

ZOMBIE ZORA

By

R.G. Richards

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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PUBLISHED BY:

R.G. Richards on Smashwords

Zombie Zora

Copyright © 2012 by R.G. Richards

Thank You for downloading this ebook. You are welcome to share it with friends. This book may not be copied or reproduced without permission of the author.

Your support and respect for this author's work is appreciated.

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental and unintended. This is a production of the author's imagination.

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Many thanks to all those kind enough to purchase this work. Zombies are great and if there were an apocalypse, I would hope to be in this one. If you enjoy this tale, please take a moment to post a review so others may find this work.

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ZOMBIE ZORA

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Chapter One

The stale air surrounding us smelled of filth. Not filth exactly, but the constant smell of dead flesh. Dead and burning flesh. I looked from the back of our truck as we passed them. Our army truck zigzagged across the road, weaving around dead and rotting bodies.

They used to be people and it seemed a shame to pass them as if they were road trash. We would get to them later, I told myself. I repeated the words in my head, for my peace of mind and sanity.

I looked at my fingers, long and slender with traces of a blue nail polish I used three weeks ago. I hate the way they look. I may be in the army, but I am still a woman. First chance I get, I am going to trim my nails and repaint them. That is, if I am lucky enough to find some nail polish.

The truck stopped and I was the first to get out. I hopped over the tail of the truck, landing on the hard road. Lifting my rifle, I looked around for zombies, the norm these days.

"Clear!" I yelled.

The rest of the soldiers filed out of the back of the truck, twenty in all. We fanned out on the orders of our leader and took up positions on both sides of the road. We were there to scout for survivors at a mansion-sized house.

Since the world had changed and zombies had taken over the world, we, the army, had been doing our best to rescue survivors and bring them to a free zone. The general talk around town was the army had created the virus that turns people into zombies, an experiment that got away from them. Damn germ warfare. None of it was true, but as a PR campaign, we, the army, began progressively rescuing survivors.

The plan was simple; listen to your radio and if you needed rescuing, gather at a central location, if you could get there, and fly a flag on your roof. We would get there and bring you to safety. For me, this was my fifth rescue this month. I adjusted my helmet and looked down at my camouflaged uniform. The uniform wasn't mine. It belonged to Private Speck and still had her nametag on the pocket. My outer jacket belonged to Private Trakel, my boots to Private Browning, and my M16 used to belong to Private Stahmon. That is the way it is in the new army. When a soldier goes down, we strip them for anything salvageable.

We did an extensive survey of the area before sending in a small group of soldiers to rescue the survivors.

"Baker, Jones, Dushell, Donovan, Mackey," said Sergeant Welch, our squad leader. "Go, go, go!"

That was us. We ran toward the white house with the huge columns out front. Our guns were up and out in front of us as we stopped, to creep forward.

"Wait," said Jones.

"Why?"

We watched a pudgy squirrel run across the front of the porch. I looked at Jones. He smiled as if a great weight lifted from his shoulders. I guess he liked squirrels, though that one looked to be a zombie.

"It's all right," said Jones, "let's go."

We stepped on the porch and I took point, training my gun at the front door.

Private Jones knocked at the door, then stepped aside. I readied to fire in case a zombie showed its face. The door squeaked open. My hand tightened on my weapon, my trigger finger ready. It is so easy to squeeze, but I have to wait. If its eyes were white I would stand down, if red, I would fire between its beady little eyes with pleasure.

I tensed as the door opened wider.

"Hold your fire," a man shouted.

"Come out so I can see you," I shouted back.

"Okay, okay, okay. We are coming out. There are six of us here. We are coming out."

"Hands in the air," I said.

I watched as six people came out of the house with their hands in the air. They were all old and dirty. The youngest was a woman around thirty. I was barely nineteen and fresh out of boot camp, or at least that's what my squad called it. By now, zombies were everywhere. They had been around for two years. Most of the world's population is zombie. A few areas have power from power plants that had no one left to shut them off. This house is one of the few with electricity; it must belong to someone important.

The people came out and we marched them to the back of the truck. When they settled in, we gave them bottled water and an energy bar to eat. They had all come with a backpack with personal possessions and what food they had. My Sergeant told them to save their supplies for leaner times.

"Where are we headed?" asked the man who came out first.

"Camp Vix," said Sergeant Welch. "You will spend the night there and in the morning you will board a truck that will take you to Camp Brandt."

"That's the free zone, right?"

The Sergeant nodded.

Camp Brandt was one of three strongholds we knew about. Another was in Wyoming, the third, I can't recall its location. I know Wyoming has the largest camp and all army divisions from the Southwest go there. Those remaining divisions in the center of the country made their way to Camp Brandt. We hear there are over one thousand people at that camp. I can't wait to see so many uninfected humans.

"All right, guys. Let's go," said Sergeant Welch.

The truck fired up and we started our journey back to our camp. I sat on the end and watched the bodies our truck went around. I hated to admit it and never did, but I am glad I am on the rescue and clean up squad. Our job is just that, rescue survivors and take them to safety and clean up the area. Clean up involves picking up human and zombie bodies and burning them in a pile away from the public.

The cleanup effort was supposed to slow the spread of the virus. The most we knew was that you could burn the bodies and kill the virus. Other than that, all we knew was that you couldn't let them bite you. Half our squad had zombie scratches. For that, you go to isolation for two days. If you haven't died and turned after two days, you wouldn't.

I was careful and fired at zombies before they got close enough to touch me. I had come close a couple of times, but I had fared well so far. Well, not so well once, but that's a story for another time.

My team and the survivors sat together. I was glad when we turned in to the camp and got out. I began walking to our barracks when our leader began shouting at us, one by one. I waited for my turn, hoping it wouldn't go so bad this time.

"Baker," said Sergeant Welch. "Front and center!"

I ran forward and stood in front of him at attention. "Yes, sir." I was rigid and my salute perfect, as perfect as my limited experience would allow.

"You made two mistakes, Private. You make two more and that's your ass. You get me, Private."

"I get you, sir."

"Fall Out."

"Yes, sir." I waited for his salute and I relaxed. I hustled to my bunk for rest, not knowing what I had done wrong. For me, it was normal. I was not the best soldier in the world. I was nothing the army could be proud of. I was one of their challenges.

My family is dead, except me and my brother. We were once part of our own small army. My parents had twelve kids. I was fifth from the bottom; they had begun to slow down when I came along. My remaining siblings and I were years apart. I guess they were wising up to the burden of having so many children.

We weren't Catholic, so I can't use that as to why our family was so large, it just was and that's that. I made my way to my rack, slipped off my pants, and fell in it. I was so tired that I immediately fell asleep.

A blaring siren woke me. Trained to sleep with my rifle, I immediately picked it up and searched the room for targets. People ran around, some in their underwear, others fully clothed.

"What is it?" I asked.

"Infiltration. Zombies are in the camp," shouted Private Jones. "Head to the fence, now!"

I threw on my pants and rushed to the front gate. My squad was already there, firing through the fence. Zombies fell everywhere. Those hit in the head, fell and never got up, their brains spilling on the ground. Those shot elsewhere, shook it off and kept coming. With no time for fear, I put my gun through the fence, aimed, and fired. First, wildly spraying around, then I settled down and aimed at their heads. My team dropped them by the dozens. They came at us in a pack. This is the first time it had happened. The zombies must have been massing outside our perimeter and chose the nighttime as their attack time.

I spotted one trying to get to civilians on the back of a truck. The zombie must have just turned. It looked human, except for the horrible moaning sound it made, the slobber hanging out its open mouth, and the fact that it was trying to catch and eat people. I aimed and fired. Jackpot. I watched the greenish gook it called blood splash forward with its green spotted brains. With no time to savor the victory, I moved on to the next one.

We fired away, but it did no good, too many came at us. As we reloaded, they surged and came through the fence. They literally knocked it down and were on us. We scattered.

Sergeant Welch was in the lead and fell first. I watched in horror as he ran out to fight them. I can only assume he was out of ammo and fell back to hand-to-hand combat. His fight lasted a moment. A large zombie fell on him, they hit the ground. The zombie bit into his neck and he was gone.

I chose that moment to space out and just watched. Sergeant Welch was a badass and he was the one who trained me. Private Jones fired and killed the zombie. He then aimed and put a bullet in the Sergeant's head. Fear overwhelmed me.

Private Dushell, my bunk buddy, shook me. "Get your ass in gear, Baker!"

I sprang into action. I aimed and fired in every direction, determined to hold my ground. My squad and I fired relentlessly into the charging zombies, while others packed into trucks and sped away. With all the screaming, I couldn't tell what was going on. I did my job and held my ground. I emptied a clip, popped in a new one, and kept firing.

"Fall Back, Fall Back," yelled Private Jones.

We walked back while firing. We had no time to register the loss of our commanding officer. We simply walked backward, taking up our secondary positions and allowing our convoys to escape.

As I was firing, I saw a crazed zombie running toward the back of a truck full of civilians making their escape. At first, it looked like the same truck and same zombie. I saw men throwing backpacks, bottles of water, anything they could at the chasing zombie. Other zombies joined the chase and became targets. They fell, got up, and continued their chase. The one crazed zombie could move out of the way of anything thrown at it. I aimed and fired. It moved. Oh my god! I hit a little girl in the truck. She slumped and a woman stopped throwing and looked at me. I could feel her astonished stare and it hurt. I closed my eyes and saw the little girl's dead eyes glaring at me. I froze.

All I could do was watch. My body refused to move, paralyzed by my actions. I watched the zombie catch and leap into the stopped truck. Several men tried fighting it, but it did no good. Zombies feel no pain. I wanted the truck to move, it had no driver. I saw three zombies pull him from the truck and eat him. I couldn't even fire at them.

People kicked and hit the zombie with no effect. The zombie reared and bit one man in his belly. The screams from the man chilled my soul, he fell over. Instead of eating him, the zombie bit others in the truck.

I can only assume it was to turn them into zombies and increase their numbers. Were they that smart? We thought they were mindless creatures, driven to feed on human flesh. That is not what I was seeing. I tried to get my feet to move, but they wouldn't budge.

With nothing else to do, I helplessly watched people screaming and jumping from the truck. They thought they were getting away from the crazed zombie. They had simply traded one hell for another. On the ground, those fortunate to stay down were bitten and eaten by chasing zombies. Those not so lucky, got to their feet and ran, only to fall prey to overpowering zombie hordes.

These unfortunates were not always eaten. Many passed out from the pain. Not the way I want to go, I assure you. Can you imagine running for your life? Your heart pounding, your adrenaline pumping, running until you are out of breath and knowing you still can't stop or you're dead? Can you imagine doing all this in a lost cause?

Take my word for it, a fate worse than death was these monsters catching and dragging you down. You fight and scream with no hope of salvation. Then, are bitten so hard that a chunk of flesh is taken out of you, only to look up and see the monster chewing on your insides as you pass out in pain.

You would think that would be bad enough, it isn't. Your fate is sealed, you do not die. You stay unconscious for hours or days while they slowly take bite after bite out of your hide. If you are remotely lucky, people like me come along and put a bullet in your head or burn you. If not, and there is enough of you left after death, you wake a murdering, flesh munching monster.

I couldn't snap my paralysis. To make it worse, I could see a zombie coming straight at me, its red eyes surging with lust. Its mouth wide open, showing its crooked and bloodstained teeth. I thought to close my eyes and surrender, I couldn't even do that.

"Baker! Baker!"

I heard shouts, then the zombie's head exploded in my face. Its gooey brains and blood stained me. The force of the body hitting me, made me move. When I was falling backward, I sprang to life. I managed to fall at an angle and forced the zombie to my left. I was back.

"Baker! This way! Move it!" Private Jones was calling me. He always knew how to get me going again.

I grabbed my gun and took off running. He ran to the back of a truck filled with soldiers, my squad. I jumped over bodies of dead zombies and humans. I moved with lightning speed. I can't miss this truck, this was my ride, the last ride.

In case of evacuations, we soldiers would lay down fire and take the last train out of Dodge. The whistle was blowing and the train was pulling out. I ran for all I was worth and made it. I leaped into a fellow soldier, knocking him down, but made it into the back of the truck.

"Thanks," I said, out of breath and low, to no one in particular. I looked at Private Jones and relayed my message of gratitude with my eyes. He tilted his head to me and I felt better. I could sit and look out at the carnage behind us. The truck I had been watching was swarming with zombies. They were feasting and what few shouts I heard, were coming solely from zombies.

I turned to Jones again to talk with my eyes; we were close enough that I'm sure he knew what I wanted to ask. Traces of his sandy, brown hair showed beneath his helmet. Traces of greenish, zombie blood blended into his uniform. I looked to his lips for my answer.

"He's up front with the doctor. He is all right." Private Jones nodded his head in reassurance.

I collapsed to the bed of the truck in pure joy. I shook for a moment and prayed no one saw. I could breathe better. As our truck sped away, I tossed and turned on the floor, letting the motion rock me to sleep. I had made it, so had my little brother.

Chapter Two

I woke to low voices. My squad contained six people. I thought everyone made it, but I was wrong. I counted only three survivors. I slept through the night on the hard truck's bed and now my back ached.

"Hey, sleepyhead," said Private Dushell, the only other female of my group.

I sat to look around at everyone. I didn't recognize many faces. "Hey."

"We thought we lost you last night," said Jones.

"Yeah," said Donovan. "Great Statue of Liberty impression. You are going to have to show me that one."

Everyone burst into laughter.

"Maybe I will, Donovan. How about I shove a torch up your manhole and set it on fire?"

"Ooh!" Came the response from the peanut gallery. I smirked.

The truck wheels screeched and threw us forward into the truck's cab. I luckily escaped a beatdown. Donovan was about to shame me with his killer comeback, he was the master.

"Baker, take point." Private Jones gave the order. Without questioning it, I was in army mode. I rose with my weapon and ran to the back. The greatest lesson I learned in boot camp was conquering fear. You dive in with both feet. Pushing yourself into the arena of death makes you focus. Right now, that is what I needed to do to survive the day. To let my mind wonder to other topics could get me dead in a heartbeat.

I stuck my gun out, then my head. I heard nothing. I craned my neck, still nothing. Assuming it safe, I hopped out the back of the truck to scan the area. Not seeing anything, I yelled, "clear," and my crew joined me. The others stayed put while we canvassed the area.

We were alongside a small stream. Dushell and I went toward the water while Jones and Donovan took positions on the road. We completed our scans and found nothing.

"All clear," shouted Jones.

With that, those in the back came out and looked around. I was concentrating on the front door of our truck and watched the passenger door open. An older woman stepped down wearing a white nurse's uniform. Behind her was my brother, Simon. I wanted to run to him, but couldn't.

When I first joined the army, I got into major trouble over Simon. Every time I saw him, I would stop what I was doing and run to him. Many times, like now, I was on guard duty. I would desert my post, as they called it, just to go and give him a hug.

Why they couldn't understand it, was beyond me. He was all I had left out of an extralarge family. I needed him. The army, being the army, beat it out of me. Not all the way, but damn near. Once, I got the standard treatment of marching in place in full gear while a water-hosed sadist sprayed me all night long. That didn't break me. Two days later I did it again. That time, I found myself in the stockades, next to a bitten woman in transition.

I learned my lesson. I haven't deserted my post since. I smiled and gave Simon a wink as he held the nurse's hand. My gun stayed high. I didn't move other than that. He was only twelve, but he understood. Before he would have run to me, but now he only smiled and kept his distance. We would talk later once everything settled down.

My anxiety rose by what I saw next, his doctor, Doctor Blake. I didn't like the man the first time I met him. It wasn't because he was black, I'm not prejudice. The way he hung around my little brother, the way he petted him, the way he got Simon to trust him so easily, it bothers me.

We have only been here a couple of months. I went straight to the army and Simon went into general population. I saw him a month later, and by then, he was attached to this man. It made my blood boil. I was his family; he should only be attached to me, not some random stranger.

"Baker," roared Private Jones. "Take the west perimeter, Dushell, take the east."

"Yes, sir," said Dushell. She left immediately.

I waited, he came toward me. "Yes, sir." I said, but stayed put. When he was next to me, I spoke softly. "Why are we stopping here, sir?"

"Breakfast. You will keep guard while the civilians bathed in the stream, then they will sit down to breakfast. You will rotate out after they have finished. Is that good with you, Private?" he winked.

I saluted. "Very good, sir."

I took my post by a tree and watched the bathers. They needed it, zombie blood covered them. They hadn't fought. I imagine it was from running and falling over the bodies. I watched the civilians and some soldiers strip to their underwear and wash as best they could. Embarrassment flowed across me, I could barely shower with another girl.

They finished their bath and ate. My stomach growled looking at all the tin cans. Being so far away from camp, they looked tasty. I always found them slightly repulsive. I had a fear of botulism. It was tough getting over it, but I won the battle. Now, anything in a can- even chopped zombie- I looked at with newfound appreciation. I couldn't wait until it was our turn to eat.

Dushell and I were rotated out two hours later. We grabbed our packs from the truck and moved out. I had to use the bathroom, but held it. Experience had taught me well. Being the only girls in our squad, Dushell and I stuck together. Zombies were the biggest threat, but it was still a man's world and we were women. Actually, she was a woman, twenty and gorgeous. I could only dream of having her looks and body. Tall, with long flowing blond hair that went past her shoulders, she was something.

Me, I was plain Jane in her shadow. I pumped myself up by saying that if surrounded, whether by men or zombies, she would be the star attraction. While they chumped on her, I could get away. It was wrong to think it, but I could be petty when necessary. That, and a warped sense of humor, were my weapons.

Dushell and I ate our vienna sausages while walking to the stream. We went around the side, away from everyone. With the world destroyed, we were still modest. I couldn't blame her, if the guys got a good look; she would have to fight them and zombies. I guess through osmosis, her fear transferred to me. We were in this together. We found a spot to take off our uniforms and set them on the shore. I gazed at the metal pipe sticking out of her backpack. I smiled.

We entered the water in our underwear and swam out to where we could barely stand, only our heads shown. Our ritual was to wave, so we did. The distant guard waved back, then turned his back to patrol the area. We had no soap, so we washed as best we could to get the blood off us. We would do our clothes next and change into our only other pair of clothing. For combat, we only take the essentials. That meant one change of clothes, ammo, food and water.

Dushell directed me to shallower water. She followed swiftly. The beautiful bombshell made a face, I stepped back from her. "Are you peeing next to me? Oh gross!"

She laughed. "Stop being stupid."

"You could have warned me."

The world was a gross enough place without us reverting to childish antics.

"Stop playing and hurry it up," Dushell said. "Do it now, while no one can see."

I looked around to make sure no one was looking. I squatted a little and I peed. She looked as if disgusted with me, but I didn't care. There was no need to remove my underwear if that's all I had to do. Giving in to her look, I relented. I reached down and took them off to shake them out better. I would need to wash them anyway.

In the distance, we heard a scream. Then we saw it at the same time. Our guard was in the death grip of a zombie way off behind a big tree. He didn't have time to fire a shot. I can only imagine he went behind the tree to take a leak. He came out screaming with the zombie attached to his back, flailing, trying to get it off. He ran a little then fell. The zombie howled before biting into his back.

Suddenly, zombies swarmed our camp. Shots rang out from every direction. Dushell and I fell, trying to run and put on our underwear at the same time. We stopped and got it right before racing for the shoreline.

Without further thought to our state of dress, we grabbed our guns and slung our packs over our shoulders. We went running around the bend looking for zombies. Dushell stopped, aimed, and fired, killing a zombie. She turned to the next and I opened fire on her right. We backed up, back to back, and fired at anything in front of us. She took out six and I downed three.

"Get dressed," she yelled.

"Right." I checked for more then dropped my weapon at my feet and threw on some pants and a shirt from my bag. I kept on my wet underwear, it would dry later. "Ready?"

Dushell looked around, "yeah."

We went back around to see the full carnage. It was a bloodbath. By the shoreline, zombies made a buffet of our people. Nearly all our soldiers were down, the rest were now in hand-to-hand combat with guns and branches.

It appeared they had exhausted their ammo, their rifles served as baseball bats. "The civilians," shouted Dushell. "Let's get to them."

We raced for the truck. It was the first time I had thought of my brother. "Simon! Simon!" I shouted like a mad woman. We shot the few zombies near the truck. We were in time to stop them from ripping open the door and pulling away the people in the front. Thank god. But the ones in the back were not so lucky. One zombie was inside biting a woman's leg while another was gnawing on one of the scientist. Three civilians hit them with whatever they could, but they had no impact at all. We ran to help.

When I shot the zombie on the woman, it had made it to the soft flesh of her belly. Green blood splattered all over her. Without checking if she was conscious, I shot her in the head. Dushell got the other one. Like me, she showed no mercy. The man was awake and holding his half-chewed arm and dragging himself to the front, screaming he was okay. Dushell aimed and fired.

"Have any of you been bitten?" she yelled at the terrified people. "Did they bite any of you?"

Six people were left. They screamed, "No!" as many times as they could while she aimed her rifle at them.

"Dushell." I said, touching her on her shoulder. "They're okay. It's okay."

"Dushell, Baker!" We turned to see Private Jones calling us. "More of them are coming from over there." He had his weapon on his shoulder and he looked a mess. His dried zombie blood from last night had a new coat over it. "We have to hold them off. They got the driver. Donovan is now the new driver and will take them to safety. We will stay and lay down fire while they escape."

"What? Are you crazy?" shouted Dushell.

"We are not going with them?" the words tumbled out of me. I couldn't believe it.

"Dushell, you ride shotgun, Baker and I got the back."

Dushell and I exchanged glances. We were going, thank god. For a minute, I thought we might be sacrifices.

"Go, go, go, go, go," shouted Jones. The truck fired up.

Dushell tilted her head to me, I took off. I ran to the passenger side with my pack and rifle. I hopped on the metal deck to ride on the truck's side, gripping the outside mirror for support. I looked inside to confirm Simon was there and he was okay. Doctor Blake was out. Simon was holding his hand to comfort him. My blood boiled at the sight.

"What happened to him? Was he bitten?"

"No. He's just out," said Donovan. "He hit his head hopping in the truck. Knocked himself out, if you can believe it."

"I believe it."

As the truck took off, I only had time to smile at Simon before firing at my first zombie. It stood in the road, blocking our progress. My bullet rifled through its head and it fell. I felt the bump as we drove over it. Morbid curiosity made me look back to see its smashed carcass. I hadn't planned for seeing bodies thrown from the back of the truck, but I guess there was no choice. We end up doing a lot of things we never thought we would do. I wondered if those bodies were spouses of those who tossed them out.

Suddenly, I thought of what I had done and immediately found my brother's eyes. He stared at me after the kill. I felt sick inside and wanted to vomit. He was not meant to see things like that. No one his age was meant to see something that horrific. What could I say to make it better? I looked into his brown eyes with longing. Longing for the good old days when we got on each other's nerves and wished we were an only child. Those days are long gone and are never coming back. I could do nothing. It was best not to say anything, or at least that's what I thought. I kept quiet and tore my eyes from his. I looked ahead, wishing we were anywhere but here.

I took my eyes off the road after a while to look down. I was feeling guilty about the shooting. Even guiltier as I realized we just lost our soldiers and most of our civilians while I was doing of all things, taking a piss in the river. Holding on to my underwear and my modesty as if I was a Prima Dona. How could I be so . . . the truck slowed.

I looked in the cab first. Donovan was driving and looked mortified. I looked out to what he saw and it genuinely shocked me. As many as ten children lined the road, all zombies. That must have been it. I could see why he stopped. He couldn't run them down, they were helpless children. Sure, they had turned to zombies, but they looked like harmless children we swore to protect.

Shots rang out from the back. I looked back and saw them. They weren't screaming, or were they? All I know is that zombies charged toward us and Dushell and Jones were in the back, firing. "Run them down," I shouted.

"I can't, they're kids." His hands were shaking so bad I knew he couldn't do it. I acted for him. I turned and fired. My hand never released from the trigger. They fell.

"Go!" I shouted.

Donovan hit the gas and we ran over them. This time I played it smart and didn't look at Simon. There was no way to explain what I had done. I'm sure he understood, but I hated it so I know he did, too. I prayed he would one day forgive me and I turned to fire behind me.

I could hear them now. The zombies were running and screaming. My comrades fired away, so did I, but there were too many. We would run out of ammo soon.

"Oh shit!" Donovan yelled.

"What?" I looked at him and then the road. We were coming to a roadblock -a fallen tree. "Oh shit!"

"What do I do?" he shouted at me.

"Jones!" I shouted.

"Yeah," his response, through gunfire.

"A tree is blocking the road. We have to stop to move it."

"Go around it."

"Go around it, Donovan."

"I can't. Tell him I can't, we would tip over." Donovan shouted at me.

"Jones, he says he will tip over. We have to stop."

"Hurry it up. We will hold them off."

I heard him yelling and firing like a madman. The truck stopped. "Stay in the truck, Simon. We will be right back. You hear me?"

"All right, Zee."

"Promise me you won't move."

"I promise."

Donovan was already at the tree waiting on me. I ran to him. There was no way we could lift the tree ourselves. Donovan ran back and grabbed the winch chain. "We wrap it around the tree and move the tree as little as possible. Got it?"

"Got it." He gave me the chain and while he lifted with a makeshift lever, I wrapped it around the tree as best I could and hooked it. "Got it!"

Donovan ran back and started working the wench. I looked behind us. Jones and Dushell were out of the back of the truck. Two others had joined them. All were firing. I grabbed my gun and raced around to join them. It would be easier with five of us holding them back. We aimed for the heads, but the scientists aimed for their chests. There was no time to teach them so I kept firing, hitting what they let get up and come at us again.

The zombies dropped like flies, but there were too many. Our lives were precious, but theirs meant nothing. They kept coming.

"Got it!" yelled Donovan. "Come on!"

"Let's go," I shouted. We ran back to the truck. I hopped back on the side rail and we moved forward. I heard waning gunfire. I looked back. "Oh my god!" Dushell and Jones were not in the truck. They were still firing at the zombies, only they were nearly out of ammo. Oh my god! Dushell was out.

I huffed and puffed. What to do? What to do? I made my choice. "Simon, I will find you. Promise me you will stay safe. Promise me now."

"I promise." He must have known. Tears streamed down his small face.

"Get 'em, Zee Zee!" Donovan shouted without looking at me.

"Don't call me that."

Donovan winked. "I owed you one." He glanced at me. "Good luck, Zee." He knew as well.

"Keep him safe."

I grabbed my pack and jumped. If I hadn't done it then, I never would have. I raced back, firing as I went. Dushell was already swinging her pipe. Zombies' heads rolled as she screamed and hit. I shot a zombie trying to sneak behind her.

"Whoa, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

I was beside her. Jones and I were firing. Dushell swung her pipe while a middle-aged man in a far corner swung his empty rifle. I saw another man dragged into the trees and fired on those zombies.

"No time," said Jones. "Run!"

We followed him and ran. At first we ran down the road after the truck. When it was out of sight, we took off into the trees. We ran until we could no longer hear them or see them. When we stopped to catch our breath, I thought about the ride we left. There was no way we could catch that truck. I prayed for their safe trip to the camp. We would fend for ourselves. I knew in my heart I would see Simon again.

Chapter Three

Had I done the right thing in leaving my brother and the safety of the truck? I questioned that decision. Was it a choice of whom I liked better? That I can't believe. These people are my friends, my new family, but my brother, he is my world.

Stop it, girl.

I needed to psych myself up to face what was in front of me. We were in zombie-infected territory. At the moment, we were in the woods, alone. How long that would last, who knows?

"All right, guys," said Jones. "Listen up. We are alone out here. It's us against them and they don't stop, not for anything. Dushell is out of ammo and I got a couple rounds left. How about you Thompson, what you got?"

The stranger spoke, "I'm out. I killed the last zombie by stabbing him in the heart with the butt of my gun." He held up his rifle and slime oozed off it. Its yellow-green tint was sickening to see. The man grinned.

"Baker, how about you?"

I pulled my clip and counted. "I got half a clip left." I slapped it back in. Each bullet had to count.

"Well," said Jones, "I guess that's it. From now on, only head shots. We blow their brains out to be sure. If you don't have bullets then swing for the fences, head shots only people. I have seen too many people go down because they fought these creatures as if they were men. They are not. Flesh wounds mean nothing, people. Aim for the head."

"What happens when we are all out?" I asked.

"We go for the heads, twist them and snap their necks."

"What about them touching us?" Dushell asked.

"Touching is not the problem," said Thompson, "it's biting without killing we have to worry about."

"What?" Dushell looked confused.

"If they kill you, no problem," Thompson said. "If they bite you and leave you alive, you have from a few hours to two days tops, then you turn."

"Is it true what they say about the scratches?" I asked.

"If you heard they are harmless, you are probably right, unless the scratch is deep and they get their goup in you. I have met two men scratched lightly who didn't turn. Another, with a deep scratch, wasn't so lucky. My guess is that he would have been all right if the guy next to him hadn't splattered zombie brains all over him. He saved his life, of course, but only for two more days. Unlucky bastard."

"Who got him?" asked Dushell.

Thompson looked somber. He looked up and his eyes were sad. He said softly, "nobody."

"He got them all?" Dushell gasped.

"Yeah, in their sleep," said Thompson. "Three of them were camping outside the gate. He finished his two buddies and was mowed down running for the gate."

"Shit!" I said.

"All right, folks," said Jones. "The first thing we have to do is find shelter and with it, hopefully food. If we go across the woods we should run into some houses. You guys ready? Let's move out."

And so we began.

Our small group of four went through the woods next to the road in the direction our truck took. Our goal was to follow its route and rendezvous at the campsite with the rest. The plan was simple enough, and we were used to marching, if we could avoid being eaten, we could no doubt make it.

The sun was high, so my guess is it was around noon at the start of our trek. We heard nothing and took it as a good sign. I'm not really a time person, so it was late April or early May. Lord knows I don't know the date. We never gave much thought to it, we had a 24-hour job and friends died daily. Calendars went out long ago for most of us. Winter had long past and it was hot but not too hot, that is for a Missouri day anyway.

I was dreading the dog days that were coming in July and August, it would be too hot for walks like this. For our part, at least we were no longer in military gear. Dushell and I had left our uniforms along the stream and looked like two normal girls, except for the M16A2's we clutched. Then again, who is to say what normal is these days.

Before the end, people had started carrying guns strapped to their thighs. Bullshit about man's natural rights and freedom nonsense. Maybe we would be normal for this area. Well, anyway, we were in central Missouri, around the Ozarks, making our way to our new campsite. The woods provided shade and safety for hours. Up ahead, a small pond with three houses.

We stopped at the perimeter. "What do you think?" asked Dushell to Jones.

"We take them one at a time," said Jones. "Safety in numbers. If there is a zombie in there, we can jump it without firing. We need to save our ammo for large packs and desperate times."

He looked at me; I was the only other person who had ammo. "Got it," I said. We continued to the houses, then stopped again.

"All right, people," said Jones. "Dushell, you got point, Thompson, left flank, Baker, you're six."

"What?" I said in confusion.

"Our backside, Jesus. Nothing sticks with you does it?" he whispered as best he could.

Though it wasn't quite a whisper, it was effective. Like thousands of times before, he put me in my place. It wasn't my fought I wasn't a hard-core soldier like them and up on all the latest jargon. I was new, roughly a little over a year. If I had seen it in a movie or read it in a book, I could relate. But a lot of their jargon went clear over my head. It's my fault. I signed up for different reasons and didn't associate with hard cores. "Use English, okay. For god's sake, look around. It's just us, four people, no army. Talk normal, will ya?"

He glared at me. He probably would have yelled and really reamed me out if we had been on base and not trying to sneak up on a possibly zombie-infested house. Dushell touched his shoulder and he looked down. Thank god for her. I hated crossing the line like that.

"Which one first?" Dushell asked Jones.

"The blue house on the far right," Jones said it to her while keeping his glare on me. Good thing we were friends, we were the only two armed and couldn't waste bullets on each other. "Let's go," he sneered.

I waited and went last. I was guarding our six, whoopee. Without knocking, Jones turned the knob and crept in. I followed the others into the darkened house and left the door open for extra light.

They had cleared it already so I opened the blinds on a large bay window for more light. This was more of a cottage, a getaway for vacationers. The furniture was covered by white sheets filled with dust. While they searched for food, I sat down my gun and carefully took the sheet off a couch, being careful to keep all the dust within its folds. I didn't want to attract attention so I didn't take it outside. I sat it next to the door, then shut and locked the door. This would be home for the night. I hoped at least. I was exhausted and soon it would be dark.

Thompson came out of the kitchen and sat on the couch first, which urked me. I did all the hard work and he sits first. With a large family like mine, we always wanted to be the first to do something. Whenever we got anything, especially new furniture, we would race to see who would be the first to sit on it. To the victor went the spoils. Anytime someone, and with us it meant relatives, would come over, we would proudly say "I was the first one to sit on it."

Thompson couldn't have known what he had done. I'm nineteen and not a kid, stop it! "Hey, Thompson, did they find anything?"

"Hey. It's Sam, Samuel Thompson." He held out his hand and I shook it tentatively. "They found a few cans of green beans and some spinach."

"Great." I put on a happy face and sat across from him. Spinach gave me bad gas and tied my stomach in knots. The zombie invasion had succeeded in slimming us all down, not too many fat people were alive today. That's not a dig at them. It's just that fat people can't run fast, so they were an instant buffet. "Did they find anything else?"

"Not in the kitchen, Jones already has two can openers. When I left they were looking for matches and then they are going to look for blankets. Dushell wanted to check for clothes, too."

Just like a woman, a war is on, the world is ending, but a woman has to shop and look good. Inwardly, I laughed. Dushell was my friend and I didn't think it was nice to say mean things in front of a stranger. If nothing else, life has taught me to hang on to those close, it might not be for too much longer.

"So, Sam, where are you from?"

"Originally, the Windy City, I grew up there. I went to college out in California to get away from home. I hated Chicago and was looking for independence. I studied to become a doctor and then went into microbiology."

I cringed. He said the magic words that got many scientists killed. By rights, we shot them without trial.

"You are into germ warfare," the words rolled out of my mouth before I could stop them. Immediately, I regretted them and it showed on both our faces.

"Yes." He studied my face to see how I would react to his honesty.

"People say that it is your fault. Most people would leave you to the zombies."

"I know." His grin irritated me.

Thompson sat on the couch with his gun at his side. The gun held no ammo, but still, I saw it as a threat. If he went for it, that would give me a reason to shoot him. I didn't believe scientists created the zombies, but I had lost a lot. Someone had to pay.

"I know? That's all you have to say! I know?"

"There is nothing more to say."

He was somber, but I didn't care. My first impulse was to kill him where he sat. I might have, if not for the return of my comrades. Dushell came bouncing into the room carrying a handful of blankets. She sat one in my lap and moved to Thompson. He gladly accepted his. Our eyes stayed fixed on each other. He wasn't sure what I would do and neither was I.

"What's up with you two?" Dushell saw us.

"Nothing," said Thompson. "We were chatting about where we came from and how we got here."

Dushell pushed a chair back; I had managed to uncover most of the living-room furniture. All of which consisted of a couch, a chair, and two large reclining chairs. She sat back in her chair; she liked space between her and others. She once told me that because of her looks people often invaded her space making her feel trapped. It wasn't an admission of beauty or being too good for others, it was that people's leers made her uncomfortable, and with distance, she could see where their eyes were and by extension, their thoughts. "Oh really."

"Yeah," said Thompson. "How about you, what's your story?" He grinned at her.

"Well, let's see here, my story. Well, I'm from St. Louis and rarely go outside my state. I grew up here and now I'm United States property." She smiled.

"There is more to it than that. Fill in the blanks." Thompson pressed. "Was this your goal?"

"To be a soldier?" Dushell asked.

"Yeah."

Dushell's face saddened and she looked at me, then Jones. "Actually, yeah. I'm a runaway beauty queen."

My stomach churned. I knew the look she was giving him and it wasn't good. "Dushell!"

She ignored me. "I was always pretty. I was born that way so I had no control over it. My mother was a beautician and she entered me in pageants. It was good for a while, but then these creeps started pawing me and I resisted. I told my mother and at first she was on my side, but after she lost her job, things changed."

I tried again, "Dushell."

She continued. She was on a roll. "We needed money the first time. This pageant paid the winner $5,000. It was supposed to be savings bonds for college, that's how they advertise it to the unsuspecting masses. That made it sound good and all. It's a lie. I won and my mother had it converted. She got $2,500 out of it and spent it as fast as she could."

Dushell stopped and pulled her blanket up tight around her. "Dushell." I shook my head trying to let her know that now wasn't the time. If I could save her from reliving bad memories, I would. And this man had no right to hear her personal business. She only smiled back, I was afraid of that.

"I was on the block for several years. My mother lived for these events and I no longer had a choice. I started at age five, quit for a while, and then was full-time by seven. Any contest within two hundred miles, we went. And then shit started." She took a deep breath then continued. "At first, she let guys take pictures of me twirling in my dress and tiara. I always won— what a surprise.

