

Behind a Veil of Darkness

Book One

David L Tyra

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2010 David L. Tyra

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents are products of the author's imagination and are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events, persons living, or dead, is entirely coincidental. The locales, though real, may have been changed to fit within the storyline.

Copyright 2010 by David L. Tyra. All rights reserved.

Cover art by Lori C. Tyra

Table of Contents

Prolog

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Behind a Veil of Darkness

Prolog

If you don't kill them, they learn. Yeah, I know, they're supposed to be on a sub-moronic level, but they learn. I've seen them with clubs, machetes, pieces of pipe, and primitive spears, don't try to tell me they are mindless, they're not! The worse thing is they don't quit as long as they can see you; they just keep coming until they collapse. Get out of their vision for a moment, or two and they will forget about you if they notice something, or someone else. Camouflage works if you are standing still and quiet, but no amount of camo helps if they see you moving. I've seen them give up a fresh victim in order catch another they see moving, why do you think it spread so fast? They seem to be vision oriented, but they respond to sound also. They don't feel pain, or maybe they do and it just pisses them off. If you don't hit a vital organ with your first attack go for the head immediately; in fact, don't even try a body shot, go for the head always. That bullshit about severing the spine at the base of the skull with a rifle, or pistol shot? Only in wet dreams my friend, maybe at close range with a shotgun, but are you willing to bet your life on it? You might be able to hit something that small at the rifle, or pistol range, but that paper target isn't running after you full speed and trying to eat your ass.

I've been alone quite a few times; on one level I prefer it, but on another, it's nice to have someone watch your back while you sleep. The first group I was with consisted of six of us at the beginning of the first night and one the next morning, me. I guess I was the only one who could deal with the steep learning curve. The second group consisted of twelve people and me, thirteen of us. There were seven women and six men and we lasted close to two weeks before the Big One, the quake. I'm sure most of them were killed, or infected, but some may have escaped, maybe. I did. It was touch and go for a while because I had to re-equip; something you have to do when you escape with nothing, but boxers. I haven't taken off my clothes to sleep since. The third group was good. Seven National Guard personnel, five men and two women trained as Military Police who were well equipped and armed. We were operating out of a high-rise building and when the attack came I was upstairs on the next floor using the facilities; we never used the toilets on the floor we occupied because we couldn't flush them. I'm not sure what happened, I heard shots, but too few and by the time I reached the staircase it was full of infected. I and one other person escaped down another stairway, but I returned days later even though the infected seem to have a habit of hanging around where they have made a successful kill. Their weapons and ammunition were too valuable.

We call them zombies. They're not really dead per se, but they may as well be. They are not your typical movie zombies, you know, the ones that stumble slowly around and moan? God, I wish they were. They are fast, strong, fearless, and they just won't quit coming. So, if they are as deadly as I say, why am I still alive while so many have died? Good question; let me start at the beginning.

x

## Chapter One

**1** st **Night:**

I had already earned enough credits at the local community college to transfer to one of the California State Universities, but I could take seventy units with me, so why pay three times the cost per credit at a CSU when I could get them for less at a community college? I've heard all the arguments about how much better the university professors are and its bullshit. The whole time I attended Community College I had four professors who had Master Degrees and did not have Doctorates in their fields. Let's examine a parallel; you attend a CSU or UC university in your freshman year and you are taking a History Survey class. You will see your professor, who has a doctorate in history, the first day of class where he/she introduces their aide, or aides, and takes roll call. Your class of one hundred, to three hundred students, may never see your professor again as the aides perform the lectures, make assignments, and grade tests which are either multiple choice, true or false, or a combination of the two. Second example, you are a freshman attending a community college and you are taking a History Survey class. More than likely, your professor will have a Doctorate, he/she will lecture the class, make assignments, grade your tests, and your class size will be about thirty students. Your professor will know your name, and your face. Because of the small class size, open discussion about the topics being studied is welcome and expected. Who gets the better educational experience, the CSU/UC student, or the community college student?

Sorry, just something that bothers me about the idiocy of believing State University students and faculty were better than community colleges.

I was taking a Spring Semester biology course, which met once a week for three hours and forty-five minutes, 6 pm to 9:45 pm, on Wednesday nights. Early spring can be nice in Southern California, still a bite in the air at night, but nothing a sweatshirt can't handle. I arrived twenty minutes early the way I normally did and sat on the sidewalk outside the classroom, smoking and chatting with my fellow classmates as they arrived.

A lot of the students are younger than my twenty-eight years and for the most part I don't have much to do with them, but like most community colleges there are a lot of older people too. I was talking with Mitch Dugan and America Hernandez when Esmeralda Lopez joined us. Mitch is in his late 60s, Caucasian, small, and wiry with a full head of white hair styled in a crew cut, probably a holdover from his days in the Marines. America, we just called her Mer, was Hispanic, thirty-five, kind of heavy-set, with a Mexican accent, and as sweet as they come. She came to the U.S. illegally ten years before and went to work cleaning houses around the Upland and Rancho Cucamonga areas. She said she was going to school for two reasons: to someday get a job teaching, and to set an example for her children.

"Hey Mike. Hi Mitch. Hi Mer."

"Hey Essie," I said as she gingerly crouched down to lay her textbook and folder next to me. The bar she worked at allowed her to time off to attend class, but not enough for her to go home and change from her work attire. She was wearing a white blouse unbuttoned enough to display the cleavage of her ample breasts and an overly tight mini-skirt, which was a little too mini; thus the careful crouch to drop her books. Essie is real honest to god eye candy. 5'9", or 10", she is tall with what I considered a curvaceous, but athletic build. Her hair is long and so dark brown you could say it was black and she has this marvelous peaches and cream skin. Younger than me, maybe twenty-two, or three, but the real killer is her eyes; they are a magnificent pale blue that can take your breath away. I wasn't in love with her, but I knew if we spent some time together I probably would be in short order. I guess I was in lust with her, but she once told me she felt comfortable around me because I didn't hit on her, maybe someday.

Essie pulled her long hair back and restrained it with a rubber band as Mer buttoned three more buttons of her blouse for her. "Thanks Mer."

America said a couple of choice words in Spanish then followed up in English, "Men. They make women dress like this for their entertainment."

I kept my mouth shut because I knew Mer had a pretty rough time with the men in her past. Besides, it was a routine she and Essie went through every week. Mer didn't approve of the clothes Essie's employer made her wear and frankly I didn't either.

"It's alright Mer," she said. "I get really good tips and most of the time the customers keep their hands to themselves, and, you're making Mitch and Mike uncomfortable when you make derogatory generalizations about men, right guys?"

I didn't say anything; I just smiled. Mitch though, jumped on it. "Are you kidding me? If I were forty years younger I'd chase you around the block twice before I gave up. No, three times."

Mitch is one of those people who are pretty rough around the exterior, but he has a heart of complete gold. Instead of jokingly threatening to call his wife like she usually did, Essie leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. She looked tired, almost haggard.

"Hey," I said. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she hesitated. "No, no I'm not. There's this regular comes in everyday between buses on his way home. Usually has one drink over about a half hour then catches his bus home. Real nice older man I've talked to some, you know? Well, he comes in today and he has a bandage on his forearm, so I asked him what happened. He said a guy at his office went crazy and bit him. Anyway, he finishes his drink like usual, but he doesn't leave, he just sits there. I went over and asked if he wanted another drink, but he looks really bad, like sick. I asked him if he was okay, but he didn't answer, just sort of mumbled something and then fell face first onto the table. When I touched him he was really hot, so we called the paramedics and when they arrived they put him on their gurney and strapped him down really tight and took him away. Before they left, one of them asked if any of the bar's employees, or customers had been bitten and after we all said no, they left."

While I was listening to her story I had gotten up and retrieved her books. Holding them out to her because it was almost time for class I commented, "Wow, that's kind of weird. Did they say what was wrong with him?"

"No, they just took him away."

Mitch was quiet for a moment, but then asked, "Did any of you see the report on Fox News about the disease outbreak in the Middle-East?"

I shook my head no, so did Mer and Essie.

"It was about a disease, which seemed to be spread by direct body fluid exchange; it caused the infected to become extremely violent and try to bite other people. I've been looking for any other reports about it because I thought it might be useful for class discussion, but I haven't been able to find anything besides the one little blurb."

I nodded, "Yeah, a severe bite would involve the exchange of body fluids, blood and saliva. Ask the professor when he gets here."

Everyone agreed and we filed into the classroom stopping at the front desk and checking off our names. I scanned down the sheet of paper until I found my name, Michael Moore, and checked the box in front of it. Then joined Mitch, Essie, and America at the table we normally shared. At precisely five minutes till six, Professor Brown walked into the room, looked over the attendance chart then placed it on top of his folder. Brown is shorter than my own five-seven and he's wiry like Mitch. He has longish hair, and a full beard, which he should trim a little more often than he does. I don't think I've ever seen him wear anything other than a tan and blue plaid shirt, brown or blue tie, tan Dockers and brown slip on loafers; he must have a closet full of the damn things. It's probably an unkind thing to say, but he reminded me of a squirrel, his movements were always quick and furtive and he looked as though he was ready to bolt at any moment. With that said. I liked him a lot; he was concerned about his students and would give you all the help you needed to succeed.

"Is there a party tonight? I see we are missing some of our little group." I hadn't noticed before, but he was right, maybe a third of the class was absent. Brown always locked the door at precisely 6:00 pm, so if you were in doubt about reaching class on time it was probably best to stay home because he would not let you in after the class started. I was late once and spent the first hour and a half standing at the windows listening to his lecture. When break started, I entered and sat down at my regular seat where he informed me once I was marked absent, I was absent. I acknowledged I understood, but my feet were tired and I wanted to sit down. After class I noticed him change my status on the role sheet to present, but he didn't say anything. He was bit odd, but he wasn't a bad guy.

At precisely 6:00 o'clock he walked to the door and locked it, returned to the front of the class and sat on his desk. "Alright, what have you seen? What have you heard? What have you read?"

Each of Professor Brown's classes started the same way, the search for current events with applications to the class. It was an easy way to earn extra-credit and the four of us, Essie, Mitch, America, and I made full use of it. Mitch raised his hand.

"Mister Dugan."

"Professor Brown, last week on the news I caught a tidbit about an unknown disease in the Middle-East which apparently causes people to become extremely violent. Do you know anything about it? I haven't been able to find any further reference to it, even on the Internet."

There was a momentary hesitation before he answered. "Nope, I don't watch much television and I certainly do not watch a blatantly conservative format such as Fox News. Next?"

There was an alarm bell ringing in the back of my head. Brown always had something to say, always. Once in a great while if he was unaware of the topic he would assign the student with the question the task of finding out the information and presenting it to the class in the form of a two page essay. Easy extra credit and I had managed once to bring up a topic he was unaware of. Something was wrong this time, hesitation was out of character for him and he didn't offer Mitch the opportunity to write the essay. I knew from previous talks with Professor Brown he had worked with the Centers for Disease Control for a while before he had a "disagreement" with his superiors and sought employment elsewhere. I also knew he had maintained contact with several friends who still worked there. The last thing, which set off the alarm bell? Mitch mentioned Fox News to the three of us outside before class, but not when he brought it up with the Professor. I raised my hand.

"Mister Moore."

I had a feeling I was about to over-step our faculty/student relationship. "Professor, judging from your verbal and nonverbal communication cues, and based on the little I have learned of your association with the CDC, can I safely assume the CDC has locked down any dissemination of information concerning the disease Mitch asked about?"

He froze, and then his face reddened. "End of discussion Mister Moore."

Uh, oh.

He slid off of his desk and pointed to one of the first year students, "Mister Washington, please borrow someone's textbook and copy the graph on page 185, titled STD Frequency, Age Group 18 to 30, onto the whiteboard so the students like yourself who did not bring their book to class can refer to it during my lecture."

Brown went to his podium and wrote a quick note on piece of paper, which he folded twice and inserted into his shirt pocket and then started his lecture on the frequency of sexually transmitted diseases among young people. Several times during the lecture he paused and seemed momentarily lost in thought before proceeding. Just before break, as he passed in front of my table, he slipped the paper from his pocket and placed it on the spiral notebook where I was entering the notes from the lecture. I unfolded it and read what he had written, _MY OFFICE, BREAK TIME_. That's all it said.

Moments later Brown called for break and left the classroom in a hurry. I handed the note with the cryptic wording to my three fellow classmates. "Well, what do you guys think?"

"In the Marines we learned to keep our mouths shut and play stupid."

"Thanks Mitch. A little of your Marine Corps wisdom would have helped before I opened my mouth."

"If I could see the future I would have been a commissioned officer instead of a non-com." He punched me lightly in the shoulder as the four of us walked out of the classroom. "Time to cowboy up kid, oorah."

America slipped her hand inside my arm, "We'll go with you Michael."

Essie chimed in, "If you want us too."

"Screw that kid, you're on your own." Mitch can really be comforting.

"I think we're taking this a little too serious guys, it's not like he's going to eat me, or something. He'll probably chew my ass a bit and that'll be the end of it. You guys take your break and I'll be back in a few minutes."

I left them and started walking towards Brown's office while I lit a cigarette. I wasn't really nervous, I mean I've been working in construction since I was eighteen and I've had my ass chewed by the very best. Plus, if Brown did try anything physical, which he wouldn't because he's actually kind of mellow, he wouldn't stand a chance. He's about five foot four, or so, and maybe 120 pounds. I'm only five foot seven, but I weigh in at 175 and none of it is fat. I work construction, remember? I've had quite a few women comment on how good I look, muscular, long shoulder length wavy auburn hair, hazel eyes, but few want to do more than casual dating. Women seem to prefer taller men when it comes to breeding stock. Does that sound sexist, or insecure?

I turned the corner and approached Brown's office door as I flicked away my cigarette, but before I could knock it opened.

"What took you so long?"

"Sorry, look Professor Brown if I was out of line..."

"No. Come in and sit down." He shut the door behind me as I stepped past and stood against the wall until he passed and sat at his desk. The offices of professors at community colleges are usually no bigger than a closet. I opened a folding chair leaning against the wall and sat down.

"I've been stressing about whether I should warn anyone and as a result I've gone against my own ethics. You're a bright young man, Mister Moore, and I want to run this whole thing past you, to get your opinion. You were right; I have been in contact with the CDC. Some of my friends who still work there gave me a heads up and asked for advice. They want to try and get me reinstated for the duration."

"The duration?"

"For as long as it takes to get Mister Dugan's mysterious disease under control. More than once they thought they had it nailed down, but it keeps popping up again, spreading, and my friends think they're losing control of the situation. I am seriously violating security protocols by telling you this, but the word is to get out if it's not already too late. I believe the people have the right to know when they are in danger, but my superiors and the politicians didn't want general panic if something like this ever happened. My belief, the people have an intrinsic right to know of danger, is why I was invited to leave rather than be fired."

"How have they been able to keep it quiet?"

"Know what a Presidential Executive Order is?"

"Yeah, they're directives formulated by the President, some of which are to be instituted during a national emergency supposedly for the good of the Nation as a whole." See? My class in Political Science is paying off. Yeah, I know, the process is a little more complicated than that, but you get my drift.

"Yes, but in essence it can result in the creation of a dictatorship if used for the wrong reasons. One of those orders gives the President control of all communications. The Fox News report Dugan spoke of? Whoever cleared the release of the story is probably sitting in a prison, or worse, at this moment. What I am telling you could very well lead to my imprisonment"

"Jesus, alright." My head was spinning. "Okay, tell me about the disease. What's the fatality rate?"

"I don't know for sure, but I was told about nine per cent die from the infection."

"Nine per cent? It could be a lot worse."

"It is a lot worse. Nine per cent die of the infection; the other ninety-one per cent are the real problem. All signs of life except brain activity cease, but then reactivate."

"What?"

"Except for brain activity, for all intents and purposes they are dead, but then they reanimate. However, once they reanimate they seem to have lost all mental capabilities except rage and hunger. They attack uninfected people and attempt to consume them. They are easily distracted though and that is the reason they are spreading the infection. They bite someone and then become distracted by another potential victim. The victims who are not killed in the initial attack are almost guaranteed to become infected and then attack others, thereby spreading the disease."

"Professor Brown, are you talking about... zombies?" I'd seen all the old zombie movies, you know, arms held out in front, shuffling walk, eating anyone stupid enough to get too close.

"No, and yes. They are not dead per se, but they are incredibly hard to kill. Most people who suffer significant trauma go into shock and are incapable of action after the potential death injury is suffered. These people can die from a gunshot to the chest, but they don't go into shock and they keep attacking until dead. Their adrenaline levels are off the charts, so they're fast and strong. Another thing..."

I held up my hand, "Did you hear that?"

"What?"

I heard it again, but it was faint. I stood and opened the door; somewhere in the distance I could hear the piercing scream of a woman. It was high pitched and shrill, full of horror and despair.

Brown snatched up his office phone and punched in three numbers, "Come on, come on, answer the...Security? This is Doctor Thaddeus Brown, I'm down in the Science Building, and I am hearing the screams of a woman close by who seems to be in great pain. You better...you have? Okay. Can you get back to me when you find out what's happening? Thank you."

I looked out between the buildings and saw a Campus Police car race by with red and blue lights flashing. To the west I heard several muffled shouts, I couldn't make out the words, but it sounded as though it was someone giving commands. Then I heard, pop... pop... then pop, pop, pop, in rapid succession. I looked at Professor Brown; his eyes went wide.

"Michael, go to the classroom and tell everyone to go home. Tell them to stay in a group out to the parking lot and tell them to be cautious. I have to stay here until security calls back. Can you do that for me?"

Before I could answer the campus PA system activated, "Attention, attention, shots have been fired on campus. All students and faculty are to remain in their classrooms under lockdown conditions until further notification. I repeat..." The voice continued repeating the emergency lockdown.

I looked at Brown again. "To the classroom for lockdown, or to send everyone home?"

"The warning has taken it out of our hands. Go and tell everyone to stay in the classroom and lock the doors and windows. Michael, just to be on the safe side, turn off the lights. My friends say the infected are drawn to movement. This may be unrelated, but I don't believe in coincidences."

"What about you? There's an inter-campus phone in the classroom, so security can call you there; you just need to let them know you're there instead of your office."

"Yes, of course let's go."

We stepped out and he started to close the door, but he reopened it, stepped inside and when he came back out he had a partial case of bottled water in his arms.

"Take these."

I took them and he secured the office door before we hurried back to the classroom. When we arrived the rest of the students were milling around outside the door talking animatedly to one another.

"Everyone," Brown shouted. "Everyone inside the classroom; all of you heard the announcement, so please go in the classroom for your own safety until the all clear is given."

I scooted past everyone and into the classroom where I deposited the bottles of water on Brown's desk. I pulled out three bottles and handed them to my friends. The ladies looked nervous, but Mitch didn't seem perturbed at all. He had seen a lot of crap while in the Corps, two tours in Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, and some places he said he'd have to kill me if he told me about. I thought he was joking when he told me that and I'm sure he wouldn't really kill me, but I'm willing to bet there were things he wasn't supposed to tell anyone. I know he started out in a line company and then went Force Recon, then finally Scout Sniper. Marines are supposed to be badass, but Recon and Scout Snipers put the bad in badass.

"We were outside when the screaming started," said Mitch. "I started to go and check it out, then we saw the Campus Police drive by with their lights going and then we heard the shots."

"Yeah," I said. "We heard the screams in Brown's office and he called security. They said they'd call when they found out what was happening, but then the gunshots and the announcement."

Essie sat down at our communal table, "I hope this lockdown doesn't last long; I have to be back at work by 10:30."

Mer nodded, "Me too. My babysitter can't stay too long because she works early in the morning."

Brown had the rest of the students in the classroom and the door was now locked. He told us all to please be seated and explained he was going to shut off the lights for security reasons and he wanted everyone to fill in the seats closer to the locked door and away from the windows. We did some general relocating and when he was satisfied, he switched off the lights. The outside lights still illuminated a portion of the room, but there was enough shadow for all of us to congregate in it.

That was when we heard the second series of gunshots, somewhere between five and ten reports, followed by more drawn out screaming. It was another female scream. Mitch and I both stood at the same time and headed for the door.

Professor Brown stood in our way. "No Gentlemen! Return to your seats."

"Bullshit," Mitch said. "There's trouble out there. Someone's in trouble and we should help!"

"Campus Police will see to it Mister Dugan, please sit down." Brown had his hand on Dugan's chest.

Mitch shook his head. "The first shots we heard were nine millimeter. The ones we just heard were forty caliber. Officer Martin carries a nine mil and Officer Hernandez, the little blond lady, she carries a forty. The screams are a woman and I wager it's Hernandez. There are only three cops on duty tonight, they need help, and I'm going!"

I stepped up, "Professor, Someone needs help and the rest of the students need to be told what you told me in your office. I'll go with Mitch, watch his back, and fill him in as we go. If we don't go there will be a revolt; just be ready to open the door in a hurry, alright?"

"Alright, go, but you need darker clothing." Mitch was wearing dark green slacks and a dark brown lightweight jacket, but I was wearing a white pullover hoodie and blue jeans. "Mister Washington, please be so kind as to trade sweatshirts with Mister Moore and may Mister Dugan borrow your watch cap?" I knew where Brown was going with this. Mitch's hair, and my sweatshirt would stand out like a neon sign in the dark and he had said the infected seemed to be vision oriented.

"What? I paid $135 for this sweatshirt and you want me to trade it for a Wal-Mart special? Fuck that!"

"Mister Washington, your property will be returned when they get back. I will explain what may be happening while they are gone, and I believe you will see the wisdom of my actions."

I pulled the hoodie over my head and laid it on the Professor's desk. I like my sweatshirts loose fitting, but Washington's was going to look ridiculous on me. He was 6-4 easy and the sweatshirt he was wearing was baggy on him. He still wasn't going for it though.

"Washington," I said. "I'll take care of it, but if anything happens to it I'll give you the money to buy another, okay?"

"They cost more now, so you fuck it up it's $200, plus fifty for the wool cap."

"Agreed, fork them over." I held out my hand as he pulled off the cap, then the sweatshirt. I handed the cap to Mitch and struggled into the sweatshirt, it was so big I had trouble finding the left sleeve with my arm.

Essie grabbed it and guided my arm into the sleeve. She proceeded to zip it up the front while she asked me, "Mike, what's going on?"

"Professor Brown will explain. Just follow his suggestions and stay safe, okay?"

"Alright, but you be careful too."

I headed for the door where Mitch was waiting, but stopped and said, "Professor, station someone at the door while you're explaining to everyone. When we get back I'll knock twice followed by one. Like I said, we may be in hurry and you need to know it's us on the other side. Okay?"

He nodded, but Essie stepped to the door, "I'll be here from the time you leave until you get back." The way she said it made me feel good, and for a moment, I reconsidered the fact I had never asked her out.

"Thanks Essie." I stepped to the door, cracked it open, and peaked through the opening.

It was clear for as much as I could see. Looking back at Mitch, he was just finishing positioning the cap over his white hair. I gave him a quick nod and he nodded back. Throwing open the door, I stepped out and looked the opposite way, clear. Mitch came out behind me, after checking to make sure it was clear he closed the door and I heard the lock click into place. Hearing the lock gave me a sudden sinking feeling. Together we began walking quickly down the sidewalk as I filled Mitch in with what Professor Brown told me. When I got to the dead and undead part he stopped me.

"Are you talking about zombies?"

"Yes and no. Brown says they can be killed, but damaging the brain is the only quick way if they're close. A shot to the heart at close range is no guarantee because they can still get to you while they are dying and if you're bit, you're screwed. Understand?"

"Got it." He pushed me to the wall and down to my knees. "Okay, things just changed. I want you to pull that hood up and tie it off so you can see, but with as little of your face showing as possible. Faces are oily and shine in the dark; have you got a weapon?"

I carried a folding knife in my pocket with a blade just shy of four inches in length, which is about two inches longer than you're supposed to have on campus. I pulled it out and flipped it open. "This is all I have."

"Looks like you can pull it and open it pretty fast, but it shines like new money. Keep it in your pocket unless you need it. If you need it, shove it forcefully upwards through either eye, punch it through the temple, or stab it into the spine at the base of the skull, that'll sever the nerves and shut down control of the body. You have to use a great deal of force though to drive it deep. Understand?"

"Yes." I've never killed anything, not even a rabbit.

"Okay, follow me and do what I do."

He didn't wait for an answer, but rose to a low crouch, ran to the corner of the building and lay down. As I followed his example, he edged forward and looked around the corner, barely exposing a small portion of his face. He rose and motioned me to follow as he ran quickly through a lighted area and into the shadows again. I followed trying to duplicate his movements and actions; Mitch was surprisingly quick and silent. We passed a classroom with light shining under the door, then to the corner of that building and repeated the process of lying down and peeking around the corner. Mitch looked around the corner for a few seconds and then backed up and pointed to me, then two fingers at his eyes, and pointed around the corner.

I crawled forward and moved my face out enough to barely see what lay beyond. There were two police cars, their emergency lights flashing. The headlights were pointed out into the large expanse of grass, which marked the boundary of the college along Haven Avenue. Within the area illuminated by the headlights were five people. Four were lying still and the fifth appeared to be giving one of the police officers artificial respiration. I stood up and started to run around the corner and help, but Mitch grabbed me and jerked me back.

He whispered forcefully in my ear, "What the hell are you doing?"

"That person is giving artificial respiration to one of the cops. I know CPR and I can help."

"That woman is not giving aid; she's eating Hernandez's face!"

I dropped back down and took a second look, he was right, how could I have misinterpreted what I had seen? I pulled back and whispered, "Jesus, Brown was right. What do we do now?"

"We need better weapons and they're laying out there somewhere. We need to eliminate the threat, find the officers' sidearms, and if I don't miss my guess, there should be shotguns, or tactical rifles in the car trunks."

Eliminate the threat? "Mitch, are you talking about killing that woman?"

He looked at me for a moment then told me to wait where I was. He peeked around the corner, stood up and ran across the opening to the concealment of the next building and kept going. He was leaving me behind! Shit! I peeked around the corner, and as I watched, the woman shifted her position to gain better access to Hernandez's throat. She had turned until her back was fully towards me so I took advantage of her inability to see behind herself and rising to my feet, I began to jog towards her while I scanned the grass for one of the guns. The grass hadn't been cut for a while and was high enough to hide the weapons, but when I was within about fifteen feet I literally stepped on one of the pistols. I froze, then reached down and pulled the weapon out from under my foot. Without taking my eyes off of the infected woman, I raised it up into the line of my vision and pointed it at the back of her head, but when I squeezed the trigger, nothing happened. No gun shot, no click, nothing.

I tilted the muzzle up and examined the gun; there was an empty casing jammed in the ejection port. I placed my left hand over the operating slide and jerked the slide back and released it. The noise attracted her attention and she instantly rose, turned and attacked me. I squeezed the trigger and the first round caught her just above the collarbone in the left side of her neck, she didn't even slow down. The second round hit about an inch above her left eye and she dropped. I stood there looking down at her as the full impact of my actions took hold. It wasn't a woman; it was a young girl, maybe fourteen, or fifteen.

I didn't notice when Mitch stepped up next to me. "Kid, you okay?"

"I killed her."

"Yeah, you did. You had to, because if you hadn't you would have been dead, or like her pretty soon." He looked at me for a few seconds as I stared at her. "Hey! There are people waiting for us and we still need to find all the weapons we can pull together. Snap out of it and let's go."

"Yeah, yeah, okay."

"Get Hernandez's pistol belt. It'll be too big for you, so just hang it around your neck until we have time to adjust the waist size. I'll get Martin's weapon and belt and do the same. Hey! Are you with me?"

"What?"

"Mike, we don't have time for this." He went to Hernandez's body and stripped off her pistol belt, re-buckled it and hung it around my neck. He took the gun from my hand, ejected the magazine and inserted a fresh one. The partially empty mag was placed in the pouch from which he had pulled the full one. He grabbed my shoulders and turned me until I couldn't see the girl.

"Mike, I need your help."

My vision widened and I blinked. "Okay, I'll check the car on the left for anything we can use."

"Good." He turned and rushed over to Martin's body and started retrieving the dead policeman's belt.

I ran to the left car and leaned in the driver's door. The engine was still running and there was a shotgun in a rack in the center of the dash. I tried to pull it out after I released the restraining clips, but it was also secured with a vinyl coated cable type lock. Pulling the keys from the ignition I started trying each of them until I found the one that released the shotgun. Removing the weapon from the vehicle, I pulled the slide back and saw a round pop into position below the breach. I racked the slide forward and loaded it into the chamber. With the keys still in my hand, I went to the trunk and opened it, but other than the spare tire and jumper cables it was empty. I tossed the keys on the front seat and headed for the other patrol car.

Mitch was already there with a pistol belt slung over his left shoulder and he was in the process of removing the shotgun. Standing up, he checked to see if the weapon was loaded and walked to the rear of the car. Inserting the key, he opened the trunk and started pulling out items.

"Jackpot Michael, we've got an ammo belt and a bandoleer for twelve gauge and four boxes of..." He held a box of shells up to the light, "...double ought buck. We've also got two fifty round boxes of nine millimeter, full metal jacket. Probably used it for target practice, but it'll work just fine for us. Only spare mags were the two on his belt. What did you find?"

"Just the shotgun, there wasn't anything in the trunk." It looked as though he had lucked out with Martin's car.

"No? Did you find Hernandez's briefcase? She always had extra mags in it."

"I didn't see one."

"Check again, maybe on the front passenger floorboard."

I went to the passenger side of the other car and opened the door; there it was. I lifted the brief case to the seat and opened it. Along with an apple and an orange were three more magazines, a box of forty caliber hollow points, and three zip lock plastic bags with five shotgun rounds each. "You were right Mitch, three mags, a box of forty caliber ammo, and fifteen rounds of twelve gauge."

"Alright, let's get back and see what we can put together."

We took off through the shadows much the way we had come, stopping and peeking around corners, the whole routine. When we reached the classroom I knocked twice and then once again; the lock clicked and the door swung out allowing me to enter with Mitch directly behind. Essie closed the door and relocked it.

Brown approached us and quickly asked. "We heard two more gun shots, what happened?"

I looked away and walked to my book bag; there was a bottle of water in it that I always carried. Taking it out and unscrewing the cap, I took a long drink as Mitch filled them in.

"When Mike approached the scene there was a young woman eating Officer Hernandez's face. He was able to find Hernandez's automatic before the girl noticed and attacked him; he was forced to shoot her. Officer Martin was also down, so we gathered their weapons and returned here to tell you what was going on. Is there any word from the Security Office?"

Brown shook his head, "No, and I've tried several times to call them. We also tried dialing 911, but so far all we get is an all lines are busy recording. I've got three students constantly trying to dial 911 with their cell phones, but so far nothing."

"Okay, time to improvise. We need to get everyone safely out of here. I rode the bus today, so my wife could have the car. I know America takes the bus also, but a different route than the one I take." He raised his voice slightly to the people who were now grouped closely around him to be able to hear what he was saying. "Did anyone else ride the city bus today? Does everyone have a ride home?"

Brown raised his hand, "I only live two blocks up Haven and one to the east and I usually walk to and from class, but I would appreciate a lift if someone is going my way?"

He glanced around and the others were looking at each other also. I spoke up, "I drove my old Aerostar tonight, so I have a lot of room and I can probably squeeze in seven people. I'll take you home Professor plus Mitch and America." I looked at Essie, "How about you, did you drive from work?"

"Yes, and I could take Mitch home because we both live in Pomona. If you take him you'll be going the opposite direction from your home. America? You live in Montclair don't you?"

"Si, yes."

"Okay," I said. "She's with me. Anyone else need a ride?" I looked around at everyone.

Washington nodded, "Tonya usually rides with me, but my car is in the body shop, so her Dad brought us and is supposed to pick us up after class. I guess we could call him and have him come now."

"Where do you live, the two of you?" I asked.

Tonya was African-American like Washington, but only about five two and very petite. "We both live about a half block south of 16th and a block west of Mountain in Upland."

"Alright, call your Dad and tell him you and Washington have a ride home and not to come and pick you up. Tell him what is happening, warn him, okay?"

She opened her phone and started pushing numbers as Brown spoke up, "Another thing, all of you, if you have someone at home waiting for you, call them and tell them you are coming home early. Tell them what we know and ask them if they have heard anything about the outbreak on television, or radio."

I lived alone and there was no one waiting for me, so I handed my cell to Mitch; he didn't have a one. He thanked me, took it and started dialing his wife. As I looked around everyone, but Professor Brown and I, were furiously dialing their cell phones. Essie was also dialing, but the number she was dialing must have been short, probably 911. She would listen for a moment then hang up and dial again.

With everyone busy, I leaned against a wall and slid down to the floor where I sat for moment, then pulled the pistol from the holster and belt. The pistol was a Glock 22 according to the model number on the frame, chambered for .40 S&W. I knew Glocks had an excellent reputation for reliability and many law enforcement agencies used some variation of Glocks for their standard issue carry weapon, but that's about all I knew. I have never been much of a pistol person; I couldn't rationalize paying the same amount for a pistol you pay for a rifle, but to each his own. That's not to say I don't own a pistol, I do, it's a Ruger Standard Model II chambered for .22 caliber. I bought it because it fired the same round as the Ruger 10-22 rifle my dad bought for me when I was twelve and it was sitting in a drawer next to my bed at home. Occasionally I considered buying a pistol in a heavier caliber, but if I waited long enough I generally talked myself out of it. It seemed silly to buy something the California laws discouraged; you couldn't carry it legally without a concealed weapons permit and those are damned near impossible to get unless you're a U.S. Senator. As a result, the only people who carried were those who had no problem breaking the law, criminals.

I own three other weapons, which I guess qualifies me as a gun nut; I have a Mossberg 500 shotgun with a 28" barrel and a 18" barrel, an Inland .30 Carbine I inherited when my parents were killed, and a Romanian PSL 54 rifle I bought while visiting one of my cousins in Arizona. The PSL is registered to my cousin because in California it's considered an assault rifle despite its ten round mag and I couldn't purchase it with California ID. Don't even get me started on that crap. I guess if you want to get technical I'm one of the armed criminals because of the PSL possession, but I keep it stored in an unattached garage in Claremont along with a bunch of other stuff, which used to take up space in the closets and spare bedroom of my apartment.

Essie motioned me over, so I rose and stood beside her. She had her cell phone open and pressed the loudspeaker button on the phone so we could hear it. _"...secure your home. Repeat, due to the high volume of emergency calls because of wide spread rioting and violence, a twenty-four hour curfew has been declared. If you are not home, seek safe shelter anywhere you can and stay there until notified it is safe to leave. If you are home, take all legal precautions to protect yourself and secure your home. Repeat..."_

Essie's eyes were wide with alarm, "Michael?"

I motioned Brown and Mitch over and we all listened to the message again as it repeated; before it was done everyone in the room was clustered tightly around us so they could hear it too. When it finished cycling through, I took Essie's hand and closed the phone shutting down the connection.

"Looks like we have a new wrinkle." I said.

The room was silent for a moment. "Well," Professor Brown started, "I guess we have to stay here."

Mitch shook his head, "To hell with that Professor, this whole situation is turning into a first class cluster fuck."

"Mister Dugan, there is reason to be alarmed, yes, but taking action other than what the authorities have instructed us to do will most likely be counter-productive."

Mitch had left the extra boxes of shotgun shells on a table next to us. I opened a box and started slipping the twelve gauge rounds into the elastic loops of the bandoleer and ammo belt. "Seems to me Professor, by your own admission, listening to those in authority has pretty much got us into the situation we're in now. The CDC wanted to avoid panic by keeping the disease secret from the sheeple, but right about now I'm feeling more than just a little pissed. Know what I mean?"

"Shhh!" Essie's fingernails sunk into my arm and I glanced to where she was looking out the windows. A man was standing there, staring through the glass into the darkened room. His eyes were wide and glassy in appearance, but the worst was the blood around his mouth and smeared over his upper torso. He stepped forward and pressed his hands against the glass trying to visually penetrate the darkness we stood within. One of the girls whimpered loudly, but was quickly stifled. We were all frozen in abject fear, barely breathing as the seconds stretched into an eternity. The man suddenly swung his head to the right and then burst into a run towards Haven Avenue and the front of the college. He left bloody handprints behind on the window.

I sucked in a gulp of air and realized I had been holding my breath the whole time I knew he was there, and I heard others sucking in air also. Essie released her grip on my arm, but didn't step away from where she had pressed against me. I'm not sure if it was her who was trembling, or me. I heard a sudden buzzing and Professor Brown jumped six inches straight up in the air. He cursed as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a buzzing cell phone, flipped it open and spoke into it.

"Hello? Hello? Yes, speaking." He listened intently for several seconds. "No, I'm not at home; I'm at Chaffey College just a short distance from my condo. Yes, the college has a football field." He listened again for a moment, cutting his eyes around briefly resting his gaze on all of us. "I see. A few of us are armed, but..." He listened again. "Just a moment..."

He handed the phone to me, "They want to talk to you."

I took the phone and held it to my ear, "Hello?"

"This is Captain Phillips, United States Army, I understand you are armed?"

"Yes."

"Do you have military experience?"

"No."

"Is there anyone there who has military experience?"

"Yes, one of us is retired from the Marines."

"I need to speak with that person."

I frowned and looked at the phone, then Mitch as I held the phone out to him, "They want to talk to you."

He took it and spoke into it, "Yeah." He listened, "Gunnery Sergeant Mitchell Dugan, United States Marine Corps, retired." He listened for a moment and then seemed to stiffen a bit. "Yes sir. Time frame? Ten minutes? I'll do my best to get him there. Do you have a security detail on board? Okay, the football field is east of our location by several hundred yards and I have no estimate of hostile forces. Have your security team standby at the west entrance if we are not there when you arrive."

He folded the phone and handed it to Brown, "Well, looks like you're getting a free ride out of here Professor. They'll be at the football field with a helicopter in about ten minutes and I have been tasked with the job of getting you there safely." He picked up the ammunition belt I had already loaded for the twelve gauge and strapped it around his waist. "You ready Mike?"

Washington worked his way closer to us through the tightly packed group. "What about the rest of us? There must be room for the rest of us, right?"

Mitch shook his head, "No joy there kid, they're here for the Professor and there will be room for him only."

"Bull shit, that's fucked up. They're the military and they're supposed to protect us. The government is supposed to protect us!"

"Their job right now is to get Professor Brown to where he can do some good." Mitch held up the pistol and belt he had removed from Officer Martin, and looked around the room, "Does anyone know how to use this?"

Washington reached for it and Mitch pulled it out of his reach. "I said does anyone know how to use this?"

One of the younger guys spoke up, "That's a Beretta, Model 92. My dad has one and I've shot it a few times."

Mitch handed the belt, holster and gun to him. "You just became part of the classroom security team. Anyone else knows how to use a pistol?"

No one said anything, so Washington spoke up again, "Give one to me, I mean, how hard can it be?"

Then I got blindsided. Essie spoke up, "I do Mitch, my dad always had guns around before he left. I don't like guns, but I know a little bit about how to use them." Whenever guns had come up as a topic Essie had been pretty much against anyone, but police having them.

"Good, Mike give her Hernandez's Glock and a quick rundown on how to use it."

I took her aside and ran her through the process of cocking, reloading, and the lack of an external safety. She paid close attention and repeated everything as I watched. After repeating the processes several times I was satisfied and showed her how to adjust the belt, so it would fit around her waist. Mitch and Professor Brown were waiting at the door when I joined them. "Okay Mitch, how are we going to do this?"

"When we open the door we're not going to know what's behind it, so I'll go out first and cover to the left opposite of the area we can see. You," he pointed to me, "Will follow me out and cover to the right. If it's clear, Professor, you come out between us. I'll take point like before, Mike," he pointed to me, "your tail-end-Charlie. I'll watch front and sides; you watch our six and the sides. Professor, you watch me and copy everything I do. Got it?"

We both nodded and Mitch put his hand on the door lock. I turned to Essie who was behind me. "Same as before Essie, as soon as we are out close and lock the door. Two knocks followed by one when we return, okay?"

"Okay." She had the belt and holster around her waist and the Glock in her right hand. I was struck by how incredibly sexy she looked in her mini-skirt, with the gun and all. Geez, here I was about to go out and maybe kill, or be killed, and I'm thinking how sexy she looks. No wonder so many women think men are pigs.

Mitch was semi-crouched by the door; he looked at us and asked, "Ready?" we all nodded and he opened the door a crack and looked out, after a quick examination he pushed the door fully open and stepped out and to the left, I rushed out and to the right with Professor Brown following. The door shut, I heard Essie turn the lock and then I heard Mitch whisper, "Clear." I repeated it from my vantage point.

Like we had before, we crouched and moved quickly along the wall of the building trying to stay in the shadows. Mitch reached the first corner and peeked around it from a prone position, then scampered across to the next building where he waited for Brown to cross. The Professor followed Mitch's example, lay down and looked, then crossed to Mitch while I did the same. We repeated the process time and again, seeing no one as we crossed campus working our way steadily to the football field. We had just one last road to cross before we reached the entrance to the field when I saw a group of women cross directly under one of the streetlights and into the parking lot. There were four of them and they were followed by one man who stopped in the middle of the road shouting for them to hurry. He turned and faced the way they had come as a mixed group of men and women boiled into the circle of light he stood in. He crouched in a defensive posture, but the crowd just flowed over and around him baring him to the ground. Three of the crowd went down with him, but the rest raced on into the parking lot, that was when the screaming started.

Mitch and Brown had already crossed to the space before the field and were waiting for me, but I turned and started up the road. I heard Mitch, "Mike, no. It's too late for them and we have a job to do, come on!"

I hesitated, and then in the distance I heard the whop, whop, whop, of the helicopter blades nearing. I turned my back on those people and ran towards Mitch and Brown. Did I turn my back on them because I had a job to do, or because of the gut wrenching fear in my belly? I can't really say, not for sure. Mitch led Brown to the gate as I followed, but when they reached it, it was secured with a lock and chain.

"Shit!" I heard Mitch say. Then, "Step back, it looks like a cheap lock, so I'm going to try and blow it off." Above us, the helicopter banked and circled the stadium before slowly dropping down and coming to rest in the middle of it. Mitch stepped up and with the muzzle of the shotgun three feet from the lock, he pulled the trigger. The lock bounced about, but when he tried it, it still held the gate secure. He operated the slide and fired a second time, but this time I saw him flinch before he grabbed the lock and removed it. He waved us forward and limped towards the chopper sitting on the field with its rotors spinning. A group of soldiers had exited the aircraft and were holding a defensive perimeter around it while two approached us at a run.

One of them shouted, "Doctor Brown!"

"That's me!" Brown shouted over the noise of the chopper.

"Please come with us, there is a small jet waiting for us at Ontario Airport to transport you to Atlanta." I noticed he had a Captain's insignia on the front of his Kevlar helmet, so it must have been Phillips.

"This man is wounded," Brown pointed to Mitch. "Can you transport him to a hospital?"

The Captain looked at Mitch and so did I; there was a growing stain on his left upper thigh. "We can take one extra," he said. "But only one!"

I swallowed, hard. I didn't trust myself to say something bold and self-sacrificing, so I turned and started jogging for the gate we had entered the football field from before my nerve could break. I was almost halfway there when the first three people ran through the opening in my direction. Behind me I could hear the blades of the helicopter picking up speed as it prepared to lift off. Stopping where I was, I watched the people run towards me, were they infected, or people looking for escape? As they neared, I perceived the bloody hands, torsos, and mouths. Bringing the shotgun to my shoulder, I fired the first round at a distance of probably seventy-five yards. One of them stumbled, but they all kept coming.

I would have to wait until they were closer, so the buckshot didn't spread as far. I racked the slide of the weapon and waited for them to close the distance. Behind them, I saw more coming towards the gate. I wondered how many rounds the tubular magazine held; I wondered why I hadn't checked before; I wondered how fast I could reload the magazine; I pulled the trigger on the closest and saw his face disappear before his momentum carried him face first into the sod. I re-racked and shot the second and then the third. My days of competition trap shooting seemed to be paying off. I had some time before the next group would arrive, so I fed four more rounds from the bandoleer into the magazine to replace the three shot and the one in the breech.

The next group was coming into range, so I raised the weapon and sighted down the barrel, but another gun went off to my right causing me to flinch. I looked and there was Mitch cycling his shotgun and firing again. I refocused and fired, then again, and again. We were suddenly bathed in an intense white light and a stream of bright red poured from the sky. The crowd of infected trying to push through the gate erupted into gouts of exploding dirt, blood and dismembered body parts. The sound, it was like a huge piece of canvas being ripped in half. The gunfire from the helicopter stopped and it slowly circled us once, before wheeling to the south and flying away.

Mitch shouted, "Now that's what I call a parting shot!"

I looked at him and he was grinning from ear to ear. "Was that a mini-gun?" I said.

"Yep, kinda makes your tongue hard don't it."

"Why aren't you on the chopper?"

His smile disappeared, "I have to get home to my wife. What did you think; I'd take off for safety and leave my wife on her own during this shit?"

"Sorry, I didn't think." I felt embarrassed, I hadn't even thought of his wife.

"Don't worry about it. Come on, let's get back to the others and figure out how to get everyone home."

We started back, but at the gate we stopped. I've never seen anything like it before, the utter carnage. It was incredible, but one of the infected was still alive. As we approached he rose up on one good arm and tried to pull himself towards us. The blood everywhere seemed thick, almost like it was already coagulating. Mitch raised his shotgun and prepared to fire at the infected and wounded man, then changed his mind and slammed the butt of his weapon into the side of his head instead.

"Why?" I asked.

Mitch stepped over the bodies in an almost dainty manner. "I have a feeling that, sooner or later, we're going to get short of ammo."

"Oh," I said as I followed him through what was left of the gate. I was hoping I would never be reduced to a club, or hand to hand.

We made it back to the classroom without any further trouble, but in the distance we could hear sporadic gunfire and an occasional scream. There was also the smell of smoke in the air; things were burning and I wondered if the fire department was on the job. If a fire got out of hand and the wind started to blow like it often does in the Inland Empire, it could be a disaster in the making. I didn't think I'd want to be caught in a firestorm of citywide proportions.

Essie and America were relieved to see us until they saw Mitch limping and then they were all over him. He really soaked up the sympathy and I think he enjoyed it when the girls castigated me for allowing him to get hurt. Sucks to be me I guess.

#

## Chapter Two

We had to decide what we were going to do and soon. Some of the class wanted to leave immediately, some wanted to wait until first light, and others wanted to stay until the authorities came to the rescue. Me personally, I wanted to leave as soon as possible. The longer we waited, the more infected there would be, but to be honest, I agreed with some of the others who were reluctant to leave while it was dark. I had already been outside twice and I wasn't looking forward to going into the dark again, but reason told me now was the time to go. Some of the reason was America's desire to get to her children and Mitch wanted to get home to his wife. I wasn't a parent, and I didn't have a wife, but I think I could relate to how they felt. If I had a family I would want to be with them, to protect them and be protected.

Sitting on the floor and leaning against the wall, I watched as Essie and America worked on Mitch. The wound in his leg was resisting clotting and they were trying to decide what they could use as a pressure bandage until he got home. Mer finally removed the slip she was wearing and they used my knife to cut it before they tore strips from it, and bound the wound. I found it interesting to watch the rest of the class, composed of kids twenty years old, or younger, debating what to do. The white kids were split into two groups; the larger group wanted to leave immediately, the other wanted to wait for the authorities to come. White America is a highly individualistic culture and for the most part we don't rely on the government to come galloping to the rescue, but an increasing number have been indoctrinated into a more socialistic and therefore collectivistic paradigm that dictates reliance on those of authority to make decisions for them. There were only two African-Americans in the class, Washington and Tonya and they were from upper-middle class families if I remembered the area they said they lived in, so more than likely they would be more independent than others. The ones I worried the most about were the Hispanic kids. Their strong family affiliations could lead them to make costly mistakes trying to get home to their kin. Who am I kidding; whenever you start making general assumptions about groups of people I think you plant the seeds of your own disappointment.

Standing up, I approached Essie, Mer, and Mitch, "What do you guys think, about time to get out of Dodge?"

Mitch nodded, "Damn straight, the sooner we hit the road the better off we're going to be. I figure the longer we wait the more people we're going to have to avoid."

"Essie?"

"Yes, Michael, the sooner the better; I'm worried about my Aunt."

"America?"

"Yes, por favor." America was regressing into her native language, stress no doubt.

"Okay, hang on while I talk to the others." I worked my way over to the rest of the students and stood among them.

"Listen up guys, Essie, America, Mitch, and I are getting ready to take off. Washington, Tonya, do you still want that ride?" They both nodded. "What about the rest of you, what are your plans?"

The kid with Martin's nine millimeter spoke first, "I'm leaving when you guys go and two others are riding with me." He pointed at a young man and woman, and then to two girls. "Gin and Mary want to get home also, but are worried Ginny's car could be a problem."

I picked them out in the dim light, "Where do you live?"

Gin, I think her name was actually Virginia answered, "I live near the corner of Thirteenth Avenue and Thirteenth Street and Mary lives just across Campus Avenue off of thirteenth."

"Good enough, the two of you come with me. Anyone else?" Several Hispanics said they would leave the same time we did, but the rest thought it better to wait for daylight, or for help to come to them. I tried to dissuade them, but it was a no go. Finally I gathered those who were leaving and rejoined my friends.

"These are the only ones who are leaving."

Mitch shook his head as he looked at those who had chosen to stay, "Do they understand what they're doing?"

"I explained everything to the others, but they're adamant about not going. Some say they are going to wait until first light, the others are going to wait for help to come to them."

"Madre Dios."

I turned to the kid with the nine mil, "Sorry, what's your name?"

"Daniel."

"Daniel has a couple of passengers, so I want him to keep the pistol, you guys good with that?"

"Sure."

"I've got this twelve gauge and five passengers, so I'm going to keep it for everyone's protection. Okay?" Everyone nodded. "Mitch, Essie, you guys have two guns, the .40 cal. and the shotgun and you're riding together; how would you feel about leaving one of them for the people staying behind?"

They looked at one another for a moment and then Mitch answered. "Suits me, I've got more than enough weapons at home. I think we should let Esmeralda keep the pistol instead of the shotty, after she drops me off she will be able to use the pistol easier while she's driving."

I looked at her, "Essie that okay?"

"I'll do whatever the two of you think is best."

Mitch handed me the shotgun, then took off the ammo belt and gave it to me; I walked over to the group that was staying. "We're going to leave you guys a weapon for protection. Any of you know how to use a pump shotgun?"

It was quiet for a few seconds, "Anyone?" I couldn't believe no one knew how to use it.

One of the girls stepped forward. "About six years ago my parents sent me to a Christian Youth Camp for the summer. They taught us how to shoot single shot .410 shotguns. Is it sort of like that?"

I spent the next ten minutes going over the operation of the weapon; I explained the recoil, and everything I could think of. She finally said she thought she understood and I helped her fit the ammo belt to her waist. There was a sick feeling in my stomach as I walked away and I wondered if I should stay with them, but I already had people depending on me and they had chosen their paths.

Everyone who was leaving was waiting for me by the door. "Mitch, how are we going to do this?"

"Same as when we escorted the Professor. This time you're point and I'm tail end Charlie because of my leg. You go first, then the people riding with you, then Daniel, the people riding with him and then the others, finally Essie and me. If there's trouble, the people with weapons will get in between our group and the infected, so the others can escape while we provide covering fire. Everybody understand? One more thing, if you are wearing hard sole shoes, or flip-flops take them off now, our best bet to avoid contact with the infected is silence and staying in the shadows. Follow the actions of the person in front of you and say nothing unless it's an emergency, maintain your place in the line and don't group up."

"Mitch, what about when we exit the door?" I was already there with my hand on the twist lock.

"Right, same as before, but this time you crack the door, peek and if it's clear swing it open and go to the left. Daniel, move up here behind Mike, when Mike goes out you should be right behind him and cover the same way he is going to be, got it? I'll exit right and cover your back. When it's clear, Mike, you start moving out with your people, then Daniel and his, the rest of the group, and then me and Essie."

"Okay," I took a deep breath, exhaled, and cracked the door open. I glanced through the small opening and said, "Clear," as I opened the door fully and stepped around it to the blind left side. I was crouched low with the shotgun braced against my shoulder; Daniel moved quickly out and stood beside me, his Berretta swinging back and forth in front of us. His breathing was ragged and loud. I don't know, maybe it was my breathing that sounded so ragged and loud.

Behind me I heard Mitch whisper, "Mike, go!" I took off for the first corner of the building. It was actually fairly quiet behind me except for the rustling of clothing as they followed me to the corner. I dropped down and peeked...you know the routine. We made it to the thick waist high shrubs just before the street, which crosses in front of the parking lot when I heard the scream behind us. I rose from the prone position I had just assumed and looked back in time to see, and hear, the muzzle blast from Daniel's Beretta. There was a girl lying between the buildings we had passed with one of the infected slumped over the top of her. She managed to push his limp form off and quickly stood, looking at her arms. She started screaming again, and then began running in our direction, towards the parking lot. Behind her Daniel fired two more shots up the walk way; the screaming, running girl wasn't looking where she was going and ran full speed into one of the steel support columns of the covered walkway; the sound of her head striking the steel left little doubt whether she would ever scream again.

Several girls and two guys sprinted past me and across the road into the parking lot where they spread out headed for their vehicles. Back the way we had come, I heard the forty caliber bark once, then again. Mitch's shout reached me, "Mike, go, go, go!"

"Let's go," I said to the people around me and we took off running for the Aerostar. Looking north, I could see a large group of people running through the maze of cars and trucks headed in our direction. I always lock my cars and it was going to take some time to unlock all three doors to facilitate a fast load up of people. Washington was pulling ahead of us and I yelled for him to slow down.

"Washington! Washington, slow down." I dug in my pants pocket and pulled out the keys as I caught up with him. "See the red van with the roof rack under that light pole? That's my van, you're the fastest of all of us; take my keys, haul ass over there, unlock the doors and start the engine, you're the driver!"

He didn't say anything, he just broke into sprint which none of us could have matched. Those long legs on a six foot four body were eating up the distance. When he came to a car, he didn't go around it; he just leaped and slid across the trunk or hood on his ass without missing a stroke. I had a feeling the people most likely to survive the immediate future were going to be the athletes. I slowed down and allowed Tonya to pass and then Gin as I pointed out the van to them. Mary was one of those women who on their best day could barely run and America was gamely bringing up the rear. When they caught up to me I urged them on, encouraging them and finally berating them as the group of people to our north began closing the distance. I was beginning to think we wouldn't make it to the van, and then I knew we weren't going to make it. I heard the engine start, I saw the back-up lights come on, and I saw my van back out of the parking space, turn and head north towards the high end of the lot. The son of a bitch was leaving without us. Mary and America stopped running and stared in dumb confusion.

"Don't stop! Keep running! This way!" I turned us to the south in the direction of the tennis courts. If we could get inside the fenced area, if we could secure the gates...who the hell was I kidding? I figured I could make it, but I doubted the girls would. I could make it if I abandoned them, but would I be able to live with myself after hearing their screams? I felt panic building inside of me, at least I' be alive, shit, shit, shit! I slowed down and let them pass me; maybe I could slow down the infected people while they got away and hid. In the distance I saw the van turn west and head for the exit. I came to a stop and pulled the slide of the shotgun partially back to ensure there was a round in the chamber, there was, so I slammed the pump action forward.

"Michael!" I looked and America was standing there pointing behind me at the coming crowd.

"God damn it! Run!" I shouted. I wasn't going to be able to fire and reload the shotgun fast enough to stop them all, of that I was sure. This was going to end badly for me and she had probably just screwed up my chance to die for a noble reason; they were going to get her too.

"No Michael, Look!"

The crowd of running people was silhouetted in the headlights of a car, no a van! My van! The crowd was actually a strung out line and Washington was slamming into them from behind as he raced to reach us before the infected did. He broke past the leaders and accelerated to where we were, slamming on the breaks and sliding to a stop. The sliding door pulled back and Tonya was screaming at us, "Get in! Get in!"

I grabbed Mer and shoved her in and then Mary was there, gasping for breath as I pushed her in and closed the door. I raised the shotgun and pulled the trigger as one of the infected reached the back of the van and he dropped. I pulled open the front passenger door, then turned and shot another, a woman, who fell and tumbled into the back of my knees as I tried to get in, knocking me to the pavement. I kicked her off and climbed in, slamming the door as another man punched the glass. He pummeled it again and the safety glass fractured, the third hit exploded the tiny fragments of glass into the front of the van and he tried to reach for me as Washington punched the gas pedal. The infected was hanging on with one hand and trying to grab me with the other, so I leaned towards Washington, brought up the shotgun and struck the man hanging to the door on the forehead as hard as I could with the butt of the weapon. He fell free as we slid around a corner and sped back the way the van had come, then out of the lot. Within twenty seconds and three run red lights, we were headed down Haven Avenue towards the 210 Freeway.

I looked over my shoulder into the back of the van, "Everyone okay?"

In the back seat Tonya and Mer nodded, but Tonya looked pissed as she stared at the back of the seat in front of her. I wondered what was up with that. Gin, who was sitting in front of Tonya, didn't answer she just stared at her hands clinched on her lap. Mary nodded her head up and down still too breathless to speak. I turned around in time to see Washington blow through another red light at over sixty miles per hour.

"Hey, slow down man, we don't want to T-bone some poor guy trying to get home to his family, you know?" I turned back to the others, "Put your seatbelts on, okay?" I reached across Washington and pulled his belt across his waist and chest, then buckled it before I strapped myself in.

We passed through another signal though this time it was green, but still too fast. "Hey, slow down, even at the green lights. I don't want to T-bone someone, but I don't want to get nailed by someone running a red light either. Slow down and check both ways before you go through an intersection, even if we have a green, okay?"

He let his foot off the gas pedal and we started slowing. "How do you do it man?"

"Do what?" I didn't understand what he was asking.

"Stay so fucking calm. I feel like I'm about to go over the edge and you're just, so fucking frosty."

I didn't know how to answer. I certainly wasn't feeling 'frosty,' I felt like any second I was going to start running in circles and screaming incoherently. I felt like I was going to throw up, my hands were shaking, and I could feel a quiver in my voice when I tried to speak.

"You thought we were splitting on you didn't you?" I shrugged, I was still angry with him for taking off even though he actually was coming for us. I know it was unreasonable, but there it is.

"When you thought we were leaving, you stopped and put yourself between the girls and those crazy/zombie/whatever people. You got balls man, big balls. You were willing to give yourself up for other people."

I didn't say anything; maybe people need heroes in times of stress. Maybe when they're scared shitless they can pull it together if someone leads the way, if they set an example. I had thought about running away in the parking lot, leaving the girls so I could escape; heroes don't have thoughts like that do they? I sat in the passenger seat and let him think what he needed to think.

From behind me Tonya spoke out, "Yeah, not like some people I know."

I tuned in the seat and looked back, "What do you mean?"

"Little Miss White Bitch here, she wanted to leave you guys, all of you, and when Antonius went to drive down the lane to get to you, she fought with him and tried to grab the steering wheel. I had to push her back in her seat and hold her till I opened the door for you three."

Mary gasped, "Gin? We've been friends since elementary school, you would have left me?"

Gin pressed both hands to her mouth and leaned forward. She began to sob heavily. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

I twisted around in my seat and reached out to her knee to gently squeeze it. "Everybody," I said raising my voice. "Listen up, Gin it was fear, fear is one of the most powerful primal emotions. It got hold of you, and you allowed it to control you. Next time, try to think about how you feel right now, which is worse, the fear, or the shame you feel now. We're all scared Gin; we... are all... scared." I turned back around and looked out the windshield.

Tonya had the last word though, "Yeah, but don't expect me to trust her covering my ass. Just saying, you know?"

They think I'm a hero and Gin is a coward, but I know the truth. I know it. I started pulling rounds from the bandoleer and reloading the shotgun between my knees. I thought about leaving the girls behind; I was no better than Gin was, they just didn't know it.

"Hey Mike, do you want to take baseline, or the interstate?"

"Take the 210 west, then the Campus off-ramp. It'll swing past the shopping center there, but it will be quicker." I hoped.

No one said anything as we sped down the Interstate; I guess we were all lost in our heads trying to make sense of what was happening around us. Brown had said his friends at the CDC thought they were losing control of the situation, what a crock of shit. They must have lost control a long time ago, or the infected were changing faster than they realized. Either way, ordinary Joe Blow was getting screwed big time. They were afraid they would create a panic if they warned the general population? If I ever run into one of the people responsible for that decision, he was going to be one dead son-of-a-bitch, count on it.

"Campus coming up." I glanced over and saw Washington switch on the right hand turn signal to exit the freeway. I almost laughed out loud. The world as we know it is headed to the scrap heap of history and he's using his turn signal. I stifled the laugh; hell maybe obeying the little rules will keep us from completely sinking into the abyss.

"Turn left at the bottom of the ramp, watch for cross traffic though." We wouldn't want to have a fender bender, god only knows how much my rates would climb after letting someone drive my van and they got into an accident. I almost laughed again. Insurance would no longer be determined by driving record, or where you lived, or your financial status, or age, or gender, it was going to be determined by caliber, or gauge, or millimeter and how much you had and how fast you can reload. I suddenly became furious with California for only allowing ten round magazines for pistols and rifles. The fuckers! Why couldn't the shortsighted socialist bastards have planned ahead for this kind of shit!

There were cars traveling both south and north on Campus, Antonius, a mouthful, Tony slowed to a complete stop as vehicles raced by. To our left several people on foot were chasing a car under the overpass; the car outdistanced them and the runners must have perceived us as an easier target, they turned off and headed our way. As the car previously being chased passed, Tony punched the van and leaped across the intersection turning left behind another car headed south. He accelerated and tailgated the car ahead of us as Campus swept to the right in front of the shopping center then curved again into a straight shot south. As we passed the shopping center I could see people running everywhere; some were trying to escape, while others were on the hunt. I averted my eyes because some of the things I saw ripped at my soul. The runners who had decided to chase our van turned off and caught a pregnant woman trying to unlock the door of her Mercedes, I lost sight of them as they dropped from view, but I heard her screams through the empty window opening next to me.

Tony punched the gas and swung around the car in front of us as it slowly picked up speed. I looked at the driver as we passed and the middle-aged man gave me the finger. What world was he plodding through? We were only a couple of blocks from where we would turn...

**1** st **Day:**

I regained consciousness slowly. I was disoriented and my arms were up in the air above my head, but each time I pulled them to me, they fell back up. What? It took a moment for me to realize I was upside down, my seatbelt holding me from falling to the roof of the van. I could smell anti-freeze and burned wiring, tendrils of smoke drifted through the van.

"Is everyone okay?"

No response.

I braced my forearm against the roof, released the seatbelt and fell softer than I thought I would. I crawled out the nonexistent window of my door and came face to face with Mary. Her right arm had too many elbows; the right side of her head was concave and twisted at an impossible angle. She was dead. I looked through the broken out opening where the window of the crushed slider door used to be and saw no one else was in the van. Good, they must have gotten out, which meant they were mobile. I looked back in the window I crawled out of for the shotgun, but it was gone. They must have left in a hurry because the bandoleer was still draped around my chest. I sat up and leaned against the side of the upside down van while I got my bearings. What had happened? The right side of the van was crushed in; we must have been t-boned like I had been afraid of. The right side of my head hurt, but there was no blood when I explored it with my fingers, okay, that's good. Standing up I felt a little woozy, but not too badly. I stood there for a moment more before stepping away and saw the other car. A man and a woman had gone through the windshield, and both were grotesquely dead. Both had been fed on, why not me? Why not Mary?

I looked in every direction and saw no movement anywhere, but I did notice the sun was just beginning to rise over the horizon. I must have been unconscious for hours. I immediately set out for home and oddly I felt a measure of relief, I was no longer responsible for five other people. I crossed Campus and headed south towards 13th, I still had at least two major Avenues to cross once I headed west, Euclid and Mountain, not to mention San Antonio, then down to Foothill Boulevard and to my apartment complex. Not that far on a fair early spring morning, but a long way when there are infected looking to have you for breakfast. I had traveled about half a block south when I saw the body ahead; unfortunately I thought I recognized the clothing.

I discovered I was right, as I got close enough to identify the body; it was America. She was lying on her back, spread eagle. Oddly, she didn't seem to have suffered any serious wounds, I mean there were numerous bite marks, but there wasn't much blood around her. I kneeled down and checked for a pulse, but there wasn't any. I promised her I would return when I could and give her a proper burial; I considered her a friend and I think she would have appreciated it. As I continued walking I wondered about her children, were they safe? Were they dead? Were they hunkered in a corner somewhere frightened and crying for their mother? If I had known where she lived I would have gone for them, but I didn't, so I didn't go.

When I reached 13th I found more bodies, one of them was Gin. Like Mer, she was on her back and her extended arms showed multiple bites and gouges, but her throat was ripped out and she lay in a large pool of coagulating blood. Other portions of her body had been partially fed on and there were also four bodies with obvious gunshot wounds lying around her body. About thirty feet west of Campus on 13th I found five empty shotgun shells, whoever had the shotgun had made good use of it. Washington and Tonya must have escorted Jen this far before she had been killed. It was nice of them to do, after all; they were traveling away from their own homes to get her this far. I continued west on 13th until I heard gunshots in the distance, I stopped and tried to locate where they were coming from, but I couldn't, so I kept going. If it was the kids, they were pretty much on their own now.

I came to the last intersection before Euclid when something buzzed past my head, and I heard the sharp report of a gunshot. Turning to my right I saw a man in his front yard maybe seventy-five yards away operating the bolt on a scoped rifle. He shouldered the weapon and took aim, at me! I broke into a run and as I crossed out of his vision I saw him break into a run to try and catch me. Beside me was a six-foot plank fence around someone's backyard, so I leaped and clawed my way over and dropped inside. Moments later I heard him round the corner and run by and then another shot, followed by another, and then screams. I ran between the fence and the house until I could peek through the gaps in the boards and see what was happening. The rifleman was down with three of the infected ripping and tearing at him with their teeth. If I would have kept going instead of jumping the fence, it would have been me, instead of him. He didn't last long and they continued to feed off of him after he grew still. I carefully backed away and rounded the back of the house to the next side fence which I scaled, and then on to the next. I traveled through at least six, maybe seven backyards before I turned towards Euclid again.

I stayed off the streets after that and continued my journey through other's backyards. It kept me out of the sight of the infected, but I did get bitten twice on the legs by dogs; luckily my Levis protected me from any serious wounds. It took me another five hours to cover the distance I could have strolled in an hour before. I hid at the slightest suggestion of movement and moved only when I was sure it was safe to do so. I stayed off the streets as much as possible and finally I made it to the complex where I lived. I climbed the security fence, which was no easy feat, and reached my apartment where I made a discovery; my keys were in the van back on Campus, five hours away. I made my way to the Manager's office and knocked tentatively on the office door. There wasn't an answer, so I knocked again. From inside I heard a faint voice.

"Yes? Who is it?"

"Mrs. Stone? It's Michael Moore, I live in Apartment 22A. I was in a car accident and left my keys in my van over on Campus, could I get the spare from you so I can unlock my apartment?" Mrs. Stone was in her eighties and could be a little difficult at times.

She shouted through the door, "The spare keys are for emergencies only, you know that."

"Well, this is sort of an emergency Ma'am, please, I'll bring it right back, I promise."

There was a long pause, I was about to knock again when the door opened as far as the safety chain would allow and I saw her peeking out at me. "You promise you'll bring it right back?"

"Yes Ma'am, I promise."

She held the key with a tag reading 22A out through the small opening. "Oh, you're the young man who put my table and chairs together for me."

"Yes Ma'am." I took the key from her fingers.

"Well, I see no reason for you to have to hurry back with the key, keep it as long as you need too."

"Thanks Mrs. Stone, I'll..." She shut the door.

I ran back to my apartment on the second floor and let myself in, locking the door behind me. I went straight to the bureau and removed the .22 pistol and fed my belt through the loop in the holster. I pulled back the slide and chambered a round, then went to the closet and took out the scoped Ruger 10-22 rifle. I removed the magazine and loaded it with ammunition from the drawer, which had contained the pistol, reinserted it and chambered the first round into it also. I now had two weapons loaded and ready. I took some ibuprophen, made me a sandwich, poured a glass of milk and sat down at my kitchen table to eat. Instead I cried for twenty minutes before I took the first bite.

When I finished eating I cleaned up and sat in front of the sliding glass doors, which opened onto the small balcony overlooking Foothill Boulevard. I couldn't see the street from where I sat because of the low wall surrounding the balcony, but I could see the apartments across the road. A lot of people were home, I guess because of the directive to stay home and the curfew. I had some food in the pantry, but like most people I visited the local grocery store at least every few days.

Like a lot of people, my grandparents experienced the Great Depression first hand. Unlike most people they had learned their lessons well and had imparted much of their preparedness mindset to their children, who in turn passed it on to me as I grew. Well, until I was fifteen when they were killed in an airline crash. With no close relatives, I became a ward of the courts until my eighteenth birthday when I inherited my parent's property, money, and an insurance settlement from the crash. I didn't really need to work, at least not for money, but I did so I could learn a trade and being in the construction industry I was able to make a lot of contacts for when I needed specialist help on the properties. I owned twelve houses in the Upland, Montclair and Claremont area outright and another seven I was still making payments on. I've had my share of deadbeat renters, but none after I instituted my method of investigating renters, I went to the homes they were currently renting and looked at the property and interviewed their neighbors to see what they thought of them and talked to the previous landlord. There was one other thing I did, which seemed to develop a deep sense of loyalty among my renters; they only paid half rent in November and December. I know what you're thinking, I own all these houses, but I live in an apartment? How crazy is that? I live in a dwelling I can clean in about an hour and the rent is affordable on what I make in construction. Plus, I don't have a lot of people who are friends because I have money. If someone is going to like me, I want people to like me, and not what they can get from me. I'm kind of funny that way.

I tried phoning Mitch at his home and Essie several times on both her landline and cell phone with no results. Sometimes there was no service, and other times the phone calls went straight to message. When I was on foot trying to get home I had my cell turned off, I didn't want it going off at an inopportune time if you know what I mean. I was hoping Essie had turned hers off for the same reason. I'd keep trying and hoping because I was worried about Mitch, but Essie was really on my mind. I guess my feelings for her were stronger than I had been willing to admit, maybe it wasn't just lust I felt for her.

I turned on the TV periodically to see what the reporters were saying, but no one was admitting there was something really wrong yet. They continued to talk about the "riots" and the curfew was still in effect. I wondered how long it would be before they would have to let the cat out of the bag. The shit was going to hit the fan then. I tried not to think about what was going to happen when they admitted they had held the truth from the people.

**2** nd **Night**

Just before dark I took stock of what supplies I had in the apartment. I had enough frozen food for about three days and another one or two days of perishables. I also had three days of freeze dried backpacking meals in my closet, which reminded me it might be a good idea to put up some water. I went to the master bathroom and filled the oversized tub with fresh water; I'd leave the shower in the guest bedroom as my bathing facility. I took the bedspread off the guest bed and draped it over the thin curtains of the sliding glass door to the balcony, and towels to cover the window in the guest bedroom. I didn't want the lights to be visible from outside if I decided to turn them on.

When I had everything set the way I wanted, I turned out all the lights and eased out the slider to the balcony where I sat in a low folding camp chair and watched the street about seventy feet away. I sat there for quite a while before I pulled out a cigarette and leaning down behind the wall of the balcony I lit it, took a long drag and exhaled before I sat back up.

"That's probably not a good idea." The whispered statement startled the crap out of me. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

The voice was female and coming from the balcony to the right of mine. I whispered back. "It's alright, I just had a bad day and last night was worse. I didn't know your apartment was occupied. You move in recently?"

"Six months ago. You work days and I work nights, probably why we've never run into each other." She had a nice voice.

I reached down and snubbed out the cigarette, "You're probably right, nasty habit anyway."

"Yeah, I keep saying I'm going to quit but, I don't know, it's so relaxing sometimes." We were both quiet as we heard a spate of gunfire somewhere to the south of us. "My name's Catherine Bodine."

"Hi Catherine, Michael Moore."

"Hi Mike." We were quiet through another round of shots, followed by a woman's scream from the same area of the previous shots. My hands started shaking,

"Mike?"

"Yes?"

"Could I come over there? You don't know me, or anything, but I...all the shooting...the screams. It's just..."

"Of course, I could use some company myself."

"It'll take me a minute, but I'll be there."

"I'll wait at the door for you."

"Thanks."

I got out of the chair and eased back into the apartment where I locked the slider and dropped a wooden dowel into the slider rail to keep anyone, or anything from getting in. I carefully closed the drapes and positioned the bedspread to block any light from escaping, then went to my front door and eased it open to wait for Catherine. A few seconds passed before I heard the squeak of a door opening, she stepped into the access hall and turned towards me with a tentative smile. I waved her on and stepped back as she quickly entered the apartment; I closed the door and locked it behind us.

The expression on her face told me she was unsure of herself, of her actions. I smiled and pointed to the kitchen table where she quickly sat, "Can I get you something?"

"Do you have soda with caffeine in it, or coffee?"

"Cola?" She nodded and I picked out a clean glass, filled it with ice from the freezer, grabbed a cola from the refrigerator and then placed them on the table in front of her. She smiled, poured the drink and sucked off the foam before it spilled onto the tabletop. She was attractive, but not like Essie. She had brownish hair, hazel eyes, nice build, but nothing special. Where Essie was curvaceous and athletic, Catherine was slim and athletic; she looked like she should be able to run forever. She was slightly shorter than me, but not much, and she had okay facial features, but you couldn't call her beautiful. Her lips were a little too thin and her nose just a little too narrow. All in all though, she carried herself well and even though she said she was frightened, I felt as though if push came to shove she wouldn't hesitate to shove. She just had that look about her. She was wearing a plaid flannel shirt with long sleeves, snug blue jeans and lace up worker's boots. Not the girl-next-door look, but maybe the rancher's daughter?

She was looking at me with a faint smile, "Are you done?"

"What?"

"You've been sitting there giving me the once over. Trying to figure me out?"

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize..."

