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Witch.

Ellis wasn't the first to hear the faint crying, but of course he had to say something. He would have, too, if Coach hadn't surprised them all.

"Someone's alive."

The others turned to face their oldest teammate, eyebrows high in disbelief.

"If you want to go help a Witch, be my guest," said Nick. "I'm sure she'll return the favour."

Coach shook his head, positive. "Ain't a Witch. Sounds different, sounds... human. Listen."

They all paused and took in the far-off sound. Coach was right, it was different: the noise came in small, dry heaves, as though the originator was trying to silence herself. Witches cried unabashedly—these were the sobs of a survivor.

"Someone is alive," Rochelle whispered.

"Let's find 'em," said Ellis.

The group spread out and moved slowly down the dark, abandoned street. No one spoke, which was unusual for them; instead they focused on locating the sound.

Their search led them to a house, identical to the others that lined the street. Finding the front door ajar, Coach gave it a push. Four flashlights peered inside.

They found bodies, of course, what house didn't have a corpse or two, all crusted with bile and rot and bullet holes. The smell would have been enough to bring them to their knees, if they hadn't been so used to the stench of infection.

Nick inclined his head to indicate that he was going upstairs. Only Ellis followed.

Old, dry floorboard creaked beneath them. The sobbing stopped, alerted of their presence.

Nick froze in the hallway, and motioned for Ellis to do the same. For a while they listened, but heard nothing, not even Coach and Rochelle one floor below.

Nick pointed to himself and Ellis, then the opposite ends of the hall. You go that way, I'll go this way.

Ellis nodded and opened the first door he reached. He swept his flashlight around the room, but saw nothing more than a messy bed and a few ransacked drawers. He stepped inside—might as well be sure.

And there she was.

He found a woman about his own age, white and pale, crouched in the corner with a pistol raised towards the door. She blinked into Ellis' flashlight, but didn't scream.

Ellis looked her over. Tears had cleared a straight line down her otherwise grimy face, hair and arms slick with gore—had she killed the zombies downstairs? Her eyes grew round and wide.

"Hey, it's okay," Ellis whispered, wary of the gun. "I ain't here to hurtcha, we gonna get you outta here. We-" Ellis stopped cold.

The woman had something at her side: a little girl, no older than five, skin dark and coated with blood. At first Ellis thought the child was dead, but the woman was lifting her up, pushing her towards Ellis. The girl toddled, then stood quite still.

"Holy s**t," Ellis said under his breath. His mouth hung open, he'd never have expected... He raised his voice slightly and looked to the child. "You alright, there? It's okay, it's gonna be okay- what'chyer name?"

The girl opened her mouth and quickly clamped both hands over it, but not before Ellis saw chapped lips and old, dried blood. Realization smacked him in the face.

“Oh-! s**t. Where's- where's yer parents, is she yer-?"

He looked back at the woman—she was shaking her head, rolling it against the wall.

"Hey!" Ellis called over his shoulder, still looking at the older woman. "In here! There's a- a-" The boy faltered. "Ma'am, it's gonna be alright." He moved closer. "It's gonna-"

The woman wrapped her mouth around the pistol and pulled the trigger.

By the time the others got there, it was over. Ellis was on his knees, bent double towards the ground. Their flashlights danced between the boy and fresh brain splatter.

"s**t!" said Nick "What the hell happened? Was she infected?"

"No," Ellis replied, voice muffled. "No, she weren't infected, she jus'... she..."

Rochelle placed a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, sweetie, there wasn't anything you could-”

She tensed suddenly and took two large steps back. Nick and Coach looked to her and then to Ellis, hands tightening around their weapons.

Unfazed, the boy stood and revealed the child, who'd buried her face in Ellis' neck. Like Rochelle, the older men moved away.

Only Coach spoke, and it was quiet. “Oh my god.”

“I... I didn't think there were any kids left,” said Ellis. “Thought the infection... TV said how'd kids been dyin' everywhere, 'steada gettin' touched in the head like the grown ones...”