"Did I mention she was an alcoholic and drug user?"

"Dushell, Bri—"

"She would pass out, well not really pass out, it was more incapacitated. She would be in the room, but the guys got bolder the drunker she got. One guy had me in my underwear taking pictures before she came to. I still wore my tiara and sash though, I guess that was something at least."

"Dushell?" I pleaded.

"Well, it wasn't all bad, Zee. Mostly harmless touching and picture snapping. My whore of a mother would get up and we would leave. If I didn't know better, I would say she passed out on purpose. It didn't hit me till later, but her purse was always filled with money afterward and the men were either judges or connected with the pageants."

Jones had reclined in the other chair. He got up and handed me a beer. He had a six pack. He tore off one and handed it to Thompson and then gave one to Dushell. He popped open his and sat back down. "Well, me myself, I am from Florida, born and raised. Hurricanes forever!"

He took a gulp of beer. I was grateful for him cutting her off. I knew most of the story, but never pushed for it all. I don't know if Jones knew any of it. They talked around camp and were friendly enough, but is it the kind of thing you tell to guys?

Jones continued. "I'm twenty years old and wanted to fight in the wars. I wasn't old enough when they ended, I hated that shit. I grew up a sportsman and hunter. I go deer hunting every year since I was fifteen. I got my driver's license and hunting license the same year. This one teacher in high school was a real bitch and the guy wasn't going to pass me no matter what. I hope to god the zombies are still munching on that motherfucker right now. Well, anyway, I pissed off high school and enlisted when I turned eighteen.

"Halfway through boot camp we heard about the zombies. We were sent to Fort Leonard Wood after they got infected. From what we were told, the outbreak started here in Missouri at some secret installation."

I flashed a look to Thompson. He met my eyes squarely, but never said a word. He didn't even have the balls to look away. He looked through me as if I wasn't there. I got that urge again.

Jones began again, "it was bad. We were fighting underground in caves and zombies jumped out everywhere. The zombies were wearing our uniforms, can you believe that shit? Fucking army zombies. They were from all over, too. The cave system was huge and I saw army zombies from Kentucky, Illinois, Arkansas, and as far away as California. Like us, they had been flown in for containment.

"Empty bullet casings and discarded M16's were everywhere. They had resorted to hand-to-hand combat and they lost. That was our first indication that they weren't mindless like we had been led to believe."

I flashed another look at Thompson.

"They told us it would be like shooting fish in a barrel, well, we were the fish. They tore through us, only knocking us out and biting us. They then moved on to the next poor souls. Sergeant Welch got the order for us to kill every unconscious bitten soldier we came across and we did. One bullet to the head for each. We must have gone through a hundred or more of our own people before we made it to an opening and saw daylight.

"It was hopeless; the zombies had escaped and were out infecting and killing everyone they came across. All through the tunnels people lay bitten and unconscious. Outside, we came across gruesomeness you wouldn't believe. I saw bodies ripped open with no insides at all. I saw cracked skulls with no brains left in them. It was madness."

"Yeah," added Dushell. "The same thing was going on all over the country."

It had never occurred to me to ask before. "If this is the center, how could that be?"

Thompson finally chimed in. "Planes, trains, and automobiles." It was almost a smirk.

"What?"

"Some of those with scratches got out of town trying to flee," said Thompson. "They carried the virus with them and it spread like wildfire. It is now in every corner of the world."

"What about islands?" I offered.

"They got hit the hardest," said Thompson.

"How is that?" I asked.

"They had no defenses," Thompson said. "A lot of folks got that idea, including the government. They took over cruise ships and other vessels and put people on them trying to save as many as they could. It would have worked, except some had been scratched or bitten and said nothing. Denial is the first response of the infected.

"Every place they went to was easily overrun. After all, if you're on an island, there is nowhere to run. You are trapped."

"Oh my god!" Dushell was coming back from her trip down Memory Lane.

"Yeah." Thompson went on. "Not even the best swimmer had a chance." He laughed. This time I was right, it was something more than a smirk. The others saw what I saw. He was proud.

"What are you grinning for?" Jones asked.

"I'm not grinning," said the liar.

Jones looked at me for verification. He picked up his gun next to him and pointed at Thompson. "You fucker! They were right, it was you!"

Thompson put his hands up and slowly rose. "Hey, hey, kid, watch where you are pointing that thing. I'm human just like you and you have got your facts wrong. I had nothing to do with this."

"I doubt it," I chimed in. I was with Jones and wanted to blast him, but couldn't. "You can't shoot him. It's dark outside and the noise would attract zombies to us."

Jones agreed and lowered his gun. Everyone sat back down. In an effort to ease tension, I tried to get Jones to talk. I didn't want to talk myself and I figured Dushell had only one topic. Thompson was not even in my thoughts.

"What happened next, Jones?" I said.

Jones finished his beer. "We lost the battle and were sent here as reinforcements. Unlike ours, the camp we are headed to is supposed to be impenetrable. All major scientists are coordinating with each other from similar outposts. The one we are going to is for the Midwest survivors. It's in Northern Arkansas. There is flat land and we can see them coming from miles away. They have artillery to pick them off so none of them will be able to get close to us there-"

Jones stopped talking and before I knew it, he was on his feet with a drawn knife, looking at Thompson. I looked over and Thompson was staring up at him, unafraid.

"What?" I asked.

"He did it again, he smirked. It was almost a laugh, like pride in his children. This time, I got you and there won't be a sound for them to hear."

Jones started toward him and both Dushell and I interceded. "Stop, Jones."

"You didn't see what I saw," he yelled.

"It doesn't matter," I countered. "We are it, we need him."

I don't know if I would have won the argument, I didn't get the chance to talk further.

Chapter Four

There was a knock at the door. We had let our guard down and had been talking so much we forgot the reality of our situation.

Instantly, Dushell and I armed, we looked at the door. Jones held a knife.

"Who is that?" I whispered to them.

"You got me," whispered Dushell.

"They knocked," scoffed Thompson. Without discussing it with us, he went to the door and before the rest of us could imagine him doing it or taking action to stop him, he opened it. "Hello?"

"Hello there." It was a short man and woman.

"Come on in," said Thompson.

They hurried in and Thompson closed the door behind them. Jones had his rifle now and none of us budged. We held our rifles high as they walked over to greet us. Dushell had no ammo, but pretended she did. I have no doubt she would quickly swing it at the first sign of trouble. From where I was standing, I could clearly see the bend in the shaft. That gun would never fire again.

"Put those down, can't you see these are people?" Thompson's hands were on his hips, scolding us as if we were his children.

"Stand down," said Jones. We did.

Thompson hosted. "I'm Sam Thompson. My traveling companions are all soldiers. This is Private Jones, Private Baker, and Private Dushell."

One by one, we nodded.

The man responded. "I'm Tom Billingsly and this is my wife, Sara. We live over the ridge back about three miles. We saw you heading this way and it took us this long to make it to you. Are you soldiers meeting with the army?"

"Yeah," said Thompson. "We are heading toward Camp Brandt in northern Arkansas. You're more than welcome to come along."

"Thank you," said the man.

"Thank you," responded his wife.

The rest of us gave small smiles and glowered at Thompson. We didn't know these people and he wasn't in charge of anything. I was happy to know I wasn't alone in disapproving.

"We have food," Tom said. Each of them carried a cloth sack over their shoulder. I assumed the sacks belonged to children. I saw the high school logo as they unpacked on the living-room table.

Their meager belongings didn't interest me, I reclaimed my seat. Thompson gave Jones a scolding look that made him ease up a bit on the suspicious look Jones gave them. They proudly presented us with what they carried; six cans of pork-n-beans, four cans of SPAM, matches, spoons, two tea cups, and three bottles of water.

"Sorry about the silverware, Sara didn't do the dishes, so we grabbed the clean stuff and ran."

"Why did you leave?" asked Dushell.

Tom looked upset by the question.

"I mean the zombies," said Dushell. "We haven't heard a peep since we came into the area. Were you overrun?"

"Well," said Tom. "You can say that. They were getting close and as far as we could tell, they were a few houses down and headed our way. Out here in the country, houses are far apart, so we got a jump on our escape and grabbed what we could."

"Do you have any weapons, any ammo?" asked Jones.

"Sorry."

"You didn't have to fight them?" Dushell asked, suspiciously.

"Sara fell once, a good whack from my shovel saved the day."

I looked at his agitated wife. Her behavior was nothing, we had seen things we would like to forget.

"We could really use the matches," said Jones.

"You are welcome to them," Tom said.

"Wh-what are your names?" asked Sara.

"Brittany Dushell. I'm from St Louis."

"Michael Matthew Jones. Miami Beach."

"I'm Zora Baker and I'm from Columbia, Missouri."

"Zora?" Thompson said my name slowly, looking at me rather creepily. I flashed a look and he returned his attention to his guests. "And I've told you already, Samuel Thompson. Chicago, Illinois."

"Um, it's nice to meet all of you." Her smile was endearing, yet something about her bothered me and I had no idea what it was.

"Let's eat folks," Jones reasserted himself. "We found napkins and plastic forks in the kitchen. Dushell, hand them out. Baker, help open the tins. We have to ration, so tonight, we will have SPAM for meat and beans or spinach for veggies. There are six of us, we need to ration and have two to a can until we find more supplies. Thompson, you and I will team up. Dushell, you are with Baker and you guys are together." He waved at our only married couple.

We passed everything out and sat by our partners. I was grateful for Jones' directions, they helped. I sat beside Dushell and we shared a can of the SPAM our new members provided. Dushell dumped it out on napkins and cut it down the middle, evenly. I suggested pork-n-beans, though I'm sure she wanted the spinach. The beans might be gassy for some, but believe me, I was doing her and everyone else a big favor.

When Jones finished with his torch, he passed it to me. The small butane torch cooked our meat nicely. Months ago, the smell made us gag. It took time to learn to adapt and smell the difference between cooked meat and burning flesh.

Thompson and Jones had spinach and SPAM. The married couple had SPAM and spinach. We cleaned up when we finished and for the most part, had pleasant conversations with one another.

Dushell gave blankets to our guests and we turned in.

A gunshot woke me, then I heard a zombie scream. I need to stop calling them screams, they are not screams. I just have no better name for them at the moment. Dushell and I were side by side in bed, in the house's only bedroom. We grabbed our guns and ran, neither of us had undressed. In the living room, Jones and Thompson were fighting Tom.

We walked into a zombie-human fight. The woman and the man were both zombies. The woman was on the floor with a gunshot wound. She moved and did her zombie scream. I didn't act fast enough, but Dushell did. Her rifle was up in the air as she ran and whacked the woman across her head. Her head cracked, but nothing spilled out and the woman continued her screams. She tried to get up. I aimed between her red eyes with my gun.

"No guns," shouted Jones.

I clicked on safety and went to Dushell's aid. Together, we used our rifles like bayonets and stabbed the woman while she twisted and groaned. She wouldn't die. We were going at her hard, too. I mean green blood was flying all over, it drenched us. I was going to take the chance and just shoot her. Finally, I stabbed her in her midsection hard enough to make both her hands go to her stomach and Dushell opened up on her. She held her rifle high, she screamed, and when she swung down, I heard the crack. Green blood splattered everywhere. The powerful swing finished her, zombie brains stained the floor.

I turned to see how the men were doing. Jones had lost his rifle somehow. He held up a chair with one hand as if facing a lion. The other hand held the knife that he threatened to use earlier. Thompson was throwing objects at the zombie, I imagine as a distraction so Jones could move in for the kill.

"What happened?" I screamed.

"Shoot him, Baker," shouted Thompson.

I turned around my gun and checked for the safety.

"No!" screamed Jones. "No noise, Baker. Hit him."

"You got to be kidding." I was so tired and drenched in blood, I couldn't take on another one.

Dushell saved the day. She crept behind it and whacked it while it faced the men. Her hit was not strong enough to kill it, but it turned to face her. At that instant, Jones dropped the chair and lunged. He gripped the zombie's head and sliced its neck at the same time. He twisted its neck until it snapped. Maybe he had momentarily forgotten that 'a cut throat' was a waste of time. In the end, he got it. The zombie crumbled to the floor and screamed no more.

"Well," said Jones, huffing and puffing. "That's it." He wiped green goo from his knife and put it in the holder on his belt. He turned up his nose at the green blood on his clothes and tried to flick it off with little success. "We got to pack and get the hell out of here. Any zombies in the area are going to be coming this way soon."

"I'm on it," I said. I put the couples' belongings in one bag and went to the bedroom for mine. Dushell followed and grabbed hers. We met the men back in the living room. I looked for Jones. "Where is Jones?" I asked Thompson.

Thompson looked at us both. "On the porch with his binoculars, scouting the area."

Jones came back in. "I don't see any of them anywhere. We got some time. Are we packed?"

"Yes, sir," my automatic reply.

"It's nearly light out, at least we got that." Jones tried sounding optimistic for our benefit.

"What happened?" I asked again.

"They were infected." Jones scowled at Thompson.

"How was I to know that?" Thompson's only reply.

"You invited them in! We didn't know them and you invite them in." Jones was livid.

"What happened, exactly?" asked Dushell, as if my asking carried no weight.

Jones responded. "We went to sleep and I woke to noises. I thought it was the guy snoring loudly, it wasn't. He was munching on his wife, and get this, she was munching on him, too. My guess is that they went to sleep holding each other and turned at the same time. In the darkness, they ate whatever wasn't them.

"I wasn't sure what it was I saw, so I shined a flashlight on them. They saw each other, then me. All hell broke loose and they charged me. I ran, got my gun, and got off a shot at him before he ripped it out of my hands. I didn't hit him, but I got her. That guy was fast."

"I slept in front of the door," said Thompson. "I thought of it during the night, you know, as an early warning system? I was a good deal away from the action. I saw Jones fighting the man and the woman on the floor. I tried to get to the rifle, but couldn't.

"My only option was to throw and distract the guy so Jones could kill him. The woman was having trouble getting up. I guess we learned a little something tonight."

"What's that?" I said.

"We can incapacitate them." He looked amused. "Don't you get it? We discovered something no one else knows. Two things actually. First, in total darkness they eat whatever is in front of them. Second, they can be hurt."

Thompson looked happy about it. He was a scientist, so I imagine that is what they do. The rest of us had different worries. "I'm more concerned they turned so quickly. You have any new information on that?"

"Soldiers." He scoffed. Maybe to him we were grunts and nothing more. The way he looked at us made me want to shoot him. "Total darkness, that means they hunt by sight for humans. They make choices on whom to feed off. They choose."

"You can't know that for sure," said Dushell.

"Maybe not, but it's something more we now know. Of course, they can smell flesh, but this is something different. And the 'being hurt part', that has never been documented, as far as I know. The bullet paralyzed her as if she were still human. That is fantastic news. Her nerves play apart in what she can do."

"So?"

"I mean, we tested them for ways to destroy them, but no one ever thought of severing their spinal column to see if they became quadriplegics. This is fantastic news."

"How?" I said.

"If we can't develop a weapon to kill them, perhaps a nervous system virus, one that paralyzes. We swoop in and stack them as firewood. Fantastic!" He laughed wildly. This man was truly a mad scientist and gave us the creeps.

"Let's go," said Jones.

He had night goggles and led us out. It would be morning soon and with luck, we would be miles from there before more zombies came.

We walked in single file to keep from tripping. There were small hills and steep areas we had to go through. Jones led us as best he could to avoid bad terrain and we were grateful. If I guessed, I would say we walked three hours in darkness.

As the area lighten with the sun's rays, Jones put away his goggles and led us near a small pond. While we admired the scenery, Jones ran off. We walked in his direction, hoping he had seen something useful. When we got to him, he was on the ground making a fishing pole.

"With luck, we are about to get some protein." Jones was excited. Being the sportsman of our group, I'm sure he would catch plenty of fish, if they were there to be caught.

"Make me one," said Dushell.

I had no idea she knew how to fish, let alone would be around the slimy things and their bait. "What?"

"What?" she repeated.

"I didn't know you fished." I said, hoping she wouldn't read anymore into it.

"I'm more than a beauty queen."

"Yeah, right." I laughed. Not from what she said. It was the way she looked. She was covered in zombie goo and smelled worse than she looked. I was no Miss America myself.

"Come on," she said. "Let's go get cleaned up while we can."

"Right." I closed my mouth and followed. Dushell picked up her bag and we went to a low spot to ease into the water. At first, we feared water, thinking it held the virus. Scientists figured out the virus could not survive in either fresh or saltwater. It was a small reprieve from the madness. Before electricity declined to bare minimums, word had spread around the globe about water.

The unfortunate outcome was that people thought water was a safety net and many drowned trying to get away from zombies. Yes, they can get you in water. They can't swim, but they can float out to you and chump down.

One female soldier had to be relieved of duty. She was in another group rescuing those on the water and saw a zombie float to a woman in the Gulf of Mexico. The woman was one of those triathletes that swim, bike, and run. She thought she could swim out to a buoy and survive. She would have, if not for bad timing.

The swimmer took off her clothes, she wore a red bikini underneath. She dove in and swam for the buoy. A zombie rushed in the water behind her. It ran. Its head went beneath the water and then it surfaced, it floated. The swimmer kept going and was close to the buoy.

A rescue boat came by and when it turned in the water quickly, it produced a wave that drove the zombie into the woman. The zombie came like a shark, grabbing and biting one of her legs. Both sunk beneath the water. When they surfaced, the zombie was around the woman's middle, eating her from the side.

The soldier believed the outstretched woman was dead and shot the zombie. It took time to get the woman to shore and then her hand moved. The soldier, thinking it was her fault, tried to save her. The soldier did compressions on her chest. When she bent down to give the woman a breath, the woman opened her red eyes and tried to bite her.

The soldier was quick enough to get away and shoot her, but the damage had been done. She snapped. It could have happened to anyone. We are in a war that will kill every man, woman and child on the face of the planet. Who wouldn't snap?

Chapter Five

Dushell and I swam to a spot and stood, wearing only underwear. She grinned as she handed me a bar of soap. She had been more fruitful than she let on. Or did the grin have more to do with where she retrieved it from?

"Only use it a little, it's yours."

"Thanks." I scrubbed with it and handed it back to her. I surprised myself, usually I blushed about stuff like that, I'm improving.

Dushell used the soap. "I found three, for us. Thompson can go to hell."

"I heard that! I know he has something to do with those zombies. I see it in his eyes."

Dushell handed the bar back to me. "Yeah, I bet he does too."

I scrubbed more and thought about what we had been through and where we needed to go. I tried my best not to think of Simon or what occurred ahead of us. The army had worked its magic beautifully. Every time I thought of Simon, I would also flashback to that hell with the lady zombie. For now, it was best to focus on the present and survive to reach him.

I glanced at Dushell, she was taking off her sports bra for a more thorough cleaning. I instinctively turned around. To keep from looking like a total fool, I pretended to wash as a distraction.

"Dushell? Why did you go on and on last night? You know I tried to stop you, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Why did you keep going?"

"I don't know. Odds are we're not going to all make it. I guess . . . I guess if I don't make it, I wanted someone to know I was here. I wanted someone to know my story."

That was deep. All I could think to say was, "oh."

"I mean, look at you, you have somebody waiting for you. You have plenty of reasons to keep going. Me, I lost my family. It wasn't much of a family to begin with, but I miss them. What I would give to see my mom one last time."

"Yeah."

"I'm serious, Zee. I think I would turn into a zombie if they promised me I could see her one last time. You don't know what it is like being alone. Sometimes, I want to give up and accept my fate, maybe it would be easier."

I was grateful she trusted me enough to confide her deepest fears and desires to me. To hear the words made me cringe. My stomach dropped a mile and I'm sure my heart broke more than once. I searched for encouraging words.

"I need you, Dushell," that was all I could muster. I'm pathetic.

"Will you stop it with the Dushell! You know my name is Brittany. And for the record, I don't have a death wish. I am a realist and if these are my last days, I want to be called by my name. I want my identity back."

Brittany could afford to be weak, she was right, she had no one. I couldn't afford it. Simon was waiting for me and if I lost it, I lost him. I kept my back turned and gave her privacy. She needed to cry and get it out. She was badass. Life made her that way. But here, in our privacy, she could let her guard down and wail. As her friend, I would let her.

"I want my identity back, damn it!"

Brittany cried harder now. She splashed water and cried. I did my best to keep it together. I thought it was a good idea, now I regretted that decision. My tears pooled and then silently crept down my face. I shut my eyes tight to hold on. Needing reinforcement, I put my hand to my face to cover my eyes.

"Damn it! Damn you all!"

I listened and waited for the splashing to die down.

"I'm sorry, Brittany. But you're wrong, you're not alone. Not at all. You are my family and I am here for you to the bitter end and you and I . . . we are getting out of here and finding our brother. Somehow, god willing, we will make it." With that, I made a move I told myself I would never make. I faced her and we hugged. My tears fell on her shoulder and hers on mine.

We didn't have a knife or cut our fingers or anything like that, but we became blood brothers, we bonded for life. Our tears were our blood. We got out of the water to grab something to eat. I felt better after our cry and can only imagine that she did as well. We didn't talk at all. We dressed and quietly made our way back to the others. I for one, felt embarrassed. I never made eye contact with her, but I was there for her one hundred percent.

"It's about time," said Jones. He was coming toward us. "I thought maybe you fell in." I knew his infamous wink came next. I braced for it, and like clockwork, there it was.

"We obviously have more to clean," said Brittany. "Judging by your size, I'll keep a seat warm for ya."

"Yeah," I joined in. "Two and half minutes oughta do it, little soldier."

We chuckled

Jones laughed. "Watch your mouth, I'm still in charge of you dickwads."

We stood at attention and saluted as he went by. "Aye, aye, Captain." Brittany threw him a bar of soap and then we went to the picnic table they setup for our breakfast.

"Hey, Thompson," I said. I thought I should try to be nicer. Maybe I was wrong about his involvement. I was a sucker for second chances.

"Hey, Baker, Dushell. How are you ladies doing on this fine day?" his grin was borderline sinister.

"Still alive," said Brittany.

"Glad to hear it."

Thompson was something. I couldn't quite put my finger on it. He gave me the creeps. Not on a sexual basis, the way guys would leer and try to look down your shirt and then pretend they weren't when you caught them in the act. No, it was something else that ate at me. Playing the nice card didn't help, not one bit. It would take time, but I would find answers, eventually.

Brittany and I sat together and ate. We couldn't have privacy, Thompson leered. I kicked Brittany under the table and she kicked me back. I wanted her to ask him to stop it, she was bolder than I. I've seen her subtlety hit guys like a brick wall.

Without her backing, I decided to eat quickly. Perhaps we could make an early start and get closer to Simon.

True to form, Jones came back in roughly ten minutes. We had finished our breakfast of fried SPAM and green beans and occupied ourselves with lady tasks. Brittany raked through my stringy, wet, brown hair and braided it for me. I looked forward to tackling those beautiful blond locks of hers.

I followed the manual and packed the essentials. Brittany skimped on them to have room for a hairbrush, comb, and two packs of rubber bands and ties. From here on out, we will coordinate. I doubt if the guys did the same, they were weary of each other. Before Jones came back, Thompson sat and blatantly stared while we groomed ourselves. Now that Jones was here, he moved off and I saw him watching us less. It gave me a small chill to see him put his hand near his groin and rub. Thank god for Jones.

We took a little longer on our hair, then joined Jones to plan our next move. Jones held a map. He looked around and then rolled his eyes.

"Thompson," shouted Jones, "get over here." Jones had a state map of Missouri and had drawn with a red marker our route. "All right, folks. Our destination is a small town in northern Arkansas named Cherokee Village. We won't be in the town; our camp is on the outskirts, to the west."

"Is that Camp Brandt?" I asked.

"Yes."

"That's where they took my brother, right?"

"Yeah, Baker. That's where they took him. When we get there, we will be part of a collaborative force. I don't know if we will stay together after that. My guess is that we will all get new leaders and new assignments. I hate new team members. I will try to keep us together, but I don't know what is going to happen when we get there."

"Where are we?" Brittany asked.

Jones pointed on the map. "We are outside Mark Twain National Forest. That's not saying much, seeing is how I count seven of them on this map. What a crazy state. My best guess, considering the road . . . well, I say we are here."

"Siloam Springs?" I read the name he pointed to.

Jones consulted his compass for a moment. "Yeah. We go east to US 60/63 and follow it south. I want to-"

"Wait," Brittany interrupted. She pointed further down on the map. "Let's make a major stop here, in West Plains. I know the area. They have one of those super Walmarts there. A lot of the area should be empty, too."

"Why?" I asked.

"They evacuated to the west coast, before you joined."

"That's right," said Thompson. His validation of my friend meant nothing.

"Zombies are everywhere," I said. "They couldn't have gotten all the people out. I know from experience, when they call for evacuations, not all the people believe it and leave. How many zombies can we expect to find?"

Jones sighed. "We will stay close to the road, but not on it. If we avoid population centers, we lower our risk. We will stop there if we can and then we cross into Arkansas and find our camp. It's a lot of miles for us to walk. Personally, I'm counting on finding a car with gas."

"You and me both," I added. I looked at the distance trying to calculate it in my head. "Is that thirty miles?"

"No," said Jones. "That's thirty minutes, if we had a car. We are going to veer off and cut across here. By car, it's around twenty miles. By foot, it may be well over an hour or more, depending on what blocks our path."

Jones folded his map and put it in his pocket. I was wearing jeans and a thick long sleeve shirt. I admired his uniform at that moment. I could use places to put stuff and had very few. My blue jeans only had back pockets. If I found anything useful along the way, I could stuff it in my army boots. They were the only other thing besides my tags, that proved I was US property, that and my M16.

"Let's move out." Barked Jones.

We threw our bags over our shoulders and sat out on our journey. South was the direction of travel for our small party. I had no sense of direction, as far as I could tell, neither did the others. We hadn't taken ten steps before stopping and waiting for Jones to allow his trusty compass to guide us to the Promised Land.

Staying in the trees was not difficult, they were everywhere. We meandered along and only lost sight of the road twice before stopping for a break. We sat in a clearing and polished off the last of the SPAM.

We were gambling that we could make it to town and find more of the tasty treats, perhaps other meats as well. I was longing for salmon or tuna. I had gotten my hopes up that they would catch some fish. The pond was empty. Jones said it must have been in the process of being transformed into a hatchery.

The plan was to walk until midday. After lunch, we would travel more and rest near West Plains. Obstacles lay in our path and we adjusted our route three times before making it one third of the way to our destination. We wanted full sunlight to ravage the place when we got there. Plus, we needed to be at full strength for the zombies. As we got ready to continue walking, a shot rang out, then another.

We moved instantly. Someone, a human was in trouble. We left our route and turned west into the direction of the shots. Louder and louder the zombie growls became. We ran through an open field with no time to enjoy the feel of the grass beneath us. Running barefoot through grass was one of my best idiosyncrasies. But there was no time for it, I ran like the rest, dropping my pack to move faster.

Through a clearing and then through more trees, we made it. We ran smack into the thing we chased, zombies. They were old and moving slow, circling. It didn't matter because they had the numbers on their side.

In the middle were three people. A woman had a metal baseball bat, dripping with green slime. Another woman had a hammer in each hand. A man carried the only weapon, a nine millimeter. Four dead zombies lay at their feet.

We stopped to appraise the situation. The zombies were not charging, something was wrong. They instead went around them in a slow circle. One ventured forward and the woman with the bat ran at it and whacked it. Its head went flying and the rest of its body fell. Green goo came out of it, some flying and landing on zombies, the rest oozing into the soil where it lay.

Another zombie attacked. The woman with hammers acted. She went up side its head with both hammers. The exploding head sprayed her with green blood.

Several advanced. The man aimed and they fell. But what I feared would happen, happened. The man was out of ammunition and somehow they knew it. Every zombie advanced.

The small group went wild, yelling and hitting.

"Thompson, Brittany, get in there," shouted Jones.

Thompson and Brittany ran in. They had no bullets, so they swung empty guns. I took a knee beside Jones and we aimed and fired. "Protect our group first," shouted Jones.

"Right," I shouted. I looked for Brittany. She bashed them left and right. One came behind her and I fired. Its brains exploded. She had a second to react before slamming her already bent rifle onto another zombie's skull. She waved and went back to work.

I turned to Thompson. He stabbed one in the heart, how stupid can he be? I shot it in the head, hoping he would get the idea. My god, he is supposed to be a smart scientist.

I heard screams from a woman. The one with the two hammers was dragged off. A large gaping wound was on the side of her neck. She was wildly twisting as two of the zombies had a leg each, dragging her to her doom. They stopped and one of the zombies bit into one of her legs. It was too late, her eyes looked toward me with a distant look in them. I shot her between those sad eyes for mercy's sake. I could only get one of the two dragging her. The last pulled her body behind trees, no doubt feasting.

"Aww!" shouted Jones. He ran into the mix with his weapon over his head as if it were a club. Damn, he was out of ammo.

I wanted to check my magazine. I decided against it. I would protect my team from imminent threat from my position for as long as I could. I checked my scope. I found Brittany, she was giving them hell, good girl. I found Thompson. A zombie advanced on him and like an idiot, he tripped backward and fell. I took aim and waited, waited, waited. As the zombie had his mouth open, diving for dinner, I gave it a gaping hole in its head. I bet he didn't see that one coming. I looked at the fool again, he looked at me wearing this big grin plastered across his bloody face. "Get up you fool! I'll be damn if I waste another bullet on you!"

I got a chance to protect my team with two more rounds, then I heard an empty click. I was out.

Chapter Six

I didn't hesitate, I didn't think. I ran with a yell loud enough to wake the dead. Like Jones, my bat was over my head, primed and ready. Into the fray I went. I joined Brittany and swung as hard as I could. The zombie I hit was young looking, that is, the person it used to be was young looking. Its head cracked open with my first blow. It howled at me from the ground, I smashed it again to finish it.

Brittany protected the lone woman. The man screamed her name, Ruth. I went to help clear his way from the three zombies blocking it. I kicked the first as hard as I could in the back of the leg to knock it down, it was tall. I shrieked and let the ax fall, splitting its head open. The man was punching a zombie, so I clubbed the other. I hit it like the last and kicked the remaining one before the man punched his fist all the way through its head.

"Oh, gross." I was good until that moment. Watching the man bring his hand back out of the zombie's skull was unreal. Green slime covered his fist with bits of what looked like tapioca pudding. Gross.

We got them.

I took a moment to look at the busted skull of the zombie. I wasn't alone, Thompson saddled up beside me. He picked up a twig, poked around in the skull, then grasped it with his hands.

"It's thinner than it should be. That's a good sign." Thompson said.

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"They are dying, not the newly made, but the older zombies that have been around for a while. We thought it was part of a strategy." He wiped his hand, then ran it through his thinning hair.

"What strategy." I pressed.

He shook his head. "I'm gonna have to think on it. I know it's important though."

"All right," said Jones. "Let's get out of here."

"Wait," the woman said. "Don?"

"Oh, yeah, sorry, Ruthie. We led the zombies away from her daughter, Katy. She's back that way, hiding in a tree house." He pointed west.

"Sorry," said Jones. "We were happy to lend a hand, but we are going in the opposite direction."

"Matt!" Brittany yelled. I was just as shocked as she.

"We can't go off target, Dushell. We are out of ammo."

"How far is it?" I asked.

"Baker!" Jones growled.

I ignored him and looked to the stranger. "How far?"

He extended a hand to me. "I'm Don Sparkson, by the way. This is my neighbor, Ruthie Graham."

"Nice to meet you. How far?"

"About a mile from here. We were walking near the road, headed north, when we saw them. We were able to spot the tree house and get Katy in it, before they were aware of us. There wasn't enough room for us, so we thought we could outrun them and circle back to get her. It didn't work out the way we wanted."

"I'll go," I said. Jones' face fell, I knew it would. For the first time in a long while, we were on opposite sides.

"Me, too." Brittany said. I loved her and was grateful she backed me, but it meant she was choosing me over Jones.

"Go on," said Jones. It showed in his face, he was ticked off. "We are not the 'do good society' we're the army. You're going to die for no good reason." He was probably right.

"We're still human, Jones. Let's not forget that." I countered.

Brittany and I watched the others turn to leave, namely Jones and Thompson, while we prepared to do a good deed. Don led the way and we followed.

"Thank you so much," Ruthie repeated a number of times.

I thought about Jones so much that I didn't acknowledge her pleas of gratitude. Maybe that's why she thanked us so many times. Brittany walked beside me and brushed her arm against mine. She smiled at me to reassure me. It didn't work. She knew very well what we had done.

As we walked, I shook as much zombie blood off my hands as I could. I could never get it all. Still, with determination, I shook my hands relentlessly. I would have stopped if Brittany hadn't been doing the same.

We came to a group of trees. Several meters into them, Don pointed to the small tree house. My god, it was small. There was no way Ruthie could have gotten in with her daughter. I know it must have killed her, to leave Katy there and run. I have no kids, but I know from personal experience, it has to take a lot of love for a mother to walk away. Ruthie walked away and knew she may never see her baby again.

It pained me. Simon flashed across my mind and I quickly shut him out. Not now!

"Katy! Katy!" Ruthie walked around the tree house, looking up for a response.

"Give her the code," said Don.

Ruthie stopped marching around the base of the tree. "Cinderella will always twirl." She shouted upward.

The little door opened. A little head poked out. Her hair was long and stringy, like her mother's hair. Red, wild, and unmanageable. She craned her neck down and I saw her dirty face, my heart leaped. It was as if we had a chance to win after all. If we kept in mind what we were fighting for, we couldn't lose.

"Cinderella doesn't twirl," the tiny voice said back.

Ruthie's face filled with tears and she held out her hands. "She does in my world. Come here, baby."

The little house had a porch. The girl crawled out onto it and looked down at us.

"They are okay, Katy." Don reassured her. "We found them up ahead. There are two more of them that we have to catch."

She looked at us cautiously. "Where's Ann?"

Don held out his hands. "Jump down, I will catch you."

"Where's Ann?" she repeated, growing concerned.

"Jump," said Don.

The little girl crawled and kind of fell forward. The tree house looked to be fifteen or more feet off the ground and with no limbs to climb, I can only assume they had used a ladder to get her up there.

Don caught her and handed her to her mother. She latched around Ruthie's neck immediately. I waved at her from behind Ruthie's back, she half smiled at me. Smart girl, don't trust strangers.

"Hi, I'm Zora. My friends call me, Zee. Who are you?"

"I'm Katy."

"It's nice to meet you, Katy."

"Nice to meet you, too."

"Hey, I'm Brittany."

"Hey, I'm Katy."

"Well, it's good to meet you, Katy. It's been a long time since I met someone your age."

"Thank you."

"We better catch the others, before Jones gets too far ahead." I suggested.

"We are ready," said Don.

"Let's go."

Brittany led us back. She was out in front and instinctively I slowed to fall to the rear. Directly in front of me was Don and ahead of him, Ruthie carrying Katy. We walked at a quick pace back the way we came. Up ahead was the area of fighting, littered with dozens of dead zombies. I stopped. I heard something. A low zombie growl, no, it was much worse.

I veered from our path, the others hadn't heard it and if I were wrong, there would be no need to alarm them. I decided to check it out on my own. With my gun out in front of me, I crept toward it, while keeping an eye on the others ahead of me. I left the open space while they meandered through the corpses. I noticed Katy clinging tighter to her mother's neck, her face buried in her mother's hair. I crept toward the outer trees listening to the sound getting louder.

If I didn't know better, I would say it was some type of pleasure sound. When I found it, I was right. I saw the zombie who dragged the woman off, the one who had the hammers, Ann. It munched on her, loudly, making what sounded like voracious feasting sounds as it tore pieces of her flesh off.

The zombie looked up at me and howled. I buried the tip of my gun into its brain, not once, but twice. I graced Ann with the same, no sense she waking with a zombie appetite. I came out into the clearing feeling better.

Brittany ran to me, ready to swing. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"One last zombie, I took care of him. Let's go." I wiped the spew off the end of my gun and marched forward.

Brittany gave me a congratulatory smirk and took her lead position again. I stepped over a dead zombie and something shining caught my eye. I cautiously bent down. I made it a practice not to get close to zombie bodies, dead or otherwise. Beneath a zombie's back lay intrigue, the shiny thing that captured my attention.

My fingers were trembling and I couldn't stop them. Telling myself the creature was dead had little effect on them. Still, I couldn't stop shaking and I couldn't move on without it. I knew what it was. Metal. I gingerly lifted the deadweight and pulled it out, one of the dead woman's hammers. We can use this. I wore a belt with my pants; I stuck it there and for good measure, kicked the zombie before catching up to the others.

Minutes later we saw the others moving toward a house. We kept our pace, no need to hurry; it looked as though this would be our home for the night.

Jones went in while Thompson watched at the door. By the time we reached the house, they were inside scavenging.

The fading sunlight told the tale. This was our home tonight. I walked in to see Thompson reclining on a couch. I pushed past the others to find Jones. Searching room to room, I found him in a back bedroom. "Hey."