"It's alright; guys do it all the time to every woman they meet. A lot of guys do it in a disrespectful manner, but I think you're just curious."

"Thanks." We sat there in uncomfortable silence. The seconds stretched into minutes with me staring at the surface of the table, her sipping the cola. I reached over to the kitchen counter and grabbed my cigarettes and lighter, lit one and placed it in a clean ashtray between us. "I usually don't smoke in the apartment."

"Me either," She reached for it, and took a long drag before leaving it in the ashtray for me. "Thanks." She told me about her trip home from work and the things she had seen; I told her about my trip home, the car crash, what had happened to the people with me. I told her about Dr. Brown and what he had told the others and me in my class.

In the distance I could hear a vehicle accelerating down Foothill and coming our way, then a sudden squealing of the tires and a deafening crash that lasted seconds, but sounded forever. We both jumped in our seats before I ran to the slider and peeked out, a pick-up truck was resting on its side, the roof crumpled, but the windows intact. I heard a recurring thumping noise and realized someone was trying to kick out a window, or door to escape. Three people were running beneath one of the streetlights towards the truck and from down Foothill several more were running towards the sound of the thumping. The infected were converging on the accident.

I put my hand on the grip of the pistol, but grabbed the rifle instead. I turned off the kitchen light and returned to the slider, removed the dowel, and opened it part way, just enough to shoot through. The first three had already arrived and were beating and kicking at the front windshield trying to gain entrance to the person inside. I sighted through the scope and lining up on the head of the largest man, I pulled the trigger; the .22 popped and he dropped in mid-kick at the windshield. I lined up with the second and fired, he dropped. The third, a woman, turned and looked in my direction as I fired, but the bullet only grazed the side of her head. I pulled the trigger again and she fell. Three more arrived and began climbing over the truck. I fired, but missed; fired again and he fell. I lined up with another and fired, she went down. The third kicked in the rear window and reaching inside grabbed someone and started pulling them screaming out of the cab of the truck. I lined up and fired again, the man dropped and the person being pulled out turned and reaching back into the truck pulled out a small bundle which she held to her chest. I could hear the faint cries of an infant. Oh God.

I threw the slider all the way open and ran out onto the balcony, "Here! Run here!"

She looked in my direction, but I don't know if she saw me in the darkness. She turned back and while holding the child to her chest, reached in and started helping someone else out the opening. A man emerged who struggled to his feet and leaned heavily against the roof of the truck, his left leg was injured. The woman grabbed his left arm and pulled it over her shoulder and then turned back in my direction.

"Here! On the second story! Can you see me?" She waved and began to pull the man along headed for the entrance of my apartment building. There was more infected coming down the street from both directions. I reached into my shirt pocket, pulled out the partial box of ammunition, and dumped it into the palm of my hand. Removing the magazine from the rifle I frantically started reloading it as I watched the distance between the family and the zombies narrow.

The husband knew they were not going to make it if his wife continued helping him, so he pushed her away and shouted for her to run. She tried to grab at him and he pushed her away again shouting something about the baby. She began backing up and crying for him to come, but he turned away from her and pulling a pistol from his waistband, took aim and fired a shot into the group of infected closing on them. I finished reloading my magazine, pushed it into the carbine and raised it to my shoulder as a gun went off next to me. I looked and Catherine was standing next to me with a lever action rifle. She operated the lever and took aim again. I turned back and sighted through the scope and pulled the trigger the same time she fired. These people were running though and harder to hit.

"Aim for the head, it's the only way to drop them for sure." I fired again and missed, fired again and one dropped.

"Oh God." I heard Catherine say. The woman had returned and had her husband's arm over her shoulder, steadying him on his one good leg as he squeezed rounds off from his pistol. There were too many, coming too fast for us to stop them all. The mob of infected boiled over the small family and they were lost from view. I emptied the rest of my magazine into as many heads as I could before the .22 ran out. Then I grabbed Catherine and pushed her inside out of view of the infected. Closing the slider I dropped the wooden dowel back into place after locking the glass door.

When I turned around, Catherine was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her rifle across her thighs, while pulling rounds from a leather bandoleer and sliding them into the feed ramp of the rifle. "You better close the front door and lock it. I was kind of in a hurry when I went for my rifle" She spoke in a monotone.

I looked and it was wide open. I went to the door and glanced down the hall both ways, jogged to her door and checked it was locked before I returned and closed and locked mine. I came back to where she was sitting on the floor and lowered myself down beside her. Dropping the magazine from the carbine I started feeding loose rounds from my left palm into it. She didn't say anything else and I didn't say anything, we just reloaded.

When we finished reloading we set the rifles next to us and continued sitting on the floor in silence. Every time we heard a shot somewhere we flinched, when I heard the faint screams I clinched my fists and squeezed my eyes closed until they stopped. The silence inside, and noise from outside began to bother me, so I rose, went to the kitchen cabinets and started looking for the large candles I kept for emergency light in the event of a power blackout. I found them and lit two, which I left on the table. I got lunchmeat from the fridge, bread, condiments, lettuce and tomatoes, onions, sliced Swiss cheese and a bag of potato chips; all went on the table with the candles. I collected a cutting board and a knife and when I returned to the table Catherine was sitting there pushing things around, creating an open spot in front of her.

"Give those to me," she said, indicating the knife and board. I put them down in front of her and she started slicing the tomatoes.

"Milk, or cola again?"

"I'm lactose intolerant, so I'll have to pass on the milk and cheese."

"Sucks to be you." I fetched another cola and the milk from the fridge.

"Are you from Southern California?" She finished the tomatoes and started on the onion.

"Born and raised. You?"

"Acton, Montana, it's a little ways outside Billings. My folks have a cattle ranch about fifteen miles outside of there. I wish I was home right now. I'd be safe, and I miss my sisters, and I miss my mom and dad." She stopped and shook her head. She'd almost lost it. _Please don't_ , I thought, _if you lose it, so will I._

"You said you worked nights, what do you do?"

"Waitress, bartender, entertainment. Sort of an up-scale beer bar, know what I mean?"

"Not really, I've never been much of a bar person."

"Me either, but the tips are great and it pays the bills." She was shredding the lettuce. "What about you?"

"I work construction for the most part, custom homes and sometimes a little commercial remodel."

"Union? I hear they make really good money."

"No, I do a little bit of everything."

"My dad thinks union workers are overpaid and underworked."

"I think I have to disagree. Union guys are well trained and knowledgeable; if you want it done right the first time, go union. They specialize in their fields."

She frowned at me, "If union guys are so great, why didn't you join a union?"

"Specialization is for insects."

She snorted, "You sound like my dad."

"Is that a compliment?"

She smiled, "Yeah, it is."

"Thanks."

We busied ourselves constructing sandwiches and then eating them until she was about half done. She laid her sandwich down and covered her face with her hands as she drew in ragged breaths.

"The baby, the baby."

I stood up and then kneeled on one knee next to her as I wrapped her shoulders with my arms. "It's okay to cry."

"No, I need to be strong."

"Later," I whispered into her ear. "When it's my turn to cry."

X

# Chapter Three

She cried for a while and when she was done she looked exhausted. "When did you last sleep?" I asked.

"Morning before last, I came in from work after hearing some stuff from customers and seeing some off the wall things on the way home. I've been afraid to sleep."

"You can sleep now because I'll be awake. I'll get the spare room and the bed ready, okay?"

She nodded, "Can I have a candle, or a night light?"

"I don't have a night light, but I have plenty of candles." I opened the cupboard where I kept the candles and removed one, lit it, and took it into the bedroom where I placed it on the nightstand beside the bed. From the closet I gathered a spare blanket and spread it on the bed to replace the bedspread, which was now hung behind the drapes in the living room. In the bathroom, I made sure there were TP, washcloths, towel, body wash, shampoo, toothpaste, and a new unopened toothbrush for Catherine's use. In my bedroom I rummaged through my drawers until I found a Tee shirt I had mistakenly bought. It was one of those giant shirts some of the kids liked so much. I figured it would make a good nightshirt for her to sleep in. I called her in, told her where everything was, and then told her there was a lock on the inside of the door if it made her more comfortable. She said thanks and I left, closing the door behind me.

I cleaned up the kitchen and put the leftovers in the refrigerator for later use, we couldn't afford to be wasteful anymore. Then I washed the glasses and utensils and put them away. Satisfied, I turned on the TV to watch the news, wondering if the truth was finally out. How could it not be?

All of the local channels were showing the Emergency Alert System symbol with directions to change to the local EAS channel. Great, but which one was it? Using the remote cable controller I jumped up to CNN, nothing, then Headline News, nothing, finally I tuned in Fox News and found a working channel. There were no announcers, just an electronic outline of the U.S. with red dots on it. I pulled an ottoman over close to the TV and sat down as I watched more red dots appear on the map. Beneath the representation of the U.S. it was titled, **Locations of Reported Infection**. Beneath that a message was scrolling from right to left. _Fox News is currently broadcasting without the permission of the FCC, and against the explicit direction of FEMA and the Office of The President. As a public service, we will continue to broadcast information regarding the outbreak until forced from the air. The President has announced he will address the Nation at 11:00 pm Eastern Standard Time. Secure your home, arm yourself, and be prepared to defend yourself and family with deadly force. This is a public safety announcement. Please stand by._ There was a digital clock in the upper right corner counting down, probably the time left before the President's announcement. 00:14:16. Shifting back to the map, the Eastern and Western sides of the nation were turning a more solid red as I watched. It was everywhere, wherever there were major transportation hubs it was spreading out. The center of the country, especially west of the Mississippi River, seemed less affected than the coastal regions though. That was a good sign; maybe they would be able to slow the progress of the disease where there were greater distances between towns and cities. I hoped so.

I caught a strong whiff of soap and looked over my shoulder. Catherine was standing there looking at the screen. "What's this?"

"It's about the outbreak; the red dots on the map indicate where it's being reported." I scooted over and offered her a spot on the ottoman. She sat down and studied the scrolling news feed. Her eyes kept following certain words before she would blink and go back to the right of the feed following to the left again. It struck me she couldn't read fast enough to follow the feed. Like a lot of people, I usually avoided the scrolling feed on news channels because it was so slow. One of my advantages in college was my ability to read as fast as I do. Normally, before each semester starts I have already read all the textbooks and any additional reading is review for me. I retain most of what I read the first time and by the time I have read a book the second time I have it down.

"Dyslexia?"

Her ears and cheeks turned bright red as she took her eyes from the screen and looked at her folded hands in her lap. "Yes, I have it pretty bad."

"Nothing to be ashamed of, lots of people have it and get by pretty well."

"Really? Try telling that to a sixteen-year-old girl stuck in ninth grade because she can't read. I played hooky so much my parents gave up trying to make me go to school. I stayed home and helped dad around the place to keep busy." She stood up, "I came out to get my guns, so I'm going to bed." She walked to where we had sat while we reloaded, picked them up and then headed back to the guest room.

"Catherine? The President will be on in..." I looked at the timer on the screen, "eleven minutes. Wait and listen to him with me, okay?"

"I don't know; I'm really tired."

"Maybe you could tell me about your guns, I know you're pretty good with the rifle, how about the pistol?"

A faint smile flickered over her lips. "Okay," She stepped closer and held the rifle out to me and I took it from her hands. It had an octagon barrel and was heavier than it looked. "This is a Marlin 1894cb lever action rifle, chambered in .357 magnum. At a hundred yards I can put ten rounds in an eight-inch paper plate. At two hundred yards I can put six out of ten in the same size plate. It's really accurate for firing a pistol cartridge and very reliable. My dad bought it for my seventeenth birthday after I beat him at target practice with his Marlin. I really love it and it has a lot of sentimental value for me."

"Wow, this baby is sweet, and the workmanship is outstanding. How many rounds does it hold?"

Her smile widened, "It will hold ten rounds." She turned it on to its side in my hands and pointed to the feed ramp. "The cartridges are inserted here and eject out there. This is the safety. Oh, and it will fire .38 special also."

"Really? That's a good idea. It doubles your ammunition availability." I handed it back to her and she leaned it against the wall.

She pulled the pistol from the leather holster and I took it from her hand. "That is a Smith and Wesson Model 686, .357 magnum revolver with a four inch barrel, it's loaded so be careful. I like the four-inch barrel because it's faster out of the holster when a bear is coming down on you. Like the rifle, it fires .357, or .38 special. This model comes in a six, or seven shot version, but I chose the six-shooter because it's easier to find speed loaders for it."

I hefted it and aimed down the barrel. "The grip is a bit small for me, but I like it."

"My dad had it custom fitted for my hands."

"I didn't know you could have that done."

"Takes a good gunsmith, but yeah, it can be done." She took the pistol and laid it on the ottoman. "Would you like to see the holster and belt?"

I could tell she wanted me to say yes, so, "Sure."

She held it out smiling. "Check it out, tell me what you think."

The belt was about two and a half inches wide and appeared to have been formed to rest on a woman's hips. The holster was hung from the right side and sat high on the thigh with two leather straps encompassing the thigh and buckling to the holster. Above the holster, from the belt buckle to the middle of the back were cartridge loops for ammunition, maybe twenty-five to thirty. A shoulder strap went up from about three inches in front of the holster, over the left shoulder and down to a point about three inches behind the holster. Designed to support the weight of the pistol and ammo, it also held an additional thirty rounds of ammo across the chest. On the opposite side of the belt from the holster were five pouches, each of which held two speed loaders. Looking closely, I examined the stitching and the quality of the leather, both of which were superb.

"Catherine, not only is this kit well laid out, it's very well made. I don't know a lot about leatherwork, but I can see this is really good workmanship. It must have cost you a bundle."

Her face was beaming, "Didn't cost me anything, my dad made it for me by hand."

"Damn," I said. "I thought you said he was a rancher?"

"Yeah, but leather is his hobby."

The TV screen flickered and then changed. In the center of the picture was a podium with the Presidential Seal on the front. Catherine laid her holster aside and sat beside me while I leaned forward and rested my elbows on my knees. There was some movement here and there, and then a file of people walked up and stood in line behind the podium. A moment later the Speaker of the House stepped before the podium, smoothed the front of her suit jacket, placed her hands on the leading edge of the podium and started drumming her fingers on the edge. She looked around the room behind the camera, waved to someone, but the smile she gave looked more like sneer than a smile.

I shook my head, "I wonder how she got to be Speaker of the House, she's dumber than a door knob."

"I don't pay much attention to politics."

"Probably how she got elected."

Her elbow caught me in the ribs. "Watch it buddy. I didn't vote for her."

"Of course not, the people in Billings, Montana wouldn't be fooled by her, but the folks in San Francisco think she's the greatest thing since sliced bread."

I turned back to the screen and watched the Speaker throw back her head. "Where is the tele-prompter?" Someone said something off-screen. "I know where it is, why isn't it on? I want to review my notes before I start!" Geez, she didn't realize the cameras were on!

She nodded at the camera, "Okay it's on." She stared at the camera as she used a hand held controller to switch through the templates of her notes. "Alright, we don't have all night, let's get this dog and pony show on the road."

"Oh man, she is so blowing it."

I laughed, "She sure is. I wonder if the camera guys are doing it on purpose?"

A man standing just inside the camera's view spoke, "Madame Speaker? In five...four...three...two..." he pointed her and stepped off screen.

"Good Evening America, I come to you tonight at a time when our great nation teeters on the precipice of disaster and we are confronted with the worst calamity we have ever faced in the history of our land. As you may know, riots and murder are sweeping through our peaceful neighborhoods as I speak. The poor people who are carrying out the crimes we are experiencing, are not to blame for what is happening, they are as much victims as the rest of us are, therefore we must first address the underlying reasons, the conditions, which have allowed this terrible event to occur. Under the leadership of the President, and the Vice-president, we have seen a reduction to the internal security of our nation, our homes have been thrown open to the will of foreign terrorists and now we, all of us, are paying the price. Because of the ineptitude, or the will, of the President, the Vice-president, and certain others of the opposing political party, this evening I have been forced to have the President, the Vice-president, the Whitehouse staff and five members of the United States Supreme Court arrested and incarcerated in a location to be revealed when the current crisis is resolved. I know this is a frightening scenario, but a necessary one. I was sworn in as President of the United States of America under the rules of succession, less than one hour ago, but I assure you I am completely in command and will soon order the distribution of the cure and the vaccine for the disease, which is at the moment ravaging our nation. Naturally, under the conditions we are faced with, I am hereby declaring a state of national emergency and I am imposing martial law. Both houses of Congress will be suspended and I will lead by presidential decree until enough of the membership of Congress can be located and brought to the Capitol to form a legal quorum. Please be patient and know help is on the way. God bless you, and God bless the USA. Good night."

I sat there in stunned disbelief as she walked off-screen. What the hell? On the screen the people who had been standing behind her when she announced the overthrow of the legal government were milling about looking confused. That's when I saw him.

"Brown, that's Doctor Brown!" I exclaimed.

"Who?"

"My biology professor at Chaffey. The Army flew him out of here last night, so he could help research the disease in Atlanta with the CDC. How did he end up in D.C., or is the announcement coming from Atlanta?"

I watched as he ran back and forth on the stage, talking to several different men. Finally, he stopped in front of the podium and looked past the lens of the camera. "Can you turn the camera back on...It is..." He looked into the camera, "Listen, uh, listen America," he pointed off stage. "I don't know about a revolution, or a coup, but I know this, there is no cure for the disease we are facing and there is no vaccine. The Speaker, or President, whatever she is, is lying to you. Right now the only chance you have is to stay away from the infected and kill them from a distance if you can. Do not approach them! Do not try to help..." There was a loud pop and Brown folded in on himself, a look of surprise and pain on his face. A man stepped into view and fired another shot from a pistol; Brown fell from view off the screen.

The man with the gun stood looking down at where Brown would be on the floor. "Who is this little weasel?"

One of the other men who had been standing behind the Speaker spoke up, "This little weasel was Dr. Thaddeus Brown. He was going to help create the vaccine that would have assisted those of us who have not been infected yet. You just murdered the only man who could save us and it was televised nationally." The picture faded to black. The screen flickered and the map was back, it seemed to be a lot redder than it was before.

Sucks to be me. Sucks to be America. Sucks to be the world, but mostly? It just sucks.

Catherine had hold of my left upper arm with both of her hands, "Are you okay?"

"Mitch and I risked our lives to get him to the helicopter, Mitch was wounded and for what? So some political ass-kissing sycophant could blow him away on national TV because he wanted to warn the people?"

"Everyone saw, everyone knows. He's not going to get away with it, she won't get away with it and more important, your professor was able to warn us." She looked concerned, she wanted to be supportive, but I could see it in her eyes; she too had heard what the man had said after Brown was shot. The only man who could save us was lying on the floor somewhere bleeding out.

"We need to start making plans; figure out what we're going to do for the long haul." Outside I heard a car race by on the street, then another. "We're going to need food, equipment, weapons, fuel, generators, first aid supplies, books, and most important, people who know how to do things."

Outside I heard another vehicle crash. I went to the slider, parted the drapes and looked out through the small opening. Another car had struck the overturned truck and was smoking in the middle of Foothill Boulevard. Two other cars had stopped and gunfire broke out as infected attacked the stopped vehicles. A man and woman exited the wrecked car and managed to make it to one of the other vehicles before the infected reached them. The remaining two vehicles, a car and a van, raced away and turned south on Mountain Avenue. They were probably headed for Interstate 10.

Catherine was peeking out the other side of the drape as I closed my side. She closed hers and returned to the ottoman and sat back down. "Why are there so many cars on the road all of a sudden?"

"They saw the same broadcast we saw. Now they realize there is no help coming and have decided to bail out. Maybe they have family, or friends, or somewhere they think will be safe from the infected. Maybe they realize metropolitan areas with dense populations are a bad place to be. Maybe they're panicked and have no idea what to do, so they're just running."

"If I could get there, my family's ranch would be safe. Our nearest neighbor is three miles away and the nearest town, Acton, is fifteen miles away; the house is like a fortress, and there is so much home canned stuff in the pantry my folks could feed the entire church congregation for three months. I wish I had never left home."

"You must be tired, go to bed. I'm going to sit here and make notes until I get tired. If I'm not awake in the morning when you wake up, feel free to make something to eat, take a shower, or whatever, okay?"

"Thanks Mike, I'll see you in the morning, good night." She picked up her rifle and pistol, and stepped into the spare bedroom. I didn't hear the door close, but I heard the box springs of the bed when she lay down. I think normally a woman would have closed the door and locked it for privacy, but these were not normal times, maybe she felt safer with me close by and nothing barring my ability to come to her aid.

I sat at the table for hours making a list, subtracting, adding, sometimes I wanted to give up as I tried to cover all the possibilities. It was too much for one person, but not trying was not an option. I've never been one of the types who roll over and give up; I think. Of course, I had never been in a situation like this one, so who could tell. Maybe when I had exhausted the possibilities for survival I might find I was one of those people, the ones who rollover and give-up. Until it slapped me in the face though, I would keep working at it.

Things weren't totally hopeless; I had everything I might need for at least a year if I could find somewhere safe to hole up. I had food, water purification, weapons, fuel, well, just about everything I needed for basic survival except I didn't have it. It was six miles away. Six miles doesn't sound like a lot, hell it isn't a lot; at a quick pace I could easily walk it in an hour and a half, but not if half the population of Upland wants me for lunch. Remember I said I owned rental houses? One of those houses has a garage, a very secure garage on the back of the lot, which is where I keep all the stuff I used to keep in my spare bedroom and a storage unit. Most important is my Jeep TJ and trailer, they contain everything I need for at least a while. My parents' old suburban is parked next to it, I've thought a few times about selling the suburban, but I don't know, I guess because it was my dad's all-time favorite I keep hanging on to it.

Like my Jeep the Suburban has been converted to a Cummins diesel engine, or more correctly, the Jeep was converted because my dad had the Suburban converted. Doesn't really matter. I said my parents were raised by parents who lived through the depression before World War Two, as a result of childhoods dominated by stories of homelessness and hunger, they were always concerned with having food and supplies for the "lean times," as they put it. I grew up with long-term storage foods around the house, a secret stash of pre-1965 silver coins, guns, et cetera. Not too long ago they would have been considered crazy survivalists, now days they would have been harmless preppers whose supplies could be confiscated by the government because they were "hoarders" if there was really an emergency. The government doesn't want people to be able to take care of themselves; they want the people to be dependent on the government, the easier to control the population. Well, here it is, the emergency, and where is the government? It's being consumed by power mad politicians leading us to hell in a hand basket.

I sat back in my chair and rubbed my eyes before rising and fetching a bottle of ibuprophen. My body was still aching from the crash of the Aerostar, and a restful sleep was doubtful without it. When I opened the refrigerator door the light came on as I removed the carton of milk; I wondered how long the power would last if there were no one maintaining it? The city water? The natural gas? How long before we were reduced to cooking over an open fire supplied by wood stripped from the vast areas of homes where no one lived. When this whole thing was done, would there be enough of us with the necessary skills left to maintain civilization? All it would take would be one critical absence of knowledge for everything to come crashing down around our heads.

I found myself standing at the counter, tablets of ibuprophen in one hand, the carton of milk in the other, an empty glass waiting for the milk. What the hell, Catherine said she was lactose intolerant, so she wasn't going to be drinking any milk any time soon, so why dirty a glass I'm going to have to wash? I popped the pills into my mouth and washed them down with milk from the carton.

"I'm glad I don't drink milk."

I coughed into the carton and milk spurted out my nose, I think a couple of the tablets made their way into the carton. "I thought you were asleep?"

"I was, but it's five-thirty in the morning and all the noise outside..." she didn't finish.

Sometimes when I get lost in thought, I don't notice things around me. I become so focused everything else slips away. I listened and heard the occasional scream and/or gunshot. I went to the slider and peeked out past the drape and blanket. Foothill Boulevard was grid locked in both directions, and from what I could see, Mountain Avenue was jammed also; no one was going anywhere very soon in a car, or truck. "Shit!"

There were hundreds of people out there, many of them cradling wounded arms, limping on injured legs. Here and there, there were infected feeding off of the dead who would suddenly leap up and chase someone down the street biting and tearing at them, only to leave the wounded person and go after another. Were they purposely trying to infect others, or was it some animalistic drive to chase what was moving? All of those people returning home injured with their families would in the end, eventually infect their own family members. This must have been what the CDC people meant when they told Brown they had lost control of the situation; this is what they must have envisioned.

I looked at Catherine and her eyes were un-naturally wide and staring. "What are we going to do?" She said.

"I wanted to try and leave today. My Aerostar was wrecked, but I have a Jeep in storage if I can get to it. What kind of car do you have?"

"I don't have a car."

I was a little stunned. "How can anyone in Southern California not have a car?"

"I picked these apartments because they were close to everything. There are two supermarkets within walking distance, restaurants, fast food, and shopping. When it's too far to walk I take my bike and when it's too far for the bike I take public transportation. I can take the buses, or Metro-rail, and having a car is expensive. I save a lot of money on car maintenance, payments, insurance, and don't forget the cost of gasoline." She was getting defensive.

"Look, I'm sorry if I sounded like I was putting you down, okay? It's just, I was hoping you had a car we could take to get mine and the stuff we're going to need in the future."

"What makes you think I want to spend the future with you?" She was standing there with her hands on her hips, small breasts beneath a tent sized tee-shirt rising and falling rapidly as she breathed through her nose, her teeth clenched, and she had a bad case of pillow hair.

"I didn't mean for it to sound the way you took it, okay? I made the assumption you would be willing to work with me for our mutual benefit. Was I wrong?"

Her jaw muscles and shoulders relaxed. "I'm going to take a shower; I suggest you do the same. Stress can cause people's BO factor to intensify." She walked away before I could say anything else to get in trouble.

I shook my head and went back to the counter and swallowed two more ibuprophen with milk from the carton to wash it down. I put the milk back into the fridge and grabbed one of the leftover sandwiches and then finished it off. Sitting on the couch I figured I'd watch Fox News until Catherine was done with her shower and take one of my own. Looking at the map, which was still prominently displayed, there didn't appear to be a single major city that wasn't red. I switched down to the scroll and read the news feed. _The Pentagon has ordered all military personnel to return to their duty stations immediately. Military units overseas have been ordered to prepare for return to the United State, or its territories. All Naval and Coast Guard vessels have been ordered to stand-by at sea to assist in transport of retuning military units located overseas. Pentagon disavows knowledge of, or participation in, the arrest of the President, Vice-President, Supreme Court Justices and the Whitehouse staff. Canada and Mexico have closed their borders. Breaking News, New York City, United Nations complex has been overrun by infected and is burning. All major highways, including the Interstate System have been closed. Stay where you are, you may unwittingly spread the disease if you travel. Stay home, secure the buildings you are in, arm yourself, and be prepared to use deadly force to protect yourself._ The news feed began to repeat.

I leaned back and closed my eyes, but a moment later Catherine was shaking my shoulder.

"Mike, Michael!"

**2** nd **Day:**

"Are you done with your shower?" I leaned forward and rubbed my eyes.

"Shower? Oh, that was four hours ago and a lot has happened. I'm sorry, but we need your advice."

"We?" Looking past her, my apartment was crowded with people. What the hell? "Catherine, who are these people?" I did a quick count and including Catherine and I, there were eleven of us.

"You were asleep, so I was going to go to my apartment and get the food I had and bring it here. Clean clothes, stuff like that, but when I opened your door I heard people downstairs yelling to be let in, so I let five in and then more later. They took refuge here to get away from the infected. I couldn't just send them away, or let them sit out there waiting for the zombies to break in." She looked nervous, very nervous. "You said we needed other people, people who knew stuff. One is a plumber, and one is an electrician; I don't know about the rest, but..."

"It's okay Catherine. Just give me a chance to wake up; I'm feeling a little confused."

"Here." She pressed a wet washcloth into my hands and I vigorously scrubbed at my face. I was going to need to shave soon.

I still felt rather humdrum. "Advice, about what?"

"There are two more men down stairs who have their backs against the security door to keep the zombies from getting in. We need a way to secure the door. Do you have any ideas?"

"The doors are self-locking when you remove the key."

She nodded, "Yeah, but the security door frame got bent and now it won't lock."

I stood up, checked the .22 pistol was still strapped to my hip, "Okay, let's go take a look."

Catherine had her pistol and leather gear on, but I noticed a lot of the cartridge loops were empty and she didn't have her rifle; I didn't say anything, I just followed her into the hallway and down the stairs to the east entrance to the apartments. When we came out into the security door foyer there was a man, around my age, wearing an old Army desert BDU jacket and holding Catherine's rifle at the ready. Sitting on the concrete floor was a younger kid, maybe 21, with his back against the security door and his feet propped against the wall of the building holding the door shut as two infected, a man and a woman, kept slamming their bodies into the metal grate of the door. The frame of the door was bent out and keeping the door lock from engaging.

"Well shit," I said. "What happened to it?"

The kid on the floor raised a crowbar about thirty inches long up for me to see, "My bad, but I'm not going to apologize. We were in a hurry."

Mister BDU spoke up, "If it wasn't for John and his crowbar, we'd all be dead, or infected. He did the right thing under the circumstances."

"Of course," I said. "I'm not complaining." I rubbed my temples for a moment as I thought. My head was pounding and my neck hurt too. Whiplash, from the accident? No, it would have been hurting a lot sooner than now.

"Michael?" Catherine had one hand on the grip of her pistol, the other on my shoulder. "Are you okay?" The infected slammed against the gate again. John slid forward a little as his legs momentarily buckled, but he shoved back.

"Uh, can we get something going here? My legs are getting a little tired."

I closed my eyes, "I've got a really bad headache, my neck hurts and I'm not feeling real good." I opened my eyes to find the muzzle of Catherine's rifle pointed at my brow.

Behind the rifle, Mister BDU had his jaw clinched, "Have you been bitten?"

Catherine pushed the rifle away from my face, "No, he hasn't been bitten. He was in a bad car crash yesterday and was unconscious for several hours. He probably has a concussion." The rifle swung back to the infected.

At that precise moment, the female zombie at the gate opened her mouth and a deafening screech issued forth. It was the first time I had heard any of them make any sound what so ever. I pulled my pistol and stepping forward fired one round into her forehead and a second into the head of the male infected who suddenly screamed also. The screams had scared the shit out of me and my head hurt, and....Bullshit, I was scared crazy and I had to do something, anything, or I was going to run.

"John," I said. "Get up and let Mister BDU take your place. Now!" The two men smoothly exchanged places and BDU handed John the rifle. I turned to Catherine, "Come with me."

As I walked away I heard John, "Dude, that was fucking cold."

"Yeah," BDU said. "But at least we know who should be in command."

I stopped at the locked door to the garage and carport access and inserted the key Mrs. Stone had loaned me. I turned and looked at Catherine, "When I open the door, I'm going to stay low; I want you to be prepared to shoot over my head if there's trouble. Okay?"

She nodded understanding, pulled her revolver, cocked the hammer back, and held it tight to her right shoulder muzzle pointed up. "Ready."

I turned the key and quickly pulled the door open; the empty hall stretched before us. I walked in with Catherine close behind and started checking doors. Once I was sure the doors were locked and secure, we returned to the door marked 22A Garage, mine. Everyone's apartment key would open the access door, but only the individual apartment keys could open the door to the garage assigned to each renter. I inserted the key and when Catherine indicated she was ready I swung the door in. It was dark in there with a little light streaming in underneath the roll-up vehicle door. Reaching inside, I switched on the lights and entered. In the middle of the area were the materials for the next job I was scheduled to do and a lot of scrap wood and other materials I had accumulated from jobs in the past. Along the back wall, where the door we had just entered was located, was a series of plastic storage bins containing tools, and finally in the corner, the ladders I had purchased over the years. There was a heavy chain run through all of the ladders and that was what I had come for. I holstered my pistol and reaching up to the shelf above the plastic bins, I removed a pair of four-foot bolt cutters; I carried the cutters over to chained ladders and after positioning the cutters on the lock securing them, I pressed down on the handles and snapped the lock. So why didn't I use the key to release the lock? It's in the ignition of the Aerostar with my other keys. Where are my duplicate keys? The keys in the Aerostar are my duplicates; I lost the originals on a job site a month earlier and hadn't gotten around to having the duplicates duplicated. So sue me.

I carefully removed the chain as quietly I could and laying it on the floor, I counted out ten links and again used the cutters to snap the chain. I handed the short piece of chain to Catherine while I dug through another box until I found what I was looking for, a 3/8th inch bolt about two inches long, two 3/8th inch washers and a nut. "Okay, let's go."

We rejoined John and BDU where I wrapped the chain around the square tubing above the lock plate on the door and the metal frame of the door opening and used the bolt to secure the chain. "Okay BDU, you can relax."

He stood up and examined the chain as another zombie crashed into the door, it held. Turning to me he smiled, "Now I see why Cathy has so much faith in you." He held out his hand, "Harold Brookings, or BDU if you prefer."

I smiled a little sheepishly, "Hi Harold, Michael Moore, Mike."

The kid, John shook my hand also, "John Baker."

I nodded, "John."

"Pretty bad headache huh?" Harold asked.

"Yeah."

"Drink a lot of coffee? Had any today?"

"At least a pot every morning and no, not so far today."

He chuckled, "Welcome to caffeine withdrawal. Go drink some coffee and lay down for a while, you'll be okay."

"Later, I have to check the rest of the security gates."

Catherine took me by the arm, "Harold and John can do it." She turned to them, "Through that doorway and into the garage marked 22A. There are bolt cutters, chain, and bolts. Okay?" They nodded and left for the garage. "You are going to drink some coffee and then lay down."

I decided not to argue, no that's not right; my head hurt badly enough it wasn't worth arguing over. I went up to my bedroom and lay down with the lights off and the door closed until she brought in a handful of ibuprophen and a cup of coffee and had me drink it, then another, and another. After all that coffee, I still fell asleep.

I woke up late in the afternoon with a headache still, but nowhere near as bad. I stumbled out of the bedroom and into the kitchen where Catherine was sitting at the table with Harold and sat down. "Have I missed anything?"

"Yes and no." Catherine said. "It's been pretty quiet, but there's still a lot of zombies out there. Come to the window though, I want you to see something." I followed her to the slider, gently pulled the drape and bedspread apart, and looked out.

"What am I looking for?"

"How many zombies did you shoot last night around the truck?"

I thought about it, "Six."

"That's what I remembered, how many are there now?"

I looked again, "Four." I got goose bumps on my arms.

"So I'm wondering," she said, "what happened to the other two?"

I turned my head and glanced at her, she wasn't looking out, but at me. "Maybe when the car rear-ended the truck it landed on top of them?"

"I don't think so. The truck was on its side at an angle; the car hit the rear and spun it around. All the bodies were on this side, so they shouldn't have been touched by the truck."

"Maybe other zombies dragged the bodies away and ate them?"

She shrugged, "Maybe, but everyone I've asked says the infected never eat off of dead infected, at least not that they've seen."

"Catherine, you have something you're thinking about and I don't like playing Sherlock Holmes, what do you think happened?"

"I think your .22 caliber rifle isn't real affective at this range. I think maybe the shots to the head were glancing blows and the two missing are out there chasing people."

Fuck! "Great, wonderful, outstanding. Shit!" I let go of the drape and adjusted the way it hung over the window. "What do I have to do, shoot the sons of bitches twice every time?"

"If you have the time, yeah, I would. What I'm saying is, we have thirteen people, maybe more if there's anyone in the other two apartments on this floor or the first floor. If there are others, why haven't we heard from them? I brought the food from my apartment and the way I figure it, we have enough to feed everyone for two days. Not good. We have five guns for twelve people, but one has no ammunition and two of them, yours, can't be relied on to put a zombie down permanently. Not good. How much ammunition do you have?"

I slid my hand into my jeans and pulled out the .22 caliber ammo in it; when I finished counting and included what I had in the two guns, I sighed. "Thirty-one rounds."

"I've got almost 200 rounds for my pistol and rifle, a lot more than you have and a lot more effective, but I'm not sure I want to take on thousands of infected with what I have. One of the men who took refuge here picked up the pistol dropped by the guy from the truck last night, but it's empty. What I'm saying is, short term, we need food, weapons, ammo, and fast."

She followed me back to the table and we sat down with Harold, he looked tired and sleepy. "Sounds like you guys have been doing some thinking while I was out of it. What have you come up with?"

Harold spoke first, "We got to get food, which means we are going to have to go out there. Going out there without enough weapons and ammo? Not my cup of tea."

I looked at Catherine, "Mike, all I could come up with were problems I don't have answers for, I'm sorry." She looked on the verge of tears.

I sat there for a moment getting my head into what was going on. "Okay, Harold, get one of the other guys, no, get John the kid with the crowbar. We're going to knock on the doors of the other two apartments and see if anyone is home. If there's no answer we break in and see if there is anything we can salvage. It's going to be dark soon, so let's plan on the two apartments up here and tomorrow we do the same with the first floor. After that, we do the "B" building and secure it the way we have this one. Okay?"

Harold stood, "Gotcha boss, I'll get the kid and be right back." He left the room.

I looked at Catherine, "Boss?"

"We had an election while you were asleep. You were elected the leader."

"How can I be elected anything when I haven't been nominated?"

"I nominated you." I just looked at her. "Mike, you always seem to know what to do."

"I don't know what to do; I'm stumbling through this just like everyone else. I don't want to be leader."

"Exactly why you should be, the only other person who wanted to lead I don't trust."

"Why?"

"Because I know him, he hasn't recognized me yet, but he will eventually. There might be trouble when he does." She was concentrating on removing several cooled droplets of wax from the table with a fingernail

"Why?"

"He came into the place where I worked all the time and always left really shit-faced. He was always pawing at me and the other girls and more than once the bouncer told him to leave."

"Why, why would he think it was okay to put hands on you?"

"He figured any girls that worked there were probably whores, or prostitutes."

I shook my head, "Catherine, I don't understand."

She looked at me with exasperation, "Mike, it was a nude bar. I was a dancer and a waitress in a nude bar."

"Oh."

Harold came in with John in tow. "Okay, you guys ready?"

I nodded and got out of the chair, it was a good thing because I wasn't sure if I knew how to respond to what Catherine had told me. I'd never talked to a nude dancer, never known one before, Hell, I'd never seen one before. I've never been real good at talking to women anyway, so usually I just listen to them and encourage them to talk about themselves while keeping my own answers as succinct, as short, as possible.

"Let's do 24A first, it's rented by Ms. Barner; she's an elementary school teacher and may have gone to school in case any kids showed up for class."

We passed Catherine's apartment and went to the door marked 24A. I knocked on the door and waited, then knocked again harder. "Ms. Barner? It's Mike Moore from 22A, are you home?"

No answer. I waited a few seconds more and then turned to John, "You have your crowbar?"

He reached around and pulled it out of his belt where he was carrying it. I stepped out of the way and he slipped the straight end into the crack between the door and frame, and gave it a sharp jerk on the crooked end. The blade slipped out gouging the wood of the door. I grabbed the doorknob while I showed him where to reinsert the bar and the knob turned. I held up my hand for him to stop while I turned the knob and pushed on the door, it swung open as I pulled my pistol from the holster.

"Ms. Barner? It's Mike from 22A, are you home?" Still no answer, "She must not be here. Catherine, check for food in the fridge and cabinets. John, go in the master bath and fill the tub with water in case we need it. Harold, search for anything you think we might be able to put to good use." I walked into the living room and looked around. Everything was neat and orderly with plaques, award certificates, stuff like that on the right hand wall. I stepped closer and realized several of the awards and plaques were for the Teacher of the Year. She must have been really good at what she did. On the opposite wall were scores of pictures of kids, probably from her classes; I couldn't believe how many there were. The kids must have really loved her.

"Ah, Jesus Christ!" _That was Harold,_ I thought as I spun around and looked towards the hall leading to the bedrooms. Catherine had her revolver back in one hand and a can of ravioli in the other as Harold came stumbling out of the hall, "In there, in the shower."

I moved quickly into the spare bedroom and into the guest bathroom. She was there, in the shower. Her hair and make-up were neatly done, and she was wearing a professional looking pantsuit. There was a pair of panty hose tied off to the showerhead and wrapped tightly around her neck. She must have tied it around her neck and just bent her knees, shutting off the blood to the brain until she blacked out and then died of suffocation. It wasn't bad enough the infected were killing us; we were killing ourselves too.

"Harold, can you give me a hand?" I said.

From the kitchen I heard his voice, "No, no I can't. Jesus, she looks like my mother."

"John?" I heard him walk into the bedroom behind me.

"Aw shit! No way dude, not me." And I heard him leave.

I slipped my knife out of my pocket, flipped the blade open, and then I reached in and wrapped my left arm around her. Slicing through the pantyhose with one slash I caught her body as she fell and then I dragged her out and lay her on the floor, resting on my knees and heels beside her. I just sat there, looking at her. All those awards; all those fresh smiling faces on the wall. "We were going to need you," I said. "We were going to need you to teach the children what we once had. Maybe what we can have again someday."

"Mike."

"But you took the easy way out, didn't you?"

"Mike?"

I stood up and walked around Catherine into the master bedroom where I stripped off the bedspread and the blanket beneath it from the carefully made bed. Grabbing the top sheet I stripped it off, then threw it on top of her body as I walked into the living room, jerked back the drapes and threw open the sliding door. I went back to the spare room, spread out the sheet beside her and then roughly rolled her body up inside of it.

"Mike, what are you doing?"

"She sold us out, all of us." I scooped her up in my arms and carried her through the door and into the living room.

Catherine followed me, "Mike what are you doing?"

I spun around and faced her; the guys were at the front door silently watching. "Look around! Look at the walls! Look at the awards! Look at the children's pictures! She was a teacher, a good teacher. We were going to need her! She took the easy way out! She threw in the rag and shit on all of us!" I carried her out on the balcony, tossed her over, and watched while she struck the ground with a thud. I stepped inside, closed the slider, then the drapes, and turned to face them.

Catherine was there, "Michael, come sit down."

I shook my head violently. When she touched my shoulders I fell to my knees, snot was leaking from my nose, from some distant place I watched it string down to the carpet. I guess all the stress, and fear of the past two days caught up with me. Catherine wrapped her arms around me and whispered in my ear, "Your turn Michael, your turn to cry." And I did, hard.

#

# Chapter Four

After a while, I was able to breathe again without sobbing. I pushed myself back onto my heels as Catherine stood up and walked away. My lower face was covered with mucus, so I pulled the bottom of my tee shirt out of my jeans and blew my nose into it. When I looked up Catherine was standing there with a roll of paper towels.

"You know, most women would find that pretty disgusting."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, kind of makes me wonder if you have other bad habits."

"I'll try to be more discreet."

She pulled off a double sheet and handed to me, "Blow again."

I did and couldn't believe how much came out. "Crying," she said, "Is a great way to clear the sinuses."

"Yeah, well, sorry."

She rested her hand on the back of my neck and gently massaged it, "Please don't be. You needed it. How do you feel now?"

I examined myself and realized I did feel better. "Better, I think. Yeah, I feel better, relaxed." And I did.

"You just learned something women have known for thousands of years; crying makes you feel better."

I looked around, "Where are the guys?"

"When you broke down, they split."

"Figures."

"I don't get it, if another woman would have seen me crying she would try to comfort me."

"Men consider it a sign of weakness; they'll never mention they saw me break down, sort of an unwritten law of maledom."

"Men are really strange."

"You think?" I stood up and took a deep breath. "Well, let's get back to the job at hand, time to check Mister Hargrove's apartment." I led her out of Barner's and down the hall, but I stopped. "Go to your apartment and see if some of the folks in there will go empty the kitchen in Ms. Barner's apartment, okay?"

"Sure, wait for me though before you go in."

I turned away and headed down the hall, John and Harold were waiting for me. "You guys ready?"

They nodded, but neither one looked at me. I started to knock, but Harold stopped me, "Mike, next time you need me, I'll be there, okay?"

"Thanks Harold."

"Me too," John said.

I nodded, "Thanks, both of you. Sorry about that."

"No big deal, Dude," John pointed to the door, "Let's get it on."

I knocked, "Mister Hargrove? It's Michael Moore from 22A. Are you home?" This end of the hall was darker and I could see light shining under the door. Two shadowed areas appeared, one after the other. Feet? "Mister Hargrove? We're just checking to see if you're alright, can we come in?" No answer.

John held up the crowbar, a question on his face. I nodded as I pulled the pistol from my holster and stepped back. John tried the doorknob, but it didn't turn, so he inserted the bar and wrenched the door. It popped in about six inches and then was pulled violently open as Hargrove charged out at me. He knocked the pistol up as it discharged and lunged at my throat, I was able to get my forearm under his chin and force his head back, but it was a struggle. There was a sudden smack as John's crowbar slammed into the side of his ahead and he fell to the side, but he was scrambling to rise from his knees when the bar came down again. His head crunched and he went limp.

Catherine was running down the hall. "Damn it! I told you to wait, I told you to wait!" She grabbed my arms and looked me over. "You could have been bitten! Then what would you have done!"

"I would have walked outside and you guys would have locked the door behind me and elected a new leader. Pretty simple if you consider it; anyone bitten is a threat to everyone else."

"You would, wouldn't you?" She pulled her pistol and entered the apartment.

"Hey!" I said as I followed her in. "You don't go in first, me or one of the guys will do the room clearing."

She turned around and looked at me, "If the leader is expendable, so is everyone else."

"We'll discuss this in a group meeting this evening, okay?" She nodded. "In the meantime, cover me while we clear the rooms."

I checked the master bedroom, closets, and bathroom, then the guest room. When I opened the door, my heart climbed into my throat; all three walls were covered with guns hanging on plaques. I stood there for a moment soaking it in, and then checked the bathroom and the closet. "Clear, "I shouted, and then, "Hey, come in here and check this out."

I walked to the closest wall and scanned over the weapons and then gave the other walls a quick glance. Hargrove had been a collector of what appeared to be World War Two small arms. Catherine and the guys came in and one of them audibly sucked air in.

Harold exclaimed, "Holy shit!"

"Don't get too excited, there may not be ammo for them." I pointed to the weapon highest on the wall I was facing. "1903 Springfield, Standard issue American rifle for ground forces at the start of WW II. 30.06 caliber, Box #1a." I was reading from a brass plate below the rifle. Below that was another Springfield with a sniper scope. "1903 Springfield, Sniper version during WW II, 30.06 caliber, Box #1a." Next down, "M1 Garand, Standard issue semi-automatic rifle during WW II, 30.06 caliber, Box #1b." The next, "M1 Carbine, issued to: officers, noncommissioned officers and support personnel, .30 caliber Box #2." Below that was a carbine with the paratrooper folding stock and the last line read "Box #2." Next, a commercial semi-auto version of the Thompson sub-machinegun, "Box # 3a." A semi-auto M3 grease gun with 16" barrel, "Box #3b," finally a Colt .45 pistol, "Box #3c."

I went to the closet and reopened it, stacked along the back wall were wooden crates with numbers and letters corresponding with the guns on the wall. "Thank you Mister Hargrove, thank you!"

Harold looked over my shoulder, "Please tell me that's what I think it is."

"It is," I said. "Help me spread the boxes out on the floor." I grabbed the top box and carried it to the far wall. As heavy as it was, it had to be ammo. I set it down and opened the lid; on top were two canvas ammo belts with attached bayonets, beneath them were neatly stacked rows of 30.06 ammo in five round stripper clips. There must have been hundreds of rounds. Harold set down his first box marked "Box 1b," and when he opened it there was an ammo belt, bayonet, and a handful of cloth bandoleers on top of rows of eight round clips for the M1 Garand. Each box contained the ammunition and magazines of each weapon mounted on the walls. There was a British .303 Enfield rifle, a commercial model of the Sten gun in nine millimeter, a Browning semi-auto pistol, again nine millimeter, and a Webley .455 revolver labeled "Box #3d", which when opened contained .45 acp ammunition and half-moon clips to load the Webley. On another wall were four versions of the Mosin Nagant rifle chambered for 7.62 X 54, a Tokarev TT-33 semi-automatic pistol, a Nagant revolver, and a commercial copy of the Pps 43, all three chambered for 7.62X25. Like all the other weapons, there was ammunition, ammo pouches, and magazines or stripper clips for all of them.

I was swept with an immense sense of relief. A few minutes before I had thirty rounds for my two .22 weapons, just shy of 200 rounds for Catherine's two guns, and one gun with no ammunition for seven women and six men. We now had eighteen rifles, carbines, or pistols, and thousands of rounds of ammo. Everyone could be armed. Now if we just had food.

"John?"

"Yeah?"

"Fill the bathtub for me, then I want you and Harold to organize this room and get ready to hand out the weapons. I want everyone armed as soon as possible, okay?"

"Sure thing, Boss."

Harold got my attention as I turned to leave, "Hey Boss, mind if I lay claim to the Garand? My granddad had one when I was growing up and he used to let me shoot it. It's not an M4, but I know it inside and out."

"Sure, I'd rather everyone had a weapon they're familiar with anyway, but some of these folks have probably never handled a firearm. You said M4, were you in the military?"

"Yeah, Operation Iraqi Freedom, and a tour in Baghdad before I was discharged."

"Okay, you're our firearms and tactics instructor. Catherine, any of these weapons strike your fancy? Some will be faster reloading than your Marlin."

"Thanks Mike, but no. Like Harold said, I know my guns inside and out, so I'll stay with what I have."

"Okay," I scanned the walls again. "Harold, we have six women who don't have weapons and we have six shoulder weapons that are smaller, have high capacity magazines, and fire pistol cartridges. What do you think?"

"Makes sense, it'll be easier to train them in accuracy if they're not flinching from the heavy recoil of a full size battle rifle."

"I've got my .22 pistol and Catherine says one of the guys has a .45, but no ammo. There are five additional pistols on the wall; make sure each man issued a bolt action rifle gets a pistol for when it gets up close and personal. And some bayonet training is in order too."

"Gotcha. What about you, are you going to stick with your .22 rifle or something bigger?"

"Bigger, I'm almost out of ammo for the .22." I walked down the wall and picked out one of the short versions of the Mosin Nagants. "I'll take this one, but if someone has a compelling reason to have it, give it to them." I touched Catherine's arm, "Let's clean out any food in the kitchen, take it to my place and see if we can get someone started on dinner for everyone."

"Okay." She said, as I walked out to the kitchen and started rummaging around. Catherine came in and unfolded a sheet, which she spread on the floor. We started placing canned food and dry goods on it as we found them. I opened the refrigerator, but there wasn't much in it, most of a cartoon of eggs, some sliced bacon and ham, a couple of bowls covered with plastic wrap, but whatever was in the bowls looked as though it had seen better days. The freezer contained some frozen cube steaks and a partial package of hot dogs. All in all, not a lot, but it would definitely help.

"Damn, looks as though Mister Hargrove liked his booze." Catherine was standing in front of an open cabinet. I looked inside and it was full of different bottles, most had been opened.

"Leave it there for now. I don't want anyone drowning their sorrows and causing a lot of potential grief." I turned away and started gathering the corners of the sheet.

"I'm for that, but it might help some of the more tense people get to sleep at night. Not enough to knock them out; just take the edge off."

"I understand, but let's not make it general knowledge."

"Sure."

I picked up the corners of the sheet and swung the bundle around to get it over my shoulder and headed for my apartment as I stepped over Hargrove's body. As we walked down the hall I asked Catherine, "Do you have a sling for your rifle?"

"No, back home I carried it in a saddle scabbard when I rode horseback around the property, or in the rifle rack of the truck. I didn't much need a sling."

"We probably should rig you up with one in case you need it."

"Okay."

"Pick a woman and a man and send them down to Harold to be armed, then two more, and then two more. I don't want a roomful of people making demands and have it turn into a cluster fuck."

"Okay."

Cluster fuck, I'd never used the expression before. Mitch had used it a lot if there were no women around and few times when there were; it depended on how excited he was. I wished he were here; he and Harold probably would have been a good team once they got past the inter-service rivalry. Thinking of Mitch led me to think of Essie and I felt guilty because I hadn't tried to call her yet today. I carried the sheet of food into my kitchen and set it on the floor where two women were sorting out the stuff from Ms. Barner's kitchen and they both smiled at me.

"Hi, this is the stuff from the apartment next door."

"Hi, you must be Mike." Older woman, average, well, average everything, maybe fiftyish? I'm terrible at guessing women's ages. "I'm Carol Newstrom, and this is Margaret."

"Hi," I said, and nodded to Margaret. She nodded back. She was average build, but wearing one of those dresses which come down to about mid-shin and button all the way up to the neck. The bun on the back of her head indicated very long hair if released, and she wore no make-up at all. I wondered if she were one of the Christian Fundamentalists you see around Upland once in a while. I don't have a problem with fundamentalists of any religion as long as they remember they're in America and I don't have to listen as they try to "save" me. If I decide I want to be saved I'll go looking for them, in the meantime I practice my reverence my own way. I spread out the sheet and picked up a can of black-eyed peas.

"Mister Moore."

I looked up and met Margaret's gaze, "Yes?"

"This is woman's work, Mister Moore, but there is a body in the hall that needs tending, perhaps you could take care of that until a proper service can be arranged?"

Woman's work? You have got to be kidding me. "Of course, Margaret." I stood and walked out of my apartment. Hey, maybe dishes are women's work too!

As I exited my door I looked to my left and saw Catherine against the wall of the hall with a large man leaning over her; she looked like she was cornered and her hand was resting on the handgrip of her pistol. I turned that way and approached; he was a big guy, maybe six two and 240, or 250. His face was flushed the way you notice of alcoholics and I didn't like the way he was looming over Catherine, he was talking as I came within earshot. "...you don't, I'll let everyone in here know what kind of slut you are, and how long do you think they'll let you stay in here with the decent people?"

He may have noticed me coming in his peripheral vision, but he didn't see my fist. I hit him in the left temple and he went down and out. I looked at her, "You okay?"

She didn't say anything; she just stared at the floor. "I take that to mean you're not alright. Okay, he's out of here!"

I grabbed one of his arms and started dragging him towards the stairs, "Mike!" She started following me, "Mike!"

I stepped over Hargrove's body and continued dragging the big guy until the bodies hung up. Harold leaned out the door of Hargrove's apartment, "Uhh, what's up?"

"I don't allow assholes in the building and this guy's an asshole." The bodies were still entangled. I jerked on the guy's arm and tried to pull him loose, but it was useless. Harold stepped out and flipped the big guy's trailing arm in my direction, and then lifted him by his ankles.

"Where you want to take him?" Just like that, no questions, just help.

"I'd like to throw him out the gate and see how the zombies like his personality..."

Catherine said, "Mike, no!"

Harold said, "Okay."

"...but Catherine seems to be the forgiving type, so I guess we'll take him to the garage, tie him up and let him think about the possibilities when he comes to."

"Okay."

We carried him down the stairs and I'm not ashamed to say his head bounced off the steps more than once, but the way I see it, he needed some sense knocked into it anyway. In the garage, I hog-tied him with electrical wire and we left him there. On the way back up, we gathered up Hargrove, wrapped him in another sheet and took him downstairs. Back up on the second floor Harold returned to the gunroom and I hunted up Catherine. She was in Ms. Barner's apartment.

"Hey, he's down in the garage until after we have dinner and the meeting. You alright?"

"Would you really have put him out? Because of the way he talked to me?"

"I didn't like what I heard, and based on what I heard he was blackmailing you. What did he want in exchange for not telling us you were a nude dancer?"

"Me, anytime he wanted."

"I think he should go, we'll give him a weapon, ammo and out the door."

"Mike, I don't like him, but those of us who aren't infected need to stay together to survive. I don't know for sure, but I'm willing to bet there's not a lot of uninfected left."

"He may be uninfected with the disease, but he doesn't necessarily fit inside the bounds of civilized society. He is a disease"

She stepped closer to me. "Mike, I don't want him to be thrown out because I danced nude in front of men."

I reached out and squeezed her shoulder. "If he is thrown out, it won't be because you are a nude dancer, it won't be about you, it will be because he is an asshole and at this point I don't trust him. We must have people we can trust."

She buried her face in my neck and I stroked her back while I held her. "If it comes to it, everyone will vote. I won't arbitrarily throw him out, okay?" She nodded. "Okay, let's see what else we can get into before dinner."

We started for the door and Catherine stopped, "Wait, I want to show you something." She turned around and walked into the guest bedroom. I followed her in and looked around. "Ms. Barner had a sewing hobby." She walked to a table and counters, picked up a bundle and showed it to me. "I think she made clothes for her students."

"Figures, it fits with all the awards and pictures." I had a sudden, sharp stab of guilt for the way I had treated her remains. When I could, I was going to make sure she received a proper burial. I had thought the same about America, Mary, and Jen, but they were still lying out there waiting for me to do the "right thing."

"She had a really expensive industrial sewing machine and I know how to sew." She smiled at me.

I guess I had a really stupid look on my face because I had absolutely no idea where she was going.

"Mike, we're going to have to go outside sooner, or later, right?"

"Probably sooner than later."

"The infected try to bite a person, that's how the disease is spread. What if everyone who went out to forage, had a suit of leather armor? The armor would keep them from sinking their teeth into our flesh. What do you think?"

"Catherine, I think you may be on to something, I really do." I grabbed her and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Something else we can talk about at the meeting."

I lead the way to my apartment and we stopped in the kitchen. "Carol? Margaret? Do we have enough food to throw together some sort of a meal for everyone?"

"I think so," Carol answered, "But we're really hampered by the pots and pans situation."

"What do you mean?"

Margaret answered, "It's easy to tell a bachelor lives here and doesn't cook large meals. We need bigger pans, or more pans, either one, but bigger would be better."

"Oh yeah, of course. Check both apartments at the ends of the hall. Catherine, do you have any pots, or pans?"

"A small sauce pan, a small frying pan, and a small casserole dish. I never needed to cook for anyone, but me."

"I'll go," Carol said to Margaret and started to go around me.

"Hang on Carol, while you're next door talk to Harold. We found some guns and I want everyone to have a weapon for their protection, okay?"

"Oh, Mike, I'd rather not; I really have no use for guns."

"I'm sorry, Carol, but this is nonnegotiable. Everyone must be armed, period."

Margaret tossed the dust rag in her hand onto the counter. "I'll go look for the pots and pans, and I'll see Harold about the guns. I have some experience with them and I'll pick one for Carol while I'm at it."

"Margaret!" Carol stammered. "I thought you were a Christian! Jesus preached love and compassion."

"Yes, he did, but just before he was arrested, he told his followers who owned cloaks to sell them and purchase a sword for their protection. Those people out there, the infected? They don't care if I'm a Christian, they don't care if you're anti-gun, they just want to destroy us. I'll be back in a few minutes." With that she walked out, my kind of Christian. Carol watched her leave and then looked at me for a moment, and then turned back to picking through the boxes and cans I had brought in. I had a feeling her ideas about guns might be a problem in the future.

I walked out into the hallway and leaned against the wall rubbing my temples. Personalities, everyone has a personality. Everyone is the result of their experience and preconceptions, about everything. There was probably going to be people who weren't going to agree with what I believed needed to be done. I was planning on communal meals, but what about Catherine, she was lactose intolerant; were there other medical conditions I was unaware of? Was I making too many generalizations about what we were going to do and how we were going to do it? I hadn't even met all the newcomers; I'd met Carol, Margaret, Harold, John, and the asshole, shit, I didn't even know the asshole's name and I was thinking about throwing him out.

Catherine came out and leaned against the wall beside me. "That was weird. I expected Carol to go along with being armed and Margaret to be resistant. I don't know why really, back home everyone I know is a Christian, of one sort or another, and everyone has guns."

"Different cultures, different ways of adapting to the mainstream cultures we live in. Out there, in Montana, people are more self-reliant, more suspicious of the government and resistant to government intrusion in their lives, they take more responsibility for their condition. Here, there are a greater number of progressives who want more government and more control over the people; there's more people more willing to surrender to Big Brother. They think security from criminals is worth the negative effects of government oversight in their lives. They are willing to give up freedoms for the perception of security and someday we'll have security cameras watching our every move like Britain. It's understandable I guess. Hell, I don't know, I just can't understand someone who isn't willing to defend theirself and those around them in a situation like the one we're in. It's not like we can go outside and negotiate a win/win settlement with the infected."

"Michael?" Carol was standing in the doorway of my apartment looking at us. "I understand what's going on. I mean, I don't understand what happened to put us in this situation, but I understand we are in danger. All my life I've been against private ownership of guns. I don't even think police should have them. I have never touched one and the idea of having one, carrying and shooting one turns my stomach. I know I'm going to have to do it for my safety, for the safety of everyone, but please don't expect me to want to."

I had wanted her to hear what I was saying, to stand on a soapbox and deplore our situation and how it was made worse by the prevailing progressive ideas that had been sweeping our country. And I knew I was right, most of the gun laws of California are unconstitutional and someday, if they were actually challenged in the Supreme Court, would be overturned. Of course, if the new president had actually removed five conservative members of the Supreme Court...meaningless intellectual meandering. The point was Carol had effectively kicked my self-righteous soapbox out from under me by admitting she would do her best for all of us. In the meantime I hadn't met half the people of our little group.

I nodded to her, and then turned to Catherine, "The rest of the new people, are they in your apartment?"

"Yes."

I motioned in the direction of her door. She opened it and I followed her in where she gathered the cooking pots from the kitchen and left to give them to Carol. I sat at Catherine's dining table and rested my chin in one of my cupped hands as I surveyed the people in the living room. One of the guys looked to be late teens maybe early twenties, tall, lean, and probably Hispanic; he was wearing a fast food uniform and I wondered how well he could speak English. The other male was younger, maybe fifteen, or sixteen, broad, but bony shoulders, brown hair that hung over his ears and forehead, slightly baggy cargo pants, skater shoes, and a tee shirt emblazoned with the stylized words, "Skate or Die." Around his waist was a cartridge belt with a bayonet hanging at the rear of his left hip and a row of three double magazine pouches for a .45 pistol. On the right side hanging from the cartridge belt was a full flapped leather holster for the pistol it probably contained. There were a dozen or more 30.06 rounds lying scattered around his feet on the carpet. One of the girls was picking up the rounds and feeding them back into empty stripper clips as he ejected the rounds from the chamber of the Springfield. He would say, "get some" followed by "one," followed by the rapid operation of the bolt, then "get some," followed by "two," and another rapid operation of the bolt. When he said "five," he operated the bolt and then reached back to one of the pouches on the belt and pulled out a loaded stripper, which he inserted into the magazine of the rifle, and then repeated the previous process. He was developing muscle memory. I wondered if Harold had told him to do it, or if he was doing it on his own.

The girl kneeling on the floor and reloading the strippers had a .30 carbine, with a thirty round magazine inserted, resting on the floor next to her knee. Around her waist was a military pistol belt with two pouches, one on each side, and a bayonet hanging on the right, the pouches looked like the ones I used for my carbine. They were early Vietnam issue, which could each hold five mags. I felt a small amount of jealousy because she had the carbine and I was probably going to end up with one of the bolt-action jobs. The bolt rifles would be good for longer ranges, but the small internal magazine capacity would, more than likely, become problematic at close range. More accurate at long range, but damned slow reloading compared to the semi-autos. They were what we had though; what's the old saying? The best gun to have is the one you have? Anyway, she was wearing jeans, running shoes and a baggy sweatshirt. She turned to reach for a cartridge that flipped past her and I saw she was Asian-American, about the same age as the kid with the Springfield and definitely cute as hell. We met eyes and she gave me a quick smile before turning back to load another stripper.

Leaning against the wall that separated Catherine's apartment from mine was another girl, seventeen, maybe eighteen, wearing a black dress, black nylons, black boots, hell everything she had on was black, including her lipstick and fingernail polish. Her hair was dyed black and she had multiple facial piercings. Guess she was what you would call a Goth. I'd seen some around campus up at Chaffey, but never really paid much attention to them. She had nice facial features once you got past all the strangeness; I wondered how long it would take her to grow up and act normal. She saw me looking at her and came over to the table and sat down across from me leaving the folding stock carbine leaning against the wall with her ammo belt lying on the floor next to it.

"You Mike?"

"Yeah."

"I got a question for you."

"Okay."

She reached to the center of the table and placed two cartridges side-by-side, one was 30.06 and the other .30 Carbine. "Why do the guys get bigger guns that fire bigger bullets that the girls get?"

Shit. "First off, the bigger round means bigger recoil. Bigger recoil means it slams into your shoulder harder. Second, bigger guns are heavier guns; it takes a lot of upper body strength to hold up a full sized rifle and fire it accurately. Third, don't complain about your carbine, it's light weight, semi-automatic, has a thirty round magazine and this little cartridge is very affective at close range. I once saw a demonstration of how each of these rounds affects a block of clay. This one," I held up the 30.06, "Created a two inch wide cavity through the entire block of clay and continued on."

"That's what I want," she said.

"This one," I held up the .30 Carbine round, "Exploded the block of clay, literally exploded it. You think somehow you got screwed when Harold passed out the weapons? You didn't. I'd give my eye teeth to have it; I actually own one, but I can't get to it right now, so I'm going to have a weapon like his." I pointed to the kid walking to join us.

He stopped at the edge of the table and extended his open hand. "I'm Joseph Taylor, This is Terri Yamato, and I see you've met my sister, Jackie."

"Michael Moore," I said while I shook his hand and then Terri's. "I'm explaining to your sister why she should be satisfied with the weapon she has." I turned back to her, "In addition, the weapon you have is highly reliably and simple to maintain. If the zombies get close, your brother will have to shift to his .45 pistol, because the rifle is slower to reload and the length makes it unwieldy in close quarters. Starting to get an idea why the women have the smaller rifles with higher capacity magazines? One last thing, this is not a game..."

Joseph spoke up as he rested his hand on his sister's shoulder, "We know it's not a game Mister Moore. We were five cars behind our dad and mom last night when those people ripped off the top of my dad's convertible and...did what they did to them." He had tears in his eyes and Terri grasped his arm and pressed herself against him. "We know it's not a game and all we want right now is to get some."

"Sooner or later, our time will come to, as you put it, get some. Did Harold tell you guys to keep your weapons within reach at all times?"

All three said, "Yes."

I looked at Jackie, "Then why is your weapon and ammo fifteen feet away from you? There are only thirteen of us; outside there are hundreds, maybe thousands, hell I don't know there may be millions of infected. It will only take one mistake to see all of us dead, or like those people outside."

The Hispanic kid had joined us, so I stuck out my hand, "Michael Moore."

"I heard," he said as he shook hands. "Ricardo Morales, Rick. Do you suppose they're ready for me in the gun room?"

"If not, they should be pretty quick."

"Okay, I'm going to head on down there then and see what I can get."

"Okay, Rick," I said. Rick walked out and Jackie was headed for her carbine. Joseph had turned and put his arm around Terri. "How long have the two of you been together?"

"Two years," Joseph answered.

I frowned, "How old are you?"

"I'm sixteen, Terri's fifteen, and Jackie is seventeen."

I nodded towards the last two females in the room, "Know anything about them?"

I figured they were mother and daughter. The mother looked in her late twenties, maybe early thirties. The girl looked to be ten, or twelve with blonde hair like her mother; she had a pink Hannah Montana backpack clasped to her chest as she slept. The mother had her arm around the girl as she stared at the opposite wall.

Terri turned and looked at where they sat on a worn couch. "The little girl is Tabitha; she says her mother's name is Chrissy. The mother hasn't said anything for quite a while, but this morning when we managed to get in here she kept saying her husband was coming, over and over. It was kind of spooky. Catherine says she thinks maybe she is in shock."

"Yeah, I'm surprised there's not more of that going around." I stood up and walked over to the mother and whispered her name, but there was no response, not even when I waved my hand up and down in front of her face. "Okay, I need to talk to Harold about the weapon distribution. In the meantime, Joseph, the practice you are performing with the rifle? Keep at it, but do the same thing with your pistol. I want all of you to be able to change magazines with your eyes closed in case you have to do it in the dark. Okay?"

They all nodded agreement, so I walked out and down the hall to Hargrove's apartment. As I passed the open door of my place I saw Margaret in the kitchen with the British Sten slung across her back and a pouch for spare mags hanging from a shoulder strap at her waist. I met Carol as she was coming out of Hargrove's, she had the commercial M3 Grease gun and, like Margaret, a pouch of magazines. She didn't smile at me, but she reached out and brushed my arm as we passed. A token of peace I guess.

When I entered the gunroom, Rick and John had the scoped Springfield and were looking it over. "Hold on guys, I just found out that of the last two females, one is catatonic and the other can't be more than twelve years old. We need to reconsider who gets the last two semiautomatic carbines. If the mother pulls out of it then we can figure what to do, but until then I want the semis issued. John, do you have a preference for either of the semi-autos?"

"Not really, no." He looked at the Thompson, then the Pps 43, and finally back at the Springfield. "Mike, My dad has one of these," he indicated the Springfield. "I was brought up shooting it, target range, deer hunting. I'd really like to have it, if it's okay?"

"You know how to use it?"

"I know how to clean it, shoot it, hell; I can hit pretty much anything I want out to 500 yards with just the iron sights." That was definitely good shooting, though I've heard of better.

"Are you any good with a pistol?"

"Yeah, actually I am. I don't much care for revolvers, but the Browning is promising. Thirteen round magazine and the general shape of a Colt 1911 .45, I've shot those with pretty good results."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah," He looked as though he really wanted the rifle and pistol.

"Okay, take them." He gave me a big smile and Harold started helping him get everything together. "John, give Joseph a hand with his Springfield, okay?"

"Sure."

"Rick, which one of the semiautomatics do you want?" I asked.

He didn't even hesitate; he reached up, took the Thompson down, and gave me a smile. "Your loss, my gain."

I was glad he chose it because he wanted it and it made no difference to me because I honestly didn't care either way. I gathered up the Pps 43 and started getting a feel for it, and then I went to the corresponding box, opened it and started loading magazines. There were four magazine pouches with three pockets per pouch, and there were also twelve mags, so I loaded all of them and adjusted the American style nylon belt to fit my waist. I put it on, inserted a magazine in the well, pulled the bolt back and released it to chamber a round, activated the safety and slung it over my shoulder. It was the best I'd felt sense I'd discovered my .22 rifle allowed a couple of zombies to escape.

There seemed to be a lull in activity, so I took the time to pull out my cell phone and I dialed Essie's number. This time when her number rang it went straight to message, so I left another message. I'm okay, are you okay; call if you get this message, bla, bla, and bla. I called Mitch's number and got a recording saying the number wasn't available at this time. Maybe later.

When we had the meeting after dinner I wanted to deal with Asshole. Were we going to keep him, or were we going to send him out on his own? I know what Catherine said; maybe she was a better person than me, but I had responsibility for the safety of twelve other people and people who use people bug the shit out of me. I decided I wanted to get a feel for what kind of man he was, so I headed downstairs to have a talk with him.

At the bottom of the stairs I looked out through the security gate towards the car park and driveway behind the building; there was an infected man standing at the gate staring in at me through the bars. He didn't try to crash into the gate, he didn't try to shake and rattle the bars; he just stood there watching me. There was a sizable chunk of his cheek swinging free of his face and his teeth were darkened with either his blood, or someone else's. It was getting dark, but the building security lights had the entrance, and thereby him, fairly well illuminated. I looked to make sure the chain was still in place and then stepped a little closer, watching his face, his eyes, as I did. His eyes widened a bit then narrowed as I took another step. He stepped closer to the gate and wrapped his fingers around the bars; I knew he couldn't force his arm through the space between the bars even if I stepped within the length of his arm, but I stopped just out of his reach. He was definitely giving me the creeps, the way he didn't try to attack, the way he seemed to be studying me, the way he looked into my eyes. He seemed more intelligent than the others I had seen, more cunning? I wondered if there were different levels of the disease, perhaps this one had some remaining semblance of reasoning; maybe some of these poor souls could be dealt with in a way that didn't involve killing them. Maybe we were wrong to just kill them, what if some of them, like this one, could be helped, and controlled. He was dressed in a light blue button up shirt with a tie clip holding his dark blue tie in place, Dockers pants and leather loafers. As I ran my eyes back up, I noticed a bulge in the front of his shirt at his waist; protruding from between the buttons was a small human hand. I swung up the Pps 43 and fired one round into his forehead and watched him turn as he fell. Stuck in the back of his belt was what looked to be about three feet of galvanized steel pipe, one end of the pipe was stained with blood. He had been smarter, of that I was sure. He was smart enough to carry and use a weapon, and he was smart enough to carry his food supply with him.

Feet came running down the stairs and Harold appeared at the bottom, his Garand swinging past me and towards the car park. "What do you have?"

"An infected that was a little out of the ordinary."

"How so?"

"It was carrying a weapon and its food supply with it."

"What? Naw, these things are stupid, they don't plan, they just react."

"It has a piece of pipe in its belt and the arm of a child stuffed it its shirt."

He looked through the bars and saw the pipe. "Shit."

We heard more steps coming down the stairs, so I stepped into view and saw John, Catherine, and Margaret. "It's okay, all clear. Relax everyone." I said. John turned around and started back up the steps, as did Margaret. Catherine was looking at me oddly, and I wasn't sure what the expression was saying, but she went back up the stairs behind the others.

Harold walked to the stairs, "Hang on Harold, I want to check the asshole."

"Okay."

He followed me to the garage and we entered. Asshole was still lying on the floor hogtied and he didn't look too pleased about his position, or location. I pulled an empty five-gallon bucket over and sat down where he could easily see me.

"What's your name?"

"Fuck you! You sucker punched me!"

"Yeah, I did. What's your name?"

He squirmed around a bit before he said anything, "Untie me!"

"No, what's your name?"

He quit struggling for a moment and then twisted a bit so he could see Harold, "Hey, hey, untie me alright? What gives this guy the right to keep me like this?"

Harold shrugged, "We voted him leader and so far he's doing a good job."

"Untie me and make it a fair fight, I'll show you who should be leader."

I shook my head, "Not going to happen; do I look stupid? You're what, seven, eight inches taller than me, seventy pounds heavier? How is that a fair fight?"

"You're chicken shit."

"Okay, what's your name?" He turned his head away and refused to answer. "Let's go Harold, we'll come back in the morning and see if he's more cooperative then."

I stood up and started to walk out. "Alright," he said. "Wilkin, Thomas Wilkin, okay?"

