Scorched Earth

When he thought about it, there were a million things he would have done differently. He would have paid more attention to where he put his extra ammo that morning, or he would have carried the extra bat, even though it weighed several pounds. Had Garrett listened to Kennedy, he wouldn’t be standing over him in the hospital, watching as Lucy stitched him up.

But Garrett was stubborn.

“I’m not going to wear it, Kennedy.”

Garrett stood at the door of the Armory, his arms folded across his chest. Kennedy was across from him, holding up a pair of heavy steel-toed boots and a bulletproof vest.

“Just wear them, Garrett. It’s four hours of patrol. It’s not that bad.”

“Four hours? It’s not just four hours. It’s four hours in the hot Arizona heat, with zombies breathing down my neck. I refuse.”

Kennedy rolled his eyes, pushing the gear into Garrett’s chest. “It won’t kill you. Hell, it might even protect you.”

As soon as Kennedy had rounded the corner, Garrett let the supplies fall to the floor. He sat down, pulling a lighter pair of boots towards him. “I am not wearing those damn things.

They’re bulletproof vests. Zombies can’t use guns. How the hell are they supposed to help me?”

He walked into the main room, where Kennedy was swiftly cleaning out his gun and checking his ammo. He glanced up when Garrett walked in, and sighed loudly. “Would it really hurt you to do as I ask, just once?”

“Be less dramatic, Ken. It’s one patrol.”

“I swear if I die saving your ass, I will haunt you for the rest of your life.” Grabbing the shotgun, he put it back together with ease. Garrett recognized it as his back up, and he
opened his mouth to say something when a gun was dangled in front of his face.

“We’re already late. Hurry up and do your checks. We’re supposed to be out patrolling by now.”

Garrett grabbed the gun from Kennedy, tucking it into his belt. “It’s fine.”

“It’ll take you ten minutes to do your checks, and then we’ll know if your damn gun is really fine.”

“You’re the one that said we’re always late. I cleaned it last night. It’s fine, Kenny. Let’s just go.”

With a skeptical look at Garrett, Kennedy shrugged. “It’s your gun.”

“Exactly. My gun, as in, not of your problem.”

They bickered all the way across the field, and into the forest. When the pair caught up with Michael, he took one look at them and walked away. Garrett grinned. Michael had no patience for dealing with them. Many times, he had to listen to them fight over the stupidest things. Sometimes, he’d chime in, but most of the time he’d just sit back and let them
argue.

Garrett could patrol in his sleep.

He’d been doing it for so long he couldn’t imagine being given another job at the camp.

When they’d first arrived, Emily had suggested he come work in the kitchens for a little bit, but Garrett had hastily declined. He always liked the sense of adventure and danger that came with patrolling.

He soon figured out that being on patrol was nothing more than wandering around in the depths of the forests, looking for any traces of zombies they could find. They patrolled in twos.

Garrett and Kennedy were supposed to be patrolling. Instead, they were sitting in a large open space, their weapons tossed carelessly aside. Garrett’s eyes didn’t leave Kennedy’s as he shuffled the cards in his hands. He’d just dealt a new hand when he saw Kennedy look up and freeze, his eyes growing wide.

“Kenny?”

When he didn’t respond, Garrett glanced behind him. Zombies. He couldn’t believe they hadn’t heard them approach. Cursing under his breath, he reached for the gun that lay discarded next to him. He shouted Kennedy’s name, but the other man was frozen in his place. With a quick look around him, he moved over towards Kennedy, pushing him hard in the arm, getting him to snap out of it.

Locking eyes with Kennedy, the two stood, turning around in a circle. They were completely surrounded. Garrett wasn’t sure how many of them there were, more than just the two of them could handle. Of that much, he was positive. Lifting the gun, he shot off several rounds, not caring to take a careful shot. The zombies were lumbering forward, their arms outstretched and their mouths covered in blood: fresh blood. Garrett moved quickly, trying not to think about whose blood it could be. He saw the first few fall, but the others kept going. He reloaded, bringing his gun down in order to put more bullets in. With one eye on the zombies, his hands trembled and he dropped the bag he’d hastily slipped into his pocket that morning.

“Fuck.”

