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Z CHILDREN

THE RISING

BOOK THREE

ELI CONSTANT

B.V. BARR

This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part, by any means, without explicit permission from Eli Constant & B.V. Barr. Eli Constant and B.V. Barr assert their right to hold copyright of this work entitled “Z Children: The Rising.” The branding ‘Eli Constant Books’ was created for the express purpose of labeling ‘Eli Constant/Eli Grace/Eliza Grace’ works; this includes the Z Children world, first appearing in an original Eli Constant work in the anthology “Let’s Scare Cancer to Death”.

This is a work of fiction. Any locations, characters and entities are products of the authors’ imaginations or are used fictitiously; they should not be construed as real in any capacity. Similarities to actual persons, living or deceased, organizations or locales are purely coincidental.

Cover Design- Wilde Book Designs © 2017

Z Children: The Rising

Z Children Book 3

1st Edition eBook Print

Copyright © 2017 Eli Constant, B.V. Barr

Cover Design © 2017 Wilde Book Designs

All rights reserved.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHORS

We send you our sincerest thanks for purchasing Z Children: The Rising! We hope you enjoy reading the story as much as we loved writing it.

If you do enjoy the read, it would mean a lot to us if you would consider posting a review and star-rating on Amazon.com/Amazon.co.uk or other review sites. Word of mouth will carry Z Children: The Rising far!

We hope the next book you pick up to read is a true literary ride, a veritable page-turner with a cornucopia of spunky characters. Thank you so much for taking a chance on our book! It is our honor to share it with you!

-Eli Constant & B.V. Barr

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CONTENTS

Part I –   

Bethany Thomas Intro

Juan, Sherry, Marty, & Frank: <The Group>

Part II –  

Amber Murphy (Border Patrol)

Hunter Jorgenson (TX Ranger Ret.)

Part III –

<The Group>

Bethany Thomas

Air Force One Closing

PART I

BETHANY THOMAS

Zombies, zombies everywhere and not a drop to…

Wait, that made no sense.

Or did it?

My tired mind was playing tricks on me, fiddling about with nonsensical crap that didn’t help me survive. And I had to survive…survive for them. And right now, if we were going to survive, we needed new transportation. There were too many of them in this area. Too many of those things that were killing people. Z Children…that’s what Cliff had called them after he’d hung up the phone and rushed back into work, barely taking the time to push his arms into the sleeves of his light fall jacket.

I was angry when he left because he always seemed to be called back into work on days when we had something to do as a family. That day—the day he’d left and not come home—we were supposed to take Mari to our nephew’s Halloween party at his school. I’d gotten her a bumble bee costume, even little yellow bows for her hair. October was always my favorite month, though this year it was proving to be the peak of Flu Season across the nation. Even Texas was being hit by abnormal influenza numbers.

So, we’d missed the party and Thomas had been insanely disappointed. It wasn’t fair that I had to be the one to let down a five-year-old child.

But then the night had come and the morning had come and Cliff hadn’t come home.

By that evening, the street in our ‘safe’ suburban neighborhood had been overrun. Our house had been broken into and ransacked—people were panicked, and when people get panicked, it seems like they often lose their humanity. I’d fled, letting the brood of black-masked figures have what they wanted. With little but the clothes on our backs and the diaper bag, which was fully supplied thanks to Scott, we’d made it this far.

There’d been some close calls…Thomas-sized monsters that had taken us by surprise. Some were shorter, some taller…none looked over the age of thirteen or fourteen. Not the fast ones. The slow ones, the ones that didn’t seem nearly as aggressive, those could be anything from a teenager to a senior citizen. It was all my nightmares come alive to haunt me.

But we were almost there now.

Almost to Albuquerque and Cliff had to be here. Only an hour or two away. We’d camp one more night, we’d suffer one more night, I’d be reunited with my husband, and everything would be fine.

I didn’t know if we could keep surviving by the skin of our teeth. When we still had Two Penny with us, I felt like we had a chance…but he was gone now. He hadn’t liked his real name, yet, it felt odd to continue referring to him using the nickname even if I wasn’t saying out loud.

But he was gone.

He was dead.

It was the least I could do to honor him.

I’d kept us alive even though I knew nothing about survival and everything about mani-pedis and NY Fashion Week. Me. A stay-at-home mom who once worked in the retail industry with a decent hand for beadwork and a relatively popular online boutique selling ‘upscale’ jewelry from the ‘heart of the nation’s capital’. Not that our home was really in the middle of DC. We actually lived in a suburb of Maryland, but the ‘heart of Bowie, MD’ didn’t sound nearly as chic and pricey as the shop being in the district. Cliff still considered it a hobby. Hell, it was a hobby. Anything I made went to frivolous things. He paid all the actual bills.

A lot of my school friends and even family commented in the past on how lucky I’d been to snag Cliff. The brilliant up-and-comer from the good family. Press Secretary, Clifton Tiberius Thomas. He never made me feel that way though—like I was the lucky one. We were lucky. Lucky together. But now…now we weren’t together. I had to believe we would be again…someday.

I had to believe it. Because he would be there. Air Force One would have set down at Kirkland; he always said it was an E4 Air Force Command, a place AF1 could set down if it needed an isolated pitstop. If only we could have stopped somewhere, had time for Scott to use his skills to get in touch with Cliff, with AF1…with anyone.

I needed my husband.

God. There is so little about me that’s worth anything on its own without Cliff.

And I wasn’t the kind of person who made it to the end of a horror film. I was the fodder, the first to go, the weak, short girl with a phone in her hand running away from a killer in a screaming mask. Jesus, I was the idiot that ran up the stairs instead of out the front door.

***

Tucking my body against the warm metal of an older sedan with antique plates, I tried to be a shadow, which wasn’t hard given my 5’2”, 115-pound body. The car’s passenger door was nearly caved in, flakes of aged paint came off on my hand as I leaned and waited for the group of zombie adults to pass me by. More than likely there was a Z child in the center of the crowd. That seemed to be the case each time we ran into a horde. One, sometimes two, rabid and intelligent monster children to every pack…one kid to rule them…one kid to find them…one kid to bring them all and in the darkness… I almost laughed hysterically. What the hell was wrong with my damn brain?

I didn’t dare breathe right now…or move, or make any sound. Even the pitiful breeze barely rustling the golden leaves on the Aspens was audible. Fall in New Mexico was nothing like fall in Virginia. There we had proper seasons; here everything seemed to change according to some mysterious clock. And then, before you could blink, things were blooming and growing again. We could savor the changes in the Northeast; they were a lazy river, waves of water flowing slowly over our bodies. Here, you had to have a camera to capture the moment, and even then, another change might come before the first photo is even flashing across your digital screen.

I wanted to laugh again. The sound bubbled up in my body like champagne fighting its containing cork.

If the slight wind above me could make sound, then laughing like a crazy woman at the ramblings going on inside my brain would be really, really stupid. I was already hedging my bets roaming about looking for food. How the monsters didn’t smell me was a wonder. My body reeked of filth and baby spit-up. At least I still had milk to feed my baby girl with, it wetted the front of my shirt now; we hadn’t stopped long enough anywhere in the past day for a proper feeding. I was giving her just enough to keep her calm and quiet. She needed more to be healthy. I prayed that my milk would keep flowing. But if I didn’t feed her regularly and fully, my body’s production would slow down.

And then we’d have one more mouth to feed. But that wouldn’t matter soon. It wouldn’t. Because Kirkland Air Force Base would be safe. My husband would be there. I wouldn’t have to steal fuel and food and drive all night until my eyes’ moisture dried and my head pounded rhythmically.

At times, I wanted to scream at Scott for not having his license. He was too intelligent for his own good, majoring in communications and all things technological. I always thought that kind of warred with his need to treat the world better, to ‘save the planet’ so to speak. He believed in public transportation, saving the planet, all that jazz. And none of that mattered now. All his little sacrifices, none of them mattered now. The planet that was... It just wasn’t anymore. And, somehow, I knew it never would be what it was again.

My stomach rumbled; I refocused on food and water.

Scott had wanted to go this time, but I hadn’t let him. I was only going a little way away; he and my daughter were locked in the little beat-up car, which desperately needed a go through the car wash. Mari had been asleep in her car seat when I’d left. She looked safe with Scott beside her, even though he was slight-framed and timid-looking. But I was also slight-framed and about as menacing as a field mouse.

Having him—having Scott with me—I wouldn’t be sane without him. We’d had so much help along the way, but that was gone now. Without him, Jesus, I’d be lost.

I highly doubted that Scott had planned on being a nanny in the middle of the end of everything. I’d hesitated in the beginning, hiring a guy to take care of my daughter, but Cliff worked with Scott’s father—Secretary of Defense Allen Chambers—and Cliff had also known him since he was a baby. Now he was twenty.

Cliff sometimes joked how that made him feel old and that he remembered Scott in diapers, when his father was an undersecretary for international security policy rather than SecDef and Cliff was just an assistant editor at the Washington Post. They were both members of CFR, the Council of Foreign Relations, and they’d bonded quickly during a chance meeting at a DC charity event. Cliff wasn’t even supposed to be there, but the Page Six fluff piece had fallen to him unexpectedly.

In my head, I tried to imagine Scott as a baby and the image of him became superimposed on my gorgeous Mari instead of the geeky, acne-riddled high school student he’d been when we’d first met.

***

I hadn’t wanted children when I’d married Cliff and he never pressured me. I was nineteen years younger than him and I wasn’t just undecided about kids; I was undecided about everything in my life. For the longest time, we’d just enjoyed one another’s company, but when I had gotten pregnant with Marilyn at 29, I’d been unexpectedly delighted and had quit my retail marketing job on the spot. I’d never been happy working for someone else anyway.

It had been a hard pregnancy, full of doctor’s visits and special precautions because I had low amniotic fluids. One doctor had even advised against carrying my daughter to term. Every stress test, blood draw, ultrasound—every step I had to take to finally hold my Mari had been worth it.

And just as every distressing element to my pregnancy was worth it, choosing a man for a nanny was worth it. Scott was a good role model for Mari. A boy from an influential family working his way through college rather than taking the easy way out. That’s the kind of person I wanted my daughter to aspire to be, especially since Cliff’s family was well-off and had already setup a trust fund for Mari. I wanted her to be independent, strong, willing to work for her own future, confident enough in herself to know what she wanted and take it. Not like me. I felt like I’d fallen into retail after college and just stayed there, because I didn’t know what I’d be better at. Jewelry wasn’t world-changing, but it was pretty. Adding a little pretty to a dirty, shitty world wasn’t the worst thing you could do with your life.

Marilyn would do amazing things, though; I always knew that. And I wanted her to be anything she wanted to be in the future. If she had a future anymore.

I’d come to really like Scott over the past seven months he’d worked for us. He was intelligent, mild-mannered, soft-spoken, and amazing with my daughter. He couldn’t fight his way out of a paper bag (not that I could either), so bodily protecting my daughter would take some effort on his part, but give the boy a computer and he could take over the world. Again, I wished we’d had time to stop, for him to have access to…was it fiber optics...a POP? I couldn’t remember what he’d said now, just that he’d made it clear that, given the time and the right equipment, he could call Air Force One.

And we would already know if Cliff was alive, if Scott’s father was alive.

Mari had turned one just last month and she had taken her first steps two days ago—in the back of a small car we’d traded my BMW for a few states back. She’d stumbled forward in that tiny little space walking along the back seat while Scott leaned over the front seat and held her hands. I’d almost missed it because I’d been out searching for help and supplies. But by the grace of whoever the hell let the world go to shit, I’d been back in time. I had gotten to see her pull herself up on wobbly little legs and shuffle her feet across the coarse black carpet, one in front of the other, before falling in a heap with a child’s delighted shriek.

She was going to be petite like me, but she had Cliff’s jet-black hair and dark green eyes. Soon she’d walk without support. Marilyn’s milestones would be tainted by blood and death from now on until things were right again. That made me sick to my stomach.

Would things ever be right again? Yes. Whatever this is, whatever is happening, it would be right again.

The apocalypse was no place for a developing child, so it had to be right again.

A mother, no matter her occupation or anything else, can’t give up. She has to keep fighting, keep struggling, and search for ways to nurture. Not even a week…it’d only been five days of this. What if this goes on for years? What if my daughter never knows what it means to feel safe?

***

The zombie horde was gone from sight now and I stood slowly, always trying to be cautious.

Across the road was a very small convenience store—the kind that you’d be lucky to find sample packages of medicines and four varieties of chips in—connected to a four-pump gas station. We didn’t need gas right now, thankfully. Kirkland was so close I could almost taste it. Time would fly, that hour or two, and we’d be brought to safety again. Standing and running full-out to the double doors, I crossed my mental fingers. I doubted there was anything to salvage…it seemed every town we crossed had been stripped of anything useful within the first few days of this Z plague.

I’d scavenge anywhere at this point, even if I was sure it was pointless. Because there was always a small sliver of hope—maybe there’d be some baby food, maybe a can of beans rolled beneath a display shelf, maybe I could use a toilet instead of squatting on the ground, maybe everything will be sane again tomorrow. Again, I was struck by how bad everything had become in less than a week. The Z kids, the zombie adults…spreading like wildfire.

I crossed my actual fingers now, thinking that the repetition of physical and mental might just to do the trick, might just call lady luck to me.

Might is such a shitty word to count on.

Zombies, zombies everywhere and not a drop to drink.

But, by the mercy of God, maybe a morsel to eat?

JUAN, SHERRY, MARTY, & FRANK

<JUAN’S GROUP>

(Corpus Christi, TX)

“I don’t care how much you love this woman, Sherry. We’re boxed in and exposed. We. Can’t. Stay. Here,” Juan slammed each word down with intensity, daring Sherry to argue with him. “Dammit, woman, standing here fighting is basically inviting the monsters to a lunch buffet.” Juan wanted to shake her; he couldn’t believe he was arguing with a woman instead of launching into action. It was the end of the fucking world. There wasn’t time for this shit.

 “She will be here! And I’m not going to leave until she shows!” Like a small child, Sherry stamped her foot down. In her rational mind, she knew what an idiot she was being. But Susan was her sister, in every way but blood—unless an unsanitary blood oath in tenth grade counted.

“This is fucking lunacy!” Juan turned to Marty; the little boy was listening to the argument intently, his eyes wide and his mind absorbing. We’re grownups, thought Juan, and he’s the only one acting sane. “Marty, big man, hop back into the RV while Auntie Sherry and I discuss what to do”

“You two shouldn’t yell at each other like that, it’s not nice,” was Marty’s reply; it was soft, nearly a whisper, like he was having trouble finding his voice in the madness.

“I know. Sorry, kid.” Juan rubbed a hand across his face, fighting off the emotional exhaustion that wanted to dull his senses. “Listen, we’re not mad at each other. This is just a tough situation and we’re trying to decide what to do. Just do me a favor and wait in the vehicle with Frank. We’ll be heading out any second.” Juan expected Sherry to argue at that last statement, but she doesn’t. Maybe he was making progress in getting through to her.

Juan watched as the little boy nodded his head and moved back inside the safety of the motor coach. They were low on fuel, even lower on supplies, and Juan was certain they were attracting a lot of attention. The kind of attention a person doesn’t want in a damn apocalypse. He just wanted to get the hell out of this marina and back on the road where he felt safer.

Turning back to Sherry, Juan picked up where he had left off.

“I’m going to give you and your friend five more minutes and then I’m pointing that motor lodge north. I’m not having us die after coming so far. A short-lived reunion isn’t worth it.” Juan’s ‘r’s were beginning to roll, his voice curving around the edges of his words. That happened when his anger level rose—his accent thickness was in a direct relationship to his blood pressure.

“We will go when I say we will go!” Sherry didn’t stamp her foot this time, but she might as well have. Her voice sent Juan’s blood roaring to his head and there was nothing he could do to quell his ever-rising temper. When Sherry crossed her arms in further defiance, he lost it. Even a disciplined martial arts teacher had his limits. As Juan’s abuelo used to say—Puerto Rican anger was nothing to toy with. And democracy isn’t a Mendoza strong suit.

The sound of a naval fog horn ripped through the marina, bouncing off the low buildings and echoing down the street behind them. Its wailing sound jarred both Juan and Sherry back to reality. They’re argument halted in a blink, their bodies shifting to stare past the few bobbing boats left tethered to the dock.

Across the water was a beautiful sailing ship of at least 40 feet. Even from a distance, they could read the boat’s name: Nancy-Grace.

***

JUAN

“Well, I’ll be damned.” I murmured; surprise plastered across my face. I hadn’t really thought we had a chance in hell of our saving grace showing up in the gray-blue waters. But there it was, cutting slowly through the waves and proving me wrong. It seemed too good to be true. In my life, I’d learned to distrust anything that came easy.

“I told you so,” Sherry said, self-satisfaction warring with her utter elation at the sight of her friend’s boat. She was pretty even now…when she was being an irrational ass.

“Yes, you did.” The words sounded mechanical coming from my mouth. Despite the supposed rescue, despite Sherry being right, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we needed to hoist our asses back in the RV and get the hell away from this place. But who was I to argue with the woman jumping up and down and waving her arms like a crazy person?

From a distance, the boat looked more than sea-worthy. I thought it was an old Pearson cutter, but Dad was the sailing enthusiast and I wouldn’t bet good money on any guess I made. It was moving closer and there’s a woman on its deck. She was also jumping up and down like an aerobics instructor waving her hands over her head. Mirror images from shore to sea.

“I knew it! I just knew it!” Sherry’s cry was full of jubilation this time, all hints of our disagreement gone.

Watching her, I could almost pretend that everything was going to turn out alright. We were going to get on that boat and sail off into safety. Still though…something wasn’t sitting right. A stone in my belly making me uncomfortable.

I looked at Sherry, still bouncing up and down and waving in unison with the mad woman on the boat. Disbelief was the only thing I felt. Disbelief that we had come this far, disbelief that the boat was really there, but mostly disbelief that the crazy woman on the boat had just let the whole zombie world know we were damn sitting ducks with that loud as hell horn ripping through the once still air.

Sitting ducks.

I’d been worried when Sherry and I were going at it, worried that our voices were too loud and that there’d be something nefarious waiting in the shadows, ready to strike, but now that the amplified sound of a horn had rocketed through the air around us, I knew, without a doubt, that something must be on its way. How could it not be? Jesus.

No one could be that lucky. We couldn’t be that lucky—that we could throw a party on shore and not have any of the monsters come calling for punch and fucking cookies. It’s a goddamn zombie apocalypse. Danger is as common as the average cold now.

“Sherry,” I said in a quiet voice. “Mamacita, we need to get back in the RV.” I waited, but no response came from the excited woman. She was still too busy staring at her friend, happy tears running tracks down her face. I hated to break her happiness. But, shit, if I didn’t, we’d all be broken. And not emotionally. I didn’t feel like getting munched on by miniature monsters today. “Sherry, we need to get into the RV now,” I repeated the words in a calm voice, reaching out to grip her forearm.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Sherry’s smile faltered as she looked at me.

“You and I might have been fighting, maybe being a little too loud, but that fog horn…” I looked past her and noticed then that the woman on the boat had stopped jumping and a man had walked to her side. “Mamacita, that fog horn’s going to have alerted every zombie in the area that we’re here. And we have to go.”

“What?” Sherry’s voice, which was still holding traces of the excitement that had bloomed at the sight of her friend, wilted and died. Her smile finally faded, the last bit of joy to go. I killed her happiness with my truth. She shook her head, taking a small step away from me. “No. That’s not right. I mean, even if it is, they’ll be to shore in no time. It will only take a few minutes to load up. It’ll be fine.”

“We have to be as careful as possible, Sherry. Let’s just get back into the coach and make sure that nothing’s going to show up. If we sit it out and everything seems fine, we’ll head out to the dock. I promise.” I let the lies fall from my lips as my eyes scanned the surrounding land and buildings. I could feel them out there; they were stalking forward, slowly and surely. The tension in my body was so fierce that I felt it must be coming off of me in seeable waves. I knew in my gut that we weren’t going to just hang out in the RV, decide everything was fine, and then stroll out on the dock.

I couldn’t tell Sherry that though.

“No, Juan. Let’s just go out to the dock now. They’ll be here in a minute and we can help tie them up. Nothing’s coming. The sound wasn’t that bad.” Sherry’s nervously biting her lip; even she knows that she’s just clinging to hope.

“No.” I could hear my voice. It was stern; I tried to control the anger that wanted to bleed in at the edges. “We have to get into the RV, the horn…”

She turned slightly away from me, her body faced toward some point between a weathered gray building and her friend’s boat. I focused on her profile a few moments longer than I should have. I ignored my surroundings as I watched the rosy hue run out of her face. Her eyelids parted impossibly wide. She understood. But what’s more, she understood too late.

“Oh, my God, the horn. Oh, my God, oh, my God. Juan…” My name was a whisper, the end to a fear-filled utterance.

I watched the panic take hold of her and then I pulled my attention towards the bait shop she was staring at—the bait shop from which a mangled adult Z had just stumbled out from the shadows, its shoulder hitting the askew door of the building. The expanse of wood was jarred from the singular broken hinge still keeping it attached to the frame and it landed with a loud clatter against the wood walkway.

Another noise.

Another dinner bell calling the monsters.

“You were right, Juan. Oh, my God. I won’t leave Susan, though. I won’t. We’re so close to her.” Her words are frantic, expelled fast like water from a sieve. “She’s right there, Juan.” She pointed as if that will make it clearer to me that our salvation was so close, yet so unreachable.

“Just get in the vehicle. It will be all right,” I said slowly and confidently. I leaned forward and I tried to be gentle as I gripped her upper arm. Tried being the operative word. She didn’t respond to my touch or my words immediately, which caused my fingers to grip just a little tighter. “Just move now, Sherry. Move now and we’ll figure out how to get to her once we’re safe again.”

The adult Z stumbled, leaving the sun-cracked wood decking to walk on the sparsely grassed field that led to the parking lot. Moments later, it was followed by a teen-sized Z weaving to and fro as if trying to determine what to do. The movement reminded me of someone on a skateboard—the leaning of the body to change direction, the smoothness of the action. At least these are older. At least these aren’t the small children that are too intelligent and too quick. I want to kick myself as I think that. It’s like teasing fate to do its worst.

“Please, Juan.” Sherry pulled her arm away from me. Everything about her pleaded with me to make it so she didn’t have to leave the sight of her friend out on the water. She wanted me to change our situation. I can’t snap my fingers and make all the bad shit in the world disappear. I’m not a fucking magician.

“We can’t stay.” I can’t quell the anger now, it seeps into the words like gut-rotting battery acid. I didn’t wait for Sherry to protest this time. I pushed her toward the open door of our home on wheels, ignoring her gasps and fresh tears. I watched the Zs realize that we were here as Sherry stumbled onto the first step into the RV.

The Zs lifted their heads, smelling the air, their mouths gaping open like fish out of water. They begin stumbling towards us like puppets on a string. The teen had lost its fluidity of movement. They were now both lifeless, mobile creatures with little focus save for flesh.

I followed close behind Sherry. She didn’t get far before she collapsed dramatically. She wasn’t thinking straight, not seeing the severity of our situation. She had blinders on, her eyes focused firmly on the boat in the water. She was going to get us killed if she didn’t wake up and focus.

For my part—I focused. I saw everything as I closed the door to the RV.

I saw the ones that should be feared most. One that was once a little girl. One that was once a boy, a kid only dreaming about puberty and shaving with his dad’s razor. Neither of the kids were taller than three feet. They were wearing tattered fishing outfits complete with little deck shoes. Hers pink with a white stripe. His navy blue. A weekend fishing trip gone terribly wrong. I wondered if the adult male was the father once. I wondered if the teenager was an older sibling. None of that mattered though, as they moved faster and I could feel my pulse banging away inside my throat.

“Sherry, what’s wrong?” Marty moved to kneel on the floor, Frank sticking to his side like glue. “Sherry?” He shook her shoulder, but the woman was quietly sobbing on the beige carpet with no thought for the scared little boy whom she’d promised to protect.

People did that sometimes. I’d seen it, during the more traumatic moments of my life. Men and women collapsed in on themselves and forgot the world. It was an all-consuming, mind-arresting grief. There’s no time for grief though, not at the end of the world.

I was in the driver’s seat, staring out the RV window. If I looked slightly to the right, I could see the Nancy Grace. If I looked to the left, I could see three more of the vile monsters, heading straight for us. At the sound of the vehicle cranking, Sherry bolted up off the floor, her face frantic. “No, no! We can’t leave. We can’t!”

I was going to say something, as I shifted into drive, but Marty beat me to it. “Sherry, what is wrong with you?” His voice sounded so small, so scared, that it had the immediate aftermath of sobering the woman in front of him. I turned to look at them when her wailing and keening stopped. Her face had cleared, her mouth was now still, and she was looking at the boy with embarrassment plain on her face. I turned around to focus on the road, breathing a little easier now that Sherry had pulled her head out of her ass and come back to reality.

“I’m fine, Marty,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you scared?” he whispered back, hiccupping on the last word.

“Something like that. Come here.”

I didn’t have to turn around to know that the woman and boy were hugging.

Frank was in the passenger seat now growling and barking, his deep bellowing voice adding to the chaos. He didn’t know how to help, but the fur on his back indicated he was ready for a fight if it came to that. He was still injured, though, still recovering. God, it hadn’t been that long since he’d nearly gotten himself killed for us. I wasn’t going to let him die. I already had a weird sense of duty to the dog. I wanted to protect him just like I wanted to protect Marty and Sherry…even if the latter had just lost her mind a little bit.

The Z children were fast, converging on us like lightning; their larger counterparts struggled to keep up. They couldn’t of course, their mangled limbs and bloody bodies ill-equipped to move at killing speed. I maneuvered the RV as well as I could, trying to back up and get out of the narrow space we’d parked in. Finally, I gave up, and allowed the side of the big vehicle to scrape into the wood posts and cream rope that acted like parking lot barriers. The sound was dull, yet still nauseating, still that ear-piercing screech of nails down a chalkboard that makes your spine tingle and your stomach juices roil.

The RV was freed quickly in this devil-may-care way. It didn’t mean we were home free, though, of course it didn’t.

The door closest to where Sherry and Marty held each other swung outward, pulled by greedy, clawing hands. One of the Z children stuck their head in, its vicious little mouth opening and closing, teeth gnashing together as if they were already chewing through blood-gushing raw meat.

I couldn’t leave the wheel, couldn’t stop driving, but I also couldn’t let the monster fully enter the vehicle. Sherry was screaming, pushing Marty behind her and shuffling across the carpeting of the RV floor. The shotgun was too far for her to get to. I didn’t even think she’d be able to shoot if she got her hands on the weapon. She was still too dicked up from our fight and fleeing from the marina.

I still had the .38 pushed into the waist of my pants. I leaned back, continuing to depress the gas and turn the wheel to point the front of the vehicle towards the marina exit, and I pulled the gun out.

I had to keep looking forward.

And back.

Forward and back.

It was like I was walking through a darkened fun house, only catching a glimpse of horror when the blinding lights flashed on for seconds.

Frank had positioned himself between his humans and the Z standing in the threshold, he had the paw of his injured leg slightly lifted and bent so it wasn’t supporting any of his weight. With the door opened behind him, I could see that the scenery was moving way too slowly for my liking. I could also see the second Z child, just biding its time and waiting for its kin to move so it was able to enter the RV.

We were close to the marina exit. Close to the main road. What the fuck was up with being just out of reach of safety?

A muffled growl brought my attention back to the scene unfolding behind me.

I lifted the gun, pulling the hammer back with my thumb and positioning the barrel towards the Z. It had moved further into the interior. Another step and there’d be plenty of room for demon number two to come in.

The small gun felt like a lead weight in my hand as I tried to make the bullet count. My target was moving minutely, rocking back and forth with the shifting of the vehicle floor beneath. Just a fraction of an inch. Right. Left. Forward. Back.

Always maintaining its balance.

Before I could pull the trigger, the Z kid launched itself forward, leaping over a surprised Frank and heading straight for Sherry. Her ankle was bare above her shoe, pale and sending out a ‘come bite me’ bat signal.

“Fuck,” I breathed the word out, glancing back at the road, making sure we weren’t about to slam into anything. The ‘fuck’ was an exhalation that wanted to be louder and stronger. All I could think was Sherry was about to die and I couldn’t stop it. I looked back again, even though I didn’t want to see what was happening.

Despite his injury, Frank had moved his body quickly. Before the Z’s mouth could find her leg, he had clasped his strong jaws around the pint-sized monster’s forearm. The Z screamed and it was a horrifying, high-pitched sound. Nails on a chalkboard, but infinitely worse.

