Chapter Text
After spending the night camped beneath some trees not far from an access road, everyone was a little grumpy. No had slept particularly well being out in the open but they hadn’t encountered any of the undead which everyone was pleased about. As the sun made its slow ascent, the group began to trudge down the road towards the terminal. It shimmered before them like a mirage in the morning heat and the flat concrete road was warm beneath their feet. As they made their way along the path, more bodies converged onto the same stretch of concrete.
For the first time in days, there were people.
Real ones.
Not many, but enough for the sight to be a slight shock to the group. Other small clusters of survivors made their way towards the airport. Some looked worse for wear than others, missing limbs and various obvious injuries. Some were crying, some wore the hard set expression of people who had seen too much.
Ellen slowed her pace. “Looks like we’re not the only ones who made it.”
Up ahead, a cluster of people was being ushered through a gap in the outer barricade. A makeshift checkpoint stood next to a row of orange barriers: two guards in mismatched fatigues, a table piled with clipboards, and a portable scanner that beeped inconsistently.
Melissa and Bo held Ellis upright between them — his bound legs stiff, but his steps more confident than they’d been even the day before. Louis walked behind them, one hand hooked in his backpack strap. Derek stayed near the middle, eyes constantly moving, absorbing shapes, shadows, movement. A family with suitcases duct-taped shut moved through first — a father, a baby asleep against his chest, an older woman clutching rosary beads between tight knuckles. Then came a mother with two toddlers stuffed into a stroller, clearly never meant for off-road travel. Derek inhaled deeply and rolled his shoulders to try and relieve some of the tension that had built there over the past few weeks. And then he sniffed again, more focused. His eyes narrowed as he looked around them, searching. There ahead of them, edging closer to the checkpoint, were a group of three people with a distinct scent. The older woman ushered the younger forward, speaking to the guards and gesturing placatingly to the sword being handled by the guards. After muttering something to the woman, he handed the sword back to the girl, who sheathed it in the scabbard strapped to her back before both women and the shorter man with them disappeared through the checkpoint – but not before the older woman looked back, locking eyes with Derek.
Families,” Melissa breathed, voice caught between awe and grief. “Actual families.”
Bo squeezed Ellis’s hand. “Means we picked the right direction.”
Ellis adjusted his weight on their shoulders. “Means someone might actually know what they’re doing in there.”
Louis kept his eyes on the checkpoint. On the guards. On the open gate. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it might feel like to sleep somewhere secure again, not just somewhere they had holed up in for a night or two. To let himself relax without waiting for the next scream or groan or gunshot. Then Derek drifted close enough that their arms nearly brushed. Close enough, Louis could feel the warmth of him. It shocked him how steadying Derek’s proximity felt, adding to his already hopeful mood. And then, they were at the checkpoint.
One of the guards, cheeks sunburned from too long standing out in the heat, lifted a hand. “Group of six? Step forward, please.”
Ellis muttered, “Five and a half,” earning himself a gentle swat from Bo. Louis huffed a short laugh despite the tension buzzing under his skin. He could feel Derek look at him, like checking without checking. They approached the guard together.
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Annie had set a gruelling pace. Regardless of anything else, they could all be sure that they would be making it to the terminal today. They moved along quiet back roads and cul-de-sacs choked with abandoned cars, suitcases split open on sidewalks, barricades made from whatever people had been able to drag into place in a panic. A child’s bike lay on its side in the gutter, streamers tangled in the spokes. Someone had painted an arrow on a garage door — THIS WAY — the paint flaking now, direction meaningless. She walked at the front, shoulders squared, eyes forward, not rushing but definitely not taking it slow or steady. The group matched pace more out of habit now than a respect for the leadership she had taken the position of.
Mason carried Olive for part of the way, her arms looped loosely around his shoulders. She wasn’t asleep — just resting her cheek against his collarbone, eyes half-lidded as she watched the street pass by. After a while, she shifted.
“I think I wanna walk,” she murmured.
Mason slowed immediately. “Yeah? You sure?” She nodded, sliding down carefully. Jordan was already there, crouching without being asked, adjusting the strap of her pack where it had twisted.
“You good?” he asked quietly.
She nodded again, smaller this time, and reached out — not quite grabbing his hand, but hovering close enough that he noticed. Jordan offered it without comment.