Glancing towards Kennedy, he saw him shoot a zombie directly in the head. He turned back to the ground, his shaking hands searching for the bullets. A shadow came up behind him and Garrett quickly spun, bringing the edge of the gun down hard over the zombie’s head. He reached behind him for the extra bat, only to find the holder missing. He faintly remembered deciding not to bring it that morning, annoyed by its extra weight.

“Garrett!”

Glancing over at Kennedy, he caught the axe the other had thrown in his direction. Swinging it with all the strength he could muster, Garrett brought it around, chopping the head off one of the zombies in front of him.

There was something different in the way these zombies moved. They were hardly
perceptible differences, but Garrett’s trained eye could tell that something wasn’t quite right.

Staring at the way the Infected moved, Garrett stood still for just a second too long. He felt a cold skeletal hand grip his shoulder, and he immediately reacted, swinging the axe back around.

Garrett was covered in blood, both the dead Infected’s as well as his own. A pile of rotting corpses lay at his feet, and he stepped over them, searching the nearby woods for Kennedy. He could faintly hear a fight, and gripping the axe in his hand, he ran. Kennedy had often teased him for running in the mornings, long before patrols or anyone had woken up. But Garrett was grateful for his morning runs.

He could see Kennedy, pressed up against a tree, fighting off a zombie much larger than himself. With the last strength he could muster, Garrett joined the fight, swinging the axe into the Zombie’s back. It screamed, a horrible inhuman scream, and turned to face Garrett. He barely had time to see Kennedy sliding down the tree, clutching his arm, before the zombie was directly in front of him.

In his head, Garrett tried to disassociate the zombies with humans. They weren’t human; they had no feelings and no conscious. They were soulless. Staring at the zombie in front of him, Garrett fought the urge not to vomit. Whoever it was, whoever it had been, had been alive recently. The skin was barely green, and it still stuck heartily to the zombie’s skeleton.

Its right eye drooped slightly, and it walked with a slight limp, dragging its foot behind it.

Garrett tried to ignore how human it looked, instead focusing on trying to kill it.

Moving quickly around the Infected, Garrett reached for the shotgun Kennedy had dropped. Without time to check whether it was loaded, Garrett swung it around, taking careful aim. With a quick prayer, Garrett pressed down on the trigger. Braced for the blowback, Garrett stumbled but remained upright. Fresh zombie blood was splattered across his cheeks, but for once, he didn’t care. His first thought was Kennedy.

Making sure there weren’t any other zombies, Garrett turned his attention to Kennedy. He quickly checked his pulse. He was breathing, but losing blood quickly. He slapped Kennedy’s face sharply, trying to get him to respond.

“Mmm? There are zombies, Gary. Didja know that?”

With a sigh of relief, Garrett ripped a strip of his shirt off, wrapping it around Kennedy’s upper arm. He yanked Kennedy into a standing position. “C’mon, Ken. We gotta get you back. I need your help, come on.”

Kennedy stumbled, his legs useless. He was losing consciousness quickly, and Garrett knew there was at least a ten minute walk back to camp. Garrett lifted Kennedy up as much as possible, placing his arm around his shoulder, holding up his friend’s weight. Half walking, half dragging Kennedy behind him, they slowly made their way into camp. The guards posted at the gates shouted down to them, but Garrett was too focused on getting Kennedy to the hospital tent to care what they were saying.

The warning bells sounded, and Garrett let out a breath when he saw Lucy racing towards
them.

“What happened to him?”

“Not sure. We were attacked. Too many of them. We had to split up. I found him like this.”

Speaking in short sentences, Garrett lugged Kennedy towards a cot that had been cleared off for him, placing his friend gently down. “Help him, Lucy. Please.” He stared imploringly at the nurse, silently begging her to work quickly.

She nodded, pushing him away with her hands. “Go lie down before I have to pick you up off the floor. I am not dealing with two unconscious fighters here. I’m not. Only one at a time.”

Thanking her, he headed mindlessly towards the door. “Wait, Lucy.”

The nurse turned, her hands already bloody from trying to get to Kennedy’s wounds. “Tell Em? She’ll kill me if I don’t tell her something happened, but I’m about to pass out and-”

“I’ll let her know. Go sleep, Gary. You did well. He should be fine.”

Relieved, Gary slowly walked back to the barracks. He could barely move. Ignoring the horrified looks on the other men’s faces, he fell face-first into his cot, already asleep before he hit the pillow.