Ellis seemed to have recovered, and reverted to his usual rambling self. Rochelle grasped Coach's forearm and looked up at him, imploring with her eyes.

“What do we do? What do we do?”

Coach had no answer—Nick did.

“Send it back to God.”

Rochelle made a shuddering gasp and covered her mouth, while Coach hung his head solemnly. Ellis' eyes darted between them three times before he understood. It was his turn to stumble backwards.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a sec!” His arms were wrapped around the child, hand clutching the back of her head. “Nick, what're you thinkin'? She's comin' with us, ain't she?”

“No,” said Nick, stern. “Ellis, you've seen the movies: what happens when the survivors are hiding and the baby won't stop crying? They take a pillow and-”

“It ain't gotta be like that! She-”

“She'll cry, alert every zombie in the goddamn state and then you'll wish that you'd've-”

“She won't!” insisted Ellis, now almost hysterical. “She can't! She...” He dropped his gaze. “She's got her tongue cut out... prob'ly for the reason you jus' said.”

Nick hesitated. No one knew what to say. The girl had lifted her head and was looking at Ellis; he smiled at her, but could not mask his fear.

“Ellis, sweetie...” Rochelle's voice was just above a whisper. “We can't... we just can't...”

“Why not?!” The boy was looking at them with bewildered eyes, as though he'd never met them before.

“Because we can't!” said Nick, harsh once more. “You really want to take her out there, where everything's going to hell? And I bet they were treating her real nice before we got here, huh? No, a clean bullet to the back of the head is the kindest thing we can do.”

Nick lifted his gun as though to demonstrate, and Ellis' face turned hard. It was unlike any expression they'd ever seen on the boy, closest thing was probably his occasional look of determination. But now he looked serious, angry—even disgusted.

“I'll kill you,” he said plainly. He was staring straight at Nick, not the least bit joking. “You hurt this little girl and I'll end you where you stand. We done a lot of things that ain't right, shootin' folk and stealin', but if you're the kinda son'a'b***h that hurt a kid, you don't deserve to live.”

Rochelle's eyes were wet—she buried them in her hands. Nick held Ellis' gaze for a moment longer, then conceded.

“Goddamnit,” he muttered. “Be a little b***h about it, why don't you.”

“Glad we straightened that out,” said Ellis, still deadly serious. He hefted the girl into one arm and used the other to snap his gun. He pushed his way past the others, towards the door. “Let's go.”

The three fell in line behind Ellis, and the little girl watched them.

*

For the next three miles nothing bothered them. Nick proposed that they'd found a ghost town, rather than a zombie one, but no one laughed.

Ellis, for his part, was uncharacteristically cold towards his companions. He did not joke—or even speak—for a good, long while, and when the girl feel asleep, Ellis carried her on his back. It wasn't until the sun began to rise that he said, casually, “I'm going to call her Nellie.”

He didn't look at the others, who were still several paces behind him, weaving themselves through abandoned cars. Rochelle was the first the reply.

“That's a cute name. Where's it come from?” Her tone was conversational, but it had the air of an apology.

Ellis turned his head and smiled at Rochelle. “It's what my Ma would'a named me if I'd been a girl. Not that I didn't get a girl's name any-ways, what with half'a Savannah callin' me 'Elle,' on account'a the fact that my name was 'sposed to be-”

“Nellie it is,” said Coach, in what would have been an encouraging tone. Ellis nodded, and from there on his mood lifted considerably.

As light filled the sky, they reached the edge of town, where the homes gave way to gas stations and the street became flat, open highway. The occasional car littered the horizon, but the debris here was not nearly so thick as in town.

“Hold up,” said Nick, and with two fingers he pointed to their left. A handful of infected stumbled in the distance.

Coach took aim with his sniper rifle and delivered a series of headshots. The threat was neutralized before it even got close.

The gunfire roused the little girl—now called Nellie. Her dark, brown eyes turned wide as she looked everywhere for danger.