They walked like that for a stretch, Olive’s fingers curled loosely around his. She didn’t look at him much, just focused on placing her feet where his went, matching his stride with unconscious trust. Stiles watched from a few steps back, something warm and unsettled blooming in his chest.
Virginia noticed too, a small smile tugging at her mouth as she watched Stiles watching Jordan and a vague picture of a not-so-distant future was conjured in her mind. She said nothing — only adjusted her grip on her own pack and kept moving. Lydia lagged near the middle of the group, fingers brushing the strap of her bag over and over like she was counting something invisible. Her gaze kept drifting — not to any one place, just everywhere. Houses. Windows. The sky.
“You good?” Allison asked softly, falling into step beside her.
Lydia hesitated. Then nodded. “Yeah. Just… hoping I’m wrong.”
“Yeah… I think we all are, no offense”
“None taken,” Lydia said after a moment. “Just… worries me, after what we’ve all seen.” Allison didn’t respond to that, just shook her head at the memories that brought to the surface and walked on, giving her friend an awkward side hug as they moved to keep pace with the group. As they crested a low hill and the road curved, a long sightline opened up before them. In the distance, past the sprawl of rooftops and utility poles, something rose against the haze — tall, geometric, unmistakable.
Stiles slowed, breath catching. “Is that—?”
“Yeah,” Annie said. “That’s it.”
Jordan glanced down at Olive. “Almost there.”
She squeezed his hand once — tight — and leaned closer to him without thinking.
Virginia brushed Olive’s hair back gently as they passed. “Told you we’d make it.”
They stood there for a moment longer than necessary, just looking.
Then Annie turned and kept walking.
And the others followed.
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The terminal smelled faintly of disinfectant, and just a little of unwashed people confined to one place for too long. The air inside was stuffy, and motes of dust drifted lazily through shafts of light from the windows. There was an air of normality in the low-level bustle of the terminal, if one were to ignore where windows had been hastily repaired with boards and tabletops; the sandbag and furniture walls cordoning off various areas, and the distinct lack of announcements over the tannoy.
Cass Dunne walked the length of the terminal, her boots clicking against the tiled floor. Clipboard tucked under one arm, she stopped at each makeshift post to check off tasks on her list and check in with the people doing them: stock take with food distribution; patient updates at their ‘infirmary’, headcount in the baggage claim turned communal bedroom. Seventy-seven people, by her count. The number had been dwindling day by day as planes flew out to take more and more people to the promised safezone, but the planes had grown few and far between very quickly, and communication with pilots had gone quiet over 24 hours ago. She paused at the far end of the building before stepping into a side room, where David Cho crouched beside a table covered in radio parts. A low buzz filled the air as he turned a dial.
“Anything new?” Cass asked.
David didn’t look up, his voice flat. “Just more static. Someone on a military band’s still talking about containment zones. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before.”
Cass made a note. “Any mention of evac flights?”
He snorted. “If there were, we’d have heard the engines.”
Cass offered a thin smile. “Then we keep waiting.”
“But for how much longer,” David muttered, too quietly for her to reply.
Across the terminal, what had become the infirmary was spearheaded by Shireen, harried nurse who had been waiting for a flight to Florida for a break away from her job when the chaos had started. A cluster of folding tables and cots boxed in by luggage carts and tarps were what she had to work with now and what she wouldn’t give to have the resources she was used to. She was cataloguing supplies: five vials of morphine, one bottle of saline, half a box of antibiotics… The red pen hovered over the last item for a long moment before she scrawled a line through it and moved on to the next items on the list. Behind her, Renee Calloway hovered near one of the cots, clutching a nearly empty inhaler. Her nephew slept fitfully under a blanket, every breath wheezing. The sound scraped raw against the quiet.
“Please,” Renee said softly. “He’s getting worse.”
Shireen didn’t look up right away. When she did, her expression was gentle but firm. “We’re out of albuterol. The only thing I have left that could help is epinephrine, but it’s risky without having the equipment to monitor him afterwards.”
“Risky’s better than nothing.”
“Not if it kills him faster.”
Renee’s voice cracked. “So I just sit here and listen to him dying?”
Cass appeared at her shoulder before the argument could rise further. “Renee,” she said quietly, “He’ll be the first person on the next flight out. We just have to hold on until then.”