A thousand nails against a hundred chalkboards, racing down the black surfaces in discordant anti-rhythm.

I cheered the dog on in my head and simultaneously thanked god we’d found him and the RV.

My eyes looked back at the road again.

Then back at my companions facing the bestial boy in the blue shoes. The Z girl with pink shoes still waited, her face almost curious. Was she wondering if the other monster would make it? Was she waiting until the hard part was sorted and she could just snack to her little dead heart’s content? My last vision was of the Z girl turning her head and tilting it curiously. She was staring at something neatly stored on the small table the previous owners had bolted to the wall to support their entertainment system devices below the mounted television.

She was looking at the shotgun sitting pretty next to its shells.

Back to the road my eyes darted. I adjusted the steering slightly so the wheels continued to stay in the middle of the gravel path. I would have looked longer to make sure we avoided the small road sign that told trucks with boat trailers where to park, but a groan of pain and a sob pulled my gaze back. And I worried that Z girl was getting curious. They had the dexterity to run…to kill.

I’m sure they had the prowess to load and shoot a gun too.

All I could see was a mass of fur and legs and a single navy boat shoe sitting ownerless on the carpet. It was a moving, undulating mess of monster, dog, and living person. Marty was away from the tussle, his back pressed up against one of the kitchen cabinets.

Finally, Frank pulled the Z back by force. Sherry scrambled away. I couldn’t focus, though. I couldn’t see why her face looked contorted and pale. I had to look at the road again. By the time I could look once more at what was happening behind me, Frank had dragged the rabid creature several more feet from Sherry and Marty.

The dog was panting heavily, his breath coming in loud huffs as he kept his jaws clamped around the Z’s arm. He was exhausted, still trying to keep some weight off his busted leg. And he’d left his flank unprotected.

I wasn’t going to let that damn dog die.

Road. I had to look at the road.

Fuck.

Fuck the road.

I slammed on the brakes, causing anything standing to slam into the rough carpeting of the RV floor. I didn’t take the time to shift into park. Instead, I got up, letting the RV roll slowly forward with the momentum that wasn’t fully stayed by my foot hitting the brake. The girl monster hadn’t lost her footing for long.

It was reaching for the shotgun, now shifted and shells spilling from one box after I’d hit the brakes so abruptly, and seemed to have forgotten the scene behind it or found a solution to incapacitate her meal faster. One of the Z adults was now at the mouth of the entrance of the door that was yawning open and closed. Frank was taking care of the blue-shoed monster. I could take care of the second monster and the full-grown fucker trying to get in the RV.

This time I didn’t hesitate. I let instinct take over. I let the .38 do its job.

Sight.

Target.

Trigger.

I caught it in the right cheek, the flesh puncturing like rubber and wetter things, and the body was so small that the impact caused it to wobble violently. I rushed forward, kicking the Z girl hard in the stomach and sending her back towards the entrance she was still so near. She held her ground in the doorway, the Z adult holding the door frame behind her. I came forward and kicked again, using everything I knew about harnessing the strength in my body to a focal point to do the most damage.

The diminutive girl demon fell backwards, a look of anger spread across her ruined face, and she hit the Z adult with enough force to knock them both out of the vehicle. The RV was barely moving now. I glanced forward to find that the large vehicle had strayed from the road a fraction and was headed towards one of the large metal poles that helped support the marina sign. We weren’t going fast enough to do damage. Barely creeping forward at five miles an hour, if that. It can wait. The road can wait.

Slamming the RV door closed behind me and locking it so the other threats couldn’t reenter, I looked at Frank who was still wrestling with the Z he’d pulled away from Sherry. As I watched, the Rottweiler locked his drooling jaws around the creature’s little head and its black loops of hair were tendrils spilling from between canine teeth.

I heard the crunch as his jaws tightened, as his teeth dug deeper into rotting flesh and child-sized bone. That didn’t bother me. What bothered me is when Frank staggered. My gut wrenched as I heard him yelp and release the Z child as the pain from his damaged leg took hold, the adrenaline not quite strong enough to fully quiet the sensation of injury. But the pain also spurred Frank into a frenzy of anger. Like an experienced swimmer fighting a violent undertow, Frank went for the flailing Z’s neck. He tore at the area between head and shoulders, worrying it like a dog with a favorite chew toy until he’d destroyed it. And then he was that swimmer once again, making it to shore between heaving breaths and tiring strokes.

If I’d had any food in my stomach, I might have lost it watching the crushed, child-sized head roll away from the body and clunk across the floor to come to rest against the door.

I didn’t want to touch the head or the headless body.

More Zs would come, though. Shit, there were still two right outside the damn RV.

I picked up the body of the Z kid. The legs swung limply as I carried it, one foot still bearing the boat shoe, the other naked. His toenails were painted purple. I absentmindedly wondered if he’d let his sister do that…before they’d died.

Shifting the body so I could support it under one arm, I held the .38 with the other. There was only one bullet left. It was hard to unlock and open the door while supporting the body, but I managed. Besides, that was nothing compared to trying to toss the body out, not trip over the head that started rolling down the stairs, and keep the gun poised to shoot in case the Z girl I’d shot in the face or the adult monster came rushing forward.

Nothing jumped out at me.

That was because the demon with the pink boat shoes was gnawing on the Z adult’s body. She was sucking and chewing. I stood transfixed just a moment too long. The snacking monster looked up, staring at me holding the body. She didn’t move. I didn’t breathe.

I think it was my imagination—I hoped it was my imagination—but it almost seemed like the bullet wound in the girl’s face was healing. Blood was pushing out slowly and I could see something metallic glinting in the light. It hadn’t been a through-and-through. The bullet had lodged in her head.

It was coming out.

I slammed the door closed, my breathing coming in little gasps. I didn’t move. I stood at the locked door and didn’t move.

It had felt shitty to toss the body out, to let the form of the once-a-kid land against the gravel marina road, but there wasn’t time to dig a grave, bury him properly, or say a few nice words. Even if the demon sister hadn’t been there making a buffet out of the parent zombie. Jesus…what the hell was that about anyways? They couldn’t possibly heal. Could they?

One thing was for damn sure, the boy monster’s head wasn’t going to magically reattach after a little blood from ‘momster’ dearest.

I’d almost controlled my breathing and calmed myself down when screams of absolute fucking terror struck me in the back like shrapnel.

I jerked around to see what both Marty and Sherry were yelling about.

A third terror was clinging to the front of the motor home pounding at the glass with her head.

Pounding.

Pounding.

Until a trickle of black blood began to pour from a fresh wound.

She wore a pale pink bathing suit, the skirt made to look like a tutu. Her upper arms—no, her upper arm since only one was still attached to her body—donned a bright yellow inflatable swim device. The fingers of her one hand clung to the RV for dear life. Her right shoulder, where it should be connected to an upper arm, was a bloody, stringy stub. There were teeth marks, like odd now-blackened tattoos, scattered across her neck and upper chest.

She’d been dinner once herself. And now she was hungry.

I ran to the driver’s seat. The RV had stopped moving, aided by the fact that the marina exit was slightly uphill. I had my foot on the gas pedal before I was even seated. The RV lurched forward violently and the Z girl swung like a pendulum trying to hold on, her singular hand gripping with renewed fervor. I hit the windshield wipers function and sent the rubber-coated arms sliding across the glass.

With one arm, the Z couldn’t let go to swat at it, but it was merely an annoyance. I floored the gas until I could push it no further. The RV was going fast now. We were under the large marina sign.

“Guys, hold onto something,” I yelled, maybe a little too late for good warning, and I slammed on the brake pedal once again. I heard shit crashing to the ground behind me. The little, dark-skinned Z kid with the neat little corn rows that swayed with the movement of her head rocketed forward, her face jutting into the windshield and causing a circular depression of cracks that spider-webbed out in an almost beautiful decoration.

If it’s already busted, might as well finish the damn job.

I leaned over and grabbed the ASP off the passenger seat. I deployed it with a quick flick of my wrist.

It took a single hit to break through the already-scarred glass. A second hit caught the small head with its rows of expertly-braided hair in the top center nearly where the skull would not have fused in an infant. I reared my arm back and then down again, letting the ASP connect in the same spot. This time, the head dented inward, looking like a malformed can on the discount aisle of a supermarket. I struck again.

The skull cracked, poking upwards through the mangled, mushed scalp. Blood began to spill, following the corn row lines. Irrigation tracks in a farmer’s field.

The small Z body fell backwards, landing on the road and then swiftly out of sight as the RV moved forward. It was not big enough to make our tires jump, which was both settling and unsettling at once. I glanced in the side mirror when we were far enough away and saw that it wasn’t quite dead. It was crawling, dragging itself with one arm, red dripping down its face.

 “Is everyone okay?” My voice sounded a little hollow. I think that hitting the once-a-kid with the ASP until her head caved in had stolen a little piece of my soul. Way more so than just tossing the headless body out onto the pavement. No one answered me and the silence made me glance over my shoulder. Sherry and Marty were huddled together, the young boy leaning into Sherry’s body as her arms wrapped around him protectively. Concentrating on the road again, driving at a steady pace now that there was nothing big and bad following us, I repeated myself.

“I said is everyone okay,” I said it with more force the second time. Frank seemed to be the only one paying me any attention. I looked at him quickly when he let out a quiet whimper from the floor.

“It’s okay, boy, you did great. Old Juan will stop in a minute and fix you up. You just hold on.” Stopping wasn’t really an option until I cleared the city, but I wasn’t going to tell anybody that. It had been stupid to come down here, and now with a half-empty tank and a damaged windshield, I had to figure out pretty quickly where to go.

“Juan?” Sherry’s voice was soft, a tremor laced through my name.

“Yeah, what’s up? You okay?” I was thinking she was going to apologize for taking us into that death trap. Sure, it would be nice to hear, but it doesn’t really matter now. What mattered was the road in front of us and where the hell we were going.

That was the most important thing right now.

“Juan,” Sherry said my name again, the tremor was an earthquake now, “I’m bleeding.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Cold chills ran up my spin to terminate on the back of my neck, making my hair stand on end. “What…how? I didn’t see you get bit.” My mind raced, thinking over the events. I don’t know how I managed to keep the RV on the road with the way my hands started shaking. She couldn’t have gotten bit. I saw everything that had… No, I hadn’t been watching the whole time. Did the Z get that close to her? Yes, shit, it had. I remember looking back. They’d been all jumbled up—monster, dog, and woman.

She’d been bit.

Shit. Sherry had been bit.

The thought of one of us becoming infected had never occurred to me, and now that it had happened, the ramifications were too hard to imagine. I felt sweat break out on my brow and I hesitated to answer Sherry. How much time did we have before she turned?

One minute?

Thirty minutes?

A day?

How fast did the infection take hold?

I couldn’t keep driving. This had to be handled.

I took my foot off the pedal and began to ease to the side of the road. We weren’t far enough away from the shit storm we’d just escaped to be stopping, but what choice did we have? If I had to kill Sherry…

God.

I knew I had one more round left in the gun tucked in my waist. One round. And then we’d be left with only the ASP. I didn’t think I could bash her skull in. No, I couldn’t do that. It was one thing to do it to a strange kid, a kid monster, but I couldn’t do that to her. And how was I going to kill her in front of the kid? Could I even kill her? How could I kill Sherry? She was my friend.

She was…

Fuck, I cared about her too much.

The RV had nearly stopped by now; my deeply-tanned hands gripped the steering wheel so hard that the knuckles went ghostly.

“Why are you slowing down?” Sherry’s voice was a little louder, the vibrating fear a little less, and the question struck me as the stupidest I’d ever heard.

Sure, you’re just turning into an undead killer, Sherry. Let’s not stop. Let’s keep driving along like nothing’s the matter.

“I need to take a look at your wound…I need to treat it. Maybe there’s a way to keep the infection from taking hold. Alcohol. Flushing. Maybe some antifungal?” I was hoping my voice didn’t give away the real thoughts going through my head. I had no idea what medicine to put on the wound. I had no idea how to keep the zombie bite from changing her. I had no idea how I was going to kill her.

To my surprise, Sherry snorted out a laugh. “You’re a dumb ass, Juan.” She laughed again, but it was a tremulous, spastic sound. Something you’d hear from a teenage girl who’d stayed up all night chatting rather than getting any sleep.

The RV was stopped now. I shifted into park and turned around so I can search her face. Is laughter the first sign? Is she turning even now?

“Sherry, listen to me, we have to treat your wound. Think about Marty. Think about what you might do to him if we don’t clean and bandage it.” I spoke as if I was talking to someone past the point of comprehending even simple things.

“Well I don’t think this wound can be treated the way you’re thinking, Juan. I’ve…” she hesitated, the laughter totally gone, and flicked a gaze at Marty, “I just need you to stop at the next safe gas station so I can get some female supplies.”

“Female supplies?” Hygienic pads would make a good bandage. And…any wound can be treated. You’d think it would have dawned on me. I’m not an idiot. But, no, I sat there like a dumb fuck with my thumb up my ass.

Sherry must have seen that I wasn’t ‘getting’ it. She clamped her hands over Marty’s ears and stage-whispered. “Jesus, Juan. I started my period. If you don’t stop somewhere and get me some pads or something, then I’m going to be sporting blood-soaked pants and hoping the killer kids don’t have good senses of smell.”

My mouth dropped into an ‘O’ of realization. “Ah. Right, female supplies,” I say the words slowly and feeling even more stupid for not understanding right off the bat.

Sherry dropped her hands from Marty’s ears, giving me a ‘wow, you’re a smart one there, buddy’ sort of look. Marty had moved to sit next to Sherry rather than against her. Frank was laid out beside the boy breathing heavily. Since we were stopped, I stood and moved to kneel next to the dog. Stroking his blood-splattered fur, I tried to check for bites or breaks. His leg was worse than before, broken in more than one place now. The way his breathing sounded, so strained and punctuated by little gasps, I worried he had a broken rib or two as well.

I worried that it was the kind of busted rib that could perforate a lung. He wouldn’t survive that. I knew basic first aid, you had to when you were in my line of work. Some inexperienced fighter was always getting injured. But I didn’t know enough. Not nearly enough. “Thanks, Frank. Thanks so much.” I stopped trying to assess the damage on his body and I just pet him softly. Marty’s hand joined mine after a while. The touches seemed to calm Frank, calm him enough to close his eyes fully and drift off into a labored sleep. I wished I knew what to do for him, how to ease the pain.

All I could do was start driving again and hope that something or someone would come along that could help him.

I stopped for Sherry as soon as I could.

We’d been through a few towns, saw a few stores. They’d all been overrun with the bestial kids and drone-like adults. Once, as we’d passed too close for comfort to a small strip mall, several of the Zs had moved to the edge of the road to watch the big RV roll by. I don’t know why they didn’t chase us.

I don’t like to look a gift horse in the damn mouth.

I ended up choosing a truck stop, a big one, surrounded by 18-wheelers and a big sign advertising hot showers and free internet. Not a family-looking place, maybe we would get lucky. It seemed safe. ‘Seemed’ safe. I don’t like that. I don’t like it being a fucking apocalypse and not being able to just waltz through the sliding doors of a convenience store and grab a giant drink, a candy bar, and a pack of crackers. That’s the kind of shit that we take for granted.

Sherry wasn’t happy with me. I could have chosen other places to stop, places far closer to Corpus. We’d driving nearly a hundred miles with Marty cradling Frank and Sherry laying on her side throwing pissed glances my way. I knew it wasn’t just the cramps that made her angry.

I’d made her leave her best friend behind. No, her family. She didn’t have anyone else really. She and Susan had been friends forever. I remember watching them laugh during kickboxing class. Neither of them had any natural skill, but they had fun.

Not that having had fun was going to help them any now. Shit, if they’d listened more and laughed less, they might be better ready to protect themselves.

“It took you long enough to find a place to stop,” Sherry grumbled mutinously. I’m pretty sure she’d have the crew rising up against me if we were sailing in the middle of the ocean on a pirate ship. Better not make jokes about boats right now to her right now. Leaving behind the marina was probably still too fresh.

“I’m just trying to be careful,” I replied, unbuckling and standing. I’d parked the gas-guzzler a good 200 yards from the station and stared. There wasn’t anything obviously wrong, but there wasn’t anything obviously right either. In fact, the whole thing looked like a scene from that King fellow’s horror books.

We could call this The Vanishing or From a Gas Station 8.

There were at least twelve trucks surrounding the place, but that wasn’t what bothered me. It was the lack of owners. If there where twelve trucks abandoned here then it would stand to reason that there where at least twelve drivers. I didn’t see any family cars. No SUVs or minivans. To me, that meant no kids. No kids meant that, if the drivers were infected, then they’d be mindless.

At least, that’s the impression I’d gotten from watching the monsters interact.

“So where are you,” I murmured, leaning forward to rest my hands on the RV’s dash and peer through the busted-up RV windshield. I needed to knock the rest of the glass shards out. Or maybe I shouldn’t…the large fragments of ragged window might act as a deterrent to the Zs or like razor wire if they tried to jump into the vehicle.

“Where’s who?” Sherry was standing right behind me, her hands on the passenger and driver’s seat headrests.

“The drivers of the trucks.”

“Oh,” Sherry said, her voice a little frightened, “I wouldn’t have thought about that.”

“You need to start thinking about things like that. Start thinking with your brain instead of your heart.” I sounded callous, even to my ears. My eyes are still scan the station. There’s no movement. The ratty flag hanging in front of the station entrance isn’t even shifting. There’s no breeze. No Zs. No people. This will be okay.

Still, what had happened to the truck owners? They obviously had communications—cell phones, CB’s, maybe internet, probably a TV in the station. They must have known what was going on. I’d met a number of truckers in my lifetime. Their big rigs were their livelihood. They took care of them. Babied them. They wouldn’t have abandoned them lightly. Something was up, but we needed supplies. Sherry especially. And I was hoping they’d have some antiseptic and bandages for Frank.

We needed gas too. It would be nice if, in the event of the end of the world, the cosmic powers that be would throw us a damn bone and ammo would never run out. Fuel tanks would never run dry. Legs would never get tired of running.

But the cosmic powers that be seemed to like the game of chances. Maybe we’re all stuck on a game show set, the fates above watching as we ‘running man’ our way towards life or death.

I looked at the gas gauge not for the first time since leaving the marina. The beast of a vehicle was below a quarter tank. No way we could take a chance on another station before that ran out. Getting stuck in the Texas desert wasn’t an option.

Abandoned trucks and a bad gut feeling aside, I’d have to take a chance.

“What are you planning to do?” The sound of Sherry’s voice startled me. It was the first words she had uttered since we’d had hit the road.

“I’m going to see what I can grab. Fast,” I replied, moving to where Marty and Frank are. Frank’s breathing isn’t as bad as it was right after the fight, but he still looks like he’s got one foot in doggy heaven. “It looks alright, but we both know that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Shouldn’t we go in together?” Sherry’s followed me and she plunks down on the other side of the boy and the dog, her arm snaking around Marty protectively. She tucked her small-sized feet beneath her. I hadn’t realized the heel of one shoe was snapped off. I’d need to find her replacements, but I doubted a truck stop would have something in her size. If they had anything, it would be boots and they’d be big.

“No,” I said firmly. “I’ll leave you with the .38. It’s got one shot left, so don’t waste it. Frank’s in bad shape,” I pat the dog softly, “but I know he’ll rally if you need him too. And I’ll be as fast as I can.”

“You should take the handgun. I’m not comfortable with it, but I do feel confident using the shotgun.” Sherry points at the array of shotgun shells. Some have fallen on the floor. The shotgun is half-on, half-off the top surface of the center console.

I nod, confirming that I agreed. She made short work of putting the shells back in their boxes and making sure the shotgun was loaded and ready for use. I was glad to see that she was pulling up her big girl panties and joining the land of those who wanted to survive.

Marty’s voice came to life then. I was surprised at how calm it sounded. “Juan, the front window’s all busted up. Anything could get in here.”

I look behind me at the broken windshield. “You’re right. Let’s get you all into the bedroom. You can lock the door. Sherry.” I looked at her, her naturally pale face even whiter if that were possible. “You set up on the bed with the shotgun. If it’s me, I’ll say so. If it’s something else, you shoot.”

She nods, a small, quick jerk of her head. “I can do that. Better speak loudly though, Juan. I’d sure hate to shoot you by accident.”

Something about her voice and the spark in her eye told me that she was only half kidding. I think I’d really irked her earlier by not stopping sooner for what she needed.

 “Be nice if we had more weapons,” I say out loud, but it’s more a thought meant for myself. The thirty or so shotgun shells were nice, but those would run out eventually. One great thing about the ASP—it never needed a reload.

“Or more bullets,” Sherry added.

“And two Franks,” Marty chimed in, leaning further into the dog’s fur and letting a few stray tears that had snuck out sink into the Rottie’s skin.

“Yeah, that would all be real useful.” I patted Marty on the shoulder before standing, leaning down, and picking Frank up gently. The dog whimpered and looked at me, his large soulful eyes full of exhaustion. I knew exactly how he felt…aside from the multiple breaks in his legs. “Don’t you worry, boy, I’ll find something to help you.”

When I’d settled them all into the bedroom, I waited until Sherry closed the door and I heard the lock click. “I’m going to move the truck to the furthest pumps. No trucks over there, so it’s our safest bet. You just stay put.”

“Okay, Juan.” I liked how she said my name, as if she trusted that I’d keep her alive. I could only do so much, so I hoped her desire to stay alive kept up.

The RV moved slowly, responding to my light touch on the gas pedal. I eased it the couple hundred feet and aligned it with the pump. This wasn’t the kind of station that made you pay first, so that was good. Deployed ASP in hand and .38 with the single shot left tucked in the waistband of my pants—which was about as ideal as going commando wearing short-shorts into a field of poison ivy—I turned off the RV engine and got out.

The hot Texas wind hit me like a sledge hammer. I’d been in the cold A/C for over two hours and the heat was a stark reminder of how much we needed a vehicle’s protection. Slowly I moved around to the fill cap and the pumps. The nearest tractor trailer was almost 50 yards away and the main building another 25. I would have plenty of time to get back inside if anything happened. I hoped anyway. I had to remember how fast the Zs were; I couldn’t take that for granted. Not now.

 I stared around me, moving in a circle, my gaze touching everything in sight. If I could just see something to ease my fears, something that would assure me we were actually alone. That would be too convenient, though.

Above me, my imagination caused a sound like a god tossing a dice across the clouds. What would happen to the mortals this time, they were wondering, as a ten-sided dice rolled across the cumulus until it came to a standstill, the number three pointed towards the heavens.

“Yeah, I could really use an automatic rifle right about now. Nice scope. Lots of ammo.” I wanted to make short work of filling the RV’s tank, but the reality was that the tank was huge and it would take time. I couldn’t will the damn thing to fill faster. And I was standing there as exposed as I could be with my companions locked away in semi-safety. I unscrewed the gas cap and turned to reach for the pump handle.

“Juan?”

I figuratively jumped out of my skin at the sound of the voice above my head. Sherry had opened the bedroom window, her face pressed lightly against the bug screen. “Shit, Sherry, you about gave me a damn heart attack.”

“Sorry,” she said nicely enough, but her face didn’t look at all penitent, “I need to go back to the restroom. Do I have time?”

“You just went,” I said the words before I could think better of them.

“You know, if you’d stopped an hour ago instead of now, I wouldn’t have to keep running to the bathroom to shove coarse toilet paper up my hoo-ha.” Sherry’s face went bright red, anger painting it like an artist with a brush on canvas.

“Right…um…yeah, plenty of time,” I mumbled the words, but Sherry slammed the window shut halfway through my sentence. It was beginning to feel like we were a couple well past the honeymoon phase. Shit, it was the end of the world. We didn’t have time for hurt feelings. Maybe I should be a little more compassionate. I didn’t have to face blood-hungry zombies with a red-soaked pad between my legs.

Slowly I lifted the nozzle and turned on the pump. Nothing happened. I stared at it and lifted the lever again. Nothing. The LED lights were dark, and for the first time I realized that my well-thought-out plan was about to crumble. This wasn’t the type of station to insist you pay first, but the pumps did need power, a credit card swipe, and an attendant to run everything.

Well, I had the credit card.

Fat lot of fucking good that did me.

I was within feet of hundreds of gallons of fuel and had no way of getting it.

I set the nozzle back into its holder and leaned against the pump just looking around. I couldn’t help thinking that we were totally screwed. Maybe this was why the trucks were all left here. No way of getting fuel, so they just began walking. No…that was stupid, why would they all leave a building to head out on the open road? If anything, they would hold up and wait it out.

I looked at the trucks and back to the building, trying to come up with a solution. My eyes began to sting from the dust and the heat, but the thought of getting back into the vehicle without filling it up made me continue the search. My thoughts drifted to my past and the solution became clear. When I was a boy, I use to steal gas from cars in the neighborhood to fill up the moped I shared with my friends. We used to siphon it, a little from each of the cars so no one would ever notice. I could do the same with the trucks. There had to be some left. Maybe not enough to drive an eighteen-wheeler far, but it would work for us. There was an advantage to having a diesel RV.

I waited for Sherry to return so I could tell her the bad news and the new plan. When she did return, she just slammed her fist against the window, waited until I looked, and then she gave me that oh-so-ladylike middle finger. Maybe I deserved it.

I banged on the window to call her back after she slipped out of sight.

“What do you want, Juan?” Sherry hissed, sounding like the tough gal I used to teach in kickboxing class, “want to ask me why I took so long in the bathroom? Or maybe you’re wondering why my face is a little damp. I washed it, if you’re wondering. Even used a little of the lotion that whoever owned this had in their bathroom cabinet. Thought it would make me look a little better than the mascara smeared all over my face from crying and sweating.”

Waiting patiently for her to finish, I crossed my arms. I think she eventually saw that she wasn’t getting my back up at all. She quieted, still looking hissy and huffy. “You done?” My voice sounded monotone and unimpressed. I’m not sure that was the way to react to her, but shit, I was out here in the heat taking the risk and she was sitting pretty and cool in the RV that was still holding in a lot of the A/C despite the broken windshield.

“Yeah, I’m done,” Sherry spat.

“Good. The pumps won’t work without power. I’m going to have to try and siphon fuel from the tankers. It’ll mean more work, more time. I’m going to have to see if I can even find the supplies.”

Her face fell as I spoke. “Shit,” she murmured, the anger leeching out of her body. “Nothing can be easy, can it?”

I shook my head. “Apparently not.” Looking at the building again, I mentally urged something to appear, but there was nothing. Which made me feel more uncomfortable than if a horde of Zs had come streaming out of the building after us. I still wasn’t convinced this place was abandoned. Too quiet always meant trouble.

I remembered a time back before I left Puerto Rico when everything in my neighborhood went silent. It was as if the houses and all the occupants were caught in a vacuum. And then the explosions came. This was before my abuela died. She’d come out of the house. I could see her face, contorted in a scream, calling for me to come home. But I couldn’t hear her.

It’s like that, in the middle of a traumatic event. Everything goes both explosive and silent at once.

And you can scream all you want but it won’t do any good. You have to act. You have to act and get your shit together really fast.

“I have to go in there,” I point at the large convenience store, “and see if there’s something I can use to get the fuel from the other tankers.”

She gave a small nod. “Be safe, okay?”

“I’ll try.” I could have said, ‘everything will be fine’, but it might not be. ‘I’ll try’ was the kind of promise that I could keep, even if my effort wasn’t good enough and I ended up dead. I stretched against the outer wall of the vehicle before leaving the RV, working out kinks in my legs, arms, and neck. The ASP was a good weapon, but my use of it determined its effectiveness. My body was just as much a tool to be used in a fight. And, if I could help it, I didn’t want to use the last bullet in the .38.

Walking toward the building, I kept my eyes open and my mind as clear as I can. After about twenty feet, I paused, thinking I’d seen a glint of movement beyond the shaded windows of the big truck stop store. I waited, but seeing nothing else, I started forward again. The tint on the windows made it impossible to discern much aside from shadows, or an illusion of shadows. Maybe I was just expecting to see something, wanting to see something, so my mind was filling in blanks.

I wished I had more training, training in things other than martial arts. Using a gun wouldn’t be my first choice, but I’d been holding my own. Even though it had been my idea, I didn’t like leaving Sherry in the RV with Marty. And even though I’d told them that Frank would fight if necessary, I didn’t really think, deep down in my gut, that he would be able to. He’d want to. He’d try, but there’s only so much you can ask of a dog, even one as loyal as that.

