Sosuke Kitahara couldn't help finding her "covering-his-ears-to-steal-the-bell" routine funny.

But after a long, fidgeting silence, still nothing happened. He finally urged, "Ma'am… quickly."

A barely audible "mm" came from Mrs. Yuigahama, followed by a stammer: "Or… or maybe forget it. That zombie over there is getting close…"

This lady can be so much trouble.

Growing impatient, Sosuke cracked an eye. The nearest shambling corpse was still twenty meters out. "It's not that close. Special times please don't sweat the small stuff."

He hadn't finished when she snapped, mortified, "Why did you open your eyes!"

"I need them open to watch the zombie."

And with that, he ignored her flustered protest. Since advancing to Stage Two, he'd gained… tricks. His grip firmed on the crooks of her knees; a subtle pulse flowed from his palms. Mrs. Yuigahama felt a warm, melting ease spread low in her body, a relief that stole the breath from her lips.

A moment later he heard the soft, steady patter he'd orchestrated.

What a little scoundrel.

His chuckle made her blush blaze hotter. She couldn't scold him, not like this, and she certainly couldn't say "stop" and try to stand. She tried to rein the sound back with a little muscle, but that only pressed the stream harder; the faint hiss turned into a brisk drumming on the ground. For all that they'd been intimate the previous night, she had never pictured this, and her cheeks burned so fiercely she covered her face with both hands. Even with his ears covered, he could hear; hiding her face at least calmed the storm inside.

It went on embarrassingly long vigorous at first, then tapering to a gentle trickle, then a few drops and ended.

"All… all done," she whispered, and tugged her underwear back up.

Sosuke didn't move, breath deep and audible, eyes still closed.

She pinched his arm. Twice. Three times. Only then did he carry her back to the car. He glanced over his shoulder. "See? That zombie still isn't here."

She leveled a glare at him, swallowing her shame. "Go deal with it. It's making my skin crawl. And next time, without my say-so, don't take it upon yourself. What happened today gets forgotten now "

Before she could finish, Sosuke leaned in and stole a kiss.

She gave a tiny "ah," too startled to dodge, and by the time her hands found his shoulders, the warmth at her lips had already withdrawn.

He cleared his throat, smiled, and spoke fast to head off protest. "Rest here a bit. I'll handle the straggler and have a look around." Then he was out the door before she could marshal a scold.

Some women, by nature or by history, softened in the presence of a man who didn't flinch. Mrs. Yuigahama's heart was in that camp. Last night might have been an accident, but something had been sown.

Watching his back recede, something in her gave a small leap. Perhaps… it wasn't so unpleasant.

…

For the next two days, they lived out of the car. Time passed in Sosuke's low, calm voice small stories of the road while the wound on her thigh mended with startling speed, thanks to the herb and the breathing method.

Since he'd reached Stage Two, the breathing method's gains for him had diminished; for someone who'd grown as close to him as Mrs. Yuigahama, he didn't hold anything back.

Without it, even three to five more days might not have put her on her feet.

By dawn of the fifth day she could already stand with support and walk short stretches. Running was another matter; healing was healing, but bodies needed time. A jog still tugged the wound too hard.

She noticed how his face tightened a little more each day the worry for the three women he'd never even met. She knew her leg would need at least two or three more days before she could truly travel, and she ground through her rehab, teeth clenched, trying to steal time. But a wound like this couldn't be bullied by grit alone. That night Sosuke finally said, "Don't force it. Give it a few more days, it should be mostly mended. Then we'll check the terminal. If… if they still aren't there, we head straight for Yamanashi."

He looked toward the terminal swallowed by night and exhaled, so soft only he could hear it: "Utaha… Yukino… Haruno please be alive."

…

Ten days passed. No silhouettes on the horizon, no answering signal.

Sosuke sighed, quietly grateful for the "bug" of his system its hint that they yet lived. That comforted him more than he'd admit. If they weren't at Narita, then something had delayed them something they couldn't push through.

Their end point was still Yamanashi. If they were alive, they would make for it.

First, though, they had to check the terminal.

He stood at the far end of a runway, scanning the tarmac. Odd too few infected. Two, three hundred at most, drifting in ones and tens. The fencing behind him wouldn't hold under a real surge. An airport like this shouldn't be this light.

"Ma'am, how heavy was the airport's security when it fell?"

He kept his eyes roving. Ten days after the tornado, the runways were even more wrecked. Planes sprawled like broken birds, wings canted, noses in the dirt. Some had clearly crashed; others had burned. A row of fire engines and a tank lay abandoned, canted across taxiways.