I sat back down, "Hi Thomas, my name's Mike. Let's get down to business shall we? First, you attempted to blackmail one of the women upstairs for sexual favors; if you become a member of our little group and one of the ladies is receptive to your advances, I won't have a problem with that, but if you try to intimidate any of the women, or men, in any way, shape, or form, I will exile you. I will put you out the door with the zombies and I will not let you back in. Do you understand?"

"What if I refuse to go, how you gonna make me?"

I leaned forward, "The only reason you are alive right now is because the woman you tried to blackmail asked me not to put you out when you were unconscious. She figures those of us who are still uninfected need to stand together in order for the human race to survive. Me? I promised her I'd give you a chance, but..."

"Wait a minute," Harold said. "Was it Catherine he threatened?" I nodded. "You piece of shit!" The muzzle of his Garand drifted to Wilkin's head. "If she hadn't let the first of us in the security gate, we'd be dead! And you threatened her? What kind of a scumbag are you? Screw him, I say out the gate." He reached down and grabbed the wires tying Thomas and started to pull him towards the door.

"Wait a minute," Thomas said. "Wait, wait!"

"Harold, I promised Catherine to give him a chance to fit in."

"I don't think he can, shit he has no scruples, Jesus, and she saved his life."

"I can fit in! I swear." The look on Wilkin's face told me one thing, he was scared now, really scared.

Harold leaned over him, "Mike is our leader, and as far as I'm concerned, Catherine is the second in command. Guys like you, you're used to getting your way by physically intimidating people smaller and weaker than you, and you rely on the fear and the civilized behavior of others. Well Wilkin, civilization is on hold, and I'm not afraid the cops are going to come get me. You screw up, your zombie food, got it?"

"Yes, I understand."

I stood up and fetched a pair of wire cutters out of one of the boxes of tools. I snipped the wires and released him, but I stepped back and kept the Pps 43 ready. I wasn't about to give him the chance to jump me unprepared, but he sat up and rubbed at his wrists, and then rose to his feet. Judging from the way he was walking, he must have been really stiff from lying all that time on the cold concrete floor. Maybe I should have taken him up on that "fair fight." I probably could have kicked his ass big time; hindsight is twenty/twenty I guess.

When we got back upstairs, Catherine raised her eyebrows at me, but didn't say anything. I wasn't real eager to see Wilkins armed, I figured it was going to happen sooner, or later, but not this evening; I still wasn't anywhere sure I felt like trusting him behind me with a loaded gun. Dinner was ready, but it wasn't something you could write home about; Carol and Margaret did the best they could with what we had. Even as hungry as I was from not eating all day it was, well, edible. I wasn't going to complain though, they had worked hard and pickings were slim, maybe after we made our first salvage trip.

Everyone came to my apartment to eat except Tabitha, Chrissy, and surprisingly Jackie. She came and took three bowls of, whatever it was, back to Catherine's apartment saying she would make sure Tabitha ate, and would try to get some into Chrissy. I don't know why I was surprised she was the one who wanted to help, but I was. I guess the way she looked, and dressed; the way she complained because her gun wasn't big enough had me thinking she was going to be kind of self-centered. I wasn't going to tell anyone I had misjudged her, no sense exposing what an ass I was, after-all, folks need to believe in their leaders, right? I hoped I could be that for them someday, if I didn't get them all killed or infected first.

During the meeting we discussed the things we needed to do, the things we needed to forage for, and the beginnings of what Harold referred to as standard operating procedures, SOPs. We assigned a preliminary guard-duty roster, and discussed if there was a way to perform target practice, so everyone could get at least a little time in on his or her weapons. Harold said we needed standard clothing, so we could quickly identify each other if we were in a fight; I brought up Catherine's idea of leather armor, which everyone went for and ideas flew around about that. I think the younger ones thought it was a cool idea, of course Jackie wanted black. Can you imagine how hot leather was going to be when summer arrived? Now imagine black armor, we'd probably be dropping from heat stroke. We talked transportation and everything from bicycles, to motorcycles, to horses was suggested. I didn't think cars were going to be an option with all the stalled traffic on the roads, but we hadn't been out and around to tell for sure. Maybe only the main roads were blocked; we would have to wait and see.

There were things I had thought about already, which I didn't bring up at the meeting. I had noticed when I was headed home from Chaffey College there was a great deal of traffic in the vicinity of the shopping malls, especially the centers that had grocery stores. If we could make it to the local grocery stores, would there be anything left to make it worth risking our lives? Would we get inside and find the shelves empty? What if we got to the stores and discovered another group had already laid claim and they weren't in the mood to share? Did we try to take the food by force? If so, how many casualties would we be willing to take to gain access to sustenance? Another thing was doing room clearings, Catherine said if our leader was expendable, then everyone was, but men can't have babies; women were going to be an extremely valuable resource if things went totally to shit.

I needed a plan. We needed a plan, but we needed alternative plans also, if an idea didn't work, then what? I knew a lot of things we needed to get done, but how was I going to start? Where was I going to start? There was something tickling the back of my mind and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Needs? I had to establish a priority of needs, a hierarchy of needs, of course, Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs! Using a notebook and pencil I had been writing with to record the ideas people presented I drew a triangle and sectioned off the top, that was self-actualization, we were a long ways from being concerned about that one. The bottom was physical needs, food, air, water, and the things you needed to sustain life. Above that was security, and between security and self-actualization were social needs. Okay, I looked at it for a moment, I could see Maslow had never been chased by a zombie looking for a quick meal, so I erased the bottom two layers and wrote them back in reversed. Security came first, then physical needs. I was washed with a feeling of relief.

I made more notations below the triangle. _Secure first floor, Building A; secure first floor, Building B; secure Second floor, Building B._ I stopped, "Harold, did you and John chain the security gates at the end of Building B?" I went back to scribbling as he answered.

"Ah, Catherine didn't say anything about those doors. No, we didn't."

I spoke again as I wrote, "Take John, Rick and Joseph, go to my garage, cut some pieces of chain, and secure those gates for us, would you? Be careful and watch each other's backs because we haven't checked the apartments in there yet." I didn't look up, I just kept writing.

"We're on it boss. Come on guys."

I heard them walk out, but I continued to write and draw in the notebook. "Catherine?"

"Yes, Michael?"

"Second drawer from the top, next to the dishwasher, there's a measuring tape. Would you get it out please?"

She got up from the floor and I heard her digging through the drawer, "Here it is."

"Measure the inside width of the front door, and the height." I heard the tape extend and then silence. Shit, dyslexia, did it extend to numbers also? She said she had it bad. "Hang on Catherine; I'm not explaining what I want very well."

I walked to the front door and took the tape from her. "Thanks," she said.

I silently mouthed, ' _sorry_ ', and then stepped into the hall and measured the shallow alcove the door was set into, three foot four inches by six foot eleven. The apartment buildings were standardized, so all of the doorways would be the same.

"What are you thinking?" She asked.

"Tomorrow we need to check the apartments on the first floor for survivors, useful things, food, and infected. The downstairs apartments have the glass sliders just like ours, but theirs are on ground level."

"They all have the high fence around the little patio."

"Yes, they do, but I fixed a few of them that were getting weak for Mrs. Stone, the Manager. The contractor that installed the original privacy fences sunk the corner posts into the ground with no concrete and no preservatives for the posts, so most of them are getting pretty rotten. If someone decides to, they'll be able come through most of the fences as if they weren't there."

"That doesn't sound good for us." She was looking a little nervous.

"No, but there is still the slider and the front door and most of the zombies, the infected, don't seem too adept at using tools."

"Most?"

"The one I shot at the security gate before dinner? He had a piece of pipe he was carrying in his belt, and the arm of a child stuffed in his shirt. The pipe looked as though he had used it as a weapon, he used his shirt to transport food, and he was different. He didn't try to attack me through the gate; he just waited. Maybe he was waiting for me to open the gate."

"Do you think he was more aware than the others?"

"It sure seemed like it." I looked at her and she seemed tense, afraid. "So tomorrow we are going to concentrate on our security by searching the apartments for infected, but mostly and more importantly, to physically secure the building. In my garage I have about twenty sheets of three quarter inch plywood and two by fours I was going to use on my next job; now we will use it to secure the doors on the first floor."

She turned her head so she could see what I had been drawing, "So you're drawing pictures of ways to seal the doors?'

"Yeah, once we make a decision about how we want to seal the apartments, we'll make what we need before we start the searching process. I'm leaning towards sealing the front doors and conceding the actual apartments to the zombies if they can get in. It will take less material and probably will be quicker to do."

"Well, I'm glad I nominated you for leader." She gave me a quick smile.

"I may have figured this out earlier if I wasn't trying to think of too many things at the same time. Oh, by the way, you are officially the second in command."

"What? When did that happen?"

"It was Harold's idea, he told Wilkin you were second in command and after he said it, it made sense to me too. By the way, how good are you at drawing pictures?"

"I never made it past stick figures."

"Me either. See if anyone can draw, get together with them and come up with some examples of armor, okay?"

"Sure."

Harold and the guys came back and spread out on the floor of my apartment. I glanced around the room and realized everyone looked tired, dog assed tired. "Harold, is everything as secure as we can make it for this evening?"

"Yeah, but we need to have guards on duty all night."

"What did you have in mind?" I asked.

"Two people at all times, one at the head of the stairs at both ends of the floor. They can check on each other, so no one falls asleep while on duty." He rubbed his eyes.

"What kind of rotation?" I asked.

"Boss, I haven't slept since night before last. I'm having trouble thinking and I have the feeling almost everyone here feels the same."

I nodded. Looking around the room I could see it on their faces. Everyone was tired. "Has anyone got any sleep today besides me?"

Everyone looked at each other, but none said they had slept, or even had a nap. "Okay, it's seven o'clock now. I want everyone to find a spot, lie down and get some sleep. We have four apartments, so there shouldn't be a problem finding a place to crash. Catherine slept last night, and I slept a good portion of today. She and I will do sentry duty until one o'clock in the morning at which time one of us will wake up two of you to take our places. We'll wake you in time for you to shower and freshen up before you have to start. Two-hour shift and those two will wake two others to take their place and so on until seven in the morning when I want everyone up and busy. Okay?"

Everyone agreed and began to wander away. I looked at Catherine after everyone had left, "Can you keep going until one?"

"I'm used to late night hours, remember? What about you?"

"I slept a good four hours this morning and more when I had the headache. I'm good to go."

#

# Chapter Five

**3d Day:**

It was ten o'clock in the morning before we were ready to enter the apartments on the first floor. The time before that we used to make eight of the panels I had drawn up the night before and prepare them for installation. The noise we made seemed to draw the infected that were inside the security fence of the complex to the garage door where they concentrated and it was a little disconcerting trying to work while they banged on, or tried to push the door out of the way to reach the source of the noise. We were going to have to be careful about creating noise until we could clear and secure the inside of the security fence, that is if we could, the complex covered almost an entire block. Some times when I thought about the enormity of the tasks ahead of us I started feeling overwhelmed, when I did I tried to look at the smaller picture, just what I had to do next. It seemed to help.

After finishing, and carrying the panels to the first floor hall, Harold ran us through a procedure for entering the individual apartments. If the doors were unlocked we would simply open the door and rush in as fast as we could with our weapons at the ready. If the door was locked, John would force it open with his crowbar and Rick and I would enter as quickly as we could with John following and Harold covering our backs and the hallway. I would go first with the Pps 43; Rick would follow with his Thompson, and then John with Carol's Grease gun. We would all have weapons that were short and maneuverable while Harold would keep his Garand.

I measured each panel's width and marked the center, then measured and marked the center of the opening of the first door we were going to enter. I wanted to be able to slide the panel into place and align the marks quickly in case there was more than we could handle inside. The Panels were pre-drilled and ready for the 3/8th inch diameter lag bolts we were going to use to secure the panels with, and I had a cordless drill ready to screw in the lag bolts. All in all, we looked like a construction crew playing swat team. When everything was in place and ready, Rick and I lined up and John rested his hand on the doorknob then tried to turn it, it was locked. He looked at me and held up the crowbar, I nodded and he positioned the bar to force the door. What if there were more infected in there than we could handle? What if there were uninfected and we shot someone by accident? What if...Shit! I was second-guessing myself; don't think! Act!

I nodded my head to John and he threw his weight into the bar splintering the doorframe; I hit the door with my shoulder at a run and burst into the room with Rick close behind me. Empty. I swiveled and covered the hall to the bedrooms with my weapon; I could see both doors were open. I motioned Rick to take the guest room and I would take the master bedroom. Rushing forward I ran into the bedroom as he followed and took the other. I checked the bathroom, then the closet, and called out "Clear." From the other room I heard Rick call out the same, I relaxed and immediately began to shake, this shit was nerve wracking!

The bed was unmade and there were clothes scattered about half-open drawers. Someone had packed in a hurry and hadn't bothered to straighten before leaving. I walked into the guest room and saw the same thing except there were a lot of toys littering the floor along with empty drawers; it looked as if a family had packed up and left as fast as they could. I hoped they got out before the roads became jammed. Rick and I went back to the living room and kitchen to find John already going through the refrigerator and freezer; he looked at us and raised his fist, thumb up. I went back to the bedroom and stripped the pillowcases, which we used to load up all the frozen, cold, and dry foods we could find in the cupboards. We also found some larger pots and frying pans that would be useful for cooking our communal meals, and when we were finished, we slid the panel over and used the lag bolts to screw it to the wall. One down, three to go.

I dug through one of the pillowcases and removed a can of cola, which I opened and took a drink from, then handed to the others. My mouth had been so dry my tongue was sticking to the roof of my mouth and I was relieved to see everyone's hands were shaking as much as mine.

Harold smiled, "Kind of hairball isn't it?"

I nodded, "Is it always like this?"

"Pretty much, the stress level gets high when you don't know what's on the other side of a door."

"Do you get used to it?" John asked.

"Some, but a good dose of fear gets the adrenaline pumping, so your reflexes get faster. By the time you start getting used to it, you'll be better at it, so training takes over. You guys ready for the next one?"

We moved to the next door and went through the preparations as we did before, on my signal John popped the door and I rushed straight into four of them. I don't know how I managed not to be bitten, shit; I don't know how I didn't get shot. My ears were not only ringing, they freaking hurt.

Harold pulled one of the bodies off of me and helped me stand up, "You okay?'

I leaned against the wall to keep my knees from collapsing. If I wasn't shaking so badly I probably would have ran. "Yeah, yeah I'm okay. Shit! There has got to be a better way of doing this."

Catherine came running down the stairs, "What happened?"

Harold and I both waved her off, but Harold spoke, "Exactly what we thought might happen, zombies, but everything is good."

"No one hurt?" she asked looking at me.

I shook my head, but Harold answered for me again, "Everyone is fine Cathy. Just follow the plan like we agreed. Okay?"

She turned back up the stairs, but she didn't go all the way, she stopped and sat down where she could see us. I waved to her as if everything was fine and she waved back, but stayed where she was.

"You stay here, we'll take this one." Harold said, he motioned to Rick and John, they both looked scared.

"No," I said. "If I don't go now, I may never go again." I stepped over the bodies and entered the apartment with Rick and John close behind. There were two more bodies inside, which had been fed upon. A total of six people, three young men and three young women had been in there. Along one wall of the living room were six backpacks lined up; I wondered what their plan had been. Were they planning on packing out because the roads were jammed? Had they been planning on a weekend hike when all this crap started? Did it matter?

We searched the kitchen and found little of use, but in the guest room we found two mountain bikes. I told the guys to take the bikes and all six of the backpacks because there might be freeze dried food and camping equipment we could use, the bikes fit into a plan I was already thinking about. With the roads clogged the way they were, we would need some form of transportation faster than running, and I figured the bikes would fit the bill if we could find enough.

We sealed the apartment and moved to the next, but going through the next door was the hardest thing I have ever done. I did not want to go in, but I did; I didn't want the guys to know their leader was scared and almost frozen with fear. Someday they were probably going to discover it no matter how hard I tried to cover it up. The next apartment was a godsend. There was a complete set of larger pots and pans, a huge selection of DVDs, music cds, a Mossberg twelve gauge shotgun, and best of all, a small chest freezer full of frozen meats and vegetables. We would have enough food for maybe a week, or more, which would allow us some more breathing room, time for us to train at shooting and tactics with Harold, and time to make further plans. We were going to need it. The last apartment? It was completely empty and appeared, as though someone had recently moved out. There were buckets of paint and a new roll of carpet in one of the bedrooms

We removed everything we had collected upstairs for Margaret and Carol to organize, and then made the shift to Building B. Once there we started the process again on the first floor and then the second. In the eight apartments we searched, we found two more zombies on the first floor in separate apartments, and one on the second floor. All three were quickly dispatched; we also found another suicide. She was a woman who slit her wrists while lying in her bathtub on the first floor. It really bothered me when we found her because I thought of the way I had treated Ms. Barner's remains. We just left her and sealed the apartment like we had all the other ones on the first floors. On the second floors we filled the bathtubs for emergency water and left the doors open in case someone wanted to move into them. At the end of the day I was so tired I couldn't eat when dinner was ready; I just went to my bedroom and crashed. I guess fear can really suck the energy out of you.

**4** th **Day:**

I woke up early the next morning lying on my back looking at the ceiling. I lay there for a moment thinking of the day before and wishing...well, wishing I could get dressed and go to work. Wishing the donut shop where I normally picked up my coffee in the mornings on the way to work was open, wishing Essie was lying next to me. It was still dark, so I closed my eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but it was a lost cause, so I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

"What? Is something wrong?" Catherine was lying on the other side of my bed. She wasn't under the covers, but was under one of my spare blankets, so I guess you could say she wasn't sleeping with me. She reached over and touched my back. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. Why are you in here?"

"You were having nightmares, so I lay down next to you. It seemed to comfort you, so I stayed." She started stroking my back and it felt good, really good.

"I don't remember; I don't usually have nightmares." I could feel the tenseness in my shoulders starting to relax as she continued to run her hand over my back and shoulders. It wasn't a massage per se, just her touch; it was relaxing.

"Yeah maybe, but after the guys told us what happened with the first zombies it's no wonder you had nightmares. Harold says you're one of the bravest men he's ever known. I guess that's saying a lot considering he was in Iraq."

She wasn't there; she didn't see my legs almost buckle with fear. She didn't see my hands shaking so bad I was in danger of dropping my weapon. She didn't know; I wanted to tell her how scared I was then and how scared I am now. She deserved to know; I guess they all deserved to know. "Harold is a good man to have on your side. After we encountered the first zombies he volunteered to go in first and lead John and Rick while I waited outside."

"Why didn't you?"

"I was chosen as leader, so I have to lead." Yeah, I have to lead. I didn't want to be leader, I didn't want the responsibility, but people need to feel the best person for the job is doing what needs to be done. If they are calm, then maybe I will be calm and unafraid. Sure. "It's still pretty early, try to go back to sleep."

She tossed back the blanket she was using, rose to her knees behind me, and started to actually massage my neck and shoulders. "You're so tense your muscles feel like rocks." She started digging her fingers into my shoulders and neck and it felt so good I let her continue. I started wondering if maybe she was interested in me. You know, she seemed more concerned about me than anyone else. Would that be so bad? Yeah, I still think about Essie all the time, but?

She leaned forward and through her tee shirt I could feel her small breasts pressed against my back. "Want some advice?" I felt her breath on my neck and ear as she whispered.

"What?"

"Take a shower before you go out. You smell pretty ripe and make sure you brush your teeth too. Have you got mouthwash in your bathroom?"

Shit. "Sorry, guess I should have taken one last night, but I probably would have fallen asleep standing in the shower."

"That's okay, but you may want to change your sheets too. You were sweating really heavy when I came in, so they probably won't smell very good either."

"Thanks for reminding me." I stood up and fetched clean underwear and jeans from my drawers, and then headed for the shower in the spare room. I laughed at myself, what in the world made me think she might be interested in me? She was right though, when I got in the bathroom I took a whiff of my underarm and then got into the shower as quick as I could; the smell was bad. I wondered how she could stand to get as close to me as she did.

While I was shampooing my hair I noticed a sore spot at the base of my skull. When I probed it with my fingertips it was a little crusty and it felt like dried blood. I froze, had I been bitten when I tried to go in the second apartment and not noticed? I finished rinsing off and dried, and then dressed and went to the bedroom. Catherine was in the process of putting fresh sheets on my bed as I walked in.

"Are you hungry? I saved you a plate last night because it was pretty good. I can put it in the microwave or fix you breakfast if you..." She must have noticed the expression on my face. "What's the matter?"

I pulled my shoulder length hair aside and pointed to the injury at the back of the hairline, "Does that look like a bite to you?"

She stepped close and inspected the injury. "No, that's where the hair was pulled out when the zombie pulled you down on top of it, Harold told us about it last night. In fact, he suggested we all cut our hair short because it could give a zombie an advantage if things got tight like it did with you yesterday. Would you like me to cut your hair? It would be a shame because your hair is so pretty, but for safety's sake?"

I was on the verge of hyperventilation; I thought I had been bitten!

"You didn't know the zombie pulled you down by your hair?"

"No, Jesus, Catherine I thought I had been bitten." I took a couple of deep breaths, "Pretty? Men don't have pretty hair."

She smiled, "You do."

"Not for long." I have always prided myself on how well I cared for my hair and hated the idea of getting it cut, but I didn't like it enough to give a zombie a handhold on me. "Cut it after I eat?"

I was sitting in a chair with my hair on the floor while Catherine tried to get it even when Carol and Margaret entered. Carol's hair was so short she almost looked like she could have worn it as a crew cut. Margaret's hair was the same as it was before, wound into a tight bun. I guess she didn't want it cut. Margaret walked over and looked at my hair critically.

"Catherine, would you like me to finish that for you?"

I could hear the exasperation in Catherine's voice, "Oh, would you please. I thought it would be easy after watching my mom cut my dad's hair for years, but it's not easy at all. I haven't ruined his hair have I?"

Margaret ran her fingers through my hair and tsked. "I'm not sure; at this point it might be better just to shave it."

"If you think it's best," I said in a small voice.

She ran her fingers through my hair, feeling my scalp. "Unlike you, Mister Brookings has a smooth skull and looks quite handsome with his head shaved. However, your head is awfully lumpy and feels like it might be pin shaped as well; I better try to save what I can." She took the comb and scissors from Catherine and pulled the comb through my hair, made one snip and giggled. "Done."

All three of the women laughed. "Cruel," I said. "Just flat cruel." I walked into the bathroom to check out the results. My hair actually looked rather neat considering how short it was. Catherine stepped in behind me and looked over my shoulder, smiled and then ran the backs of her fingers over my cheeks.

"Shave your cheeks, but leave the beard on your chin. It speaks authority and confidence. It looks pretty good too." She placed her nose close to my neck and gently inhaled. "You smell better." Then she walked out.

"Glad I meet your approval." I mumbled to myself as I prepared to shave.

The apartment was empty when I finished shaving, but I could smell bacon cooking and followed the smell into Catherine's apartment. Margaret and Carol were frying bacon in three different pans and Catherine was making sandwiches as the cooked bacon was laid aside. Bread, we were going to need flour in order to bake more bread, and I wondered what else you needed for bread. For me, bread is something that magically appears fresh and ready to sell at the market. I don't even remember my mother baking bread.

"Just wondering, how much bread do we have?"

Margaret answered. "This is the last of it. We decided on bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast, so we can use up the bread before it molds."

"Okay, do we have the ingredients to bake bread?"

"We have some flour and yeast," Carol said. "But if you want bread to be a staple we're going to need more. Want a list?"

"Yeah, I know we have food for a while, but I don't want us to get short before we go foraging. I don't want to get into the position of ever having to do anything on short notice."

"Okay," Carol answered. "We'll sit down and put something together when we're done here."

"Thanks." I walked out into the hall again to check on the security. Carol and Margaret were doing a good job for us in a difficult situation. I wondered what their stories were; did they lose loved ones? What did they go through the first night of everything falling apart? I stopped and thought for a moment, I have had several different employers; a couple were the types to yell at you and denigrate your work, a couple were the type to praise your work. I always felt a great deal of loyalty for those that gave me praise. I turned around and started back, but stopped at the door when I heard the three women talking.

Carol was saying, "...doesn't smile much does he?"

"No, he doesn't." Margaret responded. "Of course none of us have a lot of reasons to smile the last few days."

There was a pause in the conversation, then Catherine. "He smiles sometimes, and I've seen him really smile. When he really smiles he brightens the room."

"Hmm, I've been meaning to ask you Cathy; what is the relationship between you and Michael?" Margaret asked. I froze. "What I mean is the relationship between Joseph and Terri, they're too young for that kind of thing, but everyone seems to be avoiding the issue. If you and Michael are together it could make it more difficult to convince the children they shouldn't be doing what they're doing." So others were thinking about the kids' relationship also.

There was a pause before Catherine answered. "I've known Michael one night longer than I've known the rest of you. I'm not sleeping with him, that is I did last night, but not in a sexual way. I think in times like these, people form attachments quickly and in the end, who is to say what is right, or wrong. My mom and dad have been married thirty years, have five daughters, and have been in love since the day they met. They slept together two weeks after they met and married a week after that. Joseph and Terri? They've been together two years and want to be with each other forever. It wasn't too long ago, Joseph would have been considered a man, and more than likely, Terri would be married by now and have a child, or one on the way. We're not living in the same world we were three days ago."

There was a protracted silence, so I walked away. At the end of the hall I could see Joseph sitting on the top step of the stairs with his rifle. I walked down and joined him. "Hey Joseph."

"Hi, Mike." He smiled and slid over to give me room to sit. "There's an infected woman that keeps coming back to the gate and pushing on it. Not hard, but she keeps doing it like, I don't know, maybe she used to live here?"

"Really?" I leaned forward so I could see the security gate below; there was no one there. "Listen," I said, "About you and Terri."

I saw him stiffen. "We're together and we're staying together. No one has the right anymore to tell us different."

"Relax," I said. "That's not why I am here. I don't care if you and Terri are having sex; my concern is, are you having responsible sex? All of us here have a vested interest in everyone else because of the danger we are in. I figured out the first night the only people who were going to survive were those who were fast on their feet and intelligent enough to learn. Ever seen a pregnant woman try to run fast?"

"No."

"Do you have condoms?"

His face turned red. "No."

"There are things two people can do together that don't involve the possibility of pregnancy when they don't have condoms. Do you know what they are?"

"I don't know everything, but we're experimenting. We haven't had regular sex for a while, even before the plague because we were worried about pregnancy."

"I'm glad we're having this talk Joseph because now I know the two of you are responsible. First time we go on a salvage run I'll try and get the two of you some condoms, okay?"

He smiled as I stood up, "Thanks, Mike." Down below I heard the gate creak and looked down. There she was, the zombie who kept trying to get in. I didn't recognize her.

"Margaret, Carol, and Catherine are making bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast, want me to bring you one?"

"No thanks, but I could use a cup of coffee. I'm still a little sleepy."

"I'll check." I walked back to Catherine's apartment and stepped inside. "Hey, is there any coffee?"

Catherine reached over her head, took down a cup and handed it to me while pointing to the coffee pot on the counter. I reached over her head and took down another. "One for me, one for Joseph, he's feeling a little sleepy."

As I was pouring the two cups Margaret said, "You need to speak to Joseph about his and Terri's relationship. When I tried he got angry, maybe if you do..."

"I already did." I said as I headed for the door.

"What did you tell him?" She asked as I walked by.

"That we'd get them some condoms the first time we went on a supply run." I walked on out. There was silence behind me. I didn't want to sound callous about her concerns and her view of morality, but like Catherine said, this was a different world. I was afraid if I ordered Joseph and Terri to stop what they were doing they might rebel, they might run off together and get themselves killed, or worse. I had other things to worry about without trying to police the sexual morals of others. Our little group was just that, little, and I didn't want it shrinking because someone didn't like young adults having sex. Was I uncomfortable about Joseph and Terri? Of course, but when losing has far ranging implications you take on the battles you can win.

I dropped the coffee off with Joe and then walked to the other end of the floor. From where I had been with Joseph I had not been able to see who was on guard there, so I thought it best to make sure no one was screwing off. When I reached the top of the stairs I saw Jackie, Joseph's sister, sitting near the bottom of the stairs. "Jackie, you should be farther up the stairs where you are not so noticeable."

"I know, but come here; I want to show you something."

I walked down beside her and looked out. There were three young men dressed in green track uniforms and they were all staring at Jackie. They would pull and then push on the bars of the security gate. "See the big guy on the left? He took state last year in the shot put and was nominated for the All-State football team for defense. The thin good-looking guy in the middle? He was quarterback for JV this year and will be quarterback for Varsity next year. Well, he would have been. The other guy I don't know; saw him around school a few times though."

I stood there and watched them for a minute; I didn't like the way they were working at the bars. "You went to Upland High?"

"Yeah." She raised one of her knees and rested her elbow on it, her chin cupped in her palm. It took me a second to realize she was flashing her underwear at the three young zombies. "You know, both of those guys took me out on dates, one time for each of them. When I wouldn't put out for them they spread it around school I was a whore. Joseph kicked the shit of the skinny guy, but the big guy kicked his ass. Funny thing is, if they would have been nicer, if they had treated me with a little respect, if they had waited a little while I probably would have done them. Back then I fantasized about them eating me, now I'm afraid they will.

I cringed a bit, "Do you like shocking people?"

She looked over at me and there were heavy black tears trickling down her cheeks. Her mascara was running. "Not so much anymore. Sometimes it surprises me when I say some things." She wiped at her cheeks, "You must think I'm really a bitch."

"Nope, I know better than that. You've been taking care of Tabitha and Chrissy since all of you came here. I imagine it can be pretty grueling, but you've stuck with it, says a lot about your kindness and desire to help."

"I heard a rumor that you and Catherine are an item, is that true?"

I wondered what she was going to say next when I told her no. "There's someone else I've been interested in for a long time. Catherine and I are friends and we just met the night before you guys showed up."

"Someone else huh, what's she like?"

"She's tall, long dark hair, the most extraordinary pale blue eyes, intelligent and kind." I punched Jackie softly in the arm, "And modest."

"Oh I see how it is," She giggled. "Well if you change your mind, let me know. Oh! One more thing, is it okay if I shoot those three fuckers?"

I looked at her for a second. We were going to have to clear the area sooner, or later. Why not? "Tell you what Jackie, wait until your shift here is over, warn everyone, and then if you still want to, go ahead. In the meantime, come back up here out of their line of sight. I don't like how they keep working at the gate. Okay?"

"Okay. Thanks Mike." I walked away shaking my head.

I turned into Ms. Barner's door and walked quietly through the room to the slider. Pulling the drapes back enough, I tried to make out the parking lot of the shopping center on the south west corner of Mountain and Foothill, but the trees along the street in front of our building were blocking the view. I exited and then went into Catherine's apartment and did the same with the same results. I passed my apartment and went in Hargrove's for the same purpose with again, the same results. I wanted to get an idea of how many infected there were around the shopping center, but the view was blocked from every window.

I left Hargrove's and headed down the stairs to the foyer between Buildings A and B, and then back up to the second floor of Building B. I walked quickly down the hallway with my Pps 43 held at the ready knowing the floor had been cleared, but I was still nervous being out of my own zone. At the last apartment I turned in and went to the drapes of the slider overlooking Foothill Boulevard. Still nothing, but I did realize there was no way I was going to be able to see the full parking lot. The market in the shopping center was laid out on an east/west line, but some of the other shops were laid out north to south. Unfortunately, the north/south buildings were blocking the view of the parking lot. The only way I would be able to observe the lot was to leave our buildings and travel down the street in the open; not something I really wanted to do. I mean, I knew without a doubt we would have to go out there sooner, or later, but I would prefer it was later, than sooner.

Starting back for our end of the complex I passed a door marked _Roof Access_ ; I tried the door, but it was locked. I was going to need the crowbar to get in, unless I had Mrs. Stones master keys. If we had the master keys we wouldn't have to force open every door in order to check them out. Crossing the complex wouldn't be all that much fun, but the keys would be a real bonus down the road. I headed back for our apartments.

When I arrived I could hear Harold's voice in Catherine's apartment, so I went there first. I was stunned when I saw his head, but remembered Margaret speaking of how handsome he was with his head shaved. "Looking good, Harold."

He ran his palm over his smooth pate and gave me an embarrassed smile. "Thanks, I don't know why I feel subconscious about it though. I had my head shaved the whole time I was in Iraq."

"Well, as you can see I didn't go the full route like you did, but I do feel a bit better about mixing it up with the infected. Look, I want to do a visual reconnaissance of the two shopping centers on Mountain Avenue and there really isn't anywhere in Buildings A, or B, where we can get the view I need; there's a roof access ladder in B, but the door is locked. I was thinking if we went to the Manager's office, Mrs. Stone, and borrowed the keys from her we could unlock any door in the complex without having to force them open. We could open the doors quietly and stand a better chance of surprising any infected inside. What do you think?"

Harold rubbed his chin. "Well, I don't know. We have the crowbar..."

"Mike! Mike!"

I turned and saw Joseph standing in Catherine's doorway. "What is it, Joe?"

"That Wilkin guy? I went in to wake him and Rick up for their turn at guard duty. Rick was up taking a shower in the gunroom, but when I tried to wake Wilkin...Shit Mike, he's dead ass drunk." He must have found the alcohol in Hargrove's apartment.

"Son of a bitch," Harold said. "I knew we weren't going to be able to trust that guy."

We got up and went to Hargrove's apartment and walked into the bedroom where we found Wilkin spread eagle on the bed snoring. The whole room stank of hard liquor. I motioned to Harold and he grabbed one ankle as I grabbed another and together we jerked him off the bed.

"Where to?" asked Harold.

"The balcony." We started pulling him into the living room and towards the slider. "Joseph! Open the slider."

Joe rushed ahead, drew the drapes and opened the sliding door. As Harold and I pulled his feet through the doorway, Wilkin finally started coming to. "Hey. Hey! What are you doing?"

"You were told Wilkin; you were told all it would take is for you to fuck up one time." I said.

"What, what did I do?"

Harold grabbed and shook him, "Your drunk you son of a bitch and you're supposed to be on guard duty. You are so done here!"

"Jesus! I only had a couple of drinks! Nobody said I couldn't have a couple of drinks!"

"Bullshit!" Harold shouted at him. "We told you, one fuck up, one time!"

"But nobody said I couldn't drink! Hell everybody drinks!"

I had this terrible cold rage in me, everyone was working so hard to survive and this sack of shit drinks his self into oblivion. "What do we have to do Thomas? Write it all out on a sheet of paper, everything you're not allowed to do? Do we have to write down your responsibilities to your fellow man? Do we have to draw you a picture about the dangers outside? What will it take to make you see the light, someone dead at your feet? Infected running down our hall? You tell me Thomas, what will it take?"

I pulled him upright and then Harold and I pushed him over the edge while I held his belt to keep him from falling completely over. Infected came running as Wilkin let out a scream. Within seconds there were at least ten leaping upward trying to reach him, "Oh God, don't, don't!" He began to vomit onto the zombies below. It seemed to antagonize them and they became frantic trying to reach him. He vomited again as he screamed and thrashed about. One of the zombies almost reached him as I pulled on his belt and dragged him back onto the balcony. I spun him about and guided him to the bathroom where I shoved him into the shower and spun on the cold water. It must have been an intense shock because he cried out.

"Harold!" I shouted.

"Yeah?"

"Make sure he showers and washes his filthy body." At one point I had grabbed him by his greasy hair and now my hand felt slick and oily. "And make sure he washes his hair, Jesus, when was the last time you washed? When he's done, bring him to my apartment, we're going to have a vote as to whether he stays, or goes."

As I walked out I heard Harold, "Stand up you pathetic piece of shit and get your clothes off. I want that body scrubbed!" I wondered if he had other clothes to put on.

Back in my apartment I found a piece of paper, tore it into twelve pieces and started writing on them. On five of the pieces I wrote _last chance_ , on three I wrote _out the gate with a gun,_ on the final four I wrote _out the gate_. I called everyone in and told them what Wilkin had done, what Harold and I had done, and how we were going to have a fake jury decision and make him think he was on trial for his life. I told everyone what had been written and how the outcome was already decided, but if he screwed up again there was going to be no mercy. Everyone agreed to my proposal. Interestingly, no one laughed, or thought it was funny. We were serious. One more mistake, and he was out.

Twenty minutes later Harold escorted a thoroughly soaked Wilkin into my apartment and sat him down in a chair. I explained to him he was on trial and we had just cast our ballots. I told him there were only three choices and in the event of a tie, I being leader would cast a second and deciding vote and I would repeat the same vote I cast before, out the door. I then handed him each ballot folded and had him read them out loud to everyone in the room. I saved the final _last chance_ until the very end. Maybe it was cruel, maybe it bordered on inhumane, but he needed to know this was his last chance. If he screwed up again, he was out.

I was a little surprised at his reaction; he nodded his acceptance of the vote, thanked everyone who was able to recognize his possible worth to the group and promised others would not be disappointed in his actions from there on. He stood up and left the room and there was a period of silence, I told everyone to return to what they had been doing and asked Harold and Catherine to stick around.

I was going over the idea I had previously about the master keys when Wilkin came back in with one of the Mosin Nagant rifles slung over his back, eating a bacon and egg sandwich and sipping a cup of coffee. He sat down against one of the walls and listened as he ate.

"I don't know Mike, yeah the keys would be good to have, but are they worth the risk involved? It's one thing to take a four man entry team and force open doors in the two buildings we've done so far and another to cross through the complex to a different area."

"The only difference is the distance to the manager's office."

"No, it's not," he said. "When we were doing our building, and Building B, we had a four person back-up team under Catherine standing by. Two members of the back-up team were female, are we changing the importance you placed on keeping the women safe?" He was right of course, I wasn't thinking of a back-up team at all. I was fixating on those keys, but the keys would make everything easier, and safer.

"I know we've been over this before," Catherine said. "But let's face facts; there are not enough of us to exclude the women from hazardous duty. We all have to share the danger now, maybe later if you guys can't get past the weaker sex thing we'll discuss how frail and incompetent we are and how we need to be protected."

"It's not about frailty, or being incompetent, or anything like that Catherine. Hell I'd love to have you cover my ass; you're one of the best shots here, if not the best. You know why I don't want you, or any of the other women, placed in undue danger."

"Breeding stock." She was getting angry. "This whole thing of protecting women is a bunch of bullshit. Throughout history we've stood by our men shoulder to shoulder when the shit was hitting the fan. My great-grandmother killed the Cheyenne warrior that killed her first husband. She built her own ranch, became wealthy and married her ranch foreman who was my great grandfather. He was murdered in Billings and she rode into town alone and killed both of the men responsible with a double barrel shotgun. Do I want to have babies someday? Hell yes, if I can find a man who treats me like an equal!"

Over by the wall Wilkins chuckled, "Shit Mike, don't you know better than to argue with a woman?"

He was right I suppose, men are linear thinkers and women think in a more spiral way. Where I would argue my points one by one until I reached my conclusion, A to B, B to C, C to D Catherine would be including all of her points simultaneously and it would spiral through all of her points. I would claim she was changing the subject, where actually she was either ahead of me, or behind me, suiting her position. I wondered sometimes if this inability of men in general to argue affectively with women is what leads to so much male-on-female domestic violence. Not that losing a verbal disagreement is reason to physically attack a woman, but there must be a portion of men who do.

"Alright Catherine, how would you set up a team to go to Stone's office?"

"Three men and three women, the entrance team should consist of two men and one woman. One woman at each end of the hall as security, one man, outside Stone's door to assist either of the security people if they need it."

I didn't like it. "I'm uncomfortable with a woman on the entrance team."

She looked exasperated, "Mike, you're dealing with a woman in her eighties, so you will be better off with a woman to talk to her first. Besides, what are you going to do, crash in her door without knocking and scare the hell out of her? What if she doesn't want to surrender the keys? Are you going to take them by force?"

"Of course not!" Jesus, what if she didn't want to part with the keys?

"Well, what will you say to convince her to give you the keys?"

"I got her to give me my spare key."

"That was the key to your apartment; we're talking about the keys to the whole complex."

I was losing and I knew it. "Besides you, who would the other two women be?"

"Jackie and Terri." She said it with no hesitation.

"Why? Neither one has fired their guns at people. How do you..." We heard three gunshots. Everyone looked towards my door, but no one got up. I hesitated, and then said, "How do you know Terri will be willing to shoot if it becomes necessary?"

"Because just like Jackie, she will to protect Joseph." She looked at my quizzical expression. "You don't think Joseph will allow Jackie and Terri to go if he doesn't go do you?"

"He doesn't have any experience."

Harold snorted through his nose. "You didn't have any experience yesterday morning."

I took a deep breath, "For being the leader, I'm sure getting led here."

"You're a good leader," Harold said. "Because you're listening to your troops. Don't try to do it all, all the time."

"Okay, is this a good idea, or not?" I had a feeling I was about to be put in my place.

Harold spoke first, "We will be risking our lives to get to the Manager's office; if she gives us the keys, great. If she doesn't and you're not willing to take the keys by force, then we're risking our lives for what could be no reason."

"Catherine?" I asked.

"What he said."

I nodded, "Okay, Operation Keys is off." I turned to Wilkin. "Thomas, go get John's crowbar and bring it here. While you're at it get your spare ammunition and belt, you're going with us."

"Okay." He walked out of the apartment.

I stood up from my chair and swung the Pps 43 around to my front where I checked it was loaded with a round in the chamber. Harold did the same and Catherine checked both her rifle and revolver. We stepped into the hall as Wilkin returned with the crowbar stuck behind his belt and we all headed for Building B.

When we arrived at the access door we needed to change the entrance procedure we had been utilizing. All of the doors we had entered to that point had opened inwards, which gave us a degree of reaction time if there was anyone on the opposite side of the door. The access door however, opened out and anyone inside would be able to attack faster than before. I positioned myself in front of where the door would swing out and shouldered my Pps while Harold and Catherine stood behind me. Wilkin had his Mosin slung while he fitted the crowbar into the doorframe and gave it a quick jerk to force the door. Empty, except for the ladder leading up to the roof.

I swung the Pps to my back and started climbing the ladder bolted to the wall of the shaft. When I reached the inside of the roof hatch I was relieved to find it was not secured with a lock, but with a carabineer slipped through the holes where a lock would normally be. I removed the carabineer and clipped it to the top rung of the ladder, and then bracing my back against the opposing wall; I held the Pps pointed up as I released the handle and the springs in the hatch lifted it open. Easing my head up, I gave the roof a quick look around and climbed out. After a more careful visual sweep I called down to the others and they climbed out to join me.

The apartment complex, from Buildings A to D, has a common roof so we were able to walk all the way to the end of the complex and observe most of the Mountain and Foothill intersection, the parking lot of the small shopping center on the north-east corner including the inside of the grocery store. I still couldn't see inside the grocery store on the southwest corner of the intersection because the apartment complex does not reach Mountain Ave; there is a small business center in the way. I decided to return after dark and hope the lights were on inside the store on the northeast corner. I wished I had my binoculars, but they were in the garage in Claremont with the rest of my emergency gear, so I would have to check and see if either one of the rifles we had with scopes would provide enough magnification to see any movement in the grocery store, or around it. The parking lot of the business center was going to be problematic; it was at several different levels and there were a scattering of smaller buildings throughout the lot that was going to make observation difficult.

Once we decided to actually make the supply trip to the market, we needed to place rifle teams at points where they could cover the foraging team. I began to think we were going to have to make preliminary trips to locate observation and security posts before we made the actual trip for supplies and what I needed was a detailed map of the area that showed the placement of the buildings so I could determine where the observation teams should be situated. What were the chances of coming up with something that detailed? Finally, with the realization that nothing could be accomplished yet, we returned to Building A after closing and securing the roof hatch we had come up in.

I spent the day basically pacing the floor and waiting for night so I could go back up to the roof and observe the grocery store. After walking into Ms. Barner's apartment for about the umpteenth time where Jackie, Joseph, Terri, and Tabitha were playing cards, Jackie looked up and shook her head at me. "Mike, what are you doing? You're pacing around like a tiger in a cage."

I told them what I wanted to do about going on a salvage run to the grocery store and how we would probably need positions for observers and rifle teams. I told them how I needed a map, or something to look over, so I could determine where the posts should be. Joseph laid down his cards and told the girls to deal him out of the next hand.

"Mike, have you tried any of the websites that provide satellite imagery?"

"You can get that on line?"

He turned on Barner's computer and after a few minutes of sitting and searching found what he was looking for. "Here you go. You can zoom in, or out, and you can get an oblique view also. Oblique is probably your best bet. These pictures may be a year, or two old, but things haven't changed around this area of town since I was a kid. Don't expect good resolution if you zoom in too far though."

He rejoined the card game as I sat down and examined the picture. You could see every building, even cars in the parking lots. He was right, if you zoomed in too far the picture quality did suffer, but the oblique views showed me the sides of the buildings I couldn't see from the roof. Amazing. Barner had a good quality printer and photo quality paper, so I printed out oblique views of the area and then shut everything off. I found Harold in Catherine's apartment.

"Harold, take a look at these photos and tell me what you think."

He took them and sat at Catherine's table. "What I am I looking at?"

I reached over and oriented the photo, which represented the view from the apartments. "This is the view from the apartments towards the grocery store on the northeast corner of Foothill.' I took the next photo and laid it out in relation to the first. "From the north." The next one, "From the east." Then the final one, "From the south."

"Shit, we can see every side. Are these real-time?"

"No, Joseph figures they're probably a couple of years old, but things haven't changed any since they were taken."

"Okay, let me look these over, but I think it looks pretty good at the moment."

"Prepare a plan and we'll it discuss at dinner?"

"Okay Boss."

Next I went looking for John. I found him in Hargrove's old apartment, which he was sharing with Wilkin, Rick, and Harold. "John, grab your 03 and come with me."

We walked over to Building B and climbed up to the roof and then to the eastern end where we could watch the Grocery store. I told John to start slowly sweeping the windows to see if there were lights on and to see if anyone was inside. It wasn't dark yet, and John told me he couldn't see through the windows because the setting sun was reflecting off the glass, so we settled in and waited for the sun to go down. Within forty-five minutes we could tell the lights were on in the store and John began to slowly sweep the inside of the store with his scope.

"I've got one...two...three...four, so far I've got four individuals inside."

"Can you tell if they're infected or not?"

He watched silently for several moments, "Yeah, my guess is they are. Hold it, yes they definitely are."

"How can you tell from this distance?" I asked.

He looked away from his scope and met my eyes. "It's only about two hundred yards and this is an eight power scope. I just saw one of them reach down out of sight and pull up an arm to take a bite out of."

"Okay, since he's not chasing the other people in there we can safely assume the others are infected also."

"Yep, kind of funny though. They all look like they would like to get out of there, but each time one walks by the automatic doors they jump back away from it. The door opening seems to startle them."

"Could you take them out through the glass?"

"Hard to say, the glass might deflect the bullet enough to cause it to miss."

"Okay, I'd rather not shoot out the windows anyway. When they jump back from the door do they stand still?"

"Yeah," he said looking through the scope again.

"Could you take them out when they are in front of the open door?"

"So far all I have is a shot at their legs and lower torso. I might be able to put a round into a leg, drop them to the floor, and then a follow up shot through the chest or something."

"We don't have to kill them right off at this range. We can hit them with a body shot and just let them bleed out. What do you think?"

"Sounds doable, but it might take a while waiting for them to open the door by accident and squeeze off a round at the right moment, and then a quick follow up before the door closes. I assume you want to keep damage to the windows at a minimum?"

"Yeah, you up for this?" It's one thing to kill in the heat of immediate threat to your own life, but it's another to kill someone at distance when they offer no immediate danger.

"Before you came to bring me up here I was thinking about my family, the reason I was on the road alone and ended up here. I went to search for my mom when she was late coming home and I found her on the street after she had been infected. She died, Mike, at least I thought she died, but then she came back and tried to kill me, my own mother tried to kill me. My dad was supposed to be home Thursday, but there's a good chance I may never see him again, you know? This disease isn't the fault of the infected, but the only way to stop the disease is to kill the infected. Yeah, I'm up for this."

"Okay, we'll come back after dinner and see if we can clear them out so we don't have to deal with them later."

"Mike, have you ever heard of the predator paradigm?"

"No, I don't think I have." I caught a quick flash of the first time I met John with the impression he was basically a young guy looking for fun. The last few days had changed him, or I was totally off my mark, he seemed a lot more mature now.

"Ever notice how predators laze around after they eat?" He turned his face to me and exposed his teeth. With his index finger he pointed at the upper canine teeth. "These are called canine teeth; their purpose is to rip at meat. All mammal predators have the same canine teeth in the front of their bite and we have them for the same reason. If you're hungry your reflexes are faster, your senses are more acute. I want to do this before I eat."

"Alright, try it out and let's see what happens." I wondered where he had learned of the predator paradigm, big words for a kid his age.

Instead of taking aim he stood up and walked back the way we had come. When he came back he had two short pieces of four by four and a two by four that piping on the roof had been resting on. He lay down and stacked the three pieces of wood on top of each other and laid the Springfield across them, he sighted, then removed one of the four by fours, then sighted again, but he stopped, pulled the two by four out and replaced it with the thicker piece. He settled into position and watched the storefront 200 hundred yards away. We waited countless minutes until one of the zombies stepped in front of a door and it opened. Rick's rifle bucked against his shoulder and the noise of the bolt operating sounded as though it was part of the explosion. Then his rifle bucked again and the zombie, now on the floor thrashing, jolted and grew still, and then thrashed about again as the doors closed.

"Damn John! That's some fine shooting!" I watched as the infected finally stilled.

"Not really," he said as he started sighting again. "I was aiming at his right thigh and hit his left knee, but that's okay because now I know which mil-dots to use for the next shots."

I went back to waiting as he followed first one, then another of the three remaining infected. Finally, he fired another two shots in quick succession through an open door and another fell. "Where did you hit that one?"

"Where I intended, right thigh and through center mass of the torso, but he's still moving; a normal person would be dead." He withdrew into silence as he topped off his internal magazine and began to follow another. The doors opened and he fired, "Shit!" he reloaded and fired again. The woman he was aiming at dropped to the floor, but the doors closed before he could get off the third shot. He waited for several seconds and the woman managed to rise to one leg. The doors opened and he squeezed off the round. She spun in place and dropped back to the floor where she attempted to crawl away. He fired again and she became still. He topped off the magazine again and started to follow the fourth and last one he had seen, but this one was now staying away from the doors. It was learning. Shit!

We watched for a long time, but like I said, it never came close to the doors. Finally I touched John's shoulder, "Come on, let's head back. Come back up early in the morning and see if it forgets about the doors being dangerous."

We rose and headed to the roof hatch only to find Catherine sitting on the hatch's lip waiting for us. "What are you guys up to?"

"Well," I said. "Originally it was just going to be observation, but I just witnessed some pretty good shooting. There were four zombies in the front of the store and John got three of them by firing through the automatic doors when they were open."

"What about the fourth?"

"The son of a bitch won't get near the doors. It learned it wasn't a good place to hang out."

"I don't like the sound of that." She was looking into the distance from where we had come.

"Me either," John mumbled as he started down the ladder. "We'll see how smart he is come tomorrow morning."

We watched him disappear into the darkness of the shaft. Before Catherine started down the shaft I glanced around the surrounding areas I could see from the roof and noticed a large swath of darkness to the south. It looked as though the electricity was beginning to fail and I wondered how long our portion of the grid would provide us with power. Catherine stepped into the hatch, but stopped, "You need to tell us before you do stuff like that again, everyone was worried."

"I'll try to remember," I said as she started down. I stepped in and pulled the hatch closed and slipped the carabineer into the holes for the nonexistent lock.

Dinner was ready when we got back and I made a point of thanking Margaret and Carol for the amount of work they were performing for all of us and I told them any time they needed help to draft anyone who wasn't busy at another task, and that included me. There was a collective groan from the guys. Harold, Catherine, and I went over the photographs from the satellite site and Harold laid out a possible plan for the supply run to the grocery store.

"See this building here? It's close to the security fence of the complex, about six feet maybe. I'm thinking we build a ladder out of the material in your garage long enough to reach the roof. The building reaches almost all the way to Mountain Avenue and has three separate roof elevations, which leads me to believe it is actually three different buildings. We'll need the long ladder to reach from the complex to the first building, then two more ladders for the transitions to the other roofs. After that we'll need a ladder to reach the level of the streets. I see the ladder to the street to be a major weakness in the plan."

"Why?" I asked.

"I figure we will need to carry backpacks, probably the ones we found when we cleared the other apartments, right?" I nodded. "A ladder will be a major chokepoint for the supply team."

Catherine nodded, "Five, or six people with backpacks filled with food waiting at the bottom of the ladder for their turn to climb to safety. It's going to give the zombies a chance to close on the supply team even if we have shooter teams covering them."

I leaned back in my chair. "Sucks to be the supply team."

Harold turned his palms up and looked at me. "Do you have enough material to make several ladders from the street to the roof?"

"No. Making just the ones to get onto the roof and the transitions to the separate roofs is doubtful. I don't know, maybe if we make the ones for the roof, so the shooters can cover the supply team back to the complex. It's a long run with heavy packs and weapons though."

"I don't think that's an option," Catherine said.

"No, it's not," said Harold. "From the roof we can access, to the only place the supply team will be able to gain entrance to the complex is close to 150 yards. That's a damn hard shot at a running zombie even for a trained sniper. From what I hear John is a good shot, but he missed even with a zombie standing still at two hundred yards, Right?"

I nodded, "Yeah, but he was pressed for time."

"He's going to be major pressed for time when the heavily loaded supply team is running from zombies who have nothing to slow them down and are on an adrenaline rush."

"With the weight of the packs we need to make the distance to safety as short as possible." God, why can't anything be easy? "I'm in good shape, but I know I probably wouldn't be able to run far, or fast, with a full pack of can goods. I'll be right back." I left and went next door where we had stored the backpacks. I emptied one out and then brought it back in and gave it to Carol, asking her to fill it with all the can goods she could.

"We'll know what we will be dealing with in a minute. In the meantime, if we had one of the apartment buildings on the east side of the complex..."

"But we don't," interjected Catherine. "And the idea of clearing more apartments makes me really nervous if we don't have to."

I didn't like the idea either; it was so damn stressful I was physically exhausted when we were done. Not to mention I was scared shitless, if I kept doing stuff like that eventually everyone was going to find out just how frightened their leader was. There must be other options I'm not seeing. "We're going to have to cross the complex as it is, and we're going to have to cross the complex every time we go for supplies. Wouldn't it be better to take one of the nearer buildings, so we don't have to cross it every time?"

"Damn it Michael!" Catherine's voice rose in pitch and volume. "You were almost bitten twice! We can't keep putting you out front and letting you take all the risks!"

I tried to keep my voice calm and low, but everyone was listening now, "Catherine, what makes you think I'm not willing to let others take risks along with me? When we make the supply run there is going to be people with me, otherwise we won't be able to get enough supplies."

"If you could think of a way to do it, you would. If you thought you could bring back enough by yourself you would go alone, wouldn't you?" Her voice was lower and calmer. "Wouldn't you?"

My mind was racing because I needed to get her off of the subject. Was I scared? Hell yes! But no one else needed to know just how scared I was. They deserved someone they could count on; they needed someone to lead by example. I didn't know how to explain it without exposing myself as the scurrying little rat I was, a rat frantically looking for a rat hole to escape through. Rat hole.

"Rat hole," I said to Harold.

"What?" I threw him with the change in topic.

"Okay, not rat hole...mouse hole!"

"Shit! Mike I'm sorry I didn't think of it before."

Catherine looked back and forth at us, "What are you two talking about?"

Harold leaned forward. "In Falujah, the insurgents would blow holes through the walls of one building to the next. That way they could change their location without exposing themselves to our fire. We called them mouse holes because they were small, low to the floors, and they passed through on their hands and knees like mice."

I smiled, "All we need is the ladder to the roof of the first building and a ladder down inside. We cut our way through the walls to the last building and set up where we can cover the supply team at closer range and the supply team has less distance to cover in order to reach safety. We will still have to cross the complex, but eight or nine people shouldn't have much trouble. We haven't seen that many infected inside the fenced area."

"If we do it like this will we have the material for a ladder back up to the high end of the building next to Mountain Avenue?" Harold was looking at me expectantly.

"Give me those photographs again." I started looking over the roofs of the buildings again. "See this shaded area here in the corner away from the street?"

They both looked at the pictures. Catherine shrugged her shoulders, "I see a shaded area, but I have no idea what it might be, Harold?"

He continued to stare at the picture. He shook his head, "I don't know much about construction, all I've ever done is work on electronics after I got out of the Army."

Catherine looked at him, "I thought you said you were an electrician?"

"Naw, I said I worked in electronics."

"Doesn't matter," I said. "But that looks a lot like a roof hatch to me. I could be wrong, it's really blurry, but it sure looks like the shadow of a roof hatch and it's in the right place for one. If there's a roof hatch there should be a ladder to access it."

Catherine rubbed at her temple, "I don't know, seems a lot to hope for."

"When hope seems small, it's time to work harder." I looked over my shoulder and saw Carol topping off the backpack with a can of tomato soup. She looked up, "Sorry, just something my grandma used to say, kind of corny."

I smiled, "Seems appropriate Carol and it doesn't sound corny to me at all."

"Thanks, the pack is full."

"Okay." I stood up, grabbed the backpack, and swung it up to the table. It was definitely heavy, but manageable. I crouched down and slid my arms into the straps and then stood completely up. "Catherine, how far do you think it is here inside our hall from stairwell to stairwell?"

"Uh, maybe 100 feet?"

"Okay, let's say five runs the length of the hall. Do you guys think that would be the equivalent to running from the store to the building we want to set up in?"

"Sounds close enough." Harold followed me out into the hall. I started running from one stairwell to the next and back again. When I finished I stopped and walked back to where I began. I could tell I smoked occasionally because I was gasping quite a bit.

Harold helped me take the pack off and I helped him put it on. Then he repeated the same process. It took him a few moments to get enough air in his lungs to walk back to us. "Jesus that was harder than I thought it was going to be, but I think I can do it when it comes time."

Catherine stepped forward, "Alright, let me try."

"No, you're going to be on the shooter team," I said. "You're a good shot and I'm not wasting your talent." I helped Harold out of the pack and Catherine immediately slipped her arms into the straps.

"You need to know everyone's abilities." She took off at a run and I could see she was having a little trouble maintaining her balance, but she smoothed out and finished the run. When she returned she was probably breathing less hard than either Harold, or I. Then I remembered, she rode her bicycle all the time, her legs were probably better developed than my own.

"Harold, Catherine, check out everyone, but John, Carol, Margaret, Tabitha and Chrissy. Make suggestions for shooters and supply runners."

"Okay Boss."

I went downstairs past Terri who was standing guard and into the garage where I grabbed one of my measuring tapes and then stepped back out into the foyer. I motioned to Terri and she walked over. "Terri, I have to go out for a few minutes, so I want you to watch for me when I come back. I'm going to leave the chain off because the door lock on this side works, but I don't want to be fumbling with a key if I'm in hurry, Okay?"

Her eyes were very wide and she nodded. "Are you going alone?"

"Yeah, it's just a short sneak and peek. I need a measurement in order to build a ladder so we can reach the top of a building. I've done this before and know how to do it, so don't worry, just be ready." I pointed towards the corner of the far building, "That's the direction I am going and probably the way I will come back, but I might come from a different direction if I run into trouble, so keep an eye out for me, okay?"

"Well, okay, if you say so."

I spun the nut off the bolt securing the chain and removed the chain from the gate. Looking in both directions first, I opened the gate, stepped out, and closed it behind me making sure it was locked before I headed off into the darkness, I needed that measurement and there was only one way to get it. I worked my way along the face of the garages of B, C, and D buildings staying in the dark as much as I could. Unfortunately, and something I hadn't considered, was not all of the garages were closed; Management rules stated all garage doors were to be closed unless in use, but I suppose when people left they were not too interested in obeying the rules. Walking by the darkened caverns at night without being able to see if anyone was in them was extremely hard to do; I almost turned around and went back, but what would I say when I returned? It was dark and I was scared? I should have waited and taken Harold, or Rick, or one of the other guys, but the thing I was most afraid of? Fear, fear of being the cause of someone else's death; no, I had to do this on my own.

At the end of the building, I had to cross almost directly under one of the overhead lights, so I did a Dugan and dropped to my stomach and peeked around the blind corner before I stood and ran through the lighted area and into the shadows again. I worked my way down until I came to the gap between buildings I knew was there and peeked around the corner again. It was clear, so I jogged down the empty space, stopped at the next corner and checked out the area between the back of the apartment building and the fence. Moving quickly into the area, I slung the Pps and pulled the measuring tape from where I had clipped it on my belt, extended it and tried to reach the top of the building. The tape was one of the one inch wide type and fairly stiff, but the first time I tried it the damn thing folded and collapsed back to the fence and ground. I had never really paid any attention to how loud it was when that happened before at work, but I will never forget how loud it was that night. On the second try I was able to reach the top of the building, but I couldn't read the tape in the dark. Shit! What was I supposed to do, drag the damn thing around to a light so I could read it! It dawned on me I hadn't thought this whole thing through very well.

The only thing to do was put a little light on the subject, so I dug in the pocket of my jeans and withdrew my cigarette lighter, struck it and read the tape, twenty-two feet to the top of the security fence. The security fence was six feet with four feet of wrought iron railing on top, so another ten feet of length; the ladder would need to be thirty-two feet plus a couple to reach over the top, so thirty-four feet long total. I allowed the tape to slowly reel back inside and clipped it back onto my belt before I headed back the way I had come.

I was passing by Mrs. Stone's building when I noticed the security gate was partially open. It was normally open so renters could enter the building to pay their rent or contact Mrs. Stone, but these were not normal times. I swung the gate open a little wider and stepped inside to where I could look down the lighted hallway. It was clear and even though Harold and Catherine were against the idea, I decided to try Mrs. Stone's door to see if there was an answer. I slowly advanced down the hall until I reached her door, but it was open about a foot, so I peeked inside as I slowly opened it further and saw her lying on the floor on her back just a few feet inside the apartment. She had a large hole in the top of her head and as I examined her I realized it was an entrance and exit wound from a bullet. My hands began to shake as I looked nervously towards the area where the bedrooms were located. Shit, what if the killer was still here.

I started to leave, but thought of the keys, if I could find them things could definitely be better for all of us. There was a desk along one wall in the living room with several key holders screwed to the wall, but they were empty. One was marked MASTER KEYS. Someone had killed her and taken the keys, I wondered what they had done with them, or were doing with them, were they going through the apartments like we had? Would they eventually come to our apartments? And if they did, how friendly are people who shoot an eighty-year-old woman for a set of keys? Like I said before, it's bad enough the zombies are killing us, we're also killing ourselves, and now it seems some of us are murdering the uninfected. It was insane.

I slipped out the door into the hall and then the unthinkable happened, the freaking lights went out. I stood there in frozen abject fear. Had someone turned the lights off? Was Mrs. Stone's murderer still here and had intentionally turned off the lights? I couldn't see my hand in front of my face and I began to panic. I felt about frantically until I contacted the wall and followed it towards where I knew the exit was; I slipped out the security gate and down the walkway to the drive. Outside I looked around and saw there were no lights anywhere, the parking lot lights, everything was off. I moved to the next building by the light of the stars and crept along the wall as I headed back.

When I came close to the entrance to our building I whispered "Terri, it's me, open the gate." She didn't respond verbally, but the gate swung open and I slipped inside, closing and locking the gate behind me. Reaching down, I felt for the chain and slid it back around the gate and frame and then slipped the bolt through and threaded the nut back into place. I breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the bottom steps as she sat down beside me. I was shaking badly and my skin was so sensitive it was tingling; I felt like there were bugs crawling on my flesh. The damned lights went out! How about while I was sitting in my chair having dinner? Why not while I was asleep in the middle of the night? Better yet, how about in the middle of the day, but not while I'm creeping around in fucking zombieland, shit!

There was a sudden flash of light beside me and I damn near jumped out of my skin; I looked and Catherine was lighting a cigarette. She drew on the filter until the tip flared and then placed it between my lips; I drew on it hard and inhaled deeply, then let it escape gently out of my lungs, I was going to have to give this up, but not right now.

"Why?" She asked.

"I needed to know how long to make the ladder."

"It took you this long to measure a wall?"

"I was close to Mrs. Stone's apartment, so I figured hey, two birds with one stone." How long was I gone? When the lights went out I must have been out of it for a few minutes now that I thought about it, I was frozen with fear a lot longer than I initially thought. What if everyone found out just how frightened I was? What if...

"I thought we weren't going to do that?"

"I was right there, so I did it."

She paused for a moment, "Okay, what did she say? Was she all right? Did you ask her if she wanted to come here?"

"She was dead."

"Oh, the infected got into her apartment?"

"Someone shot her and whoever it was must have the keys; I couldn't find them."

"Christ." She slid her hands around my upper arm and rested her head on my shoulder. I took another drag off the cigarette and offered it to her, but she whispered, "No thanks." I took another drag and snuffed it out under the sole of my boot. The lights flickered on for a moment then turned off, flickered again, came on dimly, and then came fully back on. Was there an emergency generator hooked into the grid? Did it come on automatically, or did someone flip a switch? Maybe it was nothing more than an automated response, which redirected the flow of electricity after something failed. Was there still someone trying to keep things going?

She let go of me and stood up, "You should go take a shower and get cleaned up. You're soaked through with sweat."

"Okay."

"I gave my bedroom to Joe and Terri, and Jackie is sharing my spare with Tabitha and Chrissy; do you mind if I take over your spare room?"

"Sure."

"John is supposed to take over here in another hour, so I'll be up then and take a shower myself."

"Okay." I walked up the stairs and into my kitchen where I wrote down the measurement for the ladder. I got in the shower and cleaned up, and then went to bed where I started jolting myself awake dreaming of the lights going out and things chasing me in the dark. I woke up again drenched in sweat and Catherine was whispering in my ear, telling me it was only a dream. I rolled onto my side leaving her facing my back, but she slid her arm under my neck and curved her body against mine. The problem is, it's not a dream, and our nightmares are coming true.

#

# Chapter Six

**5** th **Day:**

John came down early in the morning with a smile on his face and informed me the last infected we had seen in the store must have forgotten to stay away from the doors, so as far as we knew the store was now empty of any living infected.

Harold, Rick, and I worked together during the morning to make the ladder. I thought about the path I had followed to the edge of the complex property and decided to make the ladder in two seventeen-foot sections we could connect when we reached the area. There were too many sharp turns the thirty-four foot length would be difficult to maneuver around. When we took the ladder to set up, we would need my cordless drill motor and a handful of three-inch screws to assemble it. Another factor was the ladder was constructed of 2X4 lumber and was going to be very springy because of its length; only one person at a time would be able to use it even though I had doubled the thickness of the sides of the ladder segments.

By ten o'clock the ladder was ready and I gathered up Wilkin, Rick, and Joseph to assist us at carrying the ladder to where we would set it up. Wilkin and Joseph were to carry one of the sections, Harold and John would carry a section, and Rick and I would carry our weapons at the ready in case of trouble though all of us would be armed. Catherine, Terri, and Jackie saw us off and would stand watch at the two unchained gates at our end of the two buildings in case we returned in a hurry.

After exiting the gate we proceeded to the nearest corner where I observed the first infected, as I peeked around the corner I could see one jogging in our direction, his head turning constantly, searching for a meal. I held up my closed fist signaling everyone to stop and then eased the barrel of the Pps around the corner, aligned my sights and fired one round into his head. He dropped and I proceeded to the next corner with everyone in tow. Rick killed two more from his position at the rear of our formation before we reached the set up point.

Once the two sections were screwed together, I picked up one end and started walking with it over my head towards Wilkin and John who were using their feet to hold their end in place. The last ten or so feet were pretty difficult for one man to lift, but the other three men were needed to watch the approaches to our position. Once I had it straight up, we turned it and allowed it to come to rest against the top of the wall we wanted to scale. Harold pushed me out of the way with a wry grin as I started to ascend.

"Cathy says you are not to go first, so you get to be next after I call it clear."

"Catherine's not here." I was more than a little irritated.

"Nope, and I'll see you at the top." He started climbing.

"Shit! I'm supposed to be giving the orders." I looked around the rest of the guys for support.

John just shrugged his shoulders, "Dude, behind every great man..."

"Shut up." I started up the ladder as Harold cleared the top. The ladder was even springier than I thought it would be; it would probably be wise for everyone carrying a loaded backpack to lower the pack to someone else on the ground. At the top I scanned the roof and moved to where I could watch the approaches while the rest of the men climbed up behind Harold and me. When our security team was in place, we began the search of the roof for the roof hatch. It was easy to find, but it was latched from the inside and there was no handle for access from the roof.

"Well," Harold asked, "What now?"

"We go back to my garage and get the tools we need to open up the hatch."

"How are we going to that?"

"We'll cut a hole large enough to reach inside and release the latch, or big enough to get my bolt cutters in to cut any lock. If all else fails, we cut the whole hatch off."

"Let's do it then, but should we leave someone here to keep an eye on things while we're gone?"

"Yeah, I'd hate to come back and find an infected has climbed the ladder and is waiting for the first guy over the top."

"Okay, I'll take Wilkin, Rick, and John. That'll leave you with your Pps and Joe with a long-range rifle. What do I bring back?"

"It's better if I go because I know by sight what I need."

"Not going to happen, Catherine told us what you did last night. Shit Mike, every time you do something like that it makes the rest of us feel like you think we're children that need to be cared for. We're supposed to be a team, which means we all have jobs to do. We are your tools; the best tool for leading the guys back for what we need and then back here is me. I have the combat experience, so use what you have." He reached out and rested his hand on my shoulder. "Mike there's not a man here that doesn't know you are one brave son of a bitch; let us prove we deserve your respect also."

I nodded, "Alright, but listen, when you're on the ground..."

"I know what to do daddy." He turned away from me and said to the others, "Joe, you're here with Mike and don't let him do anything Cathy will kick my ass over; remember shit runs downhill got it? The rest of you are with me." He looked at me, "What do I bring back?"

So, I told him and the last thing I suggested was to put the tools in one of the backpacks, or even two. That would leave their hands free. Joseph and I took up positions to cover them as they descended and then started the waiting. God I hate being the one waiting. Only a couple of minutes passed before I heard an intense number of gunshots and started for the ladder.

"Nope," Joseph stepped in front of the ladder. "You should be manning your position in case they have to return here and need our covering fire, and I'm not getting Cathy mad because I let you run off into some shit."

I went back and anxiously watched the area I was covering. We needed radios, walkie-talkies, so we could communicate when we weren't in sight of each other. Not knowing what was going on was driving me to distraction. I was going to have to have a talk with Catherine, I was going to explain why I needed to be doing instead of telling and if it meant she found out my dirty little secret, then so be it.

"Hey Mike," I glanced over and saw him still watching his area. I looked back to mine.

"Yeah?"

"She's pretty smart, isn't she, Cathy that is."

"She's very smart and capable."

"Maybe you should listen to her more often. You're good at quick decisions and acting; she's good at thinking things through. Together you guys make a great team."

Shit. A great team huh, except half the team wasn't as great as everyone thought. My stomach was churning, what the hell was taking so long? I was struggling with myself to stay where I was; my body was screaming to go find the guys. I caught a glimpse of movement and pointed the Pps at the corner of a building. A hand and arm became exposed and waved, and then Harold stepped out into view and jogged to the ladder and started climbing. I kept watch as Rick, Wilkin, and John followed him and grouped at the bottom of the ladder waiting their turns. Then more movement, an infected ran around the corner and headed for where the guys were grouped; around the corner where they were they couldn't see him coming. I snapped off two rounds, and then a third before he went down. I raised my point of aim back to the corner.

Harold stepped up and pointed his Garand down the same way. "We had a little excitement on the way back."

"I heard. We need radios."

"Same thing I told Cathy when we got back, she said she'd put it on the shopping list."

"We need other kinds of radios also. There's nothing on the TV since the Speaker's announcement and most of the radio channels seem to be loops. If we had a ham radio maybe we could contact other people, you know?"

"Well, it's definitely something to think about." He seemed lost in thought as the last guy, Rick, climbed over the wall. "Do you have any experience with Ham Radios?"

"Not really," I said, "But how hard can it be?" Rick came over and took our place at security. "Come on; let's see if we can get that hatch open."

I rigged up a mandrill for the drill motor and ran a quarter inch drill bit through the top of the hatch. Then I screwed on a four-inch hole-saw and started drilling out the hole. Harold stood by with a can of spray lubricant and occasionally squirted the hole-saw to cool it. A couple of minutes and the hole was finished; I reached inside and felt around till I located the latch and pushed it down to release the catch and the hatch popped up.

Rick turned around and told us, "Hey guys the drilling is drawing a crowd."

"How many?" I asked.

"Five."

"Are they inside the Complex fence, or outside?" Harold asked.

"Inside."

"Shoot them," we both said at the same time.

I stood up and stepped into the hatch shaft as I heard the first shot. Joseph fired the next shot as I dropped below the roofline. The bottom of the ladder was inside of a closet and there was no telling what might be on the other side of the door. Harold had let me go first for one simple reason, the Pps. With its folding stock it was shorter than the Garand and had a greater magazine capacity in case I ran into multiple targets. I stepped off of the ladder to the floor and grasped the doorknob, I turned it and pushed it open as I swung the Pps up and around the room I could see.

It was storage room; there was a mop and pail, toilet paper, paper towels, assorted items a business might have for general clean up. There were also multiple cans of coffee, Styrofoam cups, boxes of sugar cubes and powdered nondairy crème. All things we could take back with us at the end of the day. Harold dropped to the floor behind me as I prepared to open the door to see what was behind it and he leveled his Garand as I turned the knob and pushed it open. I crouched as I fired upwards through the zombie's nose and into its brain, it dropped to the floor and the room was quiet. I stepped out past the body and scanned the room; there was no one else. I waved Harold out and he followed making room for John behind him.