Jones looked up at me from inside a closet, "hey."

"We got the girl; she looks maybe five or six." I thought that may smooth things over between us.

"What would you like to do next?"

His words were sweet and softly spoken. They did more damage that way. He stuck me with his knife and twisted for good measure. "What do you think we should do?"

"What do you think we should do?" another stab, and that one hurt more.

I had to nip it in the bud. "I'm sorry. I was wrong. You are my commanding officer and I broke rank." My shaky words were strong.

"Respect my authority, Zee Zee." He sneered. "We can't save the world."

His words hurt. I deserved them and didn't fight back. "I know."

"People are dying out there at this moment." His face was bright red as he jabbed his finger in the air. "We will never be able to save everyone."

"I know. It was a little girl, Jones. Can't you understand that? It was a little girl. If they had died, what was she supposed to do on her own? I had to help her."

"You're my second, Baker. You can't do that in front of people. Your job is to back me and follow orders.

"I always back you and I do follow orders."

He gave me a confused look.

"I'm sorry. I won't cross the line again. Will you forgive me?"

"Don't do it again."

I felt better. "I won't."

"Check out the kitchen. You and Dushell have kitchen duty. Dismissed."

He turned his back to me and went back to searching the closet. I snapped to attention and saluted his back. It felt like old times. I left the room full of energy and in high spirits. Dushell stood by a window. She would get a kick out of this one. "Private Dushell, kitchen duty." I smirked.

"Aye, aye, Captain," she shot back.

We laughed as we walked to the kitchen. A shadow went across a wall and we snapped into soldier mode. "They checked the whole house, didn't they?"

Brittany looked apprehensive. "We better double-check."

"Yeah."

I went right, she went left. It was a nice kitchen in a nice house. We fanned out and looked on both sides of the marbled island fixed in the center of the room. We didn't think they could get in them, but we opened all the bottom shelves and looked under the table for hidden zombies.

I set my mind to wonder where the shadow came from. It happened again and I saw it. I saw several thin wires wrapped together. The wire was moving the kitchen blind.

"Britt?"

She crept to me, watching the wire and blind move. "What's that?" she whispered.

I shook my head. I had no idea what it was. It came from the floor. Specifically, it shot up from a larger hole in the floor. I waved Brittany closer and whispered. "Is there a basement in this house?"

She whispered back, "they didn't say."

"Come on."

We eased back out of the kitchen. Ruthie washed Katy's face in a bowl she found. I noticed my backpack next to her was open. Was it my precious bottled water she used? My stomach dropped. Pushing back my anger, I put a finger to my lips to quiet them. Now wasn't the time to discuss supplies.

Thompson got to his feet and picked up his rifle. I tiptoed to the couch, got mine, and Brittany pulled her pipe from her backpack. Looking around, I spotted the door to the basement.

"Did you or Jones check the basement?" I whispered to Thompson.

His confusion told the story. He sadly shook his head.

"Follow me."

I led us to the door and quietly turned the doorknob and eased the door open. I held my nose, a putrid smell rose from the basement. Zombies were in the basement. Jones and Thompson hadn't thoroughly searched. I shot a look at Thompson and he shrugged as if it wasn't him. How could he not care?

Not now, I told myself. I turned back to the basement door and steeled myself for entry. I saw a ceiling light fixture, a long chord dangled from it. From behind me came a light. I looked back and saw it came from Brittany's flashlight.

I descended the steps carefully, imagining a zombie grabbing my feet to trip me. I watched too much TV and believe it or not, I loved the scenes of the stupid girls tripping and getting whacked. They deserved it.

"Zee?" Brittany whispered behind me.

"Shh, I see something."

I motioned her forward and directed her to shine her light against a wall. That's it. I saw a wall of cement that went nearly to the top of the ceiling. About a foot separated it from touching the ceiling. In the middle was a door with a piece of wood across it, slid through holders on either side of the door.

Up above I saw the wire moving. When Brittany shined her light on it, it stopped. Someone was inside, moving the wire.

"Hey, anybody out there?" it was a man's voice, filled with desperation. He was human. "Hey!"

"Wh-who is there?" I asked.

"Hey, help me. Open the door and let me out."

I moved forward to open the door, Brittany grabbed me. "Don't open that door. He's back there for a reason. That's a prison cell."

"Hey." The man pounded on the door. "Don't leave me here."

"Why are you back there?" I asked.

"Open the door and let me out."

"Why are you back there? What did you do?"

"Nothing. Let me out." The banging became more of a frantic escape attempt.

The man was human and that was good enough for me. I could no more leave him than I could leave Katy. Instinctively, I held up my M16. With ambivalence, I took a step forward.

Thompson grabbed me. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I shook loose. "You're not me." I slid the piece of wood aside.

"Zee," Brittany protested.

"Shh." I cautiously opened the door. I held up my gun, ready to fire. I expected a charge. What I saw was a man chained at his waist and wrists to a wall. There were clothes strewn about and a few metal clothes hangers were near him. I thought of the wire and it occurred to me that it was a collection of straightened out clothes hangers. The man was standing inside a closet.

The smell was strongest here and from the scent, it came from this room. To the left of him lay a body in chains, a dead zombie. The zombie's head was smashed in and its brains lay seeping into the dirt floor. I looked at the bits of brain and its grossness made my face sour in repulsion. Following the gook on the ground, I ended my gaze at the man's feet, his right cowboy boot had traces of green slime.

"What happened?" I demanded.

"They locked us down here in chains, zombies scratched us. She turned, I didn't."

I wavered, my rifle didn't. It sounded plausible and the blood on his boot proved it. "How long have you been locked up."

The man pointed to something out of my view. I stepped forward and craned my neck to look without having to go further into the hell before me. I saw five jugs of water in plastic gallon containers. Three were on their sides, empty. Next to the water, I saw sealed and emptied bags of beef jerky. I hate to say it, given where I was and the rancid smell in the air, but my mouth watered. The thought of the jerky overpowered my repulsion.

"Explain?"

"They left us. It was two days ago."

Thompson was our zombie expert. It killed me to have to turn to him. I had no choice. "Thompson. What do you think? Is his story possible?"

Thompson came forward. His smirk pronounced, curbing the corners of his thin lips upward. He enjoyed himself at my expense. I still want to kill him.

Chapter Seven

Thompson brushed past me. I know it was his attempt to prove his superiority to me. One day I would get to put him in his place and it would feel good. He briefly eyed the man before going to the dead zombie. He bent down and did something I couldn't see. Moments later he rose. "This corpse is at least a day old. His story makes sense."

"How do you know?"

He glowered. "I know!"

I wasn't going to argue with him. I passed my gun to Brittany and went to see if I could free the man. Remembering my hammer, I took it out.

"No, no!" He shouted. "Hit that chain." He pointed to the center chain bolted to the floor.

"Whatever," I said. Even though he wasn't in any danger, he turned his head as I slammed the hammer down. I freed the chain and he bolted past me and up the stairs without a word.

"That's gratitude for ya."

Brittany echoed my sentiments.

"Let's get out of here."

We went back upstairs. With the door shut tight, the smell died. It surprised me to see our guest there. I figured he wouldn't slow down until he hit the border. "You have a name?" It wasn't a bark, at least I didn't think it was.

"Charley Penwright."

The gall of these people. Like Ruthie, he went through my pack and chowed down on one of my cans of pork-n-beans. I looked mortified. Then I thought, where's Ruthie and Katy?

"Uh-hem," said Jones.

Jones was standing in the hallway. To his left was Ruthie and behind her, wrapped around her leg was Katy.

"Hey."

"I see I missed the party." Jones' gaze fixed solely on me.

I shuddered, I had done it again. "I see they found you."

"Yeah," he snarled, "they did."

Before I could utter my pitiful sorry, he turned to the man on the couch.

"Charley Penwright," he said without looking up. He was nearly through wolfing down my beans.

Jones looked at him, but directed his words toward me. "Is chow ready?"

"Sorry." I nodded to Brittany and we both went back to the kitchen. We rifled through the cabinets, they were bare. The only bright spot was that we found a pack of unopened children's birthday paper plates. I found a rag and wiped down the table. Brittany collected our bags from the living room while I opened the blinds to catch the last of the sun's light.

Brittany had helped in a way I would later discover had been profound. She carried napkins in her pack; most of our canned goods were in mine. I opened the remaining beans and counted our growing number of mouths. Jones, Dushell, Thompson, me, Tom, Ruthie, Katy, and Don. No wait, I counted again, something felt wrong. I counted eight people and sat up eight plates. We had two cans of green beans, one can of spinach, four cans of pork-n-beans we got from our zombie couple, and in Jones' pack, I found two beers. We wouldn't need the beers so I left them in his pack and took out a can opener. I was ready, but saw no way to divide the meal.

Brittany called them to the table. This would have to sustain us until we got to the store in the morning. I wasn't optimistic about what we would find. Still, there had to be something at the store we could use.

Everyone gathered around the table and stood next to a plate. It should have just been us— the guy we rescued had already polished off my can of beans.

Jones looked at what we had done and scowled. I have no doubt if we were back in camp we would be on latrine duty for a month. The meal looked dismal. It hit me. "Wait a minute." I raced out of the room and with a few hurried breaths, I opened the basement door. I ran to the back cell, gathered my find, and raced back to the kitchen with my bounty.

I opened a bag of jerky and put a couple pieces on each plate. It dressed them up better, making me feel better. Brittany provided the cups and I poured from a jug of water. "It's buffet style." I explained. I passed the first can of green beans with a plastic spoon to Jones on my left.

"Wait," said Tom, or was it Charley. It was definitely the guy from the basement. "Anyone want to say a quick prayer?" That impressed me.

"I will," said Ruthie. They bowed their heads, she said a prayer. I didn't listen to her words. I watched the faces of my new family. The former prisoner had his head bowed, impressive.

Ruthie finished and Jones handed her the can of beans. She put heaping spoonfuls in two plates for her and Katy, then passed the can to Thompson. The cans rotated in the same fashion in silence. The partials were placed in the center of the table and we dug in.

Like most, I went first to the beef jerky; I was dying to take a bite. It felt heavenly. I missed it and ice cream. Some stayed at the table and the rest retired to the living room. I saw Jones heading to the living room and followed. He detoured to a bedroom and so did I.

"What is it, Private Baker?"

"Are we back to formality?"

"What do you want, Zee Zee?" that wasn't much better. I could feel his hostility even though he was speaking softly.

"Don't call me that."

"What do you want?" Jones spoke low, but the words had a bite to them.

Here goes nothing. "It happened so fast there wasn't time to get you." His eyes rolled. "There wasn't," I pleaded.

"You want to replace me?" he looked at me wildly, that hurt worse than the insult.

"No, I don't even like the army, you know that."

"Really, well how come every time I look around I see you in the middle of something you have no business being in?"

"I don't know."

"Don't play innocent with me."

"I'm not," I strained to keep my voice down.

"Whatever, Zee Zee."

"Don't call me that!" I roared and then immediately regretted it.

Jones looked as if he loathed me. His fists were balled and I could see him restraining himself, I prayed it continued. He moved back and forth on the balls of his feet. Still, he stayed in his place and didn't advance toward me.

"I'm going to be . . . ," he said softly, "may I have some privacy?"

"Sure."

I left the room, dejected. I had to find a way to repair our relationship. Jones was a great guy. He deserved better.

"Zora," said little Katy. She ran to me and hugged me around my legs; her head barely came to my waste. I looked down at her and had no idea what to say. "Here, want some?"

I looked into her little hand, it held a thin piece of jerky. "No, Sweetie. That's yours. You need to eat it so you can grow up big and strong." It sounded stupid saying it, but that's all I had.

"It's not mine, it's Charley's. He didn't want it and gave it to me. I ate mine first. Then I had beans, two kinds, and then I—"

"Wait. Charley, that's the guy from downstairs?"

"Yes."

"He gave you his food?"

"Yes."

I saw him on the couch looking at us. I left Katy and stood in front of him. "You gave her your food? Why?"

Charley looked whimsical. "I thought that would have been obvious."

I bristled. "Oh."

"I ate jerky for two days. Every man likes a little variety in his diet." He looked me head to toe, grinning.

I clenched my fist in anger. I wanted nothing more than to slap him and wipe the smug look from his face. Instead, I retreated to the kitchen.

"What's got your panties in a bunch?" Brittany asked.

I picked up a towel to help her clean. "Nothing." My sigh turned into a yawn.

"Did Jones make out any sleeping arrangements?"

"I don't know."

"Well, don't you think you need to check? Me, I'm good. I had a stray thought about the rest."

"Fine. Damn!"

I left the kitchen in a huff and didn't stop until I was face to face with Jones. Dushell did that on purpose, some blood brother she turned out to be. "Did you make out sleeping assignments?"

Jones stared out the window into the dark. "There are two bedrooms. The other is the biggest; assign it to the mother and daughter. You and Dushell will stay with them. I will take this one and the rest have the living room."

"All right." I waited for him to dismiss me.

Jones never turned around to face me, so after a minute, I left. I gathered Brittany, Ruthie and Katy in the large bedroom. They got the bed. Brittany and I would rotate guard duty and sleep on the floor. Jones didn't command it; I acted as if he had. I stayed in the room most of the time, then walked throughout the house, except for the basement.

I woke Brittany during the night, so I could sleep. In the morning, we would descend on the store and I wanted to be fresh.

Sounds of a scuffle woke me. I slept next to my gun. I grabbed it and ran to the living room, zombies were attacking. No, it wasn't zombies. I saw a scuffle between the men and Brittany. She was trying to hold Jones back.

Jones kicked Thompson. Thompson was on the floor, in a ball, holding himself. Don and Charley were there too. Don assisted Brittany in restraining Jones, while Charley was free to kick a covered Thompson.

"What the hell?" I raced over.

With the screaming and shouting, I couldn't make heads or tails as to what was going on. We shouted, shoved, and tugged. Finally, I took charge and walloped Charley. Then with a little persuasion, I got the others to stop.

"What happened?" I yelled.

"That fucker," Jones shouted, red-faced, "I caught him at your bedroom door, leering."

The thought of it gave me the chills. I knew I didn't like Thompson for a reason. I looked at him, he didn't deny it. Thompson's face was bloody and he lay on the floor with his usual smirk.

"Well?" I asked.

Thompson grinned and shrugged. "It's the end of the world as we know it," he tried singing.

"You motherfucker!" Jones tried to get to him again. It took all of us to hold him back.

"You don't deny it?"

The man only shrugged. "Live a little, while you have the chance." He cleared his throat. "Do not go gentle into that good night. Party like it's 1999." Thompson's laughter chilled me to the bone. The man had lost it.

I acted. "The basement. Lock his ass in the basement."

Don and Charley released Jones. Brittany opened the door, releasing the foul stench of death. I looked at Thompson, he deserved it. The men grabbed Thompson and hauled him to the basement. Personally, I hoped they would throw him down the stairs and crack his head wide open.

None of us cared about the smell or the darkness, we got him to his new home in record time. Charley bolted the door and we left him there to rot. I could hear him banging on the door as we left. He was laughing, maybe he had snapped.

"You can't leave me here. You will be back. You need me! You will be back. You need-"

Brittany slammed the door shut, cutting him off. Thank god. "What a creep."

I turned to Jones to question him. "Are you positive?"

Jones looked at me as if I were crazy. He gritted his teeth. "He was peeking through the door and one of his hands was in his pants. You tell me!"

"Sorry."

I hate to admit it and never would, but I felt better. I had my answer to the elusive Thompson. It couldn't have been us, Brittany and I; we had been with him all this time. It must be Katy. Thompson is a pedophile. That was the missing piece. I felt relief, knowing I wasn't his target. Then I thought of Katy. I was a bigger jackass than Thompson. How could I put my welfare above a helpless child's?

I wanted to go back and kick him myself. One thing I will say for Thompson, he was right, we did need him. I had a feeling he held back on what he told us. I couldn't see us leaving him there in the morning, yet I had no solution. The morning would take care of itself, I thought. Jones is the boss; it's his job to figure these things out.

"Britt? Where were you?" I asked.

Brittany's face contorted. "I was on the front porch. Well, actually, I went around the back to check our perimeter. While I was there, I had to use the bathroom. He must have gone to the door at that time."

My friend's voice was low and full of remorse. I regretted asking the question.

"Let's get some shuteye," said Jones. "We got a lot of traveling in the morning."

"What about Thompson?" I asked. "Are we leaving him here?"

"Damn straight," said Charley. "We do him like they did me. We leave him a jug of water and some jerky. Somebody might come along and set him free."

"Somebody might come along and eat him, too." I countered.

"So what," Charley said, his words venomous. "Do you get what he would have done to you, to that girl? He deserves no mercy, not one ounce!"

Charley was right, but it infuriated me. "Who made you god? If I remember correctly, you were the one chained to a wall in need of rescue not ten hours ago."

"Shh," said Brittany. "They maybe sound sleepers, but you two are going to wake the dead."

"I'm sorry," said Charley.

"Me, too," I said. I wasn't mad at him or Thompson. I knew what I was doing.

Every one sat in the living room. Brittany and I didn't go back to our room and neither did Jones. For a while, no one spoke. To liven things up a bit, Brittany engaged everyone in a game of charades.

We were starting to unwind, when we heard this low groaning sound, coming from the bedroom. It grew louder. Zombies. "Ruthie! Katy!"

Jones was the closest to the door. He ran to it to save them. When he opened the door, we saw them. They were not being attacked by zombies, they were zombies. They howled and staggered out of the room toward us. Jones jumped out of the way of Ruthie's grasp and fell back. Ruthie bent down to bite him and he kicked her and knocked her back.

I didn't get a chance to see anymore, the little zombie, Katy, was on the move. She ran at me. Her red eyes fixed with hunger. I had no time to get to my gun and had removed my hammer to sleep. I punched her on the side of her head, knocking her back.

She leaped to her feet and came at me again. The surprising thing was that the flesh on one of her legs was missing completely. I had time to register that fact before the next attack. This time, I kicked her in her stomach— it was hard forgetting she wasn't a sweet innocent child. At first I took it easy on her. Then I realized it is either her or me and I had plans to live another day. Fired up by thoughts of rejoining Simon, I looked for a weapon. My quick scan gave me nothing.

I ran into the kitchen to grab a chair, I could break it over her back. The chairs were wooden and once broken, I could use the pieces as weapons. Katy was quick. She was on me and grabbed me around my waist ready to bite me in my back. I fell forward and swung at her at the same time, knocking her loose. I sprang to my feet and ran around the table. She howled and lunged at me and I whacked her. She fell back and came again. With nothing more to think to do, I held up the chair to give myself more time to think. I needed a strategy fast. Before I could think of one, Charley came to my rescue. He had my gun and readied to whack her from behind with it. With his strength, it took two strong whacks and she was out. I closed my eyes and waited. I didn't want to see, but I heard the final whack that flew bits of brains all over me. I wiped the goup away and opened my eyes.

"Thanks."

He grinned. "No problem."

That was all I could manage. If not for Charley, I might have lost my life. I was one of our best marksmen. With a gun, I am an all-powerful death machine. Without one, I resort to the stupid girl syndrome. I'm surprised I didn't fall down and twist an ankle. Thank god I'm not blond.

Chapter Eight

Morbid curiosity made me look down at Katy as I went by her. Her left eye was open, a tinge red, staring at me. The right side of her face was missing. A trail of blood scattered from the opening and was slowly seeping into the floor. Why was she so fast and so hard to kill?

I closed my eyes in prayer and memory of her before going into the living room. There, Charley and I saw the aftermath of their encounter. Brittany and Jones had blood on them, they stood over the bodies of Don and Ruthie.

We had gone through so many zombies, it was a daily thing. We hadn't had a chance to change, so we had green blood piled on top of a darker, greenish-black, dried blood. We were alive, but looked a mess. At least we weren't dead.

Don had a huge chunk torn out of his neck. Ruthie's head lay smashed in pieces. Brittany's once bent rifle, was now in the shape of the letter 'V' and lay discarded among the bodies.

"We need something hard," said Jones. He was looking down at the bodies.

"What?" I asked.

Brittany looked up at me. "Don got bit. We lost both guns and need something to finish him off with."

I must have been in a fog, because I didn't get it. Brittany had a pipe in her bag, why wasn't she using it. I must be missing something. I looked at them for an answer. Brittany and Jones looked at me funny, as if something was wrong with me.

"He's going to turn, Zee Zee." Jones gave me a hard look.

All right, I will give him that one for free. If he calls me that again, it's on. I broke the mutual gaze we shared to look at Don. He moved. They were correct. I didn't think he was still alive. "Oh, I forgot about that part."

We looked for something. I remembered my hammer and went back to the bedroom to get it. I stopped when I looked at the window. I went to it, double-checking the locks. It hadn't been opened. Scanning the room, I saw no zombies. There were no holes in the walls from them breaking in; we would have heard that at least. How did they get in?

With confusion, I took the hammer and went back to the living room. I gave it to Jones, he was our leader and I didn't want to do it myself. It's time for him to do the parts of the job that make him the boss.

I stepped back and turned my head. Jones was quick. It only took one blow to remove Don's brain. He was a nice guy. I should have spent more time getting to know him. Like Katy, I closed my eyes tight and remembered him.

"Poor bastard," said Jones. "She was damn strong. She knocked me down and was about to rip into Dushell when —"

"He saved me, Zee." Brittany finished for him. "He sacrificed himself for me. He said he was sorry. That's the last thing he said to me, he said he was sorry."

Brittany whimpered. I didn't have to turn around to know it and didn't want to see it anyway. She was tough as nails in a fight, better than half the guys in our squad. Still, she was human.

"How did they get in?" I wanted to change the subject.

"They must have come through a window." Jones guessed.

"No," I turned around. "I checked. The window in the bedroom is locked. And we were all in here with the front door locked."

Brittany had the answer. "They were bitten before they came here, before we met them. I guess that's what Don was sorry about."

"Let's check."

I turned around and went to Ruthie's body. She was covered in blood. I lifted her bloody dress because I saw nothing on her legs. On her right back leg was a bite mark with deep teeth impressions. Above that, a huge chunk was missing where the leg meets the hip. I saw bone. "Damn. She could have told us. How could she do that to her own child?"

"Love is blind," said Brittany.

Charley scoffed. "Not for everyone."

"Let's cover them with sheets from the beds," Jones said. "I doubt if any of us are going back to sleep."

We covered the bodies and all four of us sat without talking. Brittany held my hand and now and then squeezed softly. We sat on the couch with Jones and stared at the front door. The sun would come up soon and we would be off. Charley sat across from us in a swivel chair. He would turn this way and that and the chair would creak. It provided most of our conversation.

It began to get light outside.

"What do we do about Thompson?" I asked.

"Leave him," Charley blurted. Talking about Thompson made him angry. I can only assume he hated pedophiles. When I thought about the word, it brought up memories of Doctor Blake touching Simon's shoulder. Anger wailed up in me.

"Fine, we leave him."

"No, we don't," said Brittany. She looked appalled at my suggestion.

"We are not leaving him," said Jones.

I was floored. "You're the one who wanted to leave him in the first place. Weren't you the one kicking him?"

"We are taking him," said Jones. "End of discussion. We don't leave our people behind."

"Whatever," I scoffed.

Charley, Brittany, and Jones went to the basement to get Thompson, I refused. I stayed in the living room, staring at their backs as they descended the stairs. Nothing fazed me, not even the smell that inflamed my nostrils. I stood looking at the door, waiting for them to return with Thompson.

It was just as I imagined it would be. Thompson's smirk greeted me with an unbelievable force. I steeled myself and determined I would not crumble. I met his malicious grin with one of my own.

"Zee Zee, how are you? I hope you slept well." Though he didn't laugh, he was close to it.

Charley hit Thompson in the back and knocked him forward, causing the others to have to catch him. "Oops, sorry."

Charley winked at me. I appreciated it, but showed no reaction.

"I said we don't leave our people behind and I meant it." Jones stared at me. "Thompson, you are free to go. If you come with us, you will be on your best behavior. And I will not tolerate mocking my people. If we find some ammo, I will shoot you myself. Are we clear?"

Thompson's eyes were on me. "Of course." Another smirk.

Being the closest to the door, I left out first. During the early hours, Brittany and I had packed. We marched down the road carrying packs. My stomach rumbled lightly. Very soon I will satisfy it.

Chapter Nine

They say an army travels on its stomach, I now believe that. Being a woman, I have to add that a good pair of boots helps. Thank god for all the women of the military who came before me. I thank them for making sure I had comfortable boots. Though it helped, if we didn't take a break or reach the city soon, I was sure I would wear the bottom out of my boots.

We stayed as close to the trees as we could for most of the journey. When no trees were around us, we moved as fast we could, kind of like playing hide and seek with and unseen friend. In and out, behind whatever we could find until we reached city limits.

Something unexplainable was in the air. I smelled it as sure as I could see the buildings around us. It reminded me of little Katy. I had tried not to think of her, to block all the ugliness from my mind. I had been successful for the most part, but now it hit me and it hit hard.

I was in the back as we walked and as hard as I tried, I couldn't stop the tears from streaming down my face. Damn that smell or whatever it was, it had me. I couldn't see our destination ahead, my only hope was that I could cry in silence and nobody would turn around. With my luck, it wouldn't happen, but I could hope.

It took two hours for us to arrive. Life had showed me a kindness. No one saw me and I had time to wipe my tears and get strong again. The sun recharged me. I could face the world again.

We made it to the store and saw the parking lot was a mess. We sat our bags under a tree; there was no need to take them inside.

"Baker, watch our six."

"Yes, sir."

We approached the store's front entrance and were ready to go inside. I was last, I could watch our rear, but with what? Not only did I not have any ammo, I had no rifle if I had the ammo. I looked around to see if anyone saw us, they hadn't. I stepped through the broken glass door behind the others to take my first look inside the store.

It was a large department store with a food area. Inside, bodies lay rotting. The smell was not bad, I can't say why. Part of it, I know is the army's doing. We cleared and burned as many bodies as we could find and sprayed others with a thick chemical that masked their decomposition smell.

Most citizens had evacuated, which helped lower the numbers tremendously. The scattered dead we saw were few and far between.

Brittany and I had occupied ourselves with a strategy commiserate of the age-old fifteen-minute shop and grab. We hadn't won a contest, but we acted as if we had. She had a flashlight and would go to the back of the store with a shopping cart. I would grab a cart and concentrate on the front, without the need for a flashlight. Jones got in on the talk and he made requests for him and Charley. I told them I could handle the front, leaving the rest of them to tackle the food and weapons situation.

Knowing the layout of Walmart Supercenters, I immediately looked up front for batteries. The size didn't matter; we needed them for radios and flashlights. The store was a wreck. In some areas you couldn't pass by because of everything that was in the aisles. I began my search and found only one pair of 'C' batteries for Brittany's flashlight. That was something.

Further into the store, I found three packages of penlight flashlights. And then I made my find, beef jerky. My face lit up when I saw a row of jerky still on its hooks. I hoped for just a miracle find.

The store had probably been cleaned out dozens of times in the last two years. I would guess that people had come in as small groups, did their damage and left. They must have thought like us and came for the canned goods.

One, two, three . . . oh my god, eight large bags. Thank you, Jesus. I threw them in my cart and gave up the search for more goodies. I wanted clothes. Brittany was comfortable without a bra, I wasn't. Somehow I felt cheap and tawdry when I didn't wear one. Scavengers like us, would spend all their time in the grocery section, so I knew the clothes would be untouched, for the most part, I was right.

Half the clothes were on the floor, trampled with bloody shoe prints. The light faded, so I popped open one of my penlight flashlights. Normally, I wouldn't have, but for what I was after, I needed light to read the small printed numbers on the packages. Weaving through the mess, I found them. Bras were neatly lined up on their hangers. I moved to the C-section and settled for a 36C. If I admitted the truth, I would have grabbed the plentiful 38D. I lie to myself in such matters.

Brittany wouldn't have wanted one, instead, I found us both sports bra and then a pack of panties each. I would grab socks on the way out. I needed to find sweats and T-shirts first. Jones had given me his and Charley's measurements and I was told to grab a pair of jeans and a pair of sweats for each. Neither cared about shirts, however, they were adamant about pants.

I gathered everyone's requests and made a detour. I had time and plenty of room in the basket. I got jeans for us girls and found a belt for what I would put around my waist later. Next, I searched for gloves, the long expensive, hard to rip kind. I only saw two pairs and grabbed both.

Like a maniac, I raced my cart to the back of the store in near darkness. My shining flashlight caught the wheels of bicycles ahead and I knew I was close to my target. I stopped and began my search along a wall past the exercise equipment. That's when I saw them. A row of large daggers in cloth sleeves. Those would be perfect around my waist or boots. I even had delusions of taping them to the bottom of my boots with the tip sticking out. I imagined myself kicking a zombie in the head with one. I would be badass with them.

The problem is, they were under glass, in a case. I wrestled with the dilemma of how to get them, for a fleeting moment I considered calling for an employee. What an idiot. I got two ten-pound weights and threw them into the glass, smashing it.

Before I could retrieve a single knife, I heard them. Zombies made a low howling sound that grew. They were getting closer. I scooped up three of the knives and threw them in my cart. I debated going after the rest, then I did. I scooped up a bunch. Instead of putting them in the cart and leaving, I unsheathed them.

It was time to see if my training paid off. I tried not to shake as I waited for them. When they burst through, I began throwing, one knife in the head to each of them. I got three and missed a fourth. It came at me with fantastic speed, it was a strong zombie. Shining my light ahead, I ran for all I was worth.

I zigzagged through the maze of overturned carts, discarded clothing, and the like. I was able to open a small lead and went in a circle, back to my cart. At the last instant, I changed plans and went for one of the zombies I dropped earlier. I had enough time to pull the knife from its head, aim, and throw. The zombie howled and fell to the ground dead.

I was so tired and out of breath, all I could do was bend and collect myself. The zombie at my feet moved. With a strong swift kick to the head, it moved no more. I grabbed my cart and made my way to the front of the store, vowing never to do that again. Halfway there, I thought about the knives I left behind. It was too big of a risk to go back, I would make do with the few in my cart. I had had enough of zombies for the day.

At the front of the store, a man had his back to me. I halted my cart and eased one of the daggers out of its sheath.

It was hard to see who it was that stood by the registers. I could make out that it was a lone man and that his back was turned away from me. I stopped. I had the advantage of surprise on my side and put it to good use. In my head, I went over everything I had learned about zombies. They had red eyes— that wouldn't help me as long as he was turned away from me. Neither would the tell-tale drool from its mouth or its crooked teeth.

He hadn't seen me, so him wanting to eat me as proof that he was a zombie, was of no use at the moment. I saw no cuts, fatal wounds, and he stood still. I had to admit my knowledge was low and proving useless. I took a chance. I carefully pulled out a knife. My marksmanship was my best military asset. Back in camp, I scored in the top ten consistently.

I got a sense of his distance and judged it to be fifteen yards. I was good with any weapon at up to twenty yards, so he was in my range. With a knife, I can hit a target just outside twenty yards and with a bow and arrow, add another fifty. What I wouldn't give for a rifle. I never got a chance to see how far away I could be with a scoped-rifle, but my sergeant suggested I try sniper training.

Our army training began with us watching films of zombies eating and chasing people and techniques to combat them. I had followed the manual to date and had always made it a practice to strike them from a distance away. Now, I was near one. I reverted to my training and chose distance.

On the floor near me, I saw overturned clothes racks. I bent down and crawled to one and took a shirt out of its hanger. I crawled back to my cart with it. With a hanger in one hand and a knife in the other, I threw the hanger toward the figure's right. The man turned toward it and then I saw, he was a zombie.

It wasn't his growl, he made none. It was his eyes. From where I crouched, the sunlight caught them and they weren't normal. Besides that, a long bloody scar went down the right side of his face. The scar ran from the top of his head and ended gruesomely at a torn chunk of skin near his neck. I also saw that part of his nose had been eaten.

"Turn around," I whispered.

I couldn't take him out the way he faced. My knife was sharp and I knew I could hit him. The problem would be where to hit him. My training led me to believe the perfect spot was between the eyes and it hadn't let me down yet. I waited.

The zombie mocked me. Why wouldn't it face me and die like a good zombie? It chose to frustrate me by being slow in its reactions. Katy and Ruthie had been practically elite athletes compared with his movements. The good news is that his demeanor brought me relief in a curious manner. I didn't fear him as I had my previous encounter. Still, I was cautious. This new world had taught me nothing is at it seems and the next moments would bring the lesson home.

The zombie looked in the direction I threw the hanger. He moved slowly toward it. He stopped. I heard his low howl as he opened his mouth. It was a sound that rose in volume as his mouth widened. In front of him, three more zombies came out of the shadows. These three moved more fluidly than the other. They approached the hanger and looked curiously at it. A sound was made by one to his nearest companion. That one then turned to the next and looking into his face, made the same brief sound. That last zombie turned to the far-off slow zombie and made the same sound. He then repeated the sound. The three zombies turned and walked back into the shadows.

"Oh-my-god!"

I hoped I had whispered my shock, I hadn't. The slow zombie looked at me and opened his mouth wide. Without hesitation, I leaped up, took aim, and threw my knife into his skull. I hit him before the sound could come out of his mouth.

I bent and breathed a sigh of relief. I killed him before he could warn the others. As I breathed, panic set in. They can communicate. My pulse quickened. I tried drying my sweaty palms on my pants, then reached down into the mess of clothes around me and used some garment as a towel. I washed my face before grabbing my cart and pushing it toward the front doors with caution.

This would be a bad time for the wheels on my cart to start squeaking. I listened to them as I slowly made my way to the front. My cart was full and rode evenly on the store's smooth surface. Checking all around me like a paranoid schizophrenic, I made it to the door. The store had no power and the glass doors had been busted out long ago. I stepped out first and then lifted my cart over the door's bottom edge. I was out of the store and nearly home free.

Brittany and I had discussed strategy for today's shopping adventure. When finished, we would take our cart outside away from the front of the store. The zombies didn't eat canned food or care about our undies or clothes, so the cart would be safe in the parking lot. I wheeled it a ways off and performed another check of the area for stray zombies.

It was now time to go to work. I grabbed my pack from under the tree and dove into the bottom of the cart. I began my packing with the jerky and penlights first. Then the pack of batteries I found for Brittany's flashlight, then the clothes. I put in my things followed by Brittany's and last the others. If I ran out of room, the boys' clothes would get tossed. I'm not being mean, I'm being practical. This is a new world where looking out for number one is more than a choice, it's a reality.

On the off chance Brittany is killed, I could wear her clothes, so it made sense to pack them before the others. The last items packed were my knives. I was down to two. I pressed everything in tightly, zipped my pack, and tossed it back under the tree.

I wanted to judge the time of day and looked at the sun for help. This was never my strong suit, I stopped. Throughout the parking lot, I saw cars beaten in and bloodied with both red and greenish-black blood. They littered the area and most had collided with one another, few were neatly parked. Broken glass lay in each car. Some had bodies in various degrees of decomposition, though most were empty; their doors wide open in a possible escape attempt.

I hadn't noticed it before, but at the edge of the lot was an overturned army truck. My heart skipped a beat. M16's, grenades, rocket launchers, and food could all be in the truck. I didn't hesitate. My feet carried me toward the truck.

A zombie growled inside the store, followed by a scream, a human scream belonging to Brittany. I looked at the storefront and then at the truck. I can only assume it was hyperventilating that happened next, my chest heaved and I felt trapped. A new zombie howl forced my feet into the direction of the store. I ran with reckless abandonment and dived through the broken glass entrance door and rolled along the floor.

I was on my feet quickly and scanning. No zombies were near me. The howling and screams were coming deeper back into the shadows of the store. They were in the direction the three zombies took. I ran toward the area. I know I should have stopped at the registers and searched for a penlight, there was no time. I had to get there before my friends died. I ran straight ahead and was in the food section of the store. The floor was slick in places, I imagined it was blood. Curiosity got the better of me. I stole a glance at my feet to see the multicolored stickiness. Using my limited reasoning skills, I deduced I was in the food section and if it wasn't blood, it was water and other crap. Probably from freezers going bad that contained my favorite vice, ice cream, Chunky Monkey to be exact. The thought pained me. I pushed it out of my head and continued my mission. Down a long aisle I saw light. The ceiling had partially fallen and the sun shone through. Thank god for small favors.

Past this bright area, I came to a wall. The wall had cut me off from the rest of the food section. I went around looking for a way around it, then I looked up to see if I could get over the top. The wall must have been twenty feet. There was no way I could get over that wall. I continued, frantically looking and then ahead saw shopping carts. They were on each side of an opening. Before fear could stop me, I went between the carts, telling myself my team needed me. Past the carts, I saw shelves with canned goods on them. They must have a shitload of supplies. After another scream, I ran farther in and saw nothing of my friends.