___

His eyelids felt heavy as he lifted his head. He couldn’t move; the muscles in his arms and back protesting loudly. Garrett could feel the dried blood cracking on his skin, but he didn’t have the energy to wipe it off.

He tilted his head towards the tent flaps as he heard the nightly sirens go off, warning the base to keep away from the barriers that surrounded the encampment. He hadn’t realized he’d slept so long. Garrett lowered his head onto his pillow, burying his face in the scratchy material. He sighed deeply, his hands clenching into fists at his side. Moving hurt. His shoulders were sore, and he could feel the cuts on his arms protest.

Several minutes passed, and Garrett heaved himself up onto his feet. After quickly showering and pulling on a change of clothes, he noticed the bonfires had already been started. The camp ran the bonfires every night in order to conserve electricity. He knew the generators wouldn’t last much longer and the bonfires comforted him. Garrett headed towards them, hoping to get some food. Often, when the pillagers came back from raiding the towns, they brought fresh supplies with them.

He passed Kenny on his way over to the fires and greeted him silently. Garrett's eyes appraised him as he walked by. Kennedy was shirtless--the night was still too hot for the extra material, and sweat was running down the curve of his back. Kennedy had a deep gash running across his arm and he winced every time he took a step. Garrett nodded in the direction of the medical tent and watched as the man walking towards him glanced over at the large shelter. He nodded, holding up the stitched up arm, wrapped in gauze.

“I’m fine.” Kennedy mouthed, motioning towards his arm.

Garrett smiled, “Good.”

Kennedy tipped his head in the direction of the bonfire. Walking towards him, Garrett greeted his friend softly. “How are you feeling, really?”

“I’m fine, Gary. I just need a drink.”

“Emily take it that well, eh?” Garrett smiled, thinking of the short, curly-haired woman. She was a bit protective over Kennedy, especially now that they were married.

“She didn’t want me leaving the cabin for the next month.” Kennedy said seriously, rolling his eyes at Garrett.

“She said that?”

“She said two months.”

Garrett laughed, clapping Kennedy on the back. “Sounds like her, man.”

They reached the rest of the group that were hanging around one of the large bonfires. Simon greeted them each with a smile and a beer bottle. They both took them gratefully, slipping right into the conversation.

____

Garrett smiled, looking over at Kennedy. “It wasn’t like that, man. You know it.”

“Alright.” He laughed. “It wasn’t. But I swear, that girl looked like she was about to puke.”
Kennedy mimed the motion, waving his hands wildly in front of his face.

“She was not that wasted.” Garrett rolled his eyes, bringing his beer bottle to his lips. He glanced around the small circle they’d formed near one of the bonfires. Simon was standing next to a cooler, one hand across his chest and the other holding onto his own beer. A few other men Garrett knew from their barracks surrounded them.

“She was.” Kennedy nodded, a grin forming across his face.

“Okay, she mighta been. But I swear to god, I didn’t fuck her.”

“Oh no, you made love to her.”

Garrett shook his head, laughing. “That’s seriously fucked up, Kennedy.” He took a swig of the flat beer, finishing it off. He motioned for another, and Simon wordlessly handed it over.

“I’m a fan of my girls being conscious before we have sex, thanks.”

“Oh, is that what you’re supposed to do? Well, fuck. I’ve been doing it wrong for years.”

Michael had walked up behind Garrett, chiming into the conversation. He clapped a hand on Garrett’s shoulder before moving towards the cooler to grab a beer. Without being asked, Garrett reached into his back pocket and pulled out a bottle opener. He turned away from Kennedy to face Michael. Garrett frowned when he noticed a long scratch down the other man’s arm.

Pointing towards it with the bottle’s end, Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “You guys get hit too?”

Looking down to see what he was staring at, Michael nodded. “Yeah. We were up at the East End of the forest. We didn’t see them coming. We took out most of the infected, but not all.”

“Everyone all right?”

He shook his head, tipping his beer back. “We lost Peter.”

“Fuck. Did he get turned?”

Michael sighed, reaching a hand up to scratch at his beard. “No. The motherfucker he was fighting got away. Took a huge chunk of Peter’s arm with him too.”

“Anyone else hurt?”