There were several desks and one of them had a roll of paper towels and a lot of blood soaked sheets lying about. On the desk was a letter. " _I was bitten yesterday and haven't been able to leave because of all the infected outside the building. Probably for the best I guess, I don't want to take this home to my family. Whoever finds me, could you notify my wife? I'd appreciate it. Our family phone number is 555-1231, her name is Norma; tell her John's last thoughts were of her and the children._ I picked up one of the phones on the desk, but there was no dial tone, so I hung it up and walked to the door leading out of the room and listened at it for a moment. I turned the knob and pushed it open slowly and quietly.

There were several drafting tables scattered about and rolls of construction plans, stuff like that. On a counter deep enough for the storage of rolled up plans were a large copy machine, and a bank of radios and chargers, they were probably used while the engineers were on a job site to contact their office. The front of the building was plate glass and outside I could see infected wandering through the parking lot headed for the sound of our previous gunshots. The interior was well lit, so I wanted to turn the lights off if possible in order to get the radios, we needed those. I stepped back from the door and told Harold to see if he could find the breakers to shut down the power to the building, a moment later I heard a breaker being flipped off and the front of the shop went dark. I waited and watched to see if the lights going off had drawn the attention of the infected, and then crawled out the door to the counter. I reached up and pulled down the radios and chargers, which I stuffed into the front of my shirt and then I crawled back and slowly closed the door.

"Jackpot, Harold!" I pulled the radios out and held them out to him.

"Damn, ask and you shall receive!" He turned around to Wilkin who had just exited the storeroom. "Wilkin, go back up and put all the tools in one backpack, and then bring the empty one down, hold it," He took two of the radios and turned them on, he blew into the microphone of one and you could hear the sound on the second. "Take this with you and give it to John, they won't have to shout to get our attention."

"Gotcha," He said.

I walked over to the wall and examined it. It was obviously sheetrock on this side, but what was it on the inside? I figured it to be a common wall between the two stores, but we could be faced with cinder block, or even concrete.

The door to the front office had been hollow core and flimsy. "Harold, give me a hand moving this desk over to the doorway."

We picked it up a couple of inches so it wouldn't drag and placed it in front of the door. "Okay, let's see if we can get the other one on top of the first." We brought it over, but it was too heavy to set up on our own. We waited for Wilkin to return and when he did; we placed the second table, and then used some heavy nylon twine from the storeroom to tie the doorknob to one of the desks. Even if infected got into the front of the store we were now sealed off.

I shifted my attention back to the wall. First I used a one-inch hole saw to bore out the two top corners of where I wanted to start the opening we would pass through. With the reciprocating saw I cut straight down to the floor from both holes, then horizontally across the top. Inserting my fingers I began to pull down the two layers of sheetrock within the area of the cuts exposing the sound insulation in the wall. After the insulation was out I could see a layer of plywood; that was what I was hoping to find because my battery powered tools could cut through it. I cut out two metal studs within the opening and then started the process with the hole saw again, within twenty minutes we were down to the two layers of sheetrock, which would allow us to enter the next store.

Over the radio we heard John's voice, "You guys are getting quite an audience out here."

"What are they doing?" Harold asked.

"They're running back and forth in front of the stores. They can hear you, but they can't get to you. If a lot more come they might break out the glass fronts. Are you guys in a position where you can split in a hurry if they break in?"

There were four of us in the backroom and only one ladder out. "Harold, you and Wilkin go up to the roof, but clean out the stuff you can get into your backpack. Rick has his Thompson, so we'll both have large magazine semi's in case they get in."

"Are you sure?" He shook his head. "Cathy isn't going to like it."

"Two things, you said we needed to use the tools we have, okay I work construction so this is my bailiwick. Second, what Catherine doesn't know, she doesn't know. Now take off and let me do my job."

"You're using my own argument against me."

"Sucks to be you." I smiled. He waved to Wilkin and together they filled one of the backpacks with TP, coffee, sugar, crème packets, and coffee filters. After a few minutes Harold handed me another radio and they climbed up and out of the shaft.

"Okay Rick, let's see what's on the other side."

"Okay." He swung up the Thompson and waited as I started working the sheetrock back and forth until it finally came loose and I was able to pull it back through the hole. Nothing happened. I pulled the Pps into a ready position and stepped through the hole. We were in another backroom; I checked the door out and made sure it was locked. Next to the door was a light switch, so I flipped it on and walked to the far wall.

"Rick, grab the tools and bring them here." Another half hour and we were through into the last shop, it was gutted, but there was a pile of construction material in the middle of the floor space. Plywood, a stack of lumber, sheetrock, boxes of screws and nails, and two large toolboxes against the back wall beside the ladder leading up to the roof hatch. The only section of the front that was glass was the double doors which were the front entrance, and both of the doors were covered with heavy paper. Perfect. I climbed the ladder to the roof hatch, opened it, climbed out on to the surface, and walked to the eastern edge of the roof. There was a four-foot high parapet surrounding it and it was almost perfect to rest a rifle on and shoot from.

I keyed the microphone on the radio, "Harold, I'm on the roof can you see me?"

"Roger that, Mike. Do you want us to come to you, or do we head back, over?"

"Stay where you are, the walls of the store front are not glass; however, the doors are. Rick and I are going to reinforce the doors with plywood backing and install some brackets to bar the door, over."

"Roger that Mike, we'll stay here unless you call for us. Can you give us a time frame, over?"

"Maybe an hour, any infected around you, over?"

"We've got three on the Complex side and around ten on this side of the fence. Want us to take them out, over?"

"No, hold and keep a low profile, I want to see if they congregate down here once I start making the reinforcement for the glass doors. Then we'll deal with any hanger-ons, over."

"Roger that, we'll be standing by, over and out."

I went back down and examined the doors. I could screw pieces of plywood directly onto the doorframes, but was that the best solution? It was possible I might damage the glass and break it, which would leave John and me in an unappealing situation if zombies gathered outside drawn by the noise of sawing, cutting, and screwing. In addition, if we sheathed the doors with plywood it would hamper our ability to see what was outside before we opened the door; I could rectify that by cutting vision holes in the plywood, but that wouldn't allow us to see someone standing next to the walls. Ideally, we needed a foyer, which protruded out onto the sidewalk outside the storefront. Standing outside exposed while I assembled pre-built panels into a foyer didn't particularly appeal to me either, so I stared at it for a while thinking of, and then discarding ideas.

Rick stood there quietly letting me think, but I guess he finally got bored. "What are we doing?"

"I'm trying to think of a way to build a foyer without getting ourselves killed while we do it."

"So what are you thinking about doing?"

"The only thing I've come up with so far is pre-made panels that we carry out and screw together, but even with the screw gun to speed things up the infected will be all over us before we finish."

"That's not good." We stood there a little longer, "Mike, why don't we...never mind it would be too heavy to move."

I looked at him. "What?"

"Like I said, it would be too heavy to move; it was a stupid idea."

"Come on Rick, maybe we can work off your idea, or adapt it."

"Well, instead of building it outside, why don't we build it inside, you know, just big enough to fit through the doors?" I exhaled heavily and shook my head. He shrugged, "Told you it was stupid."

"Rick, it's not stupid, it's brilliant." I raised the radio and spoke into it, "Harold?"

"Roger."

"Leave John and Joseph there to cover our ass's and you and Wilkin come down here to give me and Rick a hand, over?"

"On our way, over and out"

I took out my tape and started measuring the door opening. After writing the measurements down I began looking through the pile of material in the middle of the floor. There were several different sizes of copper tubing and quite a bit of one-and-a-half-inch cast iron pipe for drains and vents. A stack of half-inch plywood and two by fours we could use for the construction of the foyer itself. Kneeling down by a stack of sheetrock I began sketching out the room I wanted to build, and the measurements of the material to be cut. My battery powered saw and drill were probably not going to be sufficient to do all of the work needing to be done, so I checked the two toolboxes and found both were locked with inset lock locations.

Harold and Wilkin arrived and I set them to measuring and marking two by fours while I prepared to open the boxes. I used the battery-powered drill and the same hole saw as before to cut through the side of the boxes over the top of the lock locations. The hole saw was not going to be deep enough to cut through everything that needed to be cut, but once the initial cut was made I switched to the reciprocating saw to finish. It took some time, and was noisy, but I was able to open both boxes. One of the boxes belonged to a plumbing contractor; the other belonged to a carpenter, so I ended up with a variety of power tools and electrical cords.

I put everyone to work cutting up the two by fours and the plywood, and before long we began the assembly process. The end result was a three-sided box, five-feet wide, eight-foot long and six-and-a-half feet high with a top. The fourth side was open, but had a one-foot lip all around the sides and top. When we pushed the box out through the doors, we would stop when the lip impacted the doorframe. We would then screw the lip to the doorframe, drill holes into the concrete sidewalk, drop anchor bolts through holes in the bottom plate of the box and tighten them down to hold the room in place. Incorporated into the eastern wall of the wooden foyer was a three-foot wide door held in place by both hinges and short sections of chain like we had used on the security gates back at the apartments, if the door were struck hard enough to break the hinges, the chains would still hold it in place. The inside of the door was designed for two wooden bars to be dropped into place when the door was closed, to secure it.

With the box constructed, I cut two lengths of one inch copper pipe into three seven-foot sections each, these we laid on the floor under the box as rollers for the box to ride over as we pushed it through the doorway. The doorframe itself would stop the lengths of pipe from rolling out the door under the box; we wanted the box on the concrete. I measured the box and the doorway once more to make sure it was going to fit, and as quietly as I could, disengaged the deadbolt on the doors. Harold and I moved to the inside of the box, while Wilkin and Rick prepared to push the back.

I counted aloud to three and we all pushed as hard as we could to build up momentum before we actually struck the doors of the store. The box hit with a tremendous crash of doors slamming open and breaking glass. Once the front of the box began to drag on the sidewalk it became harder to push, but we still had enough momentum for the rear lip to hit the doorframe solidly. Wilkin immediately started screwing down the lip to the doorframe and Rick rushed in and started drilling holes in the concrete of the sidewalk while Harold and I braced the inside of the box in case the infected started running into the sides. Within minutes, the box was secured and solidly in place.

We all returned inside the gutted store and sat down on a stack of sheetrock. "Rick that was one hell of an idea." I said.

Harold bumped fists with him, "Good job Rick." Wilkin didn't say anything, but did give Rick a smile.

"I may have had the idea, but Mike is the one who knew how to build it. Good job Mike, that thing's as solid as rock."

"Let's head back." I keyed the radio, "John, are there a lot of infected down your way?" I waited a moment then keyed the mike again, "Over."

"There are seven on the Complex side and a shit load on this side. Want us to take out the ones in the Complex, over."

"Yeah, we're headed your way now, over." I started for the hole between the stores, and then keyed the mike again, "Out." All this 'over' and 'out' stuff seemed a little corny, but what do I know? We heard the gunfire start as we headed for the roof hatch and home.

Catherine was excited about the radios, I guess she was pretty tense the whole time we were gone, so she thought the radios would come in handy when there was a group out of the building. I hoped she was right. I tried all the channels the walkie-talkies were equipped for, but got no response from anyone, but there had to be others out there somewhere. Maybe no one was listening when I tried; we would have to try again later.

We spent the rest of the day working out who was going on the supply run, and who was staying. Harold, Catherine, and I finally decided the shooter team would consist of Catherine, John, Jackie, and Terri. The supply team would be Joseph, Wilkin, Rick, Harold, and I. Margaret and Carol would stay in our building with Tabitha and Chrissy to man the doors and watch for our return. We had four radios, so Margaret and Carol would each have one, the shooter team would have one, and naturally the supply team would be equipped with a radio.

When I went to bed I lay there for quite a while staring at the ceiling. Tomorrow might not be a lot of fun, when we were on the roof before climbing down into the Complex I couldn't believe all the infected we had attracted using the power tools and shooting the zombies on the Complex side of the fence, there had literally been hundreds. If there was still that many I was going to cancel the supply run and wait a little longer to see if they drifted away. They didn't seem to have much of an ability to focus for longer than a few minutes, so it might happen, or not.

I wondered if Catherine would come and check on me, to see if I was having nightmares. It might be nice, could be nice. I felt a little guilty for having thoughts like that, not that Essie would care, she didn't know how I felt about her. How did I feel about her? Was it love I felt? Lust? I had tried several times to call her to see if she was okay, but it always went to voicemail and the landlines weren't working. Who was I kidding; she was probably dead, or worse. I was trying to concentrate on her as I was drifting off, but I kept hearing Catherine's voice whispering in my head, "It's only a dream."

**6** th **Day:**

We didn't see any infected on the way to the ladder, but we were careful anyway. This time, Rick and Joseph lifted the ladder while Harold and I held the bottom in place. I was the first up and signaled for Catherine to follow as I took one of the overwatch positions and Catherine took the other after she was up. Everyone else followed and we pulled the ladder up after us. It was difficult, but I wanted everyone for the supply run, and everyone for the shooter team. I lead the way down to the floor and then to our jump off spot.

Catherine examined the box we had built and declared it was stronger than she envisioned. I felt gratified she appreciated it and I noticed Jackie was really pumping up Rick for coming up with the idea. I called Terri over from where she stood beside Joseph and told her she was going to be in charge of the door when we left. I showed her how the bars worked, and showed her the slots we had cut in the walls to look and shoot through. I also told her to keep an ear out for any shouted commands from Catherine, or Rick, and be ready to do whatever they told her. I led Catherine, John, and Jackie to the roof where the girls got their first look at the area they would be over-looking with John. I could see a few infected down by Foothill Boulevard, but I figured we might be able to avoid detection if we went with a sneak and peek approach instead of a shoot and scoot. I left them there and returned to the store where I nodded to Harold and he performed a radio check with Jackie. She was to be a back-up shooter with her primary job being communication, leaving Catherine and John to do the shooting.

The five of us who were the supply team lined up at the foyer, for lack of a better term, and waited as Harold made radio contact with Carol and Margaret. "Margaret, Carol? Do you copy?"

"Go ahead Harold." It was Carol's voice.

"Time for some target practice."

"Okay."

We waited for a few seconds before we heard the first shot, quickly followed by another, and then several more. The ladies were finally getting the target practice they sorely needed and at the same time trying to kill zombies and create a hoped for diversion. The infected seemed to be drawn to noise and their target practice would definitely perform the function.

Harold spoke into the microphone again, "Jackie, how's it look up there?"

"Some of the zombies are moving west on Foothill towards the apartments. Not all of them though." There was a pause, and then, "Over."

He looked at me and I nodded, "Roger that Jackie, We're going now, out."

Terri pulled the door open and we rushed out. I ran to a line of shrubs along Mountain Avenue staying as low as I could. When I reached the bushes I dropped and wormed my way through and then belly crawled to the cars that were packed together on the street. I rose and started duck walking between the cars as I worked my way across the street, and then checked behind me and could see the rest of the guys closely following. The traffic lanes northbound were just as packed as the southbound, so I worked my way through those and prepared to cross into the parking lot. Behind me Harold hissed and I stopped while he caught up.

"Ten o'clock."

I looked to my forward left and saw the infected that was running through the parking lot in our direction. He had seen us and was coming. I raised the Pps to prepare to fire and Harold pushed the barrel down, pulling his bayonet out he attached it to the muzzle of his Garand and moved in front of me exposing himself to the infected. The zombie charged straight at him as Harold lunged forward and punched his blade up under the man's chin and into the brain. He withdrew the bayonet and took point, heading in the direction of the store. Behind me I heard Joseph and Wilkin fixing their bayonets. I wished I had one. I ran and caught up with Harold as he approached the doors of the market. For a second I thought they were not going to open, but they did and he ran in with the rest of us directly behind.

We kneeled down with everyone looking in different directions. "Okay, everyone we all know what we're after. Wilkin, Joseph, and Rick, frozen foods and meats are that way. Harold and I are going to start over at the pharmacy aisle. There are three of you so you have the extra backpack, fill it last. Watch your backs and watch each other's backs. Work towards the center of the store and Harold and I will do the same, got it?"

They all nodded and we split up. This was the one thing I wasn't real keen about. I didn't like the idea of separating our group into two parties, but had allowed Harold to talk me into it based on his experience. I don't know, but I'd read how it was almost always a bad idea to split your forces. Each portion was weaker without the other, but Harold said we were close enough to give each other mutual support. Tools, I was a construction grunt, he was a rifle grunt and we were doing rifle shit. Okay, we'd do it his way.

We hit the aisle by the pharmacy and began picking out what the ladies had listed, the one thing I grabbed, which wasn't on their list was two boxes of lubricated condoms. I threw them in my pack and moved on. I remembered what it was like when I was sixteen with the testosterone raging, and turned back and grabbed two more, just to be safe you know? I had a feeling I was going to be Terri and Joseph's best friend. We both grabbed the feminine products on the list and shoved them into each other's bags and moved to the next aisle. That's how it went until we reached the middle of the store; the other guys hadn't arrived yet.

Our packs weren't completely full yet, so we continued on grabbing articles as we went. Finally we entered the next aisle and there was Joseph and Rick filling the extra pack we had brought along. We joined them and helped them stuff the pack while I asked, "Where's Wilkin?"

"Said he missed the spaghetti noodles and went back for them. I told him to stay and we'd all go together, but he said it was a lane we'd already been through and it was safe there." Joseph was close to out of breath.

"Damn it, the rules are for everyone's safety!" I said. "Shit! Okay, you're full so head for the front, but don't expose yourself until we're ready to leave, Okay?"

They took off dragging the extra pack and I sent Harold with them. I jogged heavily down the lane until I reached the end and cut over to check the lanes for Wilkin as I passed each one. I was passing the second from the end when I saw Wilkin at the opposite end jog by going the opposite direction, so I turned and followed him to the front. When I got there the four of them were kneeling down and strapping down the tops of each other's packs. We were next to a display of incense and incense holders, so I grabbed a handful of the holders, handed them to Harold, and told him to stuff them in my pack. While he was doing it I grabbed two handfuls of incense and had him stuff those in next, and then I reached over and picked out two packages of disposable butane lighters and pushed them into my back pockets. Finally, I moved down to the checkout stand that dispensed tobacco and took a pipe, a couple of pouches of pipe tobacco and pipe filters, which I also jammed in my pockets. As I looked around I could see everyone was filling all their pockets with whatever was handy.

When no one could get anything else in I nodded to them, "Everyone ready?"

They all nodded back and Harold spoke into his radio, "Jackie, how do we look out there, is it clear, over?"

"Not really, there is a lot of zombies, alone and in small groups coming down Mountain. I think they're headed for the sound of Margaret and Carol's shooting."

Harold looked at me with a question on his face. I nodded to him and he spoke into the radio again. "Carol, Margaret, cease fire, over?"

Carol's voice came over the radio, "Okay Harold." The firing we could hear in the distance stopped.

"Jackie? What are they doing now, over?"

"Some have stopped and are milling around, but there's a big group, a really big group still coming about half a block away, over."

"How big is really big, Jackie, over"

"There's maybe a hundred, over?" Her voice sounded scared.

Harold looked at me, "You want to hang out here? Sneak and peek, or shoot and scoot?"

I rose up enough to look over a display of packaged firewood along the front window. "Too many milling around for sneak and peek." I looked at the rest of the guys, "You guys up for shoot and scoot before the big group gets here? We could be stuck here for a long time with doors that don't lock without keys."

Rick answered first, "We go and quick."

I looked at Joseph, and he nodded his head, yes.

"Wilkin?"

"Staying wouldn't bother me if we could block the doors."

Harold didn't wait to be asked, "We go now and fast."

I pointed to the radio, "Tell them we're going to shoot and scoot, but not to fire unless they see we're in danger, or we start firing, okay?"

He spoke rapidly into the radio as we moved to the door we came in. I waited until everyone was lined up and Harold had the radio in his shirt pocket before I stepped in front of the door and it opened. I rushed out and waved Harold past and then Rick, so they could run interference for Wilkin and Joseph who were carrying the extra backpack between them. They had their rifles slung and were running with their pistols in their hands. I followed last to give them a little extra protection.

We weaved our way through the parking lot and I saw Harold take out two zombies with his bayonet before Rick finally had to shoot to cover Harold's back. We all broke into the fastest run we could manage as heavily loaded as we were. From the roof across the street I heard the rifles start firing over and over. We reached the street and started weaving through the cars, looking up Mountain, I could see the group Jackie had warned us of and they were closing fast, but we'd get to the door first if nothing else happened. Wilkin and Joseph were starting to struggle with their load and I began to worry whether they could keep up the pace with the extra pack.

They had made it to the sidewalk when two infected came running out of the shrubs from opposite directions. Wilkin dropped his side of the pack and forced his way through the brush and into the upper parking lot as he fired his pistol at one of the infected. I shot and took out the one after Joseph, but Joseph hadn't dropped his side of the extra pack. He was dragging it on the ground, trying to force his way through the brush.

I yelled at him, "Drop it Joe and run!" He looked at me and let go of the pack as he finished pushing through the plants and ran for the door of the building. When I reached the pack, I picked it up and heaved it over the hedge and then pushed myself through the same way Wilkin and Joseph had. Once through I grabbed the pack by one of its straps and lifted it while I was trying to run. I heard Catherine's voice screaming at me, and when I looked around three infected were exiting the brush and coming straight for me. I lifted the Pps one handed and fired a round into the chest of the closest, but he kept coming. I tried to aim again, but before I could pull the trigger his head exploded, I aimed at the next as I struggled with the pack and that one was hit in the head before I could squeeze the trigger. The third hit me from the right rear under my outstretched arm and I tripped over the pack I was dragging. I hit the pavement hard because of the weight of the pack I was wearing and the zombie that had his arms around my waist. He was biting at me repeatedly, but seemed to be getting the strap of the pack instead of my side. I desperately tried to roll away from him, but the pack was holding me in the vulnerable position I was in. Letting go of the Pps I grabbed the man by his hair and tried to pull his head away, but the leverage was wrong. I punched him in the face repeatedly, but I may as well have been punching a wall. He just kept reaching for my side with his teeth; a boot slammed into the side of his head, which gave me a chance to get my forearm under his chin and push his head back as a .45 fired and the bullet passed through the top of his head. I tried to roll him off, but the angle was wrong, so a hand came down and dragged the body off and then helped me regain my feet. I looked into Joseph's face as he grabbed one strap of the pack; I grabbed the other and the Pps off the pavement. We struggled to the open door while Harold and John fired past us as we passed through the door and into the empty store; behind me I heard the door slam and the bars fall into place.

I dropped to my knees and hands and gasped for breath as I tried to remove the pack I was wearing. Someone lifted it off of me and I fell forward and vomited, and then vomited again as I was trying to get air into my lungs. I choked, hacked, and managed to clear my throat just before I vomited up bile. I spit and gasped again. I was shaking so hard I could barely hold myself up.

I heard Harold, "Put the weapon away Wilkin."

"He's infected, look at him!"

I turned my head and looked up at him, the Webley .45 revolver he carried was pointed at my face. I looked back at the floor and dry heaved. My breath was beginning to ease as I sucked in more air. I pushed myself back until my ass hit my heels and looked up in time to see Catherine press the muzzle of her .357 against the side of Wilkin's head.

"Drop the pistol now fucker or I will kill you where you stand." It was a voice I had never heard before; it was cold, full of icy rage.

I tried to speak, but I croaked instead, tried again as I heard the hammer of her pistol snick as she pulled it back to a full cock position. I glanced at Wilkin and the muzzle of the revolver slowly pointed away from me. He leaned down and laid it on the floor.

"Harold," she said. "Get this piece of shit out of my sight."

"Yes Ma'am." He prodded Wilkin with his bayonet, "Pick up your pack and head upstairs. Wait for us there."

Wilkin didn't say anything; he just picked up the pack and started to leave. "Wait," I managed to get out. "Take your weapons."

"Bullshit." That tone was still in her voice.

"Well," I said, "I'm not carrying them back. He can carry his own shit." I managed to stand and then sit on the stack of sheetrock. Wilkin bent down and carefully picked up his pistol and rifle, and then walked away. I leaned over and heaved again, which set off another bout of severe shaking. Jesus, they almost got me, it was all I could think. Over and over, they almost got me.

My breathing slowed until it was normal and the shaking passed. I stood up and Catherine was standing there looking at me, her rifle in her left hand and her right resting on her hip above the pistol. There was coldness in her eyes as she stared through me. She knows now, I don't have to hide the fear anymore. They all know and I felt myself swept with shame. I reached out and picked up the Pps, then stood and headed for the roof hatch at the other end of the building. She followed behind me, but didn't say anything. Why would she want too?

All the backpacks had already been raised to the roof by the time we arrived, so I climbed the ladder and out onto the roof. Everyone was waiting his or her turn to go down the ladder, so I waited until I could climb down. I picked up one of the packs and got my arms into the straps even though it was a struggle, and then waited for the ladder to be lowered. When everyone was ready we left for the apartments and...well, most of it's a blur. When we arrived I shed the pack in Catherine's apartment and went to my own. I took a shower and then lay down to stare at the ceiling.

I wondered how things would play out, who were they going to pick as the leader? It would obviously be Harold, or Catherine. Probably Catherine, Harold seemed most comfortable when he was being told what to do. I drifted off to sleep and woke up to the sound of the shower in the spare room. Looking over at my alarm clock I could see it was eleven-fifteen, did it take this long to pick a leader? I drifted off again and woke up when my door opened. It was eleven-thirty, Catherine walked in and I could see her form silhouetted by the lights behind her. I should have found her a better nightshirt, something thicker that wouldn't expose her like that. She walked over to my side of the bed and set something down on the bedside table, and then moved to the foot of the bed where she climbed on to it and lay down beside me. I caught a whiff of incense burning.

"You awake?"

"Yeah."

"Did I wake you?"

"No, been sort of drifting in and out."

"Everyone says thanks for the incense. The stench has started to get noticeable." What does a dead city smell like? Try to imagine.

"Yeah." Funny, I don't remember thinking of the smell until she mentioned it, so why did I grab the incense at the store?

"Joseph and Terri say thanks for the condoms." I could hear the smile in her voice. "You should have seen Margaret's face when she pulled them out of the pack. I thought she was going to have a seizure."

I smiled in the darkness.

"I want to apologize to you." The smile in her voice was gone, it sounded more tentative.

"Apologize?"

"For the way I acted, you didn't need the cold bitch routine. It was just, I was so angry when I saw you grab that damn backpack after you told Joseph to leave it and run. Mike, what were you thinking?"

"We needed those supplies and the infected were closing in on us. Those two packs together are half again his weight, he wasn't going to make it."

"But you thought you would?"

"I never saw those three zombies, they caught me by surprise. Luckily you got two of them."

"No, I got one, John got the other."

"Well, thanks anyway."

"You didn't see the others coming either did you? The ones Harold and Rick were keeping off of you as you and Joe ran in."

"No."

"Just as you reached them they both ran out of ammo at the same time." Now I remember, the distinctive 'ting' the Garand clip makes when it is ejected from the rifle. "Harold had to use his bayonet on the one hanging on to your pack; you were pulling the damn zombie along behind you."

"I didn't know."

"I was so pissed, I was so scared," her voice was beginning to break. "I thought you were bitten over and over. That's what it looked like from where I was. I ran down to the ladder and when I got down Thomas was pointing his gun at you and I wanted to kill him. I almost did, even after he lay his gun down. You were vomiting and shaking so bad..." She broke down and started to quietly cry.

I raised my arm over her head and she slid in against me, resting her head on my chest. I pulled her in tight and tried to say soothing things, but what do you say, I'll try not to die on you? I turned onto my side and pressed my face into her wet hair as I stroked her back. She pulled her head back and then kissed me lightly on the lips, I kissed her back with more fervor and she responded. I should have gotten us a box of condoms too.

#

# Chapter Seven

### 14th Day:

800 pounds of food goes a long way toward relaxation. Maybe we shouldn't have relaxed, but we did. With Maslow's first two levels taken care of, even if temporary, we now had a chance to take a look at the third, social needs. We could relax for a while and get to know one another and just breathe. From the balconies of two of the apartments in Building B we collected gas grills, which we used extensively for cooking in the hallway of our building. Yeah, I know, cooking with an open flame indoors? Carbon monoxide and all, but we didn't want to cook outside on our balconies for two reasons: rotting corpses have a tendency to ruin the taste of your steak, and zombies trying to invite theirselves to your cookout are somewhat unappetizing as well.

Don't get me wrong, it wasn't some sort of idyllic little society we had, there was friction once the immediate all pervasive danger was over. Wilkin and Margaret seemed to team up, not as a couple, but as the local morality police. They tried to separate Joe and Terri, and prevent John and Jackie from getting together. I thought Rick and Jackie were going to be an item, but it turned out Rick was gay and that raised Margaret and Wilkin's ire also. They said Catherine and I were a bad influence for the younger folks, but it almost came to a parting of the ways when Chrissy killed herself.

If you stood Chrissy up and led, or pushed her, she would walk if you directed her physically. If you held a spoon of food to her lips, she would accept the food and swallow it, and the same with water. She had to be bathed and Jackie dressed her with diapers, which Jackie changed and washed. Other than those simple tasks, Chrissy was gone; she wasn't home. She became a fixture around the building and it was easy for most to sort of forget she was there. Joseph and Wilkin were in the kitchen one afternoon working on the drain of the sink and Wilkin needed to get farther beneath the counter, so he removed his pistol and laid it on the table. While he and Joseph were occupied, Chrissy used Wilkin's revolver to shoot herself beneath the chin and up through the head. It was a mess.

Margaret immediately laid claim to Tabitha once the responsibility of Chrissy was gone. She said Jackie was unfit to care for Tabitha because of her youth and immoral behavior with John and she was taking Tabitha no matter what anyone had to say about it. Tabitha had a lot to say about it and refused to go with Margaret, she wanted to stay with Jackie. Things escalated until I threatened to exile Margaret and Wilkin if they didn't drop all the bullshit concerning everyone else and I allowed Tabitha to choose whom she wanted to live with. Guess who she chose?

I think no one was particularly surprised by the overnight change in mine, and Catherine's relationship, I guess most figured there was something going on before there was something going on anyway. There really wasn't much change, I mean, we were still spending most of our time together the same as before, except now we were holding hands, or she was perched on my lap, and we were sleeping together every night instead of just when I had nightmares. I still had thoughts of Essie, and I couldn't honestly say Catherine and I were in love, not then, I think maybe I considered us sort of comfortable with each other. Best friends? Best Fucking Friends? It was more than that, much more than that, but I had to lose her to discover how I truly felt.

We were still doing the two-hour guard shifts and any couple that was with each other could not work a shift together, my rule sorry to say. It was early morning and almost time for me to take Catherine's place at the east stairs; I had just sat up in bed when I heard a distant rumble and immediately thought a freight train was traveling down the tracks about three blocks south of our position. I stood up and in the mirror over my chest of drawers I saw the ceiling fan over my bed begin to sway, and the freight train rumble became louder, and louder, and then the floor leaped upwards collapsing my knees and slamming into me. Then it fell away and slammed me again on its way back up. I scrambled to the door on my hands and knees and made it into the hall and then the kitchen where I could hear some of the women screaming and some of the guys also. From the kitchen I made it out the door and turned east trying to reach Catherine. Then the shock waves shifted and began to slam me back and forth a different direction throwing me to the floor again. From my knees I saw Catherine's face appear above the level of the floor as she tried to reach me from the stairs. The look on her face was heartrending, she was so terrified and I remembered her telling me once she had never been in an earthquake. I was slammed to the side again as I saw the east end of the building lean in, out, and then back in as it collapsed like a house of cards crumbling towards her. I screamed her name as she disappeared in the collapsing structure, then covered my head as it came to me, and then passed me. I vaguely remember trying to breathe in the choking dust and debris before I slipped into unconsciousness.

I didn't know how much time had passed when I woke up. My head hurt pretty badly and I could feel blood that was tacky in some places, and crusty in others. It wasn't completely black in there, but it was very dark, so I felt around and discovered I was in a narrow space created by what I assumed was the collapsed ceiling of the hallway and the northern wall. There wasn't enough room to turn around; hell there was barely room to roll over. I started to panic, but after several deep breaths I managed to calm myself. Think, where am I? I had just come out of the apartment and was headed for Catherine, is my head oriented in her direction to the East, or did I fall backwards and I'm facing west? If the wall beside me is the back wall, the northern wall of the hall, then if I crawl forward I'll be going towards the last place I saw Catherine. I started crawling forward. It occurred to me the wall I was crawling beside was probably two by six studs, which meant freedom was around seven inches to my left if I could claw through the sheetrock and plywood sheathing before my fingernails ripped out. I kept crawling forward into a smaller and smaller space; finally, I couldn't squeeze any farther forward and stopped.

I started wriggling backwards, but it was difficult, very difficult. As I tried to travel in reverse I wondered how many of the zombies had been killed in the earthquake; probably not very many, they had a tendency to stay outside unless they had a compelling reason to enter a building. One can only hope. I reached my starting spot and rested for a moment before pushing myself farther back into the space, it seemed to be getting taller, but I wasn't sure because it seemed to be getting darker also. Maybe it was just wishful thinking.

I rested and started pushing myself backwards again and soon realized the space above me was getting marginally higher and the floor area wider. After a while I came to one of the gas grills, it seemed to be supporting some of the ceiling of the hall, but it also was taking up a lot of the room on the floor, I couldn't get by it. I rested my head on the floor and closed my eyes for a few minutes. Think damn it! I helped one of the guys I had worked with bootleg in a fire corridor in a warehouse, which in essence is what the hallway of my apartment building was. It consisted of the framing and two layers of sheetrock on both sides in order to attain a fire protection rating, so if my corridor was built the same then it could be broken through, or cut through. It might take a while, but it could be done. Most of the time Carol, or Margaret, would wash the barbeque utensils and then hang them back on the grill. I reached through the bottom of the grill and felt around; there was a brush, tongs, and a spatula, I unhooked the spatula and started gouging the sheetrock of the collapsed ceiling.

Time is different when you're working in the dark. Your concept of time lengthens, or shortens, and it's hard to tell which it is. I kept at it doggedly, wondering if I was going to be able to get out and help Catherine, maybe she was alive, trapped the way I was and waiting for me to come for her. I thought about shouting out her name, but if there were any infected around they were sure to come to the sound. The spatula finally cut through the first two layers of sheetrock. I worked myself around until I could get my knee against the sheetrock and pushed against it with all my strength; it popped and broke inward. I turned my body back and drug the edge of the spatula through the break and worked out the two finished pieces, and then did the same with the layer beneath. I now had a hole sixteen inches wide and five-and-a-half inches deep. I started on the next two layers.

Once I had broken through the final layers I could see I was now in what had originally been the attic space above the hall. The crawl space was much larger than the one I had been in, but I still couldn't stand up, and there was a slight breeze drifting through the space, so I knew there was an opening somewhere allowing fresh air in. I worked my way back towards the direction I now knew for certain was where Catherine had been. As I neared the end of the attic, I could see the gleam of shining metal ahead, and when I got to it I could see it was the inside of a metal grill whose purpose was to deny entrance of rodents, birds, and bats into the attic while allowing air to flow through it. There would be another at the opposite end. I tried to see out, but it was still dark and I couldn't see anything. I listened and close-by I could hear the sound of cloth being ripped. I decided to take the chance and called out her name, "Catherine?"

The sound stopped for a moment, and then continued. If it would have been Catherine I felt sure she would have answered, so I decided to wait until light when I could see what was below the ventilation grill. Leaning against the inside of the attic, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. My head hurt and I was feeling nauseas, but I drifted off though I was awakened numerous times by severe aftershocks.

When I awoke it was almost daylight, so I inched forward and looked through the grill again. I could see that I was looking down on the foyer of Building A and B, and the stairway to the second floor had collapsed on top of someone and they were crushed from the middle of the shoulders and up. A plaid shirt and jeans had been ripped clear and the infected had fed off the body down to the bone. I kept looking around for anything that would allow me to believe it was someone else, but all I saw was her lever action rifle, the stock shattered and the barrel bent and twisted. An infected moved into view and began to chew at one of the exposed legs, so I turned away and moved in the opposite direction where I could feel the breeze on my face. It was time for me to go.

I reached the other end of the attic and saw the same grill, so I kicked at it until it dislodged and I could finally push it out with my hands. It was going to be a tight fit, but I stuck an arm and my head through the opening and wormed my way out inches at a time. Freeing myself I stepped out onto the rubble of my apartment building wearing nothing, but a pair of boxers; the scene around me was unimaginable. The city, in every direction, was a smoking collapsed ruin. Fires were burning everywhere, water mains were broken, but were no longer spraying water. Where the mains had broken there were pits washed out of the roads and cars had slipped into the muddy water. I started off to the east where my Aerostar lay upside down on Campus Avenue; I needed my keys.

I used Dugan's sneak and peek all the way to Campus the way I had two weeks before. Jumping fences, which still stood, and walking over those that had collapsed. The first chance I got, I rolled in a mud puddle and smeared it over my entire body and my boxers; the weeks of being indoors had whitened my body and I figured I probably stood out like a neon sign against the back drop of rubble I traveled through. After hours of traveling, hiding, and watching, I reached a backyard that bordered on Campus Avenue. Looking over a vine entangled chain-link fence, I was able to see my van a couple of hundred yards up the road resting on its roof. Instead of jumping the fence and jogging up Campus in full view, I turned in the direction I needed to go and stayed in the backyards of houses.

I saw the remains of Gin and the infected that had been killed with her, but America's body was gone and I finally had to admit she was probably on the hunt somewhere and it had a profound effect on me; I prayed I wouldn't meet her again.

The final yard I stayed in was not the last house before the location of my van; the cinder block wall of the closest house was a low tangle of rubble, which provided no cover. I stayed in the yard for an hour watching the surrounding terrain before I jumped the wall and ran to the van. I crawled inside and yes, the keys were still hanging from the ignition, so I turned the switch to the off position, pulled the ignition key out and slid the key ring over one of my fingers. Crawling to the back of the van, I opened the compartment containing the jack and removed the tire iron; now I had a rudimentary weapon. I wasn't ready to go looking for trouble, but I wanted to be as ready as I could be if it found me. The search for trouble would come later.

I didn't know how long it had taken me to reach the van, but I knew it would take three times as long to reach my garage in Claremont. It had taken me five hours the first day to reach my apartment, so figure fifteen hours to reach my emergency supplies. I wouldn't be able to get there before dark, so I decided if I found someplace defensible along the way I would spend the night there and finish the following day. I set out for my food, my clothing, and most important for the idea forming in my head, my weapons.

It didn't take me fifteen hours; it took two days. Two days of thirst and by the time I arrived, hunger was setting in also. I absolutely refused to drink any standing water because of the strong possibility of it being infected with God knows what from the sewer mains. If the water mains were destroyed, you could count on the sewer mains being broken also. I could do without water for a couple of days, but a bout of giardia was another matter altogether. I had been infected with it once long ago and I didn't want to expose myself to it in a world without modern medicine.

When I arrived in the backyard of the house behind my rental, I spent an hour just observing the area. I saw multiple zombies wandering around the neighborhood, but saw no signs of uninfected. The garage was completely intact, though I could see some cracks in the reinforced concrete I had used for the first four feet of the walls. The stucco above it also had cracks, and in some places portions of the stucco had broken free and fallen to the sidewalk which surrounded three sides of the building. The house on the property was another story; it had fallen in upon itself and was probably about four feet high at its tallest point. I wondered if Mister Tarkian, the renter, and his family were inside the rubble, dead along one of the many roads, or on the hunt for fresh meat.

When I built the garage I surrounded it on three sides with chain-link fencing and the actual walk-in entrance of the garage was encased inside an enclosed chain-link box. First I would have to use a key to remove the lock on the gate of the fence and then unlock the door to the inside. The dangerous part was getting in the gate; once inside the fence with the gate locked, I would be safe. I waited a few more minutes and then bolted for the gate with the key to the lock in my hand. I unlocked the gate and slipped inside closing it behind me. After reinserting the lock, I started on the door into the garage. I inserted the key, twisted the lock and tried to pull the door open, but it was jammed. I stepped back and looked at it. The building was shifted somewhat, not much, but enough to jam the door. I inserted the pointed end of the tire iron into the gap between the door and the doorframe, turned the key and pulled on the handle of the iron. The metal door groaned and then popped out allowing me to enter. I gave a quick eyeball to the neighborhood, and then stepped inside and closed the door behind me. It was dark inside; I'd done a good job sealing it when I weatherized it.

The first thing I did was go to the hose bib attached to the series of water heater tanks along the opposite wall from the door and spin the handle to take a drink from the valve. Three days without water made the water in the tanks taste sweet as a fresh spring. There were a total of six 100-gallon water tanks from old water heaters I had accumulated over the years from a friend who was a plumber. As I received each one, I added it to the previous ones to increase my emergency water supply. In order to constantly refresh the water, the lawn sprinklers ran off of the water from the tanks and the tanks were connected to the city water supply. Check valves prevented the water from the tanks siphoning back into the city mains in the event of pressure loss and the lawn sprinklers could be shut-off manually, or automatically, which I did as soon as I had my first drink in three days.

Now for food, I unloaded a propane camp stove from my enclosed trailer and connected it to a bottle of propane. I lit the stove and then placed a small pan of water on to heat. I dug into a backpack, which contained my bug out kit and removed a package of freeze-dried Chilimac for lunch. Opening the back lid on the Jeep, I removed the Mossberg twelve gauge shotgun inside, loaded it from a box of 00 buckshot, and then loaded a bandoleer with what was left of the box and another. The water on the stove was hot, so I poured a portion into the Chilimac package, resealed it and set it aside to rehydrate. Going to the wall next to the door, I lowered a partial sheet of plywood, which was attached to the wall with hinges and supported by chains. There was a section of six inch thick foam padding attached to the plywood, which I covered with a wool Army blanket and a pillow. I opened the Chilimac, gave it a final stir with a spoon and started eating. The package was intended for two people, but I ate it all. When I finished the meal, I drank another cup of water and lay down on the bed; I hadn't slept much over the last three days, so I don't really remember my head hitting the pillow. I slept the sleep of the dead.

I woke slowly. I was groggy and my eyes were full of sand, I reached up to clear the grit from the corner of my eyes and groaned from the stiffness and pain. My whole body ached, the bottoms of my feet were in pain, and I had several split toenails from stumping them in the rubble. I was going to have to recuperate before I could set about the task that was formulating in my head. I wanted revenge, I wanted to kill zombies, and maybe on some unrecognized level, I wanted it all to end. The pain I felt for losing Catherine became consuming at times, and guilt, I had never told her I loved her. I had continued to think of Essie even while I fell in love with Catherine.

Recuperation first, I needed to be in my best form, I needed to be strong and fast, and there were things I was going to need if I was going to kill as many infected as I could, for as long as I could. It was something to live for. Killing was something to live for. I was going to be alone with no one to watch my back, so I would need armor, like the armor Catherine had wanted to make, but I couldn't sew and I didn't know how to make things of leather, maybe there was another way. I thought of one of the guys I used to work with when he wasn't in jail, he was a full on biker, chopped Harley, leather riding clothes, and a total asshole, he ended up in prison the last I heard. The leather riding clothes though might be a way to go; they would definitely be harder to bite through.

**31** st **Day:**

Two weeks later I made my first trip out of my garage. I had already been out of the garage several times to dispose of the contents of the portable toilet I had been using, but it was two weeks before I actually went out on my first trip. It was sneak and peek all the way and I wanted to avoid contact with the zombies if I could. Before I had carried the Pps 43 and I had grown to really like the little lightweight weapon, but now I had my M1 Carbine with ten thirty round magazines. I had done some work on it to make it more capable, especially at night, or inside dark buildings, I added an LED light to the side of the barrel where it wouldn't interfere with the bayonet I had for it; seeing Harold use his bayonet had convinced me of its usefulness.

I wanted a leather motorcycle jacket, leather riding pants, heavy gloves, and probably a helmet; the items I was looking for were going to be crucial to my future safety. I wanted a full face helmet, but I feared the facial protection would be off-set by not being able to fire my weapons effectively, so I would probably end up with a helmet without face protection. I knew where I might find what I needed if the building was not completely destroyed, there was a motorcycle shop up on Foothill Boulevard, which catered to street racers, that was where I went.

After the initial outbreak the infected had stayed close to the main thoroughfares because it was where the most food could be found. Now they seemed to have spread out and didn't congregate like they had, they still would if they were drawn in somewhere, but generally they were spread out. This made it marginally safer to travel if you were extremely careful and I was. I spent a lot of time crawling on my belly, or on my hands and knees, I never crossed in the open standing up, and if there was nothing to hide behind, I didn't go there. The end result was it took me forever to get anywhere on foot. There was a time coming when I would want them to find me, but not yet, not till I was ready.

I found the remains of the motorcycle shop and was able to collect everything I had set out to find, but it took a long time because I had to be careful digging through the debris to avoid making noise and more than once I had to stop and hide while one, or more infected passed by. I took back to the garage a hip length leather jacket, leather bib type pants, gloves with long cuffs, a pair of close fitting pilot's goggles, and one of those beanie type helmets, I had an idea of how to adapt the helmet to make it more zombie proof and that required another pair of pants. I was back at the garage by nightfall and set about building my armor.

The jacket and pants I left alone with the idea I could adapt it as time passed if necessary. The jacket had a high wrap around collar, which would protect my neck in addition to a soft neoprene liner that although intended as protection from cold wind, provided an extra level of protection beneath the collar. The shoulders, elbows, and forearms of the jacket were padded in case of a crash, which would also be helpful if I ran into an infected that used weapons, I had noticed a few more who were carrying an assortment of hand held weapons; they seemed to be learning, or the ones using weapons were more successful and were lasting longer. The gloves had padding on the top of the fingers, which made it almost impossible to insert a finger into the trigger guard of the carbine, or either of my other two firearms, the shotgun and the PSL. In addition it was difficult to swap out magazines because the magazine release was small and removing magazines from the ammo pouches was impossible, so I cut off the tips of the glove fingers at the first joint.

My final project was the helmet. Though the helmet would provide some protection if I encountered an armed infected, its real purpose was to support a leather veil wrapped around my face and a type of skirt to cover the sides and back of my neck and head. I wasn't planning on leaving the infected a weak spot to attack, a full-face helmet would have served the purpose well, but have you ever tried to run sprints, or aim a carbine while wearing a full-faced helmet? The only problem I ran into was the front of the veil slipping down over my nose, so I removed a compression strap from a sleeping bag sack and sewed it onto the veil across the nose so I could clip it with a side release buckle in back of my head; it worked perfectly.

While digging through my trailer looking for the strap and side release buckle, I came across an item I had forgotten about. It was a SOG Fusion Tactical Tomahawk. I had purchased it from the same gun shop when I bought my PSL in Arizona because I had been struck with its appearance. It was all black with a nylon sheath, which held the tomahawk inside with three snaps. It had a normal looking blade on the front, which was sharp enough you could shave with, and the back had a sharpened steel point that could penetrate sheet metal. If you only connected two of the snaps, one under the blade of the tomahawk and one under the spike, when you unsnapped just one it would literally drop into your hand. I figured it would be an excellent addition to the bayonet on the carbine, and a must have when I was carrying the shotgun, or the PSL, neither of which could sport a bayonet. I decided to try out the leather armor the next day.

**32** nd **Day:**

Rising early I prepared for the day. I put on the jacket and then over it I put on my Vietnam era web gear. The web gear consists of a pistol belt, suspenders, ammo pouches, two one-quart canteens, the bayonet sheath, and a butt pack, but I had to lengthen the belt so it would fit around my waist with the jacket on. With the web gear adjusted, I removed it and attached the tomahawk to the right suspender strap so it hung at an angle towards my right hip. I filled the canteens with water, put on the rest of the leather and the helmet, and went looking for a zombie.

Even though I was actively looking for an infected person, I still used the sneak and peek approach. I didn't want to mix it up with more than one for now, so I searched for that one victim to find out the effectiveness of the motorcycle clothes. I didn't have to search far.

His name was Manny according to the nametag on his filthy and tattered Metro Rail uniform, and I wondered if he was an engineer. Had he been on his way to work, or on his way home? It didn't really matter and I seldom thought of those things when I figured I might have to kill a zombie, why humanize them? It only made the killing harder, I guess that's why we had never referred to them as people; they were the 'infected', or the 'zombies'.

I was hidden behind a low mound of rubble as I waited, I didn't want to reveal myself until I was sure he was alone. When he was about thirty feet away I stood up and stepped into the road in front of him and he did exactly what I thought he would do; he broke into a run straight at me. With the tomahawk in my right hand, I did the same and we crashed together, my left shoulder impacted his chest and I felt his head impact the helmet, his teeth sliding down its smooth surface as he attempted to bite me. I grabbed the front of his shirt near his chin and pushed him back to arm's length while he tried to duck his head down and sink his teeth into my forearm, but the heavy leather of the jacket thwarted his ravenous hunger. I brought the tomahawk down in a powerful overhand blow sinking the blade deeply into the left side of his exposed neck. He began to violently thrash about, but he wouldn't release the tight grip on my forearm. Working the blade loose from his neck, I raised it again, but spun it in my hand bringing the spike down onto the side of his head. It skipped off digging a deep furrow through the flesh and embedded in his shoulder; I jerked it free again and slammed the point in to the handle, deep inside his skull. His body went rigid, and then collapsed to the ground wrenching the grip of the tomahawk from my grasp. I bent quickly and tried to pull it out, but the skull was holding the arrowhead shape of the point and wouldn't relinquish it, so I violently twisted the weapon and finally it broke free with shards of bone mixed with the hair.

I stood up and quickly looked about; it was a clear early summer morning with the sun warming the day, with white clouds drifting through the blue sky on their way to the east. It would have been the perfect day to take your children, or your dog, to the park to run in the cut grass. Instead, I stood over a man with a bloodied tomahawk in my shaking hand, my breath rapid and ragged; a month ago I would have smiled and nodded to him as we passed on the street, today he lay brutally butchered at my feet. I crouched to wipe the blood and bone fragments on his shirt and caught movement in the corner of my eye. Spinning on the balls of my feet, I stared into my reflection from a large plate glass window of someone's destroyed home. I wiped off the tomahawk and returned it to the sheath hanging from my web gear and then walked to the window to stare at my image.

It was the first time I had seen what I looked like in helmet, veil and motorcycle clothes, with my web gear, the tomahawk, and the Carbine. Something had been happening to me since the earthquake, the fear I had known was being replaced by hate for the infected. Now it wasn't fear, which caused me to tremble, it was adrenaline; it was the thrill of the hunt and the rush of victory. Somewhere deep inside of me the last flickering flame of compassion was snuffed out; I was dressed to kill, and the fear I had known before was hidden behind a veil of darkness.

? Day:

Time has no meaning, no importance.

Each day I leave my sanctuary and hunt.

I have been forced to travel farther to find my prey.

I sleep, I forage, I eat, and I hunt.

I heard the vehicles before I could see them. They came slowly into sight around a bend on Baseline, a police car, a box bed delivery truck, a flatbed loaded with metal drums, a box van with the letters SWAT on the side, and a school bus. I walked out of the rubble of the grocery store and down to the sidewalk where I watched them approach. I couldn't remember the last time I had seen anyone who wasn't infected, that's not true, I could remember, but I didn't want too. The police car stopped about a hundred feet away and two men stepped out, the side of the car had the words To Protect and Serve under the emblem of the LAPD; they were a long way from home. The small convoy stopped behind the police car and several men emerged and formed a protective perimeter with tactical rifles and shotguns. They were good and well-practiced. The driver of the police car walked forward, stopping about twenty feet from me; he was wearing swat gear and carried an M4 carbine.

He nodded to me and looked around before he said, "We're on our way out of here, headed east, are you alone?"

I nodded.

"How are the roads ahead? Can we get to the I-10?"

I shook my head. All of the on-ramps and major roads to Interstate 10 were jammed with abandoned cars. It would take a while, but they could probably find a way on side roads if they had enough fuel.

"If you've been alone all this time you must be pretty good at what you're doing, would you like to join us? We heard there are communities in the east that are accepting uninfected refugees."

I didn't answer.

"You can come with us, we have room and extra food and we're picking up people along the way when we find them. What do you say?"

I didn't answer. Would they make it? Could they make it to safety? Was there really safety somewhere?

The other man from the police car joined the first. He looked around nervously, "Forget it Bill, he's a lost cause, you can see he's out of it."

'Bill' stepped closer, "What's your name?"

" _What's your name?"_

" _Fuck you, you sucker punched me!"_

" _Yeah I did, what's your name?"_

They were walking back to their car while keeping a careful eye on me. The leader, Bill, motioned to the others and they boarded their vehicles and prepared to leave, as the police car approached I noticed the faces of women and children in the windows of the bus, I stripped off my helmet and waved for the police car to stop. The driver stopped and rolled down his window; there was chain link fencing screwed down over all the windows of all of the vehicles.

"Change your mind?" This time, this close, I could see the concern in his eyes.

I stuttered, "Try the access roads along the railroad tracks. You may have to move some cars out of the way at intersections, but..." That was all I could get out.

"Come with us."

I pulled the helmet on and slipped the veil back in place. "I'm not done." I said, as I walked away and didn't look back.

I hadn't tapped into my long-term storage food yet because there was too much to be found in the stores, even though the buildings were collapsed. Summer had arrived and the Southern California heat was pretty much unbearable at times. Looking to make the garage more livable, I spent a week gathering the material I needed, and then cut a hole in the roof of the garage. I built a ladder up through the hole and then constructed a deck that covered most of the roof. I enclosed the sides with chain link fencing for security and furnished it with a folding table and camping chairs. In the northern wall of the garage I cut a three-foot square hole, covered it with chain link and installed a door I could close if I was still there come winter. The hole allowed cooler air from the shaded side of the garage to be pulled in as the warm air inside rose through the hole in the roof. I scrounged some three quarter inch conduit and built a framework, which I covered with tarps to shade the roof and protect against the occasional rains.

Curiously, the first rain after the earthquake contained a great deal of light gray grit. I had noticed what appeared to be ash collecting for several days before the rain, and the sunrises and sunsets for the days before the rain were particularly colorful, but I assumed it was ash from one of the perennial brushfires of Southern California. Now I wasn't so sure, I wondered what might have been the source of the fine grit, but dismissed it finally because I had no information to apply to the question. Time and again I discovered how much I missed the Internet and its vast knowledge base. If only I had printed out hard copies of so many things I had read and now wished I could remember.

The days I wasn't hunting I spent on the roof deck with a spotting scope and my PSL watching for the occasional infected wandering by, but I didn't see that many. The garage was one of the few remaining buildings still standing and afforded a good view for a great distance, and it was from the deck of the garage that I saw the next group of people I was to discover who were not infected.

I saw the two of them through the spotting scope and watched as they foraged in the ruins of the supermarket I normally used myself. At first I felt an unreasonable anger, after all they were stealing my food, but came to terms with it rather quickly, it's not like they knew they were taking what was mine. I established that one of the two was a man, and the other was a woman, not by how they were dressed, but how they moved. They were dressed identical in current issue Army ACU camouflage fatigues, combat vests, backpacks, and were carrying what appeared to be M4 carbines. Were they actual military? I couldn't see someone who wasn't military wearing ACU cammies; they were crap and worked terrible. The Army had designed it to be a multi environment camouflage, which meant it didn't work anywhere. The Marines' woodland and desert MARPAT camouflage was much more effective and I had a seven foot square of both, hand sewn back to back, that I used when I was still-hunting. I would find a good spot, lie down, and then cover myself with whichever side up that best matched where I was. I've spent hours sniping in a target rich environment without being discovered by the infected. I watched the two soldiers for a while, but decided not to make contact, I wanted to follow them though and see where they were operating from.

In order to travel farther, faster, I had moved my Jeep outside the garage and kept a mountain bike I had found in the back, I would drive the Jeep to an area I wanted to hunt, and then use the bicycle to move around the area, it was quiet and I could outrun zombies when necessary. I got dressed and grabbed both the PSL and the Carbine before starting the Jeep and leaving. About a block from the store I stopped and parked the Jeep where I had a clear path out of the area in case I needed to make a hasty retreat and left it there in favor of the mountain bike. Mounting it, I pedaled off in the direction of the two soldiers. There was a spot I knew I could use to observe the two without their knowledge, so that was where I headed.

It was a collapsed section of roof I normally used when I went to the store, I would climb inside and observe for a while before actually searching for food. I'd kill quite a few infected there in the earlier days, but now only when a new band traveled through the area. Zombies always seemed to be on the move, sometimes singly, or small groups of five or six, those I normally sought out and killed at fairly close range, but the larger groups could be bothersome. When possible, I would allow a larger group to see me and then stay just far enough ahead of them to retain their interest and pursuit. I would ride my bike ahead until I had a safe distance and then dismount and pick them off with the PSL because it fired a heavier caliber bullet, it was much more accurate at longer ranges than the Carbine, and it was equipped with a scope. It would have been my primary weapon except for two things, the magazine only held ten rounds, and it was much longer than the Carbine, or the shotgun.

From the collapsed roof I watched the two as they dug out canned goods and put the food in their packs. In my opinion they were taking far too much for them to carry readily, but maybe they were hungry and had done without for a while. Then again, maybe they weren't foraging only for themselves; maybe they were collecting food for a larger group? After filling their packs, they began to stuff cans into the ammo pouches of their vests, not a good sign; it meant they didn't have much ammunition. As I watched them through my binoculars the female suddenly crouched down and became still, the male quickly followed suit. I scanned past them towards the street and saw why.

A group of infected had just appeared from behind the rubble, which blocked the view of Foothill Boulevard. There were in the vicinity of twenty-five of them and most were continuing down the road, but several had stopped and were gazing in the direction the two soldiers were hiding. If the soldiers had been clearly seen the zombies would have already been attacking, but several of them had caught a glimpse of movement and were now actively looking for what might have drawn their attention. If the man and the woman stayed concealed, the infected would lose interest and move on. In the meantime, I clipped my Carbine to my harness and swung the PSL forward from its position on my back. I was less than a hundred yards, so I left the elevation knob set on "0". I sighted through the scope and picked the zombie that seemed the most agitated and waited to see what it would do.

For several seconds the situation remained static, but then one of the soldiers, the man, broke cover and began to run towards a dark area in the rubble. I was familiar with that area also; it was a good spot to fight from because the entrance was narrow and the infected would only be able to gain entrance a few at a time. When he ran, I fired and then quickly targeted and shot again. Two of the zombies were down and now the woman was running for the same shelter. I emptied the magazine in the PSL dropping five more of the zombies, but now the entire group had caught sight of the soldiers and was converging on their defensive position. The two soldiers had yet to fire their weapons, I changed magazines in the PSL and swung it to my back as I rose up and advanced on where the zombies had them cornered.

When I was within fifty yards I opened fire with the Carbine, my knees bent as I walked slowly towards the rear of the pack of infected. Some of them noticed me and turned in my direction, trying to push through the crowd to attack me. I kept firing and dropping them with headshots until my magazine emptied, but there were still three left and I had their undivided attention. There was no time to swap magazines, or rifles, so I took the first charging infected under the chin and into the brain with the bayonet mounted on the Carbine. His forward momentum carried him past me and as I jerked the bayonet out I used the butt of the Carbine to smash the forehead of the second. It didn't kill him, but it stunned him enough to give me a chance to position myself for the charge of the third. As I thrust forward the third leaped upwards and towards me, which embedded the bayonet in her sternum and tore the Carbine from my grasp as she fell on the ground. Turning to face the second, who was now coming at me again, I punched him in the forehead, grabbed his right arm with my left hand and jerked him forward as I stepped back to my left. My tomahawk dropped into my right hand and I slammed the blade into his head where he had fallen to the ground. I moved back to the third that was trying to pull the bayonet attached to the Carbine from her chest and brought the tomahawk down twice into the crown of her skull. I cleaned the tomahawk on her filthy clothing, returned it to the sheath, and jerked the bayonet from her chest. I removed the empty magazine and replaced it with a full one.

I scanned the area quickly and then shouted out, "Clear." The two soldiers stepped from their position and walked out to me. Both had bayonets attached to their M4s and behind them were several dead infected. The male was young, maybe early twenties at the most but the female was my age, maybe older. Neither of their weapons were loaded with magazines.

"Don't either of you have any ammo?"

They looked at each other and the female answered, "No Sir, we ran out about three days ago."

"How many are there in your group?" I asked.

"There are seven of us," the man answered.

"And none of you have ammo?"

The female shrugged, "Sergeant James has seven rounds for his M9. He was saving them for us if it came to that."

"Where are you holing up at?" I scanned around us as I spoke.

"There's a five story building about two miles east of here, which is still standing..." The woman was saying.

The man interrupted, "Sort of standing."

I nodded, "Follow me." I turned and walked away. They needed help, but I wasn't going to take them to my garage, I was going to give them a ride back to their place, but first I needed to make a couple of stops. They must have been sent here to contain the infection in one way, or another, but they were out of ammo, so I was assuming they were containing the infection the same way I was, by killing it. Anyone who was killing the disease was on my side as I far as I was concerned. Any infected they killed, were zombies I didn't have to kill; every zombie dead reduced the chance of the spread.

We arrived at where I had left the bicycle and I retrieved it before we set out for the Jeep. When we reached the Jeep I told the woman to get in front after she dropped her backpack behind the cab, the man I told to get in the back and hang onto my bike. Where we needed to go was on the far side of the I-10 freeway and there was no way to reach it by car without a long drawn out drive I had never attempted. It was a place I had been to, but not since the infection and not since the earthquake. I wasn't sure if it was going to serve us, but this was the first time I had back-up and I planned to use them for my own needs as well as theirs

When the woman asked me questions I answered in the shortest manner for the most part, it had been so long since I had been with anyone it was uncomfortable.

"Where are we going?"

"A place I know."

"Why are we going?"

"Supplies."

"What kind of supplies?"

"Some you need some I need."

"You've been there before?"

"Once, long time ago."

"Why do you wear the covering over your face?"

"I don't want to get bit."

"Is that the reason you wear motorcycle clothes?"

"Yes."

"It's a good idea. I'm going to ask the Sergeant if we can do the same thing. Can't be much hotter to wear than all the shit we're wearing now."

I think she gave up in the end, trying to engage me in conversation. I turned down a street and drove to the end where it stopped at the Freeway. I swung around the cul-de-sac and parked the Jeep pointing back the way we had come and got out.

"Why did we come here?" She asked.

"In order to get to where we need to go."

"Look," she said. "We appreciate the help you gave us, but I'm getting a little nervous about this whole thing. I am disobeying orders by being here. We were supposed to forage for food and return. What are we doing?"

I looked at her for a moment, and then sighed. "Ammo, you need ammo."

"You know where we can get some?"

I nodded, "It's not certain, but a good possibility."

The guy climbed out of the back after I took the bike down. I reached behind the front seat of the Jeep and removed the Mossberg and a bandoleer of ammo for it, which I handed to him and motioned for him to put the M4 in the cab. I emptied two cans from the woman's vest and put six magazines for the Carbine in the pouches and then handed it to her. Reaching back behind the seat I pulled out a pouch, which originally was made for a military gas mask, but now I used to carry the spare mags for the PSL. I normally carried two pouches, each of which could hold two of the ten round mags for a total of forty rounds, but in the bag were an additional sixteen magazines, so I would have 200 rounds for the PSL. I then directed both of them to dump the contents of their packs on the passenger side floorboard of the Jeep and I removed my own pack from behind the passenger seat.

I put my pack on while they dumped theirs' and when they were finished I pointed to the nearby porch of a house that held four bicycles and directed them to get two of them. We would need them for transport, or escape, of that I was fairly sure. When I found it, the mountain bike had been equipped with a front and rear rack over the wheels and it had been valuable too many times to remember. The two cruiser type bikes they brought from the porch had racks on the front and child seats on the back. We could deal with that. When they arrived with the bikes I motioned for them to follow me and I headed for the pedestrian tunnel under the freeway.

"Whoa, hold it buddy."

I stopped and looked at the male soldier.

"Are you expecting us to go in there?"

I looked at the tunnel. It was black in there. The last time I had been through it was before the infection when it was well lit inside, both night and day. "Both of you have LED lights on the weapons I gave you. My bike also has an LED head light, what's the problem?"

The female switched on her light and headed for the tunnel and I followed fast enough to catch her and then pass as I entered. I didn't check to see if the guy was following, but I stopped about twenty feet in and let her catch up while I switched on the bike's headlight.

"What's your name?" She asked when she drew even.

" _What's your name?"_

" _Fuck you, you sucker..."_ Stop it!

"Michael Moore."

"I'm Specialist Annette Campbell, California National Guard." She looked back over her shoulder. "The guy following us is Corporal Bing. We're both attached to a Military Police unit out of Placerville, the 270th Military Police Company. They mobilized us to try and contain the plague under direction of the CDC. What a joke that was."

Corporal Bing caught up with us as Campbell continued, "By the time we were mobilized and got down here it was already too far gone for us do anything. Shit, we saw infected in Bakersfield when we passed through. They should have turned us around then and repositioned us further north. Maybe we could have done some good."

Bing snorted, "The whole thing turned into a cluster fuck when the Speaker deposed the national leadership. General Harris recognized the Speaker as President and ordered the California National Guard to support her claim."

"So she's President?" I felt an anger rising in me.

"No," he said. "Harris was taken out within hours by units of the CNG under the direction of junior officers who were loyal to the Constitution. The Army found the bodies of the President, the Vice-President, and everyone the Speaker ordered arrested. They're all dead. Last we heard; Army, Navy, and Air Force were running the country with a military tribunal until they could find someone in the line of succession, but then we lost contact. We came down here with 116 officers and enlisted, there's only seven of us left that we know of."

"What about the Speaker?"

"Word has it she was hiding out in San Francisco with a bunch of the people who supported her overthrow of the government. If she was, she's gone now."

"What do you mean?"

"Frisco," Campbell said. "It's gone, and I don't mean like here, destroyed, it's gone. The Bay is three times the size it was. The only thing left is the suburbs in the hills. The whole region dropped, including the San Joaquin Valley. It's an inland sea now."

"What else have you heard?"

"Well I suppose the general political picture in America is going to be a lot different than it was before. Both of the coasts have been smeared pretty badly, the West Coast by the Earthquake and the Plague, the East Coast by the Plague and fire in the major cities. About the only people alive there are the infected. Rumor had it a lot of the inner states west of the Mississippi were declaring their locations as refugee centers. We also heard the New Madrid fault in the Mid-West went the same time as ours, if it did like the geologists said it would, it's got to be bad there too. Anyway, the greatest portion of Liberals and Progressives were on the coasts and the big cities, most of them are probably dead, or infected, if you catch my drift."

"Turn your lights off." I said as we neared the end of the tunnel.

The lights went out. "How far do we need to go from here?" Campbell was staring hard at the end of the tunnel.

"Just a few blocks." I stopped well back of the exit and watched and listened. It seemed quiet and I couldn't see anything, but I was out of the area I was familiar with, so I wouldn't notice if something was unusual, or out of place. Moving to the opening I stopped again; looked and listened.

"Let's go." I swung my leg over the seat and pushed off beginning to pedal the bicycle to the center of the street. We got to the store faster than I thought we would, we could cover a lot of ground on the bikes very quickly.

The store walls were reinforced cinderblock and only one story; a section of the roof had collapsed, but not a large portion. The thing, which concerned me the most, was the front security gates had been ripped off and were lying in the middle of the street, one end of a chain still attached. The double glass doors were shattered; someone got there before us. I felt a growing disappointment as I walked my bicycle into the store, shelves were overturned and the glass display cases at the back of the store were shattered. I leaned the bike against a display counter and went to the broken display units where there were still a large number of handguns scattered about, I waved Campbell and Bing over and pointed at the handguns.

Walking behind the counter I looked at the shelves underneath; there were rows of boxes lined up. I started scanning down until I came to the Berettas, scanned farther and found what I was looking for. "Campbell, is the Beretta 92F the model the National Guard uses?"

"We call it the M9."

I pulled six of them out from under the counter and pushed them towards her, "Take these."

"Oh shit! Are there extra mags?"

"Still looking." I moved to a doorway to the back as she and Bing started loading one of the packs. There were two doors, one on each side the hall to the back room. I opened the door on the left and looked inside; it was an office, so I turned to the door on the right and was greeted with a sign on the door, LEO Sales Only. The door was steel and I could see someone had tried unsuccessfully to force the door. I walked past into the storeroom and started poking around. Along the far wall to the left was a heavy set of metal shelves with cartons and cases of ammunition stacked in an orderly manner. I scanned down until I found what I was looking for. 5.56X45 NATO 1000 CT. There were nine cases. I pulled one off the shelf and carried it into the front of the shop and laid it by the bikes.

Bing watched and then asked, "What did you find?"

"5.56 NATO, nine cases."

"Son of a bitch!" Both of them ran into the back room and started carrying cases out. I followed them, but I was looking for something else. I scanned the shelves, 7.62X54R 880CT 200GR, 7.62X54R 880CT 180 GR, 7.62X54R 880 CT 148 GR. I found it. There were three cases and I carried them out one at a time. Each case was much heavier than the 5.56 even though there were fewer rounds per case, but this was what I needed for the PSL.

I went back into the back room and continued looking. There were numerous cases of nine millimeter, I carried four of those out and set them by the bikes and then I went back in one more time and finally found the ones I really needed the most, .30 caliber Carbine. I picked up the only two 500 count cases they had in stock and carried them out; I turned my bike so it was pointing to the door and removed a coil of rope and a roll of duct tape from my pack and started showing Bing and Campbell how to tie off the cases so they wouldn't interfere with the pedals of the bikes. When Bing started tying off his I sent Campbell to the door to keep watch. I had tied things off to my bike numerous times; as a result I was done well before Bing finished his, so I went to the counter and looked over the pistols. I had never really considered buying a good quality pistol because they were so expensive, but there was no need to be concerned about price now. I walked down the counter and finally found what I was looking for, a Smith and Wesson Model 686 in stainless steel, like the one Catherine had owned. I picked it up, dropped it in my pack, and looked for speed loaders, a holster and pouches for the speed loaders. I searched for and found six boxes of .357 magnum ammo, added that to the pack and put it on.

Bing was done with his bike and had started on Campbell's, so I went to the rack behind the counter and started looking over the rifles. There was an assortment of "assault" style rifles, which were California legal, but pieces of shit for what we faced. The AR 15 type rifles had to be partially broken down to load ten rounds into them, or they were equipped with "bullet buttons." What insanity. I thought about a Mini-14, but Bing and Campbell were taking the 5.56, so no sense taking one; I kind of liked the Carbine I had anyway. Then I saw it, down among the sporting rifles was a Marlin 1894cb in .357 magnum. I took it down and ran my hand down the smooth metal of the octagon barrel. _"This is a Marlin 1894cb lever action rifle, chambered in .357 magnum. At a hundred yards I can put ten rounds in an eight-inch paper plate."_ Stop it! I looked around and found a sling and sling mounts for it and then tied it off to the handlebars of the bike.

I turned to Bing, "You ready?"

He nodded and looked at the rifle on the handlebars, "Why would you want that?"

"Sentimental reasons."

"Okay, but I hope you never need to cover my ass with it. Those suckers are slow to reload and..."

"I said sentimental reasons."

He looked at me oddly and then shrugged, "Sure, I'm just saying, you know?"

I walked to the front of the store beside Campbell, "We clear?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go." I headed back and checked how Bing had tied of the ammo. I shook the bicycles violently side to side and then took my bike to the door, pushed it out and took off with Bing and Campbell following close behind. We maneuvered into the middle of the road and started for the tunnel and my Jeep and were about half a block from the tunnel when I heard Campbell's voice behind me.

"We have company!"

I stood on my pedals and turned my body to see behind me. There were six infected running down the street after us. With our bikes as heavily laden as they were I was concerned if we tried to push it they might be damaged, or disabled, so I waved Bing and Campbell on, then braked and dismounted letting the bike lie on its side. I swung the PSL around and aimed using the open sights instead of the scope. I fired at the first and he fell, the second was a miss, but the third shot took him out. The rest fell one after the other and I had two rounds left when the last zombie fell less than twenty feet from me. I ejected the almost empty magazine and inserted another. Mounting up again, I pedaled to the tunnel and through it to the other side. We loaded the ammunition and the bikes; all three of them, on the Jeep leaving Bing perched precariously on top of the ammunition and hanging on to the bikes. I started the Jeep and we drove away in the direction of the building the National Guard was using as a headquarters/hideout.

When we arrived, Campbell had me back the Jeep through a broken window and into the first floor where we off-loaded the bikes and the three of us took a case of ammo apiece and started up the stairs to the third floor where Campbell said they had set up their living quarters. Expecting to meet a guard at any time, I was surprised when we walked out of the stairwell and found three soldiers sitting around a desk playing cards.

"Sergeant James, look what we brought home." She walked forward and dumped the case of ammunition on the desk. "5.56, nine cases!"

"No shit!" He was wiry Black man about my height with unshaven cheeks and chin, and close cropped hair. He looked at me and said to her, "I've told you before to tell me in advance when you bring your friends home for dinner."

"Relax Sarge, first he saved our asses from the Locos and then took us to find ammo. He's good to go." She swung off her pack and dumped the contents on the desktop. "And ammo isn't the only thing we brought home. Six M9s, holsters, spare mags, magazine pouches, everything."

"Did you find any lubricants for the M4s?" He opened one of the boxes and replaced his worn looking automatic with one of the new ones, and then put the old one back in the empty box. Campbell grabbed one of the Berettas, as did Bing and the other two men at the desk. I had a feeling someone wasn't getting a new pistol.

"Well, lubricants?" He stared at her.

"I didn't see any." There was a shit load of gun cleaning supplies and lubricants in the store; I hadn't taken any because I had so much at the garage.

Bing dumped his pack of two cases of nine-millimeter ammo, and numerous cans and bottles of cleaning materials and lubricants. "Got you covered Sarge."

James smiled. "That's the reason he's a corporal and you're a specialist, Campbell."

She gave Bing a look that could kill. "Don't get cocky Corporal Bing, or Specialist Campbell will inform the Sergeant how the Corporal bugged out and exposed our presence to the infected, or how the Corporal whined like a baby because he had to walk through a dark tunnel to get the ammo."

"Shut up Campbell!" Bing was a head taller that Campbell and loomed over her as he tried to intimidate her.

