" Stan asked, barely listening, distracted by how good each thrust felt.

"Yeah, the leaves are changing. It's fall. And you would've had to go months without me anyway," Kyle said, the words tumbling from his mouth gracelessly, followed by breathless laughter.

"I guess I'm kind of glad this happened, then," Stan said, though he hoped Kyle could tell he was joking. "Two months was hard enough."

"Don't - ah! - say things like that!"

"Then let's stop talking," Stan said, covering Kyle's mouth with his own. The last thing he wanted to do was get Kyle's guilt going again, and more than that, he didn't want to stay on the subject of college. It was something Kyle had so been looking forward to but would never be able to experience now.

He quickened his pace, knowing if he just hit the right spot all thoughts, good or bad, would be driven from Kyle's mind. It didn't take long, since he knew Kyle's body like the back of his hand, and he loved it when Kyle had to bite down on his own hand to keep from screaming. He'd intended to go slow and draw things out, he really did, but once Kyle started begging incoherently and began to touch himself, he couldn't hold on any longer.

Then again, he'd never been able to last very long once Kyle let go of any self control. It was always a perfect reminder that he was, always had been, the only one to see him this way. It was him from the very beginning, and it would be him at the very end. Cartman may have stolen a kiss, but Kyle was his, and their love was a beautiful secret that no one else could ever hope to understand.

And he came, thinking about that, about how nothing could take this away from him, not even death. Kyle followed shortly after, as he always did when Stan's seed was hot inside him, and they collapsed together, sweating and panting.

"Stan, fuck," Kyle gasped as he pulled out, laughing deliriously. "I - I'm so sorry, I don't know what I was thinking holding out for so long."

"We've all done crazy things since this mess started," Stan joked, trailing kisses along Kyle's collarbone.

They lay together, alternating between mumbled words of affection and jokes about how it was a good thing the cots were stronger than they looked. Stan was indescribably happy they'd found a place where they could do this without being in immediate danger. Safe Haven Village may be a fucked up town, but at least it provided some semblance of comfort. Still, he wrapped his arms around Kyle protectively, knowing that they'd never again be entirely safe.

"Was I too loud?" Kyle asked after a minute of silence.

Stan laughed and kissed his hair. "Baby, you did a great job."

Kyle smacked his chest. "Ass."

"I mean it!" Stan replied, laughing still. "As much as I love making you scream, now's not the time. And you were very quiet. Even quieter than you were that time I fucked you in the bathroom at school."

They fell asleep in the midst of whispers and laughter, feeling confident that things were going to turn around for them. And in the week that followed, they spent every moment they could alone together to make up for all the time they felt they'd lost.

Stan was just beginning to feel like Kyle had finally forgiven him for Wendy, had finally come to terms with their new way of life, when they were approached by Elder Hales.

He brought them to his own living quarters and only addressed them once they were seated inside. "You two ought to have been more careful."

"What?" Stan asked, confused.

"A couple of my followers have come to me with concerns regarding your recent behavior. It appears they've seen you engage in... homosexual affection. And of course I was informed at once."

"And by that you mean, you've been having your 'friends' John and Jeremy spy on us," Kyle said loudly, standing up. Nothing had even happened yet and he was already bristling, but for once Stan didn't think he was going to make things worse. He had a gut feeling that things were already as bad as they were going to get.

"However it came to my attention, I will say this. I will not tolerate lewd behavior in my compound," Elder Hales said, fingers steepled in front of his lips as though he was thinking about what to do with them. "Homosexuality is a sin, and if this was truly God's doing, as I believe it was, it's a wonder you've managed to survive this long. He surely didn't have that in his plan for the future of mankind."

"What are you saying?" Stan said, taking Kyle's hand to stop him from lunging at the older man.

"I think you know," Elder Hales said as he stood up to face the window, the sun lighting up his silver hair. "Safe Haven Village's purpose is to rebuild humanity. You can't very well help with increasing the population, now, can you? And I can't have your lifestyle choices influencing the children here."

"You're kicking us out?" Kyle asked, slumping back in his chair as though he couldn't believe it. Stan could, though. He remembered what Ike said about the other people Hales had 'cleansed' from the village.