“Hey, whoa!” said Ellis. He lowered Nellie to the ground and stayed at her level. He took her tiny hands into his own. “It's okay, you're with us now. Nothin' to worry 'bout. Things are gonna be diff'rent, you un'erstand?”

The girl looked to all four of them in turn, but made no attempt to communicate.

“Freaking waste of of time,” said Nick. He had a fireaxe, which he raised to his shoulder and bounced impatiently. “You said yourself she can't talk.”

Coach blinked with inspiration. “I got an idea.”

Dropping to one knee, he spoke slowly to Nellie, coupling each word with smooth, professional hand motion. “We're going to New Orleans. We're going to find rescue.”

Rochelle made an impressed noise. “You know sign language, Coach?”

“A little,” the man said, then repeated it with his hands. “You pick up some things teachin' public high school.”

“She's missing her voice, not her ears,” muttered Nick. Coach snapped his head in Nick's direction.

“Excuse me? I know that. Point is for her to pick it up so she can talk to us.” Shaking his head in mock disbelief, Coach returned to Nellie. “I'm Coach.” He made a “C” with his hand and brought it to his shoulder, resembling a football player's protective gear. “That's Rochelle.” He crossed his fingers, and followed it with a quick “O” shape. “Got that? Ro-chelle. He's Ellis.” After some thought, Coach brought his hand to his temple and mimicked a horse flicking its ear. This made Ellis laugh. “And that's Nick.” Coach jabbed his thumb in Nick's direction, paused, and then pointed it firmly downward. Nick rolled his eyes.

“Great. Now that introductions are over, can we get move on?”

Ellis stood and Coach made to follow, but before he could stand, Nellie reached out and touched his arm. Coach looked surprised and asked her what she wanted, but her only reply was a quick motion towards herself. When Coach didn't understand, she repeated the action.

“I think she wants to know how to say her name,” guessed Rochelle.

“Oh!” Ellis smiled, bright with enthusiasm, and said, “You're Nellie! Coach, how we say with our hands?”

Coach thought about it for a moment, then drew two fingers down his chin—the American sign for cute.

The girl repeated the motion, liked it, and tried several more times. Nellie. Nellie. Nellie.

Nick took the lead. As it grew closer to breakfast time they cleared out a road-side convenience store of its infected inhabitants. Nellie clung to Ellis like a tiny monkey, and even Ellis himself was surprised by how little this impaired his ability to fight. Still, when the siege was over, he lowered her to the ground.

The victorious survivors helped themselves to the nonperishable food. Coach opened a box of chocolate snackcakes and tossed one to Nellie; she sat down next to Ellis and ate.

It soon became apparent how quiet the child was. Even during the zombie eradication she remained resolutely mute. She probably could have made a sound, if she wanted to, but Nick supposed that whoever had taught her silence made damn sure their lesson stuck.

Once their stomachs were full, Rochelle explored the personal hygiene aisle. She found deodorant and mouthwash—they all used the latter and spat it directly on the floor. Ellis took a bar of unscented soap and, using a bottle of water and an oilrag from his pocket, gave Nellie's face a good scrub.

As they left the store, Ellis took her hand. “Think you can walk?”

“We'll go faster if you carry her,” said Nick, appraising their surroundings. Ellis shrugged.

“Yeah, I know... It's jus' my arm's gettin' tired.” He laughed at his own admission. Rochelle smiled hopefully at Ellis, almost sheepishly.

“I can carry her for a little while,” she offered.

“Naw, it's okay, I got her, really...” Ellis' fingers tightened around Nellie's. He tried to play himself off as considerate, like he didn't want to put Rochelle out of her way, but Nick could detect the wariness in Ellis' tone.

Rochelle lightly touched Ellis' hand, the one holding on to Nellie. “I'm just going to carry her, sweetie. That's all.” She looked down at the little girl. “Hi there, honey. You wanna come with Miss Rochelle for a little while?”

Nellie looked up at Ellis and, to their surprise, nodded. Rochelle grinned ear-to-ear and lifted her up, then strolled away as though the forty-pounds of deadweight didn't exist.