"Stand down Corporal!" James thrust himself between them, but I noticed Campbell didn't back off from Bing; she had balls. Why do we say women have balls if they're brave, or refuse to be intimidated? Why not something like, she has tits, or something else?

"How many infected and where?" James was looking at Bing, but Campbell answered.

"There were around twenty..."

"Twenty-five." I said.

"Alright," Campbell said. "Bing and I took refuge in a cubbyhole and I managed to kill three. Moore," she pointed at me. "Killed the rest at close range and took out the last three with bayonet and some kind of tomahawk. It was very effective in close quarters Sergeant."

"Maybe, but you have to get too close to use it." He was looking me over, checking out my leathers. "You ever take that mask off?"

I hadn't realized I still had it in place. "When I feel safe."

His eyes narrowed and his hands rose from his sides, "You saying you're not safe here with us?"

I reached into a pocket of my leather jacket and removed a honing stone as I dropped the tomahawk into my right hand and started honing the edge of the blade. "I saw your foragers from 1000 yards away because their uniforms are like neon signs out there, and I just walked into your base of operations and didn't encounter a single sentry. I come in here and you're playing cards. You left Placerville with 116 soldiers; you have seven left. How has that safe been working for you?"

"I have two people on sentry duty."

"You may think you do, but you don't."

He walked to the doorway of the stairs we had come up and called out, "Morgan, Stubbs." There was no answer. "God damn it!"

Ten to fifteen seconds later we heard footsteps coming down the stairs and two soldiers, a male and a female, came trotting in; the female was still strapping down her vest. "Yes Sergeant?"

Behind us I heard one of the guys mumble under his breath, "Fuck me!" James grabbed both backpacks and threw them at the two shirkers.

He looked at me, "Vehicle?"

"Yeah, Jeep."

"Go downstairs, you'll find six cases of 5.56. I want all six now, so one in the pack, two in your arms; at double time to the roof and back here. Go!"

"Yes Sergeant." They took off at a run down the stairs.

I looked at him, waiting for more. Was he just going to make them "run laps" for endangering the command? "That's it?"

"What do you want me to do, hang them for abandoning their post? Put them up on charges? Shit, for all I know we may be the last National Guardsmen in California. I may be uneducated in a lot of people's eyes," He swept the room of soldiers, "But I'm not stupid. The only thing holding us together is discipline and routine. If these people decide to walk away, how am I supposed to stop them unless I shoot them?"

Campbell had gone to the desk and opened the case of ammo; she had an even dozen of magazines stacked up and was feeding rounds into them. Sergeant James sat down next to her and started filling his own. "Bing did you and Campbell find anything to eat?"

"Yeah, we had both of our packs full; it's in the floorboard of the Jeep."

"Good, what about you Moore, what is it you want? Food, protection? You have any friends nearby?" He studied his hands as he loaded his magazines.

"No." I put away the honing stone and sheathed the tomahawk.

"No what? You don't need food? You don't need protection? You don't have any friends?"

Campbell chuckled, "He doesn't say much, Sarge. Probably "no" to all of your questions." She fed in another round, "You know Sarge, Custer had civilian scouts at the Little Big Horn, maybe we could hire Moore as a civilian scout."

Morgan and Stubbs ran past the door and up the stairs with the ammo crates.

"In case you've forgotten, Custer got wiped out along with his whole command."

"Not because of the scouts. If he would have followed their suggestions..."

"How well do you know the area Moore?"

"Lived around here most of my life." All five of the soldiers were loading magazines now.

"You want to join us? I could swear you in." When he looked at me it was in a nonchalant way.

"No thanks." Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at me.

"Why not? You'd have seven well-trained soldiers watching your back."

"You're well-trained for a conventional war, but your training and discipline hasn't served you well."

He started feeding rounds into the magazine he held. "I wish these rounds were loaded in strippers, we could load the mags a lot faster."

I sat down with the Carbine across my legs and leaned against a wall where I could see the doorway. "Want me to take the ammo back?"

Morgan and Stubbs stumbled into the room and James indicated where he wanted the cases of ammo with his head. When they had the cases stacked he handed both of them two loaded magazines. "Take the packs back down to the Jeep and clear the food out of the floorboards. Then back to the roof and then here."

"Yes Sergeant." They took off again.

"Tell them if they screw up again they're out." I said. "No weapons, no food." I looked at him and we locked eyes. "It's what I did and the problem was corrected."

"You used to be in a group?"

I nodded, "There were thirteen of us."

"And?"

"They're all dead." I took a deep breath and exhaled.

"So if your tactics didn't work for them, why should I take your advice?"

"They were killed in the earthquake," I stood up and walked towards the door. "If you're still alive in a few days I'll drop by," I said as I started down the stairs.

Behind me I heard Campbell, "That was bullshit Sarge, I think we need that guy."

I didn't hear anything else as I went down the stairs and to the ground floor. Moore had Stubbs backed up against the side of the Jeep fondling her as she giggled. They broke apart and picked up the packs filled with food and headed for the stairs. If the remnants of 270th Military Police Company were still alive in a couple of days I would be very surprised.

After I returned to the garage I went up onto the roof and tried to see the building the soldiers were using with my spotter scope, but there were trees in the way so I kissed the idea off of watching them from the roof. Instead, I worked on the garden I had planted in plastic tubs around the southern perimeter of the deck. The deck was the width of the garage, twenty-four feet, and covered three quarters of the forty-foot length, so the deck was about thirty feet long. The building sat on an east/west line leaving me with about thirty feet of southern exposure beneath the tarps. Within the thirty feet I laid out twenty, fifteen-gallon tubs side by side in which I planted corn, beans, and squash. I had read years before of a system of planting the Native-Americans had referred to as "three sisters farming" and thought if I ever needed to plant vegetables it might be a way to go. The corn would provide carbohydrates; the beans would provide protein and replace the nitrogen in the soil of the tubs, while the squash plants provided soil cover to keep it from drying out.

Above the three sisters I hung another row of tubs, in which I cut holes in the bottoms and fashioned discs of Styrofoam to cover the holes. When I successfully germinated the plants I wanted, I cut a slice in the foam disc, inserted the seedling and placed it upside down in the tub with the roots up and the plant down. I could pour water into the upper tubs and it would drain through to the lower row. All in all it seemed to be working well. In the upper tubs I planted cabbage, lettuce and tomatoes in the bottom holes and strawberries, carrots, and onions in the top. In four of the tubs I planted potatoes, I wasn't sure how this would turn out, but if it didn't it wasn't like I was going to starve, I still had the grocery stores of a city even if they were collapsed to forage for food.

Fresh meat wasn't much of a problem anymore. Rabbits, rats, cats, and other forms of wildlife seemed to be making a comeback along with coyotes. Coyotes had always been around, even in the inner cities, but I had yet to try cooking one and I wasn't sure I wanted too. Feral dogs were becoming a problem since most of the dead had decayed, but they were as likely to thin their own pack as hunt for prey, so far they had left me alone, but sooner or later, a pack was bound to consider me a food source. I would have to wait and see. More than once I considered collecting a couple of dogs as companions, but I wouldn't be able to take them with me when I foraged and the thought of a dog waiting for me to return to feed and water them after I had been killed just didn't seem right.

On some level I knew it wasn't good for me to be alone and do what I was doing, hunting the infected, but I wasn't willing to look for human companionship either. The soldiers were the first I had sought out since the quake and then I had only approached them in order to help them. I guess my only concern was they survive; they weren't infected and like Catherine had said once when I was going to cast out Thomas Wilkin, the uninfected needed to look out for one another. I could try and alleviate their stupidity, but you can only lead a horse to water, you can't make it drink. The society we had before had safety nets for the stupid, so they seldom learned from their mistakes, but the penalty for stupidity now was death. I don't know, maybe things would be better now, as harsh as it may sound.

Water, water was becoming a problem. Not so much the lack of it as the potability of it. I had the tarps over the garage positioned to direct the rainfall into a series of catch barrels, but Southern California isn't known for a lot of rainfall. The tarps covered an area of about 600 square feet, so if a weather front delivered a half-inch of rain I could collect approximately 190 gallons of fresh water for drinking, cooking, and the occasional sponge bath. Because Upland and Montclair lie at the foot of a mountain range, there is a continuous flow of cool and warm air; the end result is condensation, which again the tarps took advantage of. Water for the garden I collected from old pools, new natural ponds, pretty much anywhere I could when water was in short supply, but that water I considered unsafe for consumption, it was only for the garden.

Were there problems to life in this new world? Of course, but most were secondary to the infected most of the time. The infected were becoming smarter, that's not right; the infected that were smart were outliving the ones who were not. More often I ran into zombies who carried rudimentary weapons, and acted in a more cunning manner when they hunted. Many of the zombies were displaying symptoms of disease and malnourishment because they were starving, so eventually, they would die out and those of us who were left could begin to rebuild, but how long would it be before you could till a field without looking over your shoulder at the movement you saw on the horizon?

I kept thinking back on the soldiers and wondering how they had lasted as long as they had. Sergeant James was an unknown, Morgan and Stubbs had jumped to when he gave a direct order and they were in his presence, but screwed off as soon as they were out of sight. I had a feeling Bing was a coward; the only time I had seen him act aggressive was when he threatened Campbell who was a head shorter than him. She had killed three of the zombies after Bing exposed the two of them at the collapsed store, so she seemed like a person you could count on. Bing had thought of the lubricants and solvent for the M4s when Campbell had not, but what did that mean? Not a lot in the grand scheme of things, unless your weapon malfunctions. Maybe Bing's expertise was not so much excelling, but in making other's abilities appear less than his own, I've known people like that before.

Could I train them, so they could survive? Could I teach them how to move through the destroyed landscape we inhabited without being noticed? Maybe, probably, but would they be willing to discard what hadn't worked if that was all they knew? There was no way I was going to take the whole group and try to train them at one time, but I could take one at a time and see how it worked. From a point of maintaining unit cohesion the first person should be Sergeant James, but I had a feeling things would go to shit rather fast if he wasn't around to keep the rest of the troops on their toes. Bing might be a waste of time, if he tried to teach others they might not listen, after all, I couldn't be the only one who saw through him, hell they knew him better than I did. Stubbs was too busy playing high school grab ass and Morgan didn't seem to be able think past the end of his pecker, the other two guys? I know they play cards and they load magazines. I decided Campbell might be the best choice to start taking out and show the ropes to.

I waited until the third day before setting out for the Guard Building, that's how I had started referring to it. I rose early and sponge bathed and shaved; I still had the goatee because Catherine had liked the way it looked. Funny how many things I did, or didn't do were because of her. I wasn't aware of how much time had passed since the quake, I knew it had been a long time, but time is irrelevant when there is no need to know what day it is. When was the quake? April? Early April? April 4th, that was it, so what was today? I didn't even know what month it was. Maybe I needed to be around others once in a while, just to know what day it was. Then it occurred to me, I never asked Catherine when her birthday was.

#

#### Chapter Eight

**? Month:**

When I was turning down the street to the Guard Building the first thing I saw was a group of infected fighting over the freshly killed carcass of a dog. There were seven of them and they were so intent on the fresh meat they didn't notice the Jeep. The scary thing was, they all had crude spears. I didn't like that at all. They were easily a hundred yards away, so I put the Jeep in park and quickly opened the door. Stepping out, I removed the PSL from where it sat on the passenger side and used the doorframe of the Jeep to steady my aim. I picked out the one who seemed the strongest and squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked and I centered the crosshairs on a female and fired again. The male was hit, but didn't drop immediately; the female was hit and fell to the ground without moving. I centered up on the next one, but they did something I had never seen a group of infected do before, they scattered running in different directions. I took several quick shots though I think I only hit one of them. The first one I hit made it fifty yards before he finally dropped. I stood there a moment watching with goose bumps coursing over my body. They were learning.

I drove to the body of the woman and studied her. Her arms and shoulders were heavily scarred with bite marks, and her longish hair was matted with greasy looking dirt, which hid the entrance wound from the bullet I fired, but not the exit wound. She was wearing tattered jeans and around her neck was the hem of a tee shirt, that's all, just the hem. She was thin, but not emaciated from hunger and her hands were heavily calloused, no doubt from handling the five-foot-length of rebar lying nearby.

Suddenly something smashed into the back of the Jeep, I looked into the rearview mirror and saw three of the zombies were behind me, throwing their weapons at the back of the cab. I leaped out with the Carbine and fired three quick shots dropping them, but then I was hit in the helmet from behind. I stumbled away from the Jeep while I turned and saw another infected on the top of the hood swinging a golf club at me. I blocked the blow with my left forearm and fired several shots into his chest and then one to his head. Stepping away from the Jeep and swinging in a circle, the Carbine at my shoulder and my knees slightly bent, I saw the last infected seventy-five yards distant and running away. I aligned the sights and fired. His legs collapsed and he fell to the ground, but he was still crawling. Jogging to where he was I stepped in front of him so he could see me, the bullet from the Carbine must have damaged his spine because there was no movement below the wound. I slung the carbine as he tried to turn away from me and dropped the tomahawk into my hand as I walked towards him. _"I have a feeling that sooner, or later, we're going to get low on ammo."_ Mitch Dugan's words murmured quietly from the back of my mind.

When I arrived at the building all seven of the guardsmen were waiting on the ground floor wearing their combat gear with weapons ready. Sergeant James greeted me as I stepped out of the Jeep. "Was that you firing?"

"Yeah," I said. "We need to talk."

"What's up?"

"The zombies are starting to organize, and they're working together as teams." You could have heard a pin drop. I unstrapped my veil and let it hang free before I removed the helmet. "I just killed a group that did not attack at first sight, and when I fired on them they scattered, circled, and tried to ambush me with expedient weapons. It looks like we're both going to have to adapt our tactics."

James nodded, "Campbell talked me into asking you to train everyone in the tactics you use against the infected. What do you think? Can we work something out?"

"That is the original reason I came here this morning, I was going to offer to train one person at a time, starting with Campbell. You have to understand she will need to lose the cammies and then dress and equip as I direct her. Are you open to that?"

"I don't want to lose the uniforms, it's what bonds us together, but I don't want to lose any more personnel either. Maybe we can sew our patches onto the leather."

My estimation of the Sergeant's adaptability went up. "No reason you can't," I said as I stripped off my jacket and examined my left forearm. It was swollen and hurt like a bitch where the golf club had hit it when I blocked the zombie's attack. "We're going to need better armor too. The leather works well against biters, but we're going to need protection against blunt trauma now."

"Did you get all the infected that attacked you?"

I nodded while I slid my arms back into the jacket. "Yeah, there were seven of them, I got them all."

"Let's go upstairs and talk this shit over. Smith, Doyle, you've got the stairs, call out if you see anything."

We went upstairs and talked for quite a while discussing what we could use for defense against blunt force trauma, but every idea we came up with was shot down for one reason, or another. Morgan made a pot of coffee over an open fire and we sat in silence sipping at it.

"Hey Sergeant," Stubbs was sitting on an empty ammo case adjusting the layout of the pouches on her Kevlar vest. "I was just thinking all we really need is additional protection for our legs and arms right?"

"Yeah, we're going to keep our vests and helmets, but we'll adapt the helmets to the style Moore has; with the veil and skirt on the side and back. You got something?"

"My dad was really into that medieval combat shit, and when he first starting going he used to use my old softball gear for armor. He looked goofy, but he said it worked pretty well. Well, I was a catcher, not good enough to get a college scholarship..."

"Get to the point, Stubbs." James pulled a pack of cigarettes from one of his pouches and offered me one. I hadn't smoked in a long time, but I figured one couldn't hurt. I took it and lit it while Stubbs got to the point.

"He was an umpire, so he wore his own shin guards, but he wore a pair of my youth sized shin guards on his arms."

James looked at me and I shrugged, "I know where there is a sporting goods store not too far from here, and there are still leather riding clothes at the place I salvaged my own. Give me Campbell for a week and I'll see what I can come up with."

"I don't know; losing one of my people puts me in a bind, why don't you stay here while we get this put together?"

"I'll be honest, your position here is good because of the view you have, but there are too many approaches. You need to close off one of the stairwells, so you only need to guard one. It would be okay if the two guards could see each other, but they can't."

"I like the idea of two stairs; it gives us a way out if one is compromised."

I shook my head, "Two entrances are just that, two ways to get in. Seal one so you can get out of it, but no one can get in."

"I'm a soldier Moore, have been all my adult life. Send me to destroy a T-72 and I've got you covered, ask me to fix a toilet, or electrical outlet, and we have a problem. None of us are qualified to build stuff like that. The only way I could think to block a stairwell would be to stuff it with furniture. If I do that I'm back to only one way out if we're over-run."

Maybe because I was so used to being alone, I wanted to avoid staying in the building. Yeah, it had a great view of the surrounding terrain, but anyone from miles around also had a great view of the building. There wasn't a window left in the entire structure, so anyone walking about was observable and the wind was constantly blowing through it, which could be problematic come winter. The building was large and James didn't have enough personnel to man it properly. I just didn't like it, but it might be made secure and I was probably the only one who might be able to do it. "Alright, I used to work in construction, so I'll take a look around and see if we can use anything around here to seal one of the stairways from the outside."

James motioned to Campbell and she walked over. "Yes, Sergeant?"

"Go with Moore while he's walking the floors. See if you guys can come up with a way to seal one of the stairways, so we can still use it if we need too."

"Okay, Sarge."

We started on the first floor for obvious reasons; it was where any attack would come from. Trying to defend the entirety of the first floor would be impossible in a concerted attack, there was just too much open space and the enclosed stairwell and lobby blocked your view to some portion of the floor no matter where you were.

"Tell me something Campbell, with military tactics in mind, when you are outnumbered and fighting a defensive battle, what is the thing you most want?"

"Air support."

"There are no ground attack aircraft coming to your rescue, you have no reinforcements and you must hold. What do you want?"

"Kill zones and a lot of ammo."

"I think I understand what your implying, but define a kill zone."

"A kill zone is an area you can channel a numerically superior attacking force into in order to maximize your own limited resources." She sounded as though she memorized the information from a manual.

"Sounds like you've been studying books on tactics."

"Shit runs downhill and if you don't want to get spattered you need to be higher on the food chain. I didn't want to spend the rest of my life as a Specialist."

"What do you do when you're not being a soldier?"

"I'm a checkout clerk at the local drugstore." She smiled. "Mostly I cook dinner for my husband and kids, clean house, PTA, over-worked as a soccer and baseball mom." She wiped at her cheeks.

"Family, I never had kids, but I found someone I think would have been a good mother." We were both silent for a while after the exchange. I kept looking around, but the first floor was going to be impossible to secure.

"The only choke point is the stairs, I don't see any way around not blocking off one of the stairs even if James wants them both available. Let's check the security of the stairwells. Where does the other stairwell come out on the first floor?"

"It comes out on the far side of the building in the rear parking lot." We were standing in what had originally been the lobby of the building and access for the two elevators. The stairs the soldiers were using exited next to the elevators and couldn't be normally entered from the lobby, but they had pried the door open to gain entrance to the upper floors. We went up to the second floor, across to the alternate stairs, and back down to the first floor. At the bottom of the stairs there was a short fire corridor, which was still intact leading to the exit. I pushed the door open and told Campbell to stay inside when I closed it behind me. Without some major tools, there was no way to gain entrance.

Campbell let me back in and we went up the stairs to the roof access, checking the doors on every floor before returning to the second floor where we had propped the door open. I felt better about the situation, the rear exit was strong and could be ignored as long as no one left more than one door propped open and the lobby entrance created a choke point, which could be defended by a minimum of riflemen. Basically, the strength of the security depended on the person who would provide warning of an attack, in that respect James had a weakness he would have to address.

I approached Sergeant James, "You basically have a pretty good layout here. Your weak point is the first floor; however, if you are willing to concede the first floor in the event of an attack the entrance to the stairway provides an excellent choke point and the stairs going to the second floor make a perfect kill zone. The rear fire exit is completely intact and the fire exit door on the ground floor is strong, intact, and in good working order. You have an escape route, a choke point, and a kill zone. Why haven't you installed some sort of water reclamation system on the roof?"

"Water reclamation?" James looked puzzled. "We gather water from the surrounding area and boil it as we need it."

"And if the building is surrounded by the infected, how will you fetch water to be boiled?"

He removed his helmet and scratched at his head, "This is the reason Campbell figured we needed you. Do you have any other suggestions?"

"You're scavenging enough food to get by, but you need to start thinking of fresh foods. You have four upper floors with southern exposure and the roof for gardening. You should get started on that right away, but still continue with foraging for food while getting set up to start reclaiming rainwater and condensation."

"How are we supposed to do all those things at the same time, there are only seven of us."

"I did it alone; you can do it with seven. I want to take Campbell and I'll start training her, what I teach her she'll teach you and the rest of your people. The training will consist of more than me teaching her, she will learn by doing; we will gather what you need to sustain yourselves for extended periods of time. All we have to do is outlast the infected because they will begin to die out from disease and starvation. When the majority is dead, then we can actively hunt the ones who are different. That, Sergeant James, is when your training and your ability to train other survivors in combat will become important."

I could see he was uncomfortable with Campbell leaving with me. "How long will you need to train her?"

"Probably a week, maybe a little longer. If I am dissatisfied with how far she has progressed, we'll come back and check in with you if I decide she needs more time."

He shook his head, "I don't know, there's safety in numbers and I don't want to lose another."

"Is it possible something could happen to her? Of course, we are living in an uncertain world, but if she listens to me she'll be okay. Talk to her and see what she thinks, I don't know, she may not want to go with me." Before he could say anything else I walked away and told Campbell that James wanted to speak with her. Ten minutes later she was packing up her gear and forty-five minutes later we arrived at the garage.

The first order of business was a bath. I approached the subject as delicately as I could, but how do you tell a woman she smells in the worst way. Luckily, when she saw the storage tanks for the water supply she immediately asked if she could bathe and I, out of the goodness of my heart readily agreed. Filling a four-quart pot with water, I put it on the stove and started it heating; in a five-gallon bucket I poured about three gallons of water and set it aside. There was a floor drain in the middle of the garage where I told her to bathe and when the pot of water was boiling I removed it from the stove and added most of it to the water in the bucket. Leaving her with shampoo and soap, washcloth and towel, I took the rest of the hot water to the roof deck, so she could have some privacy.

On the deck, I broke down the PSL and used the remaining hot water to pour down the barrel and the gas tube. Soviet ammunition is highly corrosive when compared to Western ammo and the hot water would rinse most of the residue out before I started cleaning with solvent and then lubricating the rifle. When I finished with the PSL I cleaned and lubed the Carbine, topped off the magazines from both weapons and began tending the garden.

Campbell stuck her wet head up through the roof opening, "Hey, I'm using the left over water from the bath to soak my uniforms and underwear, do you have a spare pair of jeans, or something I can wear?"

"Open the back of the enclosed trailer and you'll see some plastic tubs with lids. If you look inside you will find sweats and an unopened package of men's briefs in one of them. Feel free to use what you need. Come up when you're dressed."

Within five minutes she climbed up the ladder to the roof and sat in one of the folding camp chairs. "Thanks for the bath, I could really use a shower though, it's a bitch to get all the shampoo out when you're using the same water to rinse your hair." It was the first time I'd seen her without the uniform, the body armor, and the Kevlar helmet, she wasn't slim like Catherine had been, and she wasn't the curvaceous athletic of Essie either, but she was very fit looking. Her brown hair was cropped very short, and her brown eyes had tiny wrinkles at the corners. Not as pretty as Essie, but pretty none-the-less; before the outbreak I probably would have thought about dating her if she was willing; now I only thought of killing and if she could help me kill the infected that would work for me.

She was wearing a pair of black sweat pants and a brown tee shirt; it must have been hers because I don't think I have any brown ones. "Tomorrow, or the next day," I said, "I'll set up a camp shower I have. You fill it and leave it in the sun to warm up the water; it should help with the rinsing."

"Thanks, you've got quite a set up here all things considered."

"It works for me. Come on over here, so the lessons can begin." I motioned to her and she rose from the chair and stood beside me by the tubs. "This is one of the things I was suggesting to James. I used plastic tubs as garden beds. Notice how the upper ones drain into the lower ones? It conserves water and it's easier to tell when the plants need to be watered."

She looked over the row of tubs and worked her hand into the soil of one. "My mom is a gardener and she can grow anything. What do you have planted?"

"I planted Corn, beans, and squash, with four tubs of potatoes in the lower row. Then carrots, onions, and strawberries on top of the upper row, and lettuce, cabbage and tomatoes out the bottom."

"You said, Corn, beans, and squash? Sounds like what my mom called a 'three sisters' garden."

"It is. There's a lot of food to be foraged in the stores, but it's going to run out, or spoil; it's better to start growing crops as soon as possible."

"So when does the training start?"

"It just did. I want you to remember everything I show you and if you think of something, which might work better than what I show you, tell me. The things I show you are the things that have kept me alive in one way or another. Pay attention to the garden, to the water tanks, the catch barrels, and the collection tarps. Tomorrow, I'll go out and get the leathers you need and we'll get you set up. If we have time, we'll make a late afternoon hunt to show you how I work, okay?"

"Okay, what are we going to do today?"

"I know what it's like to be on a razor's edge all the time. It's stressful and everybody needs some downtime. Most of what you see here are things I have done as a form of relaxation. So today you relax; I even have a bottle of wine for after dinner."

She didn't say anything for a moment; she just looked at me. "Every one of the guys in my unit, including Sergeant James, has slept with Stubbs. They've all tried to get between my legs, but the only man who has ever touched me is my husband. If you brought me here with that in mind, it's not going to happen."

I was speechless for a minute, but then I began to talk about my whole experience from the first night of the plague until I saw Catherine's body beneath the metal stairs and how my life had changed. I explained to her why I hunted the infected, and why I wanted to train her and the rest of the soldiers. When I finished I went down into the garage and made lunch for the two of us and then started dinner for the evening. She stayed up on the deck cleaning her M4 and sharpening her bayonet.

Once in a great while I like to have a meal of curried shrimp and rice. It's something my mother used to fix every couple of weeks when I was a kid and the aroma of curry always makes me feel good. Along with the main course I roasted corn on the cob and a salad of lettuce, tomatoes, carrots, and onions with vinegar and oil dressing. I guess strictly speaking we should have had white wine, but I've never really cared for it and much prefer a good merlot. Campbell didn't seem to mind either. We started eating up on the deck as the sun began to set and by the time it was dark we uncorked the wine. I had one small glass while she drank the rest and told me of her family in Placerville. I asked short questions and she gave long answers late into the night until I finally helped her down the ladder and put her to bed in my bunk. I slept on the roof with a cot, pillow, and wool blanket.

Rising early, I geared up while Campbell continued to sleep. I left her a note telling her not to leave the garage and when to expect my return, but in the event I didn't return on time, to wait one day and return to the Guard Building. I returned an hour later than I told her, but I had everything we needed to get her set up. The only problem was the only leather I could find in her size was white, but I stopped at a damaged shoe store and picked up gray, black, and tan leather dye for shoes. My leather clothes were all black, but I had often thought leather dyed a patchwork of subdued colors might work better. I also gathered a group of dyes for her Kevlar vest and ammo pouches, which were in the same ACU camouflage pattern as her fatigues and helmet cover. Leaving her with the same tools I had used, I went to the roof and set up my spotter scope and began to study the area I thought might be where the sporting goods store I knew of would be. We would leave in the morning to see if we could gather the needed equipment.

Just before the sun set, Campbell came up to the roof deck wearing her new clothes. She had camouflaged the leather in a large pixel format of gray, brown, and black, which seemed to defy your eye's ability to fix on it. As soon as the rest of the soldiers were outfitted, I was going to get a new set dyed like hers. She had removed the patches from one of her ACU jackets and sewn them to the leather jacket and it turned out really well. At night-time I could disappear into shadows and more than once I have ambushed infected in the dark, but the effect of her camouflage was astounding, sitting in the dark on the deck, after the sun had completely set, she disappeared into the night from mere feet away.

We left the next morning in the Jeep and parked within sight of where I remembered the store being. Getting out we began to approach the damaged building using what I told her I referred to as 'sneak and peek,' the same method I have always used; observing and then moving to a place of concealment, waiting and observing, and then moving again. Anyone could easily do what I was showing her, but what I mostly tried to impress on her was patience, and caution. We finally reached the store and I had her overwatch while I began the process of trying to find the location of the sports gear. One of the areas I sifted through contained the camping equipment and I made an important find, nine machetes with sheathes. Now we could equip the entire unit of soldiers with weapons, which could take out a zombie at close range without firing their carbines. They would provide a valuable addition to the bayonets.

In the end we were only able to find six sets of youth sized shin guards for catchers, and four sets for adults. We piled them up next to a spot we could reach with the Jeep and drove it to the pads to load and go. We only saw three zombies during the day, Campbell shot the first one and minutes later the following two arrived. Relying on her knew confidence wearing the leather clothes; she killed both at close quarters: one with her bayonet and the other with her newly acquired machete. Though the machete couldn't deliver the massive injury the spike on my tomahawk was capable of, it served well and she was satisfied with the results.

We returned early and tried on the new equipment we had, to see if we would have to adapt it any and found the youth shin guards worked well for my arms, but we had to work on them a bit to fit Campbell. The next morning we drove to a phone booth and looked up the locations of several more sporting goods stores and found what we needed in the first two. Five zombies found their way to us and I killed three with the tomahawk while Campbell killed the other two. The last one she attempted to kill was a large Hispanic male who was extremely strong looking and I told her to shoot him, but she insisted on trying to take him quietly. He almost took her instead, but I think she learned an important lesson; the man was tall enough that his reach was almost as long as hers with the machete. I was preparing to shoot him when she managed to land a blow at the base of his skull and slice through enough of his neck to sever the spinal cord.

The next four days were taken up with hunting and with ambushes. We spent two days up on Interstate 10 ambushing larger groups of infected, as they were moving east. I found it odd because zombies normally just wander around the immediate area in which they are infected, but these were actually traveling far from their origins, something I had noticed with increasing regularity. Several we saw were wearing Los Angeles City Fire Department uniforms, and others wore different uniforms, which were from places almost as far away. One of the things I discovered about Campbell was she was a damn fine shot with her M4, I saw her take out two zombies at 400 yards with only her iron sights. She told me she shot competition with her husband up north in Placerville and it was a family sport. I'm a decent shot, especially with the PSL and scope, but she amazed me.

Did I learn anything from Campbell? Actually I did, have you ever worn leather clothes day after day during the summer? They start to smell and after a while you begin to hate putting them on. On one of our hunting trips she scavenged a case of baking soda and when we returned to the garage she sprinkled the baking soda on the inside of the leathers and then placed them inside a plastic bag with a partial box of the stuff. In the morning hers smelled fine, but mine needed more sprinklings and more nights of partial boxes; the smell never really went away, I guess it was too deeply impregnated with BO. It definitely smelled better though.

The morning of the eighth day we returned to the Guard Building and I dropped off Campbell in exchange for Stubbs and delivered the arm and leg protection. James was thoroughly impressed with Campbell's leathers and I think he began the paradigm shift necessary for the retraining process. I spent the next three days much the way I had with Campbell, but Stubbs was definitely a different personality. She constantly whined and attempted to get me to do everything for her, including dyeing the leathers I gathered for her. Every night she spent with me I had to run her back to her own bed, and in the end she accused me of being gay. I don't have a problem with people mistaking me for gay, but I do have a problem with people intending it as an insult.

I fear the only thing she learned in the seven days she was with me was how to get under my skin and I was more than happy to drop her off as quickly as I could. James took one look at her leathers and assigned Campbell to attempt to fix the camouflage shading if she could. With Stubbs' miserable failure at everything she attempted I told James I wanted Campbell back for a few days while we rounded up the leathers for the rest of the unit. Campbell, who seemed to have a knack for the camouflaging would then help the rest to prepare their own before I took them out for training.

In the end it took nearly ten weeks to finish with the seven guard personnel and develop a process of foraging and hunting. James assigned two of the men, Anders and Barkley, to start performing recons, searching for any large groups of infected and more importantly, non-infected survivors. They were equipped with a new Jeep from a sales lot and two mountain bikes for transportation, plus civilian walkie-talkies with rechargeable batteries and a charging unit, which could be plugged into the power source within the Jeep. They picked up an even half-dozen CB radios for mounting in the vehicles they acquired, and their job also entailed finding passable roads, bridges and underpasses, which had survived the earthquake, but there weren't very many.

Twelve weeks after I met Campbell and Bing the Guard Building was a more comfortable place to hang out than my garage and I found myself spending more nights there. We rigged up a generator on the floor above and used it to provide power for lights and refrigerators in rooms we built on the second floor, and the fuel for it we siphoned, or drained from cars, which had been abandoned during the outbreak. I found three; 300 gallon tanks mounted on axels and pulled one to the garage full of diesel, and two to the Guard Building, one full of gas and one full of diesel.

Campbell was promoted to Sergeant, I think James finally got tired of Bing's BS and decided he needed someone with more responsibility as second in command. I thought he should have busted Bing to private, but James said it would be bad for morale. Campbell and I still operated together when we could, I guess you could say we had become good friends, but I also knew if she ever got the chance she was going to return to Placerville, to her family. I hoped someday she would be able too, but it was going to be a long and dangerous trip.

We also started hunting down groups of infected and laying ambushes for them. We actually became rather adept at it and used the newly forming tactics the zombies were using against them. Normally we would pick a spot where we could channel the infected into a kill zone and then open fire with two, maybe three of us in the initial attack, when the surviving zombies tried to escape down an exit, which looked available, the rest of the team would open up while the original contact group would seal the exit with gunfire. We eliminated a lot of them and we were beginning to run out of zombies in our area of operations, or as the Guard personnel referred to it, the AO. At least that's what we thought.

I finally found out what the date was and discovered it was the middle of October, the nights were becoming colder and the gardens were producing unexpectedly good crops. In fact, more than we could readily use and none of us had the slightest idea of how to can it. Damn I missed the Internet. I figured I would take a trip to the library and see if I could find the information, but I wasn't holding my breath. I'd been by several libraries and they weren't looking promising what with the earthquake and the rains we had. I should have thought of things I might need to know before I needed to know it and saved it from the Internet over the previous years. Then the hoped for occurred, we made radio contact with another group of survivors.

They were located in an industrial park in Pomona and it sounded as though they were pretty well set. They had moved to the park early on after the outbreak and had been growing in size ever since even though the earthquake had put a serious damper on their well-being. The warehouse they had been staying in was the main distribution point for one of the large food store chains in San Bernardino County and at first they had been pretty well set for food and shelter. After the quake they moved several hundred shipping containers and built a wall two containers high around the warehouse and truck yard, installed a sheet metal gate and had taken to calling it Tranquility Base.

We arranged a meeting after they were told it was a National Guard unit they were talking to; they figured trained soldiers would be a major addition to their numbers. The night before the day we were supposed to meet I spent in the Guard Building because I was going with them, I still got nervous around the guard personnel and I wasn't sure how I would feel about suddenly being surrounded by several hundred survivors, but I needed to know where they were in any event.

We sat around the final evening and I listened to a lot jibes being passed back and forth among everyone; the guys joking about fresh blood and Stubbs hoping they had some real men she could sample. Campbell seemed depressed and when I asked if she was okay she said it seemed as though every time they relocated she ended up farther from her family. I wished I had someone to worry about, someone maybe waiting for me. Bing finally got into it with Campbell, which seemed to be happening with greater regularity, and it came to me telling him to shut up, or I'd put him out of his misery. James began to try and calm Bing down when my honing stone started sharpening the edge of my tomahawk, I think he realized I was about to do something everyone secretly wanted to do, so he sent Bing to replace Barkley at sentry.

Everyone headed off to his or her bunks while Campbell and I went up to the fourth floor to use the facilities. I had a plan for installing a septic tank for the toilets and waste water, but if the soldiers joined up with Tranquility Base it wasn't going to be necessary, suited me, it was going to be a lot of work anyway. I was just pulling up my leather pants when I heard the first scream; it was male and sounded like Bing. Then there were shots, and more shots, and then fewer shots, and then none, just screams and shouts. I threw on my jacket and helmet, and pulled the veil into place feeling the persona I became behind the veil drop into place. I had the Carbine, my ammo, and the tomahawk as I exited the stall and then the door out of the Men's room. Campbell stepped out of the Ladies room a fraction of a second later and cocked her M4 while looking into my eyes; hers were wide. She covered me while I opened the door to the stairwell and looked down through the gap between the stairs; there was a steady stream of infected coming up the stairs to the second floor. There must have been a hundred, or more, of them.

I motioned Campbell back towards the back-up stairs and we did the same as we had with the first, she covered me while I opened the door and looked to see if it was clear. It was, so I gestured for her to follow and we started down the stairs. At the first floor we made our way to the fire exit and I placed my ear against the door to see if I could hear anything, but there was nothing. I braced myself and pushed the door open as I walked out with my carbine at my shoulder. The pipe slammed down onto my arms and dislodged my grip on the weapon and it fell to my feet as I raised my left arm to deflect the next stroke coming for my head. The armguard deflected the blow and I swept my arm down and over the arms of the infected that was trying to bring the pipe back up for another strike. My right hand dropped to the Tomahawk and grasping the handle just below the head, I punched into the left side of the zombie's throat opening a gaping wound. He dropped his pipe and tried to block the descending blow of the point but Campbell's machete impacted the right side of his skull, and the tomahawk the left; he stiffened and then collapsed.

We peeked around the corner of the building to where my Jeep was parked and I could see several infected milling about nearby between the Jeep and the building, so I motioned and Campbell followed me out into the low shrubs of the parking lot and we worked our way around to the point where we could approach the vehicle from the opposite side of Jeep. Opening the driver's side door, I let Campbell enter and work her way to the passenger's seat where she slowly rolled the window down and aimed at the milling infected. I slid in next to her and twisted the key to the 'on' position to allow the glow plugs to warm and then turned it to 'start.' The engine rattled to life and I threw it into drive as Campbell opened up on the zombies.

Pulling out onto the road I immediately slammed on the brakes, the road was packed with infected headed for the building, but now changing direction and heading for the Jeep. I shifted to reverse and backed to the right to allow Campbell to start picking off the closer zombies, then into neutral, then into four-wheel drive high and then drive. I punched the accelerator and the Jeep bounced over the curb and sidewalk, up a weed-encrusted incline and into the parking lot of a collapsed office complex. I weaved through the buildings and out onto another street where I turned north, and then east, and finally south and west to work my way back to the garage. Once back in the garage, Campbell broke down and cried.

I secured the garage and pulled out my last bottle of Merlot, uncorked it and sat it between the two of us where we sat on the floor. Once she regained control of herself she tipped up the bottle and gulped down several mouthfuls, then promptly began to cry again. I grabbed the bottle and drank my own mouthfuls, set the bottle down and stared at the back of my father's Suburban as she drank more. I cried when I lost Catherine; I had no tears left.

After she drank herself into near oblivion, I told her to undress and get ready for bed, she said "no," and that she was never going to be without her leathers again. I know what she was thinking, the others had undressed and went to bed thinking Bing would do his job, but he hadn't and he paid the price for it, unfortunately, so did everyone else. She went to sleep with all of her gear on, but after she was out I removed her boots and loosened her clothing. I slept on the roof.

I awoke to the sound of dripping water and when I looked, Campbell was standing ten feet away under the shower bag. The water must have been very cold because it had sat out in the cool October weather. Her skin was covered with goose bumps and her nipples were erect and hard. I got up and went down into the garage and put on some water and coffee to percolate, then started heating water for wheat cereal. I climbed up the ladder, "Breakfast is almost ready, why don't you come down?"

She was sitting on one of the folding chairs, a towel that was too small wrapped around her upper body. "Thanks."

"For what?"

"For reminding me who I am." She turned her head and looked at me, "I figured I have two choices, stay here with you, or try to go home to my husband and my children, but there isn't a choice is there?"

I didn't say anything, we had been a good team when we worked together, but like she said, I knew who she was even if she had forgotten in a time of extreme confusion and grief. If she stayed here with me and we made love, it would be Catherine's face I would see when I closed my eyes. It wouldn't be good for her and it wouldn't be good for me.

"Will you help me get ready?"

"You have most of everything you need right now."

She looked puzzled, "Everything I need?"

"Come on down and we'll talk." I dropped down and turned my attention to the coffee and cereal as she followed. On one level I wanted to look, to watch her dress, but why stir an empty pot?

A few minutes and she stood next to me smelling of soap. "Cream of wheat? Better let me finish it, it always comes out lumpy when you do it."

I gave her the room she needed and positioned three buckets where we could sit and on two and use the third for a table. She brought the bowls over and I grabbed two cups and filled them with coffee. We sat and I explained as the cereal cooled, so it could be eaten.

"I have two vehicles, the Jeep and the Suburban, I only need one. You're going to have a long and dangerous road ahead of you and I want you to have a good four-wheel drive. I want you to take the Jeep." She didn't say anything; she just looked over the lip of her coffee as she sipped at it.

"I know where there is a small tandem axel trailer at a rental yard, which should pull nice with the load you will need to carry, and I've got enough freeze-dried food to get you there with some left over if you don't run into a lot of problems. There are four drums of diesel, 220 gallons. Should be good for about 5000 miles under normal conditions, conditions aren't normal, but it should be more than enough to get you to Placerville. You'll need spare ammo, tools for unsticking, come-a-long, high lift jack, spare tires for the Jeep and the trailer, water, stuff like that. We'll start today."

"Okay."

"Or you can go to Tranquility Base."

She shook her head, "Maybe this morning, but not now. I want to go home, even if I don't make it, I want to go home."

Four days later at three in the morning she was sitting in the Jeep with the tandem axle trailer hooked up and loaded. In her lap was a Beretta with a spare on the dash and another between her seat and the console. I had installed a citizen's band radio in the Jeep and one in the Suburban and we agreed to contact each other at eight o'clock every night. Over the rear and side windows I had screwed down chain link fencing with the same thing on the windshield, but standing off far enough for the windshield wipers to work. On the front of the Jeep I had installed a heavy brush guard she could use to protect the front of the vehicle if she had to ram her way through a crowd. Food, water, fuel, and a Montague folding mountain bike in case she had to abandon the Jeep.

"You shouldn't see too many infected this time of the day, but be careful any way. Take your time and sneak and peek when you can. You've got binoculars and a spotting scope, so check out where you're going before you go. When it's dark, don't leave the inside of the Jeep and don't drop your drawers if you can't see for a hundred yards in every direction..."

"All things you've already taught me Mike."

"Yeah, I guess so. You're the best I've worked with, so you should be okay. Don't forget to call on the radio, eight o'clock."

"I know."

"When you get to Placerville give your husband a hug for me and tell the kids Uncle Mike says Hi."

She reached out and pulled my head down to her so she could kiss me. "I never had a friend as good as you, but I do now. If you're out our way, stop by for a beer, okay?"

"Count on it." She started the Jeep and put it in gear, smiled one last time and drove away into the darkness. I watched until she turned west and the taillights disappeared around the corner and then went inside. I kept in touch for almost a week as the reception got steadily worse and was pleased to know she was at the top of the Grapevine above Gorman on the I-5. Once past Bakersfield she would have a myriad of roads to choose from, but we would no longer be able to communicate. I didn't hear her voice again; I hoped she'd make it. I hope her husband and kids were glad to see her. I hoped there was someone waiting for her when she got home.

#

##### Chapter Nine

**October 30** th **:**

I guess to a degree, I got used to being around people. I contacted Tranquility Base and talked to them for a while before I decided to pay a visit. You know, kind of drop by and see what they're doing. They were disappointed about what happened to the guardsmen, but wondered if their weapons and ammo were available, so I told them I would see if the infected had abandoned the building, but I wasn't holding my breath; the zombies have a tendency to hang around where they've made a successful kill. Of course bearing gifts would be a good way to introduce myself.

I spent three hours studying the building from several different angles before I approached the front stairs in the elevator lobby. I didn't have the PSL, just the Carbine and the tomahawk for a backup. I checked the entire building before I set about collecting the weapons and ammo, carried them to the ground floor, and then brought the suburban in to load it. I was deeply surprised there were no zombies around, and even more disturbed by the fact. I didn't like not knowing what to expect from these newer groups of armed infected. When I was done I had six M4s, six Berettas, 8500 rounds of 5.56, 2000 rounds of nine millimeter, and six machetes. I also collected all of the helmets, vests, leather clothing, and protective gear for five people. The equipment Bing had been wearing while on sentry duty was in pretty bad shape, so I left it.

I left the next morning and worked my way towards Pomona and Tranquility. Six months ago the drive would have taken twenty to thirty minutes, it took me all day and I began to realize it might be necessary for me to spend the night at the Base, I wondered what kind of accommodations the weapons and gear would allow me. As I approached the front gate I passed several infected, who had been pierced by bolts of steel close to three feet long; some had literally been pinned to the ground. Around the perimeter of the containers were what appeared to be crude ballistae or giant crossbows for those who haven't studied ancient warfare, sweet, no gunshot report to draw more infected, and reusable ammunition.

As I approached the gate it swung open and I drove into the yard beyond. Three men greeted me, though I have to admit they were not the friendliest I had ever met. They were armed with Ruger Mini-14 rifles and some type of short sword, and they were wearing what appeared to be medieval brigandine armor with high collars and close fitting headgear which I recognized as hockey helmets. I shut-off the Suburban, opened the door and stepped out as a fourth man came running forward.

"Michael Moore?" He stretched his hand forward and I clumsily shook his hand. Funny the things you forget about. "Dennis Dills." He introduced his self.

"Yeah, you're the leader here?" He was short and pudgy with wire-rimmed glasses he kept pushing up onto his nose. I sort of liked the glasses; they were the kind I would want if I needed them.

"No, no. I'm sort of an administrator, a bureaucrat if you will. Our Commander is out in the field, but we expect him any minute. You said you had weapons for us?"

"Yeah, and I know where there is a gun shop with quite a bit of weapons, ammunition, and related supplies that should come in handy." I walked to the back of the Suburban and opened the rear; I took out the lever action and the .357 revolver I had picked out the day Bing, Campbell, and I had raided the gun store and moved them to the front seat, I had thought about giving them to Tranquility Base also, but on the spur of the moment I changed my mind. _"This is a Smith and Wesson Model 686, .357 magnum revolver with a four inch barrel."_ No, I couldn't give it away, maybe someday.

The three guys with the Mini-14s walked to the back of the Suburban and looked in. "Whoa!" one of them said. "Wait till the boss sees these puppies, he's gonna be one happy camper!"

I've never shot an AR-15 type rifle, but I've read a lot about them and one thing I know is people either love them, or hate them. Ballistics aside, I read they had a tendency to require more cleaning, or they would jam. It was all I needed to know; I prefer weapons that go boom even if they're dirty.

"You can take that off if you want."

"What?" Dills was looking at me. "Oh, the helmet, I'm so used to it I forget." I removed the veil and stripped off the helmet. The weather was cooling off, but all the leather still trapped a lot of heat.

"Are you hungry Mister Moore? We can run over to the mess hall and get you something if you want?"

"Yeah, I haven't eaten since this morning. Hey guys," I said to the three guards who were picking through the M4s and Berettas, the guns in the front seat are mine, okay?" I slung the Carbine over my shoulder.

"Well, let's go. You can get a bit of an idea of what we're all about on the way." He scampered away and I picked up the pace to stay with him. All this quick movement before careful observation was somewhat disconcerting and I found myself trying to scan the area for danger. Instead what I saw was pretty interesting. In one of the corners of the wall was parked a variety of heavy equipment, a bulldozer, backhoe, dump truck, drilling rig, a huge forklift, and welder. A good portion of the interior of the base was taken up with crops, and it looked as though harvesting was underway. Along one stretch a tractor was tilling under stalks of corn and people were picking vegetables everywhere.

"Do you have canning facilities and people who know how to can fresh foods?"

"Oh yes, and it's a good thing because we have harvested so much. With the food supplies in the main warehouse we have more than enough food, but the fresh vegetables have been a welcome change from all the canned and processed foods. Next year, we're going to enlarge the compound and double the crops we grow. It should be interesting to see what we can plant. Mister Ortega wants to plant table and wine grapes; we're going to have a winery! Ortega says the soil here is really good, though we have to drill additional wells."

The quality of the soil isn't surprising, Upland had once been covered with orange orchards and Rancho Cucamonga had consisted of extensive grape fields with wineries. The whole region had been cropland before the encroachment of housing and industry. Another plus was the water table would begin to rise now that the cities and the people were mostly gone. In other ways, water would be a problem though. The region was at the bottom of an ancient runoff from the mountains and in a lot of places the curbs on the streets were two and three times the normal height in order to control the floodwater. They might be looking at problems down the road.

We entered a simple single story wood frame building, which had extensive repairs to it, smelled like a restaurant, and there was seating for at least 200 people. Dills led me to a counter where a variety of food was displayed; some of it was cooked while others were fresh.

"What would you like?" I settled on what appeared to be shredded roast and gravy over mashed potatoes, with peas and biscuits.

We found a nearby table and sat down to eat. Damn it was good!

"We have a hospital, with two doctors and three nurses, and a dentist. So far we haven't found anything we wanted to do that we didn't have someone who didn't know how to do it. It wasn't always like that, but as we grow we find more people who know how to do things. What about you Mister Moore, what do you know how to do?"

I thought for a moment, "Well, I worked in construction and did just about everything at one time, or another. I didn't specialize in anything, but I could probably make a good helper to anyone doing just about anything."

"I understand you've spent the greater part of the time since the outbreak alone, is that right?"

I nodded.

"Do you think you might be able to show us the techniques you used, how you survived?"

I nodded again as his radio beeped. "Dills?"

He spoke into the microphone. "Yes?"

"The Boss is back, where are you?"

"The mess hall."

There was a pause, "Okay, Boss says he'll be right over."

"Roger that." He put his radio away. "Well, he should be here any moment. I'm sure he will enjoy talking to you, but in the meantime I have work to do, I have to list everything the salvage team is bringing in, so if you don't mind I need to be going. Will you be alright here by yourself?"

I nodded again as I shoveled more food into my mouth, he stood up and quickly walked away as I ate. Finishing the plate I had, I went back and dished up another helping, and returned to the table. A small group of people entered and lined up at the counter filling plates and waiting until all had done so before turning towards where I sat. They were all wearing the same brigandine armor and all were armed with rifles and the same short swords. As they approached I suddenly stood up and stepped around the table where I stood, staring at them as the two in front froze and stared at me. They quickly walked to the table and set their plates down before throwing their arms around me and trying to crush me.

"Mike, oh my God, Mike!" Esmeralda Lopez literally picked me up off the floor.

"Shit kid, where the hell you been?" Mitch Dugan grabbed my hand and shook it until my elbow hurt.

I guess every once in a while things turn out good. I had scratched Mitch and Essie off a long time ago and stopped thinking about them, except in my darker moments. The thoughts I had concerning Essie were no longer romantic, or lustful, it's kind of hard to be desirous of someone you figured was a rotting corpse somewhere. She looked the same though her face seemed thinner, and that long dark hair was gone. Probably for the same reason I had Catherine cut mine, having long beautiful hair isn't a bonus when it gives someone who wants to eat you a handhold. Mitch looked the same as before, he had that timeless look which never changes. His white hair was still in a flat top and the wiry build was the same as before when we sat in class together, nice for someone to be unchanged. The "Boss," who else would be in charge of a successful enclave of survivors?

We talked for a long time about how they survived. Essie had dropped off Mitch at his home, but stayed because the front door of the house was open when they arrived. They found Mitch's wife in one of the bedrooms where she had escaped to after being bitten. There were no signs of life, but remembering what Brown had told them they waited to see if she would revive, and unfortunately she did. Mitch put her down, gathered his weapons and supplies and they went to Essie's home to see about her aunt, but she wasn't there. One of her second cousins called before the phone lines went down and told her to come to the food warehouse where he worked, Mitch and Essie did so. It was the beginning of Tranquility Base and they had been expanding ever since. From Essie's description, Mitch took command early into the outbreak, got everyone organized and functioning as a quasi-military unit, and they were able to hold things together as they increased their numbers.

The earthquake had been a major turning point for them because it forced them from the safety provided by the warehouse and into the open. It was Dugan's idea to build a fort of shipping containers large enough for crops to be raised inside of its protection and the ballistae mounted on the walls. The reusable nature of the bolts being fired at the occasional wandering infected reduced the need for ammunition, which was fast becoming short in supply. The ammo and weapons I had brought were going to be major bonus. Then it was my turn and I started telling them my story.

I started with the escape from Chaffey and the accident on Campus, and continued from there. Both were shocked to learn America's body was gone; they realized the implication. Telling the part during and following the earthquake was the worst; Essie reached across the table and held my hands at that point. I fast-forwarded through the months before I met the National Guard personnel and spoke of the training, and the final attack on the building and Campbell's and my escape, and then her departure. I think both of them had the same idea I had about her chances of making it to Placerville, but like me they hoped she would. Who can say?

I was just finishing up when Essie raised her hand to indicate she needed silence while she pressed a finger into her left ear, which held a small earphone from her radio. She listened for a moment then turned to Mitch, "Go to channel 22, Salvage Team Three is reporting."

Mitch adjusted his own radio, "Dugan here, over."

From the speaker of his radio we heard, "Wait one." In the background I thought I heard gunfire. We waited and finally the voice returned. "Boss, we've run into some more of the organized infected. I had to order everyone into the APC and we're abandoning the deuce-and-a-halves. We'll have to come back later for the trucks, over."

"Casualties, over?"

"Two with broken arms, one with a severe head injury, no bites though, over."

"Roger that. Roll them up and bring them home, over and out."

"Roger Boss, over and out."

I gave Mitch an inquisitive look. "One of our salvage teams," he said. "Luckily the leader is an ex-Army puke who knows his shit. We're starting to run into an increasing number of zombies that seem to be organizing at a low level. If we had some good anti-personnel weapons we could kill a shit load of them, but we only have small arms with limited magazine capacities. Those M4s with the thirty round mags you brought are going to be a Godsend. Man, what I wouldn't give for some Claymores."

"APCs?"

"Armored Personnel Carrier, M113s, we have three of them we liberated from a National Guard depot, but I wish we had more. They'll carry about ten passengers and we send one with every salvage team now. If the team runs into more than they can handle we leave the trucks and climb into the APC for protection. Then we wait a while and make a dash for the trucks when we can. I wish we had some Marine LVTPs; they'll carry twenty-five people, or 10,000 lbs. of equipment. Maybe someday if we can get down to Pendleton."

My head was beginning to nod and I gave it a good shake. "Sorry, I'm starting to have a little difficulty staying awake."

Essie patted my hand. "I figured you might. Most of the people who come here usually sleep most of the first few days. You've been operating at a high level of stress and awareness for a long time and you're beginning to realize you can relax and rest." She turned to Dugan, "How about I take him over to the Newbie Barracks, get him showered up and put down for the night?"

"No, I'll take him to my quarters. He can stay there until he's ready to go mainstream."

"What about Tanya? You know she's going to be chomping at the bit."

"She can save her psychological mumbo jumbo until he wants to talk to her." He stood up and walked around behind me and helped me stand, God I felt tired and weak. "Come on kid, let's get to bed and," he stopped, "No, let's get you to the showers first. Shit kid, you stink!"

I've never known Mitch to pull punches, "Thanks Mitch, but tell me what you really think." I smiled though, "I'd appreciate a shower."

Twenty minutes later I finished standing under a hot needle shower and walked out to the bench where my clothes should have been to find fresh underwear, socks, jeans, and a tee shirt. I panicked for a moment with all my gear missing, but Mitch came in and told me he had sent my leather gear and clothes to be cleaned. I was feeling numb and surrendered to his directions until we started to leave the shower building and cross the open area of the compound to his quarters. I froze just outside the door, there was nowhere to hide, and I couldn't see far enough in the darkness. I felt naked and vulnerable without my leathers.

"Mike, it's okay. There are guards on the wall and the infected can't get in. You're safe kid, come on, let's get you in bed." It took every ounce of will I had to follow him into the darkness; there is nowhere safe, there are only places that are safer.

I woke up to the sound of snoring and after looking around in a state of panic, remembered where I was. The light from a full moon shined through the window illuminating the room and I could see Mitch's form on a bed ten feet away. There were two other beds further away, but I couldn't tell much more than that. I got dressed, grabbed my Carbine and ammo, and then slipped out the door into the moonlit compound. Waiting in the shadows, I scanned the open area before I started across to the mess hall. I'd slept enough and wanted to be moving, doing something, anything. I quietly opened the door to the mess hall and entered, searching the room with my eyes before allowing the door to click shut behind me.

There were two men sitting at one of the tables across from one another and they gave me a wave as I entered and told me the coffee was on the counter. I turned to it and took one of the cups sitting upside down on a towel beside the coffee urn and filled it while I a read a hand written note taped to the side, _Pour your own coffee! I'm not your fricking maid! You dirty it! You wash it! JB._ It sounded as though "JB" might have a bit of an attitude problem. I walked to a table where I could sit with my back to the wall and not have to worry about what was behind me.

I sat there staring across the room until my coffee was cold, so I drank it down while on the way to the urn for a fresh cup. Standing at the urn I sipped the coffee while watching the back of a woman in the kitchen shredding potatoes and wondered if she was "JB." The hair stood up on my neck and I shuddered when she turned sideways to reach for another potato; I could see the slight swelling of her belly. What kind of a woman gets pregnant at a time when speed and agility could determine life and death? I took the cup back to the table and sat back down. I could feel the darkness starting to descend on me, I couldn't, and I wouldn't stay here and see a pregnant woman torn apart. The vision in my head of the unborn child ripped from its mother's womb...No, when Dugan was awake I would tell him I was leaving.

I was not going to put my own survival on the line because I knew what I would do. If it came to her, or me, I would have no choice, but to defend her, to surrender my life for hers and her unborn child. Why should I have to? It wasn't my baby! I wasn't foolish enough to put myself at risk! Why should I care? There was only one penalty for stupidity, and pregnancy now was stupid! I heard Catherine's voice _"Breeding stock."_ And Carol's, _"When hope is small, you have to work harder."_ Why would a woman endanger herself? Because if there's little hope, then rest your hope in the children, you work harder to make the world as safe as you can and leave it to them to make it safer for their own. Maybe it was the way to continue, for all of us to continue, through our children and the children of others. I had nothing to live for except continued existence, so I could kill the infected. Wouldn't dying to protect the future be more meaningful? Wouldn't killing for the future be more meaningful? Maybe I would stay for a while to see how things would go.

I glanced down when I saw her coming out, shame I guess, for the thoughts going through my head. She walked out of the kitchen and called to the two men at the table, "Okay guys, you want some breakfast?"

"What's on the menu?"

"I've got fried ham, hash browns, and country gravy. Another ten minutes I'll have fresh biscuits out of the oven."

"What else?"

"Well, how about hash browns, fried ham, and country gravy, or my all-time favorite, my boot up your ass as you run out the door?"

I smiled to myself as they considered, "We'll have the fried ham, hash browns, and gravy with biscuits."

"Not my personal preference, but a good choice." She walked back into the kitchen as I stood up and poured another cup of coffee. Again I stood there and watched as she tossed slices of canned ham and piles of shredded potatoes on the grill. She was wearing black fingernail polish and the way she moved was familiar. When she turned sideways again instead of fixating on her pregnant abdomen I saw the multiple facial piercings _. "Why do the guys get bigger guns that fire bigger bullets than the girls get?"_ I walked to the end of the counter and then behind it back to the doorway into the kitchen.

Behind me one of the guys called out, "I wouldn't go back there if I was you."

I walked through the doorway and stopped behind her, "Jackie?"

She turned around and looked at me, her hand went to her mouth, and then she stepped forward and slid her arms around me, pressing her face into my neck. "We thought you were dead. When we called no one answered, we thought all of you were dead."

"We? Who else got out?"

"Harold, John and Tabitha, John literally threw us over the balcony, of course the ground was a lot closer when he did. He grabbed our weapons and ammo pouches then he jumped out. Thank God he grabbed the guns. After we were out..."

"John, Tabitha and Harold? That's great, I'm really glad you guys made it. I guess I was unconscious for a long time and when I came to I found a way out, but the only body I saw was Catherine's. I just assumed everyone else..."

"Catherine?"

"Yeah, the stairs fell on her."

"Oh God, Michael that was Terri, she and Joseph were under the stairs when they collapsed, Catherine was on top of them."

"What?"

"Michael, Catherine's here, she escaped with us. John and Harold had to force her to leave because she said she wasn't going to leave without you. The zombies were everywhere and we had to run."

My vision tunneled and I felt the blood drain from my face as I started to tremble. "She's here, now?"

From behind the counter one of the men called out, "Hey Jackie, how much longer?"

"Fuck you!" She shouted, "Can't you see I've got some serious shit going down here?" She grabbed my hand pulled me out of the kitchen as she told them, "I'll be back in few minutes, if you can figure it out, cook it yourself, if you can't I guess you're going to work hungry."

She led me out of the mess hall and across the compound towards one of the containers. "She has a room to herself, so we won't be disturbing anyone. Let me go in first and get her ready all right? If I push you in the door without warning she'll have a shit hemorrhage. She thinks you're dead, okay? Will you wait?"

"Yeah, I'll wait."

Jackie knocked lightly on the door, once and then again. From inside I heard a sleepy voice, "Who is it?"

"Cat! Let me in, so I can talk to you."

"Jackie, the sun's not even up."

"Cat its important, open up." A moment later the door cracked and Jackie slipped through before I could see into the darkened room. I waited impatiently as I scanned the compound for movement.

The door opened and Jackie motioned for me go in as she moved past. "I've got to get back to the kitchen, I love you, Mike, and I am so glad you're here."

I held her arm for a moment, "Jackie, I'm sorry I couldn't do something for Joseph and Terri. I feel like I let them down, all of you."

"Mike, it was a fricking earthquake, it's not your burden to carry." She gave me a kiss on the cheek and hurried away.

I stepped through the door as a match flared and was held to a candle. She straightened up and wiped at her cheeks. "Hi," she said. She stepped towards me and held her hands out from her sides, "I'm a little bigger than you might remember."

She was pregnant. "You look more beautiful than I remember."

"We thought you were dead." She wiped her cheeks again.

"You look great."

"We left you alone." She began to cry.

"I love you."

"What?"

I stepped closer to her and cupped her face in my hands, "I said, I love you. I should have told you before, but I didn't know until I thought you were gone."

She slid her hands up through my arms and then around my neck as she kissed me long and deep. "I love you too," She said, her breath on my lips. We didn't do a lot of talking for quite some time while I learned how to make love to a pregnant woman. It's not much different and I've always been a quick learner.

The sun was up when we made our way to the mess hall for breakfast. We stood in line with several others and I carried our trays to a table while Catherine trailed behind with a finger hooked in one of the belt loops of my jeans. Jackie ran out with two cups of coffee and set them down on our trays to the boos of several people. I looked around and most of the boos seemed good hearted, "What was that about?"

Catherine laughed, "See the sign over the serving line?"

I read it, _Get off your ass and serve yourself; I'm not your fricking maid._ I hadn't noticed it the night before or earlier this morning, but it was similar to the one on the coffee urn.

"Jackie will serve John and Tabitha, Harold, me, and now you because we're family. She'll also serve Mitch Dugan and Lopez, but if you're not one of those, don't even suggest she should bring you something. Oh, if you're injured and can't get here for meals you get fed before anyone does and Jackie delivers."

"Figures," I said. "The hardcore hard ass with a heart of gold."

"I see you've met Jackie." We laughed and she kissed me, God it was nice.

"Uh oh, guess I'm going to have to surrender you for a minute." She was looking at the entrance. "Here comes Harold."

I looked and there he was headed our way, big grin, shaved head, brigandine armor, sheathed bayonet and M1 Garand slung over his back. I stood up and met him with outstretched arms. At the beginning he had been almost as valuable as Catherine had been to me. He never complained, followed any order without hesitation, and saved my life at least twice.

"You son of a bitch!" He said, "Here I finally thought I had a chance with Cat, and you show up." He was squeezing so hard I couldn't breathe. He was stronger now, infinitely more fit than before.

"Jesus, let me breathe." We laughed and he sat down across the table from us.

"Shit Catherine, you were right, he does always seem to pull it off." He grinned again and hit the table with his fist.

"Jackie says you and John forced Catherine to leave. Thanks Harold, if you hadn't..."

"We all kept her going, even Tabby. It took a while, but she came out of it because she's so much like you, other people come first."

Catherine reached out and laid her hand over Harold's. "It was a pretty bad time, for all of us."

"How did the five of you end up here?" I sipped the coffee and then started eating.

Jackie arrived with a plate for Harold and coffee. She gave Harold a hug and took off again. "Well," he said. "It was six, or seven days after the quake and we were working our way east towards Pomona along the I-10. Off to the south I saw some movement and got everyone under cover and did a sneak and peek to see if they were infected. It was a foraging team from Tranquility, so we hooked up with them and came here. Good thing too, we were low on ammo, out of food, and I'd used the last of my matches to start fires to boil water. We were really starting to hurt. When we arrived, Dugan assigned most of us to foraging teams, so we were split up most of the time. Cat was with Team One, John with Team Two, and I went with Team Three. Jackie was assigned a job here, so she could keep an eye on Tabby during the day when the rest of us were gone. The teams were losing people with too much regularity because of their tactics, but when Dugan found out I was a combat veteran with experience in urban warfare he put me in charge of training. With my experience and his recon experience we've cut our losses to practically zero."

"You said you were on Team Three?" He nodded, "So you were with the team yesterday that had casualties?"

"I lead Team Three, and yeah, we had some wounded. All three have left the hospital; the two broken arms were actually a bad bruise and a greenstick fracture. The head injury turned out not so bad either, concussion with light duty until the Doc clears him for work." He raised his eyebrows, "You know, I'm down two guys, how about..."

"No!" I turned my head and looked at Catherine. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils flared, "I just got him back! He's not going out and you know why!"

"Cat..."

"No! Give us a little time Harold, please? God, you know how he is; he'll put himself in danger just to pick up someone else's slack."

I set my fork on the empty plate and turned to put an arm around her shoulder and a palm on her belly. "Shhh, it's going to be okay. You know I'm going to have to go out there, I can't sit in here and expect everyone else to carry the load."

"It's not fair."

"Of course it is, and you know that," she shook her head. "We're together now, and I have a lot to live for." I remembered a guy I had worked with who had six children; he told me if you wanted to make a pregnant woman purr, all you had to do was scratch her belly. I slipped my hand under her oversized tee shirt and slid my fingernails lightly over her skin. I watched as goose bumps rose on her arms and she sighed. "I'm really good at what I do Catherine, trust me."

She looked at her plate and pushed it away, "I want something sweet," she said, and as she walked away she added, "And something sour."

"Well," Harold shrugged, "You didn't win, but you didn't lose. I guess that's something at least. She's right though, you do take chances you shouldn't."

"Not anymore," I said. "I haven't in a long time."

"You know, the guys who served with Cat, before we found out she was pregnant, said she was the best they'd ever seen. When the shit was hitting the fan, they said she was everywhere, fast and agile, it's the reason everyone calls her Cat." We watched her walk to the counter and talk to Jackie. "The armor we wear, her idea. She designed it and sewed it. When we started running into armed zombies, she adapted it by adding these." He indicated the pockets containing the plates. "Know what's in the sewn pockets? Plastic, it distributes the impact to the overlapping plates. We haven't figured out how to protect the arms and legs and still be flexible, but I bet Cat's thinking about it all the time."

"Baseball gear." I scanned the room and saw one of the women not looking at me.

"What?"

"Catcher's gear to be precise. You know, shin guards, the protective gear catchers wear." Everyone had been looking at me since I had arrived with Catherine, but it's human nature to glance away when the person you're looking at looks towards you, happens all the time. No one wants you to think they're staring at you. This one woman though, every time I looked in her direction she was looking elsewhere. "Who's the blonde woman in blue tee shirt?"

Harold turned his head in the direction I indicated. "Tanya Simms, sort of the resident psychologist. You'd think she was doing research, or something, the way she's always poking and prodding at people. Always taking notes, I don't like her much."

"Why?"

"You know what? I don't really know why, but I know I don't like her. When she talks to you it's like she's talking to a kid, or someone who isn't quite getting it and isn't going to get it. She has this way of acting sort of surprised when you say something to her, like 'oh, what an interesting thing to say,' you'll see what I mean."

"Why do you say that?"

"She interviews everyone new that comes in, and then makes recommendations to Dugan about whether they should be allowed to stay."

"What? I have to pass a psychological test to stay here?"

"I don't know, Dugan has never turned anyone away, but he killed a guy once that joined up with us. The guy had two kids with him and they kept showing up with bruises and other various injuries. One was finally hurt badly enough for Doc Evans to get involved and he discovered the kid had been sodomized. When Dugan confronted the man he told Dugan the old rules were dead and the kids were his property to do with as he liked, Dugan agreed with him and said he was right, the old rules didn't apply anymore and killed him right there, right then. Worked for me. Why did you ask, is she staring at you or something?"

"She's doing too good of a job not looking. I'm new here, so people are interested. Then Catherine walks in with me after me being here one night and everyone can see we're a couple. I'm the mystery guy and everyone is curious, everyone, but her. So, she's working too hard to appear disinterested."

"That's a little too convoluted for me, Boss."

"What happened to the kids?"

"Huh?"

"The kids with the man Dugan killed?"

"Oh, Dugan adopted them." So that was what the other two beds were in his room.

"I guess that figures, Dugan's a good guy." I glanced over at Simms again and almost caught her eye, but she was quick. It was beginning to irritate me.

Catherine returned with a bowl and sat beside me. I looked at the bowl as she mixed it up and started to eat. "What is that?"

"Jackie whipped up some sugared rice water she cooked down to like a syrup and poured it over sour kraut, God it's good."

Harold didn't say anything and neither did I, but he did make a face at me. Without even looking up from her bowl Catherine mumbled, "Knock it off Harold."

"Yes Ma'am." Smart man.

"Where's John?" He was the only one left of the original crew I hadn't seen yet.

"Dugan sent Team Two out along the I-10 to see how far it's jammed with cars. He's kicking around the idea of seeing if he can get one of those big D-10 bulldozers and clear a lane, should be back in a day, or two."

"What kind of support do they have?"

"They took six men, an APC and a gun truck."

"Gun truck?"

"Yeah, the first military vehicles we salvaged were deuce-and-a- halves. They're worth their weight in gold; multi-fuel, high ground clearance, and six wheel drive, but we had to do a lot of adaptation to make them fit for mixing it up with the zombies. We put plows on the front, fortified the cabs, and boxed in the rear beds with plywood and plenty of gun ports. Kind of like what we did in Iraq with our transport trucks at the start of the insurgency except we used armor plate instead of plywood, plus Mitch says they did something similar in Vietnam. The APCs are better for defense and more maneuverable, but the trucks carry more."

"How many of those do you have?"

"Three out of seven trucks. They use up a lot of resources to convert."

"I saw the heavy equipment in the compound, but I didn't see any trucks, are they all out right now?"

Catherine pushed the empty bowl away and answered before Harold could, "No they're in the truck park. We stacked a bunch of containers opposite the main gate and keep them parked there now along with a tool shop and fuel storage. They were taking up room Dugan wanted for crops next year."

I finally caught Simms actively looking at me by not looking directly at her, I saw her in my peripheral vision while looking at Catherine. I was moving past irritated, but I forced myself to relax as hard as it was, she was keeping my alertness at a high level and it was distracting me, I wanted to feel warm and relaxed with Catherine and Harold, and she was keeping me on edge. The door to the mess hall opened and Mitch walked in with Essie and a load in his arms. He searched the hall with his eyes until he saw me and I waved. He started my way while Essie cut across between the tables and talked briefly with Tanya Simms and then headed my way with Simms in tow.

I stood up as Mitch reached the table and accepted the armload he was carrying, it was my gear and I felt relief flood through me. I sat it on the table and instantly started putting it on. I unzipped the legs of the bibs and pulled them on over my jeans and boots, pulled the suspenders up and over my shoulders settling them in place. Slipping my arms into the sleeves of the jacket I shrugged it on and started to zip it closed when I met eyes with Catherine, there was something in her eyes, something I hadn't seen before.

"Michael?" She was holding my right arm and staring at me. I shivered as goose bumps made my skin crawl; I unzipped the jacket and made a conscious effort to shift back to me, the man they knew. They didn't know the man behind the veil. I glanced at Harold and saw the same look on his face, surprise, curiosity, and I hadn't fallen completely into the persona yet, what would they think when I actually became the other? The hunter, the killer? In the dark place behind the veil there was no fear, no concern, and no mercy, there was the me which no one had ever really seen, not even the guardsmen. When I looked at Mitch I saw recognition in his eyes, he knew; he nodded then sat at the table.

"Harold, Cat," he started, "I need to talk with Mike about his future here, can you excuse us for a while?"

Harold started laughing as Catherine stood and pointed with both index fingers, first to her stomach and then to me. "I've got a vested interest in whether he stays, and what you might have him do here Mitch."

He looked confounded for several seconds, and then burst out as Essie walked up with Simms, "You have got to be shittin' me! You're their 'Mike,' the one they're always talking about? 'That's a good idea, but Mike would have done it different!' Mike?"

I shrugged to him as Essie walked up and stopped behind where Harold was sitting, "What's going on?"

Mitch pointed at me, "Our Mike?" He pointed at Catherine and Harold, "Is their Mike!"

"What?" She looked at me, and then Catherine who repeated the gesture with her index fingers, first her belly and then me. "Oh my God!" She ran around the table dropped to her knees between Catherine and I and wrapped her arms around Catherine's hips and my neck. She pulled me over and kissed the side of my head and then Catherine's belly, and then at the top of her lungs she began to shout, "PARTY! PARTY! PARTY!"

Within seconds everyone in the mess hall were chanting the same thing. Mitch shook his head and looked at me, "There goes my stash of alcohol."

