Brad, one of the Immune -3 Years later

"Alright, get your ass up!"

Brad Turner's eyes cracked open and the world slowly took shape around him. The watchtower was the same as it always had been- small, cramped, devoid of comfort- though as his vision came into focus, Brad realised someone was standing in the doorway.

He stifled a yarn, ran a hand through his mop of dirty blonde hair, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and asked, "What can I do for you, Tom?"

"You can start by dragging your sorry ass out of bed," the older man snapped. Tom O'Brien was short, bald, and red-faced. Before the fall he was mall cop, but now he found himself as a deputy in the small town of Salvation. Like most folks who found themselves suddenly elevated in the aftermath of the apocalypse, he let the power go to his head."There's a meeting at the station in five. Sheriff wants you there."

Brad glanced out the windows of the little box he had slept for the last three days. Took note of the woods beyond his tower. "What about my shift? I've got another two days up here."

"Terri's gonna cover you," Tom said, gesturing out the door, "just get your ass into gear and get a move on!"

Brad didnt need to be told twice, getting up off his cot, dressing quickly and walking out of the tiny cabin. He paused to take in the morning air and to look at his surroundings.

Beyond the watchtowers and the large, wooden wall that had been erected to encircle the town of Salvation, a forest grew wild an untamed. It was stormy out, overcast and threatening rain. A strong wind made the forest move and bristle and shift. Brad often stared into it and wondered at the horrors that were obscured in those woods, though he had never seen anything. Still, sometimes when he was up in his tower late at night watching out he felt a horrible sense that he was being watched in turn.

Shaking away the negative thoughts, he walked down the stairs and made his way through the township. His hometown of Salvation was a pissant town originally, with a population of barely a thousand and nothing especially interesting going on. It was a two hour drive in any direction before someone would reach anything else, and right before things went to shit it was often accepted that the town was on its way out. But after the Fall its remoteness served as a key safeguard, with the wall and towers being erected in short order.

Growing up, Brad had always hated the place, had thought of nothing else but finishing school and moving away. If not for his Mom and little sister, he would have cut ties with the place completely. It was a strange irony that one of his few visits during spring break likely saved his life when things went to shit around the world.

Brad was still chewing on his memories when he came upon the police station and pushed his way in. A lone woman, slightly overweight and with graying hair sat behind the desk. A cloud of smoke circled her as she thumbed through a magazine.

"Hi Kathy," he greeted. "Boss man wanted to see me?"

The old woman smiled at him wearily. "His Sugar,” she put her magazine down, “He’s been in a mood all morning, so brace yourself." She took a drag of a cigarette, then nodded at one of the back rooms. "Meeting room. He's got a couple dozen folks squeezed in there already."

Brad grimaced, thanked the woman, and went on through. Eyes fell on him right away as he entered the meeting room, a common occurrence these days. Brad was the only Immune in Salvation, and that brought with it a strange mix of awe and jealousy among the community. Some people thought he was blessed, others thought there was something sinister about his resistance to the virus that had ruined the world.

"Turner, finally. Sit your ass down."

Sheriff Hal Morgan had been a cop for as long as Brad had known him, and though he was an uptight prick, his experience and leadership skills had come in handy during the early days of the outbreak. It was his quick thinking that had gotten the walls put up, and then the watchtowers shortly afterwards. Many in town saw him as the de facto leader, though it was clear from the reclining hairline and crows feet that the stress had taken its toll on him.

Once Brad had taken a seat, Hal looked about the room, packed as it was with deputies and locals. Brad recognised most of them, the usual cops and meatheads that Hal kept around, but also some voltuneers from the community. Harry Thompkins, was on the older side, but he had worked at the butcher shop since Brad was a kid and had the strong arms of a man who used a cleaver. Barbara Henderson used to work with his Mom as a realtor, but had since taken up volunteering in the towers. Steve Bisley was the dweeby kid that used to follow Brad’s sister around like a love sick puppy in high school, nowadays he worked with the farmers growing crops to feed the town. And sitting in the chair next to him was Melinda Harris, a friend of his from middle school.

Years ago, before the world ended, Brad used to look down on his old friend. She was a nerd, a homebody, and she seemed to have no interest in leaving their hometown behind even as the rest of their friend group went off to college or to travel. But truth be told, Melinda was one of the few real friends that Brad had left. Infection or **** had claimed most, and in the broken remnants of the world he was lucky that he still had her.

"Where were you?" She whispered. “Hal looked ready to pinch a fit.”

Brad shrugged. "Slept in, sorry."

"You goober," Melinda laughed, shoving him playfully. "You're the worst watchmen I've ever heard of."

“But you HAVE heard of me,” Brad replied in his best Jack Sparrow.

Melinda turned away, biting her lip to suppress her smile before losing the battle and giggling. “You’re such a loser.”

He shrugged again and the two laughed together, only falling silent when the sheriff approached the seated men and women.

"There's no fun way to say this, so I'll just say it: the hospital is running out of supplies. Doc Baker tells me that they've got enough to last maybe enough month, but after that we'll be in the shit." Hal looked about, then continued. "It's not just antibiotics and the like, it's everything. Insulin for the diabetics, terbutaline for the asthmatics," his eyes softened when he looked at Melinda, "chemo for..." he shook the thought away and cast his eyes across the whole room. "This is vital stuff, and a lot of people are going to die unless we do something about it."

Brad felt Melinda's hand grasp his own. Panic painted her dark features. A year ago Melinda's mother had taken ill, and when she didn't get better after a month of bed rest, Doc Baker discovered that she had stage 2 lymphoma. It had been a hard time on them, especially since the rest of their family had been killed during the chaos of the Fall. Brad squeezed Melinda's hand.

"It's not going to be pretty, but we're going to have to send out a foraging party into South Haverbrook. There's no other way around it." Hal's face hardened as he looked at everyone gathered in the room. "There haven't been any sightings of infected in over a year, but that doesn't mean they aren't still out there. You leave these walls, there's a good chance you won't come back. That's why I'll only take volunteers with me. Show of hands if you're in."

A good chunk of the cops, predictably raised their hands. Brad wasn't sure if it was out of genuine concern for the town, or pure loyalty to Hal. Didn't make much difference, he supposed. Mr Thompkins raised his hand, as did a few other concerned citizens. Melinda's went up right away, her eyes set and determined.

Brad considered it all. He was Immune, but that only meant he couldn't become infected. There were plenty of stories of Immune men and women being pulled into a violent orgy and literally fucked until they died of exhaustion. He would be putting his life at risk. He would be leaving behind his friends, his family, and the fragile life they had created in this new world.

But he looked into Melinda's eyes and saw a lifetime of friendship, he saw her innocent, her kindness, and knew he couldn’t allow her to face the madness of the outside world alone. His hand slowly rose too.

The sheriff noted all the volunteers, nodded to himself. "Good. Go home, kiss your loved ones, write a will if you have to and then get ready. We leave tomorrow at first light."