“What if I ask the soldiers?”
“No, Renee. I think it’s best to steer clear of them.”
Renee’s eyes were rimmed red. “They said civilians get what they’re issued. Unless I’ve got something worth trading.” Cass didn’t respond to that. There was nothing to say. “You’re not the one who has to watch him stop breathing,” Renee said finally, her voice trembling — not angry, just tired. She brushed past them both, disappearing down the hall. Silence settled in her wake. Shireen exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose.
“I don’t know how much longer I can hold off before I’m forced to give him the epinephrine Cass. We’re barely holding on here, has there been any word on the next plane?”
“We’re working on it, trust me,” Cass said. “We just need to not panic. They know we still have people here, they won’t just leave us.” Shireen nodded once as Cass walked off. She was beginning to wonder if Cass was right or if they really had been left behind.
Near the far wall, Pastor Caleb Nash made his rounds with quiet efficiency. He handed out bottled water from a crate, murmuring blessings to anyone who met his eye. His dark shirt was damp with sweat, sleeves rolled up, collar loose. When he reached Cass, he paused.
“You planning another service tonight?” she asked, marking something on her clipboard.
“If people need it,” he said.
“They always need it.”
Caleb studied her face. “And you?”
Cass didn’t look up. “I need a stiff drink is what I need.”
“I think we could all do with a stiff drink.”
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The terminal felt unreal. Not untouched — far from it — but after three weeks of majority undead sightings, seeing a space filled with dozens of living, breathing human people was a shock to the system. The group were funneled into the terminal through a side entrance, past a second checkpoint of folding tables and tired-looking guards whose uniforms were stained with sweat and dust. Inside, the space opened up into something vast and echoing. High ceilings. Long sightlines. Windows that let in clean, pale afternoon light.
The sound hit them first.
Not screams. Not panic.
Conversation. Footsteps. The low, constant murmur of people existing together in one place. Someone coughed. Someone laughed — a quick, startled bark of sound that turned a few heads before everyone collectively remembered that laughter was still allowed. A baby cried near the baggage claim. Somewhere, a radio crackled with static-laden instructions. Stiles slowed without meaning to.
After weeks of silence broken only by wind, zombies, and their own voices, the density of humanity pressed in on him. People sat shoulder to shoulder against walls. Families clustered around backpacks and duffel bags. Blankets had been laid out like claims staked on tile floors. Handwritten signs were taped crookedly to pillars and doors:
MEDICAL THIS WAY
CHECK-IN CLOSED
QUIET ZONE – PLEASE
A man was arguing softly with a guard about seating. A woman braided her daughter’s hair with careful, deliberate focus. Someone knelt on the floor repairing a torn shoe with thread scavenged from somewhere improbable.
This wasn’t safety. But it was survival.
Jordan noticed Olive slow too and gently guided her forward with a hand at her shoulder. Virginia scanned the space with a practiced eye — not for threats, but for patterns. Lydia stood very still, head tilted slightly, expression unreadable. Stiles’ chest felt tight with the uncertain hope that some structures were still in place and the promise of a safe haven was still there.
Then Derek saw him.
It happened all at once — Derek’s head lifting, his attention snapping sharp as if he’d caught a scent or a sound that didn’t belong. His gaze cut through the terminal with startling focus, landing squarely on Stiles. For a heartbeat, Derek didn’t move. The noise of the terminal seemed to thin around him — voices blurring, footsteps dulling — until all that existed was the impossible, solid truth of Stiles standing there. Alive. Upright. Looking back at him with the same stunned disbelief.
“Stiles.”
It wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Derek moved towards him as though pulled by an invisible tether, barelling into Stiles with a hug that knocked the breath out of the smaller man. Derek’s arms came around him automatically, strong and familiar, holding him like muscle memory had taken over before thought could interfere. Stiles let himself sag into it for half a second longer than was reasonable, face pressed against Derek’s shoulder.
“You’re real,” Stiles said, voice thin and breathless. “You made it out.” Derek huffed out something close to a laugh, tightening his grip just enough to anchor him.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I did.”
When they pulled apart, Jordan was standing a few steps back, watching the exchange with open curiosity and a flicker of something sharper. Stiles blinked, suddenly aware of the moment he’d just had — how it might look from the outside.