Sherry knew how to use a shotgun. I’d just have to trust that she’d keep her cool and do what had to be done. Fuck, if something happened to them while I was in here…I risked a glance back. I could see Sherry standing in the window of the RV, a pale creature behind the glass. She held up a hand and pressed it against the window. I don’t wave back.

The outside of the building was plain, generic. The entrance flanked by several vending machines—probably there for when the convenience store was closed late at night and you could only buy gas with a credit card—and newspaper racks. A large silver freezer had the word ‘ice’ written across it in large blue letters. Those weren’t going to be helpful, but if there was a soda fountain inside, that would have tubing I could salvage. That would work. Yeah, all I needed was a good length of hose. I could handle the rest; if all of the gas I accidently swallowed as a kid hadn’t killed me, then sucking down a few drops of diesel wasn’t going to do much more harm, except maybe to my breath.

I took out the .38, tucking the ASP into my pocket. The baton only pokes out slightly; it’s not that long when it’s not deployed. I keep the gun out in front of me as I approached the door; there was still no movement from inside. I had to keep reminding myself that the lack of movement didn’t mean there wasn’t danger. These things were fast and with every footstep I got further away from safety. One mistake and I would never make it back to the RV. At least not alive.

For a horrified moment, I imagined what it would be like to get bitten. To change into one of those blood-thirsty monsters. I wondered if I’d recognize Sherry and Marty. I wondered if Frank would attack me.

Fuck. I shook my head. I’m alive right now. Focus on that, idiot.

I tried to peer through the double glass doors that should have slid open at my approach if the building had power, but the sun’s glare made it impossible to see much. Slowly, I pushed my hand between the two doors and I began to yank. I had to pull hard, straining my muscles, to get the damn thing to slide. It hadn’t taken long with the Texas heat and dust seeping between the crack for the mechanism to lock up.

Once I’d made a sizeable gap, I stuck my foot against the door I’d manhandled open. I eased my body forward, leaning my upper half closer and my head almost inside the building to allow my eyes to adjust to the gloom. Still nothing.

No sound.

No shift in the air to indicate something skulking quietly in the dimness.

Just deathly quiet.

My confidence began to build as I stepped inside. Maybe the trucks had just been abandoned after all or maybe they all piled into one vehicle like a school bus. This place was safe. I could get what I needed. Still, I didn’t put the gun away.

I shut the door as quietly as I could and moved over to the supply section. On the racks and shelves were all sorts of usable Items. CBs, jumper cables, emergency lights, and tons of other stuff. I hadn’t expected this place to have anything to salvage. I thought for sure I’d be make-shifting something with shitty materials. I kept looking, knowing now that I wasn’t going to have to tear open the soda dispenser that I’d seen positioned near the cash registers.

Finally I found what I was looking for. Wound up in brown boxes with black lettering were lengths of heater hose. Most of them where in excess of four feet, but the one I chose was almost seven feet in length. Even in a diesel, if you blow a hose you lose all your coolant and won’t be going far. Once I’d seen the array of truck repair items, I’d known they’d have this particular item. Turning the box around in my hand, a satisfied smile started to cross my face.

The expression was interrupted.

“You plan on paying for that?”

I froze. The harsh rough voice was mere feet behind me and the accompanying prod in my back was a good indicator that whoever the hell I’d just disturbed was armed.

***

SHERRY

“Don’t worry, Marty, Juan will be back. We just have to sit tight for a while.” I made the words sound as soothing as I could, but the boy’s body kept vibrating, shaking with fear. I hadn’t been helping matters, not with my meltdown at the marina. And I just can’t seem to keep my damn temper with Juan. He’s just being…he’s being such a fucking man. There were moments recently where it was hard to recall what I ever saw in him.

You know, beside the tight muscled ass and six-pack.

I sighed, hugged the boy tighter. My arms flexing seemed to awaken his voice.

“You don’t know that,” the boy whispered, scooting a fraction away from me to be closer to Frank. The dog had perked up since Juan had left, as if he’d realized he was the man of the house now. He couldn’t protect us, though. He wasn’t strong right now. I felt some responsibility for that—I’m the one who’d had to go to the marina. I’m the one who’d had to make the call to Susan on the way there.

Every injury the dog had was a result of my decisions.

Frank gave a low growl when Marty came near him. It wasn’t aggressive. No, it was like the dog was trying to reassure the boy. Like the grumble was meant more as a lullaby than a warning. I had done what I could to help him, trying to splint the injured leg using a magazine and strips of cloth. He had been patient, in pain, but knowing I was trying to help. The leg would never be the same, if it healed…when it healed…he would always have a limp. With a little luck, it wouldn’t cause him pain for the rest of his life. I felt I’d failed him, damn lovable dog.

I left the two on the bed to rest and I went to stand next to the window. Juan had just started walking away from the RV. He looked so small, even only a yard or two from the vehicle. It’s because everything around him is too quiet. And too open. The scattering of big rigs wasn’t enough to break the solace, like a scattering of ants across a giant picnic blanket.

I was worried that something was going to explode out of that silence, fall upon Juan like rabid animals, and then he would be gone. And I haven’t been very nice to him. Why are we unkind to people we truly care about? Is it because they’re easy targets?

Sighing, I turned around and picked up the shotgun from where it was set on the built-in side table to the left of the bed. It felt good in my hands, like I was back hunting with Dad. The least I could do in the moment was keep the gun ready just in case Juan needed back up. I loaded the gun. From this distance, I could easily hit something. Of course, when he went into the gas station’s store, I’d be helpless. I don’t want to be helpless.

That’s how I’d felt at the marina—when Juan had taken control and we’d left Susan and the kids and Grant behind. I don’t have an excuse for the way I kind of lost it. Not really. I’m a grown-ass adult and I know I scared the hell out of Marty. But in that moment, as I’d watched the boat get further away and my friend with it, I’d felt like it was the end.

Like dying must be what was coming next.

So, yeah, I’d crumpled and I’d lost control and I’d become the damsel in distress. So freaking sue me. The world was crazy as my Aunt Jane now. It would eat you right up if you let it. God…I still didn’t know what to think about what was happening. I still didn’t fully ‘get’ it.

Absentmindedly, I rocked back on the heels of my shoes, before remembering that one of the kitten heels was broken. I nearly lost my balance but grabbed the thin window sill with the hand that wasn’t supporting the gun. It felt like I’d been wearing the broken shoes for an eternity, so long that compensating for the unevenness had become pretty second nature.

In reality it hadn’t been that long at all. The end of the world—when time doesn’t mean anything anymore and everything comes down to a pinpoint of light that is the hope that you might survive.

“Sherry?” Marty’s voice held only the slightest quiver now. It seemed Frank had been successful in calming him down. I turned around, letting a small smile curve my lips.

“What’s up, buddy.” It hurt a little, calling Marty “Buddy.” It made me think of Marcel. It’s what I’d always called him. And Sophia had been Bug or Ladybug. I stopped the train of thought before it could lead me towards Susan.

“Can you still see Juan?” The little boy stroked Frank’s fur slowly, methodically, like the repetitive movement was all that was keeping the dark reality of the world at bay.

“Yeah. He’s getting pretty close to the building,” I said, flicking a glance back out the window towards the man that, despite our squabbling and harsh words, still made my heart pitter-patter just a little faster than normal. I’d not tell him that right now. Maybe when things settled down. If they ever did.

“You think there’s anything in there?” He paused, swallowed. “You know, not stuff or food, but…those things?”

I tried to infuse more warmth into my smile. “I think if there were any of the bad things here, that they’d have already come out by now. Don’t you?” Again, I turned and found Juan in the distance. He seemed to feel me looking. Or maybe he just had the impulse to look at me at the same time because he half-turned, his face finding my own. I lifted my hand and pressed it against the window glass. He didn’t wave back.

“I guess. They seem to like noise.” Marty leaned down and snuggled his face against Frank. “Frank’s breathing seems a little better.”

“I’m glad.” Looking back out the window again, I saw Juan forcing the front door of the convenience store open. I wished it were one of those small places—only a few aisles, large windows expanding across the entire front entrance. If he was entering one of those, I’d be able to see him. Even if he dropped out of sight for a moment behind a chip display I could wait until he reappeared on the other side.

And I wouldn’t be so scared for him.

Or for me and Marty. Because if Juan died, I wasn’t sure I could keep us alive. Sure, I could hit better than the broadside of a barn with the shotgun, but the shells would run out eventually. Or I’d miss my target at the wrong moment. And we’d be dead. Just like that.

I waited until Juan went in, his figure almost instantly obscured by the tinted glass and crowd of vending machines outside the building. I felt my heart jump into my throat and stay there, a lump that wasn’t going to budge no matter how hard I swallowed. I left my position at the window and went to sit on the bed, kicking my shoes off as soon as my butt made full contact. The bed is tall enough that only the tips of my toes can reach the ground. My hand went to Frank’s body. I don’t move it and join Marty in petting. I just let my palm rest against the big dog’s stomach, letting the feel of his breathing reassure me that he’s not headed to doggy heaven.

We sat there for a while in companionable silence.

“I think about my mom a lot. Izzy and Sam, too. You think they’re okay now?” Marty breaks the silence and I jump a little. I’d lapsed into a sort of dazed trance.

Great job, Sherry. Just sit here in la-la land. No problem. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to be scared of. Just a bunch of undead creatures waiting to eat you alive.

“Sherry?” Marty’s looking at me. I’d been quiet too long.

“I think they’re fine, Marty. I’m sure they’re…I’m sure they’re fine.” Even I could hear the lie in my words. Hollow, empty. Pathetic.

I was about to try and say something else, attempt something that didn’t sound like a load of adult bullshit but a noise outside arrested my voice. It wasn’t loud. In fact, it was so deliberately quiet that it scared me more. Someone was trying to approach the RV without alerting us. And I knew, if that were the case, then it sure as heck wasn’t Juan.

“Marty,” I whispered, trying to sound calm, “you stay on the bed with Frank. Okay?”

“Um… okay.” He sounded unsure, his dark gray eyes tight around the edges. He looked so vulnerable there, with his tousled dirty blonde hair and mouth pulled into a taut line. He could see through me. My dad used to say I was a terrible actress and I couldn’t lie to save my life. That’s what acting is, in a way, personifying a lie. I’d tried the theater thing in high school and it had been a bloody disaster. I studied for weeks, knew every line inside and out, and when that curtain rose, shit, I was a tangle of nerves. The review in the paper had been more than brutal.

Standing up, but also keeping my upper body leaning forward so not too much of me would show as I approached the window, I walked to the opposite side of the RV from where I’d been watching Juan. I didn’t see anything at first, my position too low, so I lifted my body slightly higher.

And then I dropped down to the floor as fast as I could.

Someone was walking next to the RV, keeping their body nearly pressed against the vehicle’s side to avoid detection. He or she was moving slowly. All I’d seen was a glimpse of sandy blonde hair. The sound that had originally alerted me to our company hadn’t come again. I thought back, trying to picture in my mind what it could have been.

It only took me a few precious seconds. The sound of a gun being cocked, but quietly, filtered through the RV walls.

The monsters don’t carry guns.

The monsters don’t worry about being quiet.

My heart started racing. Not in the good way. Not in the way it did when I look at Juan a little longer than necessary. It hit stallion stride, pumping inside my chest and looking for a finish line.

“Marty, don’t move.” My voice was a harsh whisper. I was crouched down below the window.

“Sherry, what’s wro—”

I interrupted him, “Just don’t move.”

I began to crawl across the rough, dark carpeting and towards the bedroom door. I couldn’t remember if I’d locked the door after using the restroom. I couldn’t freaking remember. I’d been more focused on coming back out and giving Juan the big fat middle finger. I was an idiot. A damn idiot.

I was almost to the door when I heard the sound of a different door opening. Marty whimpered when he felt the RV move slightly as someone stepped up into the vehicle. Frank growled. I turned to look at them, holding my hand up, palm side down, to motion to Marty to stay where he was and to calm down. Frank was shifting his body, trying to pull himself up. “Frank, no,” I hissed. He looked at me, his large brown eyes full of too much awareness to ever be called the gaze of an animal. But he stayed where he was next to the boy.

The footsteps were coming nearer. Another set joined them, the RV shifting slightly again.

“Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey,” a masculine voice sing-songed lowly. The cutesy words were a counterpoint to the obvious menace laced through each word.

“Maybe he’s alone,” a second voice, thick with a deep South Texas accent, chimed in.

“No. He’s got someone with him. This is too big a rig for a single guy.” The first speaker is close now. He couldn’t be more than a foot from the master door. “Come out to play-yay.”

A quake ran through my body, from the soles of my feet to the tip of my head. I was kneeling in front of the door, sweat making my forehead slick and my brown hair beginning to stick in clumps to my face. I hated that feeling almost as much as I hated when a stray hair strand snaked over my arm and made me jump for fear a spider had found me.

“Lot of mileage on one tank, though. Come on, let’s get back inside. I don’t like being out here.”

“You need to stop being such a damn pussy.”

“I’m not a pussy, Lucas,” the one with the Texas drawl spat out.

I scooted back quickly when the doorknob to the master began to move. I had locked it. I’d locked it. I’d locked it. I wasn’t so damn stupid that I’d just rushed out from the bathroom to let my bitch flag fly at Juan.

“Locked,” the one named Lucas said. “So, what do we have behind door number two? Let’s find out, shall we.”

I moved to a kneeling position versus all fours. I was just in time.

The door kicked open, violently and fast. It slammed against my body, making me careen to the side to knock into the built-in dresser. My head hit last, sending me into ‘star’ land, just this side of black out city.

“Jackpot,” the Texas drawl breathed out. “I like ‘em a little thick.”

I shook my head, trying to pull myself out of the haze. I kicked out instinctively when I felt a hand touch my thigh but I didn’t connect with anything. I was still wearing the too-tight skirt. It was knee length, but it now had a sizeable rip that ran about four inches up my leg. He’d touched me there, where his fingers could graze bare skin.

“Leave her alone!” Marty’s voice rang out, but then I heard the sound of a slap and the boy gasped.

I shook my head again, harder this time, the fog cleared, my vision along with it. A man with short-cropped ginger hair was moving to touch me again, starting at my ankle above the broken kitten heel shoe. I kicked again, this time paying attention where I directed the force. My foot caught him in the inner thigh. He grunted, but recovered faster than I could have imagined. He balled his hand into a fist and punched me in the calf.

It was my turn to gasp, my expression crumpling in pain. “Bitch,” Texas Drawl leaned forward, his mouth close enough to my face that I could smell the acrid tinge of his breath. All cheap beer and cheaper cigarettes. His eyes were the dullest brown I’d ever seen. Absolutely lifeless.

“Leave her alone, Reece.” Lucas was dragging Marty off the bed, Frank was struggling to his feet, growling and bearing his teeth. “We got to see how Bobby wants to handle this first. I’ll kill you, dog,” he added, staring right at Frank. The way the big man—towering at least six foot two and well over two hundred pounds—said it made me taste my pulse in my mouth. There was no emotion in it. Nothing overly menacing. But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d shoot the dog without a second thought.

And I worried that the lack of respect for life didn’t just apply to the furry.

Could he say that to a human being? Could he threaten to shoot me or Marty with so little emotion in his voice?

Yes. I could tell that just by looking at him.

Marty was being absolutely quiet now. His cheek was bright scarlet, his eyes still watering from being struck. Frank was holding his ground, but no longer growling.

“Animals just need a firm hand, Reece, same as women.” Lucas was holding Marty’s upper arm now, jerking it at an angle. He began to pull Marty with him towards the door.

That seemed to be a sign for Reece to get me moving. As if to make a point, he grabbed my ass, digging his fingers hard into my flesh. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of wincing, but I couldn’t help myself. “You like a firm hand, don’t you, bitch?”

He didn’t wait for me to respond, instead pulling me to my feet. My head swam with the upright rush and I swayed a little trying to stay standing. Reece took that as an opportunity to pull me against him, wrap his arm around my waist and move his hand upward to cup the bottom of my breast. I jolted my hip into him as hard as I could. But, God help me, he seemed to like it. He liked it enough to shift his body so he could press himself against me.

I closed my eyes when he leaned in to whisper, his mouth so close to my ear that I could feel his lips brush against my skin lightly. “It’s been too long for me, baby. I can’t promise I’ll last long, but I can promise you’ll like it.”

“Reece, start thinking with your brain and not your dick.” Lucas was standing in the doorway to the master bedroom, Marty pinned against his body and the doorframe.

It seemed that both men had forgotten about Frank on the bed. I hadn’t. I risked a look, only to find that the dog was no longer on the bed.

Out of what seemed like nowhere, the black and red-brown of Frank’s muscular, albeit weakened, body launched into the air towards Lucas and Marty. The boy instinctively dropped to the ground, the man still holding his arm in a vice-like grip. Frank landed on the man, his front paws going over his shoulders and his great weight enough to knock the giant of a man to the floor.

Marty was freed in the process and he scrambled towards me. That was a mistake. Reece used the hand that wasn’t holding me to strike out at the boy, catching him flat in the chest with his palm. He must have hit him hard, because Marty crumbled. He crumbled and he started breathing like a fish out of water. Little hiccup sucks of air that didn’t seem to satisfy his lungs.

“Marty!” I yelled, twisting and turning in Reece’s grip to try and get to the boy I’d sworn to protect. “You fucking monster! You could break a kid’s ribs that way!”

“His own fault,” Reece drawled, his voice not quite as emotionless as Lucas’s had been when threatening Frank.

“Reece!” Lucas’s voice shouted, “get the fuck in here! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!” The scream the large man let loose was rage-filled.

Reece dropped his hold on me, running to his friend’s aid. I stumbled to Marty’s side. His breathing was still labored. “Does it hurt? Marty, where does it hurt?” The words tripped out of my mouth like clumsy children on a balance beam. He didn’t answer me immediately, his little body shaking and trying to operate normally. “Please, Marty. Does anything hurt?”

“I’m…” he breathed out, taking a deep draw of air that interrupted the short intakes, “okay.”

He was going to bruise. He was scared. But I didn’t think anything was broken. That would have hurt. It would have been obvious.

The sound of a gun firing made me jump and I crawled to the other side of Marty to get a better look at what was happening in the main area of the RV. Frank was on the floor. He wasn’t moving. God, he wasn’t moving. Lucas’s face was a bloody, fleshy mess. The front of Reece’s short-sleeved, pale plaid shirt was spattered with vibrant, wet crimson. It wasn’t an attractive addition to the yellow and green pattern of the material.

“That fucking dog. That fucking dog!” Lucas was looking at his reflection in the television.

“You’ll patch up fine,” Reece turned away from Lucas and found me staring. “Oh, don’t worry, baby. We ain’t forgot about you.”

Marty screamed. It was a sound that tried to die in his throat, but didn’t. It was the sound of a small animal facing a much larger predator. It was the sound you make when you know there’s nothing you can do. You’re helpless. Helpless and there’s nothing you can do. I wanted to scream right along with him.

***

JUAN

“I don’t want any trouble, man. I’m just having some problems I need to fix and I’ll be on my way,” I said the words calmly, but I also didn’t lower my weapon.

“That so,” the man behind me said, his voice brooding and holding the hint of someone who was a lifelong smoker, “then you won’t mind dropping that pea-shooter on the ground and paying for what you need. I’m sure stealing is the way of things where you come from, but in this country, we believe in honesty.” His words were harsh and aged, rough around the edges like sandpaper. I was forming a picture in my mind. Average height. Somewhat portly. Greying hair and beard. A typical older Texan. Someone I could take down without a weapon if it came to that.

“Yeah, I can do that. If you stop jabbing your pea-shooter into my back,” I said the words and simultaneously leaned down to place the .38 on the floor. He didn’t move with me to keep his weapon pushing into my body. I took that as a good sign.

I’d been so focused on surviving zombies that I never once thought there may be other threats, threats of the human variety. And they’d laid low, expertly low, letting me walk into the store thinking there wasn’t anything to worry about. Fuck. I’d known some humans in my time that could rival the monsters. I was an idiot to let my memory lapse in that respect. I hoped I hadn’t just waltzed into a nest of those types of bastards. I still got nightmares sometimes.

 “Now what kind of problem could a pretty little rig like that one have?” the smoker spoke again. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could smell the nicotine clinging to his words, the way a tree marked its years by rings. His voice carried each cigarette he’d ever smoked, like a marker of the black lungs he carried around in his chest.

I hadn’t stood back up and turned around to see if my mental picture matched the man in real life. I needed to, though, to see if I should be as confident as I felt that I could take him down. “Better yet, how did a filthy little wetback like you get a rig like that? Don’t look like the millionaire type. Did ya steal it, or just win the lottery?”

Snickers rose like a nauseating chorus from behind me. Whoever the speaker was, he wasn’t alone. I’d known I could turn the situation around if I was facing one country bumpkin on a power trip. But from the sound of it, he had at least four friends. Maybe more.

“I found it on the side of the road. The owners were…dead. Turned into one of those things.” I needed to buy time, time to think, time to do something. I didn’t want them to know that Sherry and Marty were in the van. And…shit…people like this, they’d probably shoot Frank on sight. they wouldn’t take a chance that the Rottie wouldn’t jump to protect.

“Dead or not, that’s stealing and you were about to steal that hose from my store. You’re just another illegal taking advantage of the situation. Our fucking back yard’s full of you types thinking you can just take what you want. We’ve been killing them all week. I don’t think they’ll mind a new friend in the hole we dug out back. What do you think, boys?”

“I think the hole’s still a little empty, Bobby,” a deep Texas drawl answered.

“I figure you’re right, Reece.”

I heard a shotgun action pump back and a round go up into the chamber; it was now or never. I fought and I won. Or I fought and I died. Simple as that.

“Hey, Bobby,” it was a voice in the background. I froze in place not wanting to set off a chain of events while there was still a glimmer of hope that this could go less south and more north. “He said he was alone? I swear I just saw movement. Not sure though. Damn sun’s so bright on the glass.”

‘Bobby’ prodded the barrel of his shotgun into my ribs; I couldn’t stop the wince of pain as it pushed past my teeth. I shifted my body so that I could see who I was dealing with. Hell, if I was going to die. I wanted to look the reaper in the damn eyes. I almost laughed. He looked damn close to what I’d come up with in my head. Except he wasn’t grey haired. It looked like he’d slathered his head and beard with black shoe polish. It was greasy and shiny. I could imagine the oil it would leave on your hands if you touched it. “Who the hell else is in that rig, boy. You better tell me right now or I swear I’ll dump a round into you.”

I could tell by his voice he wasn’t bluffing. I had to convince him. “Nobody’s in the RV; I’m an American just like you. Texas born and bred,” I lied through my teeth. “I’m in the business of surviving, that’s it. Plain and simple.”” The shotgun jabbed me in the gut again

“I think you’re lying, boy.” Bobby poked me again, harder this time. It was going to leave one hell of a bruise.

“I’m not—” But before I could finish, a leg kicked out and caught me in the back, sending me forward hard. I slammed into the floor, my .38 beneath me. The idiots hadn’t thought to pick it up after I’d set it down. I tried to tuck myself around it and see if I could slide it into the waist of my pants without anyone noticing. “Fuck,” I stammered, the pain coming on in a breath-stealing wave. The .38 shifted, scratching against the floors.

“Shut your damn mouth! Filthy fucking, beaner.” The foot that had connected with my back kicked once more, catching me in the hip this time. It rolled me sideways, revealing the weapon. Bobby gave a grim smile and leaned down to pick it up. “Won’t be needing that,” he said, then turned to his men. “Lucas, get out there and see if he’s telling the truth. Take Reece. Maybe he’s protecting someone. Maybe a woman. Be damn nice to have a piece of ass around here while the world’s falling apart.”

The realization of what he’d said rolled over me in an instant and I couldn’t keep my mouth shut. “Wait a second. I told you. There’s no one—” Something blunt and hard caught me in the back of the shoulders and knocked me to the ground.

“You’re working awful hard to protect an empty vehicle,” Bobby spat. “Pick up this piece-of-shit wetback and throw him in the beer freezer. If he opens his mouth again shut it, permanently.”

I was yanked to my feet by rough hands, a pair on each side. I could now see the group. Eight of them including Bobby, the leader. Only two were going out the door and heading to the RV. Lucas and Reece. I committed those names to memory. If they hurt Sherry or Marty…if they hurt Frank…I’d find a way to kill them. There’s no way that Sherry was going to be able to shoot them both. She’d been doing okay with the guns, but there’s only so far memories of hunting with your dad will go. God, and one of the men was a veritable fucking giant.

For a second, the mental image of what it would mean to have a woman at the end of the world pushed through my brain. I wouldn’t let them abuse her. I wouldn’t let them turn her into a perpetual rape victim.

I intentionally stumbled and dragged my feet. The men holding me almost fell, but they disappointingly maintained their footing. Finally, I got an idea.

“Hey, Bobby?” When I spoke, the men carrying me paused. I tried to sound as taunting as I could. As cocky and confident as possible while being manhandled.

“I told you two to kill that son of a bitch if he opened his mouth again,” came Bobby’s hard answer.

“You could have them kill me or you could take me outside before your two boys blow themselves to bits. You think I’d leave a rig like that without making sure it was safeguarded? I don’t let people steal from me, even if it’s shit I’ve stolen myself.”

“What the fuck you talking about, boy?” Bobby moved around the two men dragging me to the beer freezer so that I could see his face. It was set in deep wrinkles, a sculpture where the sculptor got a little too happy with the carving knife. “I think you’re lying to protect whoever the fuck you left behind in that RV, boy.”

I was really getting annoyed with him calling me ‘boy’. The racial slurs I could deal with. Hell, I can kill a can of refried beans. The ‘boy’ thing grated, though. It wasn’t so much the word, but the way he said it. Like I was only suited for pulling in crops for cash under the table.

“Suit yourself,” I shrugged. My gaze drifted towards the front of the store. The tint seemed to be one way, so I could see everything going on outside. Lucas and Reece were entering the RV.

“He’s bluffing. Take him out back and put a bullet through his fucking brain. We’ve got no use for his type.” Bobby turned away from me to stare at the RV. Regardless what he said, he was worried that I wasn’t lying.

The two men began to drag me in a different direction, away from the walk-in beer freezer and towards a back door that was propped open. I could see a pit in the near distance. A mass grave.

Just as they were about to push me out the door in front of them, a gunshot sounded. Everyone froze, silence filling the store.

“Fuck,” Bobby breathed out. “Come on. Bring that illegal shitbag with us.”

The seven of us—me once again being manhandled by two of the men—rushed out into the hot Texas day. The front door was still opened from my entry. I tried to slow me and my two captors down, but they kept lifting me off the ground each time I forced a stagger. It was demeaning to be a grown ass man and have two other grown ass men lift you like you weigh nothing. They hadn’t done that the first time I’d stumbled, but that time had been a surprise.

God, I just needed a few meters of space. Just a few seconds so I could deal with the two holding me and hopefully get my hands on a weapon. I did have a weapon, I realized. They hadn’t searched me. They hadn’t found the ASP, despite the very tip sticking out of my pocket. I was grateful that the baton was so small when undeployed.

I couldn’t get enough space between me and the two men and the other four. Soon, we’d be at the RV and they’d have two more to bolster their ranks. Unless the gunfire had been Sherry killing one. A guy could dream.

Just as I was steeling myself to fight and kill or injure as many of the men as I could, a high-pitched whine of pain, screams, and a scattering of cuss words slammed into my body. This time my stagger wasn’t on purpose. Within the mass of noise, I could hear the distinct sounds of two men. So neither of Bobby’s boys were dead. Did that mean Sherry or Marty or…

I cut my mind off mid-thought. No, they were fine. No one was dead.

I was angry, more than I ever had been before. A commotion sounded from the other side of the RV. The side with the door that faced the pumps.

Just a little while ago, Sherry had been on the opposite side of the vehicle. She’d stood in the window pressing her palm to the glass. I don’t know why I didn’t wave back. I should have waved back.

I’d never felt more rage in my life when I saw those vile humans dragging Sherry and Marty around the front of the big RV kicking and screaming. The only satisfaction I had was seeing that the one named Lucas was holding his bleeding face. Frank had “taken a bite out of crime”, literally. But where was the Rottie now? I couldn’t see any visible gunshot wounds on the two men or on my companions. They’d shot Frank.

I knew it was the truth. My gut wasn’t wrong often.

“Damn cunt had a fucking dog in there,” the words coming from Lucas’s now deformed face were thick with blood, like he was speaking through water as he swam. His bloody shirt stuck to his body in places, revealing more fat than muscles. Before, all I’d seen was a towering man. Now, I could see that he was slightly soft beneath the material of his clothes. I liked an enemy that had more meat than muscle. It made it easier to damage the organs with a careful strike.

