Disclaimer: Hetalia's not mine.

England lashed out with a grunt, kicking away a zombie that had stumbled too close. It fell away with a groan, and he put a bullet in the poor bastard's head. Another one beside him went down, and England didn't bother to look and see who had shot it.

"Russia!" he snapped, noticing a form creeping closer to the other nation. "Behind you." Assured that Russia had things under control, England fired another round into the creatures that lurched ever closer, relentless. His nose was assaulted with the rank smell of death and decay. The zombies ranged from pale and bloated recently deceased, to strips of flesh barely clinging to old bones. England focused solely on his task, ignoring the grunts and sounds of alarm his companions made, listening only for indications of distress that would require assistance.

England's limbs were growing heavy as he took aim at yet another of the endless zombies, this one clad in the tatters of a nice suit. There would have been no time to prepare it for burial before it rose; it must have died at some special event. England sent it flying back with a bullet between the eyes. He kicked out again, catching another of them in the sternum and sending it tumbling back.

Another that approached England in its relentless pursuit of food couldn't have been much more than five when it died, filthy shreds of teddy bear pajamas still clinging to its decayed body. England hesitated only an instant before firing once, twice... except the second time he only got an empty click. He swallowed thickly, gulping in a breath of air as he dropped the gun and reached for his knife. And then he was among them, driving the blade into eyes, into brains. He ducked and weaved, avoiding their reaching arms. A yelp of alarm escaped when he felt hands grasping at the back of his shirt, but they fell away when another shot rang out. At least not everybody had run out of ammo.

No good. England was wearing out quickly. He spun away from a maggoty ghoul and drove the knife into the back of its head, wincing when the zombie fell over before he was able to retrieve it. He felt his clothes for another weapon, panic rising amidst the exhaustion.

When nothing reached out for him, England paused, giving a cautious scan of the area.

Nothing. All of the zombies lay sprawled on the ground around them, unmoving. Chest heaving, England was tempted to just plop onto the ground with them and catch his breath. It had been a while since they had had to take out so many at once; he was about ready to drop.

"Let's go back," Canada said, looking and sounding just as worn out, sweat dripping down his face, body stooping. "I don't hear any more."

America just nodded in agreement, wiping damp hair out of his face. Even he must have been exhausted, enough to make him unusually quiet. The weary quartet trooped back to the house without a backward glance at the pile of corpses, eager to get some relaxation and sleep in before they were on the move again. England mused that they could probably stand a good rinse off, too, as covered in blood and gore as they were. But that just didn't sound good to him at the moment, and England dropped onto the couch. He didn't care what mess he got on it. Starting tomorrow, nobody would be living in that house again.

Canada and Russia also found spots to relax, while America remained standing, staring off into space.

"Come here, love," England said, hoping America wasn't feeling down again. They all went through more mood swings than a pregnant woman, feeling enthusiasm for killing the dead bastards and being happy to still be alive one minute, to despair and wondering what the point of living was the next. It struck England the hardest when it was his bright and cheerful lover who was going through a spell of depression.

America shook his head. "I have to tell you guys something."

England furrowed his brows. "What is it?"

"Oh, not this again," Canada sighed. "You want to go on without us when you leave, is that it?"

"No..." America hesitated, then wordlessly rolled his pantleg up.

England's breath caught in his throat, his heart stopped. He could tell Canada and Russia were having similar reactions. No... he thought numbly. This isn't possible. It's not happening.

The wound on America's calf was very different from the others. It wasn't a new rotting patch; it was a gaping, bleeding hole torn into the flesh. A bite.

America had been bitten.

"No..." Canada gasped, color draining from his face. "No!"

"What does this mean?" Russia asked, just as pale. "Will you...?"

"I don't know." America rolled his pantleg back down, covering the dreadful wound. "It's never happened before."

England supposed he shouldn't be surprised that America would be the first nation to get bitten. "It's..." He swallowed. "It's not a guarantee that anything will happen." His voice had gone unusually high. "When has any virus ever had an effect on us? I say he's going to be fine." Did he really believe that?

"What do we do?" Canada said, voice a pained whisper.