"In a sense. But we're kind, Godly people, so we won't put you out without any hope of making it on your own. You will, of course, have your weapons returned to you and we will give you some food and water before we send you on your way."

"So that if we all die out there our blood won't be on your hands?" Stan snapped, feeling like strangling Elder Hales himself. He probably would have done it, too, if he didn't know his three minions were lurking just outside the door.

Elder Hales just smiled. "Your friends will be staying here. They have done nothing wrong."

"They won't stay once we tell them about this!"

"I'm sorry, you must have misunderstood. You'll be escorted off the premises now. It will be easier on everyone if you aren't given the chance to say your good-byes. They will be safe here."

Kyle shook his head, dismayed. "No, you need to let us talk to them. My brother-"

"Will be well taken care of," Elder Hales cut in. "They will be told you opted to leave of your own free will."

"They won't believe that."

"Even so, you will be gone, anyway. Now, I believe it is dinner time and everyone will be in the community center. My friends outside will escort you out. I wish you luck on your journeys," Elder Hales said, with a smile that suggested otherwise. "And please keep in mind that if you remain in the vicinity of Safe Haven, you will be shot. So I suggest traveling."

He waved Jeremy and John in, and although they both put up a fight, they still ended up in the tunnel, blindfolded, gagged, and herded out of the village like prisoners. Timothy was close behind with their belongings and weapons.

Outside, they were forced to walk a few more yards before they heard their bags drop down beside them. The ropes on their wrists were cut, and that was as far as the men went before turning back. Stan knew what Kyle was thinking, because he was definitely thinking the same thing - that they should grab their weapons and haul after them, kill the bastards, and join Cartman's mutiny.

But by the time they removed the blindfolds and gags, grabbed their guns, and turned around, all three of them were gone and the trap door was closed. Still, Kyle ran to it and tried to yank it open. Stan joined him, but it was no use. It was locked from the inside.

"Elder Hales must have been a carpenter before all this or something," Stan muttered as he stood and dusted himself off. "That shit is sturdy."

"Fuck!!" Kyle shouted angrily, kicking at the dirt. "Now what are we going to do?"

Stan didn't know what to say, so he simply stepped forward and pulled Kyle into his arms.

Their only option was to go back to camping in the woods, at least for a while. They'd have to wait until Cartman went through with his plan, whenever that may be, and hope that it went successfully.

All they had to do until then was survive.

-8-

"Hey, did you keep that promise ring I gave you last year?" Stan asked as he trailed his fingers along Kyle's stomach. It was dark, and their tent was so cozy they could almost let themselves forget this wasn't just a camping trip.

"You mean the one you gave me after you got back with Wendy? Accompanied by the promise that someday you'd have the balls to tell the world about us?" Kyle replied coolly, though he made no move to push Stan's hand away. He glanced over and was met with apologetic blue eyes. "Yes, I kept it. Though there were times I considered throwing it into Stark's Pond."

"Good."

"I brought it with me," he added, blushing. "It seemed important. I guess that's dumb."

"It's not dumb. Can you put it on?"

Kyle smirked; Stan was always overly sentimental. He rolled over and crawled to his backpack, fishing through the front pockets for a minute before his fingers found the metal loop. Smiling, he withdrew it and slipped it on. It had always felt too gay to actually wear, back when the world existed, but such reservations were pointless now.

"Perfect," Stan said when Kyle settled back down, head resting against his shoulder. He picked up Kyle's hand, examined it for a moment, and then kissed it, like they were in an old movie. Kyle laughed.

"So gay," he said, but Stan didn't let go.

"Would you have married me? If none of this happened, I mean," he asked seriously, tugging Kyle closer.

"Of course," Kyle answered quietly, the question making him blush despite it being such an empty offer now.

"Can we pretend that happened?" Stan was blushing himself, fingering the ring as he earnestly stared into Kyle's eyes. "And this doesn't have to be about some stupid promise I was too chicken to follow through on. It can be a symbol of how much I love you, now. A reminder that nothing will happen to you while I'm around. 'Til death do us part', and stuff."

"You're so cheesy," Kyle said, shifting to rest his head on Stan's chest. "Alright, we can be married now. I guess we can decide that sort of shit for ourselves now, no certificate required. You need a ring, too, though."

