He wondered if it would snow before November even had the chance to end.

It wouldn't surprise Miles, considering just how poor their luck had been in the past couple of weeks; first came the zombies, then came the snow. As if the zombies were supposed to eliminate most, but the snow was insurance, and would finish off the stubborn cockroaches.

Shaking his head, Miles forced himself to focus on the current objective, rather than dwell on such pessimistic thoughts: reach the department store, grab as much as the three of them could, and then head back to the garage. All without getting bitten and/or killed. Easier said than done, but someone had to do it. He just wished that it didn't have to be him, a seventeen-year-old remedial student, his PTSD-ridden and amputee of an older brother, and his pothead of a co-worker. Hell of a group that he had backing him. Nothing could go wrong at all with these teammates at his side.

He supposed that he was being too harsh, but, well, someone had to acknowledge their flaws before they could ever hope to fix them.

"We're almost there," he said, both relief and apprehension apparent in his tone. On one hand, being close to the department store meant that half of their mission was complete. On the other, he didn't doubt that the department store would be a haven for the infected. Everyone, their mother, and the sick would have thought to visit the department store before either holing up in their homes to wait for help to arrive or just leaving town altogether to find somewhere safer, if such a place existed. For all he knew, nothing useful was even in there. In that case, they'd either have to return to the rest of the group empty-handed or look somewhere else. Neither was a good option.

Aeron hadn't been much of a pessimist before he had been sent home from the Corps with a medical discharge, but that train of thought had been changed in a split second and a flash of light. For the past four years, he had been hot-wired to adapt and overcome any situation that was thrown at him, because it had to be done no matter what; in his profession, he couldn't settle with anything less and there was no room left for pessimism or uncertainty. He'd lived by that code and followed the book to a "T," but there were certain situations that was beyond any man's control as he quickly learned. A few weeks ago, he had thought that the loss of a leg was about as bad as it could get because it kept him from living the life that he was born to lead, but no one could have been prepared for the shitstorm that had come their way. Some people may claim that their life is worse than everyone else's, but another fact that he'd learned quickly: it can always be worse.
Growing up, he'd always known there was some truth hidden within the fictional stories and fairy tales of his youth, but never would he have believed that, of all things, flesh-eating corpses would be the monsters that were real. It was so unreal that he sometimes believed it was just a nightmare or another one of his post-war delusions, but it was real. The horrors he'd witnessed in these short few weeks were even worse than his time in overseas because these weren't his enemies shooting at him or trying to blow him up; these were their friends and families, their coworkers, people they had grown up with. In war, death was the end once it came for you but now, death was absolutely meaningless. Death...was only the beginning, and there was nothing that anyone could do to change it.
"Make sure to check your corners," Aeron said through half-gritted teeth as he scanned the area. "We don't need a repeat of what almost happened last time." He didn't need to say names.
"One time...one time that happened," Miles former co-worker, Jacoby commented.
"One time is all that it takes to die," he snapped. "Now be quiet before you attract unwanted attention. Your voice carries like a cat in heat."
Another retort was on the tip of Jacoby's tongue, but with every ounce of willpower he owned, he managed to hold it back. Jacoby was known for arguing with people until he was black and blue in the face even if he knew he was wrong, but he wouldn't dare do that in front of Aeron. There weren't many things that intimidated him, but he would much prefer to take on a horde of zombies rather than face Aeron's wrath.

Miles spared Jacoby a reproachful look, hoping that he wouldn't attempt another argument with his brother, as neither of them had ever seemed to get along with each other, even before the outbreak. Aeron saw Jacoby as nothing more than an idiot, whereas Jacoby was terrified of Aeron. Not to mention that Aeron was the reason that Jacoby insisted that gun control laws should be stricter. The one trait that the two shared was their stubborn streak, but, in the end, Aeron knew how to keep a fight going even when it didn't need to. It was what he'd been trained for, after all.

Checking that his revolver remained in its holster on his hip, paranoid as ever that it might have been knocked loose at some point, Miles added, "Let's avoid firing, if we can. It attracts them." Instead, he unsheathed the knife, the one that he and Aeron had once just used on camping and hiking trips. He knew that Aeron disagreed with him on the gun issue. He wanted them to keep their distance, something that melee combat just didn't provide. But Miles didn't think that it was worth bringing in an entire horde just to eliminate a small group of them; Aeron didn't seem to believe or trust him, though. He claimed that it was just Miles' paranoid imagination acting up again; a zombie's hearing wouldn't improve just because their sight was turned to shit. Wouldn't the rest of their senses degrade, as well? Sure, one would think so, but, to Miles, at least, it didn't seem to be the case, and if zombies could exist to begin with, then what was left to prevent yet another mystery?