“Have Big John look at it. You should have been more careful.” Bobby’s voice was dismissive and I could see Lucas’s face contort with anger. It was odd to see, his features mangled and coated in red.

In all the chaos, I hadn’t taken in the details of all the other men. My eyes widened as I focused and watched one of the biggest black men I’d ever seen walk over to look at the gaping wound on the trucker’s face.

“The dog did a lot of damage. Probably gonna lose an eye,” Big John’s words carried easily to everyone around the RV, despite the fact that he spoke softly and with a thrum through his words that made me think of a cat’s purring. It was too nice a sound. Too rich and full to belong to someone in this truck stop gang. “I’ll stitch it up, but it ain’t gonna look pretty.”

Lucas leaned into the large man, exuding menace even though he was at least four inches shorter than John. “I don’t want to lose an eye, you worthless piece of shit. You sew it up right or you’re fucking out of here. You can walk your way straight to hell. We only tolerate you because you got some skill and can patch a man up. Don’t be thinking you’re one of us.”

“Without me, three of you’d already be dead.” John seemed to rise up higher, stretching his body to take advantage of every inch. He now stood five inches higher than Lucas. I’d gotten the impression that John was subservient to the other men, but now I was sure that impression was wrong. Lucas was just one of those assholes who saw color before merit.

“Lucas,” Bobby snapped, “I told you, if you can’t get your head out of your ass you’re gone. It was the truth when I said I’d pick Big John over you. You’re big and not bad with a knife, but we need a nurse maid more than we need another fighter.”

I didn’t expect the words from Bobby of all people, who seemed to have it out for anyone of Hispanic origin, but that made me realize his personality even more fully. He was a survivor, first and foremost. He wasn’t going to lose a man with a medical background for another man who was relatively replaceable.

During the exchange, the man named Reece had been holding Both Sherry and Marty’s wrists. He must have been holding them hard, because his knuckles had gone white as Sherry’s skin. And Marty’s face was screwed up in pain.

“Hey, you don’t have to be so rough with them. They’re not going to try and get away.” I looked pointedly at Reece as I said it. One corner of his mouth twitched and his eyes narrowed. He was about to say something, something we’d both regret I was sure, when Bobby spoke again.

“So, you’re all alone. No family. No one in the RV. You seem to have a short memory, wetback.” The smile which came across his face was terrifying as he stepped closer. “Gonna cost you dearly. When I’m done beating the shit out of you I’m gonna let you watch as we have a little fun with your cute little Taco Shell over there.”

“I’m Puerto Rican, fuck face. And you won’t touch her,” I snarled. It was the wrong thing to say.

Bobby’s arm moved, his fist rising up to find my face. I rotated my body, moving faster than he could because of my training. Snapping my own arm up, I drove the base of my fist into Bobby-boy’s nose. Like a sack of potatoes thrown off a dock worker’s shoulder, he fell to the ground. A layer of dust that had settled over the concrete swirled about him. His eyes were closed. His nose bleeding.

“Mother fu—” one of the men rushed forward, not finishing his expletive. I was still moving and he was close enough for me to continue the rotation of my punch to open hand hit the new assailant’s neck like the blade of a knife. Albeit, a very dull knife. He grunted, but it wasn’t quite enough to stay his movement. I cocked my arm back once more, keeping my fingers tightly pressed together, and I rushed my hand forward once more.

This time I felt my knuckles compress on impact and felt my nails dig into the softer flesh of the front of his neck. The sudden and violent impact to his jugular and carotid caused his eyes to roll back until all that could be seen was the haunting white. It was ghostly and disturbing. By the time he collapsed, two more men rushed forward. And Bobby was recovering.

I turned my body sideways, positioning my feet for balance. Two against one. It wasn’t a situation I’d never faced before. That didn’t mean it was easy or I liked it.

They approached me simultaneously, coming in at about forty-five-degree angles. The one on the left, a slim but athletic man with stormy eyes, was opening and closing his hands. It was a nervous movement. I didn’t think he had much experience and he looked younger than the other men. I’d handle him second. The other man, with the way he moved confidently and the hardened shadowy gaze that seemed to eat through me, was the bigger threat.

I was about to strike, deciding on a roundhouse to the confident man’s solar plexus, when something slammed into my back so hard that I fell violently forward. I managed to fling my hands out, palms down, and keep my head from impacting the hard ground.

A third man.

Bobby, Lucas, Reece, Big John and four more. There’d been eight. I hadn’t been paying close enough attention. I’d lost count. Dammit.

Once I was on the ground, the beating began. I had moments of lucidity, when boots weren’t kicking at me, that allowed me to see my surroundings through a pain-hazy blur of colors melting together like crayons left too long on a hot sidewalk. Bobby was up, blood trickling out of his nose, bruises beginning to sprout around his nostrils to spider web onto the sagging skin beneath his eyes. If he’d been mad before, he was stepped-on rattlesnake pissed now.

The kicking with pauses of stillness seemed to go on forever.

I could hear Sherry shouting for them to stop. I could hear Marty crying.

I didn’t see them though, because after a while, I closed my eyes and gave into the madness of it all. I gave into the feel of my blood rushing to injured areas of my body.

It felt like dozens of legs were kicking me. Eight men. Sixteen legs.

I found solace in the numbers.

And then it stopped, stopped as if the storm had half passed and I was caught in the eye, in the complete stillness that precedes a second wave of carnage. I risked parting my lashes. Reece was still manhandling Sherry and Marty. They looked lost. Scared. I didn’t want to die and leave them to their own devices.

I knew they wouldn’t survive.

Not for an hour.

Not for a day.

Big John and Lucas were still side by side. They hadn’t joined in the beating. The larger man was pulling a needle through Lucas’s face. A curved, shudder-inducing thing that glinted in the Texas light. It yanked the skin of his cheek at an odd angle as he extracted the stitching thread.

And it created a craterous dimple as he pushed it back in, a small amount of blood pooling around the stainless-steel point. The sight was brutal.

And it brought back more memories of my life before America.

The gang fights of childhood. The knifings. The drive-bys.

One man with little expertise stitching up another man.

It hadn’t been much better in the rougher part of Miami. When that teenager had been left on my doorstep, cut up and on the edge of death, I’d shut down my training school and left. If I’d known back then that the entire world would eventually be a war zone… shit, I’d have taken my chances in that shithole area of Florida.

The memories were horrible. They brought with them the shadow of old pain, but it somehow built my resolve to make every one of the dirt bags surrounding me suffer.

I closed my eyes and reopened them once more. I was right on the brink of the body trauma sending me into a black out. They were good at what they were doing- good at keeping me just on this side of consciousness. The kicking hadn’t resumed, so I tried to push my body up on my elbows, tried to get myself into a position to do something. Anything.

The butt of a shotgun slammed into my lower spine just above the tailbone. It forced me back to the ground, my palms and right cheek hitting the concrete and getting scrapped up by loose gravel. A voice chimed out three words, dropping them like acid. “Stay down, fucker.” It was someone who hadn’t spoken yet. The voice brash and crunchy around the edges, like he was talking as he finished up a bag of chips, holding the container up to his mouth and simultaneously crushing the foil-like material.

Afterward, the beating resumed. Like it had never stopped. The second side of the storm. With winds infinitely more intense.

Only this time, I thought they were going to keep at it until I either passed out or died. Just when I knew my body couldn’t take anymore, just when the world started to go dark at the edges, I heard Bobby speak. “Looks like you’re about ready to watch the show, crop picker, so let’s set you up so you can see how your pretty lady likes real men.”

Sometime during the beating one of the humanoids had brought an old bench seat from an SUV out and set it on the ground. Its sharp springs were exposed through the dry, maroon leather cover. Without ceremony, they yanked my battered body to my feet and dropped me on the seat. A spring jabbed hard into my right ass check and I barely felt the pain as one of the men grabbed my hair and yanked my head back roughly. I tried to stand, but rough hands pushed me back down. Three men. Three men holding me.

Two holding Sherry.

Bobby.

Lucas.

John.

Eight men.

When my eyes focused and my head cleared again, I could see that two men who’d helped in the kicking fest—the stormy eyed inexperienced kid and the bigger threat I’d planned on taking out first—were holding Sherry over a double stack of blown-out truck tires, her upper chest being shoved into the hard rubber. She faced me, her face streaked with tears. Her whimpering and crying was barely discernible over the jeers and whistles of the men. Big John and Lucas had returned—Lucas now having the most hideous face I had ever seen. A patchwork rag doll best suited for a voodoo den—to join in the sick festivities. The glint of revenge was in Lucas’s eyes and I knew it wasn’t gonna be pretty.

“Okay, Lucas, you got a raw deal in this situation. You go first. Which end of this fine piece of ass do you want? I’ll take the other. Figure she can take two at a time and it’s too damn hot out here to do it single file. We can do that later.” Bobby paused for effect, letting the men around him laugh again. It was animalistic and sickening. “Just want to give her old man a good show before I ‘ICE’ him.” Bobby walked over to where Sherry was being held and he slapped her across the ass. Her skirt was stretched tight because of the way she was bent over and the sound of him hitting her was loud. A rubber band being pulled and then released against a hard surface.

My mind went to Marty. I tried to turn my head and find him. It took effort; the man holding my hair wasn’t allowing much slack. I found him though, tucked against my peripheral vision. He was gone. Not physically, but mentally. He sat in the hot sun by himself crying, rocking back and forth with his knees tucked tightly against his chest. No one was around him, but he was just too afraid to run. I willed him to look at me so I could wink or smile or something to give him hope, but it wasn’t going to happen. He was gone. Just gone.

Innocence doesn’t survive forever. It can hold on, like a candle flickering in the dark, but eventually something will come along that is strong enough to snuff it out.

I turned back to Sherry when I heard the rip of her clothing. I tried to shut my eyes, but the swollen tissue kept them from closing all the way. My face felt like a punching bag hung in a gym for a decade. A decade of boxing wannabes with nothing else to hit.

“Now you keep watching, boy,” Bobby’s voice, with his tree rings of smoke, filtered into my ears. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to see what was going to happen. I had to fucking stop it. But I was being held. A man at each arm. A third yanking my hair.

Lucas approached me then. He got right up in my face, our noses almost touching. “This is gonna be like your own personal porno movie and the best part about it is there ain’t no fat tex-mex chick fucking a burro.” He stood up and bellowed then, his face tilting up to the sky and sunlight glinting off a gold tooth tucked back in his mouth. He turned away from me and I couldn’t think of what to do.

God, I should be able to do something. All my years of training. Shit. I had to fucking do something. I began to struggle then, as Lucas approached Sherry, walking around the tires and her held-down body to position himself behind her. Her skirt had been ripped, laid open like a corpse’s chest on an autopsy table. I couldn’t see the full back of her from this angle. And I was grateful for that.

“I think he needs a better view, boys,” Bobby said as he joined Lucas next to Sherry. “Turn her sideways.”

The two men holding her down, pushed and pulled Sherry until I viewed her side profile. Lucas was behind her again, undoing his belt and unzipping his pants. He looked at me as he slid a finger beneath the waistline of her panties. “Think I might have to take back what I said about not having a fat tex-mex chick. She’s got a little junk in the trunk, don’t she?” He pushed forward, shoving his still-clothed groin against her. “Damn,” he pulled away, leaning down to look at her more closely, “bitch is bleeding.”

“No waiting for her to get wet then,” Bobby spoke, raw need and a trace of venom in his voice, was in front of Sherry. He reached forward and rubbed a filthy index finger across her mouth. She flinched away, turning her head and beginning to sob harder. He began to unzip, shoving his hand into the open fly of his jeans and wriggling his lower body. He was just pulling himself out, hard and ready, when a new voice stopped him in his tracks.

It stopped Lucas too, in the middle of shifting Sherry’s underwear to the side to make way.

“Looks like you boys are having a really good time.” The voice was hard and serious, but also holding notes of decided femininity. It came from behind me, somewhere near the store entrance, but I couldn’t move my head to see the owner. Maybe it was nerves at being interrupted, but the hand gripping my hair started pulling so hard that I thought he might scalp me accidentally.

Everything stayed still for a moment, a snapshot in time. The facial expressions on the hoods holding Sherry were ones of surprise and bewilderment, as if they were seeing something that really shouldn’t be there. I felt the hands which had been firmly holding me into place relax, including the vice grip on my hair, and I twisted my body around in the seat to get a look.

What I saw made me blink more than once to make sure it wasn’t some sort of hallucination from having the shit beat out of me. Two Border Patrol officers dressed in full uniform, including bullet resistant vests and issue weapons, were standing there like bright freaking beacons of hope. My heart leapt in my chest, an over-excited horse at the race’s starting line.

“I really advise you to let the lady up.” The woman who had spoken was slight, not more than 115 pounds soaking wet, with black hair pulled up in a high, sleek ponytail. She managed to look cool and breezy, despite the heat, and her glare was apparent even through the dark glasses she was wearing. Her partner was the biggest ‘cop’ I’d ever seen, easily as large as the bad guys’

Big John. He stood there with a menacing-looking shotgun, black on black, but not shiny, held loosely in his right hand, the barrel pointed at the ground.

“What the hell do you two want?” Bobby was in no mood for a couple of hot shot DHS agents bothering him. I thought the sight of the two officers would have shaped him up, but it hadn’t. In fact, it seemed to be having the opposite effect. He’d set himself up as a king of this new world, this changed world with the monsters. He didn’t want to recognize authorities of the old world.

“Originally, we just stopped for a little fuel, but now it looks like we’re going to be breaking up one hell of a party,” The woman took a single step forward, her right hand moving to her weapon.

“Lady, I don’t know who you think you are. But I caught this guy in a criminal act and plan on punishing him as I see fit.” Bobby had shoved himself back into his pants and zipped. He turned away from Sherry. She wasn’t crying now. She looked…angry. That was better. Anger would shield her psyche. It would keep her from dying inside.

“So you big ‘ol macho guys decided that raping this woman was going to be his punishment. Jesus H. Christ. How much hell does the world have to go to for women to start being treated as goddamn people?” Her right hand slid over her holster and released the locking mechanism. “Now, step away from her. Let him go. And we can end this peacefully.”

Marty made a sound then, a sound that drew the male DHS agent’s attention. “Shit, they were doing this in front of a kid.” It was the first time he’d spoken and his voice was smooth as butter and just as thick. He sounded like he should be singing lead vocal on an R&B album, not out in the Texas weather rounding up bad guys.

“Son of a bitch,” the female murmured, glancing at Marty and then back at the potentially explosive situation in front of her. “Get the fuck away from her and let the man go.”

“Like hell!” Bobby yelled only seconds before he went for his shotgun so fast that he caught his own men off guard. Only his own men though. The border patrol officers were primed for a conflict and moved with the type of efficiency and effectiveness only obtained from training. Bobby’s shot went wild and I heard the glass in the store window behind the agents shatter from the .12 gauge double 00 load. The men holding me finally fully let go. I didn’t wait to see what else was about to happen as I threw myself to the ground and made my way to Sherry and the kid, low crawling as if a net of barbwire hung above my head.

Gun fire erupted from all directions, each crack of a shot fired making me sink lower to the hard ground. From behind me, I could hear the crack and boom of the DHS troops’ controlled fire and answering chaotic rapid-fire response. I was almost to Sherry when Big John fell directly in front of me, his face destroyed by a close-range blast. Brain matter spilled out from where his eyes and nose once resided. The gray hue of the fluids was odd against his dark skin. He wasn’t as bad as the others. At least, I didn’t feel like he had been. They’d kept him around to play nursemaid.

And now he was dead. Maybe he’d done enough in his time to end up in a nice afterlife. Maybe.

In his hand was a huge revolver, I grabbed it and crawled over his body, a damn mountain rising out of the concrete that took me more effort to get over than I liked to admit. It seemed like every movement I made, my injuries swelled more. It was getting to the point that I could barely see, peering through the thin slits that were created when I forced my eyes to open as much as they were able. I wondered how I’d sound when I talked. My mouth felt like I was holding a large strawberry between my lower lip and gum.

I was close to Sherry by now. I had to be. Squinting, I could make out what looked like a dark pillar. Two tires stacked on top of one another.

The rounds kept flying as I reached the tires and found Sherry crouched down on the concrete. She was leaning on her side, keeping the ripped back of her skirt from touching. The agents might have been well-trained, but the truckers weren’t going to give up without a fight.

“You okay,” I spoke at a normal level, knowing a whisper wouldn’t have cut across the gunfire. Sherry didn’t respond with words, but her face spoke volumes. “Here, take this.” I shoved the large revolver towards her. “Take this and get Marty.”

Her expression warred between anger, confusion, fear, and anger again. “Great choice of a rest stop, Juan.”

I didn’t know what to say to that and she didn’t seem to need an answer. She turned her body, getting ready to crawl towards Marty, who had moved from the sunshine to hide against one of the vending machines. We could see him, but thank God everyone else had forgotten the young boy.

Sherry got about a foot away from me but was stopped by the disfigured image of Lucas. “Where ya going, princess? I ain’t done with ya yet.” His sneer as he spoke was psychotic and his words sounded more full-bodied than they should, like he was cheap wine left out too long to air. I think it was because of the way he had to speak now, his Picasso painting face of stitches changing the way his mouth formed letters. He’d be scarred for life. He deserved a shittier fate. “Now, let’s get those panties down. We still got some partying to do. I like my women a little bloody.”

The man had completely lost it, drowning in his lust for revenge and physical release. He didn’t even seem to be worried that bullets were flying around us like birds trying to find a perch. A perch within flesh and bones and blood.

Sherry’s gasp of fear was short and swallowed quickly. Lucas came at her, hands extended to push her shoulders down to the ground. I moved up behind her, but I wasn’t fast enough. Sherry was going towards the ground, Lucas riding her down. For an instant, I could see between their bodies. I saw the revolver pointed into Lucas’s body.

And then I heard the gun fire.

A violent bang.

Flesh and fluid spurted like a geyser from the assaulter’s back, to rain down in a spray across Sherry’s hair which was splayed out on the ground behind her head. Ever since Sherry had found me on the road, driving up in Kyle’s T-bird, she hadn’t been the woman who could escape a town of monsters and survive. I hadn’t seen that side of her. No, I’d seen the woman mourning, collapsing, introverting. She’d taken care of Marty, but she had to be more than motherly.

Now she had been. She’d been the woman I could imagine tearing through town, stealing a car, raiding supplies.

Sherry was struggling to get out from under the lifeless body of Lucas. I scrambled closer, as fast as my battered body would let me, and helped her push the corpse off. Lucas’s shell rolled, his blood-covered back glinting in the sunlight. A peek of spine pushed through the ruined flesh.

She looked at me and I opened my mouth to ask if she was okay again, she stopped me. “Don’t ask me if I’m okay, Juan. Just don’t.” With that, she got up on her feet, keeping her upper body crouched down. The bullets had slowed. A shot fired matched by a shot fired. A stand-off. I looked away from Sherry, but where I was now, the tires blocked my view of what was happening directly in front of the convenience store entrance.

I dragged myself over to the now-dead scum that was lying on the concrete, his exposed, meaty back already starting to smell and cook in the heat like rancid ground beef in a skillet. A pistol was stuck in Lucas’s waistband. I pried it out. It was smaller than the gun I gave Sherry, but a weapon was a weapon. Rolling over on my back, not being able to stand because pretty much my entire body hurt so bad I wanted to cry, I began looking for bad guys.

The scene was chaos. Blurry fucking chaos through busted-up eyes. Everyone that was left was hunkered down behind something, and there weren’t many left. The two border patrol agents were still alive, although the big man was sitting behind the ice freezer and peering around looking for a shot. The sun was in his eyes and he wasn’t moving much, not taking any risky shots. That made me think he’d been hit. Hit bad if he wasn’t moving to get to his partner who was on the other side of the entrance door, hunkered down between a soda and a candy vending machine.

The female seemed to be trying to say something to him—leaning forward and opening her mouth more than once to yell. I couldn’t hear her, not over the intermittent fire and the way my ears were beginning to ring. I watched her, my gaze sometimes going to find one of the still-alive truckers. Every time she tried to make a move forward to get to her partner, a round stopped her—glancing off one of the vending machines or slamming into the building behind her. The gunfire was coming from a single source and I traced it, finding a pair of hazy legs and a butt squatting behind a blue Peterbilt truck. The truck only moved a little as I blinked. And blinked again to clear my vision.

It wasn’t enough. I was on the edge of losing it, of collapsing. I hadn’t realized the extent of the damage, but it was rearing its ugly head now.

The man shooting at the female agent wasn’t far from me, no more than twenty feet. I laid down on the ground, supporting myself on my elbows and steadying the gun as best I could with the way my arms felt like limp noodles.

I began pulling the trigger. I couldn’t see clearly enough to fire a well-aimed bullet, so I let it rip. Sometime around the fourth round, I heard a yelp of pain as a round found the target. The person who’d found haven behind the truck stood and staggered out into the open. It was Bobby. He was using a pistol to continue fighting now, the shotgun nowhere to be seen. I fired again.

And again.

But I didn’t hit him this time.

My head felt swimmy, as if someone had filled it like a fish tank and was just waiting for a batch of guppies.

“You piece of shit wetback. You shot me in the ass,” Bobby spat as he began limping towards me. He lifted the black pistol in my direction.

I tried to shoot again, but the click of an empty chamber sent my pulse into my throat. It pounded there, as if reminding me that I was alive. For now.

It was over; I was out of ammo and couldn’t run. I closed my eyes not wanting to see the flash as the pistol round headed my way. I heard the reports of the handgun, but that seemed distant…like in a dream. There wasn’t any pain, no agonizing tearing of flesh as the bullets ripped through me, just that sound. Distant firecrackers that wouldn’t brighten the already sun-filled day.

Slowly, I opened my eyes and saw the now-dead Bobby lying in front of me, his pistol still gripped in his hand and a small pool of blood leaching out from underneath his body to add a splash of color to the dark grey concrete. I moved myself to a sitting position, my body protesting the movement, and I saw Sherry holding Marty, slowly rocking him in her arms as he cried. I forced myself into a standing position. The pain shot through me like white-hot arrows.

I found the person who had to be my savior. She was kneeling over her partner and trying to do something my foggy mind couldn’t comprehend. The sun was still shining, but it wasn’t in the male agent’s eyes anymore, because he was lying on his back. Her head lifted and her eyes found mine. Through the mind-numbing agony that wracked my body, I heard her yells for help and began staggering towards her.

“Get over here! Get over here now!” she screamed. I could tell that her voice was raised as high as it would go. But to me, it sounded filtered through pillows. Muffled and low. I shook my head roughly as I walked, forcing any residual strength I possessed into my legs.

When I reached her, I fell to my knees and stared. The big border patrol man was bleeding out. A round gained sometime during the fight, had torn through his leg, ripping away the femoral artery. He had tried to put a tourniquet on it, but the blood was everywhere, streaming from beneath him like ruby fingers painting rivers across the ground to wet his partner’s standard issue pants.

And the female agent was doing her best to stem the flow of the crimson, no care for her clothes or the way the blood was seeping to stain beneath her nails.

“It’s going to be okay, Mike. I’ll get the med kit. Just hold on!” She looked over at me, her face almost pleading for help. She was no longer wearing the dark glasses and I was fascinated at the brilliance of her green eyes. I wanted to fall into them, drown in them. Let go. “You, whatever your name is, push down on this rag. It’s the only way to slow the bleeding.”

I rose out of the water I was lost in, the green-blue waves I’d found within her gaze, and I did as she told me to. Apparently not to her liking though.

“No, push hard. Really hard. You have to keep the pressure on until I get back!” She put her hands over mine and she pushed. “Please, hold on. Don’t go anywhere.” She looked at her partner and not at me when she said it.

I leaned into the wound. The blood felt slick, as if my fingers were trailing against the ocean-damp back of a dolphin, and my hands wanted to slide off the big man’s thigh. The rag I was pressing against the crimson-spurting wound seemed to be a band tee shirt, but with all the blood I couldn’t really tell. It didn’t really matter, but in that moment, I wanted to know. It’s funny how watching someone’s life end makes minute details come to life, buzzing about in your brain clamoring for attention. It was avoidance. I knew he wouldn’t make it.

So much blood.

It was fucking everywhere.

Watching a person die changes your paradigm. It forces you to realize the fragility of the human body. It forces you to recognize your own fleeting time upon this Earth. It sticks with you, as you see the final time the person’s chest will rise and fall, as you hear the staggered, final exhalation of breath. It changes you.

I’d had my share of people dying. I willed the man to live.

The slight woman determined to save her partner gave one more ‘Hold On!’ and then she left. I didn’t know if she was talking to me or her fallen friend, but it didn’t matter, because it applied either way. And, in both cases, it fell on deaf ears. I felt dizzy leaning over the man. I fought for consciousness, because if I passed out, he would die faster. I pushed harder. At least, if I was awake and trying, I could pretend that he had a chance. Again, I willed him to live.

Sometime, while the female officer was gone, the big man began to talk. I couldn’t make out what he was saying, the noise in my ears kept me from hearing his soft tone. He was smiling at me, like he knew me and was saying something about his family back home. I tried to comfort him, but my words came out more like an incoherent mumble than a strong statement of hope. Just when I thought I couldn’t hold on any longer, just when I felt like the world was about to collapse, the female agent was back, her black hair fallen from the ponytail to hang loosely around her face.

“Get out of the way,” the female agent barked. I did as I was told, rocking back on my heels in an over-exaggerated movement that sent me sprawling to land on my back. It knocked the wind out of me, but she didn’t seem to notice. I watched as she ripped open a package and began shoving some type of gauze into the wound. After three packages, I saw the crimson wetness begin to ebb and then stop.

“Blood stop gauze. It’s his only chance,” she said like she really didn’t care if anyone heard her. “He’s lost a lot of blood.” She turned her head, finding my face, and her voice grew stronger. “Help me move him inside, into the shade. Damn man sunburns quicker than a ginger in California. Help, please.” The second ‘help’ and ‘please’ was an afterthought. She was calming down, her body movements becoming less urgent. I wondered if she was dealing internally with what I was seeing, that the big man’s breathing was becoming increasingly more shallow. I didn’t think the gauze was going to be enough.

I grabbed onto the man’s shoulders and began to drag him towards the store entrance. It was a struggle, but the female agent was stronger than she seemed. Even so, every step of lugging the at least three hundred-plus pound man still strapped down with all of his issue equipment, the several yards into the building reminded me that I was very much worse for the wear. Thank God we didn’t have to handle the door. It was still open. Open and inviting. This fucking place was anything but open and inviting. Hillbilly bigots on aisle one, right next to the cans of nuts.

When we finally settled the big man down, his chest barely rising and falling now, my savior looked at me and then out the door towards Sherry and Marty.

“Go take care of the kid and your girl. I got this.” Her voice sounded tired. Not just normal tired, but weight-of-the-world tired. I couldn’t even imagine what it was like to be a law enforcement agent of any kind while something like this was happening. Did officers even get to go home at night? Did they have a home to go to? Did they…God, did they have kids that were dying while they were trying to save strangers?

I didn’t have the energy or the will to try and explain that Sherry wasn’t my girl. I was kneeling on the ground next to the immobile agent and it hurt like a bitch to stand up. I groaned involuntarily. The female agent stood up quickly, walking around her partner’s body and putting a hand on my shoulder. “How banged up are you?”

“I’ll live,” I mumbled around the lumpy mess of my mouth and turned from her to head out of the building.

Her hand stayed on my shoulder, stopping me. “Just stop. I can’t stand macho men.” Without asking and with a shit bedside manner, she lifted up my shirt and examined the blue-purple bruising sprouting up all across my body, flowering like a perverse garden of black dahlias. The woman’s fingers ran across my body, tracing each petal. And then she pushed gently, testing me inch by inch. It hurt like a bitch, but I didn’t make any sound. “It’s a miracle that nothing’s broken. You’re going to have some deep tissue bruising, maybe even bone bruising. Hell, you could be hemorrhaging on the inside.” Her voice almost sounded absentminded. She looked up at me and she smiled. It was small, still holding a modicum of the hardness she must constantly wear to keep surviving. “But I don’t think you are. I’ll scrounge up some pain killers in here and I’ve got an ace bandage in my rig we can wrap you up tight, just in case I’m wrong about the ribs.”