"We can take one off a walker at some point."

"Gross!"

"Pretty sure it's the only way, sorry," Stan joked, and rolled over to pin Kyle to the ground.

Later, asleep in Stan's arms, Kyle dreamt of what their life might have been like if society hadn't crumbled around them.

For three days, they waited for word from Cartman. They'd set up camp only a short distance from the village, out of sight but close enough to hear gunfire, if there was any. But only silence came through the trees, and although spending time with Stan and pretending everything was okay calmed his nerves a bit, Kyle felt more antsy every day.

"They should have done something by now," he said, perched on top of the large rock by their tent. "What if they failed?"

"They're not going to fail," Stan replied as he walked over. He stood between Kyle's knees, and held onto his hips as though he might fall off the rock otherwise. "I hate Cartman's guts, but I think he's capable of taking a town away from a couple of crazy Mormons."

"I hope so."

As if on cue, they heard rustling in the trees. For a split second, for one joyous moment, Kyle thought it was Cartman coming to bring them back, but it wasn't. Instead, a pair of walkers stumbled into their camp. It was disappointing, though not unexpected; they'd had a few strays drift into the vicinity since they arrived.

This time, though, another three of them emerged from the trees after the first two.

"Fuck," Stan said, and Kyle jumped down from the rock. They ran to grab their weapons, which were still by the fire from the last time a zombie wandered through their camp. By the time Stan handed Kyle the axe and took up his baseball bat, two more had joined the others. And then another two.

"Stan-" Kyle started, terrified. They'd never had to fight so many on their own before.

"Just start killing them," the other boy shot back, and charged the group.

Kyle forced himself not to pay attention to what Stan was doing and rushed at one of the walkers, swiftly plunging the axe into its skull. Not for the first time he wondered if the disease made bone softer; either that, or they were just getting that much stronger and better at killing them.

For a minute, it seemed like they could handle it. Kyle got two down, and he could see Stan out of the corner of his eye doing the same. But more were coming into camp, and they were quickly surrounded.

"There are too many!" he shouted, stumbling back as he pulled the axe out of an especially gruesome one.

"We need the guns, go get the guns!" Stan yelled back, and Kyle bolted to the tent. Their guns had been returned to them, along with extra ammo, but they kept them in their bags because they didn't expect to have to use them. Their other weapons had been serving them well, so far, and firing guns only seemed to draw more zombies to them.

Hands shaking, he loaded each pistol, listening for Stan's voice in case anything went wrong. Just as he finished, a groan came from behind him, cold fingers grabbing at his shirt. He cried out and whipped around, face to face with rotting teeth and sunken eyes. He could hear Stan call his name, but he'd already raised one of the guns and pulled the trigger.

Blood spattered the walls of the tent, and the body slumped forward into his lap. He shoved it aside with a disgusted groan and scrambled out into the open, guns in hand.

Stan was surrounded. More had come during the time Kyle was inside, though it couldn't have been more than a minute or two.

No, it's not going to end this way, not now, he thought miserably. Brow furrowed, he turned and shot another walker in the face before rushing toward Stan. All he had to do was get to him, give him one of the guns, and they'd be okay.

Shots were being fired, the sound ringing in Kyle's ears, and it felt like he wasn't in control of his body. He was moving, aiming at the zombies and taking them out, but his eyes were on his partner, couldn't look away as Stan fumbled - just for a second - and lost control.

Kyle screamed as one of their hands tore so easily through the fabric of his shirt, through the flesh and muscle of his stomach, unbelievably strong for being so easy to kill. Stan doubled over, shock on his face as his eyes met Kyle's, and another took the opportunity to bite him right where his neck met his shoulder.

Time stopped, and Kyle felt like his heart had been ripped from his chest.

"NO!" he shouted, vision blurred as he took aim at anything that was moving. He had to get them off of Stan, had to, and if he could just kill them, they'd be okay. They could get through this. Stan would be fine, he had to be, because this wasn't how their story was supposed to end.