“Darrin and Austin are both in the hospital tent getting stitches. They got pinned up against one o’ the old buildings along that property. After the initial attack, we flushed the rest of the zombies out from back there, but it was already too late.” Michael finished his beer, throwing the bottle into the bonfire. They stood, watching the bonfire swallow the glass up.

“I don’t know whether I’m going crazy or not, but the infected we fought today…” Garrett hesitated, raising the bottle up to touch his lips before continuing, “They seemed faster, I dunno. Just something wasn’t right-”

“Faster?” Michael’s eyes widened. “You sure it wasn’t just, heat of the battle kind of shit? Fuck, man. If they get faster we don’t stand a chance.”

“I don’t think so, Mike. They weren’t normal, I know that much. I’ve been fighting them since day one. This set was different.”

His brow furrowed, and he stared at Garrett for a long moment. “I’d take it to Mitch, but I doubt he’d know what to do. Fucking useless, that man. Maybe Lars will know.”

“Lars? As in Lars “Bubba” Mack, the guy who works with Simon?”

Swiping another beer from the cooler behind him, Michael nodded. “Didn’t you know? He’s in charge of all military movement.”

“I thought that was part of Mitch’s job.”

“Nope. He just wants us to think that. He can’t do anything without hearing from Lars first. It’s the only sanity around here.”

Garrett laughed, trying not to choke on his beer. “I’ll drink to that.” Lifting his bottle in the air, he clinked it with Michael’s.

The pair turned back to the main group, and Garrett walked up to stand next to Kennedy. He quickly whispered into his ear, “I told Mike about the attack this morning. I’ll fill you in later.”

Kennedy nodded briefly before someone shouted out Garrett’s name.

“What about you, man?” Lucas was staring at Garrett expectantly, and he turned to notice everyone was looking at him.

He blushed awkwardly, looking around for a few seconds. “What? Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.”

“What do you miss doing?”

“Fuck, I don’t know. Music, I guess.”

Richard glanced at him, a confused look on his face. “We still have CD’s and shit, man. I’ve got a few in my bunk if you want. Wait, I thought you had a boom box?”

Kennedy chimed in, “Playing music, Rich. He misses playing.” He exchanged looks with Garrett. “So do I.”

“What do you mean?” Richard had paused, catching the glance between Garrett and Kennedy.

“Just forget about it, okay?” Kennedy shook his head, trying to get him to stop talking. His hands were shaking, and he looked for Emily’s face in the crowd. He knew it was no good; that she was still helping out in the hospital. He wanted to get away from what he knew was coming. Kennedy waited for it, powerless to stop them.

“They used to be musicians in a famous band.”

Kennedy glared at the faceless voice, casting a worried look over at Garrett, who had his head down and his fists clenched.

“I still am. But I haven’t played in a long time.” Garrett raised his head, speaking softly.

“You should play something. I think there’s a guitar in the Rec Center.”

Garrett paled, glancing in horror at Kennedy. “No, no-I can’t. It’s fine.” He put his hands up, stepping slowly back.

But Garrett’s words were lost as shouts rang out for someone to grab the guitar. He protested, trying to catch someone’s attention, but it was too late. A beat-up acoustic guitar appeared before them, and Garrett faintly saw Richard holding it out to him. All he could see was the instrument, a bold reminder of his past and the future he’d lost.

Blowing them off, Garrett shook his head. “No thanks. I’m good.”

“It’s fine. No one will mind you using it. Play something.” He pushed the guitar into Garrett’s hands, and backed away so he stood at the outer perimeter of the group that had formed around Garrett. Looking up, he froze. It was too much like before, except in the ways it wasn’t. People were missing.

Garrett’s fingers naturally found their places, his left on the frets and his right resting over the strings. His fingers itched to play the familiar songs that they’d performed a million times. But that was a different time.

“I told you, I don’t want it.” Holding the guitar by its neck, he pushed it into someone’s grasp and walked sullenly away from the circle, leaving them staring after him.

Refusing to play, Kennedy walked after Garrett. “Gary.”

“Leave me alone, Kennedy.” Garrett kept going, keeping his head straight as he tried not to look at Kennedy.

“I think you should-”

“I don’t want to do anything. I just want to be alone.” He said sharply, his face immediately falling as he caught the dark look on Kennedy’s face. “I didn’t mean it, Ken. I just…”

“I get it. I’ll be at the cabin with Em. Come find me later if you want to talk.”
Garrett just nodded as he walked away from him, heading in the direction of the cabins.