I glanced across the table to where Simms stood with her arms crossed over a notebook she held to her chest. She was staring at me and made no pretense to look away, the muscles of her jaw were clenching with every refrain of 'PARTY!' For just a second, just a slight moment, I allowed myself to slip into the other me as I stared into her eyes. Her eyes widened in surprise and her mouth unclenched and formed a silent 'oh.' Then I smiled gently and kissed Essie on the cheek as Simms's eyes squinted and her nostrils slowly flared. It was a mean thing to do, but the way she had been watching me, studying me, and judging me had put me on edge. I knew I would get over the irritation now that I knew, the way Essie had laid her hand on her shoulder, the way she had smiled at her when Tanya looked up at her, the way Essie had led her over to the table holding her hand; they were lovers. I was glad I had never asked Essie out, or hit on her; it would have been embarrassing. Of course, Essie would have gently declined and we would have still been friends and I would probably have never known. I sincerely hoped they would be happy with one another. My friend deserved happiness; I hoped Tanya Simms did too.

Essie got up and walked back around the table and sat next to Harold, and Mitch sat next to her. I turned quickly to Catherine and asked into her ear, "When's your birthday?"

#

##### Chapter Ten

**November:**

I showed Catherine the Smith and Wesson 686 I had found and she thought it was very 'sweet' of me to choose a pistol like her own to carry. When she asked why I didn't carry it I told her I had found a holster for it, but I needed a shoulder rig because there was nowhere to hang it, or the ammo pouches on my web gear. It wasn't my intent to actually wear the thing when I picked it up, like I said, I've never really been a pistolero. Six days in a row I was in the field with Harold and most of Team Three, when I returned the sixth day my leather shoulder rig and speed loader pouches were finished and she proudly surprised me with them. It was beautifully made with the pistol retained by a thumb break and two rows of three speed loader pouches, one row above and one row below the horizontal holster. It was adjustable, so I could wear it with my leather gear, or without it. There was no way I was going to tell her I didn't want to carry a pistol at the time, but more than once since, I have been glad to have it under my arm.

November 15th we celebrated Catherine's birthday and I presented her with the lever action Marlin I had scrounged with Bing and Campbell. How many women do you know who cry when you give them a rifle for a birthday present? I know, the original rifle had been a gift from her dad and maybe that was a part of why she became so emotional, but she said it was because I was still thinking of her when I thought she was dead. It was true.

She had been using the M1 Carbine Terri had carried before the quake and I was surprised when she hung the Marlin on the wall of the room we now shared, but I wasn't disappointed in her choice. I'd much rather she changed thirty round magazines than load one round at a time and she had come to like the little carbine. In addition, we were able to carry weapons with the ability to use the same ammo and magazines. Twice a week we practiced with the pistols in a handgun range within two steel containers, which were connected end-to-end and I had come to the realization I would never be as good with a pistol as she was. Actually, she was better than me with the carbines also, but I reigned supreme with the PSL. I didn't doubt she was sorely missed when she became too big to go out into the field with the salvage teams.

I know she was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the pregnancy, but she was sure pleasing to the eye. When I first met her I had compared her unfavorable with Essie, and that had been unfair to Catherine. In truth, her physical attractiveness was not as great as Essie's and probably never would be, but there was something about her that transcended mere physical beauty. She was one of those people who when you first meet them, they seem unremarkable, but soon you begin to notice their... uniqueness? Why do we have to rationalize feelings? Why not just feel?

The only times we seemed to have conflicts were when I went outside Tranquility Base. It was hard for me to leave and I think it was harder for her to watch me go. She wanted to be my backup, my partner, but she didn't realize that when I went out with a team, I normally scouted alone. Oh, I trained others, and most people wanted to scout with a partner; someone to watch their back, but I preferred to work alone. If I worked alone, then I wasn't responsible for anyone else, if I screwed up it was on me and me alone. That's what I was doing two weeks before Catherine was due when I became separated from Team Three.

We were on a salvage run through another warehouse complex south of the I-10 and in the eastern portion of Pomona. Electrical power was in extreme shortage and we had some people at Tranquility who had been doing research based on shipping boxes we had found containing solar power equipment. Solar panels and electrical inversion equipment would alleviate the need for fuel to run the generators and after discussing the possibilities we chose to go on the salvage run even though it was farther away than we normally wanted to roam. It was a certainty we would need to be gone at least two days, which meant at least one night outside the Base. Nights outside are something no one wants to do, but we would be taking one of the APCs and two of the gun trucks, it would give us more than enough room for the eleven men of the salvage team to stay in at night.

We had spent the entire first day simply getting to the area we wanted to search. Normally this isn't much of a problem, we could always get back faster than we could get to somewhere because we always mapped as we went. The next time we chose to come to a repeat location it was always faster because of the routes we drew on local street maps. Like I said, this normally is not a problem, but some of the items we were after were going to be heavy and difficult to load; mainly batteries, for the solar power system we were looking for. We expected the loading process to be longer than normal.

When we arrived at the location we were searching for, me and a two-man scout team split off as Harold had the rest of the team set up a perimeter. The APC and the gun trucks would be laagered in a 'Y' formation with the fronts of the vehicles pointing out. With the three rears of the vehicles in close proximity, temporary fencing could be set up between the gaps and coils of barbed wire stretched around the vehicles and the fences to slow down attackers and making it easier to shoot any infected trying to enter, and the headlights of the vehicles could be turned on if necessary to illuminate the surrounding area at night if we were attacked. Against small, unorganized groups of infected this system worked quite well and if worse came to worse, all of the salvage team could evacuate in the APC and return later for the trucks.

After a radio check to make sure the radios and the earphones we were using were working, I went to the west and the two-man team went east; we planned to meet on the far side of the building and we would stay in contact with Harold via the walkie-talkies we had. The south side of the building, which was the front, looked to be in good shape though there were no windows left intact, but the west side of the building left a lot to be desired. The tilt up concrete wall had collapsed into the building and had caused a great deal of damage to the interior when it came down. I checked out as much of the building as I could without entering and then moved to the rear of the structure. Behind the building was a loading dock with about twenty spaces for trucks to back-up against the loading dock and there were five shipping containers mounted to transport trailers parked side-by-side at the dock, but no trucks were attached. I moved carefully past the trailers and then to the center of the rear of the building where I joined Marcus and Ted who were waiting for me next to a section of the north wall that had collapsed out and away from the main structure.

"See any movement?" I asked.

"Nothing moving at all, we haven't seen a zombie for quite a while and it's making me nervous." Marcus nodded agreement with Ted who had spoken.

Marcus stripped off his hockey helmet and wiped his brow with his leather covered left arm. Both of the men were wearing versions of Catherine's brigandine armor, which was the mainstay of most of the people at Tranquility Base. When I first arrived, few of them wore arm protection, but with the discovery of leather welder's sleeves on one of the salvage runs, many had started wearing them under their regular armor. The original purpose of the sleeves, were to protect welders from the hot molten sparks generated while arc welding and they covered about half of the chest, down to the wrists, and had high collars. Some also used the plastic inserts Catherine used in the brigandine armor, and some people had adopted the catcher's gear I used. Though Catherine had designed the armor and modified it, I still preferred my own motorcycle leathers with the catcher's protective shin pads on my legs and arms. Almost everyone had also added skirts and veils to their helmets, but not everyone, it was personal preference mostly.

Marcus pointed to the trailers I had passed, "Are they loaded?"

"Probably, they have locks on the doors and the way they're grouped they probably were going to be shipped together, most likely by independent truckers."

"We should check them out; we have a couple of guys who were long haul truckers, and if we can come up with the right kind of trucks we could pull the entire load to Tranquility." Ted was starting to get excited.

"Don't get to pumped up yet," I said. "They could be empty, could be used for files storage, or any number of things. Let's let Harold know about them and he can decide what to do."

They agreed and we rounded the building to return to the front where we informed Harold of the trailers. I retained the Carbine, but also slung the PSL over my back as I started a longer more detailed scout of the extended area around the building. I had been gone for close to two hours as I circled out from the warehouse when I spotted the first two infected, they were about five hundred yards from the salvage team's position and were quietly watching from a semi-concealed position. First, occasional infected that used weapons, then infected that worked together, followed by infected which began to use tactics, and now infected that watched from concealment and simply observed. Not good, not good at all. I settled in to a concealed position of my own and watched them as I contacted Harold.

"Harold? Mike, over."

"Mike? Go ahead."

"I have two zombies in a position 500 yards to your southeast, over."

"Need help?" He sounded curious; normally I didn't call unless I thought I couldn't take a zombie quietly, and then I would clear it with Harold before taking a shot. The infected were still drawn by noise.

"No, they're watching you get set up, Harold, over."

There was a long pause. "They're watching us, over?"

"Yeah, and they're showing no agitation, no desire to close on your position." I pulled out my binoculars and studied them while Harold paused again. They were only seventy-five yards away and the binoculars gave me an excellent view of the two men. It was difficult to tell their ages because of the filth, but one looked older than the other, his beard was long and caked with greasy dirt, as was his shoulder length hair. The second seemed younger due to the thinness and scraggly nature of his beard. The older was heavier built, the younger leaner, but both appeared bettered fed and in better physical condition that most of the infected I had seen recently, and they were armed with short stabbing type spears.

"I'm going to send Marcus and Ted, wait for them and then take them out, over."

"No, I want to keep them under observation, see what they're up to, over."

"Roger Mike, but I'm sending the guys anyway. When they get there make a decision whether they live or die, over and out." Harold was in command, but he had gone against me during planning stages even if he never challenged me during an operation, or when I gave him a direct order.

"No, keep them there, Harold. If Marcus and Ted try to come in my direction they'll be spotted and spook these guys. I want to find out what they are doing, over."

"Damn it Mike! They are coming, period. Wait till they get there and make a decision when they arrive, over and out."

"Roger that, over and out." Harold was flexing his leadership position, okay, I chose not to lead when he offered me the position, and I declined because I didn't want the responsibility. What's the old saying? If you make your bed you have to lay in it?

Within five minutes both of the infected became noticeable more alert, so I prepared to follow them. They both left their position and began to move away; their stealth ability wasn't anything to write home about and I easily followed, keeping them in sight.

"Harold, they've made Marcus and Ted and are moving off. Call them back and I'll follow the zombies, over."

"Negative Mike, join up with Marcus and Ted and return to the vehicles, over."

"Harold, I really think I should follow these guys. They're up to no good and they're using scouting techniques, they might lead me to a larger group we should know about, over."

He paused for a long moment, "Mike, I swear to god if you get yourself killed I'm going make you tell Cat. Give yourself time to get back here before dark, understand? Over and out." He followed up with directions to Marcus and Ted to return to the laager.

The two infected moved eastward away from Team Three and then headed south. Once they headed south they broke into a fast paced jog and I started having some trouble staying up with them and keeping them in sight. They had an advantage in they only had the tattered clothes they were wearing and their spears. I had the PSL, the Carbine, the model 686, nearly 400 rounds of ammo, two quarts of water, three MREs, the tomahawk, and other assorted gear stashed in the pockets of my leathers. I was in good shape, but the leathers started building internal heat quickly.

I finally lost sight of them, but kept going with the hope I might find some sort of trail, or locate where they were headed. After an additional two blocks I stopped and wormed my way into a collapsed house where I sat and loosened my leathers to cool off and regain my breath. I took a couple of sips of water, and then pulled my binoculars out and scanned ahead of me. It was getting late and I was pushing my time constraints as it was, but I decided to go a few more blocks before turning back. I worked my way back out of the house and started up the street staying close to the damaged homes I was now passing through, that's where they had laid their ambush.

My radio crackled and I heard Harold, "Mike, you should be on your way..." The spear smashed the radio and cut almost all the way through the left shoulder strap of my web gear. I swung up the Carbine and crouched as I took aim at the skinny kid who had thrown his spear at me, another spear from behind and to my right, passed through over my right elbow, beneath the Carbine, and over my left elbow. An upwards flip of the spear point jerked the Carbine from my hands and in the direction of the zombie who had attacked me first. He snatched the carbine from the ground and thrust the attached bayonet at my face as I deflected it with my left forearm and then punched him in the throat with my fist.

I turned to the left and stepped back with my left foot while I dropped the tomahawk into my right hand, but I missed the upward thrust of the spear point of the older guy with my left arm and it penetrated the veil and impacted my left cheekbone with a grinding, cracking noise that reverberated through my skull. I staggered backwards to avoid another thrust and fell over the first infected who was on his knees trying to bring up the Carbine with its bayonet again. The second infected stabbed downwards at me with the spear as I rolled to my right and then back to the left trapping his spear as I swung the tomahawk up and embedded the point in his rib cage where it stuck. He stumbled to the side giving me the fraction of a second I needed to draw the revolver and put first one round through his chin and up through his head, and then a second round through the head of the kid who had regained his feet, my Carbine, and was starting to come at me. Rolling onto my knees, I returned the pistol to its holster beneath my arm and then my Carbine, which I clipped off to my web gear. I wrapped my hand around the grip of the tomahawk and twisted it until the point broke free of the ribcage it was stuck within. After wiping it off on the dirt-encrusted jeans of the victim, I returned it to the sheath and secured the snaps holding it place.

Looking south, I could make out a wave of people running in my direction. They were several blocks away and must have been alerted by my gunshots, so I dropped to the ground and crawled back the way I had come until I could place some rubble between the oncoming wall of infected and myself. I rose to a low crouch and ran back to the house I had rested in before and worked my way inside where I hid. My cheekbone was throbbing with pain and I could see my chest was splashed with liberal amounts of blood trickling down from beneath my veil. Unzipping one of the pockets of my jacket, I removed a roll of gauze, a small bottle of alcohol, some triple antibiotic crème and a roll of tape. I poured the alcohol over some of the gauze and wiped my chin and cheek with it to clean the wound. The rest of the gauze I smeared with the antibiotic and taped the bandage in place.

The infected were flowing past my tiny shelter headed in the direction of Harold and Team Three; they needed warning. Removing the radio from its pouch, I keyed the send button and saw the transmission light come on. I keyed it again and spoke as clearly as I could, "Harold! You've got hundreds of zombies coming your way, maybe more. Bug out now! You won't have a chance; there's too many. I don't know if you can hear me, my receiver is broken, but I had to try and send you a warning. Bug out now! I'll catch up with you at Tranquility."

I dropped the radio back into its pouch and laid back to make myself less conspicuous, but when I did my mouth filled with blood. I rolled over and spit out a mouthful. Was there a chance the spear point was contaminated with the virus? If it was, I was truly fucked. I pulled myself farther into the darkness and leaned against a portion of the collapsed roof where I would wait and see if the crowd thinned before I tried to make it back to Catherine.

I must have blacked out for a while because when I regained consciousness it was full dark with no moon. The whole left side of my face was throbbing and my mouth was again filled with blood, but this time it was clotted. The wound must have been deep enough to bleed into my mouth. I searched through my pockets and brought forth the almost empty bottle of alcohol and another full one, this was going to hurt. I poured the small amount in the first bottle into my mouth and swirled it about, then forced it into the left side. It began to burn fiercely and I kept at the pressure until I felt the outer wound begin to burn also. I decided to save the second bottle for later.

I remember the first few days of the trip back, but things started getting fuzzy somewhere along the way. I found a bicycle at some point and covered quite a bit of ground before I misplaced it, I guess. My clearest memory on the last day was walking towards the front gate of Tranquility Base and seeing the gate swing open, but the gate was at the end of a long darkening tunnel that grew narrower and longer until it disappeared in a flash of white light.

There was a candle burning on the nightstand next to the bed when I woke up. I reasoned it must be night, and because it was so quiet I went back to sleep. The candle was still burning when I woke up again, but this time there was a nurse bent over me and checking my pulse. She lay my hand back on my chest and left the room as I tried to raise up and look around me, but I gave up and went back to sleep.

I woke to the sound of people talking at the foot of the bed.

"...managed to close the wound, but it's going to be heavily cratered, I had to cut away a lot of infection."

"What about the left eye?" Mitch?

"We won't know until he's conscious, but it should be okay. The eye itself wasn't infected, just the surrounding tissue. Once we sliced into the infected areas we were able to drain it and keep flesh loss to a minimum, but he's going to look like a jigsaw puzzle with the scarring." As I went back to sleep I felt sorry for the poor son of a bitch they were talking about.

People talking again, how was a guy supposed to get any sleep?

"Come on Cat, you've got to get some rest." Jackie?

"I need to be here." Catherine.

"You need to feed the baby." Baby?

"She's good for at least another half hour and then I'll feed her here."

"Well, I don't care if you're not hungry, I'm going to get you something and I won't leave until you eat. How are you supposed to make milk if you don't eat?"

"Alright, but nothing sweet, or sour okay?"

"Really? You're hungry? I'll be right back!"

I opened my eyes and looked around; Catherine was on my right side, the fingers of one hand interlaced with the fingers of my right hand, the back of my hand pressed against her forehead. I watched for a moment until I felt a tear hit my arm and trickle down. "How long have you been here?"

Her head jerked around and she looked at me, "Are you awake this time?"

"What?"

"You started saying things, but Doctor Hemet said you weren't conscious." She had hold of my right hand with her right as she stroked the side of my face. "Please be awake."

"I think I'm awake, I'm really tired, but I'm awake." I closed my eyes for a moment.

"Michael?"

"How about a kiss?" She leaned over and kissed my cheek. "A real kiss," I said.

"The side of your mouth is still healing; I don't want to take the chance of it getting infected again."

I remembered a little about the spear. I raised my hand to the left side of my face, but she grabbed it and brought it back to my chest. "Don't mess with it, okay? I don't want anything to go wrong again."

"What went wrong?"

"Everything." Her eyes started tearing up; "They started giving you CPR when they brought you through the gate, and then again the second day."

Jackie walked through the door with a tray of food, "I wasn't sure what you might want, so I brought..."

"Hey Jackie," I said.

"Holy shit! You finally decided to quit lying around huh?" She sat the tray down and grabbed my left hand and kissed it. "Gonna be a lot of happy people around here tomorrow morning. How about charming this woman of yours into eating some food?"

I looked more closely and I could see the narrowness of Catherine's face, the sunken cheeks and the dark circles under her eyes. "Why haven't you been eating?"

Her face went stony, "You asshole! You died on me twice and they had to revive you both times and you're wondering why I haven't been eating?"

I tried to shrug my shoulders, "I'm sorry?" The lighting in the room dimmed and went out, leaving me in the dark.

I need to piss. I opened my eyes and looked around me, candle burning on the bed stand, Catherine on a cot next to my bed with a small bundle wrapped in a blanket and her arms. She had the baby, okay, boy or girl? It doesn't matter as long as it's healthy. I rolled to my side, reached down and uncovered the little face; it smiled at me. Yeah, I know, they say new born babies don't smile, probably gas or something like that. I don't care what people say; I say it smiled at me. I rolled back the opposite direction and pushed myself to a sitting position, swung my legs off the edge of the bed, and slid down to the point where my feet contacted the cold floor. A shiver coursed through my body and the need for a restroom became imperative.

Stripping off the tape holding it in place, I removed an IV needle in the top of my hand before staggering out of the room and down the hall to a door marked with both male and female silhouettes. I stepped inside and decided to sit down rather than stand, my knees were weak and my legs were shaking from effort. After finishing I carefully stood and opened the faucet of the sink to wash my hands and splash water on my face. When I straightened and looked in the mirror I was stunned by the visage looking back at me.

The left side of my face was destroyed. It was still there, but it wasn't the face I remembered. The skin was stretched taunt and the left side of my mouth was pulled up in a perpetual half-smile. It looked as though someone had sliced the area below the cheekbone and scraped out all the meat before trimming off the excess skin and sewing it back together. I had never considered myself very good looking before, even though I have had women comment they thought I was attractive, but I wouldn't be getting any comments like that again. There was a network of scars up to and around the left eye and the ear. Some still had stitches holding the edges together. I thought of Frankenstein's monster; no wonder Catherine had kissed my right cheek. What woman in her right mind would want to kiss the other side?

I lowered the lid of the toilet and sat down as I probed the cheekbone; it was painfully sensitive to pressure where the spear point had impacted. Leaning over I rested the scarred side of my face against the wall; the coolness of the surface was soothing. How could Catherine want me, looking like this?

I heard a light tapping on the door of the restroom, "Occupied," I said.

"Michael, you shouldn't be up, come back to bed." Catherine.

"I need to sit here a while, okay?" I didn't think I wanted to see the look that was going to be in her eyes when she looked at me. Would it be pity, disgust?

She tried the doorknob and found it locked. I probably shouldn't have locked it when I came in, what if I would have collapsed from weakness and no one could get to me?

"Michael? Open the door." Was it fear I heard in her voice? Was she hoping I wouldn't open the door? Can't say I would blame her.

I heard low voices outside and after a moment of silence, another knock, louder and firmer.

"Mike, open the door." It was Mitch.

"In a while Mitch, right now I just want to sit here."

"Bullshit, open the door." He sounded a little pissed.

"Mitch, please, not now."

"Why? So you can sit in there and feel sorry for yourself? Cowboy up, kid, self-pity is a waste of valuable time. Now open the fucking door."

I sighed, walked to the door and unlocked it before walking back and sitting down again. Behind me I heard the door open and close. When I looked up Mitch was leaning his ass on the sink with his arms crossed over his chest.

"What's the problem?" Shit! Was he serious? I turned my face and pointed to what the problem was.

"I've seen worse my friend, so what's the problem?"

"How can I expect Catherine to look at me and not be repulsed?"

He just stood there for a minute and didn't say anything, but when he started talking I listened. "You were dead when they brought you in. No heartbeat, no respiration. She was there when Doc Hemet pulled off your helmet and exposed your wound; you were a god-awful mess. He started CPR compressions and Cat started breathing for you. The first time she blew into your mouth puss and blood squirted out the side of your face. She didn't miss a beat, just covered your cheek with her hand and kept blowing. You think you look bad now? You should have seen what you looked like then. There was so much swelling from the infection we could see your teeth through the gap in your cheek. There was infection behind your eye and the swelling was pushing the eye out of the socket. Doc worked on you for hours and she was there the whole time. Essie was the one who finally realized she had started labor and got her out of there. After she delivered she spent every minute with you and the baby. She hasn't been able to eat, or sleep. Now I see you acting like this and I wonder if you deserve her. Answer one thing for me; if it were she, instead of you, would you turn your back on her? Would you pity her? Would you be repulsed by her scars?"

"Of course not!"

"Why not?"

"Because I love her, because it wouldn't matter to me if she was scarred, because I know what's inside of her, that's what makes her beautiful."

"So your love for her is stronger than her love for you? Your love is somehow purer, more perfect than hers for you? Climb down off the fucking pedestal and smell the roses, asshole. You've got a woman a lot of men would love to have and she chose you."

He was right; I was wallowing in self-pity and assuming she wouldn't want me anymore. Maybe it's some form of self-doubt, which causes me to believe others are less interested in me than I am of them. I tried to stand, but my knees weren't working very well, "Give me a hand? I need to go kiss my wife and meet my baby."

"Oorah! That's the man I've come to know." He slid his hand under my arm and helped me stand up, then walked me back to my bed. Catherine was sitting on the edge of the cot, the baby nursing at her breast as we walked in. I climbed back on to the bed and Mitch flipped a sheet and blanket over me. "Okay you two, no hanky panky until Doc Hemet gives the marching orders, got it?"

"Got it," I said.

"We'll see." She smiled at me as Mitch walked out.

"So," I said. "Boy or girl? Name?"

Her smile widened, "Girl, I sort of jumped ahead a bit and decided to name her myself. I figure we'll start a family tradition. I name the girls, you name the boys; what do you think?"

"Works for me. So what is my daughter's name?"

"Her name is Cathleen Anne Moore, Cathleen, after your mom, and Anne, after mine. I thought we could call her Cam for short." She climbed onto the bed and turned, so I could see our daughter's face as she nursed.

"Cam it is." I reached out and stroked Cam's face with the tips of my fingers. "She's beautiful, just like her mom."

Over the next few days I had quite a few visitors, Jackie and John with Tabitha, Mitch, Essie, and Harold. Harold told me Team Three had received my radio message, but I never responded to their follow up calls, so they took my advice and were almost ready to leave when the zombies arrived. It was a close call because of the sheer numbers of infected attacking. While I had been gone scouting, the team had opened the five trailers we had found and discovered they were a shipment of complete solar systems scheduled to be delivered to Beale Air Force Base up by Marysville. Four days after my disappearance, they had returned with five trucks and pulled them out for use at Tranquility Base. The major coup was the batteries included with the shipment; they were the same type used in some of the nuclear submarines and were top of the line. Each trailer contained one complete system with solar panels, inverters, and batteries which could supply more power than we currently needed at Tranquility. The generators we had been using, which were fast approaching the point of being worn out from continuous use, were to be relegated to back-up power in case something went wrong with the solar system. Seems the end of the world as we knew it was going to result in a greener power system.

Personally, I have always supported the move towards a greener power grid and away from our dependency on coal and oil. It looked as though we were headed that way now, all of the existing systems, nuclear, hydroelectric, gas powered, and coal plants required too many layers of support to maintain for a long period of time. In the early days of the outbreak I had wondered how long the existing grid would last and frankly, I was surprised it lasted the first few weeks. We had several outages, which lasted longer each time and of course the earthquake had ended even that with the destruction of the entire system. Before the quake, I had noticed at night from the roof of the apartments there were growing areas of darkness around us.

Catherine is one of those lucky women who after giving birth look as though she was never pregnant She started exercising to firm up muscles and get back into fighting trim, as she called it, and me? As soon as I started getting my strength back I exercised alongside her. Within two months I was closing in on being 100% and she was helping me along. I think she was planning on never watching me go out the gate without her again. That was a topic I wasn't looking forward to, but I had an ace up my sleeve, her name was Cam.

There was something else which happened early on in my healing process. The second week after I started leaving our room I was sitting in the mess hall, drinking coffee and talking with John when Tanya Simms stopped by the table and asked if she might have a word in private with me. I asked when? She asked now? And John faded out; he had an appointment in the truck yard anyway. Since the first day when I had discovered Tanya and Essie were lovers, there had been friction between us and I don't think either of us had made more than a simple acknowledgement of the other's presence at any time. It wasn't about the fact they were lesbians, it was the fact I repeatedly noticed her watching me. She made me nervous and I wanted to talk to her about the unwanted attention.

"Tanya, before you say anything, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

"The fact I spend a lot of time watching you?"

"Actually, yes, it makes me nervous and I end up fixating on you. When I am fixating on you it draws my attention from where it should be."

She smiled and gave me the surprised look. "What should your attention really be on?" What did she mean by that? "Would you be willing to take part in a little experiment?"

"What kind of experiment?"

"Very simple, you sit there for five seconds and then answer one question. What do you say?"

Maybe it would lessen her curiosity about me, why not? "Alright."

"Good, you don't have to do anything, just sit there and relax for five seconds," She paused, "Starting now."

Five seconds is a long time when you're waiting.

"Time's up, my question is, 'how many times did you scan the room in the past five seconds?'"

"What?"

"You agreed to answer the question, how many times did you look over the room in the five seconds?"

"I was looking at you the whole time." What was she doing?

"No, you thought you were looking at me the whole time. You scanned the room twice in five seconds."

"I don't know what you're getting at."

"Do you get headaches Michael?"

"Sometimes, usually when I don't get my morning coffee." Oddly, I was getting interested in our conversation.

"Before the outbreak, did you get headaches if you didn't have your morning coffee?"

"I don't remember."

"My guess is you don't remember because you didn't. You are at an elevated state of alertness, Michael, 24/7. You need to learn how to relax and I might be able to help you with that if you're interested."

"What do you have in mind? I won't take any drugs, so don't go there."

"I don't believe drugs would help you, I think they would make the situation worse. I want you to try meditation."

"Really? I got into it a little a few years back when I was studying Aikido. You think it might help?"

"Yes, I give meditation sessions every Friday night at seven o'clock in the gunroom. Consider yourself and Cat invited."

"Thanks, Tanya." I was beginning to wonder if I had Tanya all wrong.

"Next topic, I've noticed lately you are doing some things you never did before."

"What?"

"What side of you does Cat always sit on?"

I thought, "The right side."

"She walks on your right, and I am willing to bet she sleeps on your right. When you speak to people, you look to your left and when someone is speaking to you, you turn your right ear to them as if to hear them better. The reason you do all these things is you are very self-conscious of your facial scars."

I knew she was right, I had caught myself doing it in the past with Catherine. Was it that noticeable? "Wouldn't you?"

"Probably, but then I'm very vain." She smiled as she dug into her pocket and set a bottle on the table between us. "Vitamin E capsules. Break the capsule open and smear it on the scar tissue twice a day, every day. My mother had breast cancer and we used it on her scars after they removed her breasts. It won't remove the scars, but it will soften the scar tissue and bring the color more in line with the rest of your skin tone. I have to go, see you Friday at night seven o'clock."

I watched her walk away feeling a little puzzled. What the hell was going on? I always had the feeling she was the type who if given a chance to bury the hatchet, would store it in the back of your head. Of course it's not like I'm really good at figuring people out, and I've never been very good at understanding women in particular, but I thought I had Simms figured out. Wrong again? Does it matter in the grand scheme of things?

More than once when we were having base meetings when everyone who wanted to could attend, the idea of setting up a ham radio surfaced. Unfortunately we had no one with any expertise who could implement the idea and none of us were familiar with the equipment even if we had some. It was something we talked a lot about though; I think people were starving for news, any word from beyond our own walls. Then in early January, we got a break.

John and Team Two were operating north of the I-10 and south of the I-210 in the Rancho Cucamonga area when their radio communications was swamped by a powerful signal from a guy named Breckinridge. He made contact, and told Team Two where he was located and asked if he and his family could join up with Tranquility Base. We have a standard operating procedure to immediately pick up any survivors, so Team Two set out to find his precise location, which turned out to be north of San Antonio Heights. When they arrived they discovered John Breckinridge, his wife Nora, and four children ranging from nineteen years to twelve years of age, but the best thing they found? Breckinridge had a ham radio and knew how to use it.

Over a period of three days, Team Two and Team One made two trips each to the Breckinridge place and dismantled his equipment and brought it back to Tranquility to be re-installed in one of the containers we designated the radio shack. The radio equipment wasn't all he had; in addition to the radio station, he had four Kel-Tec folding carbines chambered for nine millimeter with ten thirty-two round magazines each, two PTR-91 rifles in sniper configuration with twenty, twenty round magazines for each, six nine millimeter Glocks that used their own seventeen round magazines, or the magazines for the Kel-Tecs, six Remington 870 shotguns configured with eight round magazines, and literally tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition. His family still had four years left of their long term storage food and... Well, like I said, it took two salvage teams, two APCs, and four trucks two days to move them to Tranquility Base. You've got to love a prepper.

The first thing Dugan did was pump Breckinridge for any information he had picked up from the airways. Once he had everything he could get from him he condensed it into a printed format and had it handed out to everyone who wanted a copy. Everyone wanted a copy.

What we now know:

The plague has swept worldwide.

Tel Aviv was hit with a nuclear weapon and Israel responded by nuking every large city in the Islamic Middle-east. Mostly they destroyed cities of infected.

Several Islamic governments were declared in Western and Eastern Europe.

Several Islamic enclaves have declared an Islamic nation in the Northeast of the U.S. and Canada.

Radio contact with Islamic enclaves was lost after reports of being over-run by infected.

The surviving Canadian government has allied itself with the U.S.

Transportation hubs around the world have been wiped out except for isolated groups of survivors.

Most of the area between the Mississippi River and the Rocky Mountains is under the control of the Federal Government and is relatively plague free with the exception of large metropolitan areas, though sporadic outbreaks occasionally occur.

The ex-Speaker of the House was not killed in the earthquake at San Francisco and is now the titular head of the proclaimed Western States of America (WSA).

Fighting between official U.S. military forces and the WSA is continuing though there has yet to be a concerted push by the U.S. to end the illegal state of WSA.

All uninfected are invited to relocate to the infection free portions of the U.S.

U.S. forces are securing strategic locations within the infected regions.

Switzerland has survived mostly intact.

Nations and/or regions, which severely curtailed private ownership of guns, seemed to have fared the worst.

The worldwide death toll is estimated to be in the billions.

It wasn't good, but I suppose it could have been much worse. There were some points in the, newsletter I found puzzling and I think all of us spent time discussing what was presented to us. Was the nuclear attack on Tel Aviv, and Israel's nuclear counter-strike some sort of knee jerk insanity? Did a nation state, or a terrorist group, carry out the attack on Tel Aviv? Was it a case of 'we are being wiped out, so we're taking you with us?' Was Israel's counter-strike a case of 'we don't know who attacked us, so we're hitting everyone?' Were there other nuclear strikes we don't know about? What about India and Pakistan? What about China? What about us? Did we hit anyone, or was the government too busy consuming itself?

There were Islamic Governments in Europe? That didn't sound reasonable. Were Muslims resistant to the plague somehow? That was ridiculous because the plague started in the Middle East from what Professor Brown told me. Were the inhabitants able to seal off the Islamic enclaves, which I knew existed in Europe, U.S., and Canada, and thereby survive intact? I had my doubts. Then there was the report of the Muslim enclaves being over-run by infected; that was believable, but if they survived the initial outbreak, why not the aftermath?

It was understandable Canada and the U.S. would be allied after the outbreak, we were before the plague. How allied were we? Were the governments just working together, or was the connection stronger than that now? It has always confounded me Canada and the U.S. weren't basically the same nation anyway; there were a lot of things about Canada I admired and most Canadians I had met were difficult to distinguish from Americans. If we ended up one nation, of some type or another, it worked for me.

The reports of the transportation hubs of the world being overrun by infected was obviously a reasonable assumption, the disease would be readily spread through international airports and most airports were near, or in, densely populated areas. I remember watching the news and seeing the red markers on a map of the U.S. spreading out from the major cities. The report of the middle of the country being intact made sense of a sort; the area west of the Mississippi River and east of the Rockies was much thinner populated and would leave lots of room for local authorities to prepare to prevent the plague from entering their communities. The invitation for all uninfected to relocate to plague free regions was a good idea if it could be pulled off. Hell, it took Campbell six days just to travel from Claremont to Gorman up on the I-5, how long would it take to get to Arizona, or Colorado, or Montana? I hoped that report was true.

The ex-Speaker of the House was alive; what a disappointment it was to hear that bit of news. The Western States of America? I was definitely having trouble buying into that one. Southern California up to Sacramento was the hotbed of progressive culture, if you eliminated the small farming communities along the way. Northern California was entirely different from Southern California. Mostly small towns and more conservative in their political alignment; I often wondered why the two portions of the state weren't separated because they were so different. Could the ex-Speaker be able to find enough supporters to actually form a nation separate from the U.S. that could challenge the U.S. military? Even California's National Guard had turned against her from what I heard from Campbell. If there was such a thing as the WSA it was probably a nonfunctioning entity that existed only over the airways.

I liked the idea of military forces securing strategic locations within the infected regions. We were going to need our seaports, refineries, et cetera, when we started the rebuilding process. I had already suggested to Mitch we keep an ear out for any military units which might be operating in our area and offer Tranquility Base as a safe harbor for them to branch out from. In fact, I suggested taking over Ontario International Airport for the reason it could accept large transport aircraft which might need the facilities. It would require the allotment of much of our resources, but in the long run it could be very beneficial to our continued survival. The only wrinkle was if the airport runways had survived the earthquake, in some areas the ground and buckled up to twenty feet into the air and in others it had dropped just as much and the entire region had been split and ripped apart, one of the reasons travel by vehicle took so long. I volunteered to do the recon, but Mitch was reluctant for the time being.

Switzerland was intact, why not if you think about it. Though the nation had international airports, highways and railways, it could be easily sealed to the outside because of the passes through the Alps. The Swiss also have a strong legacy of civilian ownership of weapons and the entire Swiss military keeps its small arms in the homes of its troops. People would have had rapid access to weapons and ammunition to protect against the infected. Is it any wonder they had survived and the nations that restricted gun ownership had not? I had already seen the results of California's magazine size limitation; when faced by an infected mob, would you rather have a thirty round magazine, or a ten round magazine?

Billions dead. I don't doubt it. But I was more interested in how many survived. Before the outbreak the U.S. had slightly over 300 million people, I wondered how many were left.

As hard as I worked trying to get back into shape, it was Catherine who went out with the salvage teams before me. I didn't want her going for obvious reasons, there was always the danger of course, but the main reason was Cam. Catherine would be nursing Cam for at least a year, probably longer, so I felt it was necessary for Catherine to stay home with her. Catherine had other ideas, she said the two of us had been on the public dole too long and it was time for at least one of us to start earning our keep. I felt the same way, but I also felt it should be me, not her that went. Harold, as helpful as always, managed to locate a box of breast pumps, and baby bottles, which allowed Catherine to milk herself for when Cam needed feeding when she was out on a salvage run. In a way it was kind of nice because once I finished my exercise routine I could carry Cam with me doing odd jobs and go to the mess hall when she was hungry for milk stored in the refrigerator that Jackie kept for us. I ended up spending a lot of quality time with my little girl.

After her first week back in the field I started finding Catherine asleep on the floor with Cam when I woke in the mornings. When I asked her why she was sleeping there she said I'd been thrashing about in my sleep and was keeping her awake at night, so she started sleeping on the floor. I couldn't remember having nightmares, but then I never have. I knew she needed her sleep because I know how stressful and tiring the work out there was, so I went to the storehouse and withdrew a twin size bed for me to sleep in, which I set up a couple of feet from our normal bed. This would allow Catherine to sleep with Cam without worrying about me keeping the two of them awake.

It seemed as though she became steadily more tired as time progressed and I started to be concerned. She had always been sexually active with me, but now she was too tired at night to make love. Knowing that being a new mother in its self was tiring, and knowing the high level of stress involved in her job, I worked at being as accommodating as I could. I visited Doctor Hemet and discussed her health, but he assured me she was in good shape and not to be overly concerned.

Everyone had a job, but me. My friends had things they could do and spent much of their time planning and interacting accordingly and I was finding myself more often than not, on the outside looking in. Sometimes I had the feeling I was being avoided by the people I sought out, it was nonsense, but still it nagged at me.

Every Friday night I met with the meditation group under Tanya's direction and I have to admit, it did seem to be doing me a great deal of good. I seemed able to concentrate more readily and I was feeling increasingly relaxed. Another feature was the people I met who I had never associated with before. There were almost three hundred people at Tranquility Base now, but my circle of friends had remained the few I had known before going there. I suppose that was an improvement also, even though Catherine opted out of the meditation class for what she told me were religious reasons. She said the process seemed anti-Christian to her and she was uncomfortable with it. I explained there was a long history of Christian mysticism and that meditation was what you chose it to be, not what it made you, but she remained resistant and I let her make her own decision.

I guess you could call it a revelation, or an epiphany; it came to me while I was meditating the Friday night after Doc Hemet cleared me for duty.

When you are meditating, you attempt to empty your mind, not all that easy when there are dozens of thoughts running through your head. Tanya told me not to try to empty my mind, but to acknowledge a stray thought and then let it go. See what comes up next, and let it go. I have a tendency to snatch a stray thought, or idea, and set my teeth in it, to shred it until I can make sense of it, but this night I acknowledged the thoughts and let them fall into place, one after another. One after another they fell into place.

I opened my eyes and looked at the wall across from me for a few moments before I stood and walked to the door of the gunroom. Feeling a touch on my arm, I turned and met Tanya's eyes.

"Michael, where are you going?" There was a look of concern on her face.

I realized my cheeks were wet. "I have to go now."

"Michael, is there something you have experienced you would like to share with our group?"

"No," I said as I opened the door and walked out closing it behind me. At our room I stood outside for a few minutes, and then went to Harold's room where I waited for a moment before leaving. I went to the truck park and checked the oil and fluid levels of the Suburban before I inserted the key and turned it to 'on,' waited for several seconds before switching to start; the diesel motor spun over and started rattling as it smoothed out. I checked the main fuel tank, and then the auxiliaries; they were all reading full, so I sat in the cab until the engine temperature read normal and shut it off.

I waited quite a while before pulling a pocket watch from my jeans and looking at the face, Catherine had given it to me for Christmas because I didn't have a one. I climbed out of the Suburban and walked through the shadows until I could see the mess hall, waited until Harold left mine and Catherine's room and then followed several minutes later. When I walked into the mess hall Harold was pouring a cup of coffee before walking to a nearby table and sitting down. I stopped in front of him.

"Hey, Harold."

He looked up quickly, "Mike, done with meditation class already?"

"This is the time it always ends. Harold, I need a favor, the kind of favor only a friend can do for me. Will you do it for me?"

"Sure, Mike, what do you need?"

"I need to touch bases with Mitch before he goes to sleep, could you go to my place and grab Catherine and Cam for me, and bring them here? I might be a few minutes, so if you could keep her company; give her a hand with Cam until I get back I'd appreciate it."

"Of course, see you when you get back."

"Thanks Harold, you've always been a good friend to Catherine, I don't think I ever told you that. All of you, you've all been good friends to Catherine and I appreciate all of you, I know how all of you have taken care of her."

I left through the door closest to Mitch's place and then waited until Harold crossed the compound and knocked on the door to Catherine's room. She let him in and a few minutes later she left with him and with Cam in her arms. When they entered the mess hall I crossed to her room and stepped inside, closing the door behind me. I gathered up my leathers and slipped them on, then my web gear and weapons. The pistol and holster I left on the bed with the pocket watch, but I picked up one of Cam's baby blankets and held it to my face as I inhaled her scent. I stuffed it into my jacket and zipped it up before I put on the helmet and finally the veil. Five minutes later, the sentries at the main gate opened it and waved to me as I drove the Suburban into the darkness of the night, and the darkness behind the veil.

#

##### Chapter Eleven

**March:**

Moments of lucidity can be painful and a moment of meditative clarity can destroy your perception of purpose. Are you on purpose? Do you know your purpose? I know mine. In here, within the darkness behind the veil, there is no deception, no betrayal, no pain, and no deformity, there is only purpose. There is no fear, no anger, no disappointment, and no murderous rage, there is only purpose. I feel nothing, but purpose. Even the most strident of practitioners must renew their personal vows on occasion, and when I feel the need, I remove the baby blanket from the plastic bag I keep it in and breathe in a renewal of purpose. What is my purpose? A world where children can search through the tall green grass and spring flowers, dressed in their Easter finery, seeking colored eggs and treasures of delightful chocolate without the fear of being brutally murdered and eaten by the crazed, cannibalistic infected. My purpose is to kill every one of those filthy fuckers, and I have gotten very good at it.

I sat astride the motorcycle and waited until they got to within 50 feet of me and pulled away, far enough for safety, but close enough to keep their undivided attention. At about thirty-five to forty, they were one of the biggest groups I had been able to entice into leaving the main horde. The place I was leading them to was only another block away and I was anticipating the conclusion to another successful hunt. That was when I heard it, the whop, whop, whop, of the rotor blade of a helicopter. It flew relatively low over us and continued towards Ontario, a Blackhawk, I wondered if they were heading for Ontario International. I looked behind me and slowed to a stop, the zombies had lost interest in me because of the low-flying chopper. Shit!

I turned the motorcycle around and fired three rounds from the Carbine into their midst. I wasn't necessarily trying to kill one, just get their attention back where it belonged, on me. One collapsed to the litter strewn pavement and the rest found me interesting again, so I turned the bike and eased up the road staying just ahead of them. Coming to the turn-off into a parking lot I rode through the open doors of the shipping container to the end where I made a right turn into the second container and a left into the third. When I exited I stopped the bike, dismounted, closed one of the doors, and waited for the zombies to follow the sound of the idling motorcycle. When the first three rounded the corner into the last container I closed the second door and secured it. I jogged to the entrance of the first container and checked to see if it was clear before I stepped around the side and closed the doors. I had them all inside the three containers.

Climbing to the top of the containers, I walked to the back where the motorcycle waited, opening the valves of the three thirty gallon drums of gasoline, which were piped into the containers. When I reached the end of the last container, I popped the igniter on a road flare and inserted it into the hole in the door I had previously cut. Remounting the motorcycle I rode away down the alley the last container sat inside of. One of two things were going to happen any minute, either the gasoline would ignite and burn the infected alive, or the fuel air mixture inside the containers would reach a critical stage and the road flare would ignite a tremendous explosion. I didn't really care which it would be, but I didn't want to be around if it decided to explode instead of burn.

Next project, where did that chopper go? I took off on the bike in the direction of Ontario airport. The chopper might be looking for survivors, or they might be doing a recon to find out if there was any fuel at the airport that might be available. There was, and I wanted to make contact if they hung around for a while. It was only about five miles away and on the bike I could make fairly good time, maybe thirty minutes tops.

I stopped twice along the way to take out small groups of infected and still got there in less than thirty minutes. The helicopter had indeed landed a couple of hundred yards from the west terminal and I approached cautiously because of the armed soldiers who were maintaining a security perimeter. Judging from their uniforms, they were National Guard, or regular Army. I slowly rolled up to the first soldier and waved, he motioned me forward.

"What are you guys doing out this way?" I asked.

"We were ordered to do an aerial recon, looking for survivors, fuel for jet turbines or prop driven aircraft. Are you familiar with the area, or passing through?" He was fairly young and I wondered how long he had been in the military.

"Familiar, you Army, or Guard?"

"Nevada National Guard out of Las Vegas. Troop C, 1st Squadron, 221st Cavalry."

I looked at the chopper, "Air Cav?"

He smiled, "Nope, normally we ride around in Gavins, or Bradleys, but they can't cover ground the way a Blackhawk can."

"Run into any of the WSA forces?"

"Naw, those people are jokes, mostly gang bangers out of the Frisco area. We'll get around to them eventually, but right now we're interested in survivors. We can give you a free lift out if you want?"

"Looking for someplace to operate out of?"

"Beats me, I'm kind of low on the food chain, but my Sergeant might know, that's him coming now. Cool outfit you have, you go up against infected in that?"

"On occasion."

"Hard to believe there are still uninfected out here this long after the outbreak. I bet you've seen some real shit." He turned to the soldier who joined us, "Sergeant Miller, this man's from around here."

The Sergeant extended his hand and I took it. "Your man says you're looking for survivors?"

"Yes Sir, are there more than you around here?"

I pointed in the general direction of Tranquility Base, "That way, about ten, maybe twelve miles. You'll see a large area within the ruins of an industrial park. You can't miss it because they built their defensive walls out of shipping containers. They have maybe three hundred survivors in there."

"Three hundred? Shit! I'm going to call this in. How about coming with us and showing us the way?"

I felt myself stiffen, "No, I don't go there anymore."

"Why not?"

I thought for a moment, "Yeah, okay, I'll come along with you, but I need to take my bike."

"Good enough, Smitty, give the man a hand loading his motorcycle." He turned to me, "We've got plenty of room, our Troop was split for this mission. What's your name?"

"Michael Moore." Smitty and I pushed the bike to the helicopter and between the two of us and another man, got it into the chopper. Miller spoke to the pilot and the blades began to spin up and we were in the air. Do you think military helicopters are noisy when they fly over? Try riding inside one.

It seemed as though we had just reached our maximum altitude when the chopper banked and wheeled around the perimeter of Tranquility. It looked like most of the people had poured out of the buildings and were waving like crazy as the pilot set the aircraft down in the middle of the compound.

Miller leaned over and shouted at me as the rotors started to slow down, "Who's in charge here?"

"Ex-marine named Mitch Dugan; he's squared away and pretty up-front." I scanned the crowd forming around the slowing rotors, "That's him with the white hair." I pointed to him and Miller nodded to me before stepping out of the chopper and walking to Mitch. I stayed inside and continued to look for familiar faces; finally I saw Jackie by the mess hall door, so I climbed out and started in her direction. Her belly was huge and she was holding a little dark haired baby in her arms while pointing at the helicopter. She noticed me when I was twenty feet away.

She didn't run to give me a hug; she just waited for me to come to her. I stopped in front of her and stroked Cam's face with the back of my fingers. Cam's eyes widened and she started to become agitated.

"It's the veil, it's putting her off." I glanced at Jackie and back at my daughter, and then unsnapped the veil and allowed it to drop away.

"Why did you leave Mike?"

I looked at her again and I seethed inside. Jackie's eyes widened and she stepped back. "You know why, you all know why. You all knew. Everyone knew, everyone, but me." I gave Cam a quick kiss on the cheek and then snapped the veil back into place. I became calm and separate again.

"Mike, what were we supposed to do?"

"You did exactly what a friend would do Jackie, you covered for them. I'm glad she has friends like all of you. I really am." I turned away to leave, but she grabbed my arm and pulled me around to face her.

"You're our friend too, Mike." She looked desperate and on the verge of crying.

I reached out and gently touched her face and softly said, "The only thing I can say is, I'm glad I'm not your enemy." I walked away. I shouldn't have come, but the chance to see Cam was more than enough reason. Besides, behind the veil I am safe and their treachery can't touch me.

I joined Miller where he was speaking with Mitch and stood to the side while I listened. No one had ever found a group of survivors as large as Tranquility, so Miller was excited, he said their standing orders were to rescue all survivors and relocate them to safe and uninfected regions of the U.S., but there obviously were too many at Tranquility, so he gave Mitch a list of radio frequencies and told him to monitor them and the authorities would be in touch as soon as possible.

Once he was finished with Mitch he turned to me, "What about you, can we drop you off somewhere?"

"No, the nearest place to set down would be farther from where the rest of my gear is stashed than I am here. Let me unload my bike and we can both be on our way."

We walked to the Blackhawk together and one of the troopers rolled it to the door. I grabbed hold of one side, Miller grabbed the other and then we lowered it to the ground. I rolled it towards the gate and leaned it on its kickstand as I watched the rotors spin up and the chopper lift off, circle the base once and fly away. The people here were going to be in good company before too much longer if everything went well. Swinging my leg over the seat I switched the ignition on and prepared to kick start the motor, but Dugan appeared beside me.

"Thanks."

"For what?" I thrust my foot down on the kick-starter and revved up the motor, it was a four stroke and the exhaust was well muffled.

"You know what for, for bringing them here. I've been hoping for something like this for a long time. These people, all of them, deserve a chance to get out of here to somewhere safe."

Looking into his eyes I said, "There is nowhere safe, only places that are safer. This place is a good spot and I think the military is going to want to use it after you're gone. Or course they may set up at Ontario, that's where they were when I found them."

He smiled at me, "Couldn't resist the dig, huh?"

"What do you mean?" I shifted the position of the carbine across my chest.

"You were the one that wanted to check out Ontario and see if it was usable, but after you left I just dropped the idea. I should have gone ahead and followed your suggestion."

I looked at him for a few moments, "Statistically speaking, I can't be wrong every time."

He smiled again and gripped my arm, "You hungry?"

I looked at the sky, checking where the sun was. "Going to start getting dark soon and I've got a ways to go. I think I'll pass."

"Come on kid, spend the night. The room next to mine is empty, soft bed, hot shower; get your gear cleaned again, and a good meal. Two bottles of merlot I've been saving for a special occasion with a special guy."

"Got a cigar?"

"I think I can locate a few."

"What's on the menu tonight?"

"Curried shrimp and rice."

Shit. "I'll be leaving first thing in the morning."

I killed the engine and walked the bike to the room next to Mitch's while he strolled beside me. He asked what I had been doing and I told him, afterwards he told me what was going on around the base and how things were progressing. I had already noticed the fields were plowed and they were preparing to plant crops, so I told him it might be a good idea to continue with the planting even if they might be leaving in the near future. He agreed.

Mitch removed a couple of folding camp chairs from his room and set them in the shade of the containers and I sat in one while he went inside and came out again, only this time he had one of the bottles of merlot.

"I can't find the corkscrew and now that I think about it, I don't think I ever had one. My booze usually has a screw cap on it." He handed me the bottle, "Hang on to this and I'll go find one, be right back."

He took off for the mess hall and as soon as he was out of sight I went into his room, reached behind the second bottle and took the corkscrew from the shelf. After pulling the cork I put it back where I got it and returned to the chair outside. By the time he returned, half the bottle was empty and I had a pleasant buzz going.

He frowned at the open bottle and carried the new corkscrew into his room before coming back out without it. "Usually, the guest waits the host's pleasure when it comes to opening a bottle."

"Bullshit. I couldn't find the cigars though. Who's coming over?"

He pulled a narrow box out of his pocket and slid out a cigar with a plastic tip on it. "I'd break that fricking tip off unless you want to keep it, I hate those things."

I snapped off the plastic tip and used a lighter from my jacket pocket to light it. From another pocket Mitch withdrew a cigar cylinder and unsealed it before sliding out the cigar and clipping the end off. He wet it down with his tongue and then lit it.

"Why do I get the piece of shit cigar wrapped in cellophane and you get the one vacuum packed in its own tube?"

"Because you wouldn't know a quality cigar if it bit your ass and I'm not wasting the good ones on you."

"Can't argue with that."

"Essie and Tanya."

I leaned my head back until it rested against the side of the container Mitch's room was in. It felt good to relax with someone you could count on. "Thanks Mitch."

"It's a cheap cigar and cheap merlot, but you're welcome anyway."

"No. Thanks for the story you told me about your wife and your fellow Marine."

"It was a lie. She never cheated on me."

"I figured that out a while back. You were trying to prepare me for what was coming. How long did you know?"

"Too long, truth be told." He stared at the cigar as he rolled it between his fingers. "Couple of days after the talk we had in the restroom of the clinic."

"Shit, sucks to be you."

"It turned into a first class cluster fuck before all was said and done."

"Why?"

"Essie didn't know about it; Tanya did. Tanya told me about a talk she had with you in the mess hall. About you turning your face when people talked to you?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"She told me about it after you were gone. She said what you were doing was called a learned behavior and she noticed the only person you did it with was Cat. She noticed Cat always walked on your right, sat on your right, crap like that. Then Cat came to her for advice on the best way to break it off with you. She still cared for you as a friend, but not as a lover, not as a husband. I think if the two of you had just been friends, the scars wouldn't have bothered her. What I couldn't figure out is if she wanted to be with Harold why was she sleeping with you, and having sex with you?"

"She didn't, she wanted to sleep in separate beds after I was wounded and then she was always too tired. It took a while, but it finally came together and I figured out what was happening."

"Tanya said she thinks it finally came to you while you were meditating, is that right?"

"Yeah. You'd think I wouldn't be interested in meditation anymore, but I'm still doing it."

"Well, then Essie found out and man, the shit hit the fan big time."

"How so?"

"When she found out you were gone and why, she flipped out and went after Cat. Tanya and I stopped her, physically stopped her, and then she found out everyone knew about it and didn't tell her and flipped out again. She moved out of her and Tanya's room and wouldn't have anything to do with any of us for about a month unless it was community related. She demanded we find you and bring you home, but I finally convinced her you'd be back when you were ready." He looked off across the compound and then back at me, "Are you ready?"

Pulling the cork from the bottle of Merlot I took a long pull and re-corked it. "I'm hungry. Let's go see if that curried shrimp is ready yet."

We walked together to the mess hall and I moved down the counter until I could see Jackie with Cam, Tabitha, Henry and Marsha. They were the two kids Dugan had adopted. She was helping the three oldest with what appeared to be schoolwork. I went ahead and continued into the kitchen area and she finally saw me coming. She stood up and smoothed her clothing until I reached her.

"Jackie, I don't blame you for not telling me; you, or John, or anyone who knew. There's some anger I will have to deal with, but I do understand why everyone kept quiet about what was happening. I recognize your loyalties would lie with Cat and Harold, hell you guys only knew me for a month before we were separated and you've all been together for almost a year now. I'd like to ask your forgiveness, for what I said outside."

She slid her arms around my neck and squeezed. "Of course, it's what friends do."

I stepped back and picked up Cam, "Mitch says you're fixing curried shrimp and rice, is it ready yet?"

"Yeah, I was just waiting for my helpers to show up for the dinner service. Come on, I'll get you guys some."

"Nope, you sit down and continue your lesson plan, just point us in the right direction."

After we ate we returned to Dugan's room and the chairs outside. The kids, Tabitha, Henry and Marsha, came back with us while Jackie hung on to Cam saying it was time for her to be fed. She said she and John would be over after he returned from the field and had eaten. Where we were sitting we could see the gate to the truck park and we saw John and his team come home and then later, just before dark, Harold and Cat's team came through the gate. The last group was Essie's and within ten minutes of their arrival I could see Essie and Tanya crossing the compound in our direction.

I stood up as they neared and Essie wrapped her arms around me and began to sniffle, in my ear she whispered, "Mi Hermano."

I pulled her close and whispered back into her ear, "Mi Hermana."

She stepped back and gave me a good shot to the chest, "Where the hell have you been!" It hurt.

Tanya pushed her out of the way and gave me a hug, "Welcome home Michael." They brought a bottle of white wine and a bottle of tequila and Mitch brought out two more folding chairs for the ladies. We talked for close to forty-five minutes when we were joined by John and Jackie. John was carrying a large pot and Jackie had a handful of bowls and spoons, which she passed out to those who hadn't eaten yet. It was turning into an early spring evening picnic.

When it had grown dark and Mitch's second bottle of merlot was open I saw movement in the compound, someone was coming our way and when he was close enough, I recognized his build and gait; it was Harold. Remaining seated, I pointed to him and after looking everyone became quiet. Something was dangling from his right hand and my hand drifted to the tomahawk hanging from my gear. He stopped between Jackie and John and held the item out to me.

"Cat wants you to have this. Personally, I don't think you deserve it, but she says she made it for you and you should have it." He dropped the shoulder harness and pistol at my feet. He glanced around the circled people and shook his head, "I thought you people were our friends, I guess I was wrong." He looked back at me, "And you, if you go near Cat, or Cam, there's going to be trouble. Understand?"

I found myself astride his prone body with the tomahawk pressed against the vein in the left side of his neck. "I will come to see my daughter whenever I wish and do not... ever... threaten me...again. I will kill you so fast you won't know you're dead. Understand?"

"Mike!" Mitch was standing next to me, "Let him go Mike."

Harold grabbed my wrist with both hands and tried to push the tomahawk away, I pressed harder and a trickle of blood slid towards the back of his neck. He let go of my wrist and raised his palms upwards in a gesture of submission. Essie's hand closed around my wrist, she didn't try to pull it away, but lightly squeezed it as she whispered in my ear.

"Let him go Hermano, I do not want his blood on your hands. This isn't you."

I stood up and returned to my chair where I sat and took another pull off the merlot, then another as I tried to control the trembling in my hands. Harold ignored Mitch's offered help to get up and when he was on his feet he looked at everyone.

"Don't you see? Can't you see how dangerous he is? He's like one of them." He pointed beyond the wall, "You're all afraid to say it, but I'm not," He turned and looked me in the eyes, "You're not the same man she fell in love with. You're not the man I had so much respect for. You walked around here like some sort of caged animal waiting to turn on its keeper and everyone knows Cat would have stayed with you if she wasn't frightened for Cam's safety."

Essie held up her hand, "Enough! Do not presume to speak for us! Do not tell this man what we think! I believe someone needed a reason to follow her desires, so she created a situation, which others could understand and relate to. We are all frightened, we all live in fear, but not of this man," She pointed to me. "He would give his life for any of us; even you after you took his woman. You want us to think he is evil? That he is dangerous? You don't know evil, but I do, I have known evil men..."

Tanya grabbed Essie and spoke softly to her, "Easy Baby, go easy now." She led her away a short distance and talked to her in low tones.

Harold pointed at them and in a lower voice said, "See what he's doing? He's manipulating us, turning us against each other, breaking up our friendships."

Jackie struggled up from her chair and turned to face him, "Harold? I love you to death, but shut the fuck up!"

"What?" He looked stunned.

"He didn't break up any friendships. You and Cat did. Was Cat right about him being a different person than the one she loved? Yes, he was different, but he was out there alone for six months! Alone! That would change anyone. Do you know what the sad thing about this whole mess is? He was changing! He didn't cheat on Cat; she cheated on him. He didn't stab his friend in the back, you did!"

Harold looked to John, "Well?"

John shrugged, "What she said."

"Oorah!" Mitch didn't need to say anything else.

Harold stepped back and spun on his heel before walking quickly away. He said something over his shoulder, but I didn't hear what it was, I was busy beating myself up. All this time I thought everyone had been in on the whole sordid affair. I thought they had supported Cat's indiscretion with their silence. Why do I always make myself into an ass?

"I seem to be causing a lot of grief, maybe I better go." Was this the reason I came? On some level of my subconscious, did I come here to start trouble? If it was the reason, I was disappointed in myself; Essie was right, this wasn't me. I hoped.

Jackie walked over to me and drew the left side of my head to the right side of her belly, "You're not going anywhere Mister Moore, you're home."

I wasn't really, home that is. I felt uncomfortable here, but on the other hand I knew better what was outside than anyone else did. There was a degree of safety inside the wall of containers, which I believe many didn't truly understand. There were things I needed to tell Mitch I didn't think he was going to like, things that were happening outside of Tranquility Base's proximity. Not tonight though, tonight I was in need of a serving of crow.

"Jackie, I treated you like shit earlier, and to be honest, my feelings towards John were similar to the ones I had for you. When I apologized in the mess hall it was somewhat disingenuous, so I want to apologize again and this time I want both of you to know it's sincere."

John rose from his chair and joined Jackie, "Dude, we wouldn't have made it through the first month if hadn't been for you. I never would have met Jackie, she wouldn't be having my baby, and we wouldn't be safe now if you hadn't kept us safe then. We should have handled things differently, but the way we did things didn't mean we didn't consider you a friend."

I stripped off my helmet, "Sometimes the messenger gets killed for his effort." If everyone considered me dangerous when we got back together, maybe it was on their mind when they considered telling me about Cat and Harold. I wondered how I would have reacted if I would have found out earlier, before the meditation, before I began to relax and become more socialized. I can't say for sure, but I think the end result would have been better. I think I could have walked away from the relationship with Catherine and been good with it. I think. I hope I'm not the kind of man who believes he can make a woman love him, even if she loves someone else.

Essie and Tanya returned, sat down with us again and things began to return to the sense of normalcy we had been enjoying before Harold had come. I picked the pistol and holster up from the dirt, brushed it off, and checked to see if the revolver was loaded. It was, so I unloaded it and hung the entire kit from the back of the chair I was in. Everyone, except Jackie, continued sipping at their preferred drinks and to tell the truth I drank a lot less than I had earlier in the day, but more than I should have. The last time I had any alcohol was the day after I came to Tranquility Base the first time, it's not a good idea to be drunk when there's zombies wanting to recruit you, or eat you.

John finally noticed Jackie nodding off and decided to take her home, Mitch told them to leave Tabitha because she was asleep on his bed anyway, so they left. Mitch finally gave up the ghost a little later, so it was Essie, Tanya, and I for a while longer until Essie began to slur her speech and Tanya decided it was time for them to be going also. I got them to wait a minute while I put away the pistol, grabbed my Carbine and I walked them home. Tanya and I pretty much carried Essie to their room and got her laid down and I told Tanya I was headed for the showers, I didn't want to sleep on the cot of the spare room if I wasn't clean. Besides, a hot shower was one of the things I had truly come to miss.

While I showered, I washed my socks and underwear at the same time, hey; I wasn't going to put dirty clothes back onto a clean body. I was tense as hell though; usually I don't take off my clothes unless I'm secure inside of my garage. The socks were problematic and I figured sooner, or later, I was going to have to scrounge some more. They were getting pretty worn with holes at the toes and the heels. I was just finishing the socks when I thought I heard a noise, I froze and then reached for my Carbine as a blurred shape stepped in front of the plastic privacy curtain of the shower stall.

"Mike?"

I relaxed a bit, "Yes?"

"It's me, Tanya."

"Is something wrong?"

"No, I brought you some fresh clothes from the commissary; Essie figured you might need some."

"Thanks Tanya, I appreciate it."

She swept the curtain aside and stepped into the changing cubicle, placed the clothes on top of my leathers and then sat on the opposite bench. I turned my back to her and began scrubbing my hair with a bar of soap. I was feeling very naked and wondering what the hell was going on.

"Essie wants to have a family, children."

Okay, but since neither one were attracted to men, how were they planning on doing that? "What about you?"

"I want children too, probably a good thing since Essie is sterile." She is?

"How do you know she's sterile?"

"Too many cases of STDs, when she was a child."

What? When she was a kid? I rinsed the soap from my hair and reached into the changing cubicle for the towel. I dried the excess water from my hair and then wrapped it around my waist before I sat down on the bench across from Tanya. "Too many STDs when she was a kid? What are you talking about?"

"Essie's father started molesting her when she was eight years old," my blood went cold. "When she was twelve, he started sharing her with one of her uncles and two cousins. When she was sixteen, she shot him in the chest and spent the next five years in a Youth Authority Camp. They released her when she was twenty-one. They infected her so many times and let it go so long without treatment, that her reproductive organs were permanently damaged."

What happens? What makes a man do things like this, to his own daughter, and then pass her around to others? Why would a man even consider such a thing? It's our job to protect women, all women, especially the children. No child should grow up carrying a burden like that. That was what she meant when she was dressing down Harold, when she said she had known evil men.

I bowed my head and stared at the floor, I couldn't look Tanya in the face because of my shame. Shame for the shit people can do to each other.

"I didn't know."

"Of course not, I'm the only person she has ever told except the public defender when she was arrested for killing her father."

I looked up and stared into Tanya's eyes, "Then you shouldn't have said anything. If she wanted me to know, she would have told me."

"She wants you to know, she asked me to tell you. You couldn't have known, but you are the only man she ever considered dating. That's the reason I disliked you so much after she told me who you were, I was jealous."

"You're not jealous anymore?"

She smiled, "No, I'm not jealous anymore because I know even though she may have considered you at one time, I don't think she could ever stand to have another man touch her after the way she was used."

"I'm glad you told me, but at the same time I wish you hadn't."

"I know, I've spent my career trying to help people like Esmeralda; there are so many with similar stories, and not just women."

"Okay, so how are you planning on having a family? In Vitro fertilization, some other form of artificial insemination?"

She laughed, "I think maybe the technology for that disappeared about a year ago. No Michael, we talked about it and we decided we would pick a man who met our criteria and ask him to have sex with me until I'm pregnant. The man would have to be willing to surrender any parental rights of course. He would have to be intelligent, brave, self-reliant, attractive, and kind."

_Breeding stock._ "You're looking for some good breeding stock." I smiled.

"Crude," She laughed, "But yes, I suppose we are."

"Well, good luck on finding a man with all the 'criteria' you're looking for."

"No problem there, all we need to do is convince him to do it." So they already had someone picked out.

"Are you kidding me? I've known a lot of men who would jump at what you're proposing. All the fun and no responsibility; I don't know if I could do it though."

She cocked her head to the side, "Why not?"

"I'm not sure I could father a child and then just walk away without ever knowing how they turned out. All the things men want to do with their children, being a father, you know."

"Couldn't an uncle do those things? Couldn't you be 'Uncle Mike'?"

I froze, "Uncle Mike?"

"Essie and I would like you to be the father." She wasn't smiling anymore, she wasn't joking. "After you left, we talked about you a lot. And since you weren't with Cat anymore we figured maybe you might be interested, that is if you ever came back. You will be welcome to visit anytime you want, but only as 'Uncle Mike,'" she sat there quietly for a moment. "She wants a child so bad Mike, and so do I, can you do it?"

I sat on the bench in my towel and stared at the floor. To know a child was mine and never hear it call me Dad. I wouldn't have any say in how the child would be raised, or which direction it would be guided towards. God, I don't know, I'm not sure I even want to be involved in something like this. If I did it, would I end up resenting the decision later? Essie wanted a child and besides, what were the chances I would even survive to see it born?

"Have you ever taken a shower with a man?" I said as I stood up and removed the towel from around my waist, stepped back into the stall, and turned on the water.

She stood up and kicked off her shoes, and then started removing her jeans, "No, but I think I can make an exception."

Lying in the bunk afterwards I wondered if I had done the right thing. Why are men such slaves to their libidos? She acted as if she thoroughly enjoyed the experience, but I realized she probably had faked the pleasure since it would have gone on a lot longer if she hadn't and I knew she probably wanted it to be over with as soon as possible. It had been a long time since I had been intimate with someone and though it would have been better if it had been real, it was better than nothing. The whole thought process I was going through was ridiculous, she told me what she wanted and I agreed, so I had better learn to live with it. Still though, it was nice to be with a woman who wanted me, even if the reasons were different than I might have wished. Everyone wants to be wanted for who they are, not what they can provide. Depending on the way you look at it, they chose me for who I am as a person, but they also got from me what I could provide. I guess it balances out.

After being up so late, and a couple of bottles of merlot, I wasn't in very good shape come morning, but Mitch dragged me out of bed at first light and we hit the showers again before heading to the mess hall. With Jackie so far along and uncomfortable, she was no longer working from early morning until late evening, so she had more help than she used to have. Though I didn't recognize anyone behind the counter, the food looked as good as it did before and I loaded up a plate with reconstituted eggs, hash browns, Vienna sausage, and gravy with toast. We were through with our plates and having coffee when Team Three entered to eat before leaving for their salvage run.

I nodded towards them, "Where are they headed for today?"

"Back to the same area where you were wounded and we scored the solar power systems."

"Might not be a good idea."

Mitch looked over at me, "Why? We've been down that way a few times and haven't had any problems."

I shrugged, "I'm willing to wager you haven't been down that way in about two weeks."

"No we haven't, why?"

"The Horde has been hanging out around there at a softball park for about two weeks and they're stripping the area of anything alive."

"The Horde? What's that?"

"Infected, they moved in there two weeks ago from the west in large numbers."

"How large is large numbers?"

"The most I've counted was three thousand before I quit counting, but I've seen twice that many, and more." I stood up and grabbed Mitch's coffee cup along with mine. "I'm going to warm up our cups."

Mitch grabbed our plates and dropped them off at the counter then accepted his refilled cup as we walked back to our table, "Are you sure about those numbers?"

I nodded, "They're the most organized group of zombies I've ever seen. They patrol the areas out from their center and send out raiding parties. I've been hunting around their perimeter and I've had some good luck, but they're getting better all the time. When they run across other small groups of infected, they either absorb them, or kill them. Another thing, they're starting to scavenge the old markets the way we do."

"What?"

"They're getting healthier looking too, remember when they were all starting to look sickly and we thought they were going to die out from disease and hunger? Don't hold your breath for that to happen."

"How well organized are they?" He raised his hand and waved to Harold, then motioned him to join us.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" I wasn't wearing my leathers, but I had the .357 magnum in its holster beneath my left arm and the tomahawk was hanging at my right hip.

Harold was on his way when Catherine stood and followed him in our direction, starting to stand up and leave Mitch laid his hand on my forearm, "No, I want you to stay and fill Harold in on what you've observed."

I lowered myself back into my chair and watched Harold approach; when he arrived he didn't sit. "What is it Dugan?"

"Sit down, Mike has some intelligence about where you're headed you should hear."

Harold gave me a hard look and then shook his head, "He's got nothing I want to hear."

"Bullshit! I said sit down and listen, you've got nine other people you're responsible for, so cowboy up!"

Catherine stopped beside Harold and nodded to me, "Mike."

"Cat." I had never called her Cat the way others had, she had always been Catherine when I spoke to her, or about her. She blinked; I think she realized what my naming of her meant. She wasn't Catherine anymore, she wasn't my Catherine anymore, now she was just Cat.

"What could he possibly have to tell me?" He still didn't sit down.

Dugan drummed his fingers on the table. "Would the whereabouts of six to seven thousand infected interest you, especially if you were getting ready to drive onto their turf?"

Catherine pulled out a chair and sat down, "Sit down Harold." She looked at me, "What is it we should know?"

Harold sat down and I told them the same things I had told Mitch. When I finished, I stood up and began to leave, but Essie and Tanya walked in and joined the line at the counter. I took my coffee cup and filled it instead of leaving and joined them as they progressed through the line. Essie looked awful with bloodshot eyes and a grimace when she spied the Vienna sausage, but she gave me a smile and brushed the left side of my face with a brief kiss.

"I hear you had an eventful shower last night?"

Tanya laughed and bumped Essie's hip with her own. I smiled in return, "I've never been the kind of guy who kisses and tells."

When they had their plates ready I lead them back to the table where Mitch, Cat, and Harold were still talking. When they saw where I was leading them, both slowed and questioned me with nearly identical looks, "I've been giving Harold and Cat a rundown on the area they were scheduled to salvage in today. I don't think they're going to be going there now."

"Really," Essie said. "Where is it they were going?"

"Remember the solar equipment warehouse? That's where they were going."

Tanya nodded, "It's where you were almost killed."

I stroked the scar tissue on the side of my face absentmindedly, "Yeah, that's the place."

We reached the table and I resumed my seat as the ladies took seats to my left. Tanya was next to me and examined the scar tissue where I had been wounded. "It looks much better than before, have you been using the vitamin E?"

"Twice a day, the way you suggested; I ran out a couple of times, but I always located more. I appreciate the advice you gave me and the bottle of vitamin E. Did you notice the half smile is almost gone?" I turned to give her a better view.

"It is! That's great!" She reached towards my face, "May I?" I nodded permission and she lightly brushed the thin, cratered skin, "It's much softer now, do you have to shave it?"

I laughed at her question, "No, I think the infection killed off the hair follicles; it takes half the time to shave as it used to, but I look pretty strange if I don't shave the right side regularly."

"Your goatee is a little crooked; I'll trim it for you after breakfast, okay?"

I smiled and nodded, "Okay."

Mitch snorted, "If the two of you are done with the mutual admiration I've got a proposition."

I looked to him and gave him my attention. He looked at Harold and Cat before speaking, "We need to know what this group of infected are up to and I think Mike is the man for the job, but he's going to need some backup if he decides to recon them for us. Is Team Three up for the challenge?"

Harold and Essie both said "No" at the same time.

Mitch looked back and forth between the two of them, "Harold, why not?"

"A team in the field has to be able to trust each other with no reservations, how can he and I possibly trust one another?"

"Essie?"

"Because of the exact reason Harold gave, how can you expect Michael to trust Harold and Cat when they've abandoned him on at least two occasions already?"

Cat gasped and looked away from us, but Harold spoke up for the two of them, "We thought he was dead after the quake and we had to leave because of the damn zombies, and when he was wounded, hell, we didn't know he was hurt and he's the one that warned us and told us to leave. He said he would catch up with us here."

I agreed, "He's right Essie, they did the right thing at the time, so don't blame them for that."

"And did you tell Cat to abandon you for another man?"

Catherine slid her chair back, stood and walked away. Harold shook his head at Essie, "That was a shit thing to say."

