The girl is scared and alone and Dan has no idea how to make it better for her.
"Are the monsters going to come back and eat the rest of us too?" she asks, her bottom lip trembling with the effort of not crying. "Will it hurt when they eat me?"
Dan reaches out a hand, placing it on her shoulder gently, as though touching any harder might break her. He tries to find the words to reassure her, but he's more used to dealing with soldiers than small girls and not one of the platitudes he can think of seems right. Instead he makes a promise that he hopes he'd be able to keep.
"I won't let them eat you."
Through tear-filled eyes, she looks up at him and smiles, before flinging her arms around his neck and sobbing.
"I can't do this anymore."
Anne Glass is the only doctor left with the 2nd Mass, and he knows he's putting a hell of a lot of weight on her shoulders, but he also knows he has no choice. Some of his soldiers have basic field training, but he needs someone to look after the damn civilians he's stuck with.
"You can quit any time you want," he tells her, turning his back to her so she wouldn't see the lie in his eyes.
They both know the truth though, and they both know that neither of them will be quitting any time soon.
He catches Tom staring at a photograph on the wall. It's not Ben, he knows that, but he doesn't recognize the boy in the picture.
"I saw him," Tom says, his voice completely flat. "When we grabbed Ricky. He was there too."
Weaver doesn't reply. He's a soldier through and through; he knows all about not leaving a man behind. And he knows the pain that comes with the realization that sometimes you have no choice.
"We'll get them all back." It's Tom speaking, but Weaver wishes he'd been able to say the words. He wants to, but he's broken too many promises already.
Maybe if someone else speaks the promise, it will have more chance of coming true.
He claps a hand on Tom's shoulder and feels some of the tension leave the younger man's body.
He tries to forget that he's sending children out to fight in a war, telling himself that he's teaching them to survive.
But when Jimmy breaks down, terrified, clinging to the front of his shirt, he can't pretend anymore.
He wants to apologize and tell the boy that he doesn't have to do this again. He wishes he could hold him close and protect him from the world, but life doesn't work that way.
And he hates that it doesn't.
The baby is tiny, wrapped up in her mother's arms.
Sarah looks to him for reassurance. Tell me, she silently pleads. Tell me my daughter will survive this.
He wants nothing more than to be able to smile at her and tell her exactly what she wants to hear. But he won't lie to her. To any of them.
He reaches his hand out to stroke the baby's cheek, before pulling back. That innocent child doesn't deserve the blood from his hands.
Instead, he offers only a nod of his head and waits for Sarah to carry on walking.
He's buried too many men already. Too many good soldiers, and too many innocent civilians. He carries the names of every one of them in his heart, feeling it grow harder each time.
But this one hurts more than the rest put together.
He stands by the makeshift grave they've dug, picturing the too-small body buried there, and he feels something shatter inside him.
When Ben comes to him, the same pain in Weaver's chest is evident on the boy's face. He holds him close and for the first time Weaver takes comfort in another person, even if that person is hurting as much as he is.