Sitting down on one of the logs in front of the bonfire, he placed his head in his hands, wanting nothing more than for that night to be over so he could move on. He could feel eyes on him, and he slowly looked up. Taking a sip of his beer, he searched for the person looking at him. He winced as the beer hit the back of his throat. Flat beer was all that was left and even then it was a rarity. Still, to Garrett, it was better than nothing.

His eyes came to rest on Melanie, sitting a few logs away. The bonfire lit her long legs aflame, and Garrett swallowed as she slowly stood up. He tried to keep his focus on her face, but he couldn’t help but watch as she dusted the back of her legs off. He didn’t realize she was moving until she had sat down next to him. He froze, unsure of what she’d say.
She was taking her time, letting him sit there and squirm. Garrett hadn’t seen her since he’d awkwardly run out of the daycare. He’d been avoiding her at all costs.

“Who was it?”

Garrett met her steady gaze with a startled look. That wasn’t what he was expecting. He thought she’d comment on the scene from the daycare, or why he refused to play guitar. He turned to face her, confusion written all over his face.

“Who was what?”

“Who did you lose? You’ve got that look. We all do. The look that says we’ve lost someone close to the infection. I mean, we’ve all had friends and relatives and neighbors die. But you’ve got the look that says you’ve lost someone important enough that you’d be willing to kill to get them back.”

Garrett shifted uncomfortably, feeling uneasy as she stared at him. He opened his mouth to speak, realizing too late that he’d started talking.

“Back before all of this,” he waved his arm around, motioning towards the bonfire in front of them, and the camp beyond that, “before the infection took over, I was in this band.” He laughed hollowly, his gaze shifting outwardly. “We were pretty good too, back when music was still relevant. It was the five of us against the world: me, John, Jared, Kennedy…and Pat. We were actually going places and selling records.”

He paused, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. It was easy to tell her, this person he barely knew. He couldn’t talk to Kenny. They were too close. It hurt too much. But he could talk to Melanie.

“We were in Phoenix when the first batch of Infected breached the main walls. No one was prepared. They never thought the Infected would leave the North, but there they were. Kenny and I had been out getting food when the first reports came through the wire. They'd taken out the cell towers, so our phones didn't work. We got home as fast as we could but-"

Garrett cut off, his breathing staggered. He didn't bother looking over to see Melanie's face before continuing. "We were too late. By the time we got home, our street had already been destroyed. Everything was pure chaos: homes were on fire, bodies were everywhere, and people were screaming. I remember walking up to the house and just freezing in place. The door had been kicked in and the smell of blood was overpowering. Kenny didn't want to go in, and frankly--neither did I.”

He glanced up, his voice weak, almost apologizing. “I had to see though. I had to know. I wish I hadn't.” Garrett’s voice faded, wavering as he spoke again.

“John and Jared were gone. I still don't know where they are. But Pat…"

A dry sob tore through his chest and Melanie leaned forward, her hand stretched out to comfort him. He shied away from her touch at first, but she stubbornly laid her hand over his and squeezed gently.

"We weren't there in time. He was in his room. Fucking scavengers just left him to die.

There was blood running down the side of his face from where his skull had cracked against the floor. I…remember not looking too closely. His body was covered with blood. He was so cold, except for the blood. I just pulled his body close to me so Kenny couldn't see."

Garrett was shaking, his body convulsing madly as she held him. He started whispering, his voice cracking.

"He was so strong when he was alive. So much spirit and fire. He did so much for our fans, never stopping for a second. But I couldn’t do anything to save him. I tried, but he felt so limp in my arms. His blood seeped into my clothing, but I just held him tighter. I thought that if I held him close enough, I could bring him back. But he didn’t move. He was like a brother to me-"

A few tears streamed down his face and Garrett wiped at them furiously with his free hand, scratching at his face.

"He was my brother--and I couldn't save him."

Silence fell between them. The only thing they could hear were the sounds of people laughing and drinking, and the bonfire crackling in front of them. He stared at his thick boots, making a mental note to grab extra laces from the supply shed. He felt so foolish telling Melanie about Pat. He never talked about that night. It wasn't something he liked to think about. It had changed everything for Garrett. It was understood between him and Kenny that they just didn't talk about it.

