The world had gone to Hell. That much was obvious. Once they had recovered from their injuries, for their own safety they were transferred to another maximum security jail in Georgia. Soon after though, that's when everything went to shit. The virus, whatever it was, got in somehow; the prisoners and guards alike were either killed by infected, or murdered each other in the panic and the riots. It was literally kill or be killed, and it was only out of a need to find each other and stay alive for them that they had to take more lives.

At first, the brothers had feared the worse for one another – they'd been separated into different cell blocks, which made finding each other difficult when everything was falling apart. Murphy had considered staying put, giving Connor the chance to find him easily – but then again, he never had been the patient one. Eventually they were reunited, reassurances of the others wellbeing left until they were back in a cell, safe for the time being. Having stolen a set of keys from a guard as well as his weapons, the boys were soon locking themselves behind bars.

Though it wasn't just sickness that plagued this arc in their lives. They watched as inmates shoot each other, or as guards went for their charges throats as though they hadn't eaten for weeks. It wasn't long before they were forced to defend themselves against other prisoners, living or otherwise, using guns lifted from the bodies of dead guards. It soon became normal for the brothers to huddle out of sight just behind the beds as infected inmates pressed waxy, bleeding faces to the iron bars. Once they'd moved on, both men let themselves breathe a little easier. Staying put was a tenuous option at best, but it soon became that much more strained when hunger started to really set in. Perhaps in other circumstances, one would insist on doing a food run while the other stayed safe. But that wasn't how the twins worked, and that wasn't how the world could afford to work anymore. They barely got back to their cell block in one piece, but the small amount of supplies they'd swiped meant it had been worth it, this time.

They were quiet for a while, before Murphy finally spoke up. "How long d'ya think we'll last?"

"So long as we're careful, we're gonna be fine." Came Connors simple reply. It wasn't what Murphy wanted to hear, but it was what he expected.

"Should try gettin' out, you know…Try our luck on the road"

"Aye. Let's do that – I've always wanted to get me throat ripped out by a pissed off zombie. Sounds like a fuckin' holiday."

"Fuck you. I mean it. All we're gonna do in here is slowly rot away, an' then what? Come back a few hours later lookin' like the fuckin' 'Evil Dead'?"

"D'ya hear yourself, Murph'? In here, we've got food, we've got shelter. This is a good deal we've got here."

"Oh aye – until food runs out, or other surviving inmates find their way to this block, or one of us gets sick-"

"Tha's not gonna happen. Jus' shut up and eat. I'll think of somethin', a'right? But we're not leavin' here unless we've got no other choice, an' I mean it – no choice. You hear me?" The twins matched each other's glares, but Murphy soon backed down for the time being. They both made valid arguments, but Murphy knew he wasn't prepared to risk their lives any more than they were already. They talked about it more, but each time they ended up butting horns – after a while even Connor was considering the option of leaving the jail and not looking back; but the security it offered as well as the generous food supply meant he stayed his ground on the issue. Murphy was freaked out, wanted to up and run, but they both knew one would never leave without the other.

It wasn't until a few days later when something drew them out of sleep. Sounds from outside – quiet, but unmistakable, and definitely not being made by zombies. Sharing a glance they were soon out of their beds and approaching the nearest window that looked out to the courtyard. It didn't show the entire area, and as Murphy pushed in front of his twin to see which inmates were trying to leave, at first he was disappointed.

"Nothin' there – you see anythin'?"

"Move your fuckin' arse and maybe I'll tell you."

"Fuck you – there. There, I see 'em"

"Who is it? Can you tell?"

"Gimme a fuckin' minute -They're not prisoners"

"What?"

"Look – y'see?" Pressing his fingertip to the glass, Connor scanned the yard – all he could see at first were infected, but then he saw what his brother was talking about. A trio of people – two men and a woman by the looks of it – were hacking their way through the less fortunate inmates. As the minutes ticked by, more survivors weren't followed. A kid, an old guy, a few men, some more women – all armed, as far as they could tell, and doing a good job of looking after themselves. Moving away from the window, the boys just thought for a moment, Murphy wiping the back of his hand over his forehead.

"You reckon they'll get in?"

"Not sure – they're handlin' themselves right now, but you saw how packed the lower floors were."

"Should we help 'em?" That was the question neither of them wanted to ask or answer. Normally, they would have without hesitation – but this wasn't a normal situation. They had one hand gun each, the rounds provided were their only remaining ammunition. And by the looks of it, this new group were far better off weapons wise.

"Did you see guns..?"

"Couldn't tell."

"A'right…we'll stay here, for now-"

"And if they get here? Then what? We welcome them with open arms?"

"…We'll cross that bridge when we come to it."