America slowly looked at each of them with wide eyes. "There's only one thing we can do. You should-"

"NO!" England jerked to his feet so quickly he nearly tipped the couch over. "No, never! You bloody bastard, we are not going to try and kill you when we don't even-"

"England!" America had to yell to be heard over the ranting. "Shut up!"

England's jaw snapped closed. He gave America a pleading, despairing look. "But..."

"Who said anything about killing? Geez." America shook his head, and the git was actually smiling. "No, I was going to say that you should tie me up, and leave me that way until we know for sure one way or another."

"Oh..." England sagged back onto the couch.

"It takes humans no more than 24 hours from initial bite to death," America continued now that England was somewhat pacified. "If I last that long without even a symptom, you should be safe to untie me."

Russia tilted his head. "There is no rope or chain that can hold you."

"I know. But I won't be able to break free in an instant, it will give you time to get away. If you hear me trying to escape, get the hell out and burn this place down." He dropped onto a chair and waited expectantly.

England backed away, not wanting to help as Russia and Canada fetched whatever they could find to tie America up. He studied his lover with growing dread, noting that, as composed as he seemed on the outside, his vivid blue eyes held terror. Unable to stand it, England turned away, shivering.

Would he have been so brave, had he been the one bitten? He liked to think so.

England stared outside, at the deceptively calm night, trees swaying lightly in the breeze. He tried to ignore the noises behind him, as the other two nations bound America to the chair with whatever they had found. The only other sound was Canada's occasional sniffling.

"I think England is right," Russia said, voice subdued. "Viruses don't touch us. America will turn when all his people turn, not from this."

England swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. It wasn't a great comfort that Russia had said America will turn.

"How's that?" Canada's trembling voice said.

There was a sound of shifting rope, rattling chain. They apparently had had luck with finding things. "Good. I'd have to really put effort into it to escape. So... stay close enough that you'll definitely notice if I start to try. But not too close. And take turns sleeping." A long pause. "England..."

With a sigh, England finally turned to face his possibly doomed lover. "I'm not saying goodbye."

"I wasn't gonna."

England reluctantly stepped closer, avoiding America's frightened eyes. He leaned in for a kiss, but America turned his face away. "No, England. Not if I'm infected."

Feeling helpless, England returned to the couch. He didn't look at anyone, not wanting to see Canada's misery or whatever the hell Russia was feeling. He curled up with his back to them, silently telling someone else to take the first watch.

He fully expected to be plagued by nightmares, assuming he managed to sleep at all. Mercifully, England slept without dreams.

England blearily opened his eyes, slowly coming to the realization that a hand on his shoulder was shaking him awake. Panic started to creep up on him before it settled into his brain that the shaking wasn't all that urgent. Nobody was telling him he needed to get the hell out of the house, now.

"Hmm?" He looked up into weary violet eyes. "Oh. My turn?"

Russia nodded. "Nothing has changed."

England let out a relieved sigh, sinking back into the couch. "That's something, anyway." After several hours, there would have been some symptoms, right?

So England traded places with Russia, letting him try and fit his larger frame onto the couch. Canada still slept curled up in the recliner. And America remained tied to the chair, chin drooping against his chest as he slept. England couldn't help but creep closer, inspecting his lover for anything new. But no, Russia was right. The familiar spots of rotten skin were all that marred his features. His skin still held the same healthy glow. He wasn't sick yet. He sat down to wait, breaking his study of America's features only long enough to watch the rising sun paint the sky in vibrant colors.

The others gradually woke up as the morning wore on, America and Canada first and Russia around noon. Not much was said between them as they waited, everyone unwilling to get their hopes up or jinx things by talking about the lack of change. They fixed meager meals, pleased that America's appetite hadn't changed either, though he opted to go hungry, not willing to be untied or let anybody's fingers come near his mouth. His grumbling stomach made England smile on a few occasions.

And that night, they released America, hugging and kissing him in relief. They knew it was entirely possible he still carried the virus, that it effected their kind differently, that he could be spreading it to them. But by then they didn't care.

"Now what?" Canada said, clinging happily to his twin.

America smiled. The fear had finally faded from his eyes, soothing England's heart. "Back to the original plan. It's time to move on. I haven't heard a thing since last night."

Russia nodded. "Let's find a new city. Get some more ammo, kill some more things..."

England waited patiently for Canada to stop hogging America. "Sounds jolly good."