Ellis trotted after her. “Damn! You carry her like a pro! 'Course, I ain't got much 'sperience with kids m'self, but Mary Anne had a baby back in high school and last time I saw her, she was carryin' him like that.”

Rochelle continued to smile, but it turned reminiscent. “My sister had a kid. He would've been eight this May.”

“No kids yerself?”

“Boy, please.”

For the rest of the day they took turns holding Nellie: first Rochelle, then Coach, and once, even Nick. The conman lifted her unceremoniously to the top of his shoulders, where he held her ankles as to keep muddy shoes off his suit.

Behind him, Ellis fiddled with his gun—Nick could feel the boy's eyes burn a hole right through him. All afternoon he noticed how Ellis kept a protective glance on whoever was holding Nellie, and being a calculating man Nick knew that this was done not out of care for the girl, but from distrust of the others. This bothered Nick in a way he couldn't place.

Rochelle, bless her heart, continued trying to clear the air. “What about you, Coach? Any kids?”

Coach shook his head. “Nope. None that I know of, anyway. Was an only child, too—Mom still treats me like a baby.” He laughed deeply. “But I love it. Yeah, no, teachin' fourteen-year-olds to tighten their defensive line was the closest I ever got to bein' a dad.”

This led them to a discussion about home, and Nellie learned several new signs: mother, Savannah, home-made strawberry shortcake.

No one asked Nick if he had a family. The answer seemed apparent.

*

As night settled in around them, the small group took refuge in an abandoned van. The front end was totaled, the entire vehicle knocked to the side of the road, but when they opened the back door, they found the wide cargo-hold quite liveable. It wasn't like them to make so many stops in one day, but no one had slept in forty-eight hours, and the addition of a new survivor made them all exceptionally stressed and tired.

Coach, being the largest, took up most of the floor, while Rochelle draped herself against the bump that was the van's back tire. Nick situated himself as far away from the door as possible, and Ellis took the opposite approach, leaning sideways against it. Nellie promptly fell asleep in his lap.

A week ago, when this whole ordeal had started, Nick found it rather difficult to sleep against hard concrete, or even the occasional saferoom floor. But now sleep came easily—albeit in short, fitful bursts.

It was still dark outside when he woke, and as always the first thing Nick did was make sure his gun was still by his side. He then checked his companions, and found Ellis very much awake.

The boy hadn't noticed Nick. The conman took advantage of this and simply observed him. Ellis had both eyes fixated out the van's window, Nellie in his lap and weapon tight against his chest. He gave the impression of a watchdog, of a guard at his post, and it occurred to Nick how old the boy looked. Nick spent so long calling him “kid” and, hell, Ellis spent so long acting like one, that Nick had forgotten that Ellis was a man. But here, awake in the dark, protecting them all even though no one asked him to, Nick realized that Ellis was not a child.

Twenty minutes later they were on the move again. The sun wouldn't be up for hours, but it didn't suit them to stay anywhere for long. Nellie didn't really seem to mind, until she tapped Ellis on the shoulder.

Nellie eat?

“Soon,” said Ellis quietly. “Soon.”

They all knew he was lying.

*

After two days of travel, the survivors deviated into a dense forest. The trees were thick and large, hanging over them like a guillotine waiting to fall.

“I don't like this,” said Nick, scanning the nightfallen treeline. This territory made it so hard to detect an incoming attack and, besides, they'd seen zombies rise up from the ground—what was to stop them from falling out of the sky?

“Gotta be done,” said Coach. “We're still days from New Orleans.”

“Keep movin',” muttered Ellis. He had dark circles under his eyes and Nellie in hand. The little girl repeated his sentiment: Keep moving.

Rochelle noticed the boy's lack of enthusiasm, which had been in decline for days. “You feelin' right, sweetie? Been getting any rest?”

Ellis shrugged. “Yeah, I git enough.”

He said it carefully, “uh-nuff.” Rochelle bit her lip nervously—she didn't believe him.