And when he was finished, when it was over and all that was left were twenty corpses littering their campsite, he rushed to Stan's side.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said, voice broken and desperate as he uselessly tried to cover one of Stan's wounds with his hands. "I couldn't get to you -"

"Kyle..."

He blinked the tears out of his eyes and looked at Stan's face. He was actually smiling, the stupid asshole, like he was trying to tell Kyle everything was going to be okay. "No, don't look at me like that," Kyle said, his panic coming out very clearly in his voice. "You'll be fine, we just-"

"I love you," Stan said, and coughed, blood dribbling from the side of his mouth. "Remember that, okay?"

"You can't." Couldn't die, couldn't leave, couldn't do anything that would separate them. He knew that. It was an unspoken rule.

"Do you remember, all the times you were sick when we were kids, and I said you couldn't die until I did?" He groaned as he lifted his hand to take Kyle's, as though every movement was painful for him. "I was always meant to go first. I kind of thought we'd be eighty or something, though, so this sucks."

Kyle shook his head, unable to handle how lightly Stan seemed to be taking this. "You can't go."

"Promise me you won't come with me," Stan said, serious now. Kyle knew what he meant. "You wait for them to come find you. Do not give up because of this. Do you promise?"

Kyle nodded, though he wasn't sure he'd keep that promise.

"And don't," he coughed again and closed his eyes, "please don't let me come back as one of them."

"I won't."

"Kyle."

"Stan," he whispered, bending over to press their foreheads together.

"I'm fine with this, so don't cry."

"How can you be fine with it?" Kyle asked, angry at him for being so calm.

Stan's grip tightened on his hand. "I met my soulmate when I was three years old, and we had a really fucked up life. Sometimes you were the only good thing in the whole world, and sometimes I took you for granted. I’m sorry for taking so long to realize you’re the only thing that matters. And I'm sorry for all the times I said shitty things to you, I never meant them."

"I know."

"Tell me you love me, please."

"I love you," Kyle whispered, his voice gone. He kissed Stan's lips, tasting blood. The other boy moved his arm out, inviting Kyle to lie next to him. It seemed so ludicrous, to lay like that now, the way they always had, even during sleepovers when their feelings for each other were still unknown to them. But Kyle obliged, saying nothing. He wanted to tell Stan that he didn't know how to live without him, but he knew Stan needed him to be strong right now.

"Tell me about the first time you knew you loved me."

"You know that story."

"Tell me anyway."

Kyle wiped his eyes, unable to stop the tears from coming. "Okay," he said, and tried to ignore the smell of blood, the way it was seeping through his hair and sticking to his skin. "We were eleven, well, you were twelve, but I was eleven, and Cartman had just finished some stupid scheme, I forget what it was. But he started making fun of me, more ruthless about it than usual, like saying I'd end up a fat bitch like my mom and telling me how ugly and annoying I am, and then you punched him."

He shifted against Stan, listening to his heart. He was still there. Still there, but Kyle began to talk faster anyway. "And you didn't usually do that, you usually let me fight my own battles when it came to him, but it was like what he said made you so mad you couldn't help it. And he cried, and you told me none of what he said was true, and I don't know, it was such a stupid thing to fall in love with you over. But it wasn't really falling in love, it was more like realizing I was already in love. And -" Something was wrong. Stan's breathing was too shallow. "Stan?"

Kyle didn't move, couldn't breathe, as the hand that was around his shoulders went limp and Stan's heartbeat went silent beneath his ear. "No," he whispered, as though it would bring him back. He lifted his head, hair sticking to Stan's chest, soaked with his blood. "Please."

He inched forward, his entire body feeling too heavy to move, and reached up to touch Stan's face. "You can't do this, it's not fair," he said, voice cracking. It was no use, he knew. His hand was shaking as he ran it through Stan's hair.

He stayed that way, staring at Stan's face, wishing for him to open his eyes, for a couple of minutes. Part of him, the most desperate and insane part, wanted to wait, wait until he turned and just let him take his life. Then they'd be together again, even if it was in undeath. They would feel no affection for each other's soulless husks, but at least they'd be together, and he wouldn't have to be alone.

But no. No, he promised Stan he wouldn't let him turn.