“Thanks,” I spoke at a normal pitch this time, but the word was garbled. I didn’t return her smile. I don’t know why I didn’t. She’d just helped save my life. Sherry’s life. And Marty’s. But I didn’t know her outside of playing the best gunslinger at the gas station OK Corral. I left her then, her and her bright green eyes and black hair sticking to her high forehead.

I walked slowly, my upper body slightly bent over against the pain. Marty had stopped crying and Sherry was in the middle of getting him to his feet to take him back to the safety of the RV when I got to them. She stopped what she was doing and looked at me. There was something different about her gaze, something changed.

“I’m so sorry they hurt you, Juan. I hate to think what would have happened if…” She couldn’t finish the sentence, her eyes moving behind me and towards the store. I knew she was looking at the carnage and the agents beyond. “Good thing they came along, huh? Who’d have expected two border agents would show up out of nowhere.” She took Marty by the shoulders and led him away. I wanted her to look back at me. I wanted to see a spark of the Sherry I’d known before the monsters. Such a short time and so much had changed.

She’d been crazy and irrational. She’d been confident and ecstatic that we’d found salvation in the marina. She’d been crushed and out of her mind. Now, she’d nearly been raped and was dealing with the aftermath.

And it was changing her.

I could see it in the set of her shoulders as she walked away from me, the distance growing between us. It wasn’t purely physical. I could feel it emotionally as well. As if the tentative attraction between us, the thread of companionship, was being stretched too thin, thin as gum on a hot day pulled between fingers and thumbs.

I watched them go and then walked over to the bench that had once been my front row seat to a gang rape. Plopping down, I looked at my surroundings. I really looked at them. The carnage was everywhere. None of the truckers had survived. They were scattered around the asphalt, their bodies in different configurations, all dead where they had been hit. All of them dead. I thanked God for the avenging angels he had sent, but it was also clear that, in this world, I had to be careful what I wished for.

A prayer can get as twisted up as a curse. And a curse can seem like salvation when the world is dark as hell.

Still, I prayed. I prayed that the two agents who saved us would live and thrive. That they’d be taken care of the way they’d taken care of us.

I had just finished my little prayer, prayer that may turn curse in this twisted world, when a shadow cast over me. I jumped and turned to look at who stood over me.

“He’s gone.” The woman who had come to our rescue looked exhausted, her face truly showing all the shit she’d been through recently. Her expression was full of dark, haunting things. The sparkle in her emerald eyes had dulled. I tried to say I was sorry, but my mouth had become so swollen now that I could hardly speak anymore. I made a sympathetic nod.

She knelt down beside me and opened a black bag. “They had a lot of fun with you.”

Once again, I nodded.

“I’m going to check you again. I…wasn’t concentrating the way I should have earlier. Mike’s gone now. Nothing like a dying partner to muddle your brain.” Her voice was neutral. Too neutral. People only did that voice when they were putting on a front. She ran her hands over my body pushing here and there and trying to get a clearer idea of the extent of my injuries. Every time she hit a sore spot I flinched and she gave a heartfelt ‘sorry’.

“Well, I stand by my first assessment. I don’t think anything’s broken. May have a slight crack in one of your ribs. Mostly it’s just cuts and some serious bruises. Looks like you’ve been in the ring with Joe Frazier. You’re going to live, but you’re also going to be real sore for the next few days. Can you see much out of those eyes?”

I forced ‘a little’ out of my lips and then quit trying; the pain was just too much, even to voice two words. She nodded and then dropped into silence as she started wrapping an ace bandage around my body. She pulled it tight, making sure it stayed that way with each loop around my chest and waist. When she was finished, she fastened the end of the bandage with a spiked silver plate.

“All right, let’s get you into that big home on wheels and get the air on. We’ll have a little discussion with your partner and see what we do next.” The slight woman, who’d put her hair back up in the high ponytail at some point, bent down and closed the black bag. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle. “Here. Aspirin. It’s all I could find in the store.”

When I took the bottle from her, I remembered I’d never gotten supplies for Sherry.

“It’s empty,” I forced out, indicating the state of the RV. Dammit, it hurt to talk.

“No, the bottle’s full. I just—”

I interrupted her by lifting my arm and pointing at the RV. “Empty,” I repeated.

“Oh, out of gas. Well, we’ll take care of that, too. But first, let’s get you into it and have a discussion with your wife,” She pushed a hand under my arm and started lifting. I didn’t have much of a choice but to stand and let her lead me.

I wanted to try and explain that I wasn’t married, but I wasn’t sure why. Sherry was in the motor home. Sherry, a woman I’ve found attractive for years. Fate had brought us together on that road when all of this had started. My need to tell this stranger that I was a single, Puerto Rican male who liked long walks on the beach and poetry, had to stem from some sort of reverse white knight syndrome.

My being amorous with Sherry was an assumption I could correct later. All I wanted to do now was down a thousand pain pills, lay up in bed, and lick my wounds. She had mentioned Smokin’ Joe, and if this was what it felt like to be in the ring with him, then I had a newfound appreciation for professional boxers.

The hobble to the RV was awkward because of our height difference. When we reached the open vehicle door, she let go of me. Climbing up the few steps was pretty much like mounting Everest. Sherry and Marty were sitting on the floor. What they were sitting next to didn’t register for a moment, but when it did, my heart sank.

Frank.

The unmoving mass of Rottweiler was worse than the human carnage outside.

“Shit,” I breathed out the word, not caring how much it hurt my mouth.

The border agent entered the RV, coming around my body to see what had made me stop in my tracks. “I’m sorry.” She said it to all of us, and there was more feeling in her words talking about Frank than there was for her own partner. I took it for what it was—just a grieving woman who had to direct the pain at something. It was easier to be sad for the dog than it was for the man outside; the man who’d probably had her back a million times. Frank might not have been with me for long, but he was a partner as well. He’d saved us.

Marty heard her speak and he lifted his tear-streaked face. “He was a really good dog.”

I felt tears form in my own eyes. Hot, burning things. They streaked down and salted the wounds on my face. That only made the tears flow faster.

“Bed.” What I say makes no sense to my own ears, garbled and wet from blood and bruises and tears, but the female officer seems to understand. She takes me by the arm, supporting me and helping me move past the kitchen area and twin bunks and into the bedroom. When she lowered me to the bed, she stayed standing, looking out to the main RV area at the boy and woman still huddled around the Rottie’s body.

“I really am sorry they killed your dog. I had a Rottweiler growing up. They’re great animals.” She bent down and set her black bag on the floor. I hadn’t even realized she’d been carrying it. My mind was swimming again, more violently. A river instead of a fresh-filled fish bowl.

“Sleep,” I said, my voice that rushing water, all wet and searching for oxygen.

“Yeah, you need it.” She turned from me, getting ready to walk out. When she turned back, a funny expression had changed her face. “I’ll bury your dog for you if you want. I’ve gotta bury Mike. Not that hard to make a larger hole. He wasn’t a dog person, but I don’t think he’ll care. Not now.”

I’d already lain down, but I pushed back up on my elbows and stared at the woman. It occurred to me that I didn’t know her name. She’d lost her partner to rescue us. She’d doctored me. Now, she was going to bury her partner and mine. She was going to do it alone because I was too banged up to help. And I didn’t even know her name.

“Name?” It was more of a squeak than a question and my lips burned with the effort. The waves were pushing against my skull. Pushing and then pulling. A tide coming in and out, taking particles of sand as it did so. And the sands it was taking from me were my faculties.

She smiled, and this smile was sincere without the agent hardness. It was almost as if she was realizing that it hadn’t occurred to her to make introductions either. “Amber June Murphy, but you can call me AJ.”

“Juan.” I don’t remember much after muttering my name and letting my body fall against the crappy mattress and semi-comfortable bedding.

PART II

JUAN, SHERRY, MARTY, & AMBER

<JUAN’S GROUP>

(Corpus Christi, TX)

AMBER

(AJ, Border Patrol)

“So, as far as a game plan, you guys don’t have one?” I poured a second cup of coffee, the instant stuff that I’d hated once upon a time. I didn’t mind it now. My job kept me on the road and it was a lot easier to tip a foil sleeve of insta-caffeine into a sun-warm water bottle than to brew a fresh pot while driving. I’d foraged quite a few things from the truck stop: jerky, No-doze pills, dry creamer. It was a banquet considering Mike and I had had nothing to eat but a stash of overly-sweet protein bars. The salty of the dried beef was good, bringing my taste buds to life. Unfortunately, it didn’t mix too well with the weak joe.

I looked over at the woman named Sherry across from me, her fingers flexing around her own still-full mug. Sherry was a little heavy, soft featured, maybe a homemaker or in a low-stress, low-impact career. She was definitely out of her element, but then again most everyone was now.

Even me.

My job was to protect the border, send back illegal crossers among other things.

Now, what was my job?

Kill sick kids and be a roadside justice-server? I needed orders. I needed a direction.

I needed my partner back.

Sherry’s hair was mussed and she fidgeted with it every few minutes, running a hand down its length to smooth out the kinks. The motion never helped, but it comforted her. I could tell that much. Her eyes walked the line between hazel and brown. They seemed to shift back and forth as I watched her. More green one moment and more brown the next. She seemed to be doing better. Nothing like clean underwear, sweatpants, and proper feminine products, courtesy of my clothes stash. We even had the same shoe size, so she’d traded her broken heels for an extra pair of black sneakers I’d had buried in my rig. I think she’d have liked to shower, but the showers weren’t operating at the truck stop and the RV’s water tank was pretty much zapped.

Shit, I would have liked to shower too. I was sweaty and dusty. I’d been dirty before the shoot out, but now I was filthy. Digging a grave for a giant man in the middle of the day during a hot Texas autumn will do that. I’d said a few words and put Mike’s favorite ball cap on the mound of dirt. I hadn’t had anything to use as a marker for the Rottie, but the little boy came out when I was finishing and placed a dog toy on the grave. It was a mallard duck that had been stuffed in a lower cabinet in the RV. He hadn’t said anything as he’d placed it on the joint grave. I didn’t say anything either. I just stood there while he cried, and when the tears were gone, he’d turned around and went back into the motor home. Kids crying gets me every time.

Of course, I feel a little different now that child-sized monsters terrorized the country.

Juan had tried to get up to help me dig once, but Sherry hadn’t let him. I only had one shovel I’d found in the store janitorial closet anyways. Juan had given into Sherry pretty quickly, rolling over and falling back into a fitful sleep. I could see that there was an attraction between them. Any idiot would have picked up on that. I just didn’t know how strong or how mutual it was.

Surviving will do funny things to people. Live through one life-or-death scenario with a person and don’t be surprised if you end up in love. Or falling into a shadow of love. Relationships created via trauma have a high mortality rate. Just ask Sandra and Keanu. They sped their way right in and out of love. If you ask me, the sequel was a waste of money. I mean, the lead male replacement was like…Keanu lite.

I’d drifted off into my thoughts, almost falling down into the dark hole that was thinking about my ex-fiancé. He was dead now. Not from the monsters, but from a drunk driving accident. He’d been the drunk. It wasn’t his first offense. The first time…God, it had been awful. I was grateful when Sherry spoke and pulled me back to reality even though reality was a total shit show.

“Honestly, the marina was our plan. Well, my plan…and Juan went along with it. When that went to hell, we just started driving. And you know why we stopped here.” Sherry, her hands steady, lifted the chipped blue mug to her mouth and took a long drink of coffee. The stuff was hot, but she didn’t seem to mind. I was going to have to let mine cool for a while. I wasn’t a fan of scorching my taste buds. Besides, in my line of work, coffee gone cold was pretty much typical.

Of course, nothing was typical now. Nothing. I wondered if Mike’s wife and kids were alive. We’d been on our way to get them. What would I tell Lane when I saw her? She used to have nightmares that Mike wouldn’t come home from the job. Now those nightmares would be reality.

Sherry shifted in her seat and she pulled her blouse down. She kept fidgeting, messing with the collar and making sure her chest was covered. The skirt was long gone, tossed into the trash as soon as she’d changed. I’d seen victims do that—throw away anything associated with an assault. One of the things my training hadn’t prepared me for was how many women would be trying to get across. Women that were battered and abused and running. Sometimes, they had kids with them.

“Sherry, are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? Have you been through anything like that before?” I reached across the table and lightly touched the other woman’s hand. She’d set her coffee down but she still held the cup like a security blanket.

“AJ…do you really prefer being called that? Amber’s a pretty name.” Sherry seemed to stop in the middle of saying something important to focus on something unimportant. It always boggled AJ’s mind how people could do that.

“I’m not a fan of Amber. Besides, in my line of work, it’s better not to sound or look too feminine.” I took a sip of weak amber liquid. The dry cream had helped, but I’d kill for a little sugar. Even a fake sweetener, although I loathed the aftertaste.

Sherry snorted and then regained her composure quickly. “You’re kidding, right?”

“About?” And I really didn’t know what she was talking about.

“AJ, you’re about as feminine as a woman comes. Not only that, but you’re exotic-looking too. Exotic in a ‘just got back from the Caribbean and picked up a perfect tan’ way.” A look passed over Sherry’s face as she spoke, as if the distinction between looking the ‘right’ sort of exotic was something she, or someone she loved, knew keenly.

“My family was really surprised when I decided on this way of life.” I motioned down my body when I spoke. “Believe it or not, I used to model and do pageants. I was the runner up for Miss Texas five years ago. They worked hard, three and four jobs between them at a time, to pay for entrance fees and gowns.”

“Oh, I believe it.” Sherry couldn’t seem to stop the flash of jealousy that shot through her eyes. She looked down at the floor, her cheeks flushing with pink. “So what made you choose this,” she pointed at my uniform, “over makeup and easy-living?”

I didn’t like the way she said easy-living. I still had enough pageant queen left in me to want to enlighten her on the torture that was evening wear. Wearing a dress so tight you couldn’t breathe just to sparkle for a few moments under hot lights—easy. So easy. And the sacrifices my parents had made, it wasn’t easy for them and it wasn’t easy for me to watch them run themselves ragged. “My ex, he was in a drunk driving accident across the border. He killed an entire family walking through the Juarez marketplace.”

“I don’t understand.” Sherry played with her cup of coffee, not drinking it. I wondered momentarily if she was one of those coffee snob types who must have fresh brew and seasonally appropriate to-go cups around Christmas time.

“Most people don’t.” I took a deep breath and drank another sip of cool poor-excuse-for-coffee coffee. “A lot of people who become border agents do it to protect our country, our rules, our laws. I do it because…because every person has rights. If I’m the one that finds a crosser, I’m going to make sure they’re treated fairly. You know what punishment my ex got? A slap on the wrist because he’s a U.S. Senator’s son. He comes from a family of money and the people he killed could barely afford food. Four people dead and he didn’t do any time.”

“That’s awful,” Sherry murmured. “Are you part Mexican?”

I felt my eyes tighten around the corners. I hated that question, not because there was anything wrong with Hispanic heritage, but because people always assumed that I had empathy for crossers because of a shared background. I’m human. They’re fucking human. I don’t have to be a blood relation or a cultural relation, to treat another human with respect.

“No. Greek on my mother’s side. But only one-quarter.” I know my voice sounded cold and dismissive. Even if I hadn’t heard it myself, I could see it on Sherry’s face.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” Sherry said the words softly. “My best friend, she was teased pretty brutally growing up. God, even after she was grown up, her husband made it clear that her looks bothered him. She wasn’t even Hispanic, just dark-haired and she tanned well.”

“People can be narrow-minded.” The way I said it, I knew I still hadn’t forgiven her, even though she wasn’t the first, or likely the last, to ask the question she did.

Sherry swallowed, and the sound was loud and nervous. “You know, I’ve not properly thanked you for saving me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that.”

“Yes, I do. As a woman to a woman, I do.” Sherry’s eyes pled with me, and they’d gone to that more green hue, even though they still hold the touch of brown. My eyes are pure green, not even flecks of gold to break up the grassiness.

“I’m glad we were here.”

“Even though it meant losing your partner?”

I just nodded at her.

“You asked if we had a plan. Did you two? I mean, where were you headed or…where are you guys coming from?” Sherry stopped pretending like she was going to drink the coffee.

 “We were both on temporary assignment, assigned to the Tex-Mex border south of El Paso when it all went south.  There’s a mission-type hospital across the border run by a bunch of nuns. They deal mostly with children, trying to keep them healthy. Administering vaccines and making sure they’re properly fed, that sort of thing. We didn’t even know there was a problem, until we ran into a bunch of children coming across the border. Thought it was some new scam by the coyotes to distract our attention from the real illegal crossings. We had another team with us, regulars from the area. Mike and I were about a half a klick away when we saw them overrun through our spotting scopes.”

“They were killed?” Sherry dug into the jerky bag in front of me and took a small chunk. She stuck it in her mouth, but she didn’t try chewing it immediately. If you’ve eaten real, hard-as-leather, jerky then you know biting a piece off is nearly impossible to begin with. It made me like her a little more. If she’d had real jerky before, then she might not be a total survival throw-away. Still soft, still possibly a homebody, but someone who had a little more to her than met the eye.

“Ravaged would be a better description. It was like a bunch of piranha hit them. George got out of their Suburban to shoo them back over the fence. Still some places where the big wall isn’t complete and we just happened to be at one of those places. The kids didn’t turn tail…they attacked. It didn’t take long, a few minutes at the most. We watched it like a horror movie. I’ve never seen anything like it, ever. The agents didn’t even get a shot off. They didn’t even scream.”

“God, that’s horrible. So you headed this way afterwards? Why?” Sherry’s eyelids were parted wide, listening to my personal piece of the horror like it was fresh entertainment to take away the memories of the nightmares she’d faced herself.

I took another sip of my coffee. It was almost completely cold and I debated tossing it in the RV’s microwave to warm. In the end, I decided there were a lot of things worse than cold joe. Like a cold body. Like a dead body.

“Coming here wasn’t in the plan at all, it just worked out that way. We didn’t know what to do, you know? We watched the other agents be murdered, but their attackers…some of them were barely past toddler age. They moved like bobcats, but they still looked like kids. If we knew then what we know now, we would have shot them. We wouldn’t have hesitated. But in the moment? When we didn’t know what the fuck was going on? I couldn’t put a bullet in a four-year-old’s head, not on the off chance they were hyped up on drugs or something fixable. We got our asses back in our rig as fast as we could and we hightailed it to Carrizo Springs. There was a temporary HQ there.”

Sherry didn’t say anything, she just stared at me in that ‘little old lady watching her favorite soap opera’ way, so I kept talking.

“To make a long story short, the outbreak had hit there also and most everyone was already dead. We got as many supplies as we could load into our Yukon and headed out. Since then, we’ve been hitting every military base, police station, and government building we can think of to find somebody, anybody, who could give us some intel or instructions. It’s total anarchy out there and we’ve not had any sort of communication with anyone. The only reason we stopped here was that the Yukon was overheating and we were low on gas. Just lucky timing for you folks.” I lifted my mug and tipped it to my lips, continuing to heighten the angle until I’d swallowed every last drop of instant coffee. When I sat the mug down, I pointed at Sherry’s unfinished drink. “You want that?”

She shook her head. “No. I sort of hate instant coffee.”

I smiled. “I got that impression.”

She chuckled, but the sound was half-hollow, like someone had punctured a coconut, but only poured out part of the sweet liquid inside. “Yeah, I’m all lattes and cappuccinos and fancy frozen shit with whipped cream.”  She laughed again, but this time, the low sound dissolved and several tears escaped her eyes.

I watched as Sherry digested and accepted the severity of the situation we were in. The situation the whole world was in. I don’t sugar coat anything for anyone as a general rule. That’s one of the reasons Mike, God bless his soul, liked me. But these were exceptional times. And, in a situation like this, giving hope to an individual who had none was just plain the right thing to do. Sometimes, I felt like a walking contradiction. God, I wrote poetry in my free time, but I always had to be tougher than the guy next to me too.

“Anyway,” I started, fumbling for words which isn’t something I normally do, “now that I’m here and we’ve got some control of the situation we might as well come up with a game plan. This,” I pointed in an arc above my head to indicate the RV, “is the perfect vehicle to keep us alive and has the range we need to get to safety. Be nice if the windshield wasn’t busted to hell, but that’s manageable. It sort of smells like death warmed up, but that won’t kill us. There are enough supplies in the convenience store to keep us comfortable, although it’s a lot of junk food and soda. We’re going to be fine.”

“You know,” Sherry wiped away the tears that were slowly rolling down her face, “I thought maybe it was just us. Maybe this wasn’t everywhere. It wasn’t happening to everyone. When we got to the marina, I thought we were going to be safe. We’d go somewhere else, a place where this couldn’t touch us. But it’s everywhere, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know, Sherry. I don’t know about Europe or Africa or any place else. What I do know is that here, here in Texas and I think the U.S., we’re in trouble. And we have to be smart and be careful.”

“Yeah.” Sherry sighed and ran a small, pale hand down the side of her face. “Juan was talking in his sleep. Nonsense stuff mostly, but he said something that scared me.”

“What was that?”

“He said the monsters could heal.” Sherry seemed to hate saying it, like she’d been convincing herself that it wasn’t true, that it was just Juan having a bad dream.

I wished I could tell her something other than what I was about to. “I think he might be right.”

Her face went even more white than it was naturally. Alabaster instead of ivory. “You think…you think he might be right?”

“One of the buildings we stopped at…a small FEMA operation…was a nest for fifteen or so of the monster kids and probably double that in adults. I shot one of the kids in the face, a little girl. It blew out her right cheek. I could see her jaw bone peeking out from the mangled flesh. She…she went up to one of the adults and started gnawing at his arm. When she looked at me afterwards, the cheek was knitting itself back together. It wasn’t perfect, but it was as close to healed as I’d expect of some walking corpse.”

“Oh, Jesus. God.” Sherry shook her head. “How the fuck do you kill something that can heal itself like that?”

“I don’t know, Sherry.” I suddenly couldn’t drink the rest of the cold coffee in Sherry’s mug. My stomach felt queasy, nausea creeping up my throat. I needed to change the subject. I had to, before I tossed chunks all over the motor home. “Albuquerque Station, not too far from Kirkland Air Force Base, that should be far enough away to have had ample time to prepare. They’ll be able to help us.”

“Do you really think it’ll be safe there?” Sherry spoke like someone walking to the gallows, like she wasn’t going to count on the king’s mercy to save her before the axe started swinging.

“Should be, the DHS station there is pretty well outfitted and has a significant manpower presence. Kirkland has fighter squadrons and they do some special forces training there. It’s also pretty much in the middle of nowhere so I’m guessing they’re doing okay.” I was trying to convince her as well as myself that this plan was our best chance. If I was being honest, I’d say everything’s a gamble and there’s no sure thing.

Sherry seem to brighten up after the revelation that there might be ‘special forces’ at Kirkland so I didn’t add that it was mostly a training base and the numbers, if any, would be few. However, I did have faith that my comrades-at-arms could hold the fort, unless of course they got orders to bail out. If that was the case, well, it would just plain suck.

We stayed at the truck stop, the pavement still littered with the truckers’ bodies rotting in the heat because they didn’t deserve anything more, for four days. In that time, I found out that Sherry was a fair shot, but only with a shotgun or similar weapon. Hunting deer with good old dad was a far sight different than hunting rabid kids and she was total crap with a handgun, especially since she was insisting on keeping a hold of the Ruger Alaskan .454 that Juan had taken off one of the truckers and given to her during the fight.

I think she liked it because it gave her a sense of peace, knowing that she held the weapon of one of the men who’d tried to hurt her. Although, I think the gun must have belonged to the biggest man, the one who seemed to act more like a second-class citizen nurse. At least, that’s the impression I’d gotten when Mike and I had parked on the other side of the station and quietly moved towards the group of men.

I didn’t fight Sherry on it, but eventually, after struggling with the large gun during some target practice, she realized that the weapon might make her feel secure but it wasn’t going to save her life if she couldn’t support the weight to make a clean shot. Alaskans are good pieces of iron, trustworthy weapons, but really too big for anything other than dinosaurs and elephants.

The Ruger was even more comically big in my hands. I could shoot it if I wanted to, and even hit something with it, but I planned to stick to Mike’s Benelli autoloader. It was all I had to remember him by and, funny enough, I’d always sort of coveted it. It felt good, friendly, kinda like Mike.

We ended up being lucky and found quite a stash of ammo for the gun Juan had taken off of the man named Lucas. It was a Taurus .357. A good-sized, solid weapon. Not top of the line, but reliable. It would have been nice to find some ammo for the .38 Sherry and Juan had picked up when they’d fled their town. That was a gun Sherry could more than handle and she had handled it, if what she’d told me was the God’s honest. That only had what was left in the chamber though. A single shot.

It had taken Sherry a while to show progress with the Taurus and I wondered if her use of the .38 had been a product of adrenaline and beginner’s luck. I knew a few days of practice wouldn’t turn her into Annie Oakley, but she kept at it, stifling her frustration and celebrating when she managed to hit one of the empty cans I’d set up on the tires she’d once been bent over, waiting to be raped. I thought having them there would motivate her. It did. When she hit two empty cans consecutively in under a minute, I almost leaped for joy. If she kept her head, she’d sink a bullet or two into a monster. Hopefully.

Juan slept for the majority of the first two days while Sherry and I worked. When she needed a break, I kept myself busy collecting everything I felt might come in handy and organizing the things under the extended awning of the RV. The truck stop had been a wealth of supplies and it was no wonder the makeshift trucker ‘gang’ had held up there. The small, sit-down eatery to the right of the shower rooms was full of canned foods and the owner had a decent cache of weapons in an office safe. A safe that had been busted open, which made me think that none of the truckers we’d killed had been the actual owner of the establishment. There was even a bullet proof vest—a little large for Sherry, but could be adjusted down to fit Juan all right. I wished it was smaller though. Kid-sized.

I’d found myself looking at the little boy more than once, wondering if he was going to magically turn into one of the monsters. That’s one bit of information I wish I had—what was causing all this shit? I hadn’t been near a television in weeks, even before everything went to hell, and the radio in our issue Yukon had been busted for a month. Mike had put in two work orders for it. Two. That was border patrol life. Up until about a year ago, they’d send us into the field without guns. Then they’d started handing out .40 Smith and Wessons like candy. That’s what I carried.

Mike never did tell me how he got away with carrying the Benelli. Now, I’d never know.

Screw you for dying, Mike.

The thought was hot acid coursing through my brain. I loved Mike. He was the best partner an agent could ask for. Again, I wondered if his family was alive. I wondered if I was going to have to tell them he died. I wondered if they’d want to know how.

I’d found the biggest score of the truck stop in its repair garage. It was a nondescript building set away from the pumps. It almost looked like a shutdown car wash. Juan and Sherry hadn’t even noticed it when they’d parked. In the back of the building, all tricked out and ready to go, was a mechanics repair trailer—the kind you see supporting race cars. It was big, a little over twenty feet, with A/C mounted above the hitch and every tool imaginable. It took an entire day just to empty out all the unnecessary equipment and fill it with supplies including fuel, food, and ammo. Once it was hooked up to the motor coach it gave me a huge boost of moral and a real belief that we could get through this. I wasn’t really the negative type but when this whole undead, monster kid thing started, I figured it was just a matter of time before I was a statistic.

Now, I had hope. And it wasn’t the false, sugary kind.

Juan’s injuries looked like hell by the morning of the third day, but he was lucid and in fairly cheery spirits. He got up, he ate, and he looked at Sherry with a new appreciation when I told him that she’d been practicing and was getting the hang of a pistol. He’d joked that it would be his turn to become the next Wyatt Earp when I was done with Sherry. We spent that third day with him and Sherry both practicing and getting better. Juan didn’t push himself, sitting down and taking a breather when necessary.

He was a fast learner and was shooting with decent accuracy around the sixth day, when his pain was mostly controlled. Or controlled enough that he didn’t need to sit down every twenty minutes. Despite his growing effectiveness at shooting, he confided in me that he still preferred the ASP baton he carried over guns. He understood his body, his rate of reaction. Even if he hadn’t told me he was a martial arts instructor, I would have guessed something similar. You aren’t born with that sort of natural, physical command over the way you move. Juan was banged to hell and he still carried himself with a controlled grace. It was something I could appreciate.

It wasn’t until the seventh day when I thought Juan had healed enough to get back on the road. Potholes and bumps will wreak havoc on injuries. By this time I had done my best to fix the windshield of the RV. The ragged hole, now a spider web of cracks patched together, fortunately wasn’t directly in the view of the driver and with an ample supply of duct tape was made as secure as I could possibly make it. It wouldn’t stand up to high way speeds but it would hold if we weren’t doing 70 mph.