The lie was obvious to Nick. He knew Ellis hadn't slept that night in the van, and that he certainly hadn't slept since. Nick was surprised it took Rochelle this long to catch on.

Rochelle let herself trail behind, and once Ellis was out of earshot, she said quietly to Nick, “I don't think he's gotten any sleep.”

Nick rolled his eyes, but choked back a sharp reply. “So?”

“So,” Rochelle insisted, “We have to get him to rest. Any ideas?”

“Yeah, sure. I can knock him out for you.” Nick jabbed the end of his gun in Ellis' direction.

Rochelle scowled at him and brought her concerns to Coach, who had no better solution.

Ahead, Ellis forced an adrenaline shot into his arm, then a second. He raised a third—but Nick didn't watch.

Some hours later the forest revealed a cabin, small and empty. There were no lights inside and no infected—the survivors found only four walls and one hollow, blank room. Rochelle brightened at this.

“We can stop here,” she said. “Take a breather until morning.”

Coach shook his head. “No can do. Gotta keep moving.”

“I wanna stop,” argued Ellis, and Rochelle looked hopeful, but her expression fell when added, “Nellie needs some sleep.”

“You need sleep, baby,” said Rochelle. Ellis didn't reply.

Coach looked to his watch, then the sky. He sighed. “Sun'll be up in four hours. That's all I can give you.”

“Good 'nough.” Ellis took Nellie and disappeared inside.

Checking to make sure the door was securely closed, Rochelle lowered her voice and said, “We have to get him to sleep.”

“I know, baby girl,” agreed Coach, but contradicted it with a shake of his head. “But he's had plenty'a chances. Can't make him do what he don't wanna do. Best plan is to see how far he gets and make do with what happens.”

“I just wish he could trust us again,” said Rochelle. “That's what this is about. He thinks we'll take that little girl and... and...”

Her eyes flickered towards Nick for only a moment, but the conman noticed. He creased the area between his eyes.

“And what? Kid can't sleep and this is my fault? You both wanted to-”

“I wasn't blaming anybody,” whispered Rochelle, not looking at Nick. She wrapped her arms tight around herself, as though she was cold.

“Fine.” Nick was shrugging off his gun, lowering it to the floor. He did the same with his pistols. “Since this is obviously my fault, I'll fix it. I'll get Ellis to sleep and I won't use violence to do so.”

“Nick-”

“No, it's fine.” He actually meant it. “You two stay here, I don't think he'd respond well to a group intervention.”

He gave the door a push and stepped inside. He entered to find Ellis pacing across the dark room, Nellie in hand. The girl wasn't whining, or making any sort of noise, but appeared unmistakeably fussy. Ellis bounced her and patted her back, to little avail.

“C'mon, Nellie,” said Ellis. “You gotta sleep now, early start tomorrow...”

Nick coughed. “Ellis?”

“What?” the boy asked shortly. Nick hesitated, unsure of himself. He coughed again.

“Rub, don't pat,” Nick instructed. “Rub her back. Small circles.”

After a questioning look, Ellis tried the suggestion: using the tips of his fingers, he made tiny, round motions.

“No, no, here.” Nick crossed the room and took Ellis' hand, placing it palm-flat against Nellie's back and demonstrating smooth, full circles.

Eventually, Nellie settled and laid her head on Ellis' shoulder, eyes closed. The boy continued rubbing until her breath was even and slow.

“Thank god,” Ellis whispered. He walked backwards until he hit a wall. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and repeated, “Thank god.”

Nick watched him. Soothing Nellie to sleep wasn't the tricky part—and even if Ellis could be lulled so easily, hell if Nick was going to rub his back. Still, he took a step towards the boy, uncertain.

Ellis opened his eyes. “How'd you know that?”

“What?”

“How'd you know how'da calm Nellie?” pressed Ellis, but Nick didn't answer. Ellis blinked, working it out, and said, “You- you carry her like Ro, all up on your shoulders like she's nothin', better than me an' Coach by far. How'd you..?”