Listening to the sounds of their fighting, I went deeper toward the very back of the store. There I saw my friends, all alive and fighting. Thompson held zombies off with what I imagine were his signature move. Thompson threw cans at two slow zombies, they took a step toward him, then were pushed back by a large can of something. These cans were so big you needed two hands to lift and throw them. Like cannonballs, they flew at their targets.

I left him to it and joined my friends who were in hand-to-hand combat with a team of zombies. Brittany's screams were not from fear or yelling for help, they were battle screams. She made them as she launched into zombies with her metal pipe. Pride wailed up in me as I watched. My other team member, Jones, was more of a grunter. His grunts were low as he poked and jabbed with broken broomstick handles. When I came alongside them, Jones winked at me, before jabbing a zombie in its eye. He pushed and then pulled his stick back.

"Catch," said Jones.

"Thanks." I caught the stick.

"Welcome to the party."

With my new weapon, I began my charge. The stick was long enough for me to grab it in the center and twirl it. I could hit zombies on my left and right and hold my ground. I moved away from the others for more room. My friends had killed many of the creatures and more poured in.

"Hey," shouted Charley. "Over here."

I didn't see him at first. I went up a little ways and around the corner I heard the zombie screams. I ran up around the corner and there was Charley and more zombies.

Thinking he needed my help, I moved to where he fought two zombies. I took my first whack and got it, but broke my stick. "Oh crap!" I now understood why Jones jabbed and poked, instead of all-out swinging. The zombie moved at my feet. I gathered my strength and with a powerful kick, I put my combat boot through its skull, finishing him.

"Get another one over there." Charley yelled.

I looked where he pointed and saw the container holding the brooms. I ran for it. I made it, but not before punching a zombie in my path, there was no time to kick it. I went for the brooms. Immediately, I saw them packed in the same box, metal sticks, and wooden sticks. I touched a metal stick and it felt like it was too cheap and thin for the job. I quickly touched a wooden and was satisfied. I grabbed one and untwisted the end while looking up for zombies. I figured I had enough time. I grabbed a second and a third. I carried them all back and lay two at my feet just as more zombies attacked.

My plan was to give Jones back the one I had so recklessly destroyed and used the other as a spare. I looked foolish twirling one broom handle while two others lay between my feet. It didn't matter, I was on a mission. I shook the nonsense out of my head and went to work. I discovered I could swing carefully and then use the jab method. I did both. Whatever it took to get them to fall, I did. Once on the floor, I jabbed with all my might, directly into their eye sockets. For some, I used a good swift kick.

Charley led me forward toward a set of metal double doors. "If we close those doors, we stop them."

"All right."

"Let's get them."

"No problem."

We battled and laid waste to all zombies in our path. We made it to the doors and together shut them. Next to the doors was a metal chain. Charley wrapped the chain around the door handles and I slid my broomstick through them to seal the deal.

We hurried back to help the others. They didn't need us; they stood victorious with dead zombies at their feet. I was in time to see Thompson finish off the last zombie. He stood over the fallen zombie and smashed its head with one of his giant cans of vegetables.

"Did you get it?" I teased.

"I always do," said Thompson. His smile was sickening as usual.

"Hey, Zee," said Brittany, flicking goo off her boots. She walked over to me. "We wondered what happened to you."

"What happened to me? I finished a year ago. What happened to you?"

Jones turned to me. "You saw it on the way back here, the shopping carts and the wall. This must have been a hideout for people."

"I don't see any bodies," added Thompson. "I guess they're zombies."

"Well, what did you guys find?"

"We got a shopping cart full of stuff back there." Brittany answered with pride.

"You ladies get the cart," said Jones. "We are going to take a look in automotive and check firearms."

"Have fun."

"Yeah," said Brittany.

We left to get the cart and get out of the zombie-filled store.

Chapter Ten

Brittany and I began the task of navigating the full cart out the store. The cart was so heavy, it almost tipped over twice. I strained to keep it upright. The last test for us would be to get the cart over the door.

"Wait," I said as we made it to the last register by the door.

"What?"

I went back to the slow-moving zombie and pulled my knife out of its head. I found something to wipe it down with and stuck it in my back pocket. My knife total climbed back to three. Though we had no room for them, I saw a plentiful treat, so I grabbed them and put them in my other back pocket. The world was ending and I wanted a delicacy, what could it hurt?

We struggled to get the cart over the door. In the end, we kicked the bottom out of our way and wheeled our cart out. Under the tree, we went. Brittany grabbed and opened her backpack and handed it to me. She then went back and got Jones' pack and opened it.

"Get the small canned food first, Zee. Start with the potted meat and then the Vienna sausages."

"Okay." I went to work.

"I'll get the sardines and a couple cans of salmon for Jones. I'll put it in his pack so he will be the one carrying it. I'm not carrying them, they are too heavy and I can live without them."

"Okay."

We worked in silence for a minute. They had found a whole case of potted meat and another of Vienna. I debated how much of each to put in her bag. My bag was full, but I knew its weight. I could carry more. I went and got my bag and put ten of the potted meat in its folds. After that, I could semi-stack the rest in her pack in a way that wouldn't look so bulky. I lifted it to fill the weight. It was heavy, but manageable.

"Put more in there," said Brittany.

She saw my test and didn't approve. Her look was one I had seen many times at camp. Everyone misjudged her and called her everything from a wallflower to a paper princess. She was beautiful; there is no denying it, even on her ugliest day I couldn't hold a candle to her beauty. She was, however, much more and had to constantly prove it. She wasn't a weak female that needed coddling. Often, she would be the first into the fray. I could only assume hitting things gave her power and comforted her.

We loaded our bags and picked up new ones, Thompson's and Charley's bags. Not knowing and not wanting to ask what they preferred, I began putting random cans in their packs. Charley had a cloth sack he threw over his shoulder, it couldn't hold as much as ours. He looked as if he liked vegetables, I put a lot of them in his sack.

Brittany opened Thompson's pack and carefully stacked cans into it. The pack wasn't as big as ours, but it held a lot. She put in flip-top soups and others that required no can opener for access. Most of the cart went into our five bags. The few remaining items we could carry or eat as we marched on toward Camp Brandt.

"Here," said Brittany.

She handed me a can of Vienna sausages and a box of animal crackers. "Thanks."

"Hurry, before they come out."

"All right."

I started eating. I wished I had something to wash it down with and that was the first time I thought about water. I knew we might not find it here, it's been two years. I hoped for juices. They can survive in cans like the food.

"Aww! That sucks."

"What?"

Brittany threw it to the ground. I looked at the small container; it had a straw in it. I couldn't read the writing, but I knew it was a children's drink. I wanted to pick it up and check the other side, maybe the writing was clearer. I never got the chance. Thompson stepped through the door carrying a bloody duffel bag, followed by Jones, then Charley.

They walked toward us. I remembered Brittany's words and shoved a sausage in my mouth. For some reason, I reverted to a little child and thought they might take it from me. I managed to stuff another in my mouth before they were next to us.

Thompson laughed at me. I felt even smaller. He looked at the discarded container and at both of us. Brittany wiped her mouth, wearing an unpleasant frown. He judged her to be the drinker of the foul beverage. "I told you, didn't I?"

"Whatever."

"It's not whatever. It's common sense, something you are evidently lacking."

"Hey," I managed to say with a mouthful of sausages.

He turned his gaze on me. "Any liquid in a paper container is no good." His voice boomed at me. As if I was an idiot, who couldn't hear or understand basic English. "Besides that, it's been a long time since you have had that stuff. It will tie your stomach in knots and god knows what else."

"You could have just said that," I said in Brittany's defense, making sure not to spit out my meal.

Thompson glared, "I did."

"Whatever." I said it fast and went back to eating.

"What did you guys find?" Brittany asked.

Jones set his bag down and unzipped it. "I didn't get anything, except this bag and a couple bottles of whiskey. I picked up a shirt we can cut and stuff into them." When he stopped talking, I looked at him. His face widened into his evil grin.

"What?"

"Molotov cocktails. That is, if I don't drink them first." He chuckled.

"And you?"

Thompson was the only one I had seen with a bag. He shook his head. "I thought we needed something more to carry the food."

"Why is it so bloody?"

"I pulled it from under a rotting zombie."

I thought he said the last part for my benefit. I was the only one eating. I tried to think happy thoughts, like gutting him with one of my knives. I could draw a smiley face around his belly button.

I dismissed the thought, focusing on the good. He did a good thing. I guess I can give him an ounce of credit, as long as he doesn't grin. It wouldn't happen too many times, but I had misjudged him, he could be a team player.

"Don't let him fool you," said Charley. He grinned. "We found batons."

"Oh." Jerk! I didn't misjudge him.

Charley turned his attention to Brittany.

"I thought maybe we might eat these on the way," said Brittany.

"I heard that," said Charley. He reached into the cart and popped open a can of the sausages. I offered him some of my crackers. "Thanks."

"No problem."

The others picked a can from the cart and I packed the leftovers in Thompson's duffel bag. We started on our journey, weighted down with our haul. If not for Jones going toward the overturned army truck, I wouldn't have given it another thought.

"I saw that truck earlier. It may have weapons we can use."

Jones debated. "I don't know."

"Let's take a chance," said Brittany.

"All right, people, let's be careful." Jones led the way, we followed. I took my rear position and looked everywhere. No zombies appeared in the parking lot. We had to zigzag around wrecked cars, glancing inside them as we went. I feverishly searched for the walking dead.

It took the longest time to do the simplest things. Zombies could jump out at you from anywhere. Even though the distance between the parking lot and overturned truck was short, it took forever to get there. We moved slowly because of our bags, but made steady progress toward our goal.

Charley broke off. It took a couple of minutes, for me to notice him missing. I looked around for him, it would be better for me to find him than to make a commotion. After all, I was watching our six and he disappeared right in front of me. I dropped back a little and looking to my left, I found him.

Charley sat inside an abandoned car with no front windshield. I was lucky to catch a glimpse of him, his head bobbed up for a split second, then was gone again. I looked up at the others continuing to walk to the truck before sprinting to Charley.

"Hey, what is going on?"

"I can get this to run."

I looked at him, bent over the car, working on some wires. I looked around and then back at him, he had a piece of wire between his teeth, stripping the plastic cover off it.

"What are you doing?"

He gave me a confused look. "The battery is still good. If I can—" he touched two of the wires and the inside dash lit up. I can't tell whose grin was bigger, his or mine. "This might be our lucky day."

I looked at the dash and found the gas gauge, it read half a tank. I didn't know how far we had to go, but this was a small four cylinder and it could surely take us a hundred miles or more. "Oh my god! If you can get this to work. We can be at the camp in a heartbeat."

"My thoughts exactly."

"How much longer?"

Confusion spread across his face. "I have no idea. I guessed the thickest red wire was hot and I touched it to ground and it sparked. That let me know the battery had juice. With what I can remember, I think it is best to avoid black, brown, and gray wires. I'm going to touch the others one by one and see what happens, but first, I have to raise the hood and disconnect the horn."

"Why? Can't you do everything from down there?"

"The last thing I need is to activate the horn and send a thousand zombies down on us."

I took a deep breath. "Well, good luck. I will catch up to the others and let them know. If you get it going, you know where we'll be." I have no idea why I whispered. It may have been to hide my anxiety.

Charley smiled up at me and then he was back down low, under the dash. I zigzagged through the mess and caught my people as they made it to the truck. I crept up, "anything good?"

Jones looked at me as if he wanted to kill me. I guess I was supposed to really guard our six. I'm sure he thought I slipped back into my old habits, only they took a new form. "Check the cab, Baker. We got this."

"Yes, sir." I was wrong, I can't deny it. I wasn't going to waste time arguing. I went around the front to search the cab for something useful. I wasn't choosy, anything would do: a map, a compass from the glove compartment, a nine millimeter, or a good-sized stick. "Oh shit!" I knew it couldn't last. Zombies saw us and came in mass numbers.

At first they moved slowly as if they had all the time in the world, a pack of them. When I took a step backward to run, that's when one on the end howled and they all came at us, howling and running.

"Jones! Jones!" I screamed, racing to the back. "Brittany!"

They must have heard them. When I got to them, none of them searched the wreckage like before, all watched the approaching zombies.

"Run!" Jones shouted and we did. We ran back the way we came. Though we clutched our prized possessions, we or at least I, was ready to drop them and run even faster.

Beep, beep, beep. A horn blasted.

We ran in its direction, Charley barreled down the road. He screeched to a halt and we jumped in. Charley hit the gas, not to mention many of the cars, as he peeled out of the lot. For pure pleasure, I looked from the back seat at the chasing zombies. They howled and kept running, but they would never catch us.

Charley navigated the maze of streets and got us away. We gave him high praise and he ate it up, with a grin to end all grins.

Chapter Eleven

Charley barreled down the road at a healthy speed. I sat swished in the back, between Jones and Brittany. "Everyone okay?"

"Yeah, we're fine."

Charley looked through the rearview mirror to verify what I had said. His eyes went from Brittany to me to Jones. His forehead wrinkled, giving me pause. I wondered if something might be wrong that we didn't know about, perhaps something with the car. "You sure?"

I saw him looking directly at me. "Yeah, I'm sure. How about you, you okay?"

"Better than you," his eyes went to Jones. "How far is it?"

Jones leaned forward to look out the absent windshield. It looked strange, to be in a moving car with no windshield. Somehow we were lucky and there were no small pieces of glass to fly at us. All looked normal except for the windshield wipers that stood straight up, impairing the view. Twice Charley knocked them out of his way and they came back.

Jones didn't consult his map. He looked out the window and read a road sign. "About forty-two miles straight ahead. Do we have enough gas to get there?"

"She'll get us there with plenty to spare." Charley talked about his love with pride. I only hoped he was right.

Jones sat back and closed his eyes. The rushing wind felt good. I followed his lead and leaned back. We were nearly there and for the most part in great shape. The ones we lost flashed across my mind and I allowed it. It wasn't sad like I thought it would be, it was joyous. I can see all of them clapping for us because we made it. Who wouldn't want someone else to make it if they couldn't? I closed my eyes tighter and listened to the wind and the car. Sometime later, I fell asleep.

Movement jolted me awake. My body flew forward into the headrest of the seat in front of me. The sudden jarring sent me into a tailspin. I had no idea where I was other than in the car. I couldn't tell up from down and was in the most unusual position I had ever been in. The chaotic voices around me came roaring into my head and made no sense at all. I put my hands to my head and did my best to drown out the noise and focus.

"Is he dead?" Brittany was saying.

"I don't know?" Jones replied.

"I hope to hell he is," shouted Charley. His voice had a quality I couldn't place. "Did you see that bastard's eyes?"

"What?" I managed, struggling to right myself.

"I can't believe it," said Brittany. "I've never seen them like that before. What do you suppose made it happen?"

"Did he leave your sight in the store?" Jones demanded. "Either of you?"

"What?" I tried focusing again. The cobwebs were clearing and I was seeing better now. We were all in the car. I sat up, I was on Jones, and he was bracing me. Brittany's face looked horror stricken and Charley was up front. Thompson was missing. I straightened to look over his seat and he was not on the floor or hiding. Thompson was not in the car with us.

That is when the full picture came into view. Brittany was trying to open her door while talking but couldn't. She pounded, pushed, and lifted but the door wouldn't open. In the front, I saw where we were, or more precisely, where we weren't— the road was gone.

We were off the road and directly in front of us, through the missing windshield, I saw steam rising from our smashed hood. The next thing I saw was a piece of bark hanging off a giant tree that we had somehow wrapped ourselves around.

Charley turned to me. "Are you okay?"

"What?"

"Are you okay? Can you even hear me?" Charley waved his hand in front of my face as if I were a blind person.

"I hear you," that much was true. Now that my hearing was back, I heard them all, I just had no clue what was happening and no one was explaining it to my satisfaction. "What the fuck happened?"

"Your buddy, Thompson," said Charley, "he's a fucking zombie. The motherfucker tried biting me. I lost control of the car and we crashed."

"Charley?" Brittany shouted. "I saw you clear as day."

Charley put his head down. Whenever Simon got in trouble, that was always his first response. In the beginning it was shame, but as he got older I came to realize it was a secret weapon and he was working me. Charley lifted his head and looked back at me. "Sorry. I kind of steered us into the tree, hoping to take him out. I didn't have time for anything else."

Before I could respond to this new information, Jones leaned into me and then kicked our door open. We got out of the car and waited for Charley to hop over the seat and join us. That gave me time to gather my wits and look around.

We were in a field or maybe it was part of a park system. Our wrecked car lay a thousand feet away from the road. I walked to the front to have a better look at the damage, the front left wheel lay flat on the ground. It wasn't alone, part of the car and I can't say which parts were lying with it, clearly snapped off at a jagged edge.

"My god, will somebody please explain this and make it make sense."

Charley pointed in the distance. I looked and saw a crumpled body. It was Thompson. I looked at Charley for verification, he nodded his head. "That's him."

"What happened?"

"You and Jones were asleep." He looked at Brittany, wanting to include her in the number. Her look said she would call him out if he tried. "We were going along all right and then Thompson turned and looked at me. Well, first I saw his hand was twitching. I thought maybe he was having a nightmare or he was reliving what we went through. Then he looked at me and his eyes, they were red.

"He reached for me and I hit him in the head. I lost control and the car went off the road. I don't know what he was doing. He was grabbing at the steering wheel. We came in this direction and I saw the tree. I thought if I hit it, he would fly into it and the impact would kill him. It was the only weapon I had.

"I hit the tree and he flew out of the car and landed there. That's it, the whole story." He wiped his hands on his jeans.

I began walking to Thompson.

"Zee! What are you doing?" asked Brittany.

"I want to see for myself."

Jones shouted, "What?"

"I need to see for myself."

I continued walking. I never liked Thompson and if he were a zombie, good riddance. Still, I hated losing anyone to them. There were so few of us, he was one of our original members.

The others followed in silence. I guess they figured trying to talk me out of it was a waste of time, it was. I had to see him for myself. I have questions that I want answers to and this man held those answers.

When I reached him, he was lying face down. My hand slightly shook as I reached for him and gently touched him, he felt human. I gently turned him over and looked into his face. There were scars and gashes and bright-red blood was gently flowing from his wounds. I convinced myself Charley dreamed it all. Thompson's blood was red, not greenish-black. If not for the blood, he might be sleeping.

Brittany came around the other side and knelt behind me. I wondered if she was thinking as I was. I turned to her warm smile, moral support. It gave me the courage I needed to open his eyes for the proof I needed. I faced the man, reached toward his eyes, and them sensing me, opened on their own.

Thompson's eyes locked on mine and neither of us moved. His eyes transfixed me and I couldn't break the stare. I tried, oh god how I tried, it wasn't happening and never would. His eyes held me and I became his servant. If he had asked it, I have no doubt I would have done it.

I knew it wasn't right and something was horribly wrong. I tried again and the same result occurred. Giving up on escaping, I tried something new, I moved my eyes from the blackness of his eyes to look at the white portion and see if it was red like Charley thought. When I did, I saw only white. Charley was wrong. I couldn't stand this man, and if I could choose one of our number to fall, it would be him. He was human.

"Zee?" Brittany pushed me.

It did the trick, I was back. "What?"

"You didn't hear me talking to you just now?" Brittany's face was a puddle of worry. "I thought I might have to slap you."

"I'm fine."

Of course, I was. Thompson was okay. If he were a zombie, he would have eaten me by now. I stood and faced Jones and Charley. "You were wrong; he is as human as we are."

"Bullshit!" Charley went around me and looked for himself. "I saw them, damn it, I saw them. This fucker had red eyes. Why else would I crash the car?"

"You tell me," Thompson's reply was low.

"Oh shit!" Brittany said. She ran for the car and jumped into the back seat. Jones was behind her and then Charley. My reactions were slow. It took time before I saw what they saw. I rubbed my head out of curiosity and there was a lump there. That explains it.

They grabbed our bags. Zombies were coming from the road toward us in large numbers. I scanned the trees and saw a house and a pond. I sprang into action. I got behind Thompson and lifted him. Throwing his arm over my shoulders, I propped him up and we moved toward the house.

The others caught up and ran past us to the house. Somehow I was in this alone. Thompson was fine, I knew it. The others took Charley's side. They were all wrong and would regret it. I hobbled along as fast as I could. It quickly became crystal clear that we weren't going to make it to the house. These zombies were fast. There were a lot of them and the ones in the front were like athletes running a race and we were the prize.

"Go to the back," shouted Jones.

I headed that way, but it was only me, the others stayed. Jones opened his bag and with weapons at the ready, they stood their ground. I kept going with Thompson. We could make it to the back of the house. I stole one last look at my team battling the zombies. So good so far, they were all on their feet.

We made it to the rear of the house when Thompson fell. I dragged him toward the back door. When I got to it, the door burst open and a zombie came out. While Thompson lay on the ground, I had no choice but to fight. The zombie was one of the slower moving ones, making me feel better. I kicked it back into the door and it fell backward. The zombie came at me again and with a swift kick, it was on the ground. My boot went through its soft head to finish it.

Withdrawing my boot from its skull was more than gross. The greenish slime covered my boot and made it fill heavier. I began shaking it off when a new zombie came at me from the doorway. Clearly, zombies occupied the house.

I launched into the zombie with my bare fists. I was angry and treated it like a human and smacked it several times. It kept coming so I went for the kill. I knocked it down and struck it squarely in its head with my slime covered boot.

I wasn't waiting around for another zombie. No way could we stay there. I looked for a new house and to my right was the pond. Out in the center was a floating deck. It was perfect, so long as the water was deep. Instead of going into the house, I went behind Thompson, lifted him up, and headed for the deck. When I came out farther, I saw my team and they were battling several zombies. I was grateful none had fallen. With renewed strength, a dragged Thompson to the edge of the pond and gently laid him in the water. I put my arm around him and gently floated him on his back out to the floating deck.

Once there, I lifted him up onto the deck and then left. I wanted to check the pond's depth. Three feet from the deck I stopped and went vertical, trying to touch the bottom with my feet. I was nearly six feet and my feet didn't hit anything. Thank god. I swam back and hopped on the deck. I was a soldier first, and being at war, I searched my surroundings for weapons. The deck was clear except for a small tackle box. Inside the box I found hooks, strings, and the like, nothing useful. I sat down to collect my thoughts and form a plan.

My team was fighting without me. Thompson was safe and rather tame. I stood up to go back to help. I saw them coming as I readied to dive into the water.

"Brittany! Jones! Charley! Over here! Don't go into the house, come over here!"

They heard me and were coming. From where I was standing, I could see they looked a mess. Zombie brains, slime, and blood covered them. One by one they dived into the water and swam to me with their bags in tow. I wasn't worried about my team, we trained together. I worried about the new guy, we knew little about him and had no idea if he could swim or not. Relief swept over me when he dived into the man-made pond without hesitation and swam to us. I helped each of them up onto the ladder and our platform.

"Did you get them all?"

"Yeah," said Jones. "But more are coming. There must be as many as were at the store."

Brittany was huffing and puffing as she sat, then lay on the deck. "Maybe they're the same ones."

"You okay, Charley?"

"Yeah, I'm okay. We lost a bag in the fight. Maybe if they keep going we will have a chance to get it back."

"We can use it," said Jones.

"We seem to have enough." I looked around at all the bags we had, there was plenty of food.

"I would like to take as much as we can back to the camp." Jones said. "We have no idea what shape they are in and no matter what, I think what we have will be delicacies compared to what they have."

"I thought they were self-sufficient, I mean wasn't that the point of setting these places up and moving people into them in the first place?"

"You know that, Zee. I mean they have gardens, but who knows what they are able to grow and in what quantity? Those crackers you were eating this morning would be a luxury. If we can get stuff like that back to the camp, it could lift a lot of spirits."

"Oh."

No wonder Jones was our leader; he saw the big picture clearer than I ever would. I was about to praise him when we heard their roar and saw them coming. Zombies were coming at us like an army charging over a hill into a valley. I saw the ones up front, the fast and most deadly of the group. Behind them, most of the zombies fanned out. In the rear, the slow zombies lumbered forward. Parts of them were missing and they howled.

There was no time to panic. We were surrounded and every one of our group was in fight position, except for Thompson, who lie motionless on the floating deck.

Chapter Twelve

Everyone prepared to do battle when they showed up. The first of the zombies were screaming and running toward us. I braced for battle, standing on the floating deck in a come-and-get-me pose. I clenched my fists and my boots were ready. We separated taking different positions on the deck to defend all entry areas. My job was our right flank. I stood at the edge of the deck in the middle prepared to do battle on both sides of the platform.

The first zombies entered the water. They walked into the water and kept walking toward us until their heads went under the water. They then disappeared beneath its murky depths, only to rise at a weird angle, unable to control their bodies. They floated on the surface, howling and thrashing, trying to reach us. Unable to move forward, they sort of stopped and moaned lightly. The moaning stopped the others.

"Did you see that?"

"I don't believe it," said Brittany.

"Me either," said Jones. "Stay alert, people. Whatever is going on, it won't last long. Be ready for anything."

Charley came to my side. "Have you ever seen that before?"

"No." I lied. I should have told them about the store zombie incident. It nagged me. "Have you?"

Charley ran a hand through his hair, looking out at the water. "No, this is a first. I wonder what it means."

I thought of Thompson. He was in the center of the deck, lying on his back. Being a scientist, he would know. I ran to him and knelt beside him. He was out. I shook him and he looked at me. "Thompson, Thompson, the zombies have us surrounded, what can we do?"

He couldn't see them from his position, but like us, he heard them. He lifted his head and turned to see them. "Don't go into the water. If it is deep enough they can't get to you."

"It's more than six feet."

"That's deep enough. Stay here and wait them out. They will move on to fresh game." His voice was low and weak; I strained to hear every word.

"How long?"

"Until some poor soul comes along." Normally he would be wearing his familiar smirk at this point, perhaps flying from a moving car tempered him.

"Anything else we can do while we wait?"

"No. Wait them out." He lowered his head and drifted off.

I got up and huddled with the others. "He says to wait them out, they will eventually leave."

Jones scowled. "That's it."

"What do you expect from a zombie?" Charley's words were as venomous as his expression. The new look didn't suit him.

"He's normal. Zombies can't talk and his eyes are normal."

"I know what I saw!" Charley's face flushed with anger. He pointed to Brittany, "she saw it, too."

"Britt?"

"Look, Zee," Brittany sighed, "Charley may be right. Why is he out anyway?"

I fumed. "He flew through the windshield of a moving car. Who wouldn't be out of it?" My words shocked both myself and my leader. I caught him staring at me in disbelief. I can only assume it was my defense of Thompson that made him react that way.

"Maybe because he is slowly turning into a zombie." Charley said to me.

"I doubt it."

"How do you know?"

"How do you know?"

"Because I saw him with my own eyes. Maybe he can't get up because he's in the middle of changing."

Charley stepped toward Thompson and I jumped between him and his target. "I wish you would."

Charley had what looked like a policeman's baton in his left hand, covered with zombie brain and blood that dripped onto the deck. "Move!"

"Jones. I could you some help here."

Jones stood next to me, facing Charley. I looked at Brittany. She disappointed me when she didn't join us. I felt betrayed by her, so much for our blood bond.

"I'm sorry, Zee. I'm not sure," Brittany said.

I didn't look at her after that, I couldn't stand her betrayal. I focused on Charley. We couldn't have a moment's peace. If the zombies couldn't get to us, he had to be the hero and step up and ruin my day. I stood my ground, Jones and I.

"Move!" Charley held up his baton.

"You intend to hit me with that?"

"I will do whatever I have to do to survive."

"I'm not moving, so you are going to have to go through me."

"Me, too," said Jones.

I felt proud of Jones though I didn't deserve it. I was the one who had challenged his authority and took liberties worthy of a prison stay. Through it all, he was on my side and like Charley; he had a bloody baton in his hand and would no doubt use it on a fellow human being.

I had no weapon to speak of. My fists and my boots could take out a zombie, but against a human, what good would they be. I thought of my knives, locked away in my pack. Then I remembered I had a knife in my back pocket, if it were still there. I checked and it was. I pulled it out.

Jones and I eyed Charley with an intensity that would alarm any foe. Charley responded with an icy glare of his own. He had his weapon, Jones had his, and I prepared to stab, hit, kick, scratch, and bite, if necessary. Brittany, sensing our mood, stepped between us. It wasn't a step, we were too close together for that. It was more of a tight squeeze. A squeeze so tight, she rubbed against all three of us.

"Stop it. They are the enemy." Brittany pushed Charley back and pointed to the howling zombies waiting to devour us as soon as we came to them. "This is ridiculous and it will stop this instant. I don't know his condition and neither do any of you. For the time being, we are going to sit down and rest. We will have a bite to eat to stay strong and plan our strategy. If Thompson is a zombie, we will find out and take care of him. That is a promise from all of us." Brittany turned to Jones and me for confirmation. We nodded.

"I'll watch him. If he turns I will take care of him myself."

Charley nodded and cautiously sat down. He sat more to the end than to the center, keeping his sight on both the zombies waiting on us and the potential zombie he knew Thompson to be. I cautiously sat down next to Thompson and met Charley's gaze. Thompson had information we needed. This is what I told myself. I was not protecting the man, I was protecting the information.

Brittany sat down by Jones. I was glad she did, I wasn't sure if I wanted her next to me. She opened her pack and handed a towel to Jones. After whispering something in his ear, Jones got up and came to me. He tore the towel in half and gave me a piece of it. "I'll watch him, go clean up."

"Is that an order?"

"You better believe it."

"Don't trust, Charley. He isn't one of us."

"I don't trust anyone, not even you."

The gook on his face half covered his mischievous grin. For once, I didn't laugh or argue. I shot another glance at Charley and then I got up. I waited for Jones to take my spot and then I reached into my bag for my soap. At the edge of the deck, away from the ever howling zombies, I knelt down. Those few zombies who entered the water had somehow gotten to land and stood, drenched and howling with the others.

I leaned over and washed my hands. For the briefest of moments, I imagined a zombie beneath me, reaching up to grab me and pull me beneath the murky water. I really hate all the scary movies I watched. They weren't doing me any favors. I carefully washed my hands with the soap and got all traces of zombie off them. I dried my hands on the towel, then dipped it into the water. Making lather with my soap, I washed my face and then rinsed it.

If I were talking to Brittany, I would have suggested we go into the water together. We could have undressed, I'm sure the boys would have been well-mannered and turned their heads while we washed and changed. I could use new clothes. I looked at the drying blood on my clothes; my earlier swim washed a lot of the blood off them. I decided the rest wouldn't be a problem and I would wait until we made it to Camp Brandt. I could wait that long, it would only be until tonight or tomorrow at the latest.

So, I washed my face and hands and called it a day. Before getting up, I took off my boots and washed them. The water that flowed out of them shocked me. The whole time on the floating deck, I never imagined I had water in my boots. I didn't feel the water or hear it sloshing around.

My last task was to wash my towel and let it dry before putting it away. Odds are we were going to be here awhile, so it would have time to dry. I finished and went back to relieve Jones. I shot a glance at Brittany and didn't feel one ounce better about her betrayal. She needed to suffer and learn her lesson. You don't betray friends. We are family and she has no clue who this guy is.

"I'm back. Go ahead and get cleaned up."

"All right."

Jones rose and went to Brittany. I sat down with my back to both and resumed my hostile gaze at Charley. I wished he would try something. My knife was beside me and he was closer than the zombies.

I heard a splash behind me and figured it was Brittany jumping into the water. I would have turned to see, but I didn't want to take my eye off Charley or give her the satisfaction. She was braver than me and not as modest either. Brittany was something special, she most likely took off all her clothes and jumped in butt naked. It might have been for shock value, but I wouldn't turn to validate it. I was winning my battle with Charley—his head lowered, he fiddled with his fingers.

Thompson opened his eyes, giving me hope. "Thompson?"

"Missing me?" his wry smile was back, along with his voice.

The others were busy so if we were quiet, we could carry on a conversation. I knew he had information and if I were going to protect him, he was going to give me something for my trouble. "I need your help."

Thompson changed from adversary to gloating asshole in seconds. "What's in it for me, Zee Zee?"

"Don't call me that?" I said it so fast there was no stopping it. I needed a new tactic and thought of the accident. "Are you hurt?"

Thompson laughed softly. He knew what I was doing. "It's not my biggest problem right now, Zee —"

In a flash, my knife was in my hand and in his face, an inch from his nose. His eyes turned inward to see the tip. No more words escaped his lips. I smiled, put the knife away, and winked. He knew I meant business, my point was made, though I felt bad about the move. Life lessons and training, each hardened me.

I had no time for his games. I decided to lay my cards on the table and pray for mercy. "We are surrounded and you are the only one who can help us. Help me, please."

If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed it. Thompson looked remorseful. He turned his head to the side and looked at the zombies surrounding us and then he turned back to me. "There is still a chance that you will make it out of here alive."

"Tell me."

"Do you know sign language?"

"No."

"My mother was deaf. We developed our own language." He held up his right hand. I didn't see the point, but indulged him. He bent his thumb down, holding up four fingers on his right hand. "This means mercy or please, as in 'please help me or show me mercy.' Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Make the sign for me."

"Help us survive, Thompson. You owe us that, damn it."

"Make the sign."

"Fine!" I made the sign.

"Good, very good. That will come in handy real soon. As for your dilemma, the zombies are dying. It is happening at a slower rate than expected. They will eventually die out, but not before killing every man, woman, and child they can get their hands on.

"I'm glad you found the water, it is a good deterrent, either fresh or saltwater will help you. They decay faster in the water, especially saltwater and you obviously know they can't swim, so keep track of water areas. Never go in water that you can stand in, it has to be deep.

"The stronger zombies are right here in the country and isolated areas, because they infect people slower. In the cities, infection is rampant and everyone left is converted by now. That's good for you. Those zombies will be older and slower with weak skulls. With them, you only have to punch them in the head and destroy them. The danger is the new zombies; their scratch is deadliest. You can tell them by their eyes. At first turning, there is a light-red ring at the outer edge of the eye. Overtime it travels inward to the center and the whole eye turns red. The new ones are strong and have some intelligence. For a time, they speak and direct the others. They are fast and take longer to take down. They are the ones that require several whacks to defeat.

"But not for you, my angel. I will help you out and tell you a secret. Hit them in the back of the head, about an inch from the center, it's the softest point."

"You could have told us that before."

"You wouldn't have brought me with you if I did."

"Yes, we would have, we don't leave our people behind."

"Is that right, Zee Zee?"

"Don't call me that." I reached for my knife again.

"I'm only teasing. I like you, I thought you knew that."

"I think I'm a little too old for you."

"You are so stupid."

"What?"

"It was always you, Zora. I went to the bedroom to steal a look at you. I wanted to watch you sleep. You looked so beautiful."

I wanted to say something, but with his confession, I felt like the biggest jerk in the world. This man sat and told me his secrets and I couldn't find the words, I couldn't say anything.

"Brittany is undeniably beautiful, but you, you outshine her by a mile. If I had to pick one of you to save and one to leave behind, I would save you."

"Stop." I couldn't take much more of his honesty. "Is there anything more you can tell me about them?"

He smiled. "Don't get bit. It's a killer." He laughed.

"I'll do my best." My blushing hit me hard. I laughed to play it down.

"Live, Zee Z—"

I pointed at him and gave him a don't-you-dare look.

"Could you tell an old man the problem?"

I looked at him, debating whether to bare my soul. I thought it wouldn't matter, he would be dead soon. "ZZ stands for Zombie Zora. I hate it. Some of the guys in my squad think it's funny, I don't."

His eyes told me he wanted to speak, but he remained silent.

"I have a problem that causes me to freeze for a few seconds. It's a hesitation I can't control. They think I become a glazed-out zombie and tease me. I don't think it's funny, not one bit."

"I'll be the first to apologize to you. You are the bravest soldier I have ever met. Do me one favor, promise me you will live." With saddened eyes, he looked at me and the look touched me to my core. I can't explain it other than to say we connected. "I remember watching a TV program and this guy said, 'Live every day as though it was your last, someday you'll be right.' Zora, these are our last days and before you die, I want you to live and experience what is around you. There is still beauty and passion. I see it when I look at you. I hope you can forgive an old man a foolish fantasy. I wanted to touch your soft skin while you slept. Run my hand through your hair. One last touch before I die." With that, he closed his eyes again. I felt bad for every bad thought I had about this man. And with God as my witness, if he hadn't fallen asleep, I would have granted him his wish.

Chapter Thirteen

Thoughts of my conversation with Thompson played continuously in my head. How could I have been so wrong about him? Should I tell the others what he told me? They needed to know our situation. I told myself to relax and think of good things, my usual method of calming. It failed me this time and no matter what I did, I thought of Thompson and his words to me. When he was stronger, I would tell them and shame them all.

I got up to walk around, pacing helped me focus. Jones and Brittany were sleeping and Thompson was still out. I didn't care to check on Charley, he was a monster. It was late in the evening when our break came. My heart fluttered when I scanned the area and saw our break.

It was not the break I wanted and I wished I were not a witness to the carnage that would follow. The sun was nearly down, its orange aurora low in the sky. I couldn't see the distant road we needed to travel; houses blocked my view. However, I could see the nearby street and people, humans. They were running down the street as fast as they could. Running away from us.