I finished up by using a Dewalt cordless, sheet metal screws, and wire fencing to make an “anti-Z barrier”. It looked like shit but it would work. It reminded me of something out of a movie—the hero fortifying his or her vehicle to become some deranged war hammer. I kinda liked drilling the screws into the million-dollar rig, it was as close as I had ever been to being a vandal.

Seven days since I’d found these people here, saved them and lost Mike in the process. Five days before that, all of this had started for me. It seemed things hit the border a little before it erupted across the rest of the country. The chaos. The carnage.

Not even two weeks since the world had gone to hell. How the fuck was that possible?

Marty had been almost a ghost while we’d stayed put at the truck stop. He ate little, drank what was offered, and spoke only a handful of words. The trauma of what had happened…it was sticking with him, scorched into his brain so he couldn’t shake it off. And he’d lost one of his protectors. I was a grown adult, and I was having trouble dealing. I couldn’t imagine what it was like to be a small boy. A boy who, according to Sherry, had watched his sister and brother turn. Had watched his mom die.

I wondered, in retrospect, if I had disposed of the bodies—all the bodies—before he’d ventured out of the RV to place the dog toy on Mike and Frank’s grave, if he’d have coped better. Having the reminder in his face; dried blood on concrete, the smell of decaying bodies, the memory of what had happened…it couldn’t have helped matters.

He’d bounce back. Children do that.

I really hoped he’d bounce back. I don’t know which would be worse, facing one of the kid-turned-demons or living with the boy’s haunted face day-in and day-out. Thank God I didn’t have any kids. I couldn’t even imagine what I’d be feeling right about now.

I was lounging in the back of a mobile camper I could never afford on a patrol salary. I was looking over a pile of road maps and atlases attempting to find the safest route to Albuquerque before we left, when Juan came up behind me. He stood quietly, waiting for me to show some signs that I wasn’t focusing on the lines and signs anymore.

The problem was the great state of Texas itself. It was enormous. Albuquerque was almost 650 miles away from our current location near Eagle Pass. Normally, that would be under 12 hours, but now it could take days. The roads alone, being blocked with cars and bodies, could send us on huge diversions…and then there were the children.

I looked up from the maps, finding the backs of Sherry and Marty talking in the front RV seats. I wished their dog was still alive. I’d never met him, but by all accounts, he was a good one. It would have been nice to have him around. I loved dogs, grew up with four labs and a foxhound. And I always trusted canines, humans not so much.

I looked away from the kid and woman, still ignoring Juan standing over me, and back at the map, trying to find the glimmer of hope in the darkness. There had to be a place. A smart direction to head, a good bet. I wanted to get to people who knew what was going on, to people who were trained. These people I’d rescued were good people, but when the shit hits the fan, well, that’s when you really get to know the truth about a person. The hidden being that can be more fear and self-preservation than strength and brotherhood.

Juan didn’t argue when I sat behind the wheel of the RV, Sherry and Marty having taken my spot on the couch; he simply positioned himself in the passenger’s seat, grunting a little with the impact of sitting down. It hadn’t been hard to fuel up once I’d found the breaker panel and turned the power to the pumps back on. I even ran my credit card to start up the pump instead of trying to fudge it at the cash register. I’d half-expected the card to be rejected, but, amazingly, it had been approved and the pump had whirred to life. End of the world, and the bank still wanted to get their pound of flesh. I wondered when that would end.

There’d been a period of time when the shit had hit the fan and the world went into panic mode that cell phone service was spotty. Millions trying to call and check on loved ones. Millions trying to find out what the hell was going on. Then the cell phones started working again. Maybe because people were dying fast, fast enough to alleviate the burden on technology.

I didn’t turn the pumps back off after I was finished. Who knew how many people the truckers had turned away that needed fuel because they couldn’t pay. I figured most people wouldn’t have cash on hand. With the way those bastards were, they’d probably have offered to take ‘other compensation’.

It wasn’t long after I began driving that Juan spoke.

“So once we reach Albuquerque Station what happens to us?” Juan’s speech was almost back to normal, only the slightest damp sound clinging to the edges.

I weighed my next words, wondering if I wanted to kill some of the hope I’d planted in Sherry when we’d first talked about Albuquerque. She was sitting next to Marty on the stained couch, which was now covered with a blanket we’d found in the store, across from the television. I wished we could get a news station or something, but this TV was only good for the useless playing of DVDs.

Not useless, I thought, as I saw that Marty had his eyes closed and was leaning into Sherry. His mouth, for the first time in days, wasn’t frowning. And he looked almost peaceful. They’d just finished a children’s movie, infinitely easier listening than the eight episode disc about some cat-dog mutation. The TV is not useless if it can help Marty become a living thing again rather than the shadow of a boy he’d been since the fight.

“AJ?” Juan prodded, waiting for my response.

“Look, I ran into some ugly stuff with my partner. Uglier than I’ve ever seen. Things that I couldn’t have imagined in my worst nightmares. Towns are burning, homegrown militias already forming, military units devastated by this plague. These…these zombies, whatever the hell you want to call them. I didn’t think my partner and I were going to survive very long, and we have training unlike a lot of people.” I took a deep breath, went to speak again, but Juan spoke before I could.

“I guess we had it pretty good. Once we emptied out the RV,” he said ‘emptied’ like he meant more than just cleaning up blood and guts, “we drove straight to the Corpus Marina. We didn’t have to stop. I guess back roads sort of sheltered us from how bad it got. Shit,” Juan rubbed the back of his neck, wincing as lifting his arm strained the chest injuries, “I sort of kept telling myself that maybe this was localized.”

“Definitely not localized,” I said, adjusting the wheel slightly to go around a dead car in the road. It took a little more skill with the mechanic’s trailer hitched to the already-long RV.

“Yeah, I get that now,” Juan sighed out.

“Too bad Corpus hadn’t worked out. Probably as safe as you can get right now…on a boat with plenty of supplies.”

“I think our odds are looking pretty good.” Juan smiled then and I noticed that it was slightly crooked, marring the symmetrical lines of his face. It suited him, his ivory teeth set into his amber-tan face.

“With all the supplies we got, definitely,” I said whilst also maneuvering around debris in the road. The remnants of two cars, one blue and one red.

“Not just the supplies, but the new company also,” Juan added to my assessment.

The way he said it felt oddly inappropriate. Even though I was just thinking over his looks, the thickness of his dark eyebrows and his long lashes, I also kept in the back of my head that this wasn’t some single guy at a bar. This was an attached man, trying to keep his wife and…not son, the boy didn’t look anything like them unless he was adopted…a kid alive. I wanted to turn around in my seat and see if Sherry was watching, but it would have been pretty obvious what I was doing.

“Sherry and Marty still okay?” I focused on the road and saw Juan shift in his chair in my peripheral vision.

“Sleeping.” He winced as he turned back around and re-settled in his seat. “You know, you didn’t really answer my question.”

“What?” Confused, I glanced at him, quickly returning my gaze to the road. “What question?”

“What’s going to happen to us? Me, Sherry, and Marty. You’re law enforcement; you’ll have some authority to stay at the station. We’re basically refugees. I doubt there are many safe places set up for folks like us.”

I sighed. I knew he was right. It’s something I’d thought about when I was first telling Sherry my plan. But they had the vehicle, the vehicle that was hauling probably the largest stash of supplies anyone anywhere had. I needed them. And they needed me. So, even if we got there and they couldn’t stay, at least I’d have gotten them safely that far. Surely I could find them somewhere to hole up until this blew over. If it blew over. “You’re right. I can’t make any guarantees that Albuquerque Station is going to be safe or refugee-friendly or anything. It’s just…the best guess out of a whole grab bag of guesses.”

“And if we get there and it’s overrun already?” Juan spoke the words like he already knew the answer.

“Then we come up with a new plan, Juan. We come up with a new one and a new one, again and again, until something sticks. Until, finally, we’re safe.” I didn’t look at him because the words were more for me than for him. I always had a plan. I always found a way. That was who I was. Even if I’d had moments of depression when things looked bleak for me and Mike, I knew we’d find a way. And we had.

Only Mike wasn’t here to see it.

***

JUAN

I looked over my shoulder to where Sherry and Marty were sleeping. Her eyes were open now, quietly listening to us speak. I could see a thread of fear in her eyes. That was to be expected. It’s not every day that you lose everything and everyone that you believe in. You just have to control it, keep it in check so you can kill when killing is needed and run when running is needed.

Sherry and I stared into one another’s eyes and it was like the moment we’d first bear-hugged behind the T-bird on that untraveled back road in the middle of nowhere. She’d found me then, pale-faced with gun in hand, and she’d dropped all her forced and necessary hardness because I could protect her. Right now her disheveled dark hair was fanned out over Marty’s head.

After a few moments of our gazes connecting, Sherry lowered her head and closed her eyes once more. I don’t know what she saw in my face, but something had changed between us. In such a short time, our world and relationship had shifted, particles of sand already passed more than once through an hour glass.

“It’s up to us then? Just plan after plan after plan until we’re dead or safe?” I said the words, my voice hollow. When Sherry closed her eyes, something ignited in me. Maybe it was loss because we’d missed our moment in the sun. All those times I could have and should have asked her out. It was too late now. That pain, that realization of losing something you never had, that was more difficult to bear than the bruises and busted ribs.

“Yes, that’s the cloth of it, Juan. I wish I had something better to tell you,” AJ responded, deftly adjusting the course of the RV and trailer to avoid several bodies in the road. I don’t know how she missed them all. I also didn’t understand why the bodies were left here, no cars in sight, miles away from any town. They were all in various shades of decay and each looked like they’d served as an all-you-can-eat buffet, their skin ruined by multiple bite marks and missing chunks of flesh. Some were missing legs and arms. AJ nodded her head, indicating the corpses. “We saw a lot of drop sites like this. Bodies half-eaten. I think it has something to do with the way the Z kids heal. They keep a large grouping of Z adults around so they can keep going, travel between towns and find new prey.”

I shuddered, thinking about the implications. “Yeah, Sherry told me about your conversation. That you seemed to agree with what I saw back at the marina. It’s not a sure thing though. You haven’t gotten any government confirmation that these things feed on the Z adults and heal?”

“No, no confirmation. But,” AJ cocked a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the road we’d just passed over, “these feeding grounds in the middle of nowhere. Z adults just dropped and discarded. It makes sense. They ate until the food couldn’t walk anymore and then they abandoned the leftovers.”

“Cristo,” I muttered, covering my eyes for a moment with one roughened hand. “As if things couldn’t get worse.”

“I have a feeling they’re going to get a lot worse, Juan.” She took a deep breath and then spoke again. “Our next major town is Del Rio. Unless you want to go through the middle of it we’ll have to take 277 around the town. That’s also the way to Laughlin AFB. It’s possible we may find help there.”

“Possibilities and a plan. We’re rolling in honey now, Mamacita.” I used the personal nickname without thinking.

“I’m no one’s Mamacita,” AJ didn’t say it like she was angry, just a firmness to her voice that told me I’d overstepped how familiar we were with one another.

“Sorry, didn’t mean anything by it.” I looked out the window at the passing scenery. AJ didn’t say anything else. Soft snores moved through the air. It sounded peaceful and innocent, invisible threads of calming noise that made my stomach feel at ease for the first time in over a week. Eventually, I found the need to cover up the sound of Sherry and Marty resting in the back. The calmness of it soured. “Be nice to have a working GPS. This one,” I pointed at the screen set into the RV dash, “won’t turn on. Must be something with the rig’s electric.”

“Wouldn’t do you any good even if it did.” AJ absentmindedly took her right hand off the steering wheel and fiddled with the controls next to the screen. “Ours was operating fine, but no signal. Just one more bad sign.”

I sighed, leaning my head back and closing my eyes for a moment. I started speaking before I’d reopened them. “I’ve got no intentions of going through a town, so 277 if you really wanted my vote. Slow enough here maneuvering around things in the road. I can’t imagine what a major city would be like. I think the Air Force base should be our next stop. Maybe it’ll be safe. Maybe we won’t even need to go to Albuquerque.”

“Del Rio is far from a major city. It’s only got around 30,000, but you’re right. The road would take us right through downtown. Sure there’re thousands of children there and we don’t have that much ammo…or luck. 277 and we check out Laughlin.” AJ gave a quick nod of her head, as if the bodily movement would solidify the decision.

I was thinking on her numbers, on the potential for thousands of Z kids and monster adults. “Thousands of kids in Del Rio and maybe more on the base, so a place like Albuquerque, New Mexico would have…”

“I’m guessing around 75,000 kids of various ages.”

“Fuck,” I breathed out the word, feeling my stomach begin to twist and turn again. The peace was totally shredded now, so destroyed that I didn’t think it would ever come back.

“Yeah and that probably doesn’t take into account any illegal kids,” AJ rolled her shoulders and shifted her head to crack her neck. “This beast takes a lot of concentration to drive. I don’t think my arms have relaxed for more than a few seconds at a time before I tense back up.”

“Want me to drive for a while?” Driving would help me, let me focus on the thoughts in my head into something useful. I’d been laid up for days and I still wasn’t up to par. I could feel the bruising like it was bone deep, craters reaching in and zapping my energy. At least I could drive.

“In a bit.” She didn’t look at me when she said it, her focus back on the road ahead and what laid beyond.

I got the impression that AJ was the type of personality that liked, no, needed to be in control of things. It was her center in life. I liked control, but not over things. I had to have control over my body, over the muscles and the skin that covered them, to feel okay about being alive.

Being in shape mattered more than it once did, I guessed. It was the apocalypse. All the shit we’d put the world through, pitting humanity against pretty much every other life form, had come back to literally bite us in the ass. I mentally laughed at that, but even in my mind the sound was acidic.

 The situation was serious. A country with a population of 350 million and God knows what percent of that was now rabid, hungry creatures hell-bent on sadistic ‘fun’. Just finding a place to hole up and ride it out would be damn near impossible.

I began running scenarios through my head and none of them came out nice. Our best hope was finding some form of operating government. I agreed with AJ there, not just that it had to be all the way in Albuquerque. Something I’d always noticed about military men I’d befriended over the years—the bastards were reproductive. Maybe that had something to do with wanting offspring to carry on their name in case they died in the line of duty. Shit, I guess if that were true, police officers would bang like bunnies.

Even if there was a high population of kids on a base, hopefully the response to the outbreak was more rapid and professional. Maybe they’d even been able to lock up tight when hell broke loose. Jesus, I didn’t even have a fucking clue why all this was happening. If it was some sort of virus…I didn’t even want to think of the ramifications of this virus taking hold on military installations. What would be the fall back plan? No military, no martial law. No martial law, total anarchy and loss of control. Loss of control and adios America. The thought made me sick to my stomach. I prayed Laughlin was secure.

“AJ?”

“Yeah?” She only moved her head a fraction to see me slightly better from her periphery.

“Do you have any idea what’s going on? I mean, what started this?” I don’t know why I hadn’t asked her this from the minute I’d been lucid enough to realize she was a government employee.

“Mike and I ran into two CDC agents not long after the slaughter at the border. They were taking samples, had a small military unit watching their asses.” She took her left hand off the steering wheel and ran it up the length of her right arm, wrist to shoulder and then her fingers planted themselves around her neck, as if she was holding back the truth from coming out of her mouth. Then she spoke again. “They think…they think that it’s from a bad batch of routine vaccines. That we infected the kids.”

“But...” I struggled for words, “there are checks and safety systems in place to keep that from happening, right? How’s it possible that bad vaccines could have been shipped off to all corners of the damn world?”

“I don’t know, Juan.” Her fingers flexed around her neck. She was going to speak again, opening her mouth slightly, but a small voice from behind us interrupted.

“So that’s why Izzy got sick.” Marty’s voice was quiet, resigned. It sounded too old for such a little boy.

“Who?” AJ said, finally moving her hand away from her neck and back to the steering wheel.

“His little sister.” Sherry was awake now, wrapping both arms around him and giving him a small squeeze. “That’s how it started for me. His mom brought them into the shop. Izzy had gotten some vaccines and wasn’t feeling well. Marty needed a new shirt after getting sick in the car.”

“Izzy went crazy. She…she started trying to hurt everyone. She…she bit mom’s nose and Sam…” Marty’s voice trailed off.

“It was bad,” Sherry finished for him. “Really bad.”

“God, sorry, Marty.” AJ’s voice was sincere, full of feeling. She knew what it was like to lose people. She knew what it did to a person.

“Vaccines,” I breathed out. “God help us.”

We all fell quiet then, only Marty breaking the silence with a soft “I wish Frank was here.”

After a while, I offered to drive again. This time, AJ took me up on my offer.

***

AJ

Somewhere prior to Del Rio I fell asleep.

When I woke up, I felt like I’d slept an eternity. Maybe to my brain I had. There hadn’t been much time for passing out in the time that I’d rescued my new companions. It had been go, go, go. No sleep for the weary. With Juan injured at the truck stop, Sherry and I had been operating a 24/7 security by ourselves and my sleep cycle was way off, before that there wasn’t anything remotely close to a night’s sleep. Mike and I had just been on the run.

God, I missed him. Mike was…he was one of those people that instantly put a person at ease. It didn’t matter who you were or where you came from, if he smiled at you, you let down your defenses. His wife once told me that she hadn’t stood a chance against his advances. One crooked, wide-mouthed grin from Mike and she’d fallen head over heels. I believed her.

Regardless how much sleep I still desperately needed, when the RV quit moving I sat up and looked at Juan, my body on high alert.

“What’s up?” Sleep fog still threatened at the corners of my mind, but I fought it back. There wasn’t time to give in to it.

“Well, no way we’re getting past that,” Juan said decisively, no exhaustion in his voice. He’d rested a lot at the truck stop whilst injured. But when you’re hurt, your body sucks up every bit of energy it can to heal. So extra sleep really isn’t extra at all.

I followed Juan’s pointer finger and looked through the busted front glass. The steady stream of warm wind that flowed through it had ceased with the RV’s lack of movement. I had to lean forward in my seat to see what he was pointing at clearly but it didn’t take much evaluation to see he wasn’t mistaken. No way through the inferno, Mr. Dante.

The 277 was totally blocked. A vast and purposeful cluster of parked cars was jammed into a temporary barricade. It was flanked by an array of military trucks and topped with barbed wire. If they were trying to stop the flow of traffic to the base then this was a damn good way to do it. If they’d tried to stop the plague, they’d failed miserably.

The whole area was littered with bodies, riddled with sun-baked bits of mangled flesh and shattered bones, shining like elephant ivory in the sun as if someone had come along and cleaned and polished them. There were also at least a dozen adult infected stumbling around aimlessly. I stared around at the carnage and finally saw what I was looking for. One child was visible, sitting on the hood of a Humvee, its small, pale body burnt red from over-exposure to the sun. His hair looked like it was black at one time, but now it hung in dried clumps, barely clinging to the scalp. A normal child, it couldn’t have been more than eight at time of infection, would have been dead from sun exposure by now, but this one sat rocking back and forth as if it was trying to figure out what to do next. As if it was… bored.

“Alright AJ, what’s the next move?” there wasn’t any emotion in Juan’s voice; he was just looking for instructions. I could tell it was bravado though. He was strong, but beneath the surface there was fear. Any sane person would be afraid now. God, I was afraid. I could taste it in my mouth, like sour candy burning my tongue.

“I don’t think there’s any way we can move all that out of the way, especially with that,” I pointed at the infected kid, making sure Juan saw it, “in the mix.” I reached behind me and grabbed the maps from where I’d fold them into the storage pouch behind the passenger’s seat. I ran my fingers across the lines. I was pretty familiar with the area, but I wanted to be sure before we started moving again. “We need to take Dr. Fermin Calderon Blvd. and then link up with Railway. That connects with 90 and backtracks to Laughlin.”

“Don’t you think the military would have that way blocked also,” Sherry said. I turned around so I could see her. She was looking at Marty, her hand resting loosely on the Taurus in her lap. That’s good, I thought, at least she is ready. I’d known when I first met her, after the shock of what had happened had worn off, that a strong woman resided inside of her. If she kept practicing with the gun, if she listened and learned, then she’d be every bit as effective as me.

I’m not modest. I worked hard to become one of the best in a male-dominated field. I appreciated other women who could hold their own.

“Maybe,” I responded. “But we’re still a good way from the base. They may have lost control of this checkpoint but it doesn’t mean the base was overrun. This could have been their first line of defense. They may have been able to hold the base. We just need to see. And be hopeful.”

“Agreed,” said Juan. “Out of the frying pan…”

“And into the fire,” Sherry finished for him.

There was a spark to the banter between them, a thread of what I’d thought I’d seen between them when I’d first saved them, but when Juan turned around and looked at Sherry, the thread severed, like the fates taking their scissors to someone’s life line. It made me feel really shitty that seeing that potential for love fizzle caused the thought to cross through my mind that Juan was unattached. I could appreciate his physical prowess as much as I wanted without a shred of guilt.

Well, maybe a little guilt.

“You still good to drive, Juan?” I looked out the windshield as I said it, rather than looking at him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Juan responded and I heard sadness in his voice. It was slight, barely there, but it existed. He was grieving whatever he and Sherry could have had. But it wasn’t the time or the place for love. It might never be the time and place again.

“Great, let’s lock and load. If the base is still viable, we need to make it there. If it’s a goner, then we’ll at least be back on 277 heading north.” I found the lobster-red infected kid again; he was standing now and staring in our direction. As I watched, he cocked his head to one side and leapt down from his perch on the vehicle. “Juan, start driving now.”

He must have heard the urgency in my voice because he started moving as soon as I’d finished speaking. The infected kid…the dead thing that looked like a kid. Shit, I had to come up with something to call them that didn’t have ‘kid’ in it. That just made it freaking worse, to constantly be reminded that the end of the world had come in the form of children. It gave new damn meaning to ‘out of the mouths of babes’. Although, in this situation, it was more flesh ‘into the mouth of babes’.

Mike had called them demons. He was really religious, thought this whole thing might be the coming of the Antichrist or something. I believed in God, took the bible as pretty much truth, but I couldn’t imagine this had anything to do with religion. Not when it was kids being sacrificed. No, this was our doing. Our science. Our FUBAR.

As Juan drove away, I got up and walked to the back of the RV, into the bedroom. I watched out the window. The infected kid was walking forward, still staring at us, but he wasn’t running. The more space that separated us, the less interested he became, eventually turning his attention to a nearby adult.

Before we were out of sight, I saw the kid ram his body into the adult’s legs, causing the larger infected to fall to the ground. He jumped atop then, straddling the adult counterpart and lifting one of its arms. Then it began to chew. My last vision of the infected child was him severing the arm from the shoulder and using it to beat on the adult with furious, fast swings.

Del Rio was a ghost town, but they hadn’t gone down without a fight. Funeral pyres were still smoldering from where the bodies of both infected children and adults had been stacked and burned. Someone had survived, I thought, someone lived long enough to think of sanitation and disease and do what they could to mitigate it. Maybe they’re still alive. I told Juan to stop at the 277 business exchange prior to E. Gibbs Street. There was something about it, something that warranted a closer look. The RV idled, the engine rumbling.

This was where the last stand had been made. It looked like a scene from an old cowboy movie. Instead of wagons pulled into a circle, there were cars and trucks piled on top of one another. An abandoned telescopic reach forklift was off to the side, probably what was used to lift small cars onto larger ones. The whole thing had been built on a small bridge over the railroad and it gave the defenders both the high ground and only two directions to defend.

It was a good defensive ring and it looked like it had worked. At least for a while. Now it was abandoned, as haunting and ghostly as the rest of the town.

I stared at the area with a professional eye. Still, someone had known what they were doing. There were indications of fires and explosives around the perimeter which spoke of both Molotov cocktails and homemade grenades, maybe dynamite. You had to love Texans. It was a modern-day Siege of Bexar. Everyone always talked about the Alamo, but there were so many pivotal fights in the Texas Revolution.

After a while, I had Juan move down the ramp going the wrong direction and crossed over the railroad on an adjacent street. This took us to an intersection with E. Gibb and a right turn towards the Air Base. The survivors, and there were survivors because I could see them now, had built another defensive barricade just a couple hundred feet from the intersection. Even more thought had been put into this one. The survivors had used both cars and tractor trailers to build a solid wall. Like something out of a B-rated apocalypse movie, they had even used a Greyhound bus with sheet metal screwed to the side as a mobile gate.

On the top of the wall was an armed contingency—two men and three women displaying a variety of weapons. They stared at the RV as it approached, weapons at the low ready, waiting to see what would happen next. Whether we were friendly or not and what our intentions were. This was something I was hoping for and something I could at least deal with.

“Go ahead and stop, Juan. I’m going to go out, let them see me.” I was peering at the wall, studying the men and women.

“I should go out, not you.” Juan unbuckled and reached for the key to shut the RV off.

“Why, because you’ve got balls and I don’t?” I don’t know why I said it the way I did. Maybe I needed more sleep. Maybe we were this close to tasting safety and I was scared something was going to screw that up.

“No, I just—”

“Look, you keep the vehicle running just in case. And I really believe that we’ll have a better chance of getting in if they see an unarmed woman. Maybe even unarmed women. Sherry you want to go with?” I stood up, adjusting my top and wishing I was still wearing issue clothing. I’d changed the third day at the truck stop. My clothes were sink-washed and hanging in the bathroom. Right now, I was wearing black sweat pants and a white tank. Not exactly professional agent gear, but it was all I had after giving Sherry some things.

“If you think it will help.” She stood up, wincing a little as her legs came back to life. She’d only gotten up from Marty’s side twice to use the restroom since leaving the truck stop. Marty reached up and grabbed her hand before she stepped away from the couch. She turned and smiled at him. “Don’t worry, buddy. I’ll be back.”

He didn’t respond but just nodded and let go of her hand. I didn’t know if he believed her words. I could tell that Juan wanted to say more, further protest his role of just sitting tight. I didn’t want to waste time arguing, so I didn’t look at him to give him an opening to speak again.

Before Sherry and I stepped out of the RV, I did dig into my bag and pull out my identification badge. That had to mean something, even at the end of the damn world. Sherry stayed right behind me as we exited the vehicle. The heat outside was bearable and I could tell we were near water because of the occasional semi-cool breeze that wafted against my face. As I approached the barrier, I observed the body language of the guards. They were all comfortable, relaxed, and in charge. The battle was over, at least here, and they had no problems dealing with any issues that came their way. That was good. It gave me confidence that we could stay here instead of moving on. This might be our end game.

Sherry and I were about thirty feet away when we were ordered to stop. I reflexively put my hands up. I’d purposefully not carried a weapon with me. I hadn’t thought to tell Sherry to leave her gun and I wondered if she was carrying the Taurus. My question was answered almost instantly as one of the guards spoke again.

“Set the gun on the ground, Miss.” The speaker was one of the men, his voice so full of gravel that it might have been siphoned straight off the line at a quarry. He was late 60s at least, slightly built with weathered, leather-tanned skin that was a testimony to living in Texas and spending most of his time outdoors. His nearly-white hair was pulled back in a low ponytail and a thick handlebar mustache framed his mouth like a painting.

He might have been law or military in his heyday. No matter his background though, I could see the steel in his eyes, even being this far away, and I was pretty confident that he could carry out any threats he made. Those were the type of men you respected, feared a little, and tried not to cross.

“Put the gun down, Sherry.” I turned to the other woman and our eyes locked. She didn’t say anything but she bent over and set the Taurus gently on the ground. I looked back at the armed men and women protecting the wall.

The man wasn’t smiling, but his face wasn’t exactly menacing either. “Thanks. Now, just tell us your intentions, who else is in the truck, and what you want.” His head shifted just a little, his gaze a fraction more directed at Sherry who stood slightly behind me. “I’d stop eyeballing that weapon if I was you, Miss. I’d hate to gun you down on such a fine day.”

Sherry moved up beside me, leaving the gun on the ground behind her. Her face was snow white, her lower lip trembling. I wasn’t sure what was going through her head, but I had a feeling she was having flashbacks to the last time she ended up in a situation with strangers unarmed.

 “We’ve got no intentions of causing problems. My name’s Officer Murphy. This is my friend Sherry. Inside the RV is a man named Juan and a little boy named Marty.” I took a deep breath and almost started when Sherry’s fingers found my hand and gripped it tightly. “We had two more…my partner and our dog Frank, but some bad characters, a gang of sorts at a truck stop a ways back, changed that.” I watched the old guy’s reaction as I spoke. He was Law, I could tell now. A military member wouldn’t have the same sneer of disgust at the mention of a gang. “We were heading to Albuquerque to my station to see if there are any survivors, but we’ve been through a lot. Laughlin was closer and we were hopeful. We found you first.”