Slowly, numbly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and picked up one of the guns he'd discarded the moment he reached Stan's body. He knew he was running out of time; people turned quickly, sometimes mere minutes after dying. Stan's eyes could open any second, though they wouldn't be his eyes anymore.

Kyle held the gun steady, whispered an apology and one last declaration of love, and pulled the trigger.

He wasn't sure when or how he went from standing over Stan's body to lying beside it, and if it weren't for the hole in his head, Kyle might have thought he never even stood up to begin with. But it seemed like the only thing that made sense, to just lie with him and waste away into nothing. His heart was heavy, his whole body weighed down with how much this hurt, and it seemed impossible to even consider moving.

He tried to hold the gun to his own head, tried to tell himself he had the strength to pull the trigger, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Stan asked him not to. He promised him that he wouldn't. And even if he hadn't, he wasn't sure he'd be capable of doing it. Finally, he decided to just stay with Stan until another herd of walkers came along. Even just one would do. He'd wait, for as long as it took, and then let it rip him to shreds. That way he at least wouldn't be breaking his promise to Stan. Kind of.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, though no one was there to hear it.

The stench of blood made him want to vomit. It wasn't Stan's fault, really. They were surrounded by bodies in various stages of decomposition. He would have tried to relocate to a nicer area if he thought he had the strength to do it. But he didn't, so he just curled tighter against Stan, closing his eyes and pretending that they were just dozing off together in a field back in South Park.

"It's stupid that you think I can do this without you," he said, lifting his head to look into Stan's unmoving face. "I've never been able to do anything without you. I'd be dead already, would've been for years, if it weren't for you. And you think I can survive in this world by myself?" He sighed. "You always thought too highly of me."

Gradually, the sky began to darken, but Kyle didn't move. He stayed with Stan and relived some of his fondest memories, not just of their relationship but of their entire life together. He pretended that this was all a dream and they were back in South Park, and he talked about how they'd visit each other's colleges and never drift apart. He told Stan about his perfect house, what kind of dogs they'd have and how many kids they'd adopt, intermittently sobbing because he knew he should have said all of this while Stan was still alive.

"I wish you were cleaner," he said eventually, as though Stan could have helped the gaping wounds in his stomach and shoulder. "I always loved the way you smelled. That crappy shampoo you used... I miss it. I miss you already."

The stars were bright that night, brighter than they ever were, even in the Rocky Mountains. It probably had something to do with having no electricity, but staring up into them made Kyle feel like he was floating in space. Maybe he was dead too, and this was simply what death felt like. Seeing, feeling, but being unable to move or keep track of time. It couldn't just be grief. He grieved for his parents. This was worse, closer to insanity than anything he'd ever felt before.

"Kyle!"

Stan? He blinked once, and then again, slowly tilting his head toward Stan's. His hair seemed to crack, so encrusted with dried blood that it felt solid. How long had he been lying there? Surely a zombie must have killed him by now. But he wasn't dead, and Stan wasn't talking to him.

"Holy shit - Kyle!"

That didn't sound like Stan. He blinked again, glancing up to see a figure standing in the dark. No, you're too late. Go away.

But hands were on his shoulders, pulling him, forcing him up and away from Stan's body. He shook his head, felt his limbs hitting and kicking, heard the protests coming from his mouth but they sounded so far away, like the real Kyle was submerged deep underwater somewhere.

The back of Cartman's hand met his cheek and then he was on the ground again, skin burning where he'd been hit. "What the fuck?" he said, all at once back to reality.

"You were getting hysterical," Cartman said, indicating bright red scratch marks on his face. "You scratched me, you crazy bitch!"

"Go away!" Kyle shouted, staggering to his feet. He took a step backward, away from Cartman and closer to Stan. "You're too late! You waited too long to come for us! Look around you, it's a fucking graveyard here!" He could barely understand himself, could barely see Cartman he was crying so hard. "He's gone! You did this, it's your fault!"

"That's insane. Kyle, we needed time! The second we found out you guys were gone, we put our plan into action. We thought they killed you! I've never been so mad in my life, I didn't even kill Elder Hales right away - I made him talk first. He deserved what came to him, and I found out they just sent you out here on your own," Cartman said, with the nerve to sound like he'd done something positive. Stan was dead - nothing Cartman did would ever matter again.