Tanya, who had been quiet throughout the exchange, ended her silence abruptly, "What the two of you did was a shit thing to do."

Harold stood up and started to leave, but Mitch stopped him, "The trip to the solar warehouse is out, and if we need backup for Mike, Team One will do it."

Harold walked away without looking back. I clasped my hands in front of me and stared at them as I spoke, "Guys, they didn't plan to have an affair, fall in love and dump on me, sometimes shit just happens. They know what they did was wrong and there were better ways to have done it, but how many of us are really any good at duplicity? They needed to find a reason for the way they acted, so I became mentally unstable and dangerous because then others would accept why they did what they did. To be honest, I'm not real keen on either one of them at the moment, but I also understand their need to be the good guys, everyone wants to be respected by their peers."

No one said anything until finally Tanya spoke in a low tone, "You have a good understanding of psychology Mike. Your excuse for them may not be exactly, or clinically accurate, but it's well within the ballpark." She laughed, "Let me know if you want a part-time job doing family counseling."

"Ah shit," Mitch said under his breath, "Another psycho mumbo jumbo person; that's all we need."

Tanya smiled at him, "Mitch, if you would just submit to an interview for the paper I want to write, I'd stop bothering you about it."

I looked at Mitch, "Paper?" Then I looked at Tanya, "Who do you think is going to have time to read it when everyone is trying to stay alive?"

"Mike," she said, "Do you think this is going to last forever? People always adapt to new circumstances and usually for the better. I want to write a paper about the psychology of the end of life as we know it. What is it that drives mankind onward against unavoidable adversity, why do we strive to win, when winning seems so remote?"

Mitch snorted, "If you write a book about that I can sum it up for you real easy. In regards to men we have a simple three-fold philosophy when it comes to anything we deal with."

I looked at Mitch as I wondered if he was referring to the same three that popped into my head. "Ken Wilber?"

"You've read him?" He asked.

"And you too?" I must have looked surprised.

"Yeah, my wife forced me too, but he must have got his best ideas from a Marine."

I smiled, "A Marine?"

"Yeah, we think and talk about deep shit all the time; we just use coarser language than they do in psychology seminars. I first heard the three questions from a Lance Corporal in a bunker at Khe Sahn. When you think about it, any action, or thought, carried out by a man evolves from one of three questions and can be traced back to them either directly, or indirectly."

Tanya rested her chin in her left hand and looked at us, "Okay, so what are these three questions? Enlightened me, so I can better understand men in the situation we find ourselves."

Mitch looked at me, "Go ahead, you're the one who uses his ears for bookends."

I'm the one who uses his ears for bookends? Anyone who reads Wilbur is more than a casual reader. "Okay, get your notebook ready. You are going to want this for future reference." She opened her spiral notebook to a blank page and readied her pen.

"Question number one, 'can I eat it?'" She looked at me with exasperation, "Go ahead, and write it down."

"Question number two, 'can I kill it?'"

"Question number three, 'can I fuck it?'"

She looked up at me again, "Are you serious?"

"Think about it for a while and you'll see the relation between those twelve words, three questions, and men. We're not hard to figure out if you reduce the equation to the lowest common denominator. Now, you guys, women? That's a whole new game with a different set of rules."

"Alright," Mitch said. "Essie, Team One isn't scheduled to go out until tomorrow, so instead of the run you were going on; I want you to work with Mike. Mike, I'm assuming you'll work with us even though you told me yesterday you were leaving this morning, can I count on you?"

I thought about it for a few moments, I still wasn't sure about staying at Tranquility, but I had made a commitment to Essie and Tanya. I looked at them and I could see the nervous expectation, they wanted the child. "Yeah, but consider me free-lance for now. I'm used to working alone and the last time someone didn't take my advice," I pointed at my cheek. "I got this for my trouble."

"Good enough Mike, I'll leave it to you and Essie to work out the details of how you will operate. With that, I've got things to do, that damn bean counter Dills is a burr in my ass." He walked away.

I rose from my seat and gathered our coffee cups, refilled them, and returned to the table, but this time I sat opposite of Essie and Tanya. I asked for, and received, several sheets of paper and a spare pen from Tanya.

"Essie, you're team leader for Team One, right?" She nodded agreement. "How many people do you have on your team?"

"Usually eight to ten, depending on their availability."

"What do you mean by availability?"

"Dills needs to reassign people temporarily sometimes, actually more often than not. It's been awhile since I had a full crew."

"Okay, but that's going to have to change if Mitch wants us to keep track of the Horde. Salvage teams normally have one APC and two trucks, right?"

"Yeah, unless we gang up on a project then we'll use two or more teams."

"Anywhere we can get some more APCs?"

"Nowhere Mitch is willing to let us go."

"What's that mean?"

"Emma Henderson, one of the nurses at the clinic? She was part of a California National Guard unit out of some town up north, a medical evacuation unit. Her unit was flown down to that ex-Air Force base in San Bernardino, but by the time they arrived they were issued M9 pistols and turned into Military Police riding in Humvees. The APCs they brought with them never came off the cargo planes that brought them down."

"How many APCs did they bring down?"

"Six of them, fully stocked with medical supplies on two C130s."

"Mitch hasn't ever wanted to make a trip for six APCs full of medical supplies?"

"We haven't had a shortage of that kind of stuff yet."

"I see." I sat there for a while running the information through my head. "Do you get volunteers for salvage trips?"

"We have people volunteer all the time, but Dills wants people for the work around the base."

"Okay, you have seven deuce-and-a-halves right? And only six are being used for salvage?" She nodded, "Yeah, Dills wants one for inside the compound, you know, for moving things around, construction equipment, stuff like that."

"Alright, we're not getting any extra vehicles from the base. We'll keep an eye out for anything we might be able to commandeer when we're out, mark its location and return for it if we can't get it rolling at the time."

"What kind of vehicles are you interested in?"

"Anything we can transport people in and protect them during transit."

"I thought we were going to work on keeping an eye on this Horde you were talking about." She was looking puzzled.

"That's our primary mission, but we may need to hit them before they move in our direction."

"So you figure this group of infected, the Horde, is going to come our way?"

"If they keep up the track they've been following it's almost certain." I thought for a moment, "Does everyone in the compound have weapons?"

Essie glanced at Tanya before answering, "Not everyone."

"Why not?"

"There are some who feel there is no need to be armed because we are safe inside the compound. We have stockpiles of food and supplies, and the containers provide us with shelter from the elements and protection from the infected."

I shook my head, "This place has a good location and its protection is good, but there are no places that are safe, only safer places. I've warned people of that before and was ignored. If enough zombies want to get to you, they'll find a weak spot, or a bad time, or something."

Tanya met my eyes, "Not everyone feels the same Mike, not everyone wants to be a soldier, and not everyone wants to walk around with a dangerous weapon slung over their back. I personally have suggested that all weapons should be kept in the armory when the salvage teams are in the compound. I recognize the salvage teams need guns for protection when they are out on a run, but when they are home the guns pose a greater threat to their neighbors than the infected do."

I was stunned, how can people this far into the end of civilization not recognize they must be armed? After all this time, how can there are still be people paying lip service to the new world order, feel good, progressive idiocy that has doomed so many of us? In my mind's eye I saw her running from the infected, her belly swollen with child and what would happen when they caught her.

I leaned away from her and stared at her face for a moment before Essie reached out and took my hand, but I pulled it free of her grasp, "Are you insane? Do you really want to disarm the people protecting you?"

"Mike," Tanya said. "It's safe inside the walls, we don't need the guns here; can't you see that? Can't you understand that?"

Essie faced Tanya, "Tanya, you and I have had this conversation before and I think you're going to find Michael is going to agree with me on this one. Before the outbreak, I didn't own a gun and you know why, but you also know I will never spend another day of my life without one nearby. I will give my life to protect you from harm and I know you would do the same, but if it ever comes to that I hope you have a gun in your hand and not just your teeth and fingernails."

I stood up from my chair, "I'll get back together with you a little later Essie." I started to walk away, but turned back, "Like Essie, I'll fight for you, but I'd like to think that if they get by me you will be able to protect the child you may be carrying." I left.

I think it's best not to discuss possible shit scenarios; they seem to come true.

#

##### Chapter Twelve

**March 14** th **:**

I eased forward over the rise so I could gain a better look at the ballpark below and two hundred yards away. Except for debris and burned out bonfires, there was nothing, no movement, no infected, nothing. I keyed the transmit button of the walkie talkie, "Essie?"

"Yes Mike, over?"

"They're gone, over."

"Are you sure, over."

"Yeah," I didn't say 'over,' I recognized the necessity, but sometimes it gets redundant. I stood up and descended the slope to the fields. At the bottom I began to wander through the detritus of many thousands of zombies who didn't understand the use of latrines and garbage pits. The ground was literally covered with empty food packages, crushed cans, blackened bones, and human excrement. The smell was sickening.

"Mike, I'm bringing the vehicles up, but it will be awhile, over."

I pushed the earphone a little deeper into my ear, "Roger that, Keep an eye out until we can establish which way they went, over and out."

I moved to the edge of the fields and began to circle the area. It wouldn't be too difficult to discern the direction they had taken; many thousands of people leave a clear trail. At the eastern edge of the softball complex I found the path they had taken, east as I had suspected they would go. They were moving in the direction of Tranquility Base.

"Essie?"

"Roger Mike."

"Get on the horn and give Mitch a call, tell him to call in teams Two, and Three, and tell him to notify anyone between us and the base the Horde is coming their way, over."

"Roger that. Still want us to come to you, over?"

"No, I'll come to you; it will be quicker, over and out."

I returned to the motorcycle and headed towards Essie and Team One's position, when I reached them I took the lead and they followed me back to Tranquility. Mitch was waiting for us as we drove through the front gate.

"Give me a rundown, guys."

I looked to Essie because she is Team One's leader, but she nodded to me, "I worked my way around to the south and then back and over the hills to the ballpark like Essie and I agreed, but I didn't see anything alive anywhere, except birds. Anything on the ground has been hunted clean. Their camp is a real mess, crap everywhere, remains of bon fires, trash, and lots of bones, burnt bones. I only saw one adult human skull, but lots of animal skulls; mainly dogs, deer, and I think some cattle skulls. The only thing I'm wondering about is several small infant skulls I found."

"Infants?" Mitch shook his head, "Children of uninfected?"

"Possibly, I don't know." I shrugged, "A few months back I caught a quick glimpse of a female infected and I thought she might be pregnant, but I couldn't be sure."

Essie grimaced, "You think they're having sex?"

Mitch walked into the shade of the westerly containers, "They're organizing into groups, using tools, fire, why not? They're slowly moving up the ladder to more sophisticated interactions and sex isn't all that sophisticated. I wonder if they're eating their own young."

"Jesus, don't say that." Essie trembled. Behind her I could see Tanya approaching.

"What about Teams Two and Three, are they on their way in?" I watched Tanya as I asked the question; I could see a smile on her face like the one she had the first night we had sex in the showers.

"Yeah, already here, but they both reported seeing more infected than they have in the last few weeks." Mitch shook his head, "It's not looking real good. Maybe we should hold off on salvage runs for a while, until we know if there is going to be trouble, or not."

"Okay by me," I said, "But I need to be out there, so we're not taken by surprise."

"A few thousand zombies can make scouting a dangerous sport, kid."

"It will be less dangerous than being attacked in force by surprise." I replied.

"Okay, we'll talk about it, for now grab a bite to eat if you want or grab a shower, but the other teams are in the showers right now." Which meant Harold was there.

I looked to Essie and Tanya, "I'm hungry, how about you two?"

They concurred and we headed for the mess hall. We ate together and ended up spending a good two hours at the tables after Mitch came in to eat and joined us. Finally, we headed for the showers after we dropped off our gear at our rooms. Most of the people in the compound don't normally walk around with their weapons, but I and a few others do, so I had my pistol and tomahawk when I entered the shower building. Essie and Tanya had entered the women's showers, and I had only gotten good and wet when Tanya opened the privacy curtain and joined me under the spray.

Our second time, but much more sensual than the first, she washed me, and I her before we, well, before we had sex, I couldn't call it making love. I knew whom Tanya loved, but still, it would have been nice if it were me she wanted and not just my semen. I signed up for it willingly and with my eyes open though, so there it is. It is kind of nice though to have someone wash your back no matter what the reason is.

When we were finished we dressed and walked out to find Essie waiting for us in the dark and I strolled with them to their door where we spoke for a moment before Essie stopped mid-sentence and looked across the compound. "That was odd."

"What?" My hackles went up and my hand drifted to the pistol under my arm.

"I thought I saw someone climb down the inside of the wall over in the corner, by the guard post."

"Down the ladder?" There was a ladder there for the use of the guards to climb to their post. From where we were we could see the ladder illuminated by the half-moon. If someone had come down, they were hidden in the shadows.

"No, that's why it was odd; I thought I saw someone slip over the edge and down the side into the shadows."

"I didn't see anything." Tanya was staring into the darkness with us.

"Stay here." I said as I started towards the far corner and the darkness there.

"Tanya, stay here." Essie walked quickly up beside me and then moved about fifteen feet to my left with her .40 caliber Glock in her fist. After all this time she had retained Officer Hernandez's pistol from the first night of the outbreak.

As we neared the far wall I pulled my own pistol and held it pointed up at my shoulder, if it was someone paying a late night visit to their lover on the wall, I didn't want to accidentally shoot them. He burst from the shadow when we were less than thirty feet away with a spear held in both of his hands and charged straight at Essie. She and I fired at the same time and he went down, but two more came out of the shadow, and four leaped from the wall and joined the attack. Essie shot both of the ones from the shadows, but only one went down, the second slammed the side of her head with the butt of his spear and she went down with him on top.

Dropping to one knee, I put a round through his head, and then turned towards the four who had come over the side and were headed for me. I fired the remaining four shots in the pistol, but only dropped two of them; the others were coming fast, one towards me and one turned towards Essie who was down and out. I threw myself into a shoulder roll to reach him, but all I managed to grab was his left ankle, which tripped him to the ground where I sliced into his Achilles tendon with the tomahawk. I managed to stand and turned in time to partially avoid the spear thrust of the one that had been headed for me, but I felt a sharp sting as the blade of the spear slid over my stomach and through the leather of my open jacket. Grabbing the shaft of the spear directly behind the point with my left hand, I spun to the right and ripped the spear from his grasp, continuing the spin, I brought the point of the tomahawk around and violently slammed it into the side of his head, he dropped and I turned back to the one whose Achilles was severed. The shaft of his spear came down on the left side of my head and drove me to my knees.

I struggled to remain conscious while behind the zombie with his spear upraised, I could see Tanya repeatedly pulling the trigger of Essie's Glock, but it wasn't firing. I managed to barely deflect the first thrust down at me and was trying to get my arm up for the next attempt when the side of his head blew out and he dropped. I heard more shots, and then even more as several infected dropped around Tanya, Essie, and myself; more must have come over the wall. I was able to regain my feet, but when I tried to get to the pistol I had dropped when it emptied, I tripped over the spear still entangled in my jacket and fell forward onto my chest. Crawling forward through a narrowing field of vision, I reached the pistol and began to fumble with the cylinder to reload it and finally a hand closed over my own and I heard Harold's voice, "Here, let me get that for you."

He removed the pistol from my hand and reloaded it before pushing it into my holster and strapping it in place. "You look like shit Mike." When I tried to focus on his face he looked towards some other people and shouted for them to secure the wall, then he pulled my arm over his shoulder and lifted me to my feet while he led, or more appropriately, carried me towards the clinic.

"No," I said. "Get Essie, she's hurt."

Harold's voice echoed around the ringing in my ears, "She's already on her way, we took her first."

"Okay, but is she hurt bad?"

Someone slid their shoulders under my left arm and took some more of my weight, "She's unconscious, but Doc Evans says she should be okay." Catherine, Cat. "Christ," She said. "You're getting blood all over me."

I think I said, "Sorry," or some such nonsense, before I blacked out. Fortunately I was still unconscious when they sewed up the ten inch gash across my belly, unfortunately, I regained consciousness before they put the stitches in the side of my head; that shit hurts and my hair is all gone, they shaved it to sew me up. My biggest concern was the possibility of infection again, but Doctors Evans and Hemet said they cleaned the wounds well and they gave me both a massive injection of antibiotics and pills to take when I left. Essie came around and seemed okay, though she complained of pain in her left cheek and a serious headache, same as me, so they kept both of us in the clinic overnight. Just before I went to sleep, I saw Tanya having an intense conversation with Cat before leaving together; I drifted off while wondering what they were talking about.

I awoke to the sound of voices and saw Mitch and Tanya talking in low tones at the foot of Essie's bed. Turning my head, Essie smiled at me, but she looked like hell's wrath, the whole left side of her face was black and blue, and her left eye was seriously bloodshot. She held her index finger to her lips, and then pointed to Tanya's waist; there was a Glock automatic strapped in a cross draw holster on the front of her left hip. Directly behind the holster were four spare magazine pouches; the woman was packing some serious heat. Shit.

I glanced back at Essie and she had both hands pressed over her mouth trying to stifle her laughter, but it finally escaped the confines of her hands. Mitch and Tanya looked towards us; I swear I wasn't laughing, but Tanya crossed her arms over her chest and muttered, "If either one of you makes fun of me for wearing a gun, I'll shoot you both!"

Funny how liberal progressive ideals get blown away when the shit from the fan smacks you in the face; I held up my hands in a gesture of submission, "What?"

She headed for the door of the clinic; "I'll come back when you two are ready to take this shit serious!"

"I love you!" Essie shouted between laughs at the empty doorway.

Mitch chuckled, "She's a little unsure of herself at the moment, but she believes she needs to rethink her past stance on gun possession. Shit, last week she wanted me to have all the weapons kept under lock and key, now she wants to devise a psychological test to figure out who should be allowed to carry guns at all times. She's coming around though; I guess it took seeing the two of you down and her helpless, even though she had a gun, to help."

I nodded, "Yeah, I sort of remember her pointing Essie's Glock and pulling the trigger, but nothing happened."

"It was jammed, failure to feed," he said.

"It's that damn reloaded ammo we brought in," Essie commented. "It just doesn't feed reliably. We're going to have to locate another place for ammo."

"Mitch," I said, "How did the zombies get in? Where was the guard?"

He looked to his feet and then at me, "Dills pulled some of the men who were rotating through guard duty and placed them with the farming crew, which meant long boring hours for those who were left. We figure the man at that location fell asleep and the infected happen to choose his position to come over. They used the trunk of a small tree as a ladder after they trimmed the branches off and killed him when they reached the top."

Essie massaged her left temple and sighed, "We have to stop allowing Dills to pull this kind of crap, I know he's in charge of the bureaucratic BS around here, but we have a man dead and two wounded because he can't think past his ledgers. Did he tell you he was pulling people off the wall?"

"No, I wouldn't have allowed it. I had a talk with him this morning and told him what had happened and why, he doesn't seem to get the idea that spending twelve hours on top of the wall is difficult to do and stay awake. He figured it was a good place to put someone who was tired from working in the fields, so they could get some rest while still providing a needed job. So, in order for him to get a true grasp of the situation, just before he retires tonight he's going to do something he has never done before; he's going on guard duty for twelve hours like he had others do. We'll see if he has a better understanding of the situation tomorrow morning."

I was sort of listening, but other things were going through my mind, "Solar lights."

Mitch perked up, "What about solar lights?"

"We need them inside, and outside the compound. If the zombies hadn't been able to hide in the shadows we could have cleaned them up pretty quick. You know, like patio lights that shine at night after charging with the sun during the day."

"Good idea, I'll get people working on locating a supplier we can access, but if we put them outside the walls we're going to need hundreds of them, might be too big of an order to fill. Anything else you can think of offhand?"

"Gate security sucks. The metal framework covered with sheet metal will work well against isolated attacks by zombies, but a concerted attack is going to come right through it. I think I would dig three to four holes behind the gates and install maybe six-inch pipe in them with the tops level with the ground, and then use five-inch pipe to drop into them when you want to reinforce the gate. We're going to need a fallback position, which is easier to defend and with higher walls, so we can shoot over the existing walls."

"I don't know Mike, if the military comes through and evacuates the entire compound we will have expended a lot of energy and material for something we won't be using."

Essie had been listening quietly, but spoke up now, "Mitch, I'm not going to believe the military is coming to the rescue until I have arrived somewhere safe, then I'll say 'yippee,' but until I am somewhere safe I figure it's up to us to provide for ourselves."

"It's only been a week since the military was here, and we're talking to them nearly every day. They're working on the logistics to get us out of here, but the problem is, if we are simply relocated we are going to be refugees and we'll be spread all over God knows where they can fit us in. If we can stay together and take most of the equipment we've managed to salvage, we can move en mass and set up somewhere in pretty good shape."

"You mean start our own community?" I asked.

"That's right."

"Sounds good to me," Essie commented. "Most of the folks here seem to be open to mine and Tanya's relationship, but if we are all separated and dealt out to small communities they might not be as accepting."

That was something I hadn't thought of. Small communities are not known for their acceptance of life styles they are unfamiliar with, or their religious beliefs find sinful; two women living together as lovers and partners might be seriously looked down on, if not shunned, or worse. What if they had a child? What would be the fate of a child in small town America if the child's parents were both, either women, or men for that matter? Mitch and Essie were right; they needed to stay together as a community; they were a community and thought like a community.

I sat up with a groan as the movement pulled on the stitches on my stomach, and looked around the room, my jeans, shirt, and other clothes were beside the bed, but my leathers were missing. "Has anyone seen my leathers?"

"Cat took them," Mitch said. "There was a pretty big slice in the jacket and she said she was going to sew it up for you. They were pretty bloody also, so I assume she'll take them to be cleaned. That head wound bled really heavy until they got the flap of scalp back in place."

I was getting over what had happened between Harold, Cat, and I, but I was uncomfortable with Cat doing anything for me. Was she just being neighborly? Was she trying to make amends? Perhaps the worst case scenario, was she trying to keep her options open? I didn't like the fact I considered the last possibility because it indicated a certain amount of narcissism on my part, but there it was; I've never considered myself to be perfect by any means.

"I wonder how long she'll keep them." I felt undressed and nervous without them. "Essie, can I get you to look away while I get dressed?"

"Sure." She turned away and I started pulling on my jeans, and then my tee shirt. It seemed every move I made pulled on the stitches to one degree, or another. The socks and boots were a lost cause until Mitch finally snorted and kneeled down to help me into them.

"You might want to consider up-grading your armor," he said, "the leathers worked well against biters, and clubs, but not so well against sharp weapons. A few months back we were talking about Chainmail and wondering how we might put some together, but the amount of labor involved would be pretty intensive."

"Key rings." I straightened up and promptly bent a little at the waist to prevent the stitches from pulling apart. "I put some thought into it myself; if you interlace small key rings you could make yourself a passable form of Chainmail. It would still be pretty labor intensive and you end up with fingertips so sore you can't even pick your nose."

Essie turned back to us, "Know that from personal experience?"

"Yep, come on Mitch, let's get out of here and let Essie get dressed if she wants." I picked up my pistol and shoulder rig and handed it to Mitch who helped me put it on. "I'm heading out for some breakfast, how about you guys?"

"Go ahead, I'll wait outside for Essie and we'll catch up with you."

I reached the mess hall in time for the general rush before the workday, so rather than stand in a line I grabbed a seat in my normal spot with my back to a wall and watched everyone else. Five minutes didn't pass until one of the women behind the counter came out and set a plate and a cup of coffee in front of me.

"Good morning Mister Moore."

"Good morning, I don't think I know your name."

"Melissa Sanchez, we've never met. Jackie told us about what you did last night and we were to wait on you if you came in."

"No, that's okay. I was just waiting until the line thinned out a bit, but thanks anyway for bringing it out."

She smiled, "Mike, I live three containers down from where the infected came over the wall, if hadn't been for you and Lopez..." She left it open. "When you need more coffee, or another helping, just hold your cup up and someone will bring it to you, okay?"

I smiled back at her, "Thanks Melissa." I took a sip of coffee as she hurried away and then examined what we were having. A slice of fried bread, left over instant mashed potatoes from the night before, which were also fried into a paddy, and what I suspected was diced processed meat cooked in gravy. Pretty good stuff and I didn't have to cook it. It doesn't get much better than that.

I didn't get my leathers back for two more days and frankly I was starting to get more than a little irritated, but when I did get them back, I was very pleased with them. Cat had sewn metal ringlets, which were actually black anodized key rings, into the front and back of the motorcycle jacket, and the area above the knees of the riding pants. In addition, she had attached the ringlets to the skirt and veil of my helmet. All of the leather had been reconditioned, oiled, and deodorized, but not re-dyed, which suited me because the worn color of the leathers was more of a dark gray rather than the original black; it would blend in better than the black had.

Cat didn't bring the leathers to me, but sent them via one of the women she herself had trained in leatherwork. She had spent most of her previous time with Harold on salvage runs, but with the Horde nearby, she was staying close to home, helping out in the leather shop, and caring for Cam. The other thing she was doing was training Tanya in the use of her Glock, and I couldn't really think of a better pistol marksman to train a new shooter.

After the incursion of the infected, there was a marked increase in the interest of the inhabitants of Tranquility in regards to weapons, training, and armor. As far as I was concerned the interest was a bit belated, but they were getting the idea, there was nowhere safe. At least the rotating guards were back on the old schedule; Dills decided Mitch was right about the importance of fresh and rested guards after working all day and then "resting" while on guard duty. He was unable to stay awake, period, and Mitch replaced him after only two hours on the wall.

You know the old saying; if you tell a lie enough times, it becomes the truth? People looked at the wall and envisioned safety, Sergeant James figured one stairwell and one guard equaled safety, the French and the Maginot Line in 1940, et cetera. There are no safe places, only places that are safer. Never let your guard down. Another factor, which was more telling than any other, was the scarcity of firearms. Why more effort had never been placed in obtaining weapons and ammunition was beyond me, and Mitch agreed he had been lax about arming everyone, but like everyone else, he had allowed himself to be lulled into a false sense of security by the people who were against firearms inside the compound and laid their concerns for security on the wall. We needed more weapons.

I knew where we could get some guns and ammunition, but it would be a long haul back to my old stomping grounds; the shop I had taken Campbell and Bing for ammo the first day we met. I talked to Mitch and he gave me the go ahead to plan it out and come back with the details and there was another place I wanted to visit also where I knew there was a great deal of ammo and maybe some guns which could be salvaged, my old apartment complex. I was going to need help though and there were two people I wanted to take with the salvage team.

I talked to John Baker first and he was up for the run, though Jackie wasn't real keen on it. She concurred when I promised to bring John back safely, and then we left to talk to the next person I wanted along. Harold seemed shocked to see me when he opened the door, so I went straight to the point.

"Harold, I think Mitch is going to allow me to take a salvage team after guns and ammo and I need a team leader with experience. Are you up for it?"

He answered guardedly, "What about Lopez?"

"We're going to need a healthy crew and she's too banged up. When I talked to her earlier she was still suffering from headaches; concussion I guess." I waited as he looked at me askance.

He shook his head, "Shit Mike, you can't even stand up straight and you're saying Essie is banged up? How are you planning to lead a salvage run?"

"I won't be, you will. I'm going along to show you where to go."

He stepped inside for a moment and came back out with three folding camp chairs that we opened and sat in. It worked for me because my gut was starting to bother me. "You can tell us where we need to go before we leave," he said.

"Yeah, I tell you the corners to turn on and you follow my directions through a destroyed city, it's not going to fly. You're going to need me along for the ride. Once we get there, I'll take over for one of the track commanders and he can help you with the actual salvage."

John commented, "Sounds workable to me."

Harold stared off across the compound for a moment, "Might be kind of fun, the four of us working together again."

"Nope," I said. "You, John, and me, Cat stays home with Cam."

He snorted, "You know better than that, besides, I'd rather have her covering my ass than any man I know."

"So would I," John said. "But Jackie is too close to delivery and Doc Evans says she's got to take it easy. Cat stays to take care of Cam, Jackie can't do it."

Harold suddenly looked concerned, "Is she okay?"

"Yeah, but she's really run down and Doc says she must take it easy."

Harold smiled, "Perfect, we tell Cat that Jackie is feeling bad and she needs to be watched while you're out on a run with Mike and I. It'll piss her off, but she'll buy into it for Jackie's sake and she wants us to be friends with you again. She misses you guys and that includes you Mike, but to be honest I would just as soon you didn't come around too often."

I folded my arm over my stomach as I leaned towards him, "Let's get some shit straight right now, would I like to be friends with your woman? I wouldn't mind. Do I want her as my woman? Do I want to try and take her back? No, and no."

He looked into my eyes without blinking, "If our roles were reversed, I'd fight for her."

I shook my head, "If our roles were reversed, you'd be a fool to try. Do you know why? Because I'm not the man she fell in love with, that man died the day I saw what I thought was her body beneath the stairs at the apartments. I changed, and now she loves someone else. I have accepted it; maybe you should too. Move on Harold, that jealousy crap is going to eat you up."

He stared at me in silence until I stood up. "John, what's the name of your team leader?"

"Mark Wilson." He stood up beside me.

"Let's go see if he's interested in a salvage run." I started walking away and John followed.

"Mike," I turned around and Harold was standing up. "Wilson is an idiot and John can testify to that. I'll go with you; Cat would kick my ass if I let you go under his leadership."

"I don't care what Cat thinks, Harold, I care what you think."

"I think I'll go."

Returning to the chairs I sat down, "Okay, let's get a plan worked out so we can present it to Mitch."

We left three days later after two more attempted incursions by infected. The attempts to scale the walls had brought home the need for weapons and ammo to those who were still resisting the arming of the general population of Tranquility. We made it most of the way to Upland the first day, but I wanted to stop in an area where we could see for a distance all around us for the purpose of security. We had all three of the APCs, one of the gun trucks pulling a 500-gallon fuel tank mounted on a trailer, and twenty-two men.

The morning of the second day we made it to the old apartments and did a quick recon to see if we might be able get inside to retrieve the ammunition in Hargrove's apartment. In the vicinity of our old gun room a hole had been punched from the inside out and it looked as though it might be possible to get in, but we continued on to the pedestrian tunnel under the I-10 where we parked the vehicles. I gave Harold the directions to the gun shop and the salvage team of fourteen men left with seven wheelbarrows and an acetylene cutting torch rig for the steel door I had seen in the rear of the store.

We stayed in contact with walkie-talkies and the excitement in Harold's voice when they arrived was gratifying. There were scores of handguns and rifles and cases of ammunition. One of the most exciting finds were two crates of Russian SKS rifles stacked in the backroom marked for shipment to Oregon and twenty cases of 7.62X39 ammunition, 17600 rounds. There was a steady stream of wheelbarrows coming and going to the APCs and the truck and we only had two incidences with infected resulting in five dead zombies.

Harold gave me a call when they finally gained entrance to the room with the steel door. Inside were eighteen M4 clones; over 100, thirty round magazines for them and a myriad of large capacity magazines for popular law enforcement handguns. They took all of the cleaning equipment and supplies, holsters, belts, magazine pouches; hell, they cleaned the store out. By the time we emptied the store there was barely room for the salvage crew to ride inside the vehicles. I talked it over with Harold and John and we decided we wouldn't try to get inside the rubble of the apartments to retrieve the ammunition we knew was there. I wish we could have, because the ammunition in there for the Mosin Nagant rifles was 148 grain, perfect for my PSL 54.

Ammunition is heavy, very heavy. As an example, one case of 7.62X54R ammunition, 880 rounds, weighs in at a little over fifty pounds. With all the ammunition we had gathered, and all of the guns and related supplies, plus the salvage crew itself, we were definitely overloaded, so we took it easy on the vehicles. As a result, it took us two full days to get back to Tranquility Base, but it was a helluva homecoming. John was the proud father of a baby boy, and unfortunately, Tanya was having morning sickness. I guess there wasn't going to be anymore long erotic showers; the ladies had what they wanted from me. Damn.

Dills had two empty containers converted to an armory and started assigning weapons to individuals at the direction of Mitch who had decided to form a militia of sorts. He and Harold would start giving them an intensive training program of basic infantry tactics, which were adapted for use against the infected rather than a foe armed with firearms. The tactics would more likely appear Napoleonic than modern, with the purpose to lay down concentrated fire on large unorganized groups rather than disciplined and trained troops.

With the six M4 carbines I had originally brought with me to the base, we now had twenty-four carbines, which could use interchangeable magazines, and an additional 12 Ruger Mini-14s that fired the same ammo as the M4s though they did not use the same mags. Mitch divided the twenty-four men armed with M4 type rifles into twelve two man teams and the twelve men with mini-14s into six two man teams; to each of these teams he added a man with a bolt action hunting rifle who was also issued a pistol with a high capacity magazine for close quarter combat. This gave him a total of forty-eight men. To these sixteen, three man teams, he added one more man armed with a twelve-gauge pump, or semi-automatic shotgun, because the shotguns were so devastating at closer ranges. The shotgunners were also issued handguns similar to the men with hunting rifles.

Mitch referred to this total of sixty-four men, as the Action Force. The Action Force was split into two platoons, "A" and "B", both consisting of thirty-two men; both platoons were broken into two, sixteen man sections, and each section was comprised of two, eight man squads. The eight man squads were further reduced to two, four man fire teams. In this manner he could breakdown the Force into smaller task oriented units of any size he wanted, but combine them in their totality when needed. "A" platoon was equipped with the three APCs, and "B" platoon was assigned three deuce-and-a-half gun trucks for transportation.

We also had the two crates of SKS rifles we had salvaged. Inside of each crate were twenty semi-automatic rifles, which although they only held ten rounds, could be rapidly reloaded with stripper clips and were equipped with folding bayonets. These weapons were assigned to a dedicated interior security force Mitch called the Reaction Force. Their job was to react to any probes made by the zombies at the walls. Formed into five, eight person squads, each squad would be responsible for observation on the four corners of the wall for a twelve-hour stretch; the squad scheduled for the next twelve hour shift was the Ready Alert Squad with the duty of responding immediately to any perceived attack at the wall, but otherwise, they were to rest and prepare for their turn at the corners of the wall. The other three squads would be available for work details, but must have their weapons and ammo with them at all times in case an alert was called.

We had some initial resistance from some of the men because there was a sprinkling of women in the Action Force, and over half of the Reaction Force was women. Some of the men didn't want women in the AF platoons, and the guys in the RF platoon figured the men should be in charge. Mitch was in overall command of all three platoons with Harold in command of "A" platoon and Essie in command of "B" platoon of the AF, with Mitch maintaining direct command of the Reaction Force. After some initial argument and resistance, everyone accepted Mitch's plan for the militia and its composition.

I think the thing about the process of arming the population of Tranquility Base I found the most surprising, and depressing, was the reluctance of more than a few people to be armed. All the members of the Action Force, and the Reaction Force, were volunteers who were more than willing to take part in the defense of the base, but there were still those who refused to accept any responsibility what so ever. These were the same people who believed it was the duty of the police, before the outbreak, to protect them from criminals. The fact that the United States Supreme Court had repeatedly stated it was not the police's responsibility to protect them didn't seem to matter. Look at it this way; the job of the police is to catch criminals, right? Until the man who breaks into your home and murders you has done so, he's not a criminal, a little too late to be caught and brought to justice, right?

Tanya was a prime example of what I am talking of, the use of firearms by the salvage crews was understandable and acceptable, but once those instruments of salvation were brought back into the base they became instruments of destruction and must be locked away from civilized people to prevent misuse. Tanya had learned her lesson the hard way, but her conversion to pro-gun was not complete; she still wanted to devise a test to establish who was emotionally capable of the responsibility of carrying a gun. It sounds reasonable, but psychology is not an exact science, it's subjective; who decides who is sane enough to cover your back when the shit hits the fan? What if you stepped in a pile of dog crap and tracked it onto their carpet before your interview and the tester was offended? What if the tester has successfully hidden his/her own psychosis, or their personal believe that people should not be allowed possession of guns, and denies you the right to self-defense? I had a feeling Tanya would eventually come around completely, she's an intelligent person, but I was genuinely concerned about some of the others. I'm not real sure I was open to offering my life to protect someone who was unwilling to do the same for me. In the event of an overwhelming attack, I guess we could send them out ahead of us to serve as walking meal platters for the infected; while the zombies were chowing down they'd be easy targets. Kind of crass I guess, but there it is.

First one week passed, and then another as Mitch concentrated on the training of the militia. Two more attempted incursions by the infected were staged and easily turned back, but I worried what would happen if the entire horde attempted the walls. Mitch finally agreed to adding to the walls, but not to extending the entire length another layer of containers, instead we added one container at each of the corners diagonally and overhanging the walls. This would allow the Reaction Force to fire along the length of each wall from opposite directions, and we installed solar powered lights around the entire circumference of the wall on the top layer of containers, and rows within the compound to eliminate any shadows within the walls. We were looking pretty good as far as security went, until the soldiers came.

I was outside the walls doing a sneak and peek when I saw the Humvee speed past on the road to the front gate. There were four men, three inside and a fourth standing in an open top turret behind what appeared to be an M60 machine gun. I had almost finished my trip around the base, so I threw caution to the wind and ran to my motorcycle in order to get back to Tranquility. When I pulled up to the gate I was let in and dismounted before walking towards the group of people around two of the soldiers. As I neared the rear of the Humvee, Essie motioned for me to stop and she walked up beside me.

"I don't think they're real Army," she said.

I looked at them and then to her, "Why do you think that?"

"They don't talk like Mitch, or Harold, and they have MS 13 tattoos."

MS 13? Those were some bad boys before the outbreak. Drugs, murder, you name it. "Are you sure?"

"I know the tats Michael, my dad was a member."

Her dad, somehow I wasn't surprised to learn he was a member. "Okay, what have I missed?"

"The one in charge says they are here to organize the base in preparation for the arrival of their battalion. They say their commander wants to use Tranquility as a base of operations."

"Alright, go join in the conversation, but be ready to fight." I glanced at the back of the helmet of the man behind the M60 and made out the letters WSA printed with black marker. "Ask them if they're USA troops, or WSA. The guy behind the machinegun has WSA on his helmet. I'll make sure he doesn't get involved in anything shitty."

She moved off through the crowd around the dismounted soldiers as I eased myself onto the rear of the Humvee, and then up behind the gunner in the turret with the tomahawk in my hand. Several people saw what I had done and began to move away. They could smell trouble was brewing. Essie walked to the right of the two soldiers and listened for a moment and then asked a question I couldn't hear, but I saw Mitch's reaction to the question and the fact the soldier didn't answer her. She asked again louder.

"Are you members of the U.S. Army? Or are you with the WSA?" I could see her hand resting on the hilt of her Glock.

The soldier closest to her slammed his elbow into her mouth and shouted, "Shut the fuck up Bitch! Men are talking here!"

Bad move, very bad move. Everybody loves and respects Essie and the two soldiers immediately found themselves looking into the barrels of a dozen rifles and pistols. The man in the turret brought the butt of the machine gun to his shoulder and began to swing towards the crowd when I stomped down over his right shoulder and drove the butt of the machinegun down and the barrel up. A short burst of automatic fire resulted as I reached over his head with my left hand, grabbed the right side of the his helmet's rim and jerked his head to the left as I sunk the blade of the tomahawk into his exposed neck. Blood spurted out of his sliced artery and splashed my groin and abdomen as he struggled momentarily to grab my hand and the tomahawk, but within seconds he went limp and I dragged his body out of the turret and dumped him over the side of the Humvee. I dropped down inside of the turret and pressed the muzzle of the .357 against the side of the driver's neck as he was putting the vehicle in reverse.

"Shut the engine off and maybe you'll live another day." I said. He shut off the motor and raised his hands up where I could see them; someone opened the door and two of the guys in Essie's platoon pulled him out and started stripping him of gear. I climbed out behind him and walked to where the last two were also being stripped of their weapons and gear.

"They're WSA, Mitch."

"Yeah, I kind of figured that out." He turned to Essie, "You alright?"

Her lip was split and blood was trickling down her chin. "I'm fine, this little pussy homeboy is about as tough as my father was."

Both of the men were stripped to their underwear and pushed down on their knees. The one who hit Essie with his elbow looked up and spit in Essie's face, and then started cursing her in Spanish. I don't understand much Spanish, but I know what _Puta_ means. I laid the blade of the tomahawk against his neck, "Say the word Hermana and I'll send him straight to Hell."

"Naw," said Mitch. "I've got a better idea. Put them out the gate just the way they are." He walked to the Humvee and started going through it as several men escorted the three survivors to the gate and pushed them through. They stood there a moment before beginning to walk down the road, staring all around as they walked away. I figured they were not going to get very far.

"No radios."

I turned to Mitch's voice, "What?"

"They don't have any radios, not even walkie-talkies. They claimed they were scouts for a battalion size force, what a crock of shit." He climbed out of the vehicle. "They did have four spare cans of ammo for the M60 though, two more M9s and four M4s." He walked to the pile of gear, which had been stripped from them. "At least ten mags per M4 and two cases of 5.56, that'll help out a lot. Wish they had more though."

He called over two men and instructed them to strip the body of the man I killed. "When you're done, load the body on the Humvee and take it out to the edge of the clearing and dump it. Zombies got to eat too." He looked at me and shook his head, "You look like shit kid, why don't you go get cleaned up?"

I headed for the showers accompanied by Essie as the Humvee rolled out the gate. "Way to be alert Essie."

"It's not too hard when you deal with scum like that, no matter how hard they try, they can't act like normal people. My dad was the same way."

I reached out and took her hand as we walked, "You going to be okay?" There was something in her voice, I don't know, she sounded different. "Want me to find Tanya? She must be around here somewhere."

"No, is it okay if I sit with you while you shower?" I looked at her and her eyes widened, "Not on the inside, I'll sit outside the curtain."

"Sure, if you want to, but is that wise? Tanya has been sort of standoffish since she figured out she was pregnant."

"That's not the reason Mike, she's sick all the time, but she says she's getting better now. I don't think she is, but she says she is."

"Oh." Oh what? What does that mean? She stopped coming to the showers to meet me because she was sick, or because she was pregnant? I assumed when she became pregnant she would have what she wanted from me, what both of them wanted, a baby. Had I been missing something? I wanted to ask Essie more, but I didn't want to sound needy, and I didn't want to sound as if I expected more than what we had agreed on. They wanted a baby and asked me to help them out, they were lesbians otherwise.

When we reached the showers I checked to make sure there were no other men inside and then called her in. Essie leaned against the wall and slid down until she was sitting while I stripped off the bloody leathers and then began to undress.

"Michael? Maybe you're right, give me your leathers and I'll take them to the laundry, they're pretty good at cleaning leathers now."

I stuck my head out of the curtain, "Are you sure? I can take them when I'm done here."

"No, let me have them and I'll drop them off for you." She rose and held out her hands as I gave them to her.

"Thanks Essie, I'll pick them up later."

She took them and I watched her leave until she was gone out the door. There was something wrong with her and I didn't know what it was, and I didn't like not knowing what it was. She was my friend and I should be aware of her needs, what upsets her, was it just bad memories about her father? Had the experience with the MS 13 pukes tripped something inside of her? What must it have been like to have your father molest you, to pass you around like some piece of valueless crap? I finished undressing and stepped into the shower. Who am I kidding, I don't know what women need or want, probably why I could never keep a girlfriend. If I can't figure out a heterosexual woman, how in the hell was I going to figure out the mind of a lesbian?

After the shower I met up with Mitch at the mess hall and he told me he had been on the radio with the National Guard up north. He told them of the incident with the WSA gangbangers and they replied it was a common enough incident they were hearing about with more frequency; isolated groups of WSA troops were harassing and intimidating civilian survivors. He informed the National Guard of the formation of the militia and our capabilities, but also of the Horde and its proximity. We had the highly capable M4s, ARs and Mini-14s, but only enough ammo for each man to have a little fewer than 200 rounds once live fire training was completed, so Mitch requested 5.56 ammunition. He was told they had spare ammo, but all of the air transport was committed for the time being on other missions. In other words, we were pretty much on our own for the time being. Sucks to be us.

I guess I shouldn't complain, we were much better situated than many of the small groups of survivors from what we had learned once we started talking to people over the ham radio net. Breckenridge, our ham operator, spent practically every minute of the day talking, or using Morse code, to communicate with the rest of the world, well, what there was left of it. We had some basic ideas of how things stood, but all in all things were pretty grim. It seemed as though the most organized areas of the world was the center of America, and Switzerland. God, we've lost so much. Most of our contacts outside of the U.S. are with military units; remember most of the world doesn't have private gun ownership. Those were the places, which stood the least chance of uninfected survivors.

I had an idea skipping around in my head and wanted to play with it a bit, so I left Mitch saying I had some personal business and went for a walk. I ended up at the clinic; I needed someone to check my stomach wound again anyway. It was nearly healed, but I kept doing things that tore portions of it open again, like stomping on a machinegun. Doc Evans saw me walk in and started bitching me out.

"Mike, I've been waiting for you to show up after the set-to at the gate, if you don't stop screwing around you're going to cause yourself some immediate grief, or a shit-load down the road. Every time you split that stomach wound you're creating more scar tissue; what do I have to do, tell Dugan to permanently sit your ass down somewhere?"

"I want to be healed more than you want me healed Doc, just sometimes shit happens."

"Yeah, it does and you always seem to end up in the middle of it. Take your shirt off." He sat down on a stool and when I had my shirt off he stripped off the bandage; a little rougher than I imagine was necessary.

"Well, it's not as bad as last time you were in, so I'm not going to re-stitch it." Looking down the hall he shouted, "Emma! Mike Moore is back."

Emma walked in and gave me the "look," "What's with you Mike?"

I smiled as Doc explained, "He doesn't need stitches, just re-bandage the wound and cut him loose." He left as Emma started gathering what she needed.

"Emma, I've got a question for you."

"Shoot."

"I heard you were National Guard and your unit was flown down to help with the outbreak."

"Yeah, but by the time we got here they needed combat troops, not medics, so they issued us weapons and sent us out to help the police." She busied herself applying the bandage.

"Think you could find your way back to the airport?"

"I was a long way from the airport when the earthquake hit, and totally unfamiliar with the area. I'm a small town girl, so I get lost in the big city. Why?"

"Just an idea kicking around in my head. What kind of weapons were you issued when they made your unit into Military Police?"

"Pistol, we all got pistols until a supply plane could be brought in, but everything went totally to shit and the personnel left at the airport were pulled out instead of being re-armed. Unfortunately, I wasn't at the airport when the evacuation order came."

"Where were you?"

"Can't say where, but I can tell you what I was doing; I was running for my life. Not too many other things seemed more important at the time."

"You told someone your unit's APCs were still there, how did you know?"

"No fuel for the C-130s, that brought us down and they were never unloaded, so they must still be there." She smoothed the new bandage on my stomach and looked up at me in a very friendly manner.

"Did they dispatch a plane for the personnel they evacuated?" I pulled my shirt back on and started buttoning it.

"No, from what I understand, the plane bringing in supplies off-loaded everything on the tarmac and loaded up with personnel. That's the last I heard."

"Thanks Emma," I started to walk out, but she called after me.

"If you decide to go, I'd like to volunteer."

I stopped and looked over my shoulder, "Go where?"

"The airport, it's going to be a long trip, which means a long ways from medical help. I'm seeing a shortage in sterile medical supplies in the not too distant future; you might mention that to Dugan when you're looking for reasons to go." She smiled again, "I've been told I can be pretty good company."

"Thanks again, and I'll let you know." What was going on? She wasn't the first woman in recent weeks to come on to me. In a small community like Tranquility the pickings were going to be slim, I knew that, but when I looked in a mirror I recognized I was pretty far down near the tail end of the pickings. Why this sudden interest in me? I could understand Tanya and Essie, they saw me as a safe bet for getting Tanya pregnant, but what about the others? I went looking for Mitch.

I found him in the mess hall where he had a tendency to hold court. I poured a cup of coffee and talked briefly with Melissa and Jackie until everyone else was done with Mitch and then sat down with him.

"Hey, Mitch."

He pushed a pile of spiral notebooks away, "Thanks kid, I could do with some interesting conversation. All I get from the department heads is, 'I need this,' or 'I want that,' or some other bullshit. You'd think they'd figure out some of this crap on their own."

I smiled, "I need something."

"Damn it."

"I was just over at the clinic and Emma Henderson is telling me she sees a shortage of medical supplies in the future."

"Forget it; Doc Evans says the steam sterilizer he had made is doing a good job of cleaning the medical supplies we bring in."

"I figured you might say that, but those supplies are inside six APCs."

He shook his head, "Been through this before Mike, sure I'd like to have those supplies and the APCs, but I can't convince myself to dedicate resources, and people's lives on going after them. It's going to be a long and dangerous trip. Hell, you might find out you can't even get there from here."

"How about I sweeten the pot?" I held up my empty cup, Melissa waved and headed our way with a coffee urn.

"It's going to have to be pretty damn sweet, kid."

"Emma says she and her unit were armed with pistols until weapons and supplies could be flown in from up north, but the supply plane ended up evacuating the National Guard personnel instead." Melissa re-filled our cups and gave me an enticing smile before she walked away; she had a nice sway to her hips and Mitch and I both watched until she was gone.

Then he turned back to the subject at hand, "So?"

"Emma says she heard the supply plane unloaded to make room for people."

He stared hard at me for a moment, and then, "When do you want to leave?" Kids and candy, Marines and guns.

#

##### Chapter Thirteen

Six days. Six fricking days of dead ends, infected, and frustration, shit! I waved from inside the bed of the lead deuce and we started the laborious process of turning around to head back the way we had come. What I wouldn't give for some aerial recon! What I wouldn't give for my motorcycle, but Mitch had strictly forbidden me to strike out on my own. We were wasting time, fuel, ammo and food. We had brought enough food for ten days and granted it would take less time to return because we were marking maps for the journey back, but we were still running out of time.

Once turned around we headed back the way we had been going for the last forty-five minutes, another hour and a half shot. I stuck my head through the rear window opening, "Chuck," I said to the passenger in the front seat. "Swap out with me buddy."

Chuck, Charles Bedford, crawled out into the rear of the deuce; I crawled in and then stood up through the weapons ring in the roof. It was actually a good spot to observe from. When we reached the end of the street, I jumped out and painted an "X" over the arrow, which curved down the street we were exiting. The "X" meant do not go this way. At the next intersection I could see the road was blocked less than half a block down by a jack-knifed truck and waved the driver on. After a hundred feet I shouted for him to stop.

"Back up, Tim!"

"How far?"

"To the last intersection where the jack-knifed truck was."

Tim spoke into his radio telling the other trucks to halt in place while we backed up. Everyone in the trucks would automatically go into static security mode while we checked out the road again; weapons ready to fire and the team ready to fight, or bug out. Truck Two had stopped at the actual intersection with Three a hundred feet behind it. Tim backed Truck One to the intersection and I looked at the jack-knifed truck again. It wasn't jack-knifed; it looked more like someone had been trying to back the rig into a tight spot before they abandoned the vehicle. The side of the trailer was festooned with the words, " _Rokon! The Adventure Begins!_ " and the depiction of an odd motorcycle with fat tires.

"Back down the street in reverse, Tim, but be ready to pull out if we run into trouble."

He backed the truck in and over the radio I heard Mark Wilson, the titular head of the trip inquire about what we were doing. "Mike, what are you up to, over?"

"Rokon, Mark. If that's what I think it is we may have just made this a worthwhile trip, over."

"How so, and what is a Rokon, over?"

"A Rokon is a two-wheel drive motorcycle that can do things you wouldn't believe, over."

Tim stopped the deuce and I jumped down from the cab. The door of the rig connected to the trailer was open, which meant the batteries were probably dead from the interior lights being on. I walked carefully to the back and opened the rear doors of the trailer. Crates lined both walls from front to back and were stacked two crates high; twenty crates in all. Son of a bitch! "Mark, have we got someone who can drive a diesel rig, over?"

"I can, why, over?"

"Anyone else, over?"

"Yeah, a couple of guys, why, over?"

"Because there's twenty Rokons in the trailer, we're going to want to take these with us no matter what, and I think our journey may have become shorter, over and out."

I dropped down on my hands and knees and scanned the area past the trailer and saw it was clear; crawling underneath I stood up to look at the remains of the building the truck had been trying to back in next to. It had been a Rokon distributor and there was one sitting in the remains of a window showcase, covered with broken glass. Behind it, on what had been the showroom floor were several more, which had fallen over on one another when the roof collapsed.

I keyed the mike of my radio, "Tim, send up Chuck and Tony, over."

"Roger that."

Moments later, Tony crawled under the trailer and then Chuck. "Give me a hand here guys, I want to pull this motorcycle out of the window." We rolled it about twenty feet into the road before I leaned it on its stand. "Let's get the other three out too." We struggled with those because a portion of the roof was lying on the last, which was lying on the next, and so forth, but we got all three out. Two were olive green, one yellow and the one, which had been in the display window, was red. They were all gasoline powered.

"I think we can roll these around the front of the truck." We did and I contacted Mark, "Wilson, Come down here and let's see if we can this truck started, over."

"This is outside the boundaries of Dugan's orders, Mike. Load up your people and return to the front of the column, over and out." How has the guy maintained a leadership position of a salvage team?

I unscrewed the fuel tank cap of the truck and dipped a stick inside; it was three-quarters full of fuel. Climbing up the steps I sat on the driver's seat and turned the key on, nothing. Shit! If we didn't get these motorcycles now, Mitch would probably not allow us to return for them. Shit! Shit!

The tires of the Rokon I had been examining were mushy, "Chuck, get that portable air compressor and hook it up, so we can put air in these tires." I checked the oil level and found it full and clean.

Mark came back over the radio, "Mike, I just got off the radio with Dugan, he says for you to follow my orders and get back on task, over."

I looked at Tony, "Bullshit," he said. "We've been out of range of the CBs for two days."

"I know."

"You're going to need someone to watch your back, how about we get both of the green ones going?"

"Have you ridden a motorcycle before?"

He smiled, "I wanted to race motocross, but my dad wouldn't let me. I can ride though, started when I was twelve."

"You're probably better than me, check out the other bike." I keyed the mike of the radio again, "Mark, I need a five gallon can of gas, over"

"Damn it, Mike!" There was a pause, "We need the gas for the generator, get ready to move, or we're leaving without you, over and out."

"We haven't even used the generator; bring me a can of gas. With the Rokons we can cover a lot more ground and faster, over."

God, what an idiot; I looked back to the intersection and one of the deuces turned down the street headed our way. The driver pulled down close to the diesel rig before coming to a stop. John and one of the guys jumped out with a can of gas.

"Thanks," I said as he started pouring the gasoline into the tanks of the Rokons.

"I've been working for Mark for quite a while," he said. "And one thing I can tell you is he can be a dick when you need to think fast and loose."

It took me a moment before I remembered his name, Tran, Thomas Tran. He was second generation Vietnamese and had been at Tranquility from the start since he had been a truck driver for the food distribution center everyone took shelter in.

"Thanks, Tom."

"I'll see if I can get the truck started, but I'm not going to make any promises. If worse comes to worse we might be able to tow it, we'll see."

He finished filling the first tank and started filling Tony's as I pushed mine away and began trying to start the motor. After a year of sitting in the showroom window, the battery was still good and after a little time it picked up the gasoline and started. Sweet; I mounted it and rode down to where Mark waited in the last truck.

"We're getting another one ready and Tony is going to ride with me to find a path through all this shit," I said before he could say anything. "Follow our paint marks the same way we have and everything should be okay." I turned around and rode back to where Tony was cranking his over, it finally started and he gave me a smile.

"Tony, how much ammo do you have for your Mini-14?"

"I'm down to four ten round mags."

"Okay, drop off your rifle and I'm going to let you use my carbine. You'll have ten full thirty round mags instead of forty rounds. I'll use my PSL; I've got plenty of ammo and mags for it."

He smiled, "Alright!" Funny the things which can make people happy now days. Food, large capacity mags and ammo, shit it makes my day too. I pulled the carbine ammo pouches off my web gear for Tony, and added two more PSL pouches to my belt with four mags. The rest of my spare magazines I left in the old gas mask bag I carried them in; I tied off the bag to the front cargo rack of the Rokon. We both rode back to Mark's deuce and turned up the way we had been going before I saw the Rokon truck.

A day and a half later, we rode onto the tarmac of San Bernardino Airport. I figured Mark and the rest of the crew were maybe two hours behind us, so I started looking over what we had. The two C-130s, which Emma Henderson's medical team had flown down on, were parked off the runway with their rear ramps lowered, inside were the six APCs with red crosses painted on the side, so far; so good. Near the terminal was a long line of pallets, which must have been off-loaded from the evacuation aircraft. We rode the Rokons over and I started examining the contents of the pallets.

Mitch was going to be pleased. There were three pallets of aluminum weapon cases containing eight crates of M4 Carbines, ten weapons per case. There were ten smaller cases containing one each, M249 Squad Automatic Weapons (SAWS). One crate of ten M203 grenade launchers attached to M4 Carbines. One pallet of ammo pouches, magazines, cleaning and lubrication supplies; two pallets of 5.56 ammunition and M203, 40 mm grenades; and finally, five pallets of MREs, Meals Ready to Eat. I wasn't real sure of the MREs because they had been out in the weather for so long, but I opened one of the cases and removed a plastic meal pouch, opened it and tried it; it was actually pretty good, but then I was pretty hungry.

We searched the airport until we found the diesel fuel and gasoline storage tanks, which we used to refill the tanks on the two Rokons, then waited for Mark and the rest of the crew to arrive. Mark arrived on schedule and we located a forklift to load the pallets onto the trucks while the APC drivers we had brought began the off-loading of the six APCs. By nightfall we had loaded everything and refueled all of the vehicles and the drums we had brought for spare fuel for the trip. We even loaded the two Rokons because on the trip back we were going to be spread thin among the vehicles. We had only brought twenty-four people and that meant everyone was going to have to be alert at all times.

On the way to the airport it took us eight days to drive what should have taken no more than an hour a little over a year before, but it only took three days to return. We had to stop for the Rokon truck, which John and Tom managed to get running; all in all, we made out like champs. It was good to be back at Tranquility, but have you ever noticed the good times seldom last?

Where to begin? In the eleven days we were gone, things around Tranquility had changed dramatically. With much of the perceived immediate danger removed, people began to concern theirselves with other things. There had always been a certain amount of animosity among some of the uninfected survivors based in the racial make-up of the community. At least two-thirds of Tranquility Base was of Hispanic ethnicity, which is not surprising considering where it was located in Pomona. Though two-thirds was Hispanic, the majority of the leadership of the base was Anglo. Mitch had taken a leadership role in the very beginning and people had followed where he led simply because he was used to leading and knew how to get things done. As an example, Mitch commanded the Reaction Force within Tranquility, Harold Brookings commanded one of the Action Platoons and Esmeralda Lopez the other; Essie was Hispanic, and Mitch and Harold were Anglo. So? Well, some of the people felt it was unfair for two-thirds of the militia leadership to be Anglo, while two-thirds of the population was Hispanic. Dennis Dills was Anglo, and controlled the dispensation of supplies, the doctors and two of the nurses were Anglo, the third nurse was African-American, and the dentist was Asian. Hank Bellows was foreman in the maintenance yard. Jesus Ortega, as the farming foreman, had been chosen by Mitch and somehow that made him suspect as far as his racial loyalties lay, and the same for Essie who was a lesbian and had an Anglo lesbian girlfriend. The racial make-up of the militia was contentious for some because two-thirds of the militia was non-Hispanic, even though the militia was all volunteers.

Some of the Hispanics, a significant number of them, were not legal citizens of the U.S. and had the view California rightfully should still belong to Mexico. Hell I don't know, was there a legitimate basis for their beliefs? Maybe, but using their own logic, they had less right to California than the United States, after all, didn't they take it from the Native Americans the same way Americans did from other tribes as we expanded across the continent? It seemed to me the only racial group which had an ethical claim to the ownership of America was the Native-American tribes and they were immigrants too.

I've been to Mexico and decided not to return. My own personal choice, but others have the right to do as they please. My experiences were somewhat dubious and I can't help, but wonder why anyone who comes to the U.S. wants to change it into the place they came here to escape from in the first place. Take for example Muslims who come to the United States, and Canada for that matter, they move into, or create enclaves, where they want to impose Sharia Law, they could have that if they stayed where they came from, why bring it here? I know that sounds simplistic and I know there are a lot of Muslims and Latin Americans who come here with the desire to be part of the American experience, but when you have a community in which the average American can't walk through and read the business signs, how is that becoming a part of the American experience? Then again, I guess it could be said the ethnic conclaves in America are part of the American experience.

Anyway, I suppose there was some disagreement about the way the compound was being led, so there was a call for a civilian Board of Directors to be elected and because a majority agreed, an election was held. The three male Hispanics who were elected by a majority vote promptly removed Mitch, Harold, Essie, and Dills from any form of authority and replaced them with their own choices, none of whom had experience in the fields for which they were chosen, but because they threw their support behind the directors, or were related in some way. Within two weeks of our return from the San Bernardino Airport the third platoon under the direction of their replacement officer was entirely Hispanic and had no duties other than "law enforcement." Then all community weapons were ordered to be locked inside the gun room unless needed in the event of an attack, and then only if the Reaction Force was unable to turn back the infected incursion. There were many more males than females in the compound, so there was talk of "volunteer" single females being "drafted" to serve as hostesses in a community brothel. If a woman wasn't married, even if she was in a committed relationship, she was liable for the draft, which meant Jackie, Cat, Essie, and Tanya were prime targets. The two children Mitch had taken in were taken and given to a married Hispanic couple because the children were Hispanic and there were mumbled allegations that Mitch may have had ulterior motives for wanting the children in the first place. All things considered, things were going to shit in a handbag and quite a few people were beginning to consider leaving and starting a new settlement separate from Tranquility when the whole thing came to a head.

It was a Friday night and the Board of Directors called for a community meeting in the mess hall to discuss the implementation of several new regulations. With over three hundred inhabitants, and seating for only two hundred, it was a standing room only meeting. The first topic of discussion was the confiscation of all personal weapons and I could see what was coming the same as many others could. It started with a "concerned citizen" raising his/her worries over the Board's ability to impose regulations if there were people against something, and they were armed. The Board took an immediate vote to ban the possession of personal firearms. It was so obviously staged I couldn't believe the majority of the people in the room seemed to be agreeing with the proposal.

I turned to Mitch standing beside me, "Okay, I'm out of here. When I find somewhere we can put together a base of operations I'll be back."

He nodded, "Check out the airport in Ontario, it might be our best bet; do you need anyone to go with you?"

"I work better alone Mitch, you know that."

Essie and Tanya were standing on my other side, "Mike," Tanya said, "Essie and I have been talking and figured it might come to this. We want to go with you."

I looked to Mitch and he nodded again, "Take them with you, I think there's others you should take also, but if a bunch left it would be too noticeable."

I squeezed his shoulder, "We'll be back, it may be a while, but we'll be back."

"I know, now get out while you can."

We headed for the exit, but while passing the guard at the door he stopped us, "Where're you going?"

"Men's room," I pointed to the girls, "Ladies room."

"The directors told us the meeting was mandatory, so I think..."

My hand drifted to the tomahawk and I allowed myself to slip into the hunter mode. "The country may have slid into the shit, but I'm still an American, and I still have rights, do you want to stand in the way of my exercising those rights?"

He blanched and then waved us through, "Hurry up though, there is more planned for tonight's meeting."

I stood between him, and Essie and Tanya as they passed through into the night. "I'm sure there is a lot more planned for tonight." I stepped through the door behind them and we headed for our rooms.

"What are we going to do Mike?" Tanya kept looking over her shoulder with her hand on the .40 caliber pistol she was wearing.

"We get our weapons and gear, then to the vehicle park. We're going to take two of the Rokons, Essie on one and you behind me on one. We'll ride to where my Suburban is stashed and then to a building close-by that withstood the earthquake. We'll hole up there until we can scout the airport for everyone else."

I waited outside their room while they gathered the rest of their weapons and gear, and then we went to my room next to Mitch's container. I went in as they watched and gathered my own equipment and then rejoined them as I put on my helmet and the veil. I dropped deeply into the hunter and started for the vehicle park. No one was going to stop us, even if they tried. We hadn't gone more than thirty yards when I froze and held both of them back.

"Something's wrong."

Essie swung up the twelve-gauge pump she was carrying and Tanya drew her pistol. "What is it?" Essie asked.

"There's no guard at the south-east corner of the wall." I said. The solar lights we had placed along the interior of the walls had been relocated, at the direction of the Board, to light walkways through the crop fields inside the compound and as a result, there were now dark shadows along the wall, which had caused so much trouble in the past.

"Mike!" Essie hoarsely whispered, "There's no one at the gate! Oh God, it's open!"

I turned to Tanya, "Get to the mess hall, warn everyone!"

She raised her pistol into the air and fired three rapid shots, "They're warned! Let's go!"

I broke into a run towards the gate with them hard on my heels as I saw several figures enter the inside of the wall from outside through the gate. Pulling my bayonet from its sheath, I fixed it to the barrel of my carbine and then racked back the slide, released it, and started firing at the gate. At fifty feet from it, I stopped and continued to fire on the zombies coming through, it didn't seem to be a concerted attack by the horde; we would have already been swamped by sheer numbers if it were. Tanya stopped beside me on my right and dropped to her right knee, her left elbow resting on her left knee as she squeezed off rounds from her pistol. Essie was farther over, pumping her shotgun and firing into the opening of the gate. Tanya and Essie's guns fell silent as they reloaded and I continued to fire until they resumed, then I rushed forward and hit the open half of the gate with my shoulder to close it and secure it.

Several armed men arrived and I pointed at the top of the wall, "Secure the wall!" They headed up the ladder to the guard post and I turned to where I could hear sporadic gunfire and screams to the east, so I ran in that direction as I reloaded, again with Essie and Tanya close behind. I could hear and see muzzle flashes ahead and I sped up, that was where Harold and Cat lived and not far away were John and Jackie's room. I came up on a group of people on the ground struggling and fired several shots into infected, but one of them lunged and sank his teeth into the leather of my gloved hand, I pushed him down and placed the bayonet of the Carbine against the side of his head and fired, then ran on into the darkness.

As I neared Cat and Harold's room I shouted, "Cat! Harold!"

From within their room I heard Harold's voice, "We're good! John and Jackie are with us!"

"You and John gear up and help us sweep the inside of the compound!" The three of us placed our backs to the wall of the container and watched until John, Harold and Cat came out. All three were armed, "Jackie watching the Kids?"

"Yeah," John said, and behind him he spoke again, "Lock the door Jackie." I heard the lock slip into place and we set out to methodically search the inside of the compound. Looking around I could see other people were doing the same as us and I told Harold.

He scanned the area and then shouted, "Everyone who is armed! Go to the Mess hall and we'll co-ordinate a search pattern!"

We moved there ourselves and then an organized pattern of search began, within minutes we finished and returned to the outside of the mess hall. Several more infected had been killed and I asked everyone, "Where's the Board?"

Someone with a Hispanic accent replied, "They're hiding in the mess hall with about ten guards to protect them."

I went to the door of the mess hall and tried to open it, but it was locked, so I beat on it and shouted for them to open momentarily before they did. The two guards at the door let us in; there must have been a good forty people who entered behind me. Mitch came through the doorway and I stopped him, "I'm going to the clinic to see how many were wounded, see if you can disarm the guards and take control of this cluster fuck, this bullshit needs to stop now."

He nodded and I left for the clinic where I found the Doctors and nurses working in a room full of patients. I counted the wounded and ended up with twenty-two, most were wounds, which of themselves were not too serious as far as trauma went, but most of the wounds were also bites. I found Doc Evans and posed the question, "Doc, I know you're busy, but how many of the wounded are bitten?"

He looked at me with a haunted expression, "Eighteen." He looked away and then back, "Some of them are progressing faster than I've seen before, Mike. The disease has mutated, or something, it's going fast, really fast."

"Do you need help restraining them?"

"For the most part the ones who have been bitten know, they know what to expect. They are allowing us to strap them down, but yeah, get us some help in here."

I returned to the mess hall and sent six of the guards there to help the medical staff maintain control. Then as I walked through the returning crowd to the table the Board was sitting behind, I allowed myself to sink back into the hunter. "Which one of you ordered the guards off the wall?"

"I did," Said the center man, Calderon was his name. "But everyone agreed. The meeting tonight was too important for anyone to miss. We wanted everyone here, so there would be no misunderstandings about our newest decrees."

"You pulled the guards, so everyone could bask in the sunshine of your stupidity." The Carbine dangled from one strap across my chest, but I held the .357 loosely in my right hand.

"How were we supposed to know they would attack tonight? We couldn't know that!" There is only one penalty for stupidity, and you just don't take chances with the lives of others.

"I just came from the clinic, there are twenty-three injured, nineteen bitten, nineteen infected, nineteen walking dead, so you could make your little proclamation, so you could deny us the right to defend ourselves." He was trying to lock eyes with me, but he kept looking away; it's hard to stare death in the face. I raised the pistol and fired three rounds in quick succession, one through each of their foreheads. Turning around I looked at Mitch, who was surrounded by my friends; each of them bore a look of utter shock. "You need a new governing council. This time, see if you can hold on to your freedoms, because next time I won't be around to hand them back to you." I walked out the door leaving behind a room full of silence and a trail of blood.

At the vehicle park I searched until I found my own motorcycle, the one I came to Tranquility with, checked the oil and fuel tank, and then kicked it over. When it was running smooth I rode to the gate and waited for the guards there to open it for me. Tran was there.

"Mike, you going out?" He looked concerned.

"Yeah, there is going to be new leadership and I think I better be on my way."

"Why? Man we need you here." He looked out past the closed gate, "There's still infected out there, you know? Close out there." He looked past me towards the mess hall. "Hang on a minute, okay? Someone's trying to get our attention."

I looked back and I could see two people, women, running our way. "Open the gate Tran, I have to go now."

"Hang on, Mike." He started to walk towards the shouting women.

"Thomas, now!"

I heard Essie's voice shout, "Do not open that gate!" She continued to run for us.

"Thomas?"

"Mike, I don't know what's going on, but I have to live with these people. The gate stays closed until Essie says otherwise." He walked to the double gates and placed his back to it, his rifle across his chest.

My hand fell from the throttle of the motorcycle and hovered above the tomahawk, Tran was a good man and he was armed, if I used the tomahawk he might have a chance to kill me, instead I hung my head and waited for the chips to fall.

Essie ran up and stopped beside me, "Mike, what are you doing? Where are you going?" Tanya joined her, but she said nothing, she just grabbed my arm and I flinched away.

"Mike?"

"I have to go."

"No!" Tanya slid her fingers beneath my forearm pads and clinched. "Mitch sent us to make sure you didn't leave, he thought you might."

"You don't understand," I said. "I have to go now."

"Mike, why?"

"I killed those three men as if they were infected; I felt nothing, no remorse. I shouldn't be here and I won't be locked up until someone decides to put a noose around my neck, or stand me in front of a firing squad, or put a bullet in my head while I'm unconscious. I need to go!" I was suddenly wracked with stomach cramps and I leaned forward until my helmet hit the handlebars of the motorcycle. I groaned as they both grabbed me to keep me from falling over with the bike.

"Mike! What's wrong?" Essie pulled me to an upright position and held me with her arms around my shoulders. "Michael, what is it?"

I stripped off my left glove and held up my hand; even in the faint light you could see the dangling piece of meat hanging from the side of my palm, the teeth marks and the dripping blood. My stomach cramped again, and then my legs and arms, I couldn't stand astraddle the motorcycle as I went rigid with convulsions. The world spun away into darkness.

Darkness, noise.

"...been like this?"

"Four..."

"How much longer are we going..."

"...as necessary."

Cold, so damn cold.

"Tanya is doing better, how about Cam and Little John?"

Shivering, hard.

I groan and try to escape the cold.

"Doctor... sounds...help!"

I, I am. I am cold. I can't move!

"...not convulsions...trying...escape."

"...gun!"

"No!"

My eyes open and I squint into the bright light, it hurts, so I close them.

"Michael? Can you..."

Light again, I try to turn my head, but I can't move it. _"Please stop, the light hurts."_

I open my eyes and I see the ceiling, but I still can't move my head, am I paralyzed? I try to look up and down, side to side. Ceiling and walls. _"Is there anyone there?"_ No response. _"Can anyone hear me?"_ _Am I deaf? I can't hear my voice! Wait...ticking._ I hear ticking. I strain my eyes to the sound and see a clock on the wall; the second hand is relentlessly counting away the brevity of my life, _and I can't hear my voice!_ I can move my hands a little, but I'm so damn cold! I can move my feet and legs, so I begin to thrash around, kicking and twisting. _I'm cold; I'm cold, so damn cold!_ Sound comes from my mouth, just a moan, a groan; I suck in air and scream. If they come, if the infected come, _I can't defend myself! If they hear me scream they will come and I can't defend myself!_ I grow silent and still. A door opens and soft, quick footsteps to my side, _they found me!_

"Michael?"

I know you, white tee shirt, white scarf around long hair, something around your neck, what? Stethoscope. Yes, nurse, Emma, Emma what? I know you, I think?

"Mister Moore? Do you know me?"

Yes! Yes! Untie me please! I'm cold!

The door opens again, more footsteps, "How is he?"

"His temperature is dropping."

"What is it?"

"One-oh-four."

"Replace the ice, one more day, I promised his friends one more day, after that we'll give him the shot and call it done."

No! No more cold!

"Yes, Doctor." She strokes my forehead and I watch her hand come and go. "So much pain, so much suf...Doctor Evans! His eyes are tracking the movement of my hand!"

Light shines in my eye, the pain makes me want to turn away, but I can't, I squeeze my eyes shut. "Son of a bitch! He's responding! Michael! Can you hear me?"

I try to nod. But my head won't move.

"Come on, Mike, say something! Anything!"

_I can't you stupid fuck! Nothing comes out!_ I squeeze my eyes and tears trickle down the side of my face. It tickles unbearably. I move my hand as if writing, they don't notice! _Damn!_ I move my hand again, as much as I can.

"Emma, look at his hand!"

"Doctor, we should remove the restraints on his head."

Yes, yes, yes!

"I don't know."

Oh for the love of God!