The old man stared at me intently; it almost made me feel uncomfortable. It was like he was reading my soul with the experience of a thousand ages. It was just plain fucking freaky. My grandmother used to give me that look every time I said I hadn’t taken a cookie from her bunny-shaped jar atop her mint-green fridge. I stood there, patiently waiting for his response, and thought how nice it would be to be back in her kitchen that always smelled like clove and nutmeg. How nice it would be to steal a snickerdoodle and have nothing more terrible to face than grandmother’s wrath at me ruining my dinner.

The longer it took for the old Texan to respond, the tighter Sherry’s hold on my hand became. It was like taking away her weapon had zapped all her courage. That wasn’t good. She and I were going to have to have a heart-to-heart about that.

“You say you’re an officer. Toss up your creds.” The three women and other man hadn’t moved much while the ‘leader’ spoke, but they shifted with interest now. This was apparently the moment, the thing that would decide if they helped us or not.

Slowly I walked forward, dragging Sherry behind me because she didn’t want to let go of my hand, and I tossed the black badge wallet as high and straight as I could. The older man deftly caught it with one hand and flipped it open, glancing at the image and then at me. “Welcome to our little hacienda, Officer Murphy. Or should I call you Amber?”

“I prefer AJ,” I said, making sure my voice was strong and didn’t waver.

“Alright, AJ, my name is Hunter. Hunter Jorgenson, Texas Ranger-retired, and this is Fort Del Rio, occupied by the last 127 survivors of this damn outbreak.”

I watched as he turned slightly to the right and yelled down behind the wall. “Bud, move the bus and let these fine people in! And tell Martha to rustle up some grub for these folks; they look like a bunch of stray cats that could use a good meal!”

When he turned back to us, his demeanor had shifted for the better. Tossing my credentials back to me, he smiled and completed our conversation. “Well, glad that all worked out. Wasn’t really in the killin’ mood today. Now, AJ, honey get back in that fancy rig and come on through. Just down the street, you’ll see the entrance to the country club. Plenty of room for your rig there. Just head into the main doors once you’re parked and I’ll meet you folks down there in a few minutes.”

I nodded, a return smile plastered across my face born more of relief than actual happiness, and I headed back to the RV. Sherry was close on my heels, making sure to pick up the Taurus as we passed it.

“Well, that scared the hell out of me. You never know now, do you? Whether or not people are going to be total shit or good guys.” Sherry’s voice was an ocean, the stress leaving her words in waves.

“I hate to break it to you, Sherry, but the world’s always been like that.” I mounted the first step. “It’s good that went well though. That old geezer looked like could hit a fly at a hundred yards away with that old lever action. Plus, he’s a Ranger- meaning he’s as tough as they come. Chances are, if it came to a fight between them and us, we’d lose.”

“So, let’s eat some good food. No fighting allowed,” Sherry said. We were in the RV now, door closed behind us.

“That’s exactly what I plan on, Sherry.” I moved to sit in the passenger seat again.

“You okay?” Juan looked at me, concern plain in his face.

“We’re fine,” I emphasized the ‘we’re’. He turned and looked at Sherry, something flashing through his eyes.

“I’m glad you both are okay. You think it’s safe to go in?”

“I think it’s about as safe as anything could possibly be right now.” I didn’t bother to buckle as Juan shifted into drive.

In front of us, the steel-plated bus was moving, revealing a drive that looked almost too clean, too picturesque, to possibly be real.

***

SHERRY

Now, this I like. I stared at the decorations inside the country club, thinking the inside was small compared to the large-looking exterior, whilst also lifting a mouthful of food to my lips. There were a lot of maroon, beige, and gold details in the wallpaper and carpeting. Run-of-the-mill upscale furniture was further dressed-up with tasseled pillows. Little crystal bowls of small, multi-hued butter mints were sat invitingly on thin-legged tables that looked like they’d blow over in even the slightest breeze.

It was so…civilized. And I don’t know why that bothered me. Maybe because I’d been through hell and I didn’t think anything should look this nice. Or maybe it’s because I was in a pair of sweats, on my period, desperately in need of a shower, and I didn’t ‘go’ with my surroundings. I fidgeted in my seat as a very kind-looking woman with wisps of grey hair walked around the table checking to see if we needed anything else. She’d introduced herself as Martha, the same Martha, I assumed, that Hunter had mentioned.

“This is really good. Thanks,” Juan said, eating his second plate of food with even more fervor than the first if that were possible.

“Hon, I think you’d have eaten a plate of uncooked rattlesnake if I’d given you a bottle of ketchup with it. You folks must not have had a proper meal in ages.” Martha’s voice matched her looks. Sweet, gentle. The little old grandmother type that always had fresh cookies and cold milk when you were feeling down and out.

“You might be right there,” Juan chuckled, eating yet another over-heaped spoonful. “You really know how to cook, Martha. I’d order this off a menu.”

“Secrets all in the beef. How it’s raised, how the animal’s treated, what it’s fed. Grass is the best. Good quality grass.” She was standing behind Marty now, one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. “Would you like something else, sweetie.”

He turned a little in his seat, a genuine smile on his face. “Do you have anything sweet?”

She nodded. “Growing boys need a balance. Can’t do nothing without a little treat to keep the body going.” She patted his shoulder and then disappeared into the back rooms of the club house, where I assumed the kitchen and store rooms were.

I ate the rest of my second helping, taking my time with the mashed potatoes. They were half instant and half canned, but Martha had spiced them so well that they were every bit as good as fresh. I even think there might have been something creamy added…tangy. Maybe goat cheese. I didn’t even like goat cheese as a general rule, but these were the best damn potatoes of my life.

When I was finished, I leaned back in my chair and enjoyed the feeling of the vent above my head blowing ice-cold air against my face. I didn’t know how that was possible and, dammit, I didn’t care. I wasn’t the type of person who needed answers to every damn thing. I was just happy knowing enough, staying alive, and maybe having a piece of chocolate cake every now and again.

Cake. Cake would be so freaking good right now.

I sighed, sitting back up straight.

“Well, can’t let Marty have all the fun, can we,” Martha spoke as she pushed through the set of double swinging doors that led back into the dining room. She expertly carried two trays full of desserts. And I’ll be damned if there wasn’t a large piece of chocolate cake on one of them.

Is it petty that I leaned forward and grabbed it before AJ could? I saw her eyeing it, saw her lean forward with purpose in her eyes, and I jolted forward and grabbed that son-of-a-bitch like I’d die without it. At least I had the good manners to look sheepish as I dug in for my first bite.

I’d have felt bad if Marty had wanted the cake, but he’d gone straight for the dish of strawberry ice cream.

We all sat in wonderful silence eating dessert. Wonderful, if a bit odd, silence. I found it weird and a bit unbelievable that these people could have set up a place like this in so short a time. God…it had been…weeks? Two weeks? Not even two weeks?

Martha was sitting off to the side, enjoying a wafer-thin slice of pie.

“Hey, I was curious. How in the world did you guys get this all set up so fast? I don’t feel like it’s been long enough for,” I indicated the room around me, the food, everything, “all of this.” Well, color me interested. I guess I did want answers to some questions.

“Well, that’ll be Hunter’s department. You put that man anywhere, in the middle of anything, and he’ll have a working community before you can say Bob’s your uncle.” She laughed as she said it, a low and delicate hum that was a church woman singing alto in the back line of the choir.

“You talking about me again, Martha?” Hunter walked through the front door, his gate easy, studied. It wasn’t the way Juan walked. It wasn’t a martial arts influence. It was wisdom. “She always gives that little laugh when she’s talking about me.” He walked to her, bent down and kisses her lightly on the forehead. “This gal’s been keeping me straight as an arrow for forty years now.”

“Straight as a crooked arrow, you old billy goat.” Martha leaned into Hunter’s body and her face was open and peaceful. It was one of those moments when you feel rude for staring, but also think it’d be rude to look away.

AJ spoke, cutting into the quiet that was once again trying to fall over our group at the arrival of Hunter and the sweet intimacy between him and Martha. Silence over delicious desert was enough for one day. “You’ve already been so generous. We’ve got rations and supplies in the trailer we’re pulling. We can pay our way.”

“That’s not necessary, hon.” Martha stood up and Hunter snaked an arm around her waist.

“Really, we’ve got enough to spare. We don’t want to be freeload—”

Hunter interrupted AJ, “Nope, Martha’s right. We got plenty. Scavenged across the whole town once the last few of those monsters booked it out of town. Even herded in cattle from some of the outlying farms and fenced them in on the fairways.”

“Hunter made sure to get my chickens, too. And Darby, the goat. We kept a small farm ourselves. Just enough for us. Chickens are good producers, giving us a couple dozen a day.”

“Goat cheese. That’s what I tasted in the potatoes.” I don’t know why I said it, and as soon as the words exited my mouth, I felt a hotness creep into my cheeks.

Martha just nodded, not seeming to think my outburst was strange. “Yep. Goat cheese. Made fresh yesterday.”

“Made the potatoes taste like little bits of heaven, didn’t it?” Hunter grinned, took his arm from around his wife, and slapped her gently on the butt. “My wife can make canned anything taste like gourmet at a Chris Ruth… Ruth Chris. Hell, whatever that fancy restaurant is named.”

“Oh, stop it.” But Martha was grinning from ear-to-ear and looking at her husband like they were two high school kids after first date. A first date that maybe went a little ‘handsy’. “You sit and chat. I’ll go make you a pot of mac and cheese. Hot and fresh.”

“Ain’t a doubt in my mind that I married the right gal,” Hunter said it with a growl, and I got the feeling he wanted to jump her bones right then and there. I wanted that. I wanted to find someone who would love me forever, embracing each and every grey and slapping me on the ass like I was still some hot young thing with breasts that didn’t sag south.

Hunter watched his wife leave the room and then he walked over to join us, sitting in the open seat at the head of the table nearest the kitchen doors. Just then, a young man with bleach blonde hair gone black at the roots walked into the dining room with a metal platter of fresh-grilled steaks. I’d literally eaten myself just this side of sick, but the smell of the medium-rare meat made my mouth salivate like I hadn’t just gorged myself silly.

The barely-a-man blonde walked over to Hunter and set the platter down in front of him. “Martha said you were hungry and the mac and cheese was going to take a while.”

“Thanks, Lance. I could just about eat a cow uncooked. Been on that wall since before dawn.” Hunter leaned forward and took one of the clean white plates that were stacked in the middle of the table towards him. “Y’all want any of this?”

AJ, Juan, and I shook our heads, but Marty raised his hand like he was in school trying to answer a teacher’s question.

“You still hungry, son?” Hunter eyed the boy, a mischievous look on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Marty mumbled, looking a little sheepish at asking for more food.

“Growing boys need as much fuel as they can fit in their bodies.” He speared one of the steaks with a fork and set it down on the plate he’d just gotten. Sitting it down on the table, he pushed it across the tablecloth at Marty who took it and began eating hungrily. I might feel like I was hungry, the smell of good meat awakening my taste buds, but I knew I wasn’t.

If dieting and shitty chocolate shakes and battling the scale will teach you anything, it’s that most of the time, ‘hunger’ is something other than actually being hungry. You’re bored. You’re depressed. You’re actually thirsty and need to hydrate. I was not actually hungry. No, my current ‘hunger’ was stemming from something else.

Like the fact that if we didn’t stay here in this safe place, then I might not get another glorious meal like the one I’d just eaten.

After serving Marty, Hunter piled two steaks on a second plate and started cutting huge chunks. “So, y’all are headed to Albuquerque Station near Kirkland?”

“That’s right,” AJ said, taking a drink of water.

Ice water. It’s something I’d really taken for granted before this all happened. I was never a fan of room temp.

“Last we heard, they were still up and running. Kirkland Base. Rich Jones has a cousin there. Got a call through before the cells stopped working. Not sure about the station, though.” Hunter talked around a mouthful of steak. It was juicy, liquid pushing from between his lips to dribble down his chin and cling to the ends of his handlebar mustache.

“That’s good news,” AJ spoke again, looking at Juan for a moment. He gave her a small smile of encouragement.

It was then that I really noticed a spark between them. Just a little smoldering beneath the layers of self-protection they were both wearing.

I knew something had changed between Juan and me. It’s trite sounding, but the experience at the truck stop had…altered my perspective on the world and on myself. Shit, like killer kids and fighting for my life wasn’t enough to do that. Perhaps I’d already started changing ever since Izzy and Sam and fleeing my shop. The truckers had just been the final nail in the coffin. They’d forced me to realize that I couldn’t be the same person I was in regular life. Here, now, I had to be tougher and smarter.

Yet, if I was honest with myself, I knew that wasn’t the real reason that I looked at Juan differently.

He wasn’t able to protect me. He hadn’t protected me.

How bad is that? How totally crappy is it that I somewhat blame him for what happened to me?

I’d always looked at him as this invincible, rock-solid man who’d be my knight in shining armor if we were dating. I’d fantasized about getting mugged after a movie and him using his ninja skills on the bad guy to get back my fancy purse whilst also protecting my honor. He’d have knocked the attacker senseless, called the police, and then whisked me into his arms for a deep, romance-book kiss.

But that was a dream. That was a concoction in my mind that took on a life of its own. Maybe that’s why I’d never asked him out. Maybe I didn’t want the reality of him to ruin the fantasy.

God, I’m so fucked up. No wonder I’m single, overweight, and generally unsuited for surviving. Escaping town alive was a total fluke.

I’d dropped off into my own thoughts for a while, but I came back to my surroundings now. Hunter seemed to be relaying his story; how he’d survived and gotten this makeshift fort established.

 “…the folks here were at my retirement ceremony at the courthouse when the outbreak started. Except for the Stevensons over there at the coffee bar and a large family of fifteen that were far enough out of town to escape the initial wave. That family, the Gilmores, owned the ranches where the cattle came from. Anyway, the virus or whatever the hell it was, hit us hard and fast. Seemed to break out all over town at the same time. Damn brush fire from hell. Del Rio had almost 35,000 people when it started. I figure about 1,000 made it out of town.”

“Only a thousand,” I forced the words out and they dropped like lead weights from my lips to the ground. They laid there like shadows, not letting me forget that 34,000 people probably died. Or…became those undead things. That did make me wonder…beyond this homemade compound was like a ghost town. A few smoldering pyres. Not nearly enough to indicate the disposal of 34,000 people. So where were they? Where were the child monsters and their adult counterparts?

AJ and Juan didn’t say anything. They both looked at Hunter, but also did not look at him. They looked through him, like he was the ghost of a man who couldn’t have possibly survived the carnage. Only Marty seemed immune to the Texan’s story, continuing to plow through the steak like he had a second stomach.

“Yeah. Don’t think the gravity of that hasn’t settled on me a time or two,” Hunter replied to me, even though what I said wasn’t actually a question. “Fortunately for us, almost everybody at the ceremony was packing. Lot of law enforcement, couple retired military where there, even some typical Texas homeboys concealing. By the time we knew there was a problem, there was screaming and chaos throughout the whole town. Bill Cody was a good friend …”

“Was?” I asked, before I could stop myself. I knew what ‘was’ meant. I didn’t need him to voice the obvious.

“Bill didn’t make it.” Hunter’s voice didn’t tremble. It didn’t break down. There was barely a hint of sadness. I didn’t know him well enough to know whether that was just a front. “But he put up a good show and got us the fork we used at the last stand. He owned a heavy-equipment rental place right down the street from where we were. Was his idea to pull the wagon train stunt with cars.”

“Smart move. Sorry to hear that he’s gone.” AJ reached across the table and touched Hunter’s forearm. It was only for a moment and then she leaned away again. There was a vibe to it; one that I didn’t feel like I could really relate to. They both spent their life in service relying on a brotherhood. I’d spent my life organizing racks of kids clothing and redesigning my store windows. Real world saver I was.

But I did have a sisterhood of sorts. I had Susan. And she had me. I loved her.

And I missed her like crazy.

“Bill was a good man.” Hunter took a big bite of steak and continued the story, forming the words around the meat as he chewed. “He stood on top of the fork lift with it raised, sort of like our own watch tower. Cracker jack shot, took one out from a hundred and thirty yards away. And, damn, those things are fast as hell.”

“Fast as hell is an understatement,” AJ sighed, shifting in her chair and crossing her arms over.

“Think you and I are gonna have to swap some war stories, AJ.” Hunter looked at her, one eyebrow crooked up.

“I’m sure nothing I say could surprise you.”

Hunter chortled at that, rocking his head back, the wrinkles in his face coming to stark life like the Grand Canyon across his skin. “That might be a fact.”

“What happened after your wagon train move with the cars?” Juan was playing with his glass on the table, tipping it side to side to make the ice clink against the inner walls.

“We tried to save people. Call it an innate law habit. Useless though. Too much chaos. I’ve been in the center of a lot of storms, but nothing like this. We fell back pretty fast, leaving Bill and a few others to buy us time to set up the next barricade. After a while, after we’d killed a bunch of the bastards…they started leaving. Don’t ask me why. We couldn’t have lasted forever, but maybe they didn’t know that. Who the hell knows what those things are able to process and think now.”

“They seem smart to me,” Marty mumbled around a second plate of dessert. He’d picked a slice of what looked like peach pie this time. I’d have to remember that he liked fruity sweets.

“I tend to agree with you, son, but we can’t be sure.”

“So, they left? Just like that?” I moved a few remnants of cake around on my plate. I’d so blown my diet. Then again, we’d been on the move, eating very little. Shit, maybe I’d lost a few pounds. And I hadn’t had to drink any damn chalky shakes.

“Just like that.” Hunter pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “Martha’s going to bring out that mac and cheese and I’m going to be stuffed to the gills already.”

I don’t know if it was just me hearing it, maybe my mind playing tricks on me, but I heard a false note in Hunter’s voice for the first time since meeting him. It was possible that recent experiences had left me a little less inclined to trust strangers, or maybe Hunter was hiding something.

“So, anyway, we made it to the bridge. Over a hundred of us to start and the rest we’ve picked up along the way. We lost fifty-six people trying to establish this place. A few outlying monsters that didn’t get the evacuation memo. Ran out ammo for a while, but was able to salvage more across town. Damn sight more effective than nine irons and putters, but that’s about all the country club had in the way of weapons.” Hunter broke out into a smile at the sight of Martha pushing through the double doors and into the dining room.

“Think this mac and cheese takes me longer every time I make it,” Martha spoke with a smile in her voice, all light and life. She put me at ease. Hunter had also, up until my gut had twisted and my imagination had started hearing falseness in his voice.

“The day you can’t make it anymore, is the day we finally divorce, sugar lips.”

“The day we divorce is the day I plant your tired old butt in the ground.”

“You better not live long without me.” Hunter tickled Martha’s side gently as she bent in front of him to set the large mac and cheese bowl down.

“I don’t plan to,” she replied, leaning over and kissing his forehead.

They were too sweet. Too affectionate.

It almost felt practiced to me now.

“Everything seems so calm here now. Like nothing’s gone wrong.” I felt my stomach rumble at the new smell of the mac and cheese, even though I knew I couldn’t be hungry.

“Biggest excitement has been the Gilmore’s prize Brahman getting loose and making it into the pro golf shop. Damn funniest thing I’ve ever seen.” Hunter’s chuckle was deep, this time genuine-sounding. Honest. Maybe my mind was just dicking with me. He was a good person. This was a good place.

Not everyone was going to be like those truckers.

“I could do with that version of excitement versus what I’ve experienced lately.” AJ had her arms crossed, looking as casually beautiful as a model on the cover of Vogue. She was really too damn pretty to be what she was. It bugged me.

Probably because I felt inferior.

“On that note,” Hunter concluded, chewing a mouthful of macaroni, “you still wanting to head down the road or you feel like settling?”

AJ, Juan, Marty, and I stayed quiet. We looked at each other, around the room. We thought. AJ was the one to speak. And I didn’t like that she was the one to voice some sort of decision for the rest of us. She hadn’t been with us since the beginning; she didn’t get to come in and just become the leader because she was a government employee.

 “Offers tempting Hunter, but we need to head on and figure out the big picture. And I want to find my partner’s wife and kids. I want to know if they’re alive and, if they are, I want to make sure they stay that way. I owe him that.” AJ sounded sure.

But, dammit, I wasn’t.

My best friend was sailing towards God-knows-where. I took responsibility for Marty. Juan was supposed to be our protector. We didn’t have any reason to go to Albuquerque.

“Why couldn’t we stay here, Juan?” I looked at him as I said it and he looked at me.

But then his gaze flicked to AJ. He looked to her to help him decide how to respond to me. And that was it.

The final indication that there was no spark left.

“I think AJ’s right, Sherry,” Juan spoke slowly, looking at me again. I could see the way his eyes were tensed around the edges. He knew what I now knew. It wasn’t just me that had changed over the days since fleeing town, since the truck stop. He had too.

“Think about Marty. Think about how safe he’d be here. We don’t have anyone where AJ wants to go. We were just heading with her, because she somehow became our de facto leader.” I didn’t want to argue, but I had to. I had to. Here we were, in a relative paradise placed right in an inferno, and Juan didn’t even want to consider staying.

“She saved our lives, Sherry. She’s helped you learn how to better handle yourself. We should stay with her and support her. We’ll keep each other safe.”

“Juan, I—”

“Please don’t fight,” Marty’s voice was timid. “You guys shouldn’t fight.”

I had flashbacks to the marina, to arguing with Juan and upsetting Marty. What followed felt like the exact same apologies from me and Juan.

A few minutes of awkward silence followed our apologies to the boy until Hunter filled it. I was grateful he did.

“Well, if that’s your decision, you might as well bypass the base. Haven’t heard hide nor hair from them since they lost the roadblock a few miles up the road. We found it while we were collecting supplies. Borrowed a few of them fancy black rifles from the dead and took out a couple of them undead freaks while we were at it. Looked like they got hit hard from the rear and never saw it coming. We didn’t explore more, figured the base was wiped out. Lot of families up that way. Lot of kids.” Hunter stood up. Martha was standing behind him, hands in her pockets, hidden beneath her lace apron.

“We passed that roadblock. Unless there was a second one. Had to go around it through town to try and circle back,” AJ gripped her left shoulder with her right hand in a half hug as she spoke.

“That’d be the one,” Hank confirmed with a slow nod of his head.

“I wonder how other bases have fared.” AJ didn’t say it like a question, more of a voiced thought. “I worry that if our military forces are down, other countries might smell the vulnerability on us. I don’t know how far this thing has spread. If other powers are still operational, still untouched…”

“Hadn’t really thought about that,” Hunter said, his face looking thoughtful, “but, I tell you, if the US has it this bad, I reckon most places do.”

“If it’s vaccines, we definitely aren’t the only ones going through this,” I said, something dawning on me for the first time. Everyone turned to me and I was a bit offended that they’d look so surprised that I might know something they didn’t. I explained further. “Susan, my best friend, used to say that the global vaccine market was like a spider web. Exporting here, importing there. Low income countries would corner the market on vaccines that didn’t cost a lot to manufacture. They stayed out of the research game, sending out their product at whatever cost. It’s like us sending our meats out to China and then buying their meats at a higher price. Economies supporting economies and, in the end, it’s the consumer that suffers. Organizations like UNICEF get their vaccines from everywhere. A kid in Uganda could be getting the same thing our kids got. A kid in any third world country could have been injected with the same stuff by a good Samaritan. Someone could trace this, find out all the patient zeroes all over the world and link the manufacturer. But, I’d bet anything that the majority of the world is living through just what we are right now.”

“You aren’t just a pretty thing now are you, girl?” Hunter was looking at me with an appraising eye. All I’d heard was that he called me pretty. Grade A loser beef, I was.

“Thank my friend Susan for the knowledge, not me,” I mumbled.

Hunter was going to say something else, but Juan cut in. “Hunter, would it be alright to stay a day or two while we plan. We can bunk in the RV and we’ve got our own food.”

“Y’all stay as long as you like. More than a few days and we’ll put you to work, though. Fair warning. Breakfast is at 6am, unless you’d really rather eat whatever canned shit you’ve grabbed on the road instead of my Martha’s cooking.” He moved back a fraction and put his arm around Martha again. They were the perfect picture of long term marital bliss, so why did I keep getting an odd feeling every time I looked at them now? “Hell, maybe you’ll get comfortable and choose to stay.” Hunter looked at me when he said it. I think he was feeling sympathetic that I was the weaker chain in my group, destined to be dragged around the country with decisions made for me.

I didn’t like being pitied.

“Thanks, Hunter. You’re really good people.” AJ smiled, standing up and patting her stomach. “I wouldn’t mind a few more days of that food.”

“Well, duty calls. And not exactly the duty I’m most looking forward to,” Hunter let his arm lower against Martha’s back and he must have pinched her butt or something, because she jumped a little and giggled. The high school sweethearts at it again. “You folks can leave the RV where it’s parked. Just come in here and let Martha know if you need something.”

“Thanks so much, Hunter.” Juan reached out his hand to Hunter and they shook, a good solid up and down of firm grips.

I watched as the retired Ranger walked away from the table and a gun in a leather holster caught my eyes for the first time. It was gold-plated with ivory grips as white as a Hollywood actor’s teeth. It glinted in the bright lights beaming down from the overhead lights in the ritzy club house. AJ had taught me enough to know that the gun was a working one, not just for show. The hammer was locked back and ready to fire. He paused before walking out of the door to talk to another survivor, a bearded man that was as tall as he was wide.

Standing there, his face relaxed in conversation, his hand rested on the grip of the gun. Like, even in a casual setting, he was ready.

AJ would say that was his training. A tough Ranger always at the ready.

But to me, there was something else there.

Back in the RV, I waited until AJ had gone into the bathroom to say something to Juan about my misgivings. “Juan, don’t you think this place is…a little too perfect?”

“I think they’ve worked hard to make it that way, to keep the ugly shit out.” Juan was sitting on the couch, Marty already dozing next to him. He’d kept saying how full his tummy was and how good that felt. It was sweet and also a little gut-wrenching. I wanted him to have enough food all the time. To be able to raid a fridge and munch away like a trash compacter. To be able to eat like a growing boy should.

“It doesn’t feel right to me, Juan.”

“Sherry, you’re the one who wanted to stay here. You even started arguing with me in front of Hunter and everyone else eating in there.” He lifted his hand and indicated the club house that we could actually see from where we sat in the motor home.

“Yeah, I know. This would be nice. I want to stay here. I want to keep Marty safe, but this still feels weird. Hunter says the zombie kids and adults just toddled off into the sunset. Just like that. They saw enough of their buddy monsters die that they hit the trail,” I walked my fingers across my thighs, my knees too high to the ceiling because my thighs were too thick to sit cross-legged properly.

“These things are smart, Sherry. I bet they got the damn message that if they stuck around, they’d be dead for real.” Juan shrugged, like his logic was the only logic.

“Just seems too easy.”

“Not everything has to be hard, Sherry,” this from AJ who’d quietly exited the bathroom without my noticing.

“I thought you’d have a harder take on it. You’ve seen terrible things. Don’t you think all this is a little questionable?” I stood up, my legs aching from sitting on the hard floor.

AJ smiled and it made her face radiant. A fact that made me dislike her just a teensy bit more. Hello, petty me, girl who’s never been super fond of a full-length mirror. “Sure, I’ve been through a lot of bad shit. It makes me see when things are actually good. I push past my scrutiny and I go with my gut. This place, is good.”

Crossing my arms, I turned away from the unified front of Juan and AJ. “I get what you both are saying, but I still can’t shake this feeling in my stomach that there’s something ugly here buried under all the prettiness.”

I felt someone move behind me and that helped me not start when a hand touched my shoulder. It was AJ. “Sherry, are you sure this doesn’t have to do with what almost happened to you? An experience like that, it can make you question everything. It can make you start blending the bad stuff with the good.”

I whirled around, knocking AJ’s hand off in the process. “This has nothing to do with me almost being raped, AJ. This has to do with my gut. And it’s saying something’s off.”

The next morning started cool, a touch of frost across the desert that kissed my skin when I walked outside, but soon the sun would be up and the heat with it. By midday the temperature would soar near a hundred and the only thing that would make it bearable was the lack of humidity, and the fact that my body wasn’t resting on a hot rubber tire.

As I ate the 6 AM sharp breakfast of farm fresh eggs and thin cut steak, I felt the uneasiness in my body wane. Maybe I’d read too much into things. Maybe everything here was just as picture-perfect as it seemed.