"Hey!"

I stood so I could shout again and Charley tackled me. He put his hand over my mouth and pressed down hard. "Shut up!"

I struggled and managed to pull his hand away from my mouth. "What the hell are you doing?"

"You can't bring them here."

"What?"

"Your buddy," Charley was livid. His face twisted into one of loathing. He jabbed his finger next to me at Thompson. "Your zombie friend was right about that."

"So what?"

"Let them do their job. You call them this way and they will bring more zombies with them. We are trying to get rid of them, not attract them."

"We can help them." I snarled and twisted, trying to get to my feet.

"Let them go. With any luck, they will run far away and make it. But if they don't, at least they will take every zombie with them and we can get the hell out of here."

"You bastard!"

I couldn't believe he would be willing to sacrifice helpless people. This is the same man who had been so nice in the past. How could he have changed so quickly?

"Zee," Brittany's sad eyes came beside me. "He's right and so is Thompson. They are no different from any group of people. I'm sure there have been people who have seen us, but didn't help. We were taking zombies away from them so they could survive. They are doing the same for us."

"It's not the same thing and you know it. What happened to you?"

"I'm surviving, Zee, and so are they. We are alive. Maybe at the end of the day, they will be alive, too."

"That is bullshit and you know it."

"People probably thought that about us and we are still here, Zee."

Charley released me and I stood, defeated. I watched as six people ran down the street. It saddened me when one fell. I was hoping one of the others would go back and help her, but they didn't. They continued and I know they heard her screams.

Zombies launched themselves down at the woman and though they were barely audible, I placed my hands over my ears to block out the screams. We watched a pack of zombies eat the woman. I was thankful when she finally went silent and succumbed to her fate.

Many of the zombies continued to chase the others. Those left, tore the dead woman in pieces. There was no way she was going to turn into one of them; there wouldn't be enough of her left for the transformation. Zombies came in and bit off a piece, one after the other. A leg came off and several munched on it together. Some sat down to feast on their findings like it was lunchtime at a day at the park.

When they finally finished, they had forgotten all about us, trapped on a floating deck only a few feet from their grasp. They left, taking the same route the other zombies took. A few of them went into various houses in search of food, but most scattered.

By now, Thompson was up and looking. If he could help us, now was the time.

"Baker, over here." Jones called me.

I walked over to him. He and Brittany were lining up bottles. Charley was ripping up a shirt. "Yeah?"

"Give me a hand."

I knelt next to him. "What?"

"It's time to get the hell out of here. We are going to make Molotov cocktails and throw them at some of the houses. With any luck, we will get the zombies inside. While the others are confused by the fire, we will make our escape. You ready?"

Jones handed me a couple of bottles. I wasn't exactly sure how to make the cocktails. It couldn't be that hard. I took the tops off two bottles and copied Jones' moves. I stuffed a rag in each, leaving enough room to light the fuse. In all, we made six. We had more bottles, but on second thought, Jones thought six would be enough.

Looking at me, Jones said, "Your job is to get Thompson. Dushell, Charley, and I will light and throw the bottles. You need to be at edge of the water ready to go." I wanted to throw the cocktails, it would be thrilling. I loved setting fires and this one, would be setting an entire house on fire. I would control where it started and when, what a thrill it would be. I would also get the added pleasure of watching burning, screaming zombies. You couldn't beat the thrill of it. I wanted to argue with the plan. I had a better one. Jones and I got along and I didn't want to risk that, so I nodded my head, agreeing with his plan.

Jones helped me ease Thompson to the edge of the deck. Thompson had done an excellent job of floating on his back and surely he would be able to do it again. Like me, he agreed to the plan and put up no fight. I put my pack around me and eased us both into the water. We held onto the edge of the deck and waited for the others.

Thompson's eyes were kind. I could see them pleading with me to live these last days with gusto. I would, just as soon as I made it to Camp Brandt and saw my brother. He and I would live. Then, I would dance.

Being on the opposite side, we were able to see the others as they went and I so much wanted to be with my team. I focused on Jones. I have no idea why I resisted looking at the others. Well. That is not exactly true, I knew why. For Brittany, I was being petty and needed to cut it out. Charley was a different matter altogether. I tried remembering his last name and couldn't, I didn't even know that about our new ally. Oh well, it's not important.

Jones held his bottles high, between his teeth, he carried matches. He had floated on his back, lightly kicking with the bottles in the air. When he felt he was safe enough, he lowered his feet to stand, keeping the wicks dry. I could do that maneuver if I had the chance, I know I could. I watched Jones creep to the back of a blue house. He opened the back door, lit his wick, and threw in his bottle.

The house flamed up and burning zombies came out screaming. They dropped to the ground and burned. The others chose similar targets. At that point, I took off with Thompson in tow. I swam us to the end and pulled him out of the water. Jones ran back with the others to get their packs. Thompson was weak and managed to help as best he could. I felt his arm squeeze around me playfully as we walked out onto dry land to get ready for our next run. I gave him words of encouragement and he leaned on me as we readied to leave. It was the accident, I knew it. Who wouldn't have trouble after a high-speed toss? It was a miracle he was with us. With a second wind, we headed for the trees and away from the burning houses, arm in arm.

"Baker! Baker!"

I stopped and turned around.

"No! No!" Jones was on the ground and Brittany was with him. What was going on? Had he been attacked? How? Jones stood and there was nothing wrong with him. Brittany lit the fuse to the bottle he carried and he ran in my direction. "Get down! Get down!"

I looked in front of me. I heard their screams before my head had whipped around to see what the problem was. Zombies. They were coming from the other direction, our escape route. I went low, pulling Thompson down with me. Thompson didn't lie, he was living life to its fullest and with all the gusto he could muster. Here we were in a life-and-death situation, maybe even dying tonight, and he was lying next to me on the ground, being handsy.

I could have stopped him, the thin white top I wore provided no protection from the events. I thought, what to do, but his words rang true, Live! Don't forget you are alive. So I relaxed and went with it.

After we dropped, Jones stopped and threw his cocktail. He hit a zombie and it caught fire like an instant torch. The zombie bumped into another and they burned.

Jones chose a route and we ran. Zombies were behind us, cutting us off from the floating deck. Up ahead were many houses. I stayed with Thompson and we followed Jones. Down the street we went in search of safety. We zigzagged through houses and yards and eventually lost the slow-moving creatures. We wound up at a two-story house and took refuge there.

Furniture packed the house. It took time, but we got everything moved and blocked both doors. Brittany strung cans together and tied them across the bottom of the stairs as an early warning device. I unpacked and gave out penlight flashlights to both Brittany and Jones. I claimed we were out, but Charley was next to me and the others were staring. I reluctantly gave him mine, hoping it would go out soon. We sat out on a mission to search the house for more supplies.

Jones found a bell we could use. He tied it to the top of the stairs. Charley raided the closets for dry clothes. He brought back something for each of us, except Thompson. I brought back heavy pans; they would make good weapons to swing. Brittany found a case of Mason jars. She told Jones we could pour whiskey in them and throw them at zombies. We learned from the fires that they burned easily and quickly.

The only thing left to do was to settle in for the night. I unpacked my backpack and we went off to change. I must say, I didn't want to. I wore a thin low-cut top with jeans. My clothes were clinging to me, normally it would terrify me, but I saw Thompson staring at me with his evil grin. It made me feel warm inside, knowing I was attractive and wanted. My body tingled and I felt heat where his eyes roamed. Why not enjoy the moment? I gave a small show and waited until last to change. I was shivering by that time, but I felt good. I thought of Thompson and went to talk to him. I told him I was sorry that I forgot to get him new clothes and offered him clothing from the boys' packs. He politely accepted and made sure to caress my hand as I handed him his new clothes. I smiled and then went off to change.

The upstairs held a large master bedroom. The bed would not be slept on. Like the others we found, it was placed against windows on the ground floor. We gathered blankets from the huge walk-in closet and made pallets on the floor. Safety in numbers.

No one wanted to be next to Thompson, he was on the end and I became the divider between him and my team. Jones would take the first watch, followed by Brittany, and then Charley. I wanted to object to the order, but didn't. Jones was in charge and if he trusted Charley more than he trusted me, so be it. I kept my boots on and as a last safety measure; I put my hammer in my belt and knife in my back pocket. At the first sign of danger, I would have weapons to swing. I miss my rifle.

I lie down and shut my eyes, hoping nothing more would happen before morning. I comforted myself with the knowledge that we were close to the Promised Land and now was not the time to give up. I would stay strong for me, for Simon.

Thompson sidled next to me in the darkness and let his hands roam. I allowed it for a moment. I would not take the next natural step, too many bodies were present. If we were alone, maybe, maybe not. I moved his hand and scooted closer to the others. He was a gentleman and went to sleep.

It was during the late night that my bubble burst. I should have known. A lot of shaking occurred next to me and woke me. I found my light and shined it on Thompson. Oh my god, his eyes were red and he was sweating profusely. I jumped up.

"I told you! I told you!" Charley was screaming. It was a mixture of happiness, relief that he was right, and fear.

Thompson was shaking and staring at me. Something was strange about it. "Wait." I had no idea what it was. Something was definitely off. Rather than panic like I should have, I looked at him and shined my light in his eyes again.

He was shaking and his eyes reacted to the light. "Can you hear me?"

He blinked. I kept looking at him and thinking, racking my brain for an explanation. He didn't utter a word, instead, he managed to lift his right hand and he lowered his thumb. It didn't hit me right away, then it registered. It was the mercy sign. He knew he was infected. All that time on the deck, his trying to teach me sign language, he was preparing me for what I would have to do. He had chosen me to end his life. I closed my eyes and fought back tears. Why would I have them anyway? This man meant nothing to me. From my belt, I pulled out my hammer. While the others watched in silence, I walked around to Thompson's head to find the spot he was talking about. I found it and I swung down, hard.

I stepped away from the dead body. I felt like throwing up and I didn't want to lose it in front of everyone. Brittany came over to comfort me. I should have accepted her offer, but I refused. The bond we made meant something to me and try as I might, I couldn't get past the idea of her throwing it away so easily.

Brittany was gracious, she didn't push at all. She was much better than I could ever be, which, made me dislike her even more. I was the only one who cared about Thompson and now that he was gone, I'm sure the others would party.

"What do you suppose did it?" Charley asked Jones.

"I don't know," said Jones, "damn peculiar. Come on, help me with him."

They went to move him and fire burned in me. I felt it spreading throughout my feet and an instant later, it shot all the way to the top of my head. I moved as if on fire. "Let him go! Let him go! Leave him alone, damn it!"

I pushed Jones back and swung at Charley with my bloody hammer. I wanted to knock his head off. If not for him, we wouldn't be in this mess.

"Zee," shouted Brittany. She rushed to my side and wrapped her arms around me.

"Let me go! Let me go!" I protested and tried to break free. Tears began streaming down my face as I fought to gain my freedom. Charley was smirking at me. The others couldn't see it, but I saw it clear as day. "He did it! It was him. He did something to Thompson when we weren't looking."

"Zee! Stop it." Brittany yelled.

"We don't know him. How do we know he isn't working for the government and infected him as some kind of test? What about us? He could have infected us, too."

"Zee, stop it. You don't know what you are saying. Stop it."

Charley glared at me as if I had lost my mine. I hadn't. It was reasonable, if you think about it. We didn't know him from the man on the moon. Could the others be so blind? I kept trying to break loose. After a while, I stopped. I was sweating. Brittany was singing to me. I didn't know when she had begun and don't know the song, but it was soothing and I was tired of struggling. I collapsed against a wall and listened to her sing.

"They need to check him, Zee. Maybe he has a bite. You remember Ruthie? She had a bite on her upper leg that none of us saw. Relax and let them check Thompson. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Check him," said Brittany.

I stayed still while Charley and Jones went to the body. They turned him over. Jones took off his shirt and put it over Thompson's head. He was kind to my friend, I appreciated that. Fearing I might try something, Jones told Charley to stay back and let him check. His words were comforting and I needed to hear them.

Jones began with the shirt. Thompson wore a blue long sleeve shirt. Jones unbuttoned the shirt and took it off. They saw no bites or scratches. They turned him over and saw nothing on his back. After removing his pants, they found what they were looking for. Thompson had a bite mark on his left leg above his ankle.

Brittany helped me to my feet and we came closer to have a look for ourselves. I can only guess that he was in a fight with a zombie and the zombie grabbed his ankle, maybe knocking him down and then biting him.

Thompson was our expert. If it had been one of us, he could have told us how long ago the bite was, to give us an estimate of when it occurred. Without him, we were lost.

"Could you put his pants back on, please?"

"Sure."

Jones turned the pants upside down and pieces of glass fell out of one of the pockets. The pieces were thin and had traces of a blue liquid on some of them. He turned the pocket inside out and it was stained blue.

"What the hell is that?" asked Brittany.

"You got me," said Jones. He picked up a piece and sniffed it. His eyes widened. "I bet it's a serum. This whole time he has been with us, he kept the truth from us. He got infected before we left the camp. That son of a bitch."

"You don't know that."

"Zee! Look at this."

The piece of paper had medical writing on it. Jones could be right. Thompson was a scientist and if a cure existed, he would have it.

"Oh my God! It's true." Jones said. "Back at the house, when I caught him peeking at little Katy, I kicked him. I thought I heard something shatter, but I wasn't sure and I was mad as hell. I just kept kicking him. It must have been his serum. I broke it when I kicked him."

"Then he knew he didn't have much time left."

"Yeah, Zee, I guess so," said Jones.

Jones looked sad. It wasn't his fault. He was protecting us from what he thought was a pervert. Turns out, we were both wrong.

"Could you cover him up, please?"

"Sure."

Chapter Fourteen

Though I killed him at his request, I couldn't bring myself to look at Thompson's body. The war was starting to get to me. I kept my back to them as they carried the body to a window and threw it out like garbage. I prayed I wouldn't hear the sound it would make hitting the ground. Thank god it was a soft thud.

"We had to do it," said Jones. "He would start to smell and we might be here longer than we expect to be."

"I know."

I stayed against the wall. I was not going back to sleep. To occupy myself, I took everything out of my bag and counted it several times.

Jones patrolled the area silently. Each time I counted he would appear and give me a painful look. He would then turn and go downstairs to check out the area before returning to catch me doing the same thing. I would then fold all the clothes before packing them back into my pack as neatly as possible.

There was nothing to say. Jones felt guilty and thought he responsible for Thompson's turning. I did my best to tell him it wasn't true and I no more believed my words than he. To a lesser degree, he was guilty. If he hadn't smashed the vial of serum, Thompson would be with us today. Then again, Thompson was a zombie long before I or my team met him. I call him a zombie because one bit him. He was in effect, a dead man walking. That serum he was taking was delaying the unavoidable, it wasn't a cure.

When Jones came into the room, this time I was ready for him. "Hey, you need to rest."

"You up to it?" asked Jones.

"You tell me." My humor was more deadpan than I intended. Jones gazed at me with an intensity I hadn't seen before. "Yes, I'm up to it."

"Stay alert and wake me if anything happens. Don't try to be a hero, Baker."

"I won't, Captain."

I checked my back pocket for my knife and my belt for my hammer. After confirmation, I left the room to check the rest of the house. The house was quiet. Charley was lightly snoring; it echoed down to me as I walked to a window and slid behind a mattress to look out. It was dark outside, pitch-black. There were no street lamps in this residential neighborhood to light the area. I let my eyes adjust and focused. With the aid of the moonlight, I saw movement in the distance. I tried to raise the window to listen. The window was locked and without looking, I ran my hand along its top for conformation. It was indeed locked.

I slipped back out and pushed the mattress tighter to the window and readjusted the metal bedframe against it to hold the mattress in place. We didn't think the zombies had enough intelligence to break a window and force a mattress out of the way. Our thinking was they would smell us and come in through the front door.

If I weren't a part of this new world, I would think we would cringe at the sight of a dead body or instantly throw up at the smell of rotting flesh, I would be wrong. In this new world the smell was routine, it was normal and everyone adjusted to it. How could we not? Dead bodies were everywhere; you couldn't get away from them. Haven't you ridden in a car with the window down and passed by roadkill? That's the natural smell of the world today. If it is constant, you get used to it and block it out. Any new smell will get your attention and for zombies, the smell of human flesh was that new smell.

Zombies found people wherever they hid. Like a bloodhound, they followed the scent and feasted.

I went to the back door to double-check it. It was a solid wooden door with two deadbolt locks and a chain door lock. I undid the lock and turned both deadbolts. Twisting the doorknob, it wouldn't open. I pulled and shook the doorknob, trying to get the door opened.

"What are you doing?"

I turned and saw Jones. He had his hands on his hips and was standing erect, looking at me angrily. "Trying to open the door."

"Why?"

"I was going to go out and take a look around our perimeter."

Jones waved his hand, "this is our perimeter, Baker. Are you inviting zombies into our perimeter? Is that your idea of guarding us while we sleep? Are you offering our enemies a feast?"

I said nothing. The confusion of his words was making me dizzy.

"Answer me, Private."

That did the trick. "Yes, sir. No, sir. I was not inviting the enemy to a feast, sir."

"Explain yourself, Private."

I was back at camp and rigid as I could possibly be. "I was inspecting our perimeter for enemy intrusion, sir."

"At ease, Private."

I relaxed. My heart beat faster but I slowed my breathing. Jones had a way with me that others didn't. I always wanted him on my side and felt secure whenever he was near me. "Could you tell me why I can't open the door, when I unbolted it?" I spoke as softly as I could to make sure it didn't sound remotely antagonizing.

"I nailed it shut with your hammer while you were upstairs with Thompson."

"You nailed it shut?"

"Me and Charley. During the time you were getting Thompson situated we did a sweep of the house and nailed it shut."

"What if we need to escape? How will we be able to get out with the door nailed shut? I mean they can't get in, but we can't get out either." I was not saying it the way I was thinking it in my head. I hoped my words were not as offensive as they sounded.

"If you step out that door, you will be tripping over the body of a decaying zombie we found in the dining room. Charley and I moved him to the back steps and nailed the door shut. That way, zombies will smell him and think no one is in this house and leave us alone. It might be the reason we are safe."

"I understand that, but what if we had to get out quickly?"

Jones put his hands back on his hips and arched his back. He looked me squarely in my eyes. "In that case, you simply jump through a window or head out the front door."

"Oh."

Jones, being our military leader and hero, came up with the perfect way to hide us. He was correct about the smell. The scent would throw off any marauding zombies and keep us safe. Still, I had qualms about the idea. The idea didn't please me. I hoped it never came to that. Jones was in charge, the idea man, at least he had a plan. It would be good enough for me.

I smiled a reassuring smile at him and walked from the door toward the entrance to the living room. At that moment, something new occurred to me. Why was Jones here? I turned to face him and he must have read the puzzlement on my face. His expression changed and he lowered his head.

"Why are you here, Jones?"

With regret, he faced me. "I was checking on you."

"Why?"

"You know why, Zee."

"I'm fine."

"I know that now, I had to be sure."

I looked into his eyes to see if it was true. Jones was usually readable. This time I wasn't comfortable in my appraisal of him. He was a tactician and loved both Chess and Poker. I never beat him at either. "I am fine," I said firmly.

"I know."

"I am!" I got louder in my affirmation and regretted it immediately.

Jones nodded and gave me a comforting smile. We walked out of the kitchen together and he went back upstairs and left me on guard duty. Pretending I carried my M16, I marched back and forth and concentrated on my early days of guard duty. I spent the remainder of my guard duty patrolling the lower floor and thinking.

It wouldn't be long until the sun rose. I went back upstairs to end my shift. I was dead on my feet and took a position against the upstairs' bedroom door. I sat next to it for a while and then decided it would be better if I had my back against it. If someone opened the door, I would be ready. From here, I could see the front room door and handle any zombie attack.

My eyes got heavy and the soft snoring of Charley became a song to me. Before long, I was asleep.

The door opened and I fell backward. The jolt woke me and I looked into the whimsical eyes of Jones. Clearly, he hadn't gone to sleep like the others.

"Get some sleep, Baker."

"Yes, sir."

I said it softly, not in anger or as a snide remark. Jones was my friend and I was grateful for his kindness. I committed a prison-worthy offense and he let it slide. I was already on the floor, so I crawled to the others and climbed into our makeshift bed. It would be morning soon and we would be on our way to see Simon. I hope Camp Brandt meets all our expectations. With thoughts of Simon on my mind, I closed my eyes and went to sleep, dreaming of our reunion.

"Zee? Zee?"

"What?"

"It's morning," said Brittany, "get up."

She shook me harder and I reluctantly opened my eyes. Brittany was correct, it was morning. I could barely see a few short minutes ago and now everything was bright. I pulled the cover off me, stood and stretched.

After several yawns, I surveyed the room. Nothing had changed, we were all there and alive, except for Thompson. The thought of him saddened me so I pushed him out of my mind. Brittany waved me downstairs with a warm smile. Hating her was a chore, I gave it up. I can tell it pleased her, she seemed brighter today. Yesterday had not been a good day. Thompson died and I lashed out at her. So many emotions ran through me, I couldn't control them all and my blood brother suffered because of it.

I gladly followed her to the door and turned to invite Jones down as well. He was standing, looking out the window. I saw his hand on his hip and that meant he was thinking, plotting. My stomach sank. I changed my mind about going downstairs and went to the window.

"Zee! Don't!" Brittany protested, a little too much.

I went to see what was so interesting out the window. I saw Jones' face before I looked. His face was stoic, chiseled in despair. I looked down and saw them. Zombies were in the street and they were slowly walking lackadaisically toward our house. "What is it?"

Jones shook his head. There was something more, but he wouldn't say. "Come on, let's get some grub." He pulled me away from the window and we walked out behind Brittany. Someone had removed the string of cans and laid them to the side. Our early warning system lay disabled at the top and bottom of the stairs. It was a relief not to have to duck under them as I had done all night.

In the kitchen, Charley sat in front of a plate made of napkins. He stood when we came in. I looked at him with a blank stare. I remembered what I said last night and should apologize. I refused to give him the satisfaction. I wouldn't accuse him of anything, but I wouldn't fully trust him either. Charley smiled and nodded. I half-smiled.

"Who wants to say a quick morning prayer?" asked Brittany.

"I will," said Charley.

With a bowed head, Charley took Brittany's left hand. Brittany gave her right to Jones and he gave his right to me. I looked at Charley, waiting for me to reach across the table and give him my hand. I thought about everything he had done to Thompson, I refused. I just looked at him for an instant — giving him an evil eye — then bowed my head.

Charley cleared his throat. "Lord, thank you for letting us live to see another day. Help us to safely travel to our destination. Give us courage and strength, Amen."

"Amen," said Brittany.

"Amen," said Jones.

"Amen," I said.

Everyone sat down and Brittany played hostess. She was happy and had smiles for everyone. Jones was quiet and in deep thought. I did my best to avoid looking at Charley. I focused on Brittany and watched as she passed out potted meat tins and animal crackers to us. She had opened the cans for us and had napkin plates at each of our positions.

I thought of my mother and how she loved being a hostess. Our breakfast table would dwarf this little thing we called a table. This was no more than a decorated playing card's table. Ours was huge and at one of our last breakfast's mornings, we were all proud because for the first time ever, we sat in matching chairs. For a family of fourteen, that was huge. That's the drawback of having so many children, most people never know. The ideal family is four to six and most items only come in that number. For us, we needed multiples of everything and hardly ever found them in matching sets. We would have to special order and that would cost a fortune. Something we lacked.

Each of us would rock back and forth in our new chairs, angering our parents. After we settled down, my mother would pass bowl after bowl around the table. Dad would lead us in prayer as we held hands and then we feasted. Breakfasts were huge and easily the biggest meal of the day. Lunches were skimpy, so we ate quickly and left the table to play. We weren't required to all sit together during dinner, unless it was a holiday. Often, we arrived for dinner at different times and ate in groups. Breakfast was the meal I remembered most and the one I loved. That is, before the many marriages and step-relatives.

I watched Brittany sit and begin eating. She wasn't a mother figure to me, but I revered her as such. I drank the half bottle of water she gave me before eating. My thoughts went to the missing, to Thompson. He was right; there was still beauty in the world. Though our world has ended, we are still here and life is good. I let Brittany's laughter raise my spirits.

Chapter Fifteen

After breakfast, my hopes dashed. I felt my mood shifting to a dark place. Jones told us we couldn't leave. He and Charley had their heads together earlier and his look from the upstairs window should have told me something was up.

I should have questioned the decision, but I didn't want to upset Jones. He was our leader and so far we had survived. I put my faith in him and did my best to relax. It went against my nature and I strained to conform. In the end, I trusted him and like the bolted door, put it out of my head.

Charley pulled out a deck of cards as a diversion. Brittany suggested Spades and we partnered up. We were getting into the spirit of the game and just to look at the four us, betrayed our circumstances. We were all young people sitting around a card table in the kitchen playing cards, with no hint of danger or death. No traces of the world we resided in. We were kids and the world was our oyster.

Our innocence shattered, moans filtered in from outside. The zombies found us. We froze for an instant. That gave us time to listen and judge how close they were to the back door. Jones ushered us out of the room and we crept upstairs. Each of us went to our packs for our weapons. I had both, my hammer and my knives. Brittany had a baton in one hand and a metal pipe in the other. I passed her a knife. She wrapped the sheath around her right leg and put the knife in it. For the present, her intention was to fight by swinging and bashing. I agreed and looked for something in the room to hit with. I could always throw my knives, I would have to recover them to use them a second time. Bashing seemed better.

Charley and Jones held batons and for backup, they had Molotov cocktails. They went back down to the living room with Brittany while I looked for a weapon to bash zombies. There was nothing in the room useful, not even the rod used to hold the hangers in the closet. It was entirely too weak and already bent.

I searched the rest of the floor and then went downstairs to continue my search. I thought about the house's plumbing and hoped to find a metal pipe I could rip out. We knew there was no basement; it was one of the first searches performed. There had to be something, someplace where I could get at pipes. I began my assault on the downstairs. I went room to room and found nothing useful. There was always the metal from the bed frames, but they braced the mattresses at the windows and we needed them there more.

"Zee."

Brittany interrupted my feverish search. I was in the downstairs closet rummaging through the junk on the floor. I stopped. My heart dropped from her soft tone alone. Something was up. Why us?

"What?"

"You better come upstairs."

"Tell me, Britt, what is it?"

"Come with me."

She turned and I followed. I walked behind her through the living room to the stairs. I looked around for the boys and neither was there. The zombies were howling outside and through a crack between a mattress and window, I saw dozens. They weren't coming into the house. They were nevertheless massing around the house.

I followed with trepidation. For her not to tell me meant it was bad and she didn't have the words. My mind reeled with possibilities and I was happy to reach the door to end the suspense. We went inside and both boys were at the window. They turned and the look on their faces was telling. It was definitely bad news. Like the man on his way to the electric chair, I recoiled. Brittany caught a hold of me and saved me from further embarrassment. I walked to the window with a heavy heart.

Jones moved aside and when I looked into his eyes, I can only guess it was pain in them. I can say for certain I saw no fear. If his eyes could talk, they would perform some sort of apology to me.

Breaking my gaze, I looked out at the zombies; they were everywhere and steady coming. My heart sank even lower. We were in a hopeless predicament and it would be a matter of time before the zombie hordes overran us.

"I'm sorry, Zee." Jones spoke softly.

"It's okay. I didn't want to go out like this, but it's not my choice."

"Zee?" Brittany's voice shook.

"Leave her alone," said Jones, shaking off Brittany.

I turned from the window and went back to our pallet in the center of the room. There was nothing to do but wait. I would never see Simon again. Nothing Brittany or anyone said could make it easier for me. I had to accept the inevitable. I crawled under my blanket and buried myself under the covers. I could hear the others walking around and I wanted so badly to cry and feel sorry for myself. I couldn't. These were my last hours. I would go out like the kickass soldier I was, fighting tooth and nail to survive. To cry would mean defeat and sour the others, I wouldn't do it. Not for me, not for anything. I stayed under the covers and waited.

After a while, I began to get worried and then impatient. Why weren't they breaking down the door and killing us? I threw off the covers and looked for my team. Brittany had come and sat next to me. Jones and Charley were at the window.

I looked at Brittany. She said nothing, but it was in her face. Something was wrong. They knew something that I didn't. I brought my face in closer to Brittany's and she blinked, it was true, something was wrong.

"You tell me right now!" My voice shook like I couldn't believe. My threat was not veiled; it shone in my voice as clear as day.

Brittany teared up and closed her eyes. I turned to Jones, he stared at me. He probably had been staring at me the whole time. I got to my feet and our eyes never left each other's. I walked to him as fast as I could. Before I could say a word and deliver my threat, he stopped me.

"Look down."

I pressed my face to the window and looked down by the side of the house. I didn't hear them before, but now, I heard them as if they were in the room with me. As if someone had turned the radio up, loudly. Zombies were screaming and howling and feasting; feasting on a body, feasting on Thompson. I collapsed and passed out.

I woke to louder noise. I didn't need to be at the window to know their number grew. I could hear them and feel them all around me. I lay on the pallet. I got up and went back to the window for another look. Jones watched me in silence. I felt him watching and as long as he didn't speak, I was perfectly fine with the staring. I looked down at the masses of zombies and found Thompson's body. The creatures pulled him apart and many feasted on him. I left the window and started pacing. Back and forth, faster and faster I went. Jones watched me the whole time. I kept throwing distractions up in my mind, trying to drown the sound of the zombies and make peace with reality. Try as I might, I failed.

I stood against a wall and shut my eyes tightly, rocking. With clenched fists that dug into my palms, I tried to hold on. I told myself it would be over soon and I could hold on and make it. Tighter and tighter I dug into my palms, maybe the pain would distract and outweigh the screams and howls that echoed in my head.

Visions of Thompson's body flying from one zombie to the next, like Frisbees, crept into my thoughts. I opened my eyes to find everyone staring at me. Jones and Charley from the window, Brittany from by the door. Only Brittany moved. The door was wide open. She looked downstairs toward the living-room door and then back at me. My guess is that she was on guard duty.

Rather than speak, I closed my eyes again and concentrated on breathing. In and out, slower and slower I breathed. There was nothing to say, nothing to do. I would wait with the others and in time they would leave.

Again, I went to the window to check their progress. Why should Thompson affect me this way? I didn't even like the guy. And why was my team keeping things from me? Did they expect I would go off the rails once I saw Thompson? I was stronger than that. I have seen dozens of people eaten by zombies. I have seen dozens more, turn into zombies, some I knew.

I looked at Jones and his eyes darted back and forth, evaluating me. I thought of what he did last night, his checking up on me, and I wondered how I fared under his gaze. I was his second and needed to prove it.

I steeled myself and boldly gazed out the window like it wasn't there. Zombies didn't bother me one bit. I thought of home and my family and glared out at them in defiance. Their chewing noises meant nothing. I was home free until I made the mistake of looking down. I saw Thompson's head roll out into the open. His eyes looked up at me and they were judging me. I collapsed, again.

I woke in the center of the room on the pallet. Stirring awake, I felt a hand on me, rubbing up and down. I opened my eyes to find Brittany comforting me. "I'm sorry, Zee."

"You knew?"

"We did. I hoped you wouldn't see it."

"How long?"

"I don't know, I imagine—"

"No, not that. How long have I been out?"

"Oh. A few hours."

"Look, Zee—"

"It's okay, Britt. I should have known it would happen."

"How are you, Zee?" Jones came over and asked.

"I'm fine."

"You better be. We're getting out of here in a little while and I need you fired up and ready to go."

"Are they leaving?"

"Most of them have left already," said Jones. "Look. I didn't think that would happen when we tossed the body. I should have thought of all the possibilities. I'm sorry. I know he was your friend and that was not the way for anybody to go. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy."

Jones gave his famous smile to calm me. His brown eyes met mine and I settled inside.

"Thanks, but I'm fine. How soon can we leave?"

"I'm hoping for soon, however, the reality is that we may be here until nightfall." Jones looked sad.

Charley came over and handed me a bottle of water. "We had lunch already."

I still didn't like him. I needed somebody to blame and he was it. Brittany was at my side and poking me in the back, so I politely smiled at the man and took the bottle. I can't lie and say that it wasn't refreshing, it was fantastic.

I ignored the smile he gave me and stood. I didn't hear the zombies anymore, their number must be down tremendously.

"Zee, what are you doing?"

I ignored Brittany's question and walked to the window. This window had proven to be the death of me. I wanted to conquer it. Jones and Charley came swiftly to my sides and Brittany stood behind me, ready to catch me if I fell. I ignored them all and looked out into zombie world.

The zombies were scattering. Where Thompson once laid, there was nothing but a red stain. Every piece of him devoured. I quickly looked away and focused on the distant zombies, trying to figure out where they were going. It would be dark soon and contrary to my wishes, this road trip had taken a serious detour.

We were within walking distance of salvation and had been stopped at the Pearly Gates. We would make it, I was sure of that. It was a matter of time and opportunity and we had both.

Chapter Sixteen

Later that evening, we gathered our bags and we readied to leave. I put my pack on my back and held a knife as Jones opened the front door. One by one we crept out into the evening air. The route we took led us to the side of the house where Thompson's body had lain. I hated he chose that route and with each step I cringed.

Decency and common sense would tell me not to look as I pass, but I had to look. It would only take a second to glance over and though I fought the urge not to look, I looked. Thompson was gone, not one trace of him remained other than the blood smeared sidewalk on which they tossed him.

I looked and kept moving, watching our rear for zombies. Though we heard them, we didn't see them. We made our way up the road and followed it. Charley tried to get an abandoned car to run; the dead battery dashed our hopes.

Ahead, a truck with a half-eaten body hanging out the passenger's side door. I couldn't tell by looking at him if the poor soul drove the truck. We stood guard during Charley's hopeless attempt at starting the truck. Another dead battery and to make matters worse, it sat on its rim, missing the left rear tire. I can only imagine the poor soul making his getaway in the truck and the back tire blowing out on him. It seems his luck ran like ours. Hopefully we would fare better than he.

We wasted enough time on cars and decided not to make another attempt. We needed to get away from the area. The camp was close and if we hoofed it, we could get there before it got too late. I kept my position in the rear and kept searching for stray zombies. All it would take is for one zombie to see us and alert the rest. Like I had done in the store, my knife was ready to fly into the skull of our would-be betrayer.

Further up the road we stopped. I caught up to them to see what everyone stared at, a building not far from us, a police station. Two cars were out front and both looked drivable, meaning no visible damage.

"Are we going to go down and take a look?"

"Yeah," said Jones. He looked around the area for zombies. "I don't know how much time we are going to get but we should take a look."

Brittany, Jones, and I were soldiers. Charley was our wild card. He could handle himself in a fight, but he was the unknown factor we had to work with. I eyed him to see how nervous he was. His iron jaw made me angry.

"All right," said Jones. "Baker, Dushell, flank out and stand guard. Charley and I will go in. If it's clear, we'll signal and then you come in. Clear?"

"Clear."

"Clear."

"Let's go."

Brittany and I left together. We went first and split up halfway to the building. She went left and I went right. I hid behind a tree and watched the guys creep toward the station house. Charley checked the first car while Jones checked the other. Jones looked over at Charley and then to us. Jones held his finger to his throat and motioned like he was slicing his throat, no hope of using the cars. Carefully they approached the door to the station and crept inside.

I checked all around for zombies and then checked on Brittany. She waved, the coast was clear. With that, I resumed watching the door and waiting. Occasionally I checked the area, for the most part my attention focused on the door in front of me. After what seemed like hours, Jones came to the door and waved us in. With a last look behind me, I ran after Brittany. As I passed the car nearest the door, I saw the remains of a severed finger looped around a key ring. The finger was skeletal and the key was in the ignition, turned to the run position. It doesn't take a genius to figure out the rest, with the dried blood all over the car; obviously someone had tried to make their getaway and was pulled from the car. No doubt kicking and screaming.

I dismissed the images forming in my head and went to the police station's door. I entered last. Blood smeared the walls and I would be hard pressed to say that they were only blood stains. Overturned desks, stray papers, and objects littered the floor.

Jones held a sawed-off shotgun and pointed it at me. "Bang."

"Funny, ha ha."

"Relax, Baker, the room's cleared. You look like you are walking on eggshells."

"It pays to be cautious, isn't that what they beat into us?"

"Yeah, you are right about that. Catch."

Jones threw me the rifle. I caught it and examined it. It had slimy goo on the barrel. Other than that, perfection.

"I pulled it out of the hands of a copper. Both his legs are missing and the rest . . . let's just say I hope he was dead when it all started."

"Thanks. Any bullets?"

It had been missing for a while, but it was back. That evil mischievous grin I had come to expect from him. He always held something back. He held up a policeman's belt. Green slime covered the belt. It dripped and reeked. That belt was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. I smiled ear to ear and grabbed it before he changed his mind.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say. You can thank me properly later."

