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-she kept her sis behind her- my names wolfie and my sister rose. -she looked around- i dont think is a good place to talk

Maryse shook her head. It was stupid of him to have come into the forest looking for her. Still, it was touching. Very touching. It was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever done for her. Ever. Her eyes watered, but she wiped the tears away and hoped he hadn't seen them. "Idiot," she said under her breath.

Richie tried to stand, but collapsed with a scream the moment he shifted his weight to his injured ankle. Maryse knelt down and examined him, keeping a hand on his chest to keep him from attempting to stand again. He was fine, for the most part. He'd suffered some scratches here and there, but nothing serious. His ankle, however, was another story. The wolf had bitten down hard and, judging by the ragged appearance of the wound, had shaken its head about, inflicting further damage. It was quite possible that the bones were broken. Shattered. Maryse hoped it was not that bad, else Richie might never walk right again.

Maryse reached into Richie's bag and rummaged through it for a few seconds before finally finding what she was looking for. She pulled out an old first aid kit and applied her knowledge to Richie's injured ankle. She rolled down his sock as slowly and as easily as she could, doused the wound with an antibiotic, then applied a dressing, and then a bandage. She knew how to make a splint out of cardboard, but, unfortunately, there was no cardboard available.

Once she was finished, Maryse helped Richie to his feet again, supporting him on her shoulders. "Keep your weight off your injured ankle," she said as she helped him up. "Can you feel all of your toes? Can you wiggle them for me?" she asked. If he still had full sensation in his foot, the injury wasn't that serious.

Maryse shook her head. "The wolf attacked your ankle, and that kind of splint won't work with an ankle injury," she said, "You need to immobilize the ankle and foot." She'd hated living with her uncle, but he had taught her a lot about hunting and shooting and first aid, and those lessons were coming in handy, now. She almost missed him. Almost. "This will have to do until we get you to the GTA," she continued, "Hopefully there will be people there who can help you."

With that, she started to walk, forcing Richie to walk with her. She kept her flashlight angled at the forest floor so that neither she nor Richie would trip on anything. She didn't want to risk injuring his ankle any further. Once they were on the highway, she would find a car and drive the rest of the way.

Richie walked with Maryse's help for a couple of miles until they saw a road in the distance.

"There's a road! Let's see if there are any working vehicles, I feel bad having you help me around like this," Richie said as they unconsciously sped up their pace to get to the road.

Maryse released a sigh of relief when Richie spotted the road up ahead. She'd been walking for so long that her feet had simply stopped hurting, or rather that the pain just didn't occur to her much, anymore. It was just there, a companion to the grittiness she felt on her skin and the dryness of her lips. She was happy to see a road again. She helped Richie over the guardrail and onto the road, then jumped over it herself. According to the roadsigns, this was the 401. Her heart leaped in her chest. The 401 would lead them straight through the GTA to Toronto. She left Richie by the guardrail. "Stay here," she said, "while I look for a car."

There certainly was no shortage of them. The road was congested with abandoned cars. Some of them were in good shape, but some of them had been totaled, probably by people in bigger, more powerful vehicles attempting to push their way through. It was going to be difficult to make it through in a car. She briefly considered looking around for a pair of bikes, but immediately dismissed the idea. Richie couldn't pedal a bike with his injured leg. She needed a car. The road was on a slight incline, heading up over a hill so gently graded she was barely aware of the added exertion of walking uphill. She kicked old, picked-over suitcases out of her way, avoided stepping on the trucker bombs—old drink bottles, bright plastic full of yellow urine.

Nobody on the road wanted to stop, not even to relieve themselves.

Finally, Maryse found a suitable vehicle, a 2006 Toyota Yaris. The Yaris was a simple, practical, and very fuel-efficient sub-compact city car. It was very maneuverable, which would make ducking and weaving between obstacles much easier. It was also surprisingly roomy for such a small car, which would allow Richie to stretch out and rest his injured leg. She looked in the window. There was no blood, no carcass, no carnage inside. The owner must have simply abandoned it. She didn't stop to wonder why. She tried the door, found it unlocked. Opened it. Sat down the driver's seat.

Problem. No keys. They owner abandoned his car, but kept his keys. Stupid.

Maryse got down under the steering wheel and pried off off the access cover with her can opener. She had to look around for a little bit before she found what she was looking for. A pair of red wires. One of these was the primary power supply for the ignition switch, and the other was the connection for the electrical circuits that are energized when the key is turned to the 'run' position. Connecting these wires would provide electricity for the ignition components, so the engine would be able to run when the starter was turned. Working quickly and skillfully, Maryse stripped about an inch of insulation from the wires and twisted them tightly together. She then took a brown wire, the ignition wire, stripped about half an inch of insulation from it, and touched the end of the wire to the connected red wires. There were sparks, and the engine roared to life. Maryse smiled. She revved the engine a few times to keep it from stalling.

Her uncle had taught her a lot about hunting and shooting and first aid, but this was something she'd taught herself. Much to his dismay.

Maryse ran back to Richie and helped him up, then led him toward the car. "Let's go," she said. When they arrived at the car, she opened the door for him and helped him into the back seat. Then she hopped into the driver's seat. The engine sounded healthy and the meter said they had plenty of gas. She shifted the car into 'drive' and pressed down on the accelerator with her foot. The Yaris lurched into motion and sped down the 401. Toward Toronto.

Maryse kept driving, ducking and weaving between abandoned cars, slowing down when the road was too obstructed and speeding up whenever the road was clear. She even went off-road a couple times, simply because there was no other way. She kept driving. She was tired, so very tired. She nearly nodded off, so she pinched herself awake. She kept driving. Every once in a while she'd spot a zombie or a group of zombies wandering around the road. "Brace yourself," she'd say to Richie, and plow through them as fast and as hard as she could. She didn't stop to make sure they were dead. They probably weren't. That didn't matter. She kept driving. She kept driving until the sun came up. The light hurt her eyes, so she flipped down the visor and kept driving.

The roadsigns said that the exit to Toronto was just a few miles away. "Not much further, now," she told herself.

As the sun inched its way ever higher over the horizon, Richie volunteered to take the wheel, noting how tired she looked. Maryse was hesitant, but she ultimately acquiesced. She stopped the car and shifted it into 'park'. She then helped Richie out of the back seat and into the front seat, always minding his leg. Once he was situated, Maryse climbed into the back seat and laid down for a nap, the S-shaped curve of her side clearly visible even under the baggy BDUs.

"Don't drive too fast," she muttered almost unintelligibly. Within seconds, she was fast asleep, snoring softly.