"Alright, we'll loosen them a little."

I feel them working around my head and finally I can move it a little, my neck cracks, pops, and grinds.

"Michael, can you hear me?"

I look at the "Doctor" and nod once.

"Excellent! Are you in pain?"

I shake my head _no._

"Are you comfortable?"

I shake my head rapidly side to side, but my body is shaking so badly I'm not sure he recognizes the movement.

"Are you cold?"

I bob my head repeatedly. _Yes, yes, yes!_

"We have to keep you on ice a little longer to bring your temperature down. I'm sorry, but it's the only way." He pauses, and then, "Mike, can you speak?"

I slowly move my head side to side. _No._

"Emma, I know it's still early in the morning, but Dugan wanted to know of any change. Go tell him, okay?"

"Alright, I'll be back as quick as I can, so you can get back to sleep."

"Thanks, Emma."

I move my head rapidly in a circle and strained at the restraints.

"Mike, if I release your head completely, are you going to try and bite me?"

Side to side, _no._

"Alright," He starts working around my head again and then lifts away a harness after pulling it from under my head. I twist my neck and it cracks again, loudly. "That must have felt good."

I nod again. But I'm shaking so badly.

"I promise we'll get you off the ice soon, okay?"

I nod again.

He asked more questions; more often than not they couldn't be answered with yes, or no.

The door opened and Mitch walked through. "So," he said, "Sleeping beauty has decided to awaken. How you feeling Kid?"

"Mitch," Doctor Evans said. "He can't speak, but if you phrase questions, which require a yes, or a no, he can communicate."

"That's okay, I always had to keep our conversations simple anyway, so he could understand; isn't that right Kid?"

I glared at him, " _you fucking asshole!"_

"I thought you said he couldn't talk?"

Did I say that?

"Well," Doctor Evans stated, "Maybe he just needs to be pissed off."

"Hell," Mitch laughed. "I can do that better than anyone, huh Kid?"

_Is there anyone else awake? Shit! Now I'll have to listen to him all night!_ My body starts to violently shiver again as I groan and my teeth clatter.

"Doc? What's going on?" I can hear the concern in his voice, the look on his face.

"His temperature is still way up there, one-oh-four, so he has to stay on the ice for now. Maybe later we can just keep him wet with a fan on him until the temperature drops."

"Mike," I looked at Mitch as I started violently shivering again. "Is it the cold? Is it uncomfortable?"

" _What the fuck do you think?"_

"Doc, can't we do something else?"

"Think about it Mitch, he has a temperature of one-oh-four and he's packed in ice, what would it be if he wasn't?" Evans checked the monitor connected to my finger, "Pulse is good; let's not screw with what's working, okay? What happened to Emma?"

"There were others who wanted to be notified if there was any change, but I had Emma go tell only two of them."

Evans nodded, "Okay, but I'm dragging ass, can you keep an eye on him for a while? I have got to get some sleep."

"Sure, absolutely."

Mitch leaned over me, "Listen Kid, I know I'm not much of a conversationalist, but I'm here for you, okay?"

I nodded, and then between the bouts of violent shivering, I drifted off.

I woke up to the sound of my voice, "Where am I?" I looked around and saw Essie and Tanya sitting at the foot of my bed, leaning close to one another, whispering, "Hey, where am I?"

They looked, stood up, and came to the head of the bed, one on each side, "We thought you were just talking in your sleep," Tanya said. "You kept asking where you were, over and over." She ran her hand over the scars on my face and then used a finger to trace the one on my head, "He needs a shave," then to me. "You're looking pretty scruffy."

" _Yeah? You try being packed in ice and tied to a bed for a while; let's see how fucking scruffy you..._ Did I just say that?"

Essie smiled as she nodded, "Yep, kind of refreshing in a way; to hear you speak your mind."

" _That's what you say now, but if you knew how much I want both of you, you probably wouldn't think it was_ _so refreshing_." I froze as I saw the change in their expressions, the slack jaws, _"Shut the fuck up you idiot! They won't even want to be your friends! Then what are you going to do? They won't even want you around!_ I did it again! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to say that! It just came out. I'm sorry, please don't stop..." The muscles in my back began to contract and lifted me off the bed until my heels and head were the only parts of me touching the sheets.

Pain, incredible pain! Shouting, needles, emptiness.

I slowly opened my eyes, pages being turned, _"what?"_ Mitch glanced over at me; he had a stack of stapled papers in one hand and was flipping sheets with the other, his glasses down towards the end of his nose.

"Hey," I said. "Where are the girls?"

"Doc Evans banned them after your first seizure, you really freaked them out." He lay the papers down and leaned over me. "How you feeling?"

"Sleepy and my body hurts everywhere." It did, I felt as though I had competed in a triathlon.

"Go back to sleep then."

I did.

I could smell baby, I like the smell of babies. "Cam's waiting for you to come see her, Mike." Cat? I opened my eyes and saw the baby jumpsuit she was holding to my nose, "We need you, Mike. You have to get better."

"I will." I heard my voice from somewhere far away.

"Mike? Michael!" I drifted off again.

I opened my eyes and saw Jackie reading a book next to the bed, "I'm really hungry," I said.

She stood up and leaned over me, "You are? Do you want me to get you something?"

"Yeah, and something to drink, do you have any water?"

"Hang on." She went to the door of the room, "Doctor Hemet! Mike's awake! Can he have water, and food?"

Hemet walked into the room and stopped by the bed as he leaned over and started examining me. "How you feeling, Mike?"

"A little drowsy, more hungry, really thirsty, and I need to piss now."

"Interesting the way you phrased that."

"I'm a little more concerned with other things than how interested you are in my verbal skills." I shrugged my shoulders and twisted my neck causing it to crack. "I'm really serious about that piss."

"I'm referring to the fact you constructed your requests in an order of magnitude, that's a good sign." He started writing on a clipboard.

"Doc, I'm really serious about the piss."

He smiled over the clipboard, "Go ahead, you're wearing a diaper."

What?

He reached down and prodded my bicep; the resulting sharp pain caused me to lose control of my bladder and the warm wetness spread out through my groin. "Ah shit!"

"You have torn muscles in both biceps, your right thigh, and right calf. When we let you up you're not going to be the most mobile person around. Blood pressure and respiration is normal, temperature is normal, and you seem lucid this time. I think you're out of the woods my friend."

I looked behind Hemet and saw Jackie standing there with a smile, "Didn't I say I was hungry?"

The smile got bigger, "Just waiting for Doctor Hemet to say it was okay."

"Well?" I said.

"Okay, Jackie, but nothing rich, or greasy, maybe some oatmeal?"

"No way," I said, "I can't stomach that crap."

Jackie looked thoughtful, "How about hot wheat cereal with a little cinnamon and a sprinkling of sugar?"

Hemet looked at her, "A little heavier than I might like, but let's give it a shot."

She left and I asked Hemet, "Okay, so how long have I been here and why, how did I get the torn muscles?"

"You don't remember?"

"Nothing."

"The torn muscles are the result of repeated seizures. Your body's muscles contracted so severely, it actually torn the muscle tissue."

"Why am I having seizures?"

He looked at me for a moment, "What's the last thing you remember?"

"Being here, being here after...something; a lot of people hurt? I think?"

"Do you remember trying to leave Tranquility?"

"No."

"Do you remember the base meeting and the Board of Directors?"

"I'm not sure, something, but it's really fuzzy. I'm really thirsty, do you have some water."

"Yeah, I'll have one of the nurses bring you some and get you cleaned up. You're probably going to have visitors pretty soon."

"Uh, listen, how about untying me, so I can take care of myself." I jerked on the restraints around my wrists, and then grimaced with the pain it elicited.

"Nope, not until we're sure the seizures are done with."

"Doc, I'd rather..."

"I said, no." There was a tone in his voice, which made me uncomfortable.

"What's going on Hemet?" They weren't going to untie me; I knew it with a certainty.

He pulled a chair over and sat down. "Mike, you were bitten, by an infected."

My stomach knotted up. "How long ago?" My hands started to shake and I felt as though I was going to puke.

"Seven days. You've been in and out with an extremely high fever that we tried to control with ice packs and then by just burying you in ice. I'm sure you must have some brain damage, how much, I don't know. We did the same with two others that survived the first night, one was in a vegetative state and the other turned, so we put them down. You survived Mike, and we don't know why."

Emma Henderson walked in and gave me a smile, but it disappeared as she looked at my face. "I've got the fresh diaper Doctor, and I'll clean him up a bit while I'm at it."

"Okay, we'll talk again Mike, if you have more questions."

"Thanks," I said to his back as he walked out the door, but I wasn't feeling exactly thankful; to tell the truth, I wasn't feeling anything. Was I contagious? Could I pass the disease to others?

"I'm glad to see you're awake Mike, shall we get started?" I'd rather not talk about that.

Mitch came in later and sat with me for a while, we talked about inane things of little importance, well, they didn't feel all that important to me, but in the grand scheme of things they were important to others. The base had returned pretty much to the government it had before, except the Board of Directors had to face a confidence vote once a month and there could be no rules passed, which impinged on the civil rights of the people. Finally, Mitch ran out of BS and just sat there quietly before he finally walked to the door to leave.

He turned around, "There's a chopper coming in tomorrow sometime."

I stared at the wall, "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Will someone bring me some clothes?"

"Yeah."

"My leathers? I won't feel comfortable traveling without them."

He was silent for a moment and then, "Sure, I'll pack up all your gear, weapons too."

"Thanks, Mitch. You've been a good friend. Tell everyone I said bye, okay?"

"Sure, Kid. You'll be back."

"Yeah." Yeah, I'll be back. Who was he trying to kid; I wondered where they were going to take me, Atlanta? Someplace closer, farther?

Mitch left as Emma came back in with a bowl of hot cereal; after she cranked up the head of the bed she sat on the edge and spoon-fed me.

"You don't have to do this Emma, I can feed myself."

She smiled at me, "I don't mind."

I swallowed a mouthful of cereal, "They're not going to untie me are they?"

She shook her head while she offered me another bite. "No, no they're not. I'm sorry, Mike, but the Military gave strict orders not to release you under any circumstances."

"I'm a prisoner?"

Tears started streaming down her face as she laid the bowl in my lap, and then uncuffed my wrists. "Call me when you're finished, okay?"

She left the room and I picked up the bowl and finished the cereal. Was this her way of saying run? Or was it her way of saying she trusted me not too. I wanted to run, but did I have some sort of purpose? One, which dictated my compliance? I had survived the infection and maybe my cooperation would help others; what if they found out they could help others who were infected? What if we found out all the zombies we had killed didn't need to be killed? They could have been saved? I hoped not, it was a selfish hope, hoping all the people I killed couldn't have been helped.

The clock on the wall said ten o'clock and I wondered, morning, or night? "Emma? I'm done."

She came back and took the bowl and set it aside; I held my wrists next to the bed rails while she reattached the restraints. She didn't make them tight, in fact, I could have slipped my hands in and out with ease whenever I chose, but I chose to sleep instead. When I woke again it was dark and silent in the room and someone was astride my hips, gently...In the darkness I couldn't tell who it was, and they said nothing and neither did I; I guess it was send-off, a farewell? I wondered who she was.

Mitch came by in the morning and brought me a bundle of clothes: jeans, tee shirt, sweatshirt, underwear, socks, and boots. I didn't get dressed right away; we just sat and talked to pass the time. The military had told him not to allow anyone near me except medical people; I guess they didn't want to take any chances of the infection being passed on, sort of like Typhoid Mary I guess. They were concerned I might be a carrier, or some such. Technically, Mitch wasn't even supposed to make contact with me, but he figured what the hell I guess.

Just for the hell of it, I mentioned my unknown visitor from the night before, while Emma was in the room, and she said she hoped anyone foolish enough to take the chance of infection would use a condom, which I knew they had. Then she just smiled and walked out of the room. I didn't learn anything though; the mystery woman was still just that, a mystery woman. I wondered if I would ever find out who it was. Mitch commented there were a lot of people who were going to miss me, though he made it clear it wasn't him that visited me.

It was around noon when we heard the chopper land in the compound and Mitch went out to meet the team sent to collect me, within minutes I guess there was a full-fledged argument going on outside. With Emma's help, I managed to get out of bed and make it to the restroom, and then she helped me get dressed while we waited.

There were four of them, two in that ridiculous ACU camouflage, armed with full battle rattle and equipped with gas masks. The other two were wearing Hazmat suits, they looked kind of silly, but I guess they didn't want to take any chances of infection. The two Hazmat guys approached me with caution and held out a harness, which they started to put on me. They followed that with ankle chains and another chain around my waist, which they handcuffed my wrists to. Then they tried to force a heavy nylon gag between my teeth and strap it off behind my head. That was going a little too far, so I rebelled until one of the cammied guards placed the muzzle of his M4 against my forehead and said, "Make one wrong move and I will put a bullet through your head!"

I looked at his nametag, Smythe, and the last thing I said before they inserted the gag was, "Smythe? I'm missing you already."

He kept his muzzle in place until the gag was secured and then gave me a sharp jab to my forehead. "We'll see zombie, once we're on the chopper, your ass is mine."

One of the Hazmat guys slapped his weapon away and then pushed him back. "Knock it off Specialist, and no more threats." He turned to me, "I'm sorry, some of these guys have been killing infected for a long time and they figure a dead zombie is a good zombie."

The last insult? They attached two five foot poles to the harness I was wearing and forced me to move in the direction they wanted by pushing and pulling the poles. These people were really concerned with security. Before they led me out of the clinic, Emma came forward and tried to hand me a cane, but Smythe pushed her away, "Nothing he can use for a weapon!"

"He has torn muscles in his right leg! He needs the support so he can walk!"

The Hazmat guy took the cane from her and handed it to me, which I gratefully leaned on and we started the walk to the helicopter. When we were outside there was quite a murmur from the assembled crowd when they saw how I was restrained, and Mitch started to come forward, but one of the soldiers held him back. Just as I started to be helped into the chopper I saw the rest of my friends, Jackie and Tanya were holding one another with Little John between them and crying, but Essie, Harold, John and Cat were staring as I was pushed through the door, and it wasn't affection for the soldiers smoldering in their eyes.

I gave them a quick wave from my waist, but I don't know if they saw it before I was sat down on a bench seat and strapped into place. They shut the doors as the pilots spun up the turbines and we lifted off for I didn't know where. I wondered if I would see any of my friends again.

#

##### Chapter Fourteen

We flew to the east for several hours before we set down in the middle of another square of containers like we had at Tranquility, but this one was in the absolute middle of nowhere. There were numerous helicopters and on a runway outside of the containers there was a C-130 like the ones I had seen at the airport in San Bernardino. We transferred to another helicopter, a new flight crew, and were in the air again in minutes, again headed east. The vibration inside the chopper was starting to really irritate my right leg, so I attempted to stretch it out; from the way it felt, I knew it was swelling and retaining fluid.

Within five minutes, Smythe made a point of moving past me towards the rear of the helicopter and savagely kicked my right leg, "Get that leg out of the aisle!"

I pulled the leg back and tried to reach it to give it a rub, but couldn't. The Hazmat guys had removed their suits and were now wearing light blue coveralls, one of them, named Stinson, shouted over the roar of the engines, "Sergeant Morris!"

"Sir!"

"Remove Smythe from duty immediately and that is not a request, Sergeant."

"Sir!" Morris looked at Smythe and shook his head. "This is primo duty Smythe; I swear you could fuck up a wet dream. Give your weapon to Corporal Hansen, you're relieved."

Stinson leaned over to me, "Look, I'm sorry, okay? Do you need anything?"

I nodded my head and then raised my chin trying to draw attention to the gag. He reached behind my head, unbuckled the gag and then removed it. My mouth was so dry I could barely speak, "Water."

"Jesus, Mister Moore, I'm sorry!" He reached under his seat and pulled out a bag of water bottles. Removing one he unscrewed the cap and held it to my lips before pouring it in my mouth. I drank it down thirstily until it was empty. "Another half-hour and we'll be outside Phoenix where we will land and wait for a turboprop fixed wing to fly us on."

"Atlanta?" I asked.

"No, Atlanta held out for a while, but the density of the population was too great. Everyone was moved to a base in Montana where there wasn't such a security risk. We've been there ever since."

"Are you military, or civilian?"

"Civilian. I'm in charge of this mission, but if the shit hits the fan, Morris takes over until we can return to our original job. You're important Moore, very important."

We talked the rest of the way to Phoenix and when we set down he waited with me until the soldiers had disembarked. When they were off the chopper he bent down and started removing the restraints I was still wearing. The other civilian sat opposite from us and watched with his arms crossed and legs outstretched.

"I thought I was a risk."

"You are, but I've been talking to you and I don't think you are the typical infected we have had to work with."

"Why is that?" I asked.

He looked up and smiled, "You haven't tried to eat me."

I managed to get out of the helicopter, but if I was going to go anywhere I was going to need the cane Emma gave me. "Have you seen my cane?"

"No. Barker," Stinson asked the second civilian, "Have you seen Moore's cane?"

"Yeah, Morris put in the red sports bag." He pointed to it. I reached over and tried to pull it to me, but it was heavier than my arms could handle. Stinson grabbed it instead and pulled it out of the chopper.

"Shit, what the hell did he put in here?"

"Hopefully, all my gear." I unzipped the bag and saw the cane on top. Beneath were my clothes, my leathers and helmet, and my weapons and web gear. "Thanks, Mitch."

Stinson and Barker both grabbed an end of the bag and we started for what appeared to be a hanger in the distance, but after fifty yards I stopped, "Sorry guys, but this isn't going to work. I don't think I can make it that far on foot."

They set down the bag and Stinson asked, "Your injuries?"

"That and I've had two meals in the last eight days."

Baker started for the hanger, "You two wait here, and I'll find us a ride."

"Moore," Stinson said. "I saw your scars and figured they were the result of the attack in which you were bitten. When were you bitten?"

"Eight days ago." I held up my hand and showed him the healing scar of the bite. "I was basically comatose for seven of those days." I lowered myself down and leaned on the sports bag. God, I was so tired.

"Hey, Moore!" I jumped and looked around me. "Baker's coming with a truck. We'll have you inside and bedded down in no time."

"Sorry, I must have dozed off for a second."

Stinson laughed, "Try half-an-hour, you were sawing logs big time."

Inside the hanger was a mess hall and farther inside were cots for people to use who were passing through. I ate first, then a shower, and then I crashed on a cot for several hours. When I woke, I ate again, and then crashed again. It was all I did for two days while we waited for a plane headed north. Eat and sleep, and then eat and sleep. The morning of the third day we hitched a ride on a C-130 to Malmstrom Air Force Base in Great Falls, Montana; I liked it better than the helicopter.

We were met at the air base by a vehicle marked CDC and escorted to an on base facility where I was assigned a hospital room in an isolation ward while they started tests on me. I had just flown across the nation with God knows how many different people, and now they put me in isolation, well, the horse is gone; we better close the barn door. It took them two weeks to decide I wasn't contagious, even if I bit someone, and then I sat around another three weeks. I suppose I shouldn't complain though, I spent the time healing my arms and leg and they even gave me a physical therapist that worked my ass off. Six weeks later I was back in top form, Hell, I was in better shape than I had been in a year.

Physically I was doing well, and the doctors were giving me series after series of tests, both physical and mental. I was hungry all the time and never turned down a meal; at first I was losing weight and then I gained an additional ten pounds over my normal 175, but my fat index dropped. I was stronger than I had been before, but I chalked that up to the physical therapy and weight training I was getting. I noticed sometimes my hands would start to shake, my knees felt weak, and my stomach would start to churn; when they tested me during one of the episodes they said my adrenaline levels were up. It usually happened as a result of being surprised, a loud noise, anything that might instigate the fight, or flight response, but the levels were higher than in most people. After a while I realized I could cause the adrenaline increase with just thinking I wanted to. In the beginning of the testing they thought my vision and hearing was somehow increased by exposure to the infection, but finally settled on the theory that I was just more aware of what was going on around me; probably an after-effect of living in the survival oriented environment I came from.

They were constantly taking blood samples for the research they were performing, I guess they were hoping for some miracle cure, or vaccine, or something, but Stinson said that though they weren't coming up with anything useful they still had high hopes of some sort of breakthrough; I hoped they were right. Psychologists spent a lot of time poking and prodding at me at the same time, especially after they discovered I could change my personality at will, but I came away with the feeling they thought I was somewhat unhinged because of my experiences during the outbreak. Most of the people I dealt with had only minor experience with the actual outbreak. I was happy for them and a little jealous to tell the truth.

After another four weeks they cut me loose to wander the facilities as long as I checked in and out, so they could find me if necessary and Stinson and I spent a lot of time together; I think he felt a little guilty about the way I was treated. The most satisfying experience I had was meeting up with Smythe again in the cafeteria on the first floor of the complex. Of course it resulted in another series of psychological tests to determine why I beat the fuck out of him and they established it was the result of post-traumatic stress syndrome. Bullshit, he was an asshole and he deserved it; welcome to my world.

I started asking when I could get back to Tranquility and after irritating enough people, I was told the only way back to California was to start walking south and sort of west. I visited the operations center at Malmstrom and asked if I could hitch a ride south on anything going that way and they just looked at me like I was an idiot. Maybe I am, but I needed to get back to the only family I knew. Family, Cat's family was from Montana. Billings, Montana; I began to try and find a way to get to Billings.

I was dead in the water, literally. It seemed everything I tried to do I ended up being stumped in one way, or another. I started getting pissy with people who didn't deserve it and walking around angry all the time. So what happens when you've been exposed to the Rage Virus and you start getting shitty with people? Isolation and more tests. Then I was released again and told to be glad I was where I was, instead of where I had been. The psychologist I spoke with told me if I was worried about my friends back home, why didn't I just pick up a phone and call them. The fucking idiot thought the phones still worked in zombieland.

Rather than punch him in the face, I got up and walked out. If I had to get to Billings, then I guess I'd walk if I had to. I gathered my gear together in preparation to leave and went to the cafeteria to see if I could snake some food for the road, but as I walked through the lobby I heard it, the ring of a phone. I looked around and saw it, a public phone and it was ringing. I walked over and stared at it for a moment and then picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Hey," the happy voice said, "Let me talk to Susan."

"Ah, did you know this is a public phone?"

There was a pause, "I should have known it would be, a fine looking woman like that gives me her phone number? Shit." I heard the phone hang up and then the dial tone, a fricking dial tone. I went looking for a pencil, paper, and coins.

Where does a guy with no money, and no job, get money? From the poor sucker who feels responsible for your plight, Stinson. I hunted him down and talked him out of his jar of billiard quarters, and the girl at the reception desk in the lobby forked over a pen and paper, I walked to the phone and stood in front of it.

Picking up the phone, I waited for the dial tone, and then punched 411. It rang twice before a voice answered, "Information, how may I direct your call?"

"Hi, I want to deliver a message to the family of a woman who is in California? She was caught there during the outbreak and I wanted to let her family know she was okay. Can you help with that?"

"I'll certainly try, Sir. In what city are they located?" She had a really pleasant voice.

"Ah, this may be a problem; she said her family lived about fifteen miles out of Billings, on Highway 3."

"One moment please." I waited for several seconds, "Does the name Acton, Montana, ring a bell?"

"Yes! That's it." I was getting closer.

"What name are we looking for?"

"Bodine, I can't remember her father's name, but her mother's name is Anne."

"One moment please. Yes Sir, we have one listing for Henry and Anne Bodine, in Acton, Montana. Would you like the number?"

"Yes, please." She read off the number and I copied it down. "Thank you, so much."

"Sir, I can connect you directly if you wish?"

"That would be great, how much should I deposit in the phone?"

"There is no charge for communication between loved ones from inside the plague zone, Sir, and it is my discretion whether to charge for the call. There will be no charges incurred. Shall I dial now, Sir?"

"Yes, please, thank you." I waited as the phone rang seven, maybe eight times, then it was picked up.

"Hello?" A woman's voice.

"Hi," I said. "Is this the Bodine residence?"

"Yes, it is."

"Is this Anne Bodine?"

There was a pause, "Yes, can I help you somehow?"

"Your youngest daughter is Catherine Bodine?"

There was a longer pause and a tremor in her voice when she answered, "Yes."

"Mrs. Bodine, I want to let you know that Catherine is alive, she is well, and she is in a safe place surrounded by people who love her and are protecting her."

I heard the phone clatter, and then voices in the background, and then a man picked up, "Hello? Who is this?"

"Mister Bodine?

"Yes!

"Mister Bodine, as I was telling your wife, your daughter Catherine is in California, within the plague zone, but she is safe and she is well."

"Please tell me who you are and how you know this is true."

We spoke for the next hour as I told him of what had happened over the last months, of how important she was in our community, and I told him of Cam and Harold. I assured him Cat was healthy, their grandchild was healthy, and what a good man Harold was. The only thing I didn't tell them was I was Cam's father. I told him why I was in Montana, and why I was stuck in Montana, and how I wanted to get back as soon as possible. I told him where I was when he asked me, I gave him the number of the phone in the lobby, and he said he would be calling back when he had information for me. I said I would wait for his call, and hung up.

I waited for hours, and finally went to the cafeteria and brought a plate of food back to the lobby and ate there after asking the receptionist if the phone rang while I was gone. It hadn't. When I got tired, I slept on one of the couches situated around the lobby, and the next morning the phone still hadn't rung. I waited for the receptionist to show up for work and went for another meal and to use the restroom. When I returned the receptionist shook her head and I sat down and ate, then slept some more. At noon I entered the cafeteria and instead of bringing the meal back to the lobby, I ate there before going back to my vigil. Eating again in the cafeteria in the evening, I lay down on the couch again and went to sleep. If they hadn't called by morning, I was going to call them.

"Hey, wake up!" I rolled over and looked up, there were three men looking down at me.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes; the clock on the wall read 1:15 AM. "Yeah?"

The biggest guy, about six-six with graying hair covered by a cowboy hat, answered, "I'm looking for a man named Michael Moore, that you?"

I stood up, "Yeah, that's me."

The big guy stuck his hand out and grabbed mine, crushing it as he shook it. "I'm Hank Bodine, Catherine's father," He pointed to the short round man next to him, "This is Congressional Representative Matthew Slate, and this," he pointed to an Air Force officer in a flight suit, "This is Colonel Daniel Morton, he's our pilot and he's going to get us on the road to California."

Shit! A Representative! "When are we leaving?"

"How soon can you be packed?"

"I'm packed; all I have to do is get it from upstairs."

"Then get your gear son, we're in the air as soon as you get down here."

I took off for my room at a run and was back within minutes with the sports bag full of my clothes, weapons and gear. "Ready!"

Bodine turned to Representative Slate, "Thanks for the help Matt, I'll be seeing you soon."

"Damn straight Hank, even after this I'm still going to owe you."

"Nope, we're even, besides Matt, you never owed me anything anyway." Bodine swung a large backpack onto one shoulder, and then picked up a custom rifle case with his free hand.

"Hey Hank," Bodine turned back to Slate, "If you get the chance along the way and you run across the Exterminator, put a bullet in his head for me."

"Consider it done Matt." Turning to the Colonel and me, he nodded and walked out the door. He was without a doubt an impressive man; I felt like one of those little Boston Terriers scampering around his ankles. Shit.

We threw our gear into the back of a flight crew truck and were driven out to a waiting C5a cargo plane where we walked in the back ramp and found a spot to sit with about thirty other passengers, two Stryker eight wheel armored vehicles, and a shit load of supplies on pallets. We were in the air in no time and we settled in for a boring flight.

"Hank," I asked, "Who is the Exterminator?"

"William Francisco Monroe, he's Minister of Defense for the Western States of America."

"Is there some sort of execution order for the WSA government officials?"

"Just the ex-Speaker and Monroe. The ex-Speaker ordered the executions of the President and his staff, the Vice-President, and the conservative members of SCOTUS, but Monroe was the triggerman. For his loyalty he was given the post of Minister of Defense and he's pretty ruthless in his approach to 'disloyalty.' Did you see the Ex-Speaker's announcement on TV when she took over the government?"

"Yeah, I saw it. In fact, Catherine and I watched it together."

"Do you remember after her speech, the guy who shot the bearded CDC doctor?"

"Doctor Thaddeus Brown," I started simmering. "I remember, I considered him a friend."

"You knew him?" He raised his eyebrows.

"He was my biology professor at Chaffey College. I helped get him to the helicopter that evacuated him, so he could help the CDC."

"Too bad he was killed, but the guy that killed him was Monroe."

I tried to picture in my mind what the man had looked like, but I couldn't pull the memory out of my head. "Is there a bounty on them?"

"$10,000 for Monroe, twice that for the ex-Speaker."

"$10,000! That's all?"

He smiled at me, "$10,000 in new gold, or silver backed currency. The new dollar is worth about one hundred times what the old dollar was worth a year ago. I forget you've been out of touch down there in California."

"Do they have any idea where the son-of-a-bitch is at?"

"He stays on the move all the time and usually with a large concentration of WSA gangsters to cover his ass. His personal helicopter is painted black and he always wears black BDUs, I hear he has a penchant for AK 47s, so if you see someone matching the description, pop him quick before someone else does. You'll be a rich man in today's economy."

We talked for a couple of hours before Bodine pulled his hat down over his eyes and went to sleep. I noticed several people were up and moving around, so I explored the cargo plane until I found the restroom, used it, and then found the Colonel pouring a cup of coffee in a sort of galley behind the flight cabin.

"Mister Moore," He nodded to me. "Coffee?"

"No, I need to get some sleep soon, I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be busy finding a ride south."

"Did Mister Bodine tell you where we were landing?"

I nodded, "Marysville, but we'll have to find transportation south down past L.A., it's going to be a long haul."

"So you just met Bodine?"

"Yeah, but I know his daughter in Southern California, that's where we're going."

He just smiled, "Don't you think it's kind of odd the Air Force is willing to fly some Montana cowboy across the country to see his daughter?"

"Well, he's friends with the Representative."

"Yeah, they're friends alright, but that's not the reason you and he are on this plane. You see, there was a little Black Ops thing going on somewhere that will remain unnamed, and a certain aircraft with some high value intelligence people onboard went down in a very bad spot. Bodine volunteered to go in and get them out. He got the Medal of Honor and a free plane ticket anytime he wants to fly if the Air Force is going his way."

"Really?"

"Yeah, once he gets his daughter, look us up and we'll get him home." He saluted me with his coffee cup and walked away.

Shit! A real honest to god hero; I knew now where Catherine got her courage. I walked back to the seats and dropped down beside him. Looking at him for a minute I wondered, what does it feel like to be a hero? What's it like to have people look up to you? I settled back and went to sleep.

"Hey!" I opened my eyes, "Marysville," Bodine said as he stepped over my legs. I scrambled after him rubbing grains of sand out of my eyes as we gathered our gear and walked down the loading ramp into the early morning sun. We stood around for a few minutes until a fully loaded flight crew truck stopped and we threw our gear in the back. I climbed in with our stuff and was quickly followed by one of the crewmen who gave his seat in the front to Bodine. The driver carried us to a gate and we got out and waited again until a Humvee stopped and we loaded up for another ride.

We ended up at a supply dump where Bodine wrangled us a ride with a convoy heading south to Yuba City where once again he talked to other people who told him the most direct route south to L.A. was under water in a lot of places, so we were going to have to head east to Highway #395 before we could head south. Two days later we caught a convoy, which ended up in Placerville, with word another would be coming headed for the area around Bakersfield where there was some low intensity fighting between U.S. troops and the WSA, but it was going to be a few days of waiting and Bodine was chomping at his bit.

I found a phone and made a few calls before I got the number I wanted. "Hi," I said, "Is this the residence of Annette Campbell?"

The kid who answered the phone shouted out, "Mom! Phone!" and I heard the phone bang into something.

A moment later, "Hello?"

"Campbell?"

"Yes."

"It's Michael Moore."

There was a long pause, "You're shitting me, right?"

"Nope, I'm in Placerville."

"No way! Where?"

I told her where, and that we were on foot and she told me to wait there, she'd come get us. We waited until she arrived in a Ford pickup and she jumped out and ran towards us, she slowed a bit when she saw my face, but wrapped her arms around me anyway and gave me a kiss to remember. Within minutes we were stretched out on her couch listening to the stories she told of her trip home from L.A., and what she had found when she arrived. Her husband had been making a delivery to Stockton when the earthquake hit and he never came home, the wave of water from the ocean had wiped Stockton away. I told her what happened to my face and her two boys thought it was the greatest story ever and the scars were "pretty cool" too. I finally crashed, but she and Bodine sat up until the early morning talking; I woke a couple of times, but they were always listening intently to each other.

I woke early and made a cup of instant coffee, which I carried out onto her rear porch, and where Campbell found me a little later after making a cup of her own.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey, it's nice here, no wonder you wanted to come home."

She sat down next to me with her side pressed to mine, "I'm glad you called me, but I know why you did."

"The Jeep." I smiled. "What happened to it?"

She pointed to an old beat up garage in the corner of her yard, "It's in there. Fuel tanks are full and two of the drums. The drums and the fuel tanks have diesel preservative added, so it's still good. When do you want to leave?"

"Bodine will want to go pretty soon, can't say I blame him."

"He didn't know about you and his daughter did he?"

"No, does he now?"

"Yeah, I'm afraid so. Sorry, I didn't put it together until it dawned on both of us we were talking of the same Catherine. Where did you find her?"

"Remember the survivor group we were going to go see? She was there. I went after you left and I lost radio communication with you; found her and some other friends she made it there with. She tried to make it work with us, but I was different from the Mike she remembered and there was another guy, another friend."

"Oh." She ran her fingers across my scarred face, "Did this have anything to do with her decision?"

"I'd like to think it didn't, she's a good person and I don't want to think it did."

We sat in silence for a few minutes then she stood up and held her hand out to me, "Come on, I'll show you the Jeep."

We walked to the garage and she pulled open the two swing out wooden doors. It was immaculate, well, a little beat up with a few dings on the hood and some bullet holes in the left rear panel behind the tire, but other than that it was immaculate. I walked to the back of the Jeep and looked the trailer over, everything was good, and there were still boxes of food and other supplies.

Campbell followed me back and slid her arm around my waist and looked at me with a faint smile on her lips. Glancing down, the white bathrobe she was wearing was partially open and I could see she wasn't wearing much under it. "Mike, when you finish down there? You know, when you're done? If you need someplace to rest your head I have a spare pillow in my bedroom."

I set my cup down, so did she, and I wrapped my arms around her as she slid her arms around me. "You know, even if I want to come back, I might not be able too."

"I know, every time my unit gears up to escort a convoy over to the 395 there's a chance I won't come back, but it doesn't stop me from going. There are jobs to be done, and you and I are good at what we do." We stood awkwardly together for a moment more before she stepped away and recovered her cup, "Hungry?"

"Yeah, I could eat."

"Come on, hot wheat cereal with no lumps; bet you haven't had that for a while."

While Campbell, Annette, fixed breakfast I dug out my gear and started loading all of my magazines for the Carbine and the PSL and made sure my web gear was going to be tight, or loose where it needed to be either of the two. Bodine finally woke up and seeing me working on my equipment broke out his own Vietnam era web gear and started loading magazines and filling pouches. After we ate, Annette and I helped him finish loading mags while she talked about the president of the local PTA who was a jerk; it seemed almost surrealistic, talking PTA and sending the kids out to play while loading up for war. I guess the world has changed a little in the last year-and-a-half.

When we finished loading the magazines I was going to break down the PSL and Carbine and give them a good cleaning, but I ran into a slight problem, I had absolutely no idea of how to do it. Nothing, nada, I drew a complete blank. Was this part of the brain damage I was told I might have? When Campbell and I had worked together before, she had assisted me with cleaning my weapons when we were busy, so I asked for her help and once she began, it started coming back to me. The problem was what else had I forgotten? Was I going to discover at some critical juncture I didn't know what I thought I knew? Would I commit some blunder, based on a foundation of renewed ignorance that would cost a price I didn't want to pay? Bodine did the same; that is, clean and prepare his gear, which gave me the first glimpse of his weapons. He opened his rifle case and removed a standard model Springfield M1A with a large scope and infrared adapter, and then an M1A Scout, a shortened version of the M1A. It had a red dot sight, flashlight, and laser sight all attached, and was one sweet rifle. With twelve magazines in the pouches of his web gear and an additional twelve in a canvas shoulder bag he could carry almost a half of a case of ammunition ready to go. In addition to the rifles, he had a .357 magnum revolver, the same as Cat's and mine.

The one thing he didn't have was some sort of hand-to-hand weapon. "Annette, have you got some sort of weapon we can give to Hank for hand-to-hand? He's got excellent firearms, but I'd like for him to have a backup weapon, for when it gets really close-up and nasty."

"I've got just the thing." She left the room and returned with a cardboard box. When she opened it there was a tomahawk, similar to mine, but the reverse point on the back was shorter, and wider, more triangular shaped. More than once mine had been wedged in ribs, or a skull, and I had to twist it out, but the design of this one looked as though it would alleviate the problem. "I remembered how your sheath was designed, so I had one similar made; it's fast out, just like yours."

Hank had an instant appreciation of the weapon. "How much do you want for it?"

"It's yours, I gave the design to a knife maker in town and he's sold quite a few to the Military Police and combat troops. As a result he gave me the money back he originally charged and gave me an up-dated version. Anything that helps you survive will help Mike down the road. I know you have a lot of combat experience Hank, but where you're going, listen to Mike, he'll keep you alive."

Bodine and I left two hours later with maps Campbell provided us with. They weren't the same ones she had used in her trip home, those were so marked up they were hard to decipher. The ones she gave us showed only the path, which she had eventually found. It would take us a lot less time and fuel if we followed the trail she had laid out for us. There were bushwhackers, as she called them, along portions of the road, so if we found an Army convoy along the way join up with them; military convoys were less likely to be attacked. She warned us to always, be ready to respond to an attack and don't stop anywhere we couldn't see around us; she finally realized she was telling us the same things I had taught her, and repeated to her, when she had left for home months before. The last thing she said to me before we drove away was, "Don't forget what I said, if you need a place to lay your head you know where to find it."

In the end, the trip was uneventful except for one instance when we were passing by to the southwest of Death Valley on the 395. We were approaching a low rise in the road when we saw a spray painted sign standing in the lane we were driving in. I slowed down as we closed the distance and read it. _Bridge Don Ahed! Taik Detour Core of Ingeneers_ , with an arrow pointing to a dirt path running into the distance. Instead of taking the path the arrow indicated, I punched the accelerator of the jeep as I passed on the left side of the sign. Behind us I heard several shots and as I watched the rearview mirror, three dirt bikes sped onto the road following us.

"Hank! We're being followed, can you get turned around and fire out the rear sliding window?"

"I'll try." His tall frame wasn't intended for the small size of the cab, but he finally was able to turn and fire at the following motorcycles. Seven shots later, he wormed back around facing forward. "Those weren't the smartest assholes around. Not only couldn't they spell; they didn't realize I was shooting the ones in the back first. The last guy, he was fifty feet behind the trailer when I put a round through his face."

We decided not to follow Annette's path towards the San Fernando Valley and opted to head for Pomona by way of the I-15. There were a few overpasses we were forced to go off-road to get around, but I think we saved some time and fuel, time being the most pressing thing for Hank. He wanted to find his daughter and take her home. I had been thinking about it most of the way down, and I wondered if she would want to go? Sounds silly to even imagine, but strong ties can develop between people who have suffered hardships together. What if Hank had come all this way, and she decided not to leave her friends behind? She had a husband, a child, and I guess you could call the base a home. Of course, there was no reason she couldn't take her family and maybe, even some friends to Montana with her, right?

As we started down the long incline into the Inland Empire, I handed the microphone of the CB to Hank, switched the radio on, and tuned to channel one. "Call for Tranquility Base and identify yourself. I think we're still too far out for the CB, but we're up higher and the signal might reach them."

He nodded and spoke into the mike. "Tranquility Base? This is Hank Bodine, over."

No response. He repeated the call several times and then hung the mike up. I shrugged, "I guess I was wrong, we'll try again every few miles until we make contact."

He nodded agreement, but I could tell he was worried. After a few more miles, he tried again, and again, still with no response, and I began to worry. I knew we were within range of a mobile CB because I had used them in the past at the range we were. I looked for a clear area to pull over and then parked. The first thing was to put on my leathers and helmet in case I needed to mix it up with the zombies, then I checked the antenna and started tracing the coax cable from the antenna to the CB; I didn't need to go any farther than the point where the coax transitioned into the cab. The hole was oblong and when I examined the front edge of the cab, there was an exit hole. One of the shots aimed at us before must have damaged the coax.

I climbed back into the cab, "Well, I guess we won't be warning them of our arrival, the coax cable must have been clipped by a bullet."

"Crap!"

"Yeah, well, we're probably not going to arrive before dark at the rate we're going, so we should find a place where we can hole up." I sat there and started thinking where we might go.

"I would rather we kept going, we're so damned close!" He was getting increasingly short-tempered and agitated.

"Alright, we'll keep going, but keep your pistol handy, firing through the chain link over the windows can be a bitch." I pulled my own pistol and laid it across my lap as we weaved our way through the debris-laden streets.

"Jesus," he said, "This place really got hit hard." He was watching his side of the Jeep and the front as I squeezed through a narrow area. "We felt the earthquake all the way up in Montana; not bad mind you, but we felt it. We really felt it when the New Madrid fault went, but god, what it must have been like here."

Then it occurred to me, "Hey, did you people up north ever hear what the Richter Scale reading was?"

"It was off the scale, same with New Madrid. For a while there was a lot of conjecture about the Yellowstone Caldera might go too, good thing it didn't."

I thought of some of the television programs I had watched about super-volcanoes; I was glad it hadn't gone off either. I remembered a short period of time when there seemed to be gritty ash in the air with red sunrises and sunsets. "Were there any volcanoes, which did erupt?"

"Yeah, one each in Washington, Oregon, and Northern California. We got a lot of the ash in Montana. Have you noticed spring seems to be running a little behind schedule?"

"Yeah, I kind of figured it might be staying cool because of ash in the atmosphere."

We rode in silence for quite a while until the sun set to our right in the west. I reached down and switched on the headlights. I didn't want to, but not seeing where you were going was marginally worse than the zombies seeing them from miles away. Either way it sucked.

The dash clock was reading 10:25 when we finally pulled to a stop on the road to the base's front gate. Hank leaned forward trying to see farther, "Is that it? Is that where Catherine is?"

"The gates are open."

"They probably saw our headlights and opened them for us, infected don't drive cars."

"No they don't, but the WSA does."

I reached down and turned on the CB, then keyed the Mike, "Tranquility Base, do you copy, over?" I waited a minute, and then repeated the call. I waited again. I didn't think we'd get a response if the coax was damaged, but it was worth a try.

"This is Tranquility Base, we copy, over."

I took my foot off the brake and began to slowly roll forward, "Tranquility, do you have your gates open, over?"

There was an extended pause, "Negative, the gates are secured, do you have a call sign, or name, over?"

I stepped on the brake again while Hank questioned me, "What the hell? Why are they saying the gate is closed and we can see it's open?"

"Breckenridge, this is Michael Moore and I'm looking at your front gates right now, they are definitely open, and I see no security personnel, over"

"Wait one," there was a pause, "Mike!" I'd recognize that voice anywhere; it was Mitch. "Get the hell out of there! You're at the old base! It's zombieland now! Shoot and scoot, shoot and scoot! Do you copy?"

"Shit!" I spun the steering wheel to the left and punched the accelerator, the tires spun as I pulled away in a tight 180. Looking over my left shoulder I saw two infected tumble from the back of the trailer, "Shit! Shit! Shit!" In the headlights I saw a score, or more zombies running at the front of the Jeep, "Hank! Watch our six, we've got stowaways!"

He turned around and fired two rounds out the open window and through the chain-link cover with his revolver. I hit three infected in rapid succession with the heavy brush guard knocking two away and one, which came up and bounced against the chain-link protection over the windshield. I hit the brakes and she slid off the hood, and then I accelerated over the top of her.

"Whip the trailer!" Hank shouted as he fired once more. I threw the steering wheel quickly to the left and right, and then passed from the open field around the base and down the nearest street. "We're clear, the trailer is clear!"

My hands were shaking on the wheel. Fuck! Hank turned back in his seat and punched me in the shoulder, "What a rush! No wonder you wanted to come back!"

I turned my head and glanced at him, he was grinning from ear to ear as he reloaded his pistol, he wasn't brave, he was fucking crazy! I raised the veil dangling from my helmet and snapped it in place as the Hunter took over and my hands steadied. I realized I still had the mike in my hand with the transmit button depressed, they must have heard every word we said. "Tranquility, we're clear. Over."

"Mike! Son of a bitch! Glad to hear your voice kid, over"

"I'm headed west away from the old base, which way do I need to go, over?"

"Ontario Airport, what road are you on, over?"

I told him, "Okay, two blocks south and follow the yellow brick road. You'll know when you see it because we bulldozed all the cars off the road. You're wide open all the way my friend, so you can put the pedal to the metal, over."

"Roger that, see you in a few, over and out."

It took three different tries to move the two blocks south, but we finally turned west and followed the cleared road. Mitch's statement that I could drive 'pedal to the metal' was a bit of an overstatement because of the uplifting, or subsidence of portions of the road surface, but they had bulldozed ramps for those also. In addition, the cleared road had a tendency to drift all over the place with numerous ninety degree turns; at one point it slid down onto the I-15 just before Jurupa Avenue where it finally entered the airport area. Tranquility was easy to find, the walls constructed of containers, were now stacked three high and the main gate was a rather elaborate affair with a gate, a space large enough for several vehicles, and a second gate. Only one gate was opened at a time when we entered; they had learned from their past mistakes.

Thomas Tran greeted us as I stopped clear of the last gate. "Mike, good to see you again!"

"Thanks, Tom." He glanced at Hank and nodded, who nodded in return. "Hank, this is Thomas Tran, Thomas, Hank Bodine." They exchanged greetings, "Where do I park the Jeep, Tom?"

He pointed across the compound, "Through the far gate and into the vehicle park. Park anywhere you want, but leave the keys in it in case it needs to be moved. See the wide low building next to the gate? That's the mess hall; Mitch and the gang are in there waiting for you. Jackie figured you were going to be hungry."

"Thanks, Tom." I drove across the compound and after we parked we grabbed our gear and headed for the mess hall.

"Mike," Hank, asked, "Will Catherine be in there?"

"It's more likely than not."

"Should you go in first and warn her?"

"Naw, I've got a running bet with myself she'll piss her pants when she sees you." I opened the door and walked in with Hank close behind. Everyone was standing around the coffee urn and a shout went up, it felt good to be back. I looked through the faces and didn't see Cat. Shit!

Harold shook my hand as Essie and Tanya crowded close, "Harold, where's Cat?"

"She's in our room, Cam has a cold and is fussy as hell, she wants me to bring you over for a minute, or two after you've eaten."

"Okay, but there's someone she needs to see." I turned around and waved Hank forward. "Everyone, I want to introduce Henry Bodine, Catherine's father."

You could have heard a pin drop in the room. "Harold? Meet your father-in-law."

"Holy shit, Cat is going to freak." Harold reached out and shook hands with Hank. "Mike, we'll be back, maybe. Henry, come on and I'll take you to your daughter." They left and everyone looked to me.

"What the hell, Kid," Mitch's face was alight, "You come back with Cat's father? How did you pull that off?"

I talked for an hour before everyone but Essie, Tanya, and Mitch, headed to their rooms. I finally was able to ask some questions of my own. "What happened? Why did you decide to move to the airport?"

"The WSA," Mitch said. "Early in the morning, ten days after the CDC took you away, an A-10 made a low-level run over the base, then banked around and dropped two bombs along the rear wall; probably trying to take out the vehicle park. They missed the park, but creamed the back wall; did you get a look back there?"

"No, we approached the front gate and then you gave the warning and we split."

"The bombs took out the rear wall in two places, opened us up like a can of sardines."

"Casualties?" I asked.

"Four missing and we never found the bodies. 500 pound bombs have a tendency to do that." He had a haunted look in his eyes, "I screwed up, Kid. I became so fixated on the zombies as the threat, I never thought of the WSA and an air attack."

"Any trouble since?"

"No, but they've passed over the old base a couple of times. The place is swarming with infected now and it would have been nice if they bombed the crap out of it, even if they thought they were trying for us."

I thought for a minute, "Any ideas about where they may be operating out of?"

Essie nodded, "Every time we've seen them, they leave to the southwest, so we're thinking maybe LAX."

"Have you sent anyone out that way to take a look?"

"Shit, Kid, the way things are around here, LAX is the end of the world. No, we've been too busy getting squared away to consider revenge and quite frankly, I'm not looking to draw more attention to ourselves"

"Essie," I asked, "You're the closest we have to an expert on gangs. What would be their response if they got hit?"

"They'd want to immediately hit us again. They wouldn't consider the fact they started the cycle of retribution, they'd only consider they were hit." She thought for a moment, "You'd have to hit them really hard, cripple their ability to hit back; even then they'd want to do something to even the score."

I looked at Mitch, "Want me to take a look over that way?"

"That's a really long way to go and once you got there how would you report? Breckenridge's ham radio can broadcast that far easily, but any radio you have with you won't reach here." He shook his head, "I get what you want to do, but I don't know, you'd be way outside of your comfort zone."

The best thing about working an area you know is, you know it. You recognize things that are changed, or out of place, things that might be out of the ordinary. If I traveled to LAX I was going to be out of the area I knew, I wouldn't know if something was out of the ordinary, if something was different from normal. It would take me a while to get there, and a while to get back to Tranquility, and then if we chose to take some form of action, more time to mobilize and travel back with a force. So? So your intelligence is no longer meaningful.

"I know, but if there's a chance..."

"Michael," Tanya said, "Anything you learned would be meaningless by the time you could get the information to us. There's also something else to take into account. You suffered from an extremely high fever when you were bitten, thank God you survived, but I know many people suffer brain damage from high fevers. Have you noticed anything, an inability to perform certain actions, loss of memory, physical limitations, anything?"

I thought of how in Placerville I hadn't been able to remember how to clean my weapons. "No, nothing, I seem to be totally fine." I smiled, "Believe me, if I thought there was the slightest chance that it could be a problem, I wouldn't suggest it."

Mitch glanced at his watch, "Shit, it's two AM and I have to get up early. I had the storage room next to mine resituated to give you enough room for a cot until we can get you settled in."

"Okay, but I need a shower before I climb between clean sheets. Why don't you take off Mitch, and I'll have Essie, or Tanya, show me to the showers. Then they can give me directions to my bed?"

"Good enough," He said as he stood. "I'll see you people in the morning."

As he walked out I turned to them, "Okay, who wants to direct me to the showers?"

They looked at each other and finally Essie said, "I will."

"Okay, let me grab my bag and we can get going." I walked to the bag, picked it up, and watched them speaking lowly to each other as I returned, "Ready?"

We walked out together and headed towards where Essie said the showers were, but after a few steps, Tanya turned off and walked away. I said goodnight to her and she waved as Essie and I continued on. "Mike," Essie said, "We need to talk."

"Okay."

"I like you Mike, you're probably the best friend I have ever had."

"What about Mitch, and Tanya."

"Mitch has become the father I never had and Tanya is my other half, my lover."

"Okay."

"The last night you were here, in the clinic; you had a visitor."

We stopped in front of the door to the showers and I waited for her to finish. "That was me, Mike."

Holy shit! I had never even considered it might have been Essie. "It was?" I kept my voice as calm as I could.

"Yes, after you were gone I told Tanya and that was a serious mistake."

"Why? What happened?"

"She really freaked out, she called me some pretty bad names; I don't know, I thought she seemed interested in maybe the three of us, well, the three of us being together. She started saying she thought you might be a better father than an uncle and I made some assumptions I shouldn't have. I think maybe she wanted you, and she wanted me, but she didn't want the two of us to be together, you know?"

"How do you feel about it?"

"I love her Mike. I really do and I'm not going to jeopardize the love she and I share."

"Okay." Great, I have sex with the woman I've lusted after more than any woman I've known and didn't even know it was her, and now that I know she wanted me, she doesn't want me. Perfect.

"Tanya wants all of us to be friends, but that's all, nothing more. And she says you shouldn't think of yourself as the baby's father, or even the uncle. She says the baby will be raised by us and us only."

It was the thing I hated to hear the most. I had hoped to maybe have some input in the raising of their child, even if it would have only been as "Uncle Mike," now I was less than the family friend. It wasn't fair; Cam and Tanya's unborn child were the main reasons I had left Placerville, to come back here. Now they were basically telling me to fuck off because Tanya was jealous of the relationship between Essie and I, which I hadn't even known about. The whole situation was becoming nuts, and I wasn't going to stand for it!

"You understand, right? I don't think I could stand to lose her."

"Of course I do. What she wants is what I thought we were doing from the start, and I had no other expectations." Lying coward.

"I knew you would understand, you are the best man I've ever known." She leaned forward and kissed my left cheek, the scarred one. "I have to go, but we'll see each other in the morning, okay?"

"Sure, see you then." I watched her walk away into the dark and then entered the showers where I dropped my bag and weapons on a bench in the dressing area. I sat down beside my gear and stared at the wall. The best man she had ever known, considering the men in her past, it wasn't saying much. Every woman I had ever had a relationship with left me for someone else; they always told me I was such a nice guy and they were sure I'd find someone who would love me. I stripped down and turned on the hot water valve, but nothing came out, what the hell? I turned on the cold water and it began to spray, just what I needed, a cold shower. Perfect, and perfect again.

#

Chapter Fifteen

I adjusted the cardboard I had wrapped around the front lense of the 10X50 spotting scope and looked through it again, sweeping from the east to the west end of the LAX runways. There were three A-10 Warthogs parked in sandbag containment areas on the northern side of the runways. The A-10s were worrisome, just one had forced Tranquility Base to be moved to Ontario, what would three of them be capable of? None of the aircraft were armed, and the fuel tanker parked nearby was empty, I knew this because I had used a zombie incursion to slip past the sentries and check the tanker out. Actually, it was too bad it was empty, if there had been fuel in it, the aircraft would be burned out hulks right now and I would be on my way back to Ontario. Instead, I was lying in a depression within the concrete remnants of a tilt up warehouse on the edges of the airport. The runways were in pretty bad shape since the earthquake and there wasn't going to be any heavy aircraft in, or out, for a long time, maybe never, but there was a stretch long enough for the A-10s, and a heli-port off from the jets.

I had a total of five more observation posts around LAX, but this one was the best. Not only did it have an unobstructed view of the majority of the airport, and the mostly collapsed terminals, it had a completely concealed approach and escape path I could utilize. Inside the rubble of the building I had discovered an area under a portion of the roof where I could shelter during the frequent thunderstorms and heavy rain; it was a bitch trying to keep my leathers from becoming totally soaked.

That was another thing kicking around in the back of my mind; thunderstorms in California are not that rare, but the frequency and intensity of the ones we were having this year was alarming. There was also the hail; some of the salvagers swore they had seen hail the size of baseballs and I thought at first they were exaggerating until I had the shit pelted out of me by hail the size of ping pong balls. Even with my leathers and helmet I came out of that with a multitude of bruises. A couple of times we had even spotted tornadoes in the distance, in California. We were back to the red sunsets and sunrises again, and the hail I examined often was dirty in appearance, had there been another eruption somewhere? Between the WSA, the zombies, volcanic eruptions, tornadoes and the weather, it seemed as though Heaven was conspiring against our survival.

My communication with Tranquility was pretty good considering the distance involved, around fifty miles, but it took eight people at four relay stations to insure the CB messages got through. I guess that will give a fairly accurate idea of how important it was to us to know what the WSA was up to. Breckenridge said the problem with communications was probably dust in the atmosphere becoming charged and interfering with the radio waves. Me? I had no idea; all I knew was Mitch in Tranquility could speak directly to me, but my answers had to be relayed back. It made small talk a little unfeasible, and privacy impossible.

Three weeks had passed since my return from Montana and this was my first complete week observing LAX and the WSA. It took me a week to convince Mitch to let me form a team and go, and nearly a week to travel the fifty miles to Lax; I wanted to get an idea of how often they sent out salvage crews, how many troops they had, what were their combat capabilities, and were they preparing for operations, but until now I had learned only two things; the A-10s were not armed, and the tanker next to them was empty. Not much to go on. The WSA troops did enjoy a good soccer match though, there seemed to be one almost every day and a lot of the personnel attended the events. I wondered if the games were some sort of organized activity, or just ad hoc and spontaneous games. They seemed to normally end in a free for all fist fight though, probably some sort of disagreement over rules.

Mitch had allowed enough of the MREs we had found in San Bernardino to be appropriated to feed the nine people of the team for four weeks, so the radio relay teams would either have to return to Tranquility, or be re-supplied soon, but I had cheated somewhat, I gave Jackie a recipe for hardtack and she made enough for three weeks' worth of rations I could carry with me in addition to the freeze dried food I had brought from my Suburban. The hardtack is pretty simple to make and could last damn near forever when properly baked and stored. Two cups of flour, three-quarters of a cup of water, a teaspoon of salt, mix and knead, roll it into a quarter to three-eighths sheet, cut into squares, poke holes in it, and then bake at 350 degrees for an hour, flip and bake for another half-hour, and you have about eight pieces of hard tack two-and-half inches square. I mixed my freeze dried meals a little on the soupy side and added two pieces of hard tack to the mix; the end result was a pouch of freeze dried food intended to feed two people for one meal, could be used to feed one person four meals. The hard tack was light, and tasty if you added some onion, or garlic powder to the mix. An added plus was the lightweight of the hard tack; I could carry quite a bit.

With the rains, supplying me with water was easy. I spread a sheet of plastic when it rained and allowed it to fill my canteens. When the rain didn't schedule itself when I needed it, I used a micro-filter to draw water directly from standing pools, or boil it over a fire within the rubble of the building I was concealing myself in. The micro-filter was a last resort though, I had a feeling they wouldn't be making them anymore, at least no time soon in the future, but fire had been around a long time and probably would continue to be so. There was only one drawback to what I was doing, it was boring, and boring can become dangerous if you're not patient, or patient enough. I decided I was tired of waiting and I was going to be more proactive in my efforts, all I had to do was wait for the night to come.

The guards patrolling the fenced perimeter, and the reaction groups, which responded to small incursions of infected were armed with two types of weapons, M4 carbines, and powerful shoulder-fired crossbows. During the time I had been watching, I had yet to see the roving guards use their M4s to kill a zombie; they always used the crossbows. Probably for the same reason Tranquility used the ballistae mounted on their walls, they were quieter, and the ammo could be recovered and reused.

Several previous nights in a row, I had been enticing a group of infected closer in to LAX with the intent of getting them to hunt around the periphery of the airport. There were a great many rabbits, dogs, quail, and even deer in the proximity, so I was fairly certain once they were in the area, their numbers would increase quickly, and they would stay for a while. I spent my time until midnight, opening holes in the fence and then made my way back to the opposite side of the enclosure. Now all I had to do was wait at the point where two of the roving WSA guard teams would cross each other's path. Every other night the same four men would congregate, bump fists in greeting, light cigarettes, and chew the fat for a while before moving on. They were the ones I was waiting for.

I wanted noise and I wanted it on my terms, so instead of taking them out with my tomahawk after they had ruined their night vision lighting cigarettes, I used the Carbine. I fired four quick shots to the head after they had removed their helmets and were comfortably involved in their conversation. Pulling the fence apart I quickly gathered their weapons and ammo vests before slipping back outside the fence and securing the opening. Moving a good seventy-five yards out from the fence, I lined up the M4 carbines one after the other, and then I fired three round bursts at the group of plywood huts and tents the WSA troops were using for housing. The desired result of the firing was not so much to cause casualties among the WSA, but to draw the attention of the troops and the Infected. The WSA troops would return fire, and the Infected would be drawn to the noise of the shots. I hoped the zombies would run towards the gunfire, encounter the fence, run along its length until they found the openings, and then enter the secured area of the airport. If enough zombies could get inside, the troops would be faced with a life or death situation and burn up a great deal of their available ammunition. It all depended on one big factor, how much fire discipline did the WSA gang bangers possess? I was betting they didn't have very much. They may dress like soldiers, but few of them were.

I was firing from the second M4 when the first tracers of return fire started my way, but it was highly inaccurate and I simply lowered myself into a small niche and finished the magazine I was emptying. I waited until the return fire tapered off, and then fired another three, three round bursts. I was rewarded with a storm of return fire, so I stopped and waited until it died down again before firing, again with the same result, but this time the firing didn't taper off, it increased and few of the tracers were coming my way, the infected were inside the fence.

I rounded up three of the M4s and two crossbows, took them to the Rokon I had stashed nearby and tied them off along with the four ammo vests. Returning with two spare magazines for the remaining M4, I waited for the firing to die down, but it lasted until after dawn. Abandoning the position I had held through most of the night, I retired to the shelter under the collapsed roof of the warehouse to eat and refill my canteens, and then I went to the observation post to watch what the WSA would be doing with the rising of the sun.

There were hundreds of bodies lying around the runways and the living quarters, most of them were infected, but there were a great many dead dressed in ACU pattern cammies. WSA gang bangers had a simple way of dealing with their wounded who were bitten, they shot them on sight, so I had a passing thought that it was a good thing for me I was bitten at Tranquility and not here. While observing through the spotter scope, I located a group of personnel who were wandering around and seemed to be giving orders to the WSA troops. One of these men was wearing black BDUs instead of the ACU cammies and the other three were wearing flight suits; all four were armed with weapons, which appeared to be AK 47s. Returning into the collapsed structure, I gathered my equipment and tied it off to the Rokon, I was going to need to make a quick exit very soon.

Returning to my OP, I slid the PSL out beside the rubble I was hiding behind and sighted through the scope. Using the internal rangefinder, I estimated the range as two hundred meters, dialed the elevation knob to "1" and sighted in on the man who seemed to be giving the most orders and directions. The winds at LAX are normally pretty high and gusty, so I didn't expect to get a first round hit, but if I could see the bullet impact, I could adjust the point of aim using the mil dots and try again. I took several breaths, and allowed about half of the last exhalation to escape before I held my breath, lined up, and fired the first round. About three inches to the right of the man, I saw the puff of dust the bullet made as it impacted the tarmac of the runway. I breathed, exhaled, lined up three inches to the left of his right shoulder and fired the second shot as the four men looked in my general direction; they had heard the first shot and were trying to locate where it had come from.

I felt an intense satisfaction as the man I targeted folded in on himself and collapsed, the other three started firing in my general area, and then others around them started firing also. I lined up and fired the third and fourth shots before I breathed several breaths again and fired the rest of the magazine in the PSL. All three of the flight suit clad men fell, but I didn't stick around to see how badly they were wounded, or if they were dead, I crawled back through the rubble to the Rokon and left for the first radio relay station as fast as the motorcycle would go.

I radioed ahead and by the time I arrived, the first relay team was loaded up and we headed for the next. As usual, returning to Tranquility is always faster when you have maps detailing the return trip, so we were back with all the teams by evening. The Rokons and detailed maps make traveling a lot faster. Mitch debriefed me and when I told him of the man in black, and who I thought he was he grabbed my hand and shook it. Finally, I told him I was off to see Cam before I showered, that was when he blindsided me.

Hank Bodine managed to get a Blackhawk sent down and had returned home to Montana with Harold, Cat, and Cam; plus John, Jackie, Little John and Tabitha went with them; I didn't even have a picture of Cam and I hadn't been allowed to say goodbye to my friends, or my daughter. I guess I couldn't blame them for going, and I suppose the kids would be safer there too. Life is what we make of it, but sometimes life sucks, and sometimes it's just a pile of dog shit.

Essie and Tanya were very reluctant to have anything to do with me, the only time we talked was when it involved Tranquility business, and so Mitch tried to spend as much time as he could with me. Sure there were a few others who were friendly with me, but a lot of the people had the memory of me killing the Board of Directors the night I was bitten. Add in the fact I had been bitten to begin with and most people were a little standoffish; I guess it's hard to change your method of thinking when it comes to zombies, you kill the infected; you don't sit down and swap gossip with them.

I can probably count on one hand the number of days I spent in Tranquility base, even when there was nothing going on I spent most of my time hunting, or salvaging on my own. I liked it better that way, no connections, no one to shit on me. Yeah, I spent a lot of time feeling sorry for myself. Then the word came over the radio net that the military was looking for a group of people willing to be relocated to the Needles area on the California/Arizona border. It seems the region was pretty much decimated of population because Arizona had closed the border and finally destroyed the bridge over the Colorado River to stop the infected from crossing into the state. Word had it the I-40 looked like the pictures from Desert Storm, you know, all the vehicles piled around each other on the Highway of Death at the end of the fighting in the desert? It was kind of foolish because by the time they did, Phoenix was already contaminated. Arizona and most of the western states made out pretty well because of their looser gun laws and the fact the folks out that way are more likely to care for themselves than wait for the government to come to the rescue.

Anyway, the military wanted to turn the Needles area into a major supply route for the reconstruction effort and they needed people there to populate the area with businesses and farms. They wanted to know if Tranquility would be willing to relocate. Probably half the folks wanted to go because they thought it would be safe, the other half felt they were safe where they were. What is it with people? There is nowhere safe, only places that are safer. The military said we could have a week to think it over before they needed an answer, so they could start the planning process for the move. It was going to be quite a project moving three hundred people that far.

I guess the WSA at LAX decided they needed a better facility than the one they had after my little episode there, and Tranquility Base looked promising, so they came knocking early one morning. Mitch, being ex-military, had made some adjustments after the bombing run at the first Tranquility and had made some changes to the new one. There wasn't much he could do about being bombed, but the gang bangers didn't seem to have any air power anymore, so they tried a ground assault. I guess they hadn't run into anyone willing to take them on in a stand-up fight and were surprised when Mitch sent their emissary back with a note reading _"Fuck off!"_ They took offense and tried to assault the front gate and the rear gate at the same time.

Like I said, Mitch had made some improvements over the old compound and we had ten SAWs and an M-60 machinegun plus enough semi-auto rifles to arm the entire population. Around the two bottom layers of containers Mitch had directed the installation of a bulletproof barrier, which consisted of five-and-a-half inch metal studs with plywood on both sides. Between the plywood Mitch had poured one-inch diameter gravel, this wall could stop 7.62 rounds; all they had was 5.56. Throw into the mix a shit load of forty-millimeter grenades fired from the M203s and you have a recipe for disaster. They left around eighty of their dead behind when they withdrew.

At first the number of people who wanted to stay increased with our successful defense, but after Mitch pitched his line there were so few that wanted to stay they all decided to leave for Needles. Personally I thought it was a good idea. I helped Mitch with the planning and the preparation for the move, but when the day approached, I think he finally realized I wasn't going with them. We sat around on that last evening together drinking a couple of bottles of merlot and smoking cigars, the good ones this time, while we haggled over what he might leave with me to make my life easier, and maybe longer. I ended up with two of the Rokons, an M203 with ammo, and a SAW, again with a couple of thousand rounds of ammo.

They were supposed to pull out at first light, but didn't hit the road until almost 9:00AM, not an auspicious start, but a start none-the-less. I waved to Mitch and he shouted out the window, "Stop by and visit sometime," as the truck he was in drove out the gate. Only a few others waved as they passed, Doctors Evans and Hemet, Emma Henderson, and Thomas Tran, all good people. When they were gone I drove the jeep to the rear gate and locked it, and then to the front gate where I parked outside and closed the first of the two security gates. Instead of a lock, I wrapped it with a chain, put a threaded bolt through the links, and tightened it down the way I had the gates back at the apartments so long ago. It might keep the zombies out, but any uninfected would be able to figure out how to get in. I stood there for a moment and listened to the wind blowing through the chain link, it sounded lonely and quiet and for a moment, a brief moment, I thought of racing after them. Instead, I started the Jeep and drove away, there were things I needed to be doing.

Step one, I needed a trailer to haul the Jeep and the Rokons on, so I went to a trailer rental yard and "borrowed" a trailer, which I connected to the Jeep. An hour later I arrived at the place I had stashed my Suburban, disconnected the trailer from the Jeep and hooked it up to the bigger, more powerful vehicle. I lowered the ramps and drove the Jeep onto the trailer where I strapped it down securely. I headed back to Tranquility and loaded the two Rokons on the trailer behind the Jeep and two barrels of diesel fuel from the fuel depot. I loaded my newly acquired weapons in the Suburban and re-secured the gates before I left. My next stop was my old garage in Claremont.

I arrived at dusk and after checking the area was clear, I left the vehicles parked in the driveway and went in the garage for the night where I slept on the roof the way I had done before, it was almost like coming home after a long absence. In the morning I started emptying the covered trailer and loading up the Suburban. When it was full, I loaded as much as I could in the cab of the Jeep and in its abbreviated bed. When the Jeep was full I started putting other things on the trailer anywhere I could. I thought about collecting the plastic tubs from the garden and the tarps from the roof, but they were so damaged by the sun I simply left them. By noon I was done and I drove the Suburban out the driveway and down the street to the corner where I had watched Campbell turn left towards the west as she headed home so many months before. I sat there thinking for a moment, and then turned right and headed east.

Before Barstow I turned off the I-40 and headed northwest for four days and instead of stopping the last night to rest, I drove straight through until I found myself winding my way through the residential streets of Placerville. I slowed and passed a sanitation truck, which was collecting recyclables from barrels along the curbs. It seemed so mundane, so normal, except the man dumping the barrels had a shotgun slung over one shoulder. I pulled up in front of her house and parked at the curb at 6:20 AM. It was surprisingly warm and there were trickles of sweat running down the side of my face behind the veil as I walked to the door. Tapping lightly on the front screen, I waited, but no one answered and I decided they must still be asleep, so I began to walk back to the Suburban when I caught a whiff of hot coffee. Turning, I walked down the driveway and to the back of the house where I saw Campbell sitting on the steps of the rear porch sipping coffee, she was startled as I rounded the corner of the house, but then quickly smiled. She was wearing the bathrobe I had thought of so many times in the last few weeks. I felt unreal; out of phase somehow as I looked at her sitting there in her robe early in the morning, as if the world had not come close to an end, as if there were not infected somewhere butchering some poor soul. She looked like the soccer mom, the PTA member, so serene, so fucking normal.

"Sorry," I said, "I knocked, but there was no answer. Then I smelled coffee and remembered you like to sit out here in the mornings."

"Yeah, my favorite part of the day, come sit down." There was a Beretta lying next to her right hip, so I walked over and sat on her left side. Funny the things we do now days without conscious thought. "You don't need the leathers here, but I know how nerve wracking it can be without them at first." There was nowhere safe, only safer places, it must be safer here.

I stripped off the veil and the helmet as a slight breeze cooled my face. "I drove yesterday and all night, I guess I'm starting to drag a bit."

"I'll get you some coffee." She stood up and went into the kitchen leaving behind a scent of soap, cleanliness, and coffee.

Through the screen door I heard the coffee poured into a cup and the soft steps of her bare feet as she returned. "Black, right?" She asked.

"Yeah, thanks." I said as she resumed her seat beside me and folded the bathrobe over her knees.

We sat in silence as we sipped at the coffee for a while and I thought about what I wanted to ask her. Finally, "First time I was here, you said if I ever needed a place to lay my head..."

She shifted her position and slid her hand under my right arm, and then rested her head on my shoulder. "Yeah, I did."

"Offer still open?"

"I have two conditions."

I tensed, "Okay."

"You need to shave, and you need a shower, you don't smell very good."

Shit. "Sorry." Now what? I'm past the first hurdle, but I have expectations of providing for her and her children, but what is it I can do in a town like Placerville? "I'm going to need some sort of job, which means I'm going to have to rely on your knowledge of conditions here. I mean, what's going on, is there work to be had? Is there any construction going on? I have certain skills, but the things I'm best at involve killing people."

"There is some construction going on," She said. "But maybe you should think of a line of business you're best at."

"What do you mean?"

"The military's capabilities are getting stretched pretty thin; as a result they're privatizing some their operations. They've been running convoys of Army vehicles across the nation to try and supply the people with food and equipment for the rebuilding process, but they just don't have the manpower to do that, take on the WSA, and contend with the infected. The end result is they want to turn the convoys into private ventures with civilian security, trucks, and drivers. They are giving out permits for all of the work and ex-military get priority consideration for the contracts, so I applied for a security contract and with my experience in the MPs down south and up here, I was granted one."

"Really? How lucrative are the security contracts?"

"It's a hell of a lot better than Guard pay. The thing is, I need ten security personnel for the first convoy in one week; want a job?"

"Will I be working directly for you, or a crew boss?"

"Directly for me and in the future you will be running your own crew, if you want."

"I don't know, I mean I like the idea of working for you, but I've never done security work, I'm more of a scout, or a seek and destroy guy."

"You think we won't need someone with your skill sets? The kind of person you are, is exactly why I would want you, Mike. I want someone I know will be there when the shit hits the fan, and I know beyond any doubt you would be there for me."

I nodded, "Yeah, okay, but if it doesn't work out..."

"It will. I know it will. You, and me together again; we'll be a great team."

"What I mean Annette, is I haven't had a lot of good luck when it comes to relationships and what about your boys, if you're on a convoy job whose going to take care of them?"

"My mother watches them when I'm not around and as far as your past relationships, let's get one started and see where it goes." She stood up and held her hand out to me. "The boys are still asleep and you look like you haven't had your back washed for a while."

As we passed through the kitchen she told me I could leave my Carbine on the table, "But pull the magazine and clear it first, bring the mag with you. The boys know they are not supposed to touch guns unless I am there, but boys will be boys."

She sat on the edge of the bathtub as I shaved my face and then she shaved my head before she helped me undress for the shower; after I stepped in she followed and began soaping up my body. Later with my head on the pillow and her soft breath on my cheek I slowly started slipping into sleep as I heard the boys arguing over whom was going to shower first, and then, "Ah man! Mom used all the hot water!"

I remembered my helmet and the veil were still on the porch where I had left them, but when I started to rise, I stopped. The veil and the darkness it harbored would be there when I woke, if I needed it.

xxxx

Copywrite 2010 by David Tyra All rights Reserved

Visit http://www.zombiefictionandotherstales.blogspot.com to read a series of short stories about the subsidiary characters of Behind a Veil of Darkness.