Jones winked and turned around. I don't know if he turned so fast to keep me from responding or if for another reason, I know gratitude welled up in me for his kindness. That "thank me later joke" is big all over the world and most people take it with ease. I'm the type of person who responds to statements like that when I should laugh and go about my business. Jones was saving me more embarrassment and with me, there was plenty.

I checked to make sure my gun loaded properly and followed him, throwing the policeman's belt over my shoulder. It reeked to high heaven. It was my protection and for that, I would ignore the smell. I walked behind Jones, guarding his six. The rifle felt good in my hands and with it, I had renewed hope for our survival.

Jones went to the desk and with him on one side and I on the other, we rifled it for anything useful. Nothing was there. The room had several desks. We divided up and searched them all. While Jones left them were they lay, I turned them upright to make searching easier. An upright desk felt better somehow. I found a box of ammo in one desk. I shoved it into my pack. It wasn't the ammo for the shotgun. I was hoping one of the others found a weapon for it. I continued my search by going into a conference room to search there. The room held nothing useful. On a side table were radios. I turned one on and heard a hissing sound from it. Though it thrilled me to know that it worked, I left it, believing it useless. Brittany carried a small radio, it took a nine-volt battery and we never came across one. These had batteries that wouldn't fit her radio.

Jones met me with an evil grin again, when I came out. He held up his treasure. He found two more batons so he and Charley could now swing two of the sticks each during our next zombie encounter. Jones put them in his pack and we both left to go check on the others in the back of the station.

We descended stairs into semi-darkness. Light shone through several small square windows. The area we were in was the jail section. I read the words on the overhead sign. Before us were several cells. We couldn't see the front of them because of the wall we faced. My heart skipped a beat thinking someone was in the cells, left trapped after the zombie attack. I raced around to the front of the cells and saw they were all open. Various body parts were scattered among them, prisoners.

Brittany was there. She stared absentmindedly at the cells. I saw a gun in her hand and it excited me. Thank god we found weapons. "Britt?"

"Hey." Brittany turned and smiled at me.

"What are you doing?"

"I was trying to figure out how they got them."

"The cells are open, Britt. They walked in and got them." My friend scared me.

Brittany turned to me with a confused look. Her forehead riddled with tension. "Zee." She held up keys on a giant key ring. "I unlocked the cells. They were locked when we came down here. Unless they were zombies and smashed themselves trying to get out, how did the zombies get in to get them?"

The look of confusion she held spread to me. I wondered how long she had been staring at the cell contemplating her riddle. Was she finally cracking? What did it matter? I put an arm around her and turned her away from the cells. Her face lacked color and plain white was not a good color on her. I walked her away while Jones looked at the cells.

Around the corner we stopped. Charley tried desperately to pry open a metal gun cabinet. He saw us and took a deep breath. And then he took out his baton and started hitting at the lock on the cabinet. The horrible sound it made echoed. Charley threw his weight into every blow and eventually the cabinet tired of the assault and revealed its treasures.

Everyone gasped as we saw the bounty in the cabinet. Inside its steel doors stood rifles. They were nowhere as good as army issue, but they were rifles, semi-automatics. Charley picked up a rifle with a long clip attached to it, obviously his choice of weapon. At the bottom of the cabinet were more clips. He scooped up the clips and put them in his bag.

Jones chose a Dillinger and a rifle. There were only a few bullets for the Dillinger. I knew from our talks around camp he loved that gun and as soon as I saw it, I predicted it would find its way to his pocket.

Brittany grabbed a rifle and tossed it to me. I barely had time to position myself to catch it and not drop the one I carried. She chose an identical one for herself and found two spare clips. I read the writing on the inside panel of the closet and discovered we possessed confiscated drug artillery.

We checked our weapons, proud to find them. We didn't get a chance to celebrate our find, we heard a zombie howl. We flew into army mode. While the others double-checked their weapons, I managed to halfway shove the rifle into my duffel bag and fastened the belt around my waist. We secured our packs and ran toward the door. If zombies were on the move, this dungeon was the last place we wanted to be, it was a death trap.

Racing up the stairs, we met our first zombie. Jones was in the lead and shot it. "We got to get out of here, now!"

Jones led and we followed. I let the others go first and guarded our rear. I had no idea why I had done it, this was survival time and I was in survival mode. I told myself not to do it again and continued behind the others. Into the fading light we went. Zombies were coming from the south, the direction we wanted to travel. Jones began running in the opposite direction, away from the camp, away from Simon. It wasn't that many of them. "Wait!"

"What?" Jones asked after stopping.

"There is only a handful, we can take them out."

Jones assessed the situation. He looked at us all, we were more than willing. "All right, let's do this."

I didn't have time to count zombies. My best guess would put their number at forty. Taking them out and continuing made perfect sense and would get us to the camp tonight. We dropped our bags and loaded up.

"No guns," said Jones. "That will only attract more of them. Let's go hand to hand. We take out the fast ones first and the rest will be a snap."

Jones passed me one of his batons. Brittany already had her pipe up and Charley followed Jones with his batons. The first of the zombies came screaming at us. I was ready for battle. Since we would be swinging, I stepped away from the others to get more maneuvering room. I intended to swing wildly. A tall almost human zombie was the first to come at me. I leaped into the air and with a baseball swing, I cracked its head open. It fell to the ground and I whacked it again to finish it. The next, a rounder short zombie came low at me. I stood up, kicked it, and knocked it down. It took three whacks to silence it.

Not waiting for the next to attack me, I attacked it. I launched myself into the approaching zombie with a battle scream. My baton high over my head, I brought it down with a crushing blow. After it, I moved to the next and slipped like those crazy girls in the movies chased by the killer monster. How ridiculous could I be? I rose and stood my ground. I thought it best to wait and let them come to me. We cleared the way in no time and were ready to proceed forward.

None of us had fallen and dead zombies with splattered brains lay at our feet. No one cared about the green splatter on our clothing. Our reluctant imprisonment made us stronger and angrier. Did I mention our nickname was the Screaming Eagles? Maybe we should call ourselves the Angry Eagles. Anyway, we were successful and another step closer to the camp. We marched forward over a rise and saw the road.

My heart sank.

It seemed we would never complete our ill-fated trip. Ahead of us on the road were zombies, dozens and dozens of killer zombies. One of them in front saw us. It stopped, and like the scene out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers, it pointed at us, opened its big mouth, and let out the most god-awful sound imaginable.

The chase was on. They ran at us with vigor, howling.

"We can shoot them," Brittany suggested.

"We don't have enough ammo for that. They would get us while we changed clips." Jones made his decision. He hollered, "Run!"

We turned around and ran as fast as we could. I was carrying a heavy backpack, a duffel, a rifle in one hand and had just shoved a bloody baton in the duffel of the other. It was a marathon run and at first I had no idea where we were going, but then it looked familiar. We were going back to the safety of our two-story house.

We went through a back alley and then between two houses. Jones stopped and took a knee. He opened his pack and lit a Molotov cocktail's wick. He threw it at a house to his left and then another at the house on his right. Flames roared. We kept moving and when I looked back, a zombie was going into one of the burning houses. It lit up like a torch. It turned and stumbled into several others and lit them. The rest halted and howled as we continued to safety.

As we neared the house, zombies were in the doorway, I had left the door open, not thinking we would come back. Jones was in the lead and he stopped, dropped to a knee and took out one of two zombies in view. He aimed and got the other. They ran for the door and stopped at the threshold.

I was bringing up the rear and had put considerable distance between myself and the zombies. I made it to the door and we entered together. Like we thought, zombies invaded our home.

I counted six, all tall and human looking. I looked into the eyes of one of them and barely saw red, he was new and strong. He might have been one of the runners we saw earlier. If he was, he would hold a grudge. The zombie I saw came at me. I shot him.

Before I could aim at another, several gunshots went off and they all lay dead at our feet.

"Lock the door." Jones ordered.

Brittany locked it and like before, Jones and Charley pushed the couch in front of the door. "We have to check the rest of the house."

Jones glared at me when I said it, perhaps he was about to give that order. "You two go that way and we will take this way."

Brittany and I went toward the kitchen and left the rest of the house to them. I didn't care who searched what as long as we searched. We didn't find anything and went upstairs to search. From my new belt, I had a penlight flashlight. I used it on the hall, it had no light. I shined it ahead of us. Brittany and I were a team and searched two of the upstairs bedrooms.

We heard a commotion and raced to another. Passing our large bedroom, we saw no one and continued to the last small bedroom. A zombie lay on the floor of the small room, Charley and Jones were smashing its head in with their batons.

"What happened?"

"It snuck up on us," said Jones.

Charley added, "It was in the closet. We went to the window to check on the zombies and it came at us."

"Yeah," said Jones. "It knocked him down and he came at me."

"Where are your guns?" Brittany said.

"We left them in our room." Jones' face turned red. "We thought if we found one we could clobber it and keep the noise down."

"I guess it showed you, huh?"

"Watch it, Baker."

I stood at attention and saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain."

Chapter Seventeen

I looked out into the darkness of the night. We failed again and wound back at our original starting point. Zombies are massing outside. It is good that our house sets away from others, because several houses are now on fire from the bombs they threw.

Brittany and I waited for the boys to return from their mission to remove the dead zombie from our presence. They would open the window and climb on the roof with the zombie and carefully tie him to the chimney to hold him in place. It was a hard job and I'm glad I took no part in it. Brittany and I had kitchen duty and prepared our evening dinner.

The zombie screams no longer bothered us or I should say more precisely no longer shook us with fear. They were more of an early warning system to let us know danger was coming and if we didn't spring into action, we would die.

We listened to their noise from the kitchen table while waiting on the boys to join us. The mood was somber and there wasn't much that needed saying. I enjoyed the silence, after a while, Brittany didn't.

"Zee?"

"Yeah."

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine."

"I mean about Thompson."

"Why are you guys so fixated on Thompson? He was a jerk and I feel fine about it."

"Jones told me that he spied on us while we washed in the river. Maybe he did it every time."

"So?"

"How do you feel about it?"

"I'm fine. Thompson was a jerk, he is dead, good riddance."

The look she gave me let me know she wasn't going to drop it and didn't like my answers. What was there to say that hadn't been said? His watching us should creep me out, especially her, I mean she was practically naked. At least I kept my top on. For some reason, I can't get worked up about it.

I keep coming back to it's the end of the world and everything has changed. It is ridiculous to have the same hang-ups I had as when the world was normal. Everything has changed. I have changed. I'm nineteen years old in a zombie-infested world. Every day I wake has the potential of being the last day of my life. I accept that in my head, but have trouble putting it into words. Stated simply, to survive the change in life, I have to change or get left behind. I am doing my best to make that change, it is difficult.

"What?"

"Zee. I know there is something or there was something between the two of you. I think you should recognize it. It will help you to get past it and get stronger."

"I'm strong enough."

"Zee!"

"What do you want from me, Brittany?"

"Talk to me, Zee. Just talk to me. Tell me how you feel about the man."

I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Closing my eyes always helped me focus. This time it let me down. "Thompson was a jerk, end of discussion."

"Zee!"

"Stop!" I know I let her down and I couldn't help it. I couldn't talk about it, not even to her, my blood brother. She could never understand my feelings for Thompson and I couldn't explain them in a way to make her understand. It wasn't love, I doubt that seriously. It was a connection that we made. Someway, somehow, he got to me, pass my defenses to my inner core. He was in before I could shut the gate and keep him out. I can't describe how it happened. It would make absolutely no sense unless it happened to her, too.

Brittany looked at me with sad puppy dog eyes. I so desperately wanted to let her in and tell her, I just couldn't. I bowed my head and racked my brain for something to cheer her up and bring peace between us. Fortunately, the boys returned.

"We did it," said Jones. "We hoisted him up like a flag and tied him to the chimney. He'll be there until he rots and falls to pieces."

"Yeah," said Charley. "Can you picture a zombie standing on the sidewalk and suddenly manna falls from heaven? Outrageous!"

"I can picture that," said Brittany. "They will probably think it's a big gumball machine in the sky."

They chuckled. I pleasantly smiled.

"Can you guys take the table and everything upstairs?" asked Brittany. "I'll lock up and meet you in our room."

"Fine by me," replied Charley. He got on one end of the table and strained to lift it. "Whoa! I guess I'm gonna need a hand with this load."

Jones came to his rescue. "Back up ladies and watch a man work. One, two, three, up!"

The boys made groaning noises as they carried the card table out of the room and up to ours. I helped Brittany gather our bags. Every time I looked at her, her head was down, avoiding me. I had hurt her feelings by not talking about mine. I'm a girl, isn't talking about our feelings part of the job description? Maybe they forgot to give me the "share-your-feelings" manual in the nursery.

My mother always claimed I was left on her doorstep by aliens. I'm the kind of person whose sense of humor changes with the wind. Usually when she said those words to me, I cringed and took them the wrong way, though she smiled the whole time. Maybe I needed to discover myself. I was definitely something.

Brittany and I made two trips up the stairs: the first was to carry our bags. The second was to lock up. I trusted her to do it, I wanted to stay with her and if I couldn't express my feelings, maybe by being with her she would get the message. Yes, guilt reared its ugly head.

Back in our room, setting up was a snap. It consisted of throwing a cover over the table and placing napkin plates in each position. When done, I went to the window to check on our zombie friends, leaving the rest to Chef Brittany.

Zombies wandered below us aimlessly. They were gathering in numbers like before. Thompson was right about their low intelligence. If it were me, I would be going house to house searching for food. Not these zombies, they wandered aimlessly, stopping and howling at one another and possibly the air itself. Until we stepped out of our sanctuary, we were invisible. I stopped to think of all the souls around the world in similar hiding places. How long would they wait? We had plenty of food and water and could remain here until they disbursed, possibly weeks if necessary. Were others as fortunate?

My thoughts wondered back to my brother and the people at the camp. I wondered if they were waiting on us or if they had given up ever seeing us alive again. We were only a few short miles away. Why would these last few miles be so difficult? Roadblock after roadblock after roadblock, it wasn't fair. Comforting myself with the knowledge that I was alive and safe wasn't enough. I left the window to see if Brittany needed any help.

"Have a seat guys, dinner is served."

Brittany was all smiles. Tonight would be a treat from the boys' packs. First, she forced a prayer out of Charley and glowered at me until I took his hand in our little circle. I guess she was getting back at me for not sharing. After the prayer, we sat. Brittany presented the meal and dared any of us to alter it. She had her mojo back.

Jones and Charley shared a can of peaches. Brittany and I chose pineapples, the juice would be heavenly. Jones set up his butane torch to fire up two cans of Armour Treets. Before he got started, Brittany carved ours in the shape of a turkey and theirs in the shape of a duck. The carved away pieces became their nests. Brittany screamed as if her bird was on fire every time Jones brought the torch near it. She yelled, "run for your life little birdie," and made her bird gallop across the table like he was in fact running for his life. She was so funny, so animated; I loosened a bit and laughed sparingly with the others. I know she did it all for my benefit, I just couldn't get as deeply into it as they could. They sat around the table laughing and joking while Jones roasted our birds.

When finished, Brittany returned to her chef duties and carved the birds. We toasted bottles of water and feasted.

I looked at them and their laughter was infectious, but not on me, only with one another. The burning flesh brought up memories of the flaming zombies Jones torched earlier. They were once people. I also thought of Thompson being pulled apart and feasted on, Brittany's carving turned my stomach.

To keep from embarrassing myself and throwing water on their party, I got up and went to the window to check on the zombies. They were doing nothing new. I went to the door, opened it, and looked downstairs, it was quiet and the alarms were in place. Relax, Zee. Go and have fun like the others.

If only it were that easy.

I closed the door and returned to the window. The others finished their dinner and sat at the table playing charades. Jones was up acting like a monkey. The others made several guesses and it never occurred to them to say, Planet of the Apes.

After a while, we turned in. I shut the curtains, killing the moonlight and darkening the room. One small candle burned as a light source and we took extra care to make sure it didn't give us away to the zombies. Before leaving the window, I looked out at the burning city and the roaming zombies with dread. Death could sneak up on us and snuff us out at any moment.

Charley was first on guard duty. He put his rifle over his shoulder and marched like a toy soldier. I could hear giggles from Brittany and Jones beneath the covers. I watched the shadows produced by the candles and lost myself in thoughts of home and family.

During the night, as I watched Charley, his left hand shook. He was standing against a wall with his gun over his right shoulder. I watched and it shook again. Warning bells went off in my head and I knew what was wrong. All night my body had been telling me not to relax and have fun because something was wrong, danger was near me. This was what I was being warned about.

My rifle was next to me. I eased my hand to it and unlatched the safety. Only my head showed above the covers so I was safe, Charley couldn't see what I was doing. With care, I eased the gun up to my head and aimed at him. He was turning into a zombie and I was going to take him out. Always trust your instincts; they will never let you down.

Brittany must have seen me, she screamed my name. Before Charley could react, I was on him. I raced to him with my gun up in his face. Likewise, he aimed at me with perfect timing. We were having a Mexican standoff.

"Zee!" Brittany got to her feet and ran next to me. "What the hell are you doing?"

"He's a zombie, Britt. I saw him turning."

"Zee, put the gun down. He is not a zombie, it is only Charley. You were dreaming."

Her calmness wasn't working on me. "I saw it, he is a zombie and I am going to blow his fucking head off!"

Charley was not afraid, I saw no fear in his eyes and that angered me more. "You better back off or you will be the one with a hole in your head."

"You try it, just try it."

"Baker!" Jones shouted. He was late to the party, but I could use his support.

"He is a zombie, Jones. I saw him shaking like Thompson did right before he turned. That son of a bitch has been bitten and didn't tell any of us." I held my gun higher.

"Baker, you back off, soldier. You read me?"

"He's a zombie, Jones. Do you hear me? He's a zombie!"

"Maybe you're the zombie," Charley said as politely as he could. He was trying to infuriate me and he was damn close. "You're the one who has been off in her own little world tonight. If anybody is changing it's you. How about it, Jones? Hasn't she been the weird one tonight?"

Jones looked at me and wavered, I saw it in his eyes. "I trust Baker with my life. She is part of my team until the day she dies."

"Thanks, Jones. Britt?"

"Nobody is getting shot tonight. Do you both understand me? Nobody is getting shot tonight. Now put the guns down and talk like reasonable people."

Neither Charley nor I eased our positions, it was a stalemate. I was right and would not let another zombie get past me.

Brittany went to Charley and got him to lower his weapon—I trained mine between his beady little eyes. I longed for them to turn red so I could blast him. She turned to me and tried to ease mine down. I resisted and stepped back.

"Take your clothes off."

"What?"

"You heard me, prove you are not a zombie." I said to the wide-eyed, potential zombie.

"No," said Charley.

"I'm not going through this again. People lie all the time. You are not getting me killed. Prove you have not been bitten or scratched." The words did come from me, as alien as they were. I was asking a fully grown man to strip at gunpoint. Would the others ever do something so crazy?

"Do it!" Jones barked. "Let's end this now." He jerked the curtains open and let the moonlight filter into the room and shine its light of purity on all inside.

"Fine!"

Charley handed his gun to Brittany. He looked at me with hatred, I didn't care, I had the truth on my side and was about to prove it. He took off his shirt, kicked off his cowboy boots, removed his socks, and then his pants. He stood before me in his underwear, white boxers. He held up his hands to allow us to examine him. Jones, Brittany, and I scanned every inch of his flesh for traces of scratches and bites.

Brittany, in an effort to appease me, briefly left and came back with the cloth she used to wipe down our kitchen table. She whispered an apology to Charley and wiped areas of his body covered in dried zombie blood. I kept my gun on him and watched with anticipation. She cleaned a few areas and when no traces were found, he turned around to show his back.

Again, Brittany saw two places that needed wiping and performed her service. No marks of any kind shone on the man. She looked at me. "He's clean, Zee."

Charley turned around, gloating. It sent me into a frenzy. I boiled with rage.

"Drop the underwear."

Charley's face contorted, but only for a second. He smirked and dropped them. He then turned around and back, before pulling them up. "Satisfied?" he started putting his clothes back on.

I wasn't satisfied, not in the least, but he was clean. Something told me not to let it go.

"I saw your hand shaking."

"It's from hitting the gun cabinet at the police station. It tingles every once in a while. You could have asked."

I lowered my gun.

"Oh, it's just me that's in question?" his arrogance annoyed me. We looked at one another. Then, all eyes turned to me, confusion on every face.

"All right," said Jones. "From now on, safety is number one. We drop trou after every hand-to-hand fight. Dushell, you're next."

"What?" said a shocked Brittany.

"You heard me," said Jones, looking sorrowful. "Strip."

Brittany cast a look at me that would have burned me alive, if possible. "No problem." She said it more to me than to the others. Her teeth were together, face red with anger. With that, she handed her towel to Charley and glaring at me and me alone, she reached down and unlaced her boots. She kicked them off and took off her socks. Glaring again at me, she took off her pants and threw them on the floor. She then pulled her shirt over her head and threw it in my face.

I should have known—she wore no bra. She raised her hands above her head and shot me the dirtiest look she could muster. Charley got his reward for my mistake. As Brittany held her pose, he and Jones, he in particular, took great pleasure examining every inch of her beautiful skin. She turned around and they began again. She then turned back and fixed her gaze on me. "Do you want my panties, too?"

"No."

"Whatever."

I hope I hadn't lost her as a friend, this was not what I intended. To ease my guilt, I did the unexpected, "I'm next." I gave Jones my rifle and while Brittany gathered her tossed items and dressed, I took center stage. Like Brittany, I thought it best to start at my feet and work my way up, thinking it would be less of a peep show that way. I bent over and unlaced and pulled off my boots and socks. My feet hadn't been free of boots in so long, it felt good. I quickly undid and removed my pants and then my shirt. Unlike my friend, I had made use of our haul from the store and now stood before them in a blue, matching bra and panties set. I held up my hands and after confirmation, turned to show my back.

Jones told me to turn again and then I dressed. He was the last to be examined and I was happy, none of us were bitten or scratched. Brittany glared. Jones looked solemn. And Charley smirked like the asshole he was. One day I'm going to kill him.

Chapter Eighteen

Sleep was impossible after that. Charley and Jones went to check our perimeter, truth be told, they wanted to get away from me. I was left with my friend and my stomach churned. Brittany and I sat with our backs against a wall with our knees to our chests. I needed to apologize to my friend. I searched my heart for words, they never came.

"Zee?"

"I'm so sorry."

"You're my friend and I love you, but you are a head case."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"God, Zee. How could you do that?"

"I thought he was a zombie."

"Yeah, right."

"I did, Britt!"

"Maybe you should examine your hatred. You know, find out what is at the bottom of it."

I stayed silent, arguing would do no good.

"Are you going to say anything?"

"What can I say?"

"Zee. Why did you do it?"

"I don't know."

"Why did you freak out when Thompson died?"

"I don't know."

"Did you sleep with Thompson?"

"God, no!"

"It's about feelings, Zee. You have feelings that you hide and when you do, they still come out, it just happens in a crazy kind of way that hurts everyone. Get a grip, Zee, lighten up. I mean . . . what was up with you? We were laughing and blowing off steam and you were just . . . I don't know, Zee. It's not normal."

"The world is ending and you think I'm not normal because I have priorities and don't want to waste my time playing charades? I'm the weird one, when you were playing with food, chasing it around the table instead of eating it?"

"Zee! Stop it! Stop trying to turn things around. What you did was crazy. If I hadn't stopped you, you would have shot and killed an innocent man. We're a team, all of us. Yes, we are surrounded by danger and can die any minute, but that is no excuse to not live. That is no excuse to not be happy and laugh. No excuse to isolate yourself and pretend we have no priorities or feelings or common sense. You have to do something to stay sane, we are doing that. Why can't you?"

"I'm trying," I uttered.

"Try harder."

Brittany was not letting me get away with anything, she shouldn't. I almost killed an innocent human being, one of the few left in the world. I had no defense and every argument I wanted to use was flat and weak.

The boys came back, their laughter filtered through the door. I would apologize as soon as he came in and do my best to act normal. They rumbled the cans as they crossed them and laughed to themselves. The door opened and they were all smiles.

Immediately, I got to my feet. "I'm sorry, guys. I'm especially sorry to you, Charley. I hope one day you can forgive me."

I waited. The silence was killing me.

Brittany took my hand. "Hey, guys. I want you both to meet my friend, Zora. If you become her friend, like me, you can call her Zee."

My face reddened. I lowered my head to hide my face, I wanted to die. Brittany enjoyed her torture. The look on her face said she wouldn't stop.

"Zee is from a large family, her mother pushed out a dozen puppies. And don't forget mommy number two, she pushed out six. Yay, Zee! Now, I want you both to look at these hips and believe me when I say it—she is a chip off the old block. You can't go wrong with this one."

If I could have hung my head lower, I would have. She reamed me out good. I had it coming and kept telling myself not to freak out and act crazy. I could do this, I could be fun. The two people I trusted most had told me to relax and live for the day. To enjoy life before it ended. I needed to enjoy life.

"Now, we don't want this young, buxom filly going to the glue factory all depressed and a sourpuss. No! If we die tomorrow, this stallion is going to ride tonight. Can I get an Amen?"

"Amen," said Jones.

"Amen to the fillies," roared Charley.

"We're all young," shouted Brittany. "We're all single! The world is burning! And we're all going to hell! Whoo!"

"Whoo!" echoed the boys. I stood laughing, red faced.

Brittany continued, "If we were near a club, I'd be rocking tonight. Anybody got any music?"

"No," said Jones. "I got a substitute."

Jones gave his famous grin and went for his pack. We set the table up and patiently waited with our cups for him to pour us a drink.

"To the brave men and women of the 59th," said Jones.

We downed our first shot.

"To friends who can whack the hell out of zombies," said Charley.

We downed another shot.

"To me," said Brittany. "What? It's my party."

We downed another shot.

"Make it good, girl," said Brittany. She gave me a wink.

"To . . . to the last man standing. Hooah!"

"Hooah!" said Brittany.

"Hooah!" said Jones.

"Hooah!" shouted Charley. We downed another. I gasped, my throat burned. I was not the drinker my friends were. Tears filled my eyes and I coughed.

"I don't have any music, but I have an exciting game we can play," Charley said.

"What?"

"Truth or Dare, the drinking version."

"No, pick something else. I hate that game."

Charley gave it some thought. He didn't get a chance to say anything, Brittany answered. "Strip Poker, we have the cards, the table, and the bodies."

Everyone immediately turned to gaze at me. As if I had a problem with it. I did. I looked at their drunken faces, waiting for my timid response, hoping I would not be a wet blanket for yet another asinine suggestion. I smiled.

"I'm game."

"All right," said Brittany.

The boys grinned at each other, afraid to reply, in case I had a change of heart. Jones poured another round and I couldn't wait to wrap my hands around my teacup and gain some liquid courage.

Only one of us ever played the game, so in a drunken stupor that took several minutes to complete, we agreed to basic rules. Jones nearly fell as he rose to emphatically state that only the winner kept their clothes on, the losers would each remove an article of clothing after each round. Charley suggested that for bets, we did a round of Truth or Dare; he was determined to play his favorite game and wouldn't let it go. We agreed to get play underway.

Brittany and I excused ourselves and went to the bathroom. When we came back, each of us had fashioned a hair scarf, wore an extra shirt, and proclaimed our weapons are jewelry and therefore clothing—I had a knife in each back pocket and in each sock. The boys moaned and groaned before adding their own changes to the aforementioned rules to even out the odds.

Throughout the game, whenever Brittany dealt the cards, I usually won. I figured she was cheating for my benefit. As the game progressed, I had the most clothes on, followed by Brittany. I should have spoken up and confronted her for cheating, the boys were too drunk to make a challenge. On the one hand, a rigged game in my favor bothered me, but on the other, it's nice to have a friend look out for you. Brittany knew me well. She knew I was pushing the envelope and at any minute, would reach my limit. Thank God for Brittany.

Toward the end of our play, Brittany had on a white tank top and red panties and had lost her hairnet, scarf, boots, socks, pants, shirt, and weapons. I, likewise, was down to a blue shirt, blue bra, and matching panties. Since I was sitting, I surrendered my pants to keep my shirt. Though she cheated, I assume the boys were master cheaters and turned the tables. They plied us with drinks and stories. We couldn't tell if they were lying or telling the truth, a perfect distraction for their hidden agenda.

Charley was at the table in white underwear and Jones was on top of the world wearing blue socks and shorts.

Jones dealt and the betting began. Brittany took an easy Dare and flashed Jones. On Charley's turn, his eyes found mine and his grin, insatiable. "Truth or Dare, Zora?"

I eyed him up and down, knowing little about him. I thought it best not to test the waters. I had a winning hand and this would end it all. "Truth."

"If you came over and passionately kissed us both, I mean with tongue and all, who do you think would be the better kisser, Jones or me?"

"That's not a Truth, that's a Dare."

"No, it's not, I'm not daring you to do anything, except tell the truth like you've been wanting to."

"I don't want to do anything." Smug bastard.

"Zee," said Brittany. She wasn't so drunk that she couldn't slap me. "It's a simple question, just answer it."

"That's not a question, it's a Dare and I won't. I said Truth and I meant Truth."

"Zee! My God, girl. It's not earth-shattering news. I mean for real!"

"Fine," I fumed. "Jones would be the better kisser. He has a heart."

I wanted my words to sting and make him feel as uneasy as I felt. More than likely I flubbed my attack. He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

"All right, Zee," said Jones. "You're up."

I racked my brain deciding who to go after. Of course, it had to be Charley. He only had his boxers and if he failed the challenge, I win. If he succeeds, we show our cards, again, I win. "Truth or Dare, Charley?"

A coy smile, "Dare."

Asshole. Now, I had to rack my brain to come up with something good, something he would never do. "I Dare you . . . to kiss, Jones." I had him, victory was mine.

Brittany and Jones busted out laughing. I will admit, I joined in. To see the smug look wiped off his face thrilled me.

Charley winked at Jones. He tried to hide it by putting his hand to his face, faking embarrassment, but I saw it. He gave me another smile, one of those like Thompson used to give me. Charley boldly rose and went to Jones. Oh my God! No! He smiled at me, bent down, took Jones' hand, and looking at me, kissed it. "Task completed, I win. Now, let me see, panties or shirt, a tough choice, indeed. I think I better play it safe and choose the panties. I wouldn't want you catching a chest cold, you know, pneumonia and all."

With every word he spoke, I boiled. Did he think he had me? "I won, you didn't do it right."

"No," thundered Charley, "I won! You said kiss him and I kissed him."

"That was his hand!" I shot back with all the boisterous anger I could muster.

"Well," he feigned surprise, "I know he is your friend and you want to give him a treat, but where exactly did you want me to kiss him?" he put his hand to his mouth in shock.

Jones and Brittany were at it again. Their laughter was loud and annoying, I wanted to knock them both out. They were rolling, at my expense. "You bastard! You know I didn't mean it that way. That's not even the point, you cheated and you lost. I won!"

I pointed, spit, and everything else, as I lost all traces of decorum. The thing that infuriated me most was his calmness, the smug bastard.

"No, I won, Miss Goody Two-Shoes."

I threw the cards I was holding in his face. I picked up the ones near me and threw them as well. Charley lunged at me, and I at him. We hit the floor and rolled around. When we settled in one spot, my hands were wrapped around his throat and his around mine. The intensity of the moment added energy to my grip and I wanted to kill him. Flashes of what he had done to Thompson danced across my mind and I gripped tighter.

Jones and Brittany hollered, screamed, and tugged at us both. None of it mattered to me, I was right and he was wrong and he was going to pay for it all. Finally. In the end, they resorted to the most unusual tactic imaginable. Jones hit Charley in the back with a baton at the same moment Brittany struck me. We both let go and groaned in pain. Brittany grabbed me and Jones grabbed Charley. Jones pulled him backward and dragged him into the large walk-in closet. Brittany held me tightly, squeezing the air out of my lungs, I nearly passed out.

"Britt!"

She let go. "Sorry, you left me no choice."

Common sense set in. I took a deep breath and it hurt like hell. I felt to see if I had a cracked rib, I didn't though it felt like I did.

"My God, Zee. How could you? You are a head case."

Heavy breathing was all I could manage. It took all my focus to get my breathing under control so I could relax and think rationally. When I did, I hated myself. The full extent of what I had done hit me and I felt remorse.

"I don't know why I did that, it just happened." I pulled myself up to the wall.

"You know, Zee. Hell, anybody looking could see it."

She was talking about Thompson again. I hate to admit it, she was right. I blame Charley for Thompson's death, I always will.

"I'll apologize in the morning. It was the alcohol. You know how it intensifies things? I got a little crazy. From now on, no more alcohol, problem solved."

"Stick your head in the sand," said Brittany. The look on her face was of anger, not confusion, as if she meant it as a question. "That's your answer?"

"I'm not sticking my head in the sand. I get a little out of control when I have too much to drink. It's easy to fix, stop drinking. Problem solved."

"Look, Zee. We are living in hell for who knows how much longer. You have a choice between living before you die, really living, Zee, experiencing all that life has to offer. Or you can stick your head in the sand and be gloomy until death takes you. I have made my choice, you make yours."

Jones came out of the closet, picked up the table we knocked over, and sat down. He dare not look at me, I felt awful. Brittany went to the table and sat next to him. They lowered their voices and leaned in to talk to each other. I couldn't hear, but whilst they talked, Brittany giggled.

Even in these difficult times, Brittany found something to laugh about, something to be happy about. She and Jones laughed quietly. The fiasco the night turned into didn't bother them one bit. I wish I could brush it off and began anew. It's a much happier world they live in than I.

I looked toward the closet door, it remained open and no sound came from within. I briefly wondered what he was doing and briefly allowed myself to wonder if he was in pain or asleep. Brittany and Jones recaptured my attention with their giggles. Afterward, Jones got up and closed the curtains, darkening the room again. By candle light, I sat against the wall and watched him and Brittany move the table against a far wall. He then took her hand and led her to the pallet on the floor and they disappeared beneath the covers. I heard the same giggling from the previous night and it dawned on me, this wasn't a first for them. They hid it so well and she never said a word to me, her blood brother.

I thought on what Brittany had said earlier about living life with reckless abandon. Perhaps, she chose tonight to let me know and fully commit. Perhaps, she chose long ago.

I sat and zoned out. I thought of Thompson and how I felt about him and then I took an honest look at Charley. I tried to be scientific and stack the good and the bad and admit to painful truths. I liked Thompson and I liked how I felt when he touched me. He made me feel special and I liked it. I think I fought for his memory for those reasons.

Taking a rational look at Charley, I will admit he is attractive and tall. His chest was a sculpture, a dream come true, and his blue eyes were dazzling. I didn't know if feelings for him betrayed feelings for Thompson. I refused to consider or delve deeper into my psyche. I was content to only skim the surface and admit I liked the man.

The last thing to do was to think about tomorrow and what if we died making our way to the camp. How did I want to die? What did I want to be my last thought? What would be my last perfect memory before dying? I had already come up with the answer. Brittany's soft sigh reinforced it for me. For the rest of the night, Zora was dead. It was the only way I could think of to make the change. Tonight, I will live in the moment and tomorrow would take care of itself.

I got to my feet and walked to the closet. Inside, I found Charley lying on the floor on a pile of clothes. The closet was big and spacious, the size of the smallest bedroom in the house. He turned and looked at me. I read his apology in his face and smiled. Charley returned my smile. I pulled my shirt over my head and closed the door. To my surprise, the door creaked open a bit and candlelight flickered in the room. I gazed into his eyes and found something there I hadn't expected to find. I lay on top of him and I kissed him. I shut out the world, forgot all my hang-ups, and I lived in the moment. Thompson, I'm dancing.

Chapter Nineteen

Someone kicked my foot. "Hey!" I opened my eyes to bright sunlight. I lie at the bottom of a pile of clothes on Charley, I slept on his chest. When my eyes focused, Brittany and Jones were standing in the door with wide grins plastered beneath their lying faces.

"We don't talk about the night," said Jones.

"Get up for breakfast," beamed Brittany, "we leave in an hour, so don't waste our precious time."

"What?"

Jones reached down and grabbed Charley. "Come on buddy, we have to check our perimeter and make plans." Jones pulled Charley away from me and they left the room together. I lie on the floor, looking at Brittany's smirk-filled face. Was she delighted to have seen a naked Charley go by? Had Jones been delighted at seeing my unvarnished backside? I looked at her again. Was she delighted her scheme had worked?

"What is going on?"

"It's almost noon. We are going to eat and hit the road. I told Jones to get Charley so there wouldn't be any awkward small talk."

"Thanks."

"So?"

"So?"

Brittany looked disappointed with me. She reached down and held up my bag. Tossing it to me, she said, "get dressed, today is the day." With that, she turned and left. Zora was back and Brittany didn't like her.

I quickly dressed and ran to the window for a look. Zombies left during the night and only a handful remained, aimlessly walking up and down the street. At the table, Brittany had our meal ready to go. She watched me come to the table and I read her expression easily enough. I ignored it.

