The City was gone. Neil should have reached it years before and once he stood on the crumbling debris of its concrete wall, he couldn't help but mourn the months he'd spent fruitlessly searching for his daughter instead. The City was gone. The Cure was gone. And Elijah was a hundred miles away, struggling to care for the eight Infected they'd found alone. His friend would never forgive him.

He began climbing over the rubble.
"Where are you going?" cried the leader of his group.
"I have to find some doses," he told her. "Just eight. I just need eight doses."
"Can't you read the sign? They're dead. There's no cure." She pointed to the messy spray painted warning that sprawled across the remaining wall. "There is no Cure," it read. "Never go inside. Shoot whatever comes out. Even your friends."
"It's just graffiti. I need those doses. I know they're here."
"These people are dead. It's- I don't know what could kill this many. Poison? Infected? We have to get out of here, now, before whatever happened starts happening to us, too."
Neil stared down at the skeletal remains carpeting the ground inside the wall. "Whatever happened was years ago. These aren't fresh. I know there are doses in there somewhere. I just have to-" He took a step and stopped as he heard the click of a gun behind him.
"I'm sorry, Neil, I really am. But you go in and I'll wait for you. When you come back, I'll shoot you to protect the others."