"I'm glad he's dead. Now go away," Kyle spat, taking another step back. "Leave me alone."

"I came looking for you the moment it was possible, I swear it."

"Not soon enough." Kyle bent down to pick up his gun, the one he'd been unable to use on himself. "You waited too long. And we got ambushed, there were too many of them. Are you happy, Cartman? Are you glad he's gone?"

"Kyle..." Cartman held his hands up, took a cautious step forward, like Kyle was a wounded animal he'd found in the wild.

"I couldn't do it," Kyle said, laughing despite himself. "It was my idea, the suicide pact. I told you that, right? That it was my idea? I wanted it. I told him, if he died, I would die too. But he died, and I couldn't do it. I tried, but I chickened out."

"That's not chickening out."

"So I thought, I'll just wait. Another walker will come along. It'll kill me and then we could be together again. I was going to wait," Kyle ranted, waving the gun carelessly, wanting to point it at Cartman's face. "And then you came along instead, and ruined it, like you ruin everything good in my life."

"I'm not ruining anything, I'm saving your ass from dying in the wild!" Cartman said, and seemed legitimately offended. He took a step closer. "And not for the first time, either! I know you're sad, or whatever, but I'm not leaving you out here to starve to death or become walker food. You're coming back with me."

"No! I'm staying with him. I can't leave him."

"He's dead, Kyle. There's nothing you can do." Another step closer, and then another.

"I know that he's not coming back. That's why I need to stay. I can't live without him."

"I know," Cartman said, quiet and placating. He took another step and slowly reached forward, taking the gun out of Kyle's hand. He placed it on the ground and kicked it aside. "I know you think that. But you're stronger than you think you are. Just because you've never had to live without him before, doesn't mean you can't."

Kyle shook his head, but the moment Cartman's extended his arms he collapsed into them, exhausted and unable to control his grief. Cartman let him cry, resting his chin on top of Kyle's head, muttering consoling words, though they were clearly not coming naturally to him.

Eventually Kyle agreed to go back, on the condition that Cartman bring Stan's body with them. He needed a proper funeral, and Kyle needed a grave to visit. Returning to Safe Haven was a blur, the cheerful welcome quickly ending once the rest of the group saw Stan's body.

It turned out that after Elder Hales kicked Stan and Kyle out, Kevin and Cartman threw caution to the wind and simply broke into the weapons shed and raided the town, killing anyone who resisted them (at least on Cartman's part). Most of the Mormons surrendered immediately, having no idea what was going on or for what reason. The leader and his three underlings were murdered and burned, and no one had since spoken out against Cartman taking over with Kevin and Ike at his side.

Kyle found that he couldn't care less about any of it. He was barely able to muster up the energy to hug Ike before retiring to his bed, willing to stay there forever if they'd let him.

At one point, Bebe came to visit him. He turned over to look at her, unsure of how much time had passed since he first collapsed onto the cot. "Hey," she said from the doorway, nervous and quiet, like she pitied him. "I brought you some chocolate. There was a bunch in food storage... your brother took a decent amount of it for his own personal stash, too. He said you liked this kind the best."

Kyle pushed himself up and accepted the candy from her as she sat down on the foot of his bed. It was a simple chocolate bar with almonds, the most expensive kind they had at the checkout counter but not expensive enough to have its own display.

"Chocolate always makes me feel better. I'm sure it makes everyone feel better."

"Are you making a Harry Potter reference?" he asked, and his voice came out cracked and hollow, completely spent after hours of painful sobbing.

"Sort of," she said, smiling.

"Thanks. But it won't make me feel better."

"You should still eat something."

He examined the package for a moment before opening it. When he found it next to impossible to chew and swallow the first piece, he offered the rest to her. She told him she would eat a bite for every one he took, like he was a child being told to eat his vegetables.

"I need to apologize to you," she said after a few minutes of silence. "What I said when Kenny was sick, at the pharmacy before we came here... about how you didn't know what it was like to lose someone so close to you. I meant to say sorry before. I felt bad about it right after, because we all lost our parents, you know? But it seemed unfair, that you still had so many loved ones left and I'd just lost Wendy... it was really selfish, and I want you to know I wasn't wishing this on you, ever. I would never think that."