"I don't know the details," she said. "We weren't allowed to wander. They sealed everything tight full military control…"

He listened, eyes tracking the lay of the land. Only the terminal offered decent ingress and retreat and the best odds of finding life. A paint-scabbed aircraft tug crouched on the tarmac ahead, low and stubby, like a tortoise sleeping in the sun.

Tat-tat-tat

Gunfire cracked from the left-front woods, sharp and sustained. His heart jumped. Could it be them? "Come on!"

"Wait look!"

Four figures burst from the trees, running hard. A middle-aged man fired in measured bursts as he ran, each look back followed by a stitch of flame and smoke keeping the dead at arm's length. There were plenty of them in the trees.

The man tossed a pair of wire cutters to the woman beside him. Her hands were quick; three snips and a man-sized opening gaped in the fence. She didn't dive through first she thrust a teen girl and a younger boy ahead, then ducked in after them.

"Well now. That family's got some skills."

A family of four, no doubt. Instead of fleeing on their own, they sprinted straight for the tug Sosuke had spotted. He beckoned Mrs. Yuigahama and moved to pull back with them but he'd misjudged their character. The father didn't punch it and run; he gunned the tug backward and skidded to a stop in front of Sosuke and Mrs. Yuigahama.

The tug's design was odd one narrow cab for the driver; the others climbed the short ladder to the flat roof. As it settled, Sosuke eased Mrs. Yuigahama up after them and vaulted onto the deck himself.

"I'm Sosuke Kitahara. This is my companion," he said with an open, easy smile the I'm-not-here-to-hurt-you kind.

Opposite sat mother and children, shoulder to shoulder. Their eyes were steady neither numb nor skittish. It was a composure that said: even if you mean trouble, we can live with it.

"Hello," said the woman in the middle. Her voice had a cool, unhurried edge. She had a studious look, black-framed glasses, not quite beautiful, but with a bookish grace that pulled the eye. A few years younger and she'd have been the picture of an artsy undergrad.

"Onii-chan, you're seriously handsome. My type," the girl on her right piped up, grinning mischief bright in her face. Fifteen, maybe sixteen, she had her mother's heart-shaped chin, but none of her mother's scholarly tone. Dyed-blonde hair, long falsies fluttering over big eyes she kept pulling silly faces at Sosuke, firing off cartoon sparkles.

Annoying as it was, her looks were undeniable. A beauty in the making; her features weren't even done and already striking. Her bare legs never mind the season were winter-pale and glossy, hot pants paired with the illusion of tights.

Give her two years and she could stand beside Kasumigaoka Utaha or Yukinoshita Yukino without losing a step.

The boy, in contrast, was all quiet and caution, tucked into his mother's side, staring wide-eyed at the strangers. Not an ounce of the girl's impish shine.

"Ten o'clock suppressive fire. We punch through that cluster and get under Concourse Three," the father barked from the cab window, voice clipped, commanding. It was the kind of order you obeyed without thinking and it was the right order. Sosuke didn't posture or take point; he simply drew the rifle he'd scavenged and went to work.

Tat-tat-tat.

The muzzle spat orange. As they skimmed past the hulks, the true scale of the wreckage pressed in each overturned aircraft a little mountain. The tug wove through the gaps like a bumper car. A few flight attendants in torn uniforms lurched from the shadows a jolt of pathos, then the sights came down and the rifle spoke.

Under Sosuke's hands, the weapon roared; the dead fell like wheat. Others spilled from every crevice and corner. Not an ocean but enough to drown the unwary.

One magazine. Empty. He slapped it free; only one more on his belt. The rest were in the pack, not yet loaded. Still, Stage Two steadied his hands and eyes; almost every shot landed clean.

Thunk-thunk-thunk

The tug bumped and smashed through five, six bodies, carving a pocket of space. Concourse Three loomed fifty meters ahead and the father stomped the brake.

"Off! Up to the concourse!" he shouted, swinging out of the cab.

Sosuke frowned why not drive the last stretch? but the mother and kids were already dropping to the ground and sprinting. He helped Mrs. Yuigahama down and followed.

They ran like their lives were on the line because they were. Sosuke risked a glance back and saw it: a tide swelling from all directions, closing on the abandoned tug like ants on sugar.

"Kid! Cover me!"

The shout snapped his head around. The stranger had produced a second weapon a long, black rifle with a heavy scope throwing off a cold blue glint. The way he settled behind it said marksman in a single breath.

"Don't gawk! Drop the ones on our flank!"

Sosuke didn't argue. He stitched a neat row through the nearest cluster. The man squeezed his trigger.

Boom.

The tug blossomed into a rolling sun. Heat slapped their backs; the ground itself jumped. A knotted mass of corpses spun up into the air and came down charred and broken.

It was a scene Sosuke had watched before familiar enough to stir a memory he wasn't sure he wanted.