Aeron clicked his tongue in annoyance and shot a look in Miles' direction. "We shouldn't take any unnecessary risks, especially with there only being three of us. If we get surrounded, then we won't have the backup to get out." He didn't want to admit it aloud, especially for Jacoby could hear, but he didn't want to get caught in a situation that might expose his weaknesses to him. It was obvious that he had a slight limp to his stride, but he still didn't want him to know that he was a paraplegic if he could help it; that was a bit of information that he would like to keep to himself.
"Not that you care to hear my opinion, but I think we should save our ammo in case we need it for a more serious situation," Jacoby said softly, not daring to look Aeron in the eye.
"You're right; I don't care to hear your opinion. I would rather be safe now than wait for a situation that may never come."

"And we'd like to be prepared for whatever might happen," Miles retorted, shaking his head. He loved his brother, but he could be so arrogant at times. Regardless, he headed toward the department store, adding beforehand, "Just be careful, Aeron. Don't fight them unless we have to."

Before the outbreak, the department store had been the busiest section in town; well, it had been for the actual residents, at least. Helena, Montana hadn't been the busiest of towns. If one wanted to shop at a mall, they'd have to travel to the next town over. Otherwise, Burke's Depot, it was, for people to purchase necessities. However, Helena saw more than its fair share of travelers and tourists. People came for the hiking trails, for camping, for the natural wonders. Self-proclaimed survivalists and nature enthusiasts came from all over just to risk freezing to death in the woods. It kept the town alive, though, giving reason for multiple restaurants, gift shops, and outfitter stores to exist within a few miles of each other, providing jobs for adults and teenagers alike, bringing the occasional family in to settle down.

Easing open the front door, Miles peered inside, holding his breath as he listened for sounds of the living dead. The power grid had been down for the past week, enveloping the store in darkness.

He recognized groans, whimpers, and shuffling.

Biting his lip, he whispered, "Some are in there, somewhere. Can't tell how many, though."

Aeron barely refrained from snapping at his brother, but that wouldn't have gotten them no where; they would continue this conversation later when they weren't in the presence of the third wheel. No matter how much sense he was making or the experience that he had in these situations, Jacoby would always side with Miles because that was his friend.

"Don't worry about me. Just watch out for yourself." He quickly walked over to the door and pressed against the wall before leaning his head through the entrance slightly to listen better. Indeed, there were zombies inside and could make out at least two different sets of shuffling feet, but there were no tellings how many were actually inside. The depot was a fairly large building and he knew there had to be more deeper inside that their ears couldn't pick up on.

"There are at least two inside near the front of the store, but there's surely more in there. If we're going in quietly, then stick to the walls so they can't sneak in behind us, then we'll work our way into the middle. You two take the left flank and I'll go to the right. If either of you think you cannot handle the situation, do not hesitate to use the gun..." He then shot Miles a stern look. "I'm not playing with you."

(Double Post)

Miles narrowed his eyes. If there was one valuable life lesson that horror movies had taught him, it was that splitting up was the worst idea that a person could ever come up with. "We should stick together." He didn't voice it, for he knew that Aeron didn't want the others to know, even if it would be best for them to, but he didn't want Aeron to get cornered or to alert the infected, but not be able to run because of his leg. If something like that happened, Miles wanted to be there to hold them off long enough for Aeron to have the chance to put some distance between himself and the zombies. But no, Aeron just insisted on going it alone, as if he had something that he had to prove.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot that you're the one with combat experience and that you actually know how to fight," Aeron couldn't hide the slight snarl in his voice this time as he made his way quietly into the store. He knew that his younger brother was just trying to protect him, but he felt as if he was suffocating under his constant scrutiny. It seemed that everything he did or every plan that he made, he directly went against every word that he said. He felt as if he was the kid that everyone claimed cried wolf, but he had done nothing but speak the truth and yet no one would listen to what he had to say despite their good intuition.
Just because he had a physical ailment didn't make him stupid, and it angered him for Miles to treat him as such. It was as if he had been locked away in a basement for the last three years of his life and was just being brought out into real life again. In a sense, he was just being introduced back into his civilian life, but he wished it was as simple as crawling out of the comfort of a basement...
'Sometimes I don't even think he knows exactly what I am...things things that I'm capable of. If he knew half the shit that I've done over there, he wouldn't even speak to me little on order me around like a clueless child.' He'd been on the verge of telling his brother the horrors he'd seen and committed on a few occasions but always stopped himself at the last minute. Despite wanting him to know, he couldn't bring himself to taint his brother's innocence if he could help it. No one should ever have to witness that, even if told through stories.