"I know. I never thought that's what you meant," Kyle replied, sighing. "I haven't been mad at you."

"Are we still friends?"

"Of course." Kyle didn't think he'd been much of a friend to her, though, or to anyone.

"I understand if you don't want to talk about it yet," she added, and he knew what she was referring to. "Or ever."

"Thanks."

They sat in silence, and he was grateful for her company, despite not wanting to talk. He ended up asking her to stay with him that night, and even though she fell asleep and he didn't, he was glad not to be alone.

The next morning, Cartman called a town meeting.

"People of Safe Haven Village," he began, standing on top of what looked like a milk crate. Kevin and Ike stood on either side of him. Kyle and Bebe stood together in the front row, surrounded by the original residents and the remaining Mormons, all of whom looked frightened. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to a new era of humanity."

He paused, as though he was expecting applause. "My first order of business, obviously, is to rename this town. Safe Haven Village sounds retarded, but my friends and I have yet to decide on something suitably awesome."

If it were any other situation, Cartman would have been wearing a tie and had his hair slicked back to look more political. As it was, he was tieless and looked like he hadn't slept in days. It almost made him look more intimidating, despite how stupid his speech was so far.

"Secondly, I want you all to rest assured that you won't be murdered in your sleep." Kevin cringed, and a few of the residents exchanged worried glances. "Unlike your previous leader, I am not a psychopath. No one will be put out into the wild due to background or lifestyle. Even if I personally am not a fan of certain minority groups, frankly that shit isn't important anymore. What matters is survival. Our survival. The survival of this town."

Cartman puffed his chest out self importantly and adjusted his shirt collar. "As far as I'm concerned, everyone here has a purpose, a role to fulfill in the next stage of human existence. In the coming days, the members of my group and I will be assigning roles, mostly with the intent of continuing to gather supplies and clean up the zombie population." He grinned. "Unless you prove to be a liability to the community's survival, you have nothing to worry about."

"The founders of this place wanted the people who lived here to be able to survive, in the previous fucked up society and in situations like the one we're in. They may have been dirty hippies - no offense - but they had the right idea. The world is a dangerous place, moreso now than ever before, and only the strong will survive. And everyone here is strong, otherwise we wouldn't be here. That is why I can safely say, in this war against those zombie fucks, we're already winning.

"That being said, I need to know that all of you are loyal to me and my friends. That is not to say we'll be ruling over you, per se, as things concerning the town will be put to a vote," Cartman continued, though he didn't look pleased about the last part. "But the only way any of us will survive is if we're loyal to each other. If you spot any suspicious activity, inside or outside of the compound, tell someone immediately. Like I said, frivolous differences won't be punished, but dangerous behavior will not be tolerated."

At this point, he had everyone's attention, even Kyle's, though he was perhaps more skeptical of Cartman's abilities than the rest. "Put your faith in me, and you will get through this. Your children will live to see a world where hiding behind gates and walls won't be necessary anymore. Our loved ones, friends, and family, will not have died for no reason. And we won't forget about them. We shouldn't." He looked directly at Kyle, then. "But in order to succeed, we must all move on from the past. Grief won't help us now."

He smiled again, the winning, cocky smile that always ended up getting Cartman what he wanted. "If you're ready to join us and embrace the new way of life, say 'aye' now. If you're not willing, then the way out is right over there," he said, pointing in the direction of the guard tower.

The murmurs of 'aye' began slowly, quietly, but eventually everyone joined in. In some insane way, Cartman's speech, however full it was of ulterior motives, made Kyle think that maybe everything would work out in the end. He was right, after all. Their goal should be to reestablish society, to make the world livable for the next generations. It was only right that he should be involved in that; it would be selfish to give up now, when so much was at stake. Stan would have wanted him to do this. So he added his own 'aye', the last person to say it.

Cartman's grin widened further. "To the future."

"To the future."

The echoed words sent chills down Kyle's spine.

-Epilogue-

Kenny woke up in South Park again.