"What's for breakfast?"

First a look, then a head shaking, her only retort. "Sardines and crackers for the journey."

Brittany hadn't opened any of the tins and chewed on a cracker while she stared out into space. I needed to kill time so I took a moment to read the label on my can of sardines, checking its caloric chart. It amused me and made me think of when it was that I last performed such a check. If nothing else, zombies were women's natural diet partner. No woman in her right mind wonders how fat she is anymore, except in terms of how fast she can run away from flesh-eating monsters. Body image issues are a thing of the past, good riddance.

Jones and Charley came back from their perimeter check and joined us at the table. Naturally, Charley sat next to me and Jones next to Brittany. Charley said a quick prayer for our safety and we began to eat.

I cautiously observed them all while trying to figure out my place in Charley's life. I don't mean to say I was planning on a white house with picket fence and the standard two kids with dogs. It was more like: What do I say to him? Do I thank him? Do I pretend it never happened? Do I not talk about it? Does he want me to? He sat next to me, is that significant? I never read men my whole short life and other than Charley, I had a boyfriend for approximately three days——long enough for him to get the goods and get out of Dodge. Yes, that's me, no-experience Zora.

Before the end came, I had met a nice guy. We dated off and on for three months without a deep commitment. He never made a move on me and I liked him for it, however it did make me wonder if he maybe had a little sugar in his tank. That's my mom's way of putting it; she hated saying the words, gay or homosexual. It doesn't matter now. Zombies ate him as he came through the door to rescue me. He was simple and expressed his feelings. Charley, on the other hand, said very little.

Perhaps his being next to me, it could be his words, couldn't it? I decided I would not push it and keep silent. We kept silent and ate. After breakfast, Jones placed a map on the table. "We're here and this is where we need to go."

"Are we going by road?"

"No." Jones pointed away from the road. "We have encountered zombies near the road at every turn. We will cut across the fields and travel away from them. It will take longer, but may be a safer route. Look guys, if one of us doesn't make it, the rest have to continue and make it to safety. If we run into zombies and one of us is surrounded, the rest do not help, we keep moving. Do you understand?"

We looked at one another. We understood, but didn't want to say it or promise it.

"If I'm surrounded and can't get away," said Brittany, "I don't want to be eaten or turned. I want all of you to promise me right now you won't let it happen. Promise me you will shoot me and spare me the horror."

"Britt?"

"Promise me, Zee."

"I promise."

"And you, Charley."

Charley looked sad, but reluctantly agreed. "I promise."

Brittany turned to the man beside her, saving him for last." Jones?"

Jones grinned. "You don't have to ask, I'll gladly put a hole in your head."

"Make it count," she smirked, "right between the eyes."

"No doubt," said Jones. He looked longingly into her eyes and caressed the back of her hand for a brief second.

"Are you expecting zombies?" I asked more to break up the uncomfortable moment than for a reply. They were making me sick. I could throw caution to the wind for a moment only; embarrassment embedded itself into my core being and would require an exorcism for removal.

"Don and Ruthie were not on the road," said Jones.

Remembering Thompson's words, I blurted, "the zombies we find in the country will be stronger and take longer to take down. That will increase our chances of someone getting hurt. Wouldn't it be better to stick closer to the roads?"

"How is that better?" he asked.

"The city zombies will be easier to kill than the country zombies."

"What?" asked Brittany, unaware of the new term I coined.

"The newest zombies will be in the country. They will be stronger and take longer to kill because they have recently turned. I would rather fight a dozen weak ones than one strong one. There is a greater chance of us getting killed with the country zombies and I don't know about you, but I got somewhere I need to be."

Jones' face soured. I saw the blood rushing to his face, once again regret filled me. I had a bad habit of challenging my commanding officer. Back at camp, it was cute, here in the real world, it wasn't. His fist clenched, closing around the map. I hoped the others were looking elsewhere and didn't see what I saw. When he spoke, I knew it would be sharp and edgy.

He swallowed hard. "Baker, follow orders and let me worry about our route."

"Yes, sir."

That's the army, follow orders, good or bad. I wish I can remember how that story went about the soldiers who marched to their death, that's how I feel. We packed and gathered by the front door to make our escape.

We discarded the contents of one of the duffel bags and Jones stuffed it with small pillows from around the house. It was odd. I wanted to ask about them, I couldn't, I had reached my daily allotment for challenges. I told myself he is our leader and he knows best. Jones was good and so far, our lives were safe in his hands. Now was not the time for a mutiny. Besides, the one lesson I learned from him was to look at the big picture, he always did.

Jones left first, followed by Brittany, Charley, and once again I guarded our rear. This time I would be sure to shut the door in case we needed to retreat. I kicked myself. Zombies aren't intelligent and can't read. If I had been thinking, I would have left a note on the door alerting anyone who passed by that the house was a safe zone. Literally a safe zone, I had never felt safer than in this place. Instead of a note, I shut the door, checked it, and then blew it a kiss as I hurried to catch my team.

Jones led us along a similar route as the last and I glanced at the burned houses, their embers still aglow. Over the rise we went. So far, the stray zombies we saw were moving opposite us and we stayed behind buildings until they passed. We came to a small hill and at the top, saw a small shack in the distance.

The others made their way to it while I defended our six. Jones whistled to me. I journeyed to the shack. They hadn't gone in, they lay flat on the ground, looking ahead. Below us, zombies were rummaging around an overturned truck, I counted six of them. I checked our left and right, no other zombies were present. I lay on the ground and low crawled to my team.

Charley looked at them through Jones' binoculars. Something delighted him, he chuckled lightly to himself.

"What?"

"That truck might run," said Charley. "There is no lower carriage damage. Maybe zombies flipped it over to get at the people."

"Batons only," said Jones. "We take them out and take a look. It's worth it if we can get the truck running. Baker, you stay with our bags and watch our six."

"Are you kidding me?"

"Follow orders and watch our six."

Venom filled his words. The sweet lovable friend left with the morning meal. I should have known. It was my fault as usual. I needed to learn the core lesson, the number one lesson a soldier must learn: never question your superior. I lay the fault at the army's feet, they knew what they were getting when I signed up. Jones didn't have to be mean about it.

I watched them perform a move I had seen many times. With batons high, they began their descent to the truck. Brittany was last to leave. She turned and without words, smiled at me. Her magical smile was like the sun falling on a darkened land, it warmed me throughout. A second look at my crawling friend revealed a curiosity; she didn't crawl with a baton. Instead, she moved along the ground with her zombie crushing lead pipe.

The truck was half a mile away, tilted on its side in what looked like a ravine. Together they crept to the truck and in a furry, beat the zombies to death. I saw Charley go around the front and fear welled in me. I was concerned with his safety. The emotion took me by surprise and I could only connect it with last night's activities. I couldn't be concerned about this man, I had plans and he wasn't part of them.

I kicked myself for getting involved in the first place. Why did I ever listen to Brittany and Thompson? I was the only person who had my best interests at heart. I couldn't afford distractions and would never call it by any other name than that. Distractions were dangerous and if not nipped in the bud, could get you killed.

Then it came. From behind me a soft groaning sound filtered down to me. There was no time to cringe, no time for fear. I turned as a zombie was bending toward me, mouth fully open and salivating. I kicked up as hard as I could, knocking the zombie back. A quick check of its eyes revealed a small red ring around the outer edge of his eyeball. He was new, a country zombie. I had been right all along. Jones should have listened to me.

For a split second, I was distracted by my gloating. I had already planned the victory speech I would deliver to Jones, face to face. The zombie came at me again and I scrambled to get to my feet. Fighting wasn't what I wanted to do. I preferred a bullet through the head from a distance away.

I stood defenseless, unable to get to my pack and a weapon. Unable to get to any of the packs standing behind the zombie. I lunged at it. The strategy had worked in the past, why change now? Careful not to fall into its clutches, I pushed it backward while gripping its arms. As it howled and fell backward, I managed to stay upright and readied for my next assault. With the zombie on the ground, I reared back and kicked as hard as I could. My boot went through its skull in one try. The difficult part was extricating my foot from the mess of its head.

I should have turned my head and not looked, I didn't. Green slime covered my boot. More tapioca styled, green-tinted, zombie brains made my boot a heavy, stinky mess. It smelled like a cesspool. I shook it off as fast as I could. The sight and smell equally made me sick to my stomach. If not for my friends being in mortal danger, I would have fallen to the ground, vomiting.

There was no time to think about poor little me. I scanned the area for more zombies, I saw none. He must have been a stray. I hurried to my bag and pulled out my sawed-off shotgun. I cocked it. I would be ready for the next one and blow its head clean off its shoulders. Any part of it that remained would get my steel-toed combat boots.

A whistle let me know Jones was calling. I looked to him and he waved me down. Brittany was coming toward me, I waited for her.

"I'll help you take the bags down," she said.

"What are we, a butler service?"

"You and me both, it's the army."

"Yeah, more like this man's army."

We chuckled and moved toward the others. Before I could stop them, strange words flew out of my mouth. "How's Charley?"

Brittany waited a moment to answer. Did she know she was torturing me? "He went to check the battery. If it's good, we will turn the truck back over."

I wanted to thank her for not teasing me. I was having trouble defining what Charley and I were.

Brittany stopped and gave me a surprised look. "What's on your boot?" she looked behind us and searched for a moment. In her face I saw recognition. "Are you all right?"

"Yes."

It took a moment for her to pose the next question. "Did it bite or scratch you?"

"No, and I will be happy to submit to a test. We are going to have to do it by nightfall anyway."

Without another word, Brittany marched on. She tried to stay a step ahead of me. I met her challenge and stayed with her. Then I saw it, I saw her expression from the side of her face. She was worried about me. It was more than worry, the lines running across her forehead were thought lines. I wondered if she was planning my funeral, or better yet, was she planning my execution. We made the pledge to take out one another, would she stick to the pack?

"Britt?"

Brittany stopped. She wouldn't turn and face me so I walked in front of her to meet her face to face. "I'm fine, I swear. The zombie never laid a hand on me and I'm not going anywhere."

"I hope so."

"Don't tell them. It's hurting you and I don't want them hurt as well. Promise me you want say anything."

"Whatever."

Brittany sped up this time and reached the truck before I could say another word. She carried three bags and managed a sprint athletes would find envious.

"Charley, does it work?" Brittany blurted.

He and Jones had been in deep conversation. "No."

"Looks like we are going to have to hoof-it," said Jones.

"What about the inside? Did anyone check for anything useful?"

"Nothing worth taking," said Jones. "Not here or in the shack. Let's move out."

We began walking again. We were moving away from the road, keeping an eye on it to our left. Our way remained clear for the next hour. We were going deeper and deeper into the country and fears crept up in me. This was dangerous. These country zombies would be strong and the goal was to kill them without weapons. It made me question why we went to the police station in the first place. Guns were our friend, not the enemy. My M16 was my best friend, faithful for life.

Up ahead, trouble. We saw a small camper RV with a small truck next to it. I would have preferred we kept going; they made a b-line toward it.

They stopped behind trees and waited for me to catch up. Four zombies acted as a guard for the property. They moved as a unit back and forth in front of the camper. Something seemed odd about the little group, their different sizes and heights, and their movements sent up a red flag. I couldn't put my finger on it. I needed to get closer to them to figure it out.

"Baker?"

I hid behind a tree I felt large enough to hide me. The others had done the same and now my leader called. I stuck my head out; thank god zombies didn't shoot guns. "Sir?"

He waved me to him. It must have been a universal signal because we came as a group to him.

"Baker," whispered Jones. "Let's test your skill."

"Yes, sir."

My response, automatic, beaten into me by my comrades. I watched as he opened the duffel he packed the pillows inside. He held up a small one with the picture of the sun on it. The pillow was light green and showed a fiery sun radiating out to the world. I looked at him with confusion. He smiled.

"It's a muffler for your rifle, dummy. Take it out and set up."

Brittany helped me. I pulled out my gun and set it next to the base of the tree. I didn't have a stand and instead used loose bricks to approximate one. Brittany told me she had a surprise and after checking everyone's bags, she returned with a delightful grin on her angelic face. "Guess."

"Britt!"

"Sour puss."

Brittany handed me Jones' binoculars and held up tape. I thought she had to pee from the movements she displayed. She held a roll of tape and did a little celebration jig. I won't call it dancing, not unless she meant it as a joke.

"Get down here, you nut."

She taped the makeshift scope to my barrel and I chose a target to test it on. Jones put the pillow to my barrel and held it while I fired, off by two inches. I nodded my head, indicating I was ready and took aim at the aimless. Back and forth the zombies went as if former soldiers still fixated on a long-lost mission. They couldn't have been soldiers, they were various sizes and one was short and round.

Through my scope, I took aim. Jones placed a second pillow over the muzzle and I was ready. I squeezed the trigger and hit a tall zombie in the head. My adjustments were perfect. I watched the bullet go through its skull and he fell in silence.

The remaining zombies stopped for a minute, then continued their pacing. Jones held up another pillow and I took aim at the next. A zombie fell. Feathers flew out from the pillow and we took cover. Though the bullet made no noise, the rising feathers would surely give us away, marking us for death or a juicy meal.

Fear surged in me and adrenaline boosted my heart rate. I couldn't see in front of me and watched the feathers as they began their descent. I prayed they would be quick about it and they complied. With no noise or zombies heading our way, we breathed a sigh of relief.

I shot Jones a look and he shrugged. Moments later, he grinned ear to ear and held up three fingers. Round three.

My gun had fallen over. After placing it back in its stand, I readied for the next target. I had taken out the tallest two zombies, one of which was portly. I fixed my sight on the tallest of the two dwarf zombies. I waited for Jones, readjusted for his tension, and fired.

Before I could aim at the next, gunshots rang out.

"Down! Down! Down! Down!"

Jones didn't have to scream it from the top of his lungs. We were down with our heads covered.

"Where is it coming from?"

"The camper," said Brittany.

Jones looked at her, "go!"

I shuddered. Brittany moved quickly. Like a snake, she slithered around the side of the tree and was out of my sight. I didn't have time to wish her well or look into her eyes, in case it was for the last time.

Fear took me, followed by anger. I looked at Jones beside me with his head in the dirt and hands over his head, protecting himself so he could survive, while my friend marched into harm's way. I wanted so badly to say something or stab him with one of my many knives I hadn't had a chance to use as of late. I looked at the back of his neck, it would be so easy to take him out and claim gunfire.

He must have sensed my staring, he turned his head and looked up at me. "Baker! Soldier! Get down!" he yanked me to the ground—I had rose, searching for Brittany. He threw me further behind the tree and lay on top of me, pressing me into the warm dirt. I felt his warm body above mine and listened to the sweet sound of his heart. It somehow filtered down to me and took residence in my ears, drowning the gunfire.

The gunfire stopped.

Jones got off me and pulled me up beside him. We heard a whistle, Brittany. We came from behind the trees and walked toward the camper. I thought of the last zombie and then I saw it. Directly in front of us it lay. Looking up, I saw Brittany standing over a man's body and Charley was right beside her. I had forgotten about Charley. We walked down to take a closer look.

"This was the asshole firing at us." Brittany kicked the dead man, hard.

"Why was he firing at us? You would think he would be grateful for us removing the zombies so he could get away from here."

"He wasn't going anywhere," said Charley.

"Why?"

Charley's face contorted as he pointed to the four dead zombies around us. "They're his family. The guy was crazy. He was protecting them from us. I couldn't slit his throat fast enough."

I was shocked by the revelation. That was a first. The small zombies weren't dwarfs after all, they were children. So many times I have tried to protect myself by whispering inside my head, "don't do it," like all those times before, I didn't listen. I went to the nearest body, knelt beside it, and turned it over. I couldn't tell from the face, but from the long stringy hair, it was a young girl.

"Oh god, not again."

My first instinct was to look for a bullet hole in her head. It wasn't necessary, her skull had a hole in it and next to me was a boot with green goo on it.

"You missed one. Don't worry, I got her." Brittany touched me on my shoulder. I hope she felt my gratitude.

Chapter Twenty

Charley was at the truck with Jones. They had the hood up and were busy. "They were his family?" I said absently.

Brittany shook her head. "Yes, it's what he was screaming. I got the kid while he was firing in the trees and when he came out to get me, Charley was right behind him. The guy came out hollering about his family. Can you believe it?"

I shrugged. The guy had lost it, that's for sure. I didn't linger on it. I looked at Charley working on the truck with newfound appreciation. I had forgotten about him, but he came through for my friend, and for me. Any awkwardness I felt about last night vanished. He was more than a hero. I daresay he was my champion and lover.

"Baker," shouted Jones, "get our packs and throw them in the back of the truck."

"You got it going?" asked Brittany. Neither of us heard it running. I stayed an extra second to hear his response.

"The battery is good and it has gas. The problem is the connection. Charley is taking a cable from the camper. Once done, we will be ready to go. I need the two of you on alert, I'm sure the zombies heard all the noise. Why don't you two go scout at the edge of the perimeter?"

"All right."

We turned to leave. I had a thought and turned back. I looked at the camper's wheels, they were all flat. I turned back to carry out my task.

"Hey, don't forget the bags."

"We got it," said Brittany.

She winked at him and we were off. It took a minute for us to throw all our bags in the back of the truck, even now, we could hear distant howling and zombie screams. Brittany and I traveled toward the screams. We went up a rise and to the top of a hill and lay flat on the ground watching them.

Zombies were coming our way and if Charley didn't get that truck running in the next few minutes, we were all dead. I shouldn't say dead, that's an exaggeration on my part. More than likely, we could be turned to increase the numbers of their growing hordes. We could wage a successful battle and get away with modest scratches and bites, only to turn days later. Or if they were really hungry, they could eat us, I'm sure we would make a tasty treat.

I looked at the masses coming toward us like ants scurrying up a hill in large numbers. The faster zombies ran and screamed while the slower ones walked at a hurried pace, howling. I wondered if their howl was to tell the faster ones to slow down and wait for them.

I tightened my grip on my rifle, taking a moment to weigh my options. Charging into them would be a waste of time and our lives. I didn't need to ask Brittany's permission, she would gladly take the risk. No plan leading to our death would be worth following, I needed something that might work, if only we had artillery.

"Let's get back," said Brittany, "there is nothing we can do here."

She must have read my mind. "All right."

We hurried back in time to hear the roar of the truck's engine. The joy that sprung up in me is indescribable. We were going to Camp Brandt, I was going to Simon. Brittany broke out in a run ahead of me. With a quick sprint, I caught her and the race was on. Side by side we ran, laughing, seeing a brighter future for us both.

The horn blew.

We gave a burst of speed and we were there. Winded and out of breath, I struggled to make sense. "Th-the-they're coming, in mass numbers."

Jones grim look echoed Charley's. "Get in the back, you're our six."

"Right," said Brittany. She hopped into the bed of the small pickup.

"I'm right behind you." I hopped in and as the truck sped away, we rifled through all the packs, searching for weapons and ammo. Brittany and I loaded the guns, put spare clips next to us, and arranged our order for firing the weapons.

Charley drove fast and rough. We tossed from side to side and braced best we could. He tore across the area, away from the zombies and toward the road. As Jones had predicted, zombies were near the road, using it for marauding purposes. Brittany's look was stern. She was something: her chin stood high, nose crinkled, lips in a sneer, and blond hair tied in a ponytail with stray curls from her sides blowing in the breeze. Brittany yelled and mowed down dozens of zombies chasing us as we made our getaway.

"Hey!" Jones stuck his head out from the passengers' side window, raising his voice. "We need that ammo. Take out the ones that get close to us, screw the rest."

Brittany didn't look pleased, but she followed orders. Laying off would not be easy, we were going to have to work at it. I took aim and shot zombies close enough to get into the truck. The farther we went; it became clear Brittany had the rear covered. I got the bright idea of turning around and leaning against the cab, the wind was brutal, almost blinding me. How dogs did it, I haven't a clue. I squinted best I could, I determined to make it work, it was a good idea. I put my rifle on the hood, waited to adjust to my new position, and picked off any zombies ahead of us.

It was working. We were dropping zombies all over the place. I looked back and saw Brittany picking off the fastest of the zombies. They came from the sides and tried leaping into the truck. She took aim with a steady hand, waited until the time was perfect, and fired. I shook my head, Brittany enjoyed herself.

I turned back around to scan ahead. I hit a zombie, then Charley drove over it. The bump sent me flying backward into the bed of the truck. I braced, but hit the bed hard. I groaned afterward and tried to get to my feet. A flying zombie stopped me and knocked me back down.

Like a mad woman, I screamed and started thrashing about. Not like a typical ditzy girl, like a veteran soldier: I screamed, punched, and kicked all at the same time. I hit the zombie with purpose and force. My training took over. If they could see me now, they'd give me a commendation medal for heroism.

Brittany stopped firing. She stood over me with this insane look of confusion, no it was bewilderment, or maybe disgust, I don't know, perhaps a combination of all three. I broke off my attack. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Defending myself. Hell! What does it look like?"

"It looks like you're an idiot."

The zombie didn't put up a fight; most of it was off me. It wasn't trying to bite me or eat me. Brittany kicked the rest of the zombie off me. I looked at it. It had a bullet hole between its beady, little, red eyes. Something I should have noticed, perhaps I was being a ditsy little girl after all. How was I going to live this one down? Crazy girl fights dead zombie.

The truck screeched to a halt. Brittany flew backward, almost falling from the back. I got to my feet to see what the matter was. I saw hordes of zombies ahead of us. They weren't moving—they were blocking the road. They numbered in the hundreds. The zombies were in the road and on both sides for what looked to be one or more city blocks on each side.

I quickly turned to our rear and saw no zombies. Brittany had done an excellent job, the road filled with rotting carcasses.

Inside the cab, Charley gripped the steering will, unsure of how to proceed. His hands were sweaty and when he wiped his brow, I saw a slight quiver in the hand. Jones gulped. I looked to his chest to see if his heart beat as fast as mine. Jones breathed deeply, his chest heaved.

Jones got out of the truck. How insane was he? How insane was I? I made sure no zombies were sneaking up on us from the rear, then hopped out, landing next to him.

"What's going on?"

Jones put his hand to his chin. "It's a trap," his voice low and edgy.

"Can you be sure?"

"They herded us this way on purpose," said Jones.

"I thought they had no intelligence." Brittany stood next to me, looking at the massive number of killers in front of us.

Charley saddled up next. "It doesn't take much intelligence to want dinner. Well, boss. What do we do now?"

Jones pondered for a moment. "They're not moving toward us. They know we have nowhere else to go, that takes intelligence."

"I don't care how smart they are, what do we do?"

Panic set in. I did my best to resist and for a while, it worked.

"We go back," said Jones.

"Back? Are you kidding me?"

Brittany aided me. "Why would we go back?"

Jones reddened. "We can't go forward. Look at them! Go back is all we can do."

I thought of Simon. My one last chance to see him, to be with him, was evaporating.

"No, I'm not going back. I'm fighting my way through or by god, I will die trying!"

"Baker!"

"Don't Baker me! I'm not going back. We're too close. I say we mow them down."

"What?"

"You heard me, mow them down."

Jones pointed to something on the side of the road, something I couldn't see. "Stand on the back of the truck and look by that far-off tree."

I did as he suggested and when I looked, I saw zombies around four scattered cars. The overturned cars had their doors ripped off. The windshields were all shattered and blood stains splattered the cars and nearby grass. Zombies were feasting on something or someone and my heart sank. It dawned on me what had happened. Others had tried running over the zombies and sheer numbers stopped them. The zombies overturned the cars, smashed the windshields, broke down the doors, whatever it took to get at the scrumptious meal inside.

I felt dejected.

Simon would have to go on without me. If we left now and had enough gas, we could possibly make it back to our safe house. Life there wasn't so bad. I had Charley and Brittany had Jones. We could make it work. The local zombies didn't bother us and if Thompson was right, and I know he was, we could wait out the virus and eventually all the zombies would die. Making the occasional raid on the store would keep us in supplies. It could work.

I could talk myself into a good life here, I could. I didn't have to. I looked at the zombies and hope sprang in my soul. I saw a way to victory, I saw a way ahead. "Jones! Come here!"

Jones climbed into the back of the truck and stood next to me. "Yeah."

"Look in the right center of the road. See how thin they are there? We can punch through, I know we can."

"That's what all those people thought too," he pointed to the cars for emphases.

I would not be deterred and argued my point. "They didn't have what we have. We are soldiers and we have a plan of attack. Brittany and I shoot a path through them and Charley drives over them. We drop them like flies and if we muzzle the sound, the others won't move, just like at the camper. We make a road and ride over it."

I sounded convincing, I would buy it. Anxiousness overtook me waiting for his response.

"Well?"

Jones ran his hand through his hair. "If they agree, so will I."

My heart fluttered. "Brittany! Charley! Get back here!"

They climbed in and looked out at our enemy to make sure they weren't advancing, they weren't, and soon we would be advancing on them. "What?" they asked together.

"I have a plan." I pointed to the weakness I saw and made sure they saw it as well. "We back up and get a running start toward that hole. We shoot the zombies with silencers and they fall, the rest will keep their place waiting for us to come to them. When we make it to them, we will have cleared a path and made a road we can drive on. It will be too late for them to get at us. And if you look past them, you don't see anything but clear road. It can work."

The skeptical look on Brittany's face gave me pause, especially when she looked to Jones for confirmation. I can't say whether she trusted him because she slept with him, or the fact that he was our leader, neither satisfied me.

"It's up to you guys," said Jones. "It may work, it may also get us stuck and killed."

Why did he have to add that last part? "It will work," my confidence soared.

Charley read it in my face. "What the hell, I'll do it."

Brittany's eyes met mine. "Drop trou."

The idea floored me. "What?"

"What?" echoed Charley.

"Huh?" Jones looked at her worse than I did.

"I think she's infected and may be leading us to our deaths. A zombie attacked her at the camper."

"Is that true?" asked Jones. The rage on his face sent my heart into panic mode.

"Why didn't you tell us?" asked Charley. He too, displayed that face of mistrust.

"It's nothing. If you don't want to go, you don't have to. I am going to Camp Brandt to be with my brother and I am not letting a pile of zombies or you stop me. You want to go back, be my guest. I'm going forward, alone if necessary."

My impassioned speech had no effect on Brittany. She quickly raised her rifle, centering the barrel between my eyes. Great, another standoff.

"Britt!"

"You want us to follow you? You prove you have no infection and will not lead us into a trap. They can communicate and they are organized. How do we know you are not in contact with them? Prove it and I will follow you."

"No. I'm not doing anything. You don't have to come with me. You can all go back and live safely in the safe house until hell freezes over. I'm going forward."

"Jones," said Brittany. "Did we or did we not make a pledge to strip after hand-to-hand combat?"

Jones turned his brown eyes on me. "We did."

I huffed. "Fine, damn it!"

Don't ask me why, but I checked to verify the zombies couldn't see me. Then I began, this will teach me not to question others. I went fast and twirled once. They shook their heads in agreement and accepted my ambitious plan.

Our stockpile of ammo ran low. Charley drove and this time, Jones joined us, he stood in the middle and held pillows at an odd angle to both our barrels. Brittany and I took aim and fired silently into the pack of zombies. Two zombies fell, their brains gushing out onto the pavement. The rest stayed in place or walked around them, never advancing. Perfect. Jones readjusted the pillows and we took down two more. To our surprise, it worked flawlessly and then toward the end, our shots could be heard, the pillows were no more.

"Hang on to something," said Charley.

Charley gunned the truck at the zombies. Jones joined us and we fired away. The zombies were breaking up, howling and coming our way. We kept firing and Charley kept driving. At the last instant, he jerked hard right and we were up on top of the zombies. Our new roadway was lumpy and we clung to the sides as the truck tilted left then right. The plan went better than I expected it would. We had cleared a path and the approaching zombies were tripping and falling over the ones we shot.

From time to time, we kicked a stray zombie that managed to get too close. Those that got a hand on the truck got it slammed for their trouble. Though we kept firing, each of us had a baton, except Brittany with her ever-loving Pipe of Death. Those closes, we whacked and those with beady eyes got a bullet between them—for good luck.

Near the end, our path was clear ahead. We had cleared out the immediate zombie threat and breathed a welcome sigh of relief. Then it happened, the truck spun and spun, smoke pluming from the rear left tire. Jones went to investigate.

Jones yelled back, "we're stuck between two swished zombies. You're making peanut butter man."

"Hold up, Charley. Cover me, Britt." I said.

"I got you."

I went to have a look with Jones. He had gotten out of the truck and was trying to move a zombie from the tire. I helped. Occasionally I heard a shot, Brittany was on her job and I felt better. Together, we tried to move the mess made by the wheel with no success. Of all the things to happen, who would have thought this would do us in? I never counted on swished zombies, it was like road sludge or being in a mud hole. Zombie goo covered our hands as we worked with the mess.

"Send Charley back here and drive the truck." Jones ordered.

"Okay."

I ran to the front to relay the message, wiping the disgusting stuff off my hands as I went. I waited until they said ready and then I stepped on the pedal. The truck's wheel squealed and smoke shot in the air. Brittany's rifle shot into the crowd and we were rocking. An instant later, we were moving. The truck sped over the remaining zombie roadway and then we were back on normal road surface. I drove a little farther, then screeched to a halt.

My outside mirror told the tale. My team battled zombies. They were surrounded and soon would be invisible to me. My stomach dropped, not from the sight, from my thoughts. My fingers wrapped around the steering wheel, it would be so easy to keep going. I won, I made it through and Simon was ahead, waiting for me.

I heard them, screaming zombies closing in. I hesitated. I didn't want to go back. They needed me and I couldn't abandon them. I put the truck in reverse and backed up, full speed. I don't know how many I ran over, it was quite a few. I blew the horn and my team leaped in the back.

I put the truck in drive and floored it. I'll be damn if I get stuck now. We tossed and turned as I went over the bodies, this time it wasn't so bad, I had smashed them the first go round. As soon as we were back on solid ground, the ride smoothed out and we barreled down the road as fast as the little old truck would take us.

A few stray zombies wondered across the road, I hit as many as I could without putting us in danger. I erratically drove and can't say for certain where I was or what state I was in. Had we crossed the border from Missouri to Arkansas? I couldn't tell. I was jumbled up and zoned out, not reading signs or paying attention to landmarks. My tunnel vision allowed me to see the center of the road in front of me and any stray zombie that wondered in my field of vision.

I snapped out of it somewhere around Cherokee Village, to its west, that was the direction Jones said the camp was in. I went down the road and saw a huge building with a big gate. Overhead, our flag blew in a light breeze.

Chapter Twenty-One

We made it to the gate. I had never been so happy to see the military in my life. Pulling up to the big gate and reading the sign welcoming us to Camp Brandt were awesome. My hands were shaking so bad I was losing my grip on the steering wheel. I brought the truck to a stop at the outer gate and a guard waved me forward. The gate opened, they had electricity, outstanding.

"How many?" the guard asked me.

I was put off by the guards in front of him, the ones aiming the M16's at us. "Four."

"Go inside and stay to the right, a guard will guide you to quarantine."

"Thank you."

He motioned me forward and past him. I approached the guards with trepidation; none of them returned my friendly wave or smile. Instead, they trained their weapons on me and watched as I slowly went forward and turned to the right. Fear gripped me. I could not make mistakes with this lot. I tightened my grip on the wheel and followed the path laid out for me. I made it to the area and parked.

I stepped out of the truck to check on my team. They were awfully quiet and I admit I had forgotten about them. I longed to see my brother and kept his image in my head as I drove. Everything else disappeared as I remembered every joke, every story, every laugh I was a party to with him. It would be good being with him.

Charley, Brittany, and Jones had their hands up and were standing in the center of the truck bed. Four guards pointed rifles at them.

"Zee!"

Brittany's expression worried me. She was afraid they would kill them and so was I. Two guards came behind me. I felt a barrel in the center of my back. It nudged me and I immediately put my hands in the air.

The soldier with the gun in my back shoved it forward. "Move, that way."

"Zee, I have to tell you—" Brittany began.

"Hey! Get down and march, slowly, no talking. Move!"

"It's okay, Britt—"

The soldier behind me shoved the barrel deeper into my back, "shut up and march."

Since they wouldn't allow me to talk, I tried to calm Brittany with a smile. There was nothing for her to worry about, we made it and we were alive. Still, fright covered her face and that was unusual for her. I glimpsed the others and they too worried. Maybe it was the truck, it was covered in green blood and guts, possibly body parts, maybe that is why they treated us so badly.

It will be all right, Zee. You made it and Simon is waiting. I walked at gunpoint to a cell between the inner and outer gates. It is reasonable for them to quarantine us. I had no problem with it.

The thought then occurred to me that my friends had no one waiting on them as I did. Though it was the army, it is a new world for them and some fear is in order. I hoped they would get over it soon. Good times were ahead.

My guard led me to a door and made me open it. I did and went inside. I found it was not the one-room cell I believed. It was a small room with a metal table and two doors at the far end. An overhead light shined on the table. Now, I was worrying. Images of mad scientists ran through my head.

I stood by the door, not wanting to venture forward to find what awaited me. After a while, a speaker buzzed from the ceiling and I shook. In a split second, Camp Vix appeared in my head and I found myself in the basement cell struggling to keep the wall from moving and throwing me into the clutches of a female zombie.

Words came from the speaker, I didn't understand any of them. Fear held me. Maybe Brittany was right to be afraid. Maybe she knew they would do this to us.

"Move forward to the head of the table," the calmer I became the clearer the voice became.

"Hello?"

"Move forward to the head of the table," said the voice, "please."

The added incentive made me move. I moved as slow as possible, a zombie could jump out at me at any moment. I reached to my back as casually as I could, my knife felt hard as I ran my hand against its handle. I walked forward a bit faster with more confidence. If a zombie or a maniac jumped out at me, it would be their last jump.

"A doctor will be in to examine you shortly," said a softer female voice. I suppose its purpose is to put me at ease, it didn't. I looked for hidden cameras in the ceiling. "Underneath the table are drawers. The top drawer contains bath towels. You will undress and take a shower. The door ahead of you on your left is a shower. When you have finished, the middle drawer contains shirts and the bottom, pants. A doctor will then see you. Please move forward and get a towel."

"Who is talking?"

"Please move forward and get a towel."

Sorry, I'm going to be difficult. "I'm not doing anything until you answer me. Who is talking?"

Dead silence.

I worried, but I didn't budge.

The door to the right opened. Two people in what looked like decontamination getups came into the room. They moved slowly in big bulky suits that carried their own oxygen supply in a small tank on their back.

From between them, two soldiers in camouflaged fatigues appeared. The first, an older soldier with jet-black hair, held a metal nozzle. I traced its end to a long metal tube that turned into a thick white hose, a fire hose. The other held a rifle he pointed directly at me, unflinching.

"You can voluntarily take your shower or these gentlemen will assist you," said the first man in the contamination suit.

I eyed them all. What I was doing made no sense. Simon was on the other side of the door and I was arguing about taking a shower, something I hadn't done in who knows when. Brittany's face came to me and the scared look she had on her face as she left. Something told me to be wary of these people and it wouldn't let me relax. Immediately, my knife made an appearance. Eyes went wide.

"Private Jolly, hit her."

The soldier with the hose aimed it at me. The last thing I saw was his evil smile and crooked teeth as water shot at me with a force that knocked me back against a wall and to the floor. I lost consciousness.

I woke on a metal table. I didn't have to see it. I felt the distinctive cold metal surface. I raised my head to look at my body, fear pumped through my veins, someone had dressed me. I was in a white long sleeve shirt, green pants, and I wore no shoes. If I could move, I would kick myself all over the room for being stupid. Who knows what they did to me while I was out. Did they touch me? I could barely move and managed to tilt my head in a way where I could see down my shirt. I saw a bra, thank god for that. I looked further for marks and didn't find any.

I shut my eyes tight and tried to go over my body for signs of something, anything. I pictured myself having an out-of-body experience where I floated over my body to examine myself for unusual marks. Try as I may, I felt nothing unusual. I wasn't sore, so that ruled out them performing an unwilling surgery and implanting me with god knows what. Why did I resist?

Now, I'm unarmed. Maybe I could have kept my knife if I had cooperated.

I struggled to free myself and couldn't. Strapped to the table with large bands around my waste and legs, I could barely move. Two smaller bands held my arms in two places.

"Hey! Hello!"

I twisted more and then prepared to shout more, I would scream my head off until I went hoarse if necessary.

The door opened. A man in white doctors' clothing came in carrying a chart on a clipboard. He pulled up a chair and then looked over my body before sitting in his chair.

"My name is Doctor Flitall, I need to ask you a few questions and then we can place you."

"Place me?"

"One of the others said you were a soldier, is that correct?"

"Untie me."

After a brief stare down, he undid my arms so I could sit. "I'll do the rest when we finish."

"Why?"

"You were armed with a knife and reached for it during your decontamination. We have to protect a whole society, so if you are crazy, we have to restrain you."

"I'm sane."

"Name?"

"Zora Baker. I have a brother, Simon. He should be here, have you seen him?"

