In the beginning, there were bullets

Oliver backed up a little ways as the burly man approached. "Eheheh...." He didn't want to kill this one, as Drake ordered him not to, but.... "Look, I really don't want to have to hurt you, but if you don't let me go, I'm afraid I'll have to be taking drastic measures." The Englishman warned.

Francis cocked his hand up to his machete and drew it slowly. "You killed my men" was all he said while he advanced. The mans eyes were cold, colder than any psychopaths. "You killed my men and took down my entire group, you think you can just talk your way out of this?" He snapped, his grip on the blade tightened. "I'll chop your head off and feed it to the freaks outside"

Drake dropped to a crouch while drawing out one of his axes, he was just outside, under one of the blown out windows. "Oliver, I'm outside, I need you to get out of his way, he's faster than you think with that machete"

"Drake, I can't get out of the way, I'm gonna end up fighting him...!" Oliver took a breath. "Alright, I did kill your men, but how much help were they, really? If all it took was little old me to kill them, how useful were they?" He tried to reason. "You have more supplies for yourself now, see, there's no problems! But, I really do need to be going...." His hand inched toward the pocket he kept Caroline in.

"Drake? The sniper that killed my brother? You didn't take them out yourself really, he's your strategist, whispering in your ear!" Francis said, flicking his blade at Oliver's moving arm, stopping over his wrist, the movement like lightning. "If you think that I care about that? In my business, its the group over the single person, you killed what little family I felt I had in the business. I don't care if your going home to see your mother, you have to pay an equal price."

Oliver's expression darkened. His bright blue eyes dimmed and a grin slowly spread across his face. His voice, when he spoke, gained a songlike quality. "Oh, I could bloody well do with less of your chat. Your voice annoys me. I daresay you're better off without them. The incompetent fools couldn't see a trap if it were served on a steaming platter. I would have gotten rid of them long ago. What use is family, anyway?" Any sense of self-preservation left with his sanity at this point.

Francis opened his mouth to speak, but just as his mouth formed a sound, an axe was thrown directly into the back of his head, severing his brain stem. He collapsed as Drake walked up, he don't even look at Oliver, he just pulled his axe from the mans head and looked at the black machete that lay next to him. The sniper picked it up, and hooked it onto his pants next to his other axe. "Grab any food and medical supples you can find, get to the garage, if you even try to speak one word to me, I will shot you" he said his expression was hard to read, distancing himself from any sense of partnership past following orders and watching each others back,he then walked into the back, a moment later the lights came back on, the boy returned, holding two duffel bags, he tossed them both on the floor at Oliver's feet. "You get to carry the food" was all he said. What Oliver said put Drake in a hard place, he was a boy with a taste for blood and safety. Teaming up with a guy who thought in such a way wasn't his first choice, but it was too late to go back now anyway.

Oliver blinked, opening his mouth to apologize but remembered the threat. He simply nodded and began to grab cans and things, packing them in the bags skillfully. Gritting his teeth, he lifted both duffle bags when they were full, and slung them over his shoulders. With a sigh, he indicated he was ready, had everything he could pack.

Drake looked at Oliver, withdrawing three flares from his back pocket. He walked passed Oliver. "Go to the garage then" he said as he looked around outside for a moment. "You're clear" he said nodding at him, before walking outside the market. By this point he didn't even care if Oliver was mauled by zombies for his trouble at the moment. But that's why he had the flares, to put distance between the undead and his partner.

Oliver nodded, hurrying down the street into the garage, the cans clunking quietly in one of the bags. He sighed, turning back to watch Drake's progress. What had he said to make him so angry? When it came to other people, the Englishman was clueless.

Drake walked into the garage, kicking the door closed and bolting it shut. Then put up a number of metal bars, before turning to Oliver, then unlocked the car trunk, picking up the bags of food and putting them to rest inside the Camry, then put his guns and axes in the trunk with his flares, but left the machete on his hip. "Here's one thing you never say to me, around me or even joke about, you don't talk about family as something disposable, I don't care what you found out while killing, or if you killed your own family, my families gone, they were all I had till they died. I carry my mothers rifle and drive my fathers car, they are always with me then, if you've got some odd thought in your head about how I feel, and how even killers like Francis feel about family, I want you to keep your mouth shut, and don't open it unless your following my order on a mission. Got it?" He said, shutting the trunk closed and locking it again.

Oliver nodded, daring to speak. "I-I'm sorry. I never realized family was so important to anyone. Mine...." He shook his head. "Nevermind. I'm sorry." He shut his trap, looking down. He seemed.... ashamed.

He looked at Oliver for a moment. "I don't care if your sorry or not, I'm just making sure I get my point across to you" he said. The boy walked passed Oliver and stopped under a catwalk, and reached up and undid a latch to bring down a steel ladder. "You sleep up there, I sleep in the car, I take first watch, and we swap to do a sweep of the area"

Oliver nodded, climbing up. "Wake me when it's my turn." He curled in on himself, still sitting up. "If I may ask, when are we leaving?"

"We leave when I see that there is nothing for salvage here" Drake said climbing up the ladder after Oliver, and moving around to the other end of the catwalk, opening up the top windows to look outside.

Oliver nodded, pulling his weapons out of his pockets. In addition to his darts and knife, he had a flintlock pistol with a small handful of bullets. He picked Caroline up and frowned, pulling a bloodstained cloth from his sleeve and began to polish her, murmuring to himself. "Oh goodness, Caroline, you've gotten all dirty again. What have I told you about blood?" He sighed. "I suppose you just don't know any better, love...."

"You care for that knife" he said looking over at his companion. He didn't really mind him talking to himself...or his knife, as he sometimes did it as well.

Oliver blinked in surprise and slowly nodded. "Yes.... Someone important gave it to me before he died." He ran a thumb along its edge. "He was the one that gave her a name, and I kept it...."

"I thought you said family meant nothing to you, was this guy your brother or something?" Drake asked, now curious about it

"No." The Englishman's voice went cold. "My brother means nothing to me. This one...." His voice softened. "He meant.... very much to me. We weren't related, but.... we were close, very close. His country.... was the first to be forsaken. France, he was from. He died a long time ago, it feels like, though it has only been a small amount of time...." Oliver's voice had grown distant and wistful.