Terrified.

That was probably the best word to describe how Bigby was feeling right now. Not many things managed to shock The Big Bad Wolf to the core, but what had happened tonight was pretty damn close. He stared blankly out of the window, watching as rain poured down the blood smeared window.

The truck they were sitting in had once been used to transport unglamoured Fables to the Farm. Now, it was aiding them to escape the hell which once had been their home. Bigby stared down at his grey pants that were soaked in blood and core. His white shirt was the same. He let out a shaky sigh and glanced at Flycatcher, who was the one driving. He was swerving to avoid shambling corpses, but hadn't succeeded as he had already mowed down several.

On Flycatcher's lap was one half of his broom, which had been snapped in half earlier and used as a melee weapon. On Bigby's lap was Woody's axe, the same axe that had once been used to cut him open. Looking at Woody's axe caused a wave of guilt to wash over the Sherrif as he remembered all the Fables that had been left to their demise.

A tingling sensation rushed up his arm. He ignored it.

He glanced round the truck to see Snow sitting with an emtionless expression on her face and her arms folded. She was wearing her usual work clothes, a jacket, with a snow flake patterned shirt and skirt.

Work.

Bigby shuddered. Only a few hours ago he had been sitting in his office, smoking cigarettes and studying some old case files. It had been a quiet day. Like any other. But then everything turned to shit.

The dead started walking, and then they started eating the living, and what was left of them came back. Within a few hours, almost all of New York was overrun with undead Mundies. But he hadn't seen a undead Fable. Not one. That gave him a small sense of hope and relief.

Another pulse of pain rushed up his arm. He winced in pain and grimaced, clutching his wrist tightly.

Thinking about work made him think about how many packs of cigarettes he smoked a day. He started to crave one right now. A small part of him was itching to stuff his hand into his trouser pocket and pull out a packet of Huff and Puffs. But another part of him knew it was a bad idea. Not now, not here, not after...

His thoughts trailed off as his gaze returned to Snow. They were all that was left. Him and Snow. Oh, and Flycatcher. Couldn't miss Fly out. Hopefully they would find other Fables once they reached the outskirts of the city.

They were reaching the outer suburbs now, but the chaos outside was still going on. Mundies. Survivors were outside, waving their arms frantically, trying to get them to stop. They didn't. Flycatcher kept driving, avoiding abandoned cars that littered the road.

From what Bigby could tell, underneath Flycatcher's mattered, long dark brown fringe his eyes were clouded and welled up with tears. This had hit the ex-janitor hard. It pained him to ignore these Mundies, to leave them to die. This wasn't what Flycatcher was use to and Bigby was unsure if he would be able to adjust.

Don't stop for anything. Or anyone.

Those were the exact words Bigby had instructed Fly to do when they had left the Woodlands. And he had obeyed.

"Darn it" Fly muttered, breaking the defending silence that had lasted some time. Bigby stared out of the windscreen to see a bunch of cars up ahead, all trying to get out of the city.

"Take another route" Snow told him.

Fly did so. He turned off the main road and drove by some houses. "I hope this works" Fly murmured fearfully.

"We'll make it out of here. I know it" Snow insisted boldly.

Bigby's arm felt like it was on fire now. It was hard to ignore. Bigby turned towards Snow and managed to catch her eye. She gave him anxious look and he returned it.

"Snow..." He began, his eyes full of sorrow.

"Yes..." She replied, her eyes fixed on his.

He removed his blood covered hand from his wrist. A crimson red liquid trickled down his arm, the source was a large bite mark, where skin had almost been stripped from bone. "Am I going to die?"