He ignored my inquiry and wrote on his clipboard. "Rank?"

"Private, first class, member of the 59th strike team out of Camp Vix, the Screaming Eagles. Simon Baker, have you seen him?"

Again he ignored me. "Any bites or scratches?"

I rolled my eyes. "You should already have the answer to that one."

He glanced up at my body before writing a new paragraph. I tried to look to see what he wrote, my restraints made it impossible. "Are you going to untie me?"

"No."

"What?"

The man looked me over and then left. I struggled to free myself and then the man I didn't want to see came into the room, Dr. Blake.

"Miss Baker," he said, "let me tell you a key rule at this facility. If you harm any human, execution is automatic for the crime. There is no prison and no defense lawyer. We are all that remains of our society and like our gardens, we root out the weeds. If you cause trouble, we will kill you or throw you out, those are the facts of our new world. Do you understand what I have said to you?"

This man seemed as if he were reading me my rights, as if arrested; only these were new rights for a new world. He glared at me waiting for my response. I thought how easy it would be to remove his glasses and use a piece of it as a weapon to stab him with. I saw it in a movie once. I can't think of the name of the movie, but it thrilled me.

"Do you understand, Miss Baker?"

"Yes."

"Good. You will work the gardens during the day and guard duty on the south wall at night. Your supervisor's name is Glessman, Sandra Glessman."

He wrote on his clipboard and left the room. Seconds later, a soldier came in and released me. His crooked smile told me I had met him before: the same evil leer, the same yellowed teeth, the man with the fire hose.

As he loosened my straps, my first inclination was to kick him. I thought of the rules and resisted. He had to hurry and leave me, my willpower was fading fast. I gripped the sides of the table tighter than I should have and swung around to sit up. A surprise visitor saved the day.

"Zee!"

Simon ran toward me. I hopped off the table, gave a shove to the man, and ran for my brother—I'll claim it was the excitement of Simon and apologize, if I got into trouble for it. I owed him one and I like to pay up.

"Simon! My god, Simon!" I knelt down and hugged him too tightly. He gasped for air. He'll get over it. I needed to hug him a little while longer. I broke my hug and looked at him. My hands flew all over him checking for injuries, checking for growth, just checking. He was with me again and I needed to make sure he was real.

"Hey, Zee. I'm glad you made it, I knew you would. They kept saying you were dead, I knew better and told them so."

"Yes, you did." I hugged him again.

"Uh-hem," the soldier cleared his throat. I looked up and gave him my death look. How dare he interrupt us? Who did he think he was? "I have to take you to the gardens, and you young man, I believe you have a class to attend."

Simon reddened, he had always been bashful. "Yes, Jolly, I remember." Simon smiled at him.

"Hurry along, they are waiting for you."

This soldier had kind words for my brother. It enraged me more. From what he did to me, he was not one of the good guys and had tricked my brother into thinking he was. I wanted to attack him. If not for Simon, I would have.

Simon volunteered a hug, it caught me off guard. My death match with this stranger had taken my focus off him. "I'll see you later, Zee." He hugged me again and then he left.

I felt empty. The emptiness had to be filled with something, and this soldier; the one who had hosed me with pleasure, which had probably undressed and dressed me with pleasure, he filled the void nicely. I got to my feet, ready to challenge him.

"Don't." He held up a hand to me, anticipating my attack. "Simon has missed you and it would be a shame if you died moments after your reunion. Don't forget Doctor Blake's warning, they are true and we follow them to the letter. This way," he handed me a pair of boots. "No more freebies."

His look was strong. He caught the move I had made and was giving me a pass. I smiled and took my boots. My choices were to follow him or to attack him for unknown crimes. I played it smart and followed.

He led me out through several buildings to a big house, the garden. As we approached the structure there was no mistaking it for anything other than a greenhouse. The walls had windows of various sizes and shapes throughout. No doubt collected from abandoned houses. A layer of plastic covered the rest and once inside, I would be able to see if the roof was glass or plastic.

The soldier held the door open for me. Why do they always have that sick smile and grubby teeth? His taunts wouldn't win today. I had my brother and we would never separate again. I gave my best sarcastic smile and went inside. Sure enough, a collection of windows formed the roof. The design, charming and inspirational. I could see myself working here, it would be peaceful.

"You must be Zora."

I turned in time to greet the approaching hand of a small woman. She wore a blue pantsuit with black flats. Grey hair fell around her shoulders, framing an oval face. I shook her soft hand. "Yes, I'm Zora Baker from Camp Vix."

"It is so nice to meet you. May I call you, Zora?"

"Fine."

"Good. I'm Sandra Glessman. Call me Sandy."

"All right."

"You can go now, Jolly," by her tone, she liked him as much as I did. We could be friends. "Come, Zora, let me show you my world."

Sandy led me around and gave names for everything she pointed to. It all sounded technical so I assume she was a botanist. The garden resembled a football field in size. Most of it tilled into neat rows, though I saw no tiller. She explained how they grew hardy vegetables and told me which grew best and why, I paid no attention. It was good enough being there. I didn't need to learn how it all worked. Simon was my focus, being with him and keeping him safe.

We went to a new section holding herbs and others for medical purposes. I would be working in the other section, but if I proved myself, this is the advancement that awaited me. Thrilling.

"Excuse me, Sandy," I interrupted her spiel. "Do you know my brother Simon, Simon Baker?"

"I don't believe so."

"I need to find him. He mentioned something about studies or a class he had to attend. Do you know anything about that?"

She crinkled her small face in deep thought. "He might be in a safety class. They teach the older children how to fight and when they're old enough, they join the army."

That didn't set well with me. I was all in favor of him learning how to protect himself, but not forced to join the military.

"What's wrong, dear? Everyone has a part to play. Survival comes at a price and those that don't contribute are a drain on us all."

Sandy must have been reading my mind. It was eerie. "I plan to teach him how to defend himself. Forcing him into service isn't right."

Her look of shock told me that neither she nor their system had ever been questioned before. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were saucers. She blinked and they went back to normal. Then she smiled and I had seen enough of those smiles to be on guard. Now, I will watch what I say and keep a lookout for anything suspicious. Her look told me something was wrong. I would get to the bottom of it.

"I'll walk you to lunch. Perhaps your brother will be there and you can confirm he hasn't been drafted into slavery."

Sandy was good. It takes someone of her maturity to throw poisoned darts while facing you with a happy smile. Sandy led the way and I followed. My mother was quite the expert, like a Stepford wife with a blowgun. I knew to be wary of her and it transferred to this fiftyish small woman with gray hair.

This time, I looked around to gauge my surroundings. The fort was impressive. Camp Brandt had a high wall surrounding it with guards who walked its top, armed with M16's. A central tower, three stories high, was the main attraction. Surrounding it were campers, tents, makeshift houses, and others. The greenhouse garden was against one of the far walls and at the base of the other, an outdoor garden.

We went into a large tent that once inside, transformed into a long cafeteria style room of brick and wood. At least a hundred people were present, talking over one another. The odd thing: over half of them were people of color. And for the first time in ages, I saw human children. They were playing, running around their table instead of eating. Several adults were shouting and demanding they sit, but the children laughed and ran. What a great sight. This was home. I can be a farmer by day and a guard by night, I can do it, I know I can.

"Zee!"

I whirled around and saw him and like before, my heart raced. Simon was waving at me. He shouted my name several times. I left Sandy and went to him. We hugged in front of his table and then he introduced me to his friends. Simon sat at a table of early teens, those aged ten to fourteen. I shook hands with six girls and two boys. I was so happy to see them that I couldn't remember any of their names.

Simon was about to explain something when Sandy came behind me and tapped me. "We only have a few minutes for lunch, let the children eat. I have more to explain to you."

"I'll see you tonight," said Simon. "We stay on the east side, in the central tower, Miss Sandy will show you."

"All right, you be good."

I don't know why I said it, it felt right to me.

"I will." Simon looked bashful. I might have gone too far with the parental thing. The girls had grins plastered across their faces.

I left with Miss Sandy. I thought she told me she didn't know my brother, liar. We are no longer friends.

She led me to a table and she talked the whole time, explaining rules and regulations and the proper way to do things. I tuned it out as best I could. My goal was to get through the day and see Simon tonight.

Lunch blows when the food is crap. My metal tray contained mashed potatoes or its equivalent, a mystery meat that smelled vaguely like chicken, and a piece of cornbread. I should say that the bread was the most appetizing and the smallest item on the tray. I ate part of the meal and returned with her to the garden.

She gave me a break later in the day. She told me to take five—her mistake. In the real world that can mean anything. I took it to mean I had all day. I dropped the hoe and high tailed it out of the garden. I was going to see Simon. My soul purpose in coming to this place was to get him and they think that a short visit would do the trick? No way in hell. I sprinted from the gardens toward the center building.

I stopped when I saw children going into a side door toward the back of the facility. With guards out in front, it was better to go to the rear. I ran after the children. I made it to the side door, it wouldn't open. I shook the stubborn doorknob with both hands and shook as hard as I could, nothing. I looked for a new way inside; I wasn't going to be denied access. I found a window at ground level. It was small but if I squeezed hard, I could fit through. I laid flat on the ground and slid toward the window.

Three quick breaths and I exhaled and shoved myself through. I rolled on top of a crate and landed on the floor with a thud. I got up and went to the door. I didn't feel good, there was a twitching on my right side, no time to worry about it now. I moved forward. I peeked through the door and saw the children. Simon was with them.

I opened the door more and it creaked loudly so I stopped. I would view them from here. I had a feeling something sinister was going on and I was going to get to the bottom of it. I was lied to and that didn't set well with me. I watched as a row of children, boys and girls, stood in a line. To their right was a table with instruments on it. I studied the faces of the children to figure out what was happening. They looked relatively happy and contented, some of them were a bit antsy like they were waiting for Christmas presents and couldn't stand still.

At the top of the room were two soldiers and then I saw him, Doctor Blake. Something within me burned, he was evil incarnate. It had nothing to do with him being black. I knew evil when I saw it. He called the first child forward, a boy. Simon was behind him and stepped in front of him. He yelled he was first. The younger boy gave him his position. Doctor Blake smiled. The old man was like a proud parent and I again questioned his relationship with my brother. Why on earth would my brother want to make this man proud of him?

One of the guards opened the door between him and his comrade by pushing a button. The door opened and a zombie came out of it. My heart dropped. Zombies, here in the complex? Zombies in the heart of the securest building here. My knuckles turned white, gripping the door. Normally, I would run into the room and save my brother, I didn't, I needed to know what was going on. My breathing picked up and I kept watching. Unless Simon was in immediate danger, I would stand down.

Railings were on either side of the door. The zombie couldn't get to the machine gun-toting guards. They didn't even look worried, if anything, they looked disgusted. Maybe they knew that person previously. The zombie howled and moved forward. It ran toward Simon with its arms outstretched, drool running down its chin. Before I could move, Simon did. My brother grabbed a machete off the table and with a deadly howl of his own, charged the running zombie. Simon leaped in the air and with one whack, the zombies head rolled across the floor.

Simon stood proud as he faced Blake. He held up his weapon and Blake nodded. At the same time, the children screamed and jumped for joy. Simon went over and picked up the head and threw it in a metal bin and stepped to the side. I looked at his face. I couldn't move. I couldn't go to him and hug him and tell him it would be all right. I stood glued to the door watching while my mind raced.

A growl brought me out of it. Another zombie came through the door. The boy who gave Simon his turn was running low at the zombie. He wasn't as tall as Simon and chose a tactic of taking out the enemy's height. His machete sliced the zombie's leg and it fell forward, groaning. The boy came back around and stood over the zombie and with another whack, he beheaded his enemy. More roars went up from the crowd.

The doctor calmed them down and then my hand moved. The door creaked and they heard it. I ran for the exit. As I reached the exit I heard gunfire behind me. I leaped on the crate and pushed myself through and took off running. More gunfire sounded behind me, but I was long gone.

I didn't stop running until I made it back to the garden's door. At the door, I came to a screeching halt and lightly turned the doorknob. Sandy stood glaring at me.

"I had to use the bathroom."

I had no idea how long I had been gone and used the best excuse I could think of. My chest heaved and sweat ran down the side of my face. Sandy looked at me, not buying one word of what I was selling. "Next time, go to the back of the garden, the bathrooms there work nicely."

"I will. Thank you."

She scoffed and walked off. I went back to where I had been working and picked up my hoe. I spotted blood on my hand and wiped it off. I assume it came from the window. I worked hard while thinking of the children. Once in a while, Sandy would come by and disappear again. She would not find me missing again. I greeted her with a warm smile on each occasion.

The day went faster than I thought it would and then Sandy led me to my living quarters. Sandy opened the door to a camper and motioned for me to enter. Inside, I found a couch and table, nothing more.

"Does it meet with your approval?" Sandy's condescending tone was to remind me of my earlier transgression.

"Where will Simon sleep?"

"The Children's Center. It's on the bottom floor of the castle. Oh, that's what we call the central tower. The children live there. You can see him from now until when you go on guard duty tonight."

"I want him here with me." I squared my shoulders and looked as menacing as I could.

Sandy grinned and then chuckled. "I'm scared. The children stay there." I looked harsher at her. "Even if you cut my throat, he stays where he is. You are only a sister. There are mothers and fathers who have no choice but to accept the arrangement. The children are our future and must be protected. If we fall, they have a chance to survive. Don't you want to give your brother those extra minutes of precious life? Or would you rather he be exposed in here?" Sandy was on a roll and she knew it. She stepped closer to me, to twist the knife. "Do you really love him, enough to let him live, if you should die?"

She had me. "Of course, I do." She won and her grin reflected the victory. Round one to Miss Sandy. "May I see him, now?"

"Yes. On the south wall is a giant clock, you have two hours until guard duty. Spend it well."

"I will."

Sandy turned and left. I walked through my little home to look it over and then I was out the door. This is a big place and I was anxious, so I broke into a light sprint to get there faster. I didn't need help finding the castle, it stood in front of me, a beacon for humanity's safety. I stopped when I came near people, didn't want them to think an insane person ran amok within their walls or something worse. While walking, I happened to look at the high wall and saw the clock Sandy referred to. According to the clock, the time was 4:30. I have two hours for my visit. That would make my guard duty start around six or seven tonight. I could live with that.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I stopped in front of the tower, two guards stood at the entry double doors. Calling it a castle was no joke, it was. True, I had never been inside an actual castle, but the feel of it seemed right. The building was solid brick on the outside with huge double entry doors made of steel, standing ten feet tall. The outside guards wore exquisite uniforms with bright colors and fancy hats, an honored position.

I glanced at the side before advancing to the main doors. Two soldiers stood guard by the window I had used. They don't know it was me, if they did, I would be arrested by now. My mind flashed to Simon and then to the stupid thing I had done. They can throw me out.

There was no time to linger on it. I had to get to Simon. I moved forward to go inside and the first guard blocked my path, stepping in front of me. His height and weight dwarfed mine, so fighting my way through would not work. Charm might. "Hello, I'm Zora Baker. I'm here to visit my brother, Simon Baker." I smiled my best seductive smile.

He looked me up and down carefully. If I could read his mind, I might cringe, but I began the game so it wasn't his fault. "Are you armed?"

"No," a bigger smile this time.

"The children are our future and must be protected. Submit to a search and you may pass."

I didn't like the sound of that, if it got me to Simon, I would submit. "Okay." I held my arms out to my sides and looked him squarely in the eyes. If my look said anything, it said, no funny business, mister.

The second guard came behind me and carefully searched while the other held eye contact with me. I stared into hazel eyes and remained as rigid as possible. This is nothing, I've been through worse. When satisfied, the first guard stepped aside and I entered the building.

Inside, light filtered in through small high windows. I stood in a wide hallway with three doors twenty feet in front of me.

It was quiet and I felt as if I were in a library as I slowly walked forward to the tall doors ahead of me. I stopped and read the writing. The center door's sign warned of no entry by unauthorized persons, I assumed that meant me. To my left, the girls' dormitory and to my right, the boys', I excitedly turned the boys' doorknob, doing my best to stop the shaking in my hand. A jumble of emotions soared through me.

I entered into another hallway and all joy squelched from inside me. In the center of the hallway hung a body, a zombie corpse strung up from the ceiling rafters. Someone had placed a pan below it to catch its drippings. I instinctively put my hand to my nose to keep away the smell. How could this be?

The door at the end of the room opened and sound filtered to me, happy sounds of children laughing, screaming, and playing. I looked to the door with my hand over my nose and saw a young girl waving at me. "Hey."

I walked around the zombie and went to her. "Hey."

"Remember me, Hannah Mutton?"

How could she stand there like that? All smiles without her hand over her nose. Her bewildered look gave way to ridicule as she glanced behind me at the hanging zombie. She shook her head and opened the door wider, motioning me forward. I went through the door.

I stopped her. "Hannah?" I can't say I smelled the corpse; I didn't want to give myself that thrill. Now with the door shut, I breathed in the surrounding air with exuberance. "Isn't this the boys' dormitory?"

"Yes," said Hannah, giving me a strange look.

"Shouldn't you be next door?"

"Yes, but we can come over during the day. Dorm curfew isn't for another hour. Do you remember me?"

Hannah wore a simple blue dress with pants. She had on a pair of black boots that had a silver tip on them. I can only assume she wore steel-toed boots. Her hair was dark brown and pulled back behind her with a white scrunchy. Her small round face beamed at me, wanting recognition.

"You sat with Simon during lunch."

"Yes."

I searched my mind, wondering if she had been one of the children in the room with the zombies. I believe she was, but I couldn't question her about it or I would give myself away. They might be looking for me.

"Hannah? Why is there a zombie hanging in the hallway?"

"That's Peter Kelly."

"You know it, I mean him?"

Hannah's expression altered to wide-eyed amazement. "He was bad. They warned him not to be out after curfew and he left."

"He left?"

"Yes! He sneaked out to meet with his fiancee Rhonda Hillson. They were lovers."

Her cavalier attitude took me by surprise. I appraised her and believed her to be roughly twelve years old. What did she know about lovers? Maybe they were stealing kisses.

Hannah continued with both dread and excitement etched into her face. "It happened last week. They didn't like it here and Rhonda's mom was leaving and taking her away. Peter sneaked out to go with them. They were hiding in this old house surrounded by zombies. When the guards found them a day later, Silvia, that's Rhonda's mother, she had bitten this huge chunk out of Peter and was eating Rhonda's leg. Poor thing, they had to shoot her in the head."

"Oh my god!"

"It's all true. They killed four zombies in the basement of the house. Peter turned the next day and they killed him."

"Wh-wh-why would they hang him in the hall like that?"

Hannah's shocked face was for me, not Peter. "You can't leave here, zombies will get you. This is our home now, not out there with zombies."

"You're children, Hannah, how could they do that to children?"

She puffed up her chest and stared at me. "I'm not a child. I'm the world's future."

This wasn't going anywhere. She may not be old enough to understand the concept of a dead zombie hanging in a boys' dormitory, dripping into a pan. How could they pass by that every day?

"That is not a good lesson to teach children. Zombies are everywhere. They could have just said that."

The little girl puffed up again. "We're not children, we're the future. I killed a zombie, more than one."

"What?"

"My brother, he was a zombie. I killed him."

"What!" I knew my voice went high and cracked, I couldn't help it. Her words floored me.

"It's okay," she tried comforting me. "He wasn't my brother anymore. He was trying to eat me."

Hannah said it with attitude, like I had no sense of why she would kill her own brother. There was also a mixture of pride in her tale. She had accomplished something extraordinary in her short life. Her face made it clear she was gearing up for another tale of horror. I sprang into action. I couldn't tell if she truly was one of the children I had seen earlier and frankly didn't want to know. "Where can I find Simon?"

"Follow me."

"Okey dokey."

She ogled me. I thought I might lighten the mood, I was wrong. Her small hazel eyes flicked back and forth, scanning my face. She turned back around and continued walking without further comment. It was strange, this place was strange. She led me and never dropped the confused expression she held. We went around a corner, down a hall, and around another corner before coming to a door. Hannah knocked in rhythmic fashion. The door flew open and Simon came into view.

"Hey, Zee."

"Hey, Simon. You up for a visit?"

"Yeah, come on in."

"I'll see you later, Simon."

"See you, Hannah. Thanks for bringing Zee."

"Un-huh," she waved bye to Simon and gawked at me before leaving.

"Nice girl."

"Yeah, she is."

Now that we were alone, I hugged him again. "Sorry, I can't help it. I missed you."

"I missed you, too."

Simon's room was small, matchbook small. The room held a tiny bed, a desk and chair, and a basket. Nothing hung on the walls. A candle burned on the desk and an overturned book lie on the unmade bed. I sat on the bed and looked around again, in case I missed something the first time.

"Well," said Simon, "what do you think?"

"Nice. What gives about the zombie in the hallway?"

I had not meant to say that, the words tumbled out before I could stop them. I'm still trying to correct that bad habit. I couldn't very well ask him what he was doing with a machete and why he had bloodlust in his eyes.

"Hannah didn't tell you?"

He knew me too well. "Yes, but I want to hear it from you."

"That's Peter. He was fifteen and a fool. He got himself killed for no-good reason. Now the rest of us know to be careful and not be a fool like Peter."

"Love doesn't make you a fool."

I don't know why I was arguing with him. My guess is that I didn't want him to lose his humanity. To pass by something like that daily would desensitize him to zombies and reinforce love is for fools. Not only that, but to have a training class where zombies are brought in for children to kill, how barbaric.

Simon surveyed me like Hannah. I obviously didn't get it. They had adjusted to their new world while I was out fighting zombies. Together, they had grown up and I had missed it.

"How are you, Zee?"

Oh god, here comes the shrink talk. "I'm fine, Doctor Spock. How about yourself?"

Simon chuckled. "Zee, it's not bad here. These are good people and we are the future. One day zombies will be gone and we will start again, you know, like Adam and Eve. All of us. We will go forth and multiply. I want Florida, how about you?"

I laughed harder than I had laughed in a long time. I hugged him again. He knew how to make me laugh, the smarter of the two of us.

"I don't know. I think I'll go for Louisiana. I've always liked the word 'bayou' and I would have the Gulf of Mexico all to myself."

Simon burst into laughter. Hearing his laughter made my heart somersault. "That's a big backyard."

"Yeah, if bored, I could get in my little rowboat and pop over to Mexico to one of those fancy resorts and live it up."

We talked for ages and finally, a loud bell sounded. Simon stopped laughing at my latest silliness and grew stern. "It's curfew, Zee. You have to get going. Come on, I will walk you out."

I hated for our time to end. I got off the bed and followed him out. I made a mental note of the path so I could find his room without help for my next visit. I intended to be a frequent visitor. We made our way back to the hallway and I l looked at Peter, ahead of us. We stopped. I saw Simon giving him the evil eye and my stomach lurched and then dropped.

Something was seriously wrong with this place. I felt it in my bones. The feeling reaffirmed itself when three boys came in. The first swung the corpse and ran past. The other two made a game of it, trying to time their run to get past it without it touching them. They yelped with delight. I felt my scalp tightening in the front of my head. It was as if a hand was squeezing on my temples, trying to crush my skull.

I peeked at my brother, his grin egged them on. This must be a nightly occurrence, another reason for me to hate this place. I got to get us out of here. The thought rang in my head louder than the curfew bell.

After they made it through, unscathed, they politely spoke to me and left. I told Simon not to come any further. I hugged him and said goodnight, promising to see him in the morning. The truth, I didn't want him near the zombie. I didn't like what this new home was doing to these children and what it was turning my brother into. I passed by the zombie and went out the door. It took seconds to reach the front and I left the building.

It was dark outside. I glanced at the clock and discovered it was 6pm. "Excuse me, where do you go for guard duty?"

"That way, ma'am," he pointed.

On my way there, I thought about what had happened during the day before and after I got here. Not paying attention to where I was going, I walked into a railing and almost fell. I kicked myself for my stupidity and sought evidence that I was safe. No one laughed or gawked at me, I was fine. I went around the barrier and kept marching to a little building near the back garden.

"Hey."

I turned. "What?"

Jolly? The fire hose soldier, whatever his name was, called me. "Over here, Baker."

I walked to him, stepped past him and into the small room. "Hey." I smiled at two guys seated in the room around a small table. They were smoking and the air was choking me. I tried not to cough and to look friendly.

"Girls to the left," boomed the bigger man at the table.

"Thank you."

I turned the doorknob and went into the room. "Zee! Hey, how are you?"

"Britt? Oh my god, Britt!"

I ran to her as fast as my legs would carry me. I hit her with a force that sent us both backward, almost falling. We straightened to look each other over.

"Zee."

"Oh my god, Britt. I forgot all about you, oh my god. How could I forget you?"

"I guess I'm not that memorable after all."

Brittany said it jokingly, but I hurt her feelings. The one thing she wanted most was to make a difference and to not be forgotten and I, her best friend and blood brother had forgotten her in the space of a day. What is wrong with me? I thought of something worthwhile to say to make it all better.

"Yes, you are and don't you ever forget it."

"All right."

"Where's Jones and Charley? Are they here?"

I looked around, forgetting the man told me this side is for women only. Brittany soured. She held her head down and my stomach dropped for the millionth time.

"They didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

I held her arms so she couldn't get away from me and frantically searched her face for some clue, some inkling of what was to come. What had happened to my team?

"Zee."

"What, tell me," my impatience boiled over.

"Zee," she struggled to get the words out. I gripped her tighter. My eyes darted from her left to right eye for something I could grab on to. "Jones is fine. He will be on guard duty with us tonight."

"And Charley?"

"Oh, Zee."

I shook her. "Tell me, damn it. What happened to Charley?"

Brittany's eyes pooled with large tears that would fall at any moment. "He didn't make it, Zee. The zombies bit him during our fight. He died yesterday."

I released her and fell back. Charley was dead. Like a ton of bricks it hit me and I hit the wall, thank god for the wall, otherwise I'd be on the floor. I covered my eyes to keep from crying for Charley. Through my hands I said, "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

"I'm sorry."

Her sorry didn't help. I was a mess. Brittany came beside me and touched my shoulder. I turned to her and rested my head on her. She was there for me and she understood. We didn't need words, she held me while I made sense of Charley's death and his place in my heart.

I knew I had to get a hold of myself. They were waiting for us. Brittany wore an army uniform and when I looked down at her feet, I saw her partially laced boots. She must have been putting them on when I came in. I must have a similar uniform as well. Then it hit me.

I pushed myself from her to gaze into her blue eyes. "Wait! You said he died yesterday?"

"Yes."

"How is that possible, we just arrived?"

Brittany gave me the same confused look the young girl had given me. Was I crazy? Why did everyone give me the same damn look? What was I missing?

"Zee?"

"What?"

"We've been here three days."

"What! Three days, how is that possible?"

Brittany took a hold of me. I thought she was calming me down, she wasn't. She pulled up the sleeve on my left arm. There I saw it, a Band-Aid, and beneath it, a wad of cotton. I pulled up the Band-Aid and cotton and saw a yellow stained area with a small puncture wound in the center, an IV drip line. I focused on my friend and commanded her to speak, without saying a word.

"They have a new form of quarantine here," her voice shook.

I knew she didn't want to tell me the truth. "Go on."

"They knock you out for two days, it doesn't affect the virus. If you turn, you turn in your sleep and never wake up," she added, "they shoot you in the head."

"Oh god, no!"

I wailed. A knock came from the door. "We're okay, be out in a minute," shouted Brittany. She rubbed my back. I pulled myself together, time to behave like a proper soldier. Many had died and I would grieve for them all, once I was off duty.

Brittany showed me where everything was and I changed. It was difficult and I didn't mind her helping me. I equate it with a mother helping a child into their clothes after a bath. I checked my look in a small mirror and we exited the room to join the others. We were soldiers, armed and ready. No tears, no pain.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The walk to the wall was short. We slung our rifles over our shoulders and climbed a ladder to the top of a four-foot wide platform that extended around the entire four outer walls. We would march up and down this platform, keeping watch while the others slept.

"Zee Zee!"

A wave of anger struck me. I focused and it subsided. I readied myself to meet his gaze and like always, his evil grin stared back at me. "Jones."

"Is that how we talk to our commanding officer?" he smiled sadistically.

I stood at attention and saluted. "Aye, aye, Captain!"

Brittany burst out laughing, drawing us into her web of laughter. Jones slapped me on the arm—an army hug. "I'm glad to see you."

I could see Brittany's head moving and saw Jones' eyes look her way. "Glad to see you too."

"Well, this is our job, as grand as it is. All night long, we have the awesome task of staring out into the night, looking for zombies. By the way, a gift."

Jones dropped the smirk and reached into his pockets. He held both hands behind his back and grinned.

"What?"

"Guess, idiot."

"Oh, um," I stared down at the arms behind his back. I decided to get smart. "I'll take the left one, Alex, for $250, please."

Jones brought the hand around, turned it over and opened it. He held a nice shiny silencer. "Just for you, my precious."

Brittany cleared her throat.

Jones brought around the other hand and opened it, another silencer. "For the light of the world."

Brittany blushed as she took it from him. "Thank you, kind sir."

Jones led us to the far end of the wall, at the same time Brittany and I put our silencers on our rifles. I looked across and saw guards on each of the other walls. It was nice to know we weren't tasked with the entire job ourselves.

Jones huddled us low against the wall. He looked to make sure we were alone. "One of the guys gave me those last night. The front guards don't like it, but we do it anyway. When a stray zombie comes into view, shoot it with your silencer on your rifle, until then, take it off and keep it in your pocket. We got the west wall tonight, over on the south wall, zombies are dead all over the place. Everybody thinks they are coming from the city. We try to shoot them so they fall in a straight line. We are making a wall of zombies. How's that for a barrier?" he grinned.

"Not bad."

"Any chance of us taking out some zombies tonight?" asked Brittany.

"Yeah," said Jones, "when those two knuckleheads leave the wall in two hours to make their interior sweeps."

Our huddle broke. I took the left, Brittany the right, and Jones patrolled the center of our wall. We walked back and forth in our areas, watching the horizon. I liked the distance between us. It allowed me to think without someone constantly chattering in my ear. They weren't like that, but others were and it was annoying.

My thoughts drifted to Charley and my not getting a chance to say goodbye to him. I wondered if he went peacefully, he slept through the change. Well, I get it isn't so peaceful when you are dreaming and bam, a bullet slices through your head. I shook off the image and concentrated on the good, Simon. I wondered if I could get him to move in with me. Miss Sandy had already knocked the idea out of my head, or so she thought. It was back with a vengeance. No one could protect my brother better than I. I was a soldier after all, trained to kill and to protect.

Later that night, we gathered in a corner and saw zombies approaching, eight of them. I went first and took one out, followed by Brittany, and then Jones. The zombies fell one by one as if knocked down by the unseen wind. The others went around or stumbled over them. One went down and took a bite out of a fallen zombie, gross. We began a new round and this time, I thought of the wall idea and waited until a zombie was over another fallen zombie. I took aim at its head and with pinpoint accuracy, shattered his skull. Brains flew out of its head as it fell over perfectly on top of its fallen comrade.

Brittany squealed and held up her rifle, "my turn."

"Wait," I took aim again, "this one's for Charley." I squeezed the trigger slowly. Bang, another fell on top of the other two. My wall was rising. In time, we could build a wall as high as the sun; there were enough zombie bodies in the world to get it done.

My friends were happy. They kicked up their heels and screamed into the night, reveling in their marksmanship while I remained calm and occasionally smiled. I was wet-blanket Zora again. It's hard to relax and be loosey-goosey when everything has changed and everyone dies. I looked at them. I was honestly happy for them, but jealousy came to the party, forcing me to come up with my plan. I justified it by saying this place was no better than the wasteland the world had become. Zombies had turned them all, not into zombies, but into something worse: liars, deceivers, sadists, and worse of all, inhumane. My friends found their safety, their paradise. I questioned whether it was for me and Simon.

This is a good place. I had fought to get here to its safety to be with my brother. We could live here forever. They had two gardens and plenty of people. I had a job, my brother and good friends, but one thing entered my mind, one burning question. I kept pushing it down, but it kept coming back throughout the night. I had done everything in my power to stay alive and get here and before the end of my first night, I was planning our escape. My question: How do I get the hell out of here?

# # #

Thank You for your purchase. Zora's journey is not at an end. Enjoy this brief excerpt from Zombie Invasion (Book 2 of the Zora Baker series).

A dense, green cloud descended from the top of the mountain. It covered all in its path. It passed through a group of sightseers, all clutched their throats. They immediately fell to the ground, writhing in pain. Seconds later, they succumbed to Death's waiting arms. Another group, soldiers patrolling the side of the mountain, was engulfed by the green ominous cloud. Only shrieks could be heard emerging from its center. When it passed, all sound had ceased from within. Bodies curled in agony lay about in various poses. All wore a torturous look on their sunken faces.

This fog, cloud, or Bringer of Death, was now thinning, moving faster. Like an ocean breeze rolling over the land and swaying through tree branches, it rolled. Everything it touched, took on a greenish tinge.

Another group of soldiers, standing in shock, gaping at what happened to their counterparts, were marred with the same greenish tinge, as a look of utter shock was etched into their thinning frames. Not a single man moved. All became grotesque statues—those plastic, green, toy soldiers on a make-believe battlefield, clutching their weapons.

The cloud moved through them with little resistance and rolled down the hillside to the news crews and press affiliates waiting for a sweet embrace. The cloud failed none, not even those able to shake free of their horror and run. Too late. One cameraman ran for his life, screaming as he went. With a clear green field ahead of him, he ran for dear life. If only he could make it to the waiting trees. Too late. As he ran, he felt a cold hand wrap around the back of his feet. He moved faster to break the grip. Another cold hand caressed his back. Harder he pushed. A cold hand curled around the tip of his tossing ponytail. He shook his head and pushed harder. In an instant, tired of his resistance, cold hands pushed up his leg, back, and went through the base of his neck. The man stumbled and fell as he went down an incline. He rolled to a stop. As he did, his hand stretched out toward the waiting trees and safety. In an instant, coldness swept over him and his vision dimmed to nothingness. The last picture his eyes would register would be his dear trees, attempting to run from the green horror. Not even they were spared.

As the cloud moved past the trees it went through the soil, contacting a body. It then moved on to search for more in a nearby cemetery. A disturbance took place in the ground the cloud had moved across. The soil moved. A finger peeked through to the sunlight. First one skeletal finger, then another and another. Then, a heap of dirt moved as a head appeared. It shook dirt from its head, then howled.

While alive, it had been known as Janey, a nineteen-year-old college student from the University of North Carolina. Janey had made the mistake of excessive celebration of her newfound freedom. Parents that restrict their child's freedom, often must wait out a child's rebellion as they taste the world before them. Her parents would never get that opportunity. Janey had met a potential husband and father to her future children. Of course it was late at night and she was viewing him through beer goggles, still, he was a dreamboat. She thought nothing of stumbling into his van for frantic sex on a soiled mattress. Those are the breaks. Janey never saw the blow that knocked her to the mattress, and was too intoxicated to know how well her body responded to a madman's touch. She never fully regained consciousness while being buried alive.

Zombie Janey shook her head again. Her eyes were red, skin tinged green and clinging to bone. After a second howl, she leaped from the ground to stand before her grave. She sniffed the air in three directions. Satisfied with the third, she howled and ran. A meal was waiting.

# # #

Zombie Invasion - Book 2 in the series is now available. Keep a look out for it and Thank You for reading this book.

About The Author:

R.G. Richards is a lifelong Missourian who writes Fantasy/Paranormal/Romance novels. He was an enthusiastic reader of tales of foreign lands (China, Japan, Hong Kong), most of which were "borrowed" from his father's private collection—a big James Clavell fan (Noble House, Shogun). These faraway tales provided the fertile ground which produced a rich imagination capable of spinning strange and unique stories of distant lands and people. Outside of reading and writing, he is a beginning swimmer, a gym hater, an avid gardener of Sugar Baby melons, a lover of jokes, and a planner for the Great Zombie Apocalypse (It is coming, people!).

SPECIAL NOTE:

Feedback is essential to an author. I look forward to hearing from you. Tell me what you liked as well as what you hated. With your help, I can make the next book much better. Again, Thank You for reading.

Books by this author:

ROMANCE SERIES

The Flame – Book 1

Singed Hearts – Concluding Book 2

VAMPIRE SERIES

Vampires aRe Real

Cavers #1

Caveena - Cavers #2

Gatekeeper – Cavers #3 (Spring 2015)

ZOMBIE SERIES (Zora Baker Series)

Zombie Zora - Zora Baker #1

Zombie Invasion - Zora Baker #2

Kill Happy - Zora Baker #3

Zombie Eden - Zora Baker #4

Zombie Jokes - Companion book of jokes told by the children.

DEATH SERIES

The Demon Warrior's Light

You can find him online at:

Mail: rgrichards2012@gmail.com

Website: http://rg-richards.com/

Twitter: http://twitter.com/robertgrichards/

Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/5823275.R_G_Richards

Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/AuthorRGRichards