“Oh,” he said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Uh. Derek. This is—”
“Jordan,” Jordan supplied, stepping forward and offering his hand. Polite. Neutral. Guarded.
“And this is—"
Derek took it, grip firm but brief. “Derek.”
“My ex- uh… friend. Well not ex-friend. Just friend. But also my ex. I’m gonna stop talking now.” A pause — not hostile, but weighted. Stiles stood in silence, watching as the two men sized each other up.
Jordan nodded once. “Nice to meet another of Stiles’ friends.”
Derek raised an eyebrow. “And that makes you?”
Jordan’s mouth twitched. “Still figuring that out.”
Stiles winced. “Okay, cool, great, love that for us.”
The tension didn’t vanish — it just shifted, settling into something quieter and more watchful.
Melissa had been taking stock of the makeshift medical bay where she had been introduced to Shireen when she had seen Derek hurtle past. Her eyes followed until they landed on the group of newcomers nearby, and came to rest on Allison. It wasn’t dramatic — no gasp, no shout. Just a sharp intake of breath that caught in her chest and refused to move. She stood near the edge of the group, thinner than Melissa remembered, harder around the eyes and with the same grime as the rest of them. But unmistakable.
“Allison,” Melissa breathed.
Allison looked up at the sound of her name and froze. For a split second, she stared — confusion giving way to recognition so sudden it made her sway.
“Melissa?"
Then they were moving toward each other, weaving through people and packs and bedrolls, until Allison collided with her hard enough to knock the air from both of them. Melissa’s arms came up around her without thought, clutching tight like she was afraid Allison might disappear if she loosened her grip. Allison’s hands fisted in the back of Melissa’s jacket, fingers trembling. When they pulled away Melissa checked over Allison with eyes and hands for injuries.
“You’re okay,” she said, voice shaking. “You’re really okay.”
Allison nodded, eyes shining. “I— I think so. I mean. As okay as anyone can be.”
There was a beat — fragile, inevitable. “Scott?” Allison asked quietly.
Melissa’s breath hitched. She swallowed, forcing the truth into a shape she could speak. “He didn’t make it,” she said. “We were attacked just outside of Beacon Hills.”
Allison’s shoulders sagged, grief flickering across her face — sharp, contained. She nodded once, accepting it even as it hurt. “Okay,” she said. “Okay.”
Melissa squeezed her hands. “Your dad?” she asked. “Chris — have you—?”
Allison shook her head, slower this time. “He got bit,” she said. “Turned while we were out hunting. I had—I had to--” Melissa pulled her into another hug and kissed her head.
“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.” They stood there for a moment longer, holding each other up in the middle of the terminal, grief and relief tangled too tightly to separate. Nearby, Cass cleared her throat. A clipboard was tucked under her arm.
“Sorry,” Cass said gently. “Hate to interrupt reunions — but if you’re new arrivals, I need names and numbers. Food and sleeping assignments get messy fast otherwise.”
Melissa nodded, wiping at her eyes. “Of course. Sorry.”
She stepped aside as the rest of the new arrivals made their way forward and Cass began scrawling names down onto her clipboard. She glanced at the group. “Anyone else with medical training? We’re pretty thin on the ground here.” After a beat with no response she nodded lightly. “No worries, all I ask is that you help pull your weight once we’ve got you settled in.”
“What about the evacuation flights? How do we know when we’re getting out of here?” Annie spoke up for the first time since they had arrived in the terminal.
“They’re coming intermittently,” Cass said. “We’re prioritising based on injuries currently.” Annie nodded at this, content with that answer, and Cass turned to begin leading them to an empty area where they could set up as a group. Jordan walked beside Stiles, hands interlocked as they moved through the terminal. His eyes briefly met Derek’s as they passed. He got the impression Derek wasn’t overjoyed at his existing near Stiles.
Virginia watched the whole scene with a quiet, measuring gaze.
For the first time in days — maybe weeks — no one was actively running. They had made it this far, and their route out was basically secured. Hope simmered among the group throughout that evening, and as Stiles fell asleep staring up at the roof of the terminal he couldn’t help the small smile on his face.
On the other side of the small space they had occupied, Lydia was laid rigid and awake. Something was not right. They needed to leave.