Nick raised and lowered one shoulder. His reply was passive. “My first wife. She... I...” He stopped, cleared his throat, and started again. “Let's put it this way: my other divorces split the goods pretty evenly. Wasn't so lucky with the first. She took everything.”

Nick didn't put any particular stress on the last word, but Ellis could feel it weigh heavy with meaning.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

Again, Nick shrugged. “History. When this thing hit, she probably got what she deserved anyway.” When Ellis didn't laugh, Nick quickly returned to the point at hand. “Now, Ellis, you need to do yourself a favour and get some shut-eye.”

“No.” Ellis' reply was immediate, before Nick even finished his sentence. Ellis shook his head from one side to the other.

“You need to sleep,” Nick said firmly. Ellis kept shaking his head.

“No, I gotta watch her, somethin' bad'll—something' bad'll—I gotta watch her.” His breath grew dangerously fast, and pressed his back flat against the wall.

He's panicking, thought Nick, and the older man snapped into action. He took two large steps and grasped Ellis' shoulders.

“Hey, hey! Nothing's going to happen, we're all here with you. Nellie's here.” This seemed to calm Ellis down, so Nick tried again. “She's right here, she's fine. Look.”

Nick helped the boy slide to the floor, still pressed against the wall. He then moved next to Ellis, and though the boy wouldn't let her go, he allowed Nellie to be shifted, so that she lay more or less between the two of them.

“See? She's right here.”

Ellis swallowed thickly, and his breath slowly worked its way back to normal.

“She'll be here in the morning,” Nick softly assured. “I promise. You hear me? I promise.”

Ellis had closed his eyes.

“I can't...” he said weakly. “Nick, please un'erstand... I can't...”

“Then rest,” Nick compromised. “Just rest, right here with me and Nellie.”

Ellis considered this. He was quiet for a long time—so long that Nick thought the boy had passed out—but then he nodded.

“Yeah. I think I can do that.”

He moved closer to Nick—Ellis' head ended up on Nick's chest. The conman could tell that he was only trying to drape himself over Nellie.

Nick resolved not to say anything, as to tempt the boy into unconsciousness. However, Ellis was a chatterbox, even at the end of his rope.

“Good thing you came in when you did,” he said absently. “I was 'bout to try singin' to her.”

Nick sighed, implying disinterest. “Glad I spared us all a rendition of Johnny Cash.”

“Noel,” Ellis corrected. Nick blinked.

“Huh?”

Ellis stroked Nellie's forehead, pushing aside stray hairs. “Noelle. That's her proper name. My ma used to sing 'bout it, 'bout the first Christmas, sang it to me any time'a year, an' I'd've tried it on Nellie.”

Nick nodded, pretending he understood.

“She loved that song,” Ellis continued. “That's why she'da named me 'Noelle,' had I been a girl. But I do kinda wish... I kinda wish she'd given me a Christmas name anyway. Always thought it'd be, I dunno, comfortin', to be named after somethin' so nice as 'the first noel.'”

Ellis felt it long before Nick made a sound—the rumble in his chest became a stifled laugh, as though reminded of an inside joke.

“What?” asked Ellis, not sure if he should be offended. Nick's chest continued to shake as he lifted his hand, dismissing Ellis but failing to conceal his amusement. “No, c'mon, tell me!”

“It's just,” Nick said, mouth twitching as he resolved not to smile, “It's just, damnit... I was named for Christmas, too.”

Ellis paused as his brain worked around this new information, and when understanding set in he laughed at the thought of a sullen, gun-toting Saint Nicholas.

Nick laughed, too, and it was a pleasant sound, deep and rich. This made Ellis laugh harder—Nellie stirred between them.

Ellis felt warm, and it filled him from the inside out. The warmth pushed away his fear, his grief, until it rose in his throat and left him. Very soon, Ellis' face was wet, though he didn't know why. Nick reached up and swiped the boy's cheek with his thumb.

And Ellis slept.

*