A quiet voice broke the still air between them, and Garrett glanced over at Melanie.

"I used to babysit this little boy everyday while his mom was at work. Cutest thing you could possible imagine. He was a babysitter's dream."

Melanie smiled softly, closing her eyes. She started talking, her eyes firmly shut, speaking from memory.

"Jonah was only six years old. We'd been in the house the day the zombies hit town. We had music playing so we couldn't hear any of the commotion outside. Jonah was one of those really energetic boys, never wanting to sit still for a second. My best chance of getting him to calm down long enough for a nap was to run him around first. That day, we'd been dancing around the living room. Just jumping around and waving our hands to the music.
He was all giggles and smiles before the Infected attacked."

She opened her eyes, staring straight at Garrett with a soft but determined look on her face.

He offered her a weak smile, but she ignored him.

"I had my back to the door when they invaded the house. I watched as the smile on Jonah's face faded to pure horror. I knew something was wrong. I could feel it, even before I turned around. I moved to go protect Jonah but I wasn't quick enough. One of the zombies had its arms wrapped firmly around my neck, and I could feel its mouth close the back of my head. I remember struggling against it, hitting it with anything I could grab as another one limped towards Jonah.

Melanie paused, her eyes staring straight ahead. “He was shaking. He looked at me, begging me to save him from the zombie. He was terrified. I guess it was my fault, in the end. I couldn’t get to him."

Looking over at Garrett, she noticed his eyes had widened. She continued, her voice steady and unwavering.

"I screamed at him to run, but he was frozen on the spot. I tried to get free and I'd never had proper training. I fought to get to Jonah, to wrap him in my arms and protect him as best I could. But I never made it. My head rammed into something solid and I fell to the floor. I remember reaching my hand up to touch the back of my head, only to have it come away soaked with blood."

Her tone was matter-of-fact, recalling details stonily. Her face betrayed no emotion, and
Garrett noticed a particular vacancy nestled in her eyes. She gazed at the fire as it licked and consumed the wood, her hands lying listlessly in her lap.

"I tried to move, but none of my limbs would cooperate. I felt my arms and legs getting heavier and my eyelids drooping shut. I heard their moans, but I focused my blurry gaze on him. The last thing I remember before passing out is Jonah. I locked eyes with him, only for a second, and I saw one of the Infected crouching over his small body. His last scream still haunts me. It's the last thing I heard before everything went black. When I came to, all I could see was the blood."

She was silent for a moment, blinking rapidly.

"His hair was matted with thick, congealed blood. You couldn’t tell the difference between his curls and the blood. The Infected had mutilated his body. Jonah was missing the right side of his skull, crushed and removed in the zombie's search for food.”

Melanie stopped, turning to look straight at Garrett. “It's something I'll never understand about the disease; the virus. A person's compassion is stripped, any semblance to true humanity completely destroyed during the change. I get the cravings for flesh, brains even. But to attack an innocent child? That's something I'll never understand."

There was an unsettling calmness in her eyes as she finished; deliberate calm in the way she looked at Garrett. He shifted uncomfortably on the log, the fire crackling in front of them. He lifted the near empty bottle to his lips, draining the last few drops.

He began softly, confusion melting into his voice. “How are you so okay with it? I can’t even think of P-Pat without wanted to murder every single one of them.”

She smiled over at Garrett, the left side of her mouth curling up into a small smirk. She glanced at him briefly, standing up as the sirens indicating the night patrol shift sounded.

Melanie spoke gently and Garrett strained to hear her over the other voices around the fireplace. “I’m not okay. Not really. But I’ve learned that no matter what I do, it isn’t going to bring Jonah back.”

“And Will?”

She smiled softly, a faraway look in her eyes. “He reminds me of Jonah.”

Nodding, Garrett followed her figure as she turned to walk back towards camp.

He watched as she walked away, her pants lying low on her hips and her tank top riding up.
She seemed so confident, and so sure of herself. She walked like nothing had changed her; that Jonah’s death hadn’t fazed her, and that Will wasn’t depending on her.

Garrett stared at her retreating figure until she disappeared into the distance. His mind was buzzing with her story. He just couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to protect what was left of her. She’d abandoned her emotions, and to him, it just wasn’t natural.