With a yawn, he began to go about his normal routine. For the first couple of hours, it almost always seemed like nothing had ever happened. He could pretend his family was just out of the house; it wasn't like the refrigerator was any emptier than it ever had been, and the rats were nothing new. The cobwebs sometimes got out of control, and Kenny had taken to using his father's old t-shirts as dust rags.

If he were to venture a guess, he'd say the house actually looked cleaner now than it ever did while his family was alive. But it had been so long, he'd sort of forgotten what it was like before.

"Where should I go today?" he asked the ghost of his sister. She wasn't really there, but he liked to pretend she was. It was hard having no one to talk to, and it provided him some comfort to think she was there every time he was reborn, waiting to hear about his plans and how much progress he'd made before his last death. "East? East sounds good."

He still hadn't found her body. Even though he'd been charged with the impossible task of cleaning up the continent, he felt like his real task, on a personal level, was to put his sister to rest somehow. He couldn't shake the feeling that her corpse was still wandering around somewhere, though he hadn't been given the opportunity to search heaven or hell for her to prove otherwise.

Apparently there were others like him around the world, other people unlucky enough to be cursed with this existence. One on each major continent, to be precise, so he "only" had to exterminate the walkers in North America. Easy enough, or so God and Jesus claimed.

Yeah, right.

He exited his house, could almost hear the ghosts of his parents arguing inside as he walked away, and started to follow the road out of town. South Park itself was cleaned out, right down to burning the bodies. If it weren't for the rusting cars in the road and shattered windows, it might have looked normal. Like people still lived there.

It would be a while before he happened upon any walkers. Occasionally there were some wanderers, but overall Colorado was pretty well purged, in his humble opinion. More than Colorado, actually. Of course, it had been something along the lines of two fucking years since he started this, so it might not be anything to brag about after all. Every day for over seven hundred days, he'd been at this, and he'd barely made a dent in the Midwest, let alone anywhere else.

Thankfully God decided to take pity on him after a while and lifted his human need for rest or sustenance. He had no idea what he was anymore. He was alive; he could feel the air fill his lungs and leave again. He could eat, and digested it as normal. He simply never got tired, never felt hungry, even after days of constant killing and traveling.

At least, he thought he was alive. He must be, since he still had the ability to die. He could even become one of them; there had been a few instances of his newly reborn self crossing paths with one of his prior incarnations, animated and grotesque like the rest of them. That was always awkward. But it sort of gave him a sick pleasure, mutilating a creature that looked like him, was him, but not dying from it himself, not feeling its pain.

- Samara -

Did that count as an outer body experience? He supposed it must, quite literally.

He missed being able to ask questions like that out loud and actually get an answer. Kyle would have laughed at him, and then probably suggested he get professional help. Stan, he might have actually understood. Cartman probably would have asked where he could find a Kenny-zombie for himself, because what could possibly be more fun than slaughtering your friend's old body while he had to stand there and watch.

It would be nice to see them again.

However, he'd been expressly told by God that seeking out his friends was severely hindering his progress. Apparently they hadn't been clear enough during their first conversation. They'd wanted Kenny to go off on his own from the beginning, and thought their stupid cryptic words would make it obvious that his purpose was to help the dead, not the survivors. Worrying about mortals held him back.

Once, about a year ago, he cheated and made his way back through Utah. He still killed as many walkers as he could along the way, but his real goal was to find Safe Haven Village, the last known location of his friends.

Of course, it was very hard to find, because he hadn't exactly been in the right state of mind to be observant when he'd been there himself. He just remembered they'd gone north, and that there was a sign next to the road, and an underground tunnel and walls made of brick.

And he found it. He found it, but it was abandoned. The wall had cracked and crumbled in places, either from unprofessional construction or, worse, the weight of hundreds of walkers pushing on it. He'd gone through the town and found nothing but corpses, though none that he recognized.

The only thing that suggested that his friends had survived was that their cars, which had been left on the road, were gone. He told himself they were still out there somewhere. They must have found a new place to live. That's what he needed to believe, anyway.

When this was all done, when the country was safe again, he wanted to be reunited with them. Whether it took ten, twenty, or fifty years, he wanted to somehow find them alive and well. And that was what motivated him to keep doing what was asked of him.

They were fine. They had to be.

He never wanted to be the last one standing.

The End

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