***

AJ

I could see how Sherry would see danger here, the potential for human ugliness. I hadn’t been through what she had, what she had almost experienced. I’d seen the fall out, though. Women doing favors to get a safe ride across the border. Women who got a little more than they bargained for, a few more cuts and bruises. And that was if they were lucky.

The unlucky ones left a permanent scar on your brain.

But ‘Fort Del Rio’ was nice. And, sure, I could see myself just kicking back here and staying a while. I could help Hunter run logistics, keep the perimeter of this little oasis secure. But, no.

I needed to know what was going on. I wanted to be around other agents, people like me.

And I had to find Mike’s wife and kids.

I’d been a little uncomfortable yesterday, speaking for the group I’d adopted at the truck station. Sherry hadn’t seemed to like me taking on a leadership role, dictating where we should go. But Juan hadn’t minded. And I didn’t think Sherry would stay here without him. Unless her mother instinct took over and this place was just too good to pass up for Marty’s sake. But would Marty want to stay? He was just a kid. He didn’t like the arguing. Maybe he’d see me as the ‘why’ behind it.

I realized, finishing up my scrambled eggs, that I had no idea if I’d be leaving this place alone or not. Would that mean I lost the RV? Standing up, I took my now-empty plate to the wash pan on the long gray table near the kitchen. I dropped my fork into the smaller, taller bucket next to it. And then I walked towards the bay of large windows that overlooked one of the golf course lakes. This one reached out from the actual course to move beneath a large deck area with round tables and large, white umbrellas that were tall enough to dot the sky like large clouds too close to earth.

The sun was a fraction above the horizon now, reaching its colorful fingers upwards, turning a black-blue sky into a riotous display. I loved sunrises and sunsets. They were my favorite thing about being out in the field. They brought beauty into an otherwise dark career. Maybe that’s why I wrote poetry. It let me encapsulate lovely things to brighten up days that got a little too dim.

“So, when you leaving, AJ? That view got you a little more tempted to stay.” Hunter’s voice, deep and time-worn, broke the quietude that had descended on my skin like a protective shroud.

“Reading my mind?” I turned around, letting the sight behind me stay with me like a shadow. I clung to it like a lifeline.

“You’re a kind that doesn’t need mind reading, gal. I read you from the moment you approached the wall.”

“My partner used to say I was an open book. Always a little too blunt, a little too quick with honesty.” My smile faltered a little, thinking about Mike.

“Never easy losing a partner.” He didn’t touch me and I’m glad for that. I don’t mind offering comfort, a hand on a shoulder or an arm, a soft touch to assure someone things will be okay; but I don’t like to be touched when I’m sad. Or angry.

I pretty much only like to be touched if it can’t be avoided, or I’m feeling frisky.

Right now, I wasn’t feeling like whispers in the moonlight and slow dancing.

“I want to head out tomorrow morning, but I need to see what the others think.” I looked back to the sunrise behind me. It was almost gone, dying as the sun continued to come alive in the sky. “I think it’s going to be harder for them to say goodbye to this. They don’t have a badge and a duty yanking them away.”

“Yeah, well, civvies rarely understand what it means to be what we are.”

“What? You mean insane? Because only a crazy person would choose to leave this place and go back into hell to face demons.” I dropped my hands on my hip and let my head loll forward slightly. Exhaling, I forced my shoulders straight and, at the same time, I pushed resolve into the rest of my body.

“You’re not crazy. You’re law. Sometimes we do things that are hard as hell in the name of what’s right.” Hunter’s voice was a quiet grumble, a storm rolling over mountain terrain. There was a fierceness to it that wasn’t warranted. For the first time, I questioned him. I wondered what he’d done here in the name of what was right.

But what could he have done that would be worse than what was already happening? The answer was nothing.

“I understand you wanting to leave, but we could use you around here. We’ve got a lot of good aims, a decent armory, but a bit lean when it comes to strategists.”

“Look, Hunter—”

“I know, I know.” He held up his hands in defeat. “Had to make a last-ditch effort. We’re going to survive here because I’m going to make sure that happens. It’s just an easier road with folks like you watching my rear.”

“You’ve got a lot of faith in a stranger with a badge.”

“Look what’s happening around us, AJ. If we can’t still trust in something like a badge, then we can’t trust in anything. You get to your station. I hope to hell it’s intact. If it is, it means someone breathing is trying to clear this mess up.”

“It worries me that Laughlin couldn’t stand. I know it’s bad on the Mexico side, at least near the border. I saw it myself. Humanity could be on the verge of extinction for all we know.”

Hunter stared at me with his dark, bottom-of-the-ocean blue eyes and smiled. “AJ, I don’t think anything’s strong enough to knock us all out. Hell, if a handful of old farts could stop what happened here, I’m sure those things were stopped elsewhere. Besides, you know as well as I do that the president, probably his whole cabinet, and the Joint Chiefs were at 30,000 feet before this got out of hand. They’re probably sitting at some secure location drinking whiskey and planning how to re-secure the country right now.” Now he did rest a hand on my shoulder. “You say I have faith in a stranger with a badge. I’ve got a hell of a lot of faith. You take some of it with you when you leave.”

“I might take you up on that.” We smiled at each other and I looked over at Juan and Sherry. They were talking to Marty who was still shoveling in food like he hadn’t eaten enough for a small village last night. “How far is that road block from here, Hunter? We didn’t take the best route getting from there to here.”

“The one on the way to Laughlin?”

“Yes.” I saw Marty throw his head back in laughter as I said the singular word. Maybe we could stay one more day…peace and comfort were hard-won commodities. If they even wanted to come with me. We should have had a frank talk yesterday after Sherry and Juan’s little bickering episode.

“About 15 miles. You thinking of borrowing one of those Hummers they had?”

“I’m not sure who’s going to be coming with me, Hunter. It wouldn’t be to right to take Sherry and Juan’s RV. The Humvee will get me to New Mexico faster, especially if I have to leave the road. Should pull the trailer fine, too.”

“I hate the idea of you going alone, but if that’s the verdict then I’ll run you up after breakfast. A little drive in the morning would be a nice change of pace.”

“Thanks, Hunter.”

“Not necessary,” he replied, beginning to move away from me. “Come see me on the wall if you get bored.”

I watched as Hunter strolled out of the club house. There didn’t seem to be a shred of doubt in the man—the government was out there, working day and night, to get this under control. People had made it out of towns alive, escaped the monsters. All the things he believed walked with him, like a visible superhero cape. I was trying to keep my own sense of faith in the system and our ability to survive. I could be like Sherry and question this place, question Hunter—hell, I’d had a moment where I wondered about him, but I think that was just Sherry’s misgivings seeding their way into my skull.

Juan, Sherry, and Marty were finished eating now, cleaning up and walking towards me. It was as good a time as any to have a conversation and find out their final decision on leaving or staying. I wondered if Juan would stick to what he’d said yesterday about going with me.

They were going with me. Even Sherry had come around. Her gut was still saying that things at the ‘fort’ were too safe. I wondered if she’d wake up later, and realize she’d been irrational and abandoned what could be the only Garden of Eden left on the planet.

“I’m going to take a walk,” I said the words at Juan’s back. He was bent over the RV bathroom sink, scrubbing his face and using a razor from the original occupants.

“Want company?” He turned around, his eyes half closed as water clung to his lashes.

“No, I just can’t sit here all day doing nothing. You guys rest, watch some TV. It’ll be a lot of road tomorrow.” I turned to Sherry and Marty. They were coloring on the floor of the RV, a bed sheet spread across the carpet so they weren’t making contact with the dried blood stains. The smell of the RV had cleared out a lot since I’d joined them, maybe from the broken windshield constantly cycling in new air. Juan had told me how bad the stench was when they’d first taken possession.

“Yeah, sure. If you change your mind, come back and get me.” Juan went back to shaving. His voice held a thread of too-careful casualness.

“Yeah, I will.” I grabbed the pack I’d set up the night before, a bug out bag with an array of essentials, and asked Sherry if I could borrow some shells for the Benelli since I was running low. She’d nodded absentmindedly whilst coloring a goldfish a strange hue of light purple.

The sun was high when I pushed out into the heat. The warmth didn’t kiss my skin, it assaulted it, like a dozen hands were holding hair dryers and blowing air against my body. Remembering what Hunter said, I made my way towards the wall. Even from a distance, I could see him standing atop the makeshift border, hand resting on the butt of his gun, talking to a taller person wearing a pale-hued hat.

Shifting the pack onto both of my shoulders instead of one, I carried the shotgun loosely in one hand, barrel pointed at the ground. It felt natural to carry the weapon and walk down the street flanked by still perfectly-manicured trees and bushes, even though the image of me dressed in comfortable, somewhat-masculine clothing, with my hair pulled into a high, so-tight-it-hurt ponytail didn’t exactly suit the surroundings.

I could make myself comfortable anywhere. I’d never been in a situation where I couldn’t find ‘myself’ within the mix.

“Need an extra eye up there?” I yelled up at the armed crew. Hunter and a few others turned to me.

“I was about to do my daily rounds,” Hunter hollered back and then he turned to one of the wall guards and said something I couldn’t hear. Moments later, he was climbing down using a long, paint-splattered ladder that had seen better days. “Why don’t you join me?”

***

Hunter led the way out into a parking lot adjacent to a building that housed about a dozen golf carts. A big diesel King Ranch Ford stood like a giant in the relatively empty lot. Hunter seated himself in the driver’s and I made myself comfortable in the passenger, tucking my pack at my feet and the shotgun across my legs, butt directed at Hunter. The power stoke diesel made a comfortable thrum and I relished the ice-cold air that started blowing through the vents. It had that just-opened-the-fridge crispness to it.

“I go around checking the weaker areas of our defenses daily. Back half is the worst, still trying to build that up. We’ve got enough good people to man it, got a warning system in place, but can’t be too careful.” Hunter took a right turn about a quarter mile past the club house and the parked RV.

We weren’t on the road for long, passing the gated-off areas of golf course that now played home to roaming cattle, before Hunter pulled to a stop in front of a second bus, but this one looked like it’d been through its own personal war.

“Not to point out the obvious, but this bus doesn’t look like it’s had an easy go of it.” I was out of the Ford now, walking forward to trail my fingers across the dented metal surface. I let my index pause at a bullet hole and I traced the outer edge.

“Bastards are smart. They tested every potential entry point. We lost ten folks here.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. We make the bastards pay.” Hunter tilted his head up and yelled, “Charlie, Dean, Luca. You boys doing okay up there?”

I moved away from the side of the bus in surprise. I hadn’t even known someone else was here. They were like ghosts atop the metal vehicle, seated and quiet.

“Fine, Hunter. No activity here today.” A man with black as tar hair and eyes nearly as shadowy leaned into view.

“Good, good.” Hunter had his hands on his hips and he rocked from the balls to the heels of his feet.

“How’s it going over in the hen house today?” Another man popped into view

“Hen house?” I turned to Hunter, smiling and brow quirked. “That where you keep all the wives?”

Hunter laughed, but the sound wasn’t as easy as I’d gotten used to hearing from him. It had a forced feel to it. “Not exactly.” He looked back up at the men above us. “No eggs today, Luca.”

“Damn.” The man named Luca’s face looked disappointed.

“Come on, lots more to check out.” Hunter walked away from me, heading for the Ford.

“Hey, I thought Martha said you had quite a few good layers. Are they having issues all of a sudden?” I walked around the truck bed to get back in.

Hunter didn’t answer immediately, but when he did, the words sounded studied. “Not a lot of entertainment around here. I mean, with the generators we can run things. Like the projector we snagged from the Regal. Aside from that, the boys make their own fun. Betting on how many eggs we’ll get in a day being one of them.”

“Thrilling.” I closed the door and propped my elbow on the frame. The inside surface of the window was cool, the truck still running and the A/C still blowing.

Hunter chuckled. “Don’t knock it. Those boys could be getting into real trouble instead of betting on chickens.”

“I suppose that’s true,” I say, tapping my fingers on the window sill.

We drove a bit longer this time, winding through a series of vehicles, tents, campers. I thought of the other buildings around the club house area. “I’m surprised that people are living out here instead of bunking in one of the buildings.”

“Some people bunk in the buildings, mostly folks with children who escaped the disease. Everyone agreed that we should keep the kids inside, less exposed. We let them play in certain areas, make sure they don’t get near the barricade, that sort of thing.”

“If they didn’t get a vaccine, they won’t get infected.”

“Unless they’re attacked by one of the kids who are sick. Then they do turn into one of those things. I’ve seen it.” Hunter handles the steering wheel deftly.

I nod, “Yeah, I’ve seen it too. So you’re protecting them in case one of the sick kids, the zombie things, shows up.”

“Yeah.” Again, Hunter didn’t sound his usual self, but someone else, someone who wasn’t paying attention, might not have heard the discrepancy.

We checked two other points before ending up at what Hunter called the ‘back gate’. Here, he shut the Ford down, telling me that we were going to be here longer than the other locations. After exiting the vehicle, he started walking. I followed, my gaze roving the area and taking it all in.

Cars where interlaced with chain link fence, a metal on metal sandwich. Barbed wire curled atop the hoods. But there were big gaps. More men and women than at any of the other guard points were here, crawling about like worker ants. Three large men pushed an old Cadillac forward to fill a gap, pressing it up against the fencing. Others were drilling big pieces of salvaged steel into side-by-side cars. This part of the barricade needed to be taller, though. It was currently half the height of the other wall sections.

Hunter knew what I was looking at and explained that it was worked on every day by a crew who scavenged for materials to complete and reinforce their defenses. They’d used most of the abandoned cars nearby and had used a few cars from the survivors who’d found safety at the fort.

“If we’re lucky it’ll be done by winter and we can all sleep that much better at night.” Hunter approached a woman holding a drill, her face partially covered by a large pair of glasses. She lifted them off her eyes to perch atop her head when he started speaking.

I moved behind Hunter, not getting close enough to eavesdrop on his conversation with the woman. My black hair was sucking up the heat from the sun, drinking it all in until my scalp felt like it was going to boil my brain. I needed a hat. I had a hat, once upon a time. My favorite hat. Of course, it had been black also; not much good at reflecting the sun, but at least it shaded my eyes- helping my sunglasses do their job.

“AJ, come over and meet Leanne.” Hunter waved me forward and I closed the gap I’d intentionally created between us.

Leanne was a tall woman, large built and sporting Popeye-style forearms. Her dirty-blonde hair hung around her face in two loose braids and dark freckles dotted her face like little ants that never moved. “Nice to meet you, AJ.”

“You too.” We shook, her giant hand making mine disappear. “Everything you guys have done here is so impressive. I still can’t get over how short a time you all have had to secure this kind of place.”

“We couldn’t have done it without Hunter. And Martha, too. She’s an organizing queen. Says it’s from all her couponing.” Leanne set the drill she was holding down, reaching for a large water bottle. The liquid had to be hot as hell inside the plastic; it had been sitting in a direct line of sun, no shading to protect it. She drank it like it was cool, sucking it down with a sort of unbridled slurping.

“Your cooler need more ice?” Hunter was eyeing the bottle as well.

“Yeah. I’ll send Ned to the club house in a bit to fill up the water bottles and get more.” Leanne capped the now-empty container and tossed it into a bag that was hanging from the side mirror of a busted-up Toyota. Then she looked at me. “Hunter says you’d be real handy to have around.”

“He’s told me that himself,” I nodded, confirming.

“But no inclination to stay.” She made it a statement.

“Duty calls.” I shrugged.

“You lawmen and your duty.” She sighed, picking the drill back up. “Look around, AJ. Law doesn’t matter anymore.”

“You know that I disagree with that statement, Leanne. Law is more important than ever,” Hunter said, a note of understanding in his voice.

“Yeah, Hunter. I know how you feel about law and order,” Leanne said, a hard note coming to life in her words.

“Don’t say it like that, Leanne. Even you agreed to the way we’re running things here.” Hunter reached out to her, placing a light hand on her shoulder.

“Doesn’t mean I have to wake up every day and like the situation. Fucking death outside our walls. We don’t need it inside of them too.” She dropped her sunglasses over her eyes and stared at him a moment. The oil-slick reflective surfaces of the lenses showed me and Hunter looking at her. I wasn’t facing Hunter, but I could see his expression because of this. And he looked unhappy.

The two didn’t say anything more to each other. I wanted to ask about the exchange, but I didn’t. It left me wondering once more if there wasn’t more to this community that was hard-won from the monsters. I’d been to an establishment in Mexico. It was peaceful. An oil painting of perfection on the surface. But when I looked closer, I’d found drug dealers and pimps. Child prostitution and domestic abuse. It was only the illusion of perfection. And beneath that, a controlled rot that couldn’t stay hidden forever.

Hunter talked to a few more folks and then headed back to the Ford. He walked slow, hand on his gun. I kept pace beside him.

“Takes a tough person to work this back area. First few days, this section back here was a constant firing range. Blood. Bandages. If you could still shoot, you stayed. It’ll be a relief when the barricade is as strong here.” He turned away from the truck, only a few yards from it, to look back at the men and women working. “Then, hopefully, we’ll only have to really worry about losing people when they go out scavenging. That’s still a volunteer job. I can’t bring myself to force someone to go out gathering.”

“Forcing people into those kinds of situations, when they aren’t ready for them would be a disaster, Hunter. You’re doing the right thing.” I say something comforting, because I think that’s what he needs. Even hard-as-nails retired Rangers need reassuring now and again.

“Yeah. Come on, few more stops to make and we can head back for lunch.”

Five minutes into riding, Hunter applied the brakes and pulled an old set of Nikon binoculars out from the back seat. I watched as he scanned the terrain in front of us, past a large area of homemade fencing in the distance. We were sitting at the top of a hill, the three-car-high wall not tall enough to block the view. In the distance, I could see military vehicles scattered across the terrain beyond the compound.

We seemed to sit there forever, but finally Hunter brought down the glasses and just stared into the distance, making no indication that he planned to drive further.

“Something wrong?” I leaned forward, trying to decide if there was something subtle he’d seen that I hadn’t. The way his body was positioned, slightly leaned forward, not a muscle relaxed, I could tell he wasn’t comfortable. I just didn’t know why. “Hunter, is something wrong?” I repeated my words, adding his name for good measure and hoping that would pull him out of his silence.

The interior of the Ford was still silent. I moved in my seat, pushing my back against the chair and turning slightly towards him. “Hunter?”

Finally, he answered. “You know. This thing used to happen when I was out in the field, right before the shit hit the fan. Hairs went up on the back of my neck, stood at attention so full of damn life it was like a current across my skin. When I looked down range just now, same damn thing happened, but damned if I can see anything. Probably just getting a little old and jumpy.” He apparently dismissed his gut feeling, yet he still didn’t start rolling the truck forward.

I really didn’t know this man from Adam’s house cat, but he’d survived thirty years in one of the toughest jobs in law enforcement. Hand-selected and bleeding Texas loyalty, Rangers were known to be wily and tough. So, if something was bothering him, then it sure as hell was making me uncomfortable. I fiddled with my hair, pulling the ponytail over my shoulder and running my hands down the strands. It was a nervous gesture, something I’d broken myself of years ago. I’d gotten rid of a lot of girly habits courtesy of my personality and my pageant days to really fit in with my job and the other agents.

Dropping my hair, I unzipped my pack that was tucked against the floorboard and took out my monocular. It was small, compactable, didn’t take up much space, but it also wasn’t as powerful as Hunter’s. Sometimes, size does matter.

Looking through the glass, I got a pretty clear view of the area. I studied each detail slowly, my gaze roving over the vehicles in the distance, the few bodies that were rotting in the sun, becoming barely-moist jerky even the carrion birds wouldn’t desire. I didn’t see any movement, however, nothing that would explain Hunter’s intuitive alarm bells.

“I’m not seeing anything.” I lowered the monocular and looked over at Hunter. He was still staring, his eyes squinting, his forehead furrowed. The binoculars were forgotten things in his lap, his right hand resting atop them loosely.

“Yeah, just wish I knew what’s got my brain binging like a coyote on crack.” He looked a while longer, and then lifted his foot off the brake so we began to inch forward.

“Intuition’s pretty much everything when you’re law, but with the current situation, I think it’s hard not to jump at shadows.” I replaced the monocular in my pack and then pushed the bag a little with my foot to sink it further into the front of the floorboard and less near me. It still nearly brushed my calf.

“I’ve never jumped at shadows, girl. I don’t plan to start now.” He continued to let the Ford drive forward. “Only a rookie does that.”

My knee-jerk reaction was to take his mention of ‘rookie’ personally, even though I’m sure he didn’t mean it directed at me. As a retiree, anyone unseasoned by decades probably seemed like a rookie to him.

As he drove, he set the binoculars between us and replaced it with the gun from his holster. The .45 nestled between his legs, easier to get to, ready to use. I didn’t like that he was still on such high alert despite the absence of obvious danger. I unsnapped the holster on my Glock.

The big diesel engine thrummed like a contained stallion as we crept forward. Hunter began to fiddle with the grips of his automatic as he moved down the hill we’d been perched atop. Every rotation of the wheels brought us nearer the makeshift wall. Hunter stilled his hand, stopping the idle nervousness of its movement. I knew it was his way of ensuring he could get the gun into play in a split second, but I also knew that showing the nervous twitch wasn’t something he’d normally do. Again, I wondered what he was sensing that I wasn’t. After what seemed an eternity of creeping forward, we came to a stop about twenty feet from the wall and he put the truck into park.

“Keep your eyes peeled, take the shotgun, leave the bag, and don’t close the door all the way when you get out.” Hunter spoke at normal speed, but a heightened intensity in his words.

“Do you have people watching this part of the wall?” I did as instructed with no debate. He was my de facto team leader at the moment. He knew his compound, had experience in this area. Sometimes, no matter how big and bad you think you are, you have to step down and follow.

“Yep. Three men should be out this way, just like the first defense point we checked. They stay low normally, don’t give me much indication they’re here until I get up close. Just a mirror flash normally. This time, going down that hill, nothing. These boys like the commando stuff.” There was no humor in Hunter’s voice. “Think it makes the situation a real hoot. Even paint damn Rambo stripes on their faces.”

“So maybe they’ve taken it a step further. Moved the…” I hesitate to say commando or Rambo, “bad ass act onto active playing fields instead of a boring border wall.”

“These boys are all talk, AJ.”

I nodded in response. I’d known a few agents like that. They talked a big game, bled red, white, and blue and swore no one would cross the border on their watch. First sign of a fight and all that bad-assery went out the window.

We were nearly to the wall now. There wasn’t a ladder here like at the front gate and bus. Here, they’d staggered vehicles into a faux staircase that only a giant could mount regularly. A single dark blue sedan in front of a double stack of hatchbacks leading to the triple wall, held together by the same wire fencing and salvaged metal as the wall.

As I stepped out of the truck, leaving the passenger door ajar, I checked to ensure a round was up the tube of the shotgun and the safety was off. Quiet as church mice, we met at the front of the truck; the soft thud of our shoes against the terrain was the only sound. The greenery of the golf course ended here, translating into rusty red soil punctuated by sparse-looking plants that were dying from lack of sun- the wall providing too much shade.

Hunter had his Colt held down at his side, but there wasn’t anything sloppy about it. He didn’t look down at the dying flowers and bushes. His eyes were Eagle-trained, staring at the wall in front of him and looking for any sign of his men. I turned my focus on the task.

“Where do they normally hole up? There’re not a lot of places to hide here.” My gaze roved the length of the wall as far as I could clearly see from left to right.

“They got the idea to cut entrance holes into the top of several of the vehicles. They hide in there, shooting out the broken windshields whenever there’s trouble. Good idea, planning to implement it at other sections of the wall.”

“Yeah, that’s sort of brilliant. Guessing you all use silencers? Something to keep the gunfire from alerting more of the monsters?” I watched as Hunter gave a quick nod, answering my question, and then mounted the blue sedan. “But, if they were here now, they’d have made some indication?”

“Yes.” The single word from Hunter made its way from his mouth to my ears, snaking into my mind and twisting my stomach into one large ugly knot.

After a few seconds Hunter glanced at me and I started to follow, climbing up the first car. My brain and body were both buzzing, waves of vibrations keeping my muscles energized, flashes that brought every detail into my consciousness.

The smell of death hit my nostrils as I joined Hunter on the double stack of cars that served as the second stair mount. It was a sickeningly sweet stench—freesia planted over a mass grave, a grave where the bodies were only days old and the soil covering was barely a whisper to cover the massacre. A light breeze brought the odor to me, brushing against my face and permeating my skin. It was then that a cawing drew my attention upwards. Carrion birds circled, a dance of five of them.

“Hunter, you smell that?”

He didn’t reply, but his gun perched in both of his hands—a mimic to the coal-hued bird that had just alighted on the roof of the truck directly in front of him—was answer enough.

“Georgie?” Hunter said the name, slow and steady, letting it resonate and bounce off the metal around us. When he spoke the second name, the knot in my stomach thickened as if it was absorbing my fear. “Shane?”

No response.

“Willy, this ain’t the time to pull a disappearing act.” Hunter lifted his gun higher, almost on level with the matching bird in his sight lines. The winged, pitch black animal opened its beak and cawed, the sound running through me and punching my very core. It stole my breath.

Then, finally, when I’d lost hope that any of the three men were alive—the smell of their blood and guts fanning out against me like acrid perfume—a single word left the confines of the vehicle in front of Hunter.

“Trap.”

It was a whisper in the daylight, a choked sound like the speaker was hanging on for literal dear life and swimming in his own blood. Hunter backed away, dropping off the double layer of cars to join me on the single blue sedan. “Run, AJ.” His order was a dagger into my heart.

I dropped off the vehicle, holding the shotgun in both hands to ensure my grip didn’t fail, and high-tailed it to the silent Ford truck. I wondered if Hunter had the keys on him or if he’d left them in the ignition. I couldn’t remember. Dammit, I couldn’t remember. Which meant if he did have them and a monster took him down, then I’d be shit out of luck.

So, with heart thumping in my throat like a mad, overused thing, I turned and I found the retired Ranger. He was also down from the vehicle, running in my direction.

What was behind him couldn’t be ignored.

Four of the kid creatures, their bodies in various states of burned with one being so sun-exposed that his skin had begun to boil and peel away to uncover muscle and other, wetter things, were crawling quickly down the staircase of cars. I recognized one of them; the boy from the military barricade, the one who’d ripped off an adult zombie’s arm just so he could beat the body with it.

I lifted the shotgun and aimed, going for the child monster closest behind Hunter.

My shoulder slammed back as I fully depressed the trigger, sending a load of shot at the once-a-boy with the sparse, scorched-off hair and face that looked like it was melting away from the bones beneath. The buckshot caught him in the left shoulder adjacent to the clavicle. It tore into him, tearing away flesh and bone as the lead expanded and fragmented. The boy didn’t fall, though. His body jerked back, he almost lost his footing, but he didn’t. He kept coming, a relentless train on a track that could not be stilled in time to save the walker on the rails.

Hunter turned as if my firing had been his cue.

He brought up his gun, the flashy 1911 that I’d assumed was a retirement gift, and loosed a single round. He hit the once-a-girl behind the monster I’d shot. The 230 grain .45 slug slammed into her chest. The entry wound was relatively small, but the exit wound was softball-sized, the shell ripping out of her back and sending a spray of blackened blood to wet the dark cars behind her. She screamed.

She screamed as she fell and the sound reverberated off everything around us. The metal holding the cars together shook with the impact, shaking like a manmade storm on an old movie set.

I aimed and sent another load flying at one of the other Z kids. This one was a guided missile, finding the bullseye in the center of the boy’s forehead. He was once blonde with stringy strands of limp, unhealthy hair falling around his ears and eyes. He looked at me through that thin curtain and I was reminded of a horror film I’d once seen, then his face was gone as the .12 gauge did its job—a girl climbing from a well, never showing her face, killing everyone who was unfortunate enough to watch her film.

I didn’t ask to watch this film.

I didn’t ask to be alive when the world went to shit.

Hunter was firing, beside me now and standing his ground. His face was fierce, his body moving with the memory of a job he’d served longer than most. It was built into his body now, that drive to action, that drive to survive, that drive to kill and protect.

I didn’t have that yet. I was still selfish enough to want to run, to want to survive.

But I would do my damn duty.

I fired again. Hunter fired simultaneously. And, together, we took down the last advancing monster child.

The girl had screamed, though.

She’d screamed and I knew more would answer her cry. The small monsters and the tall.

And, if we couldn’t find a way to stop their course, then this safe place that Hunter created would become a free-for-all buffet.

“Jesus H. Christ, Hunter.” I bent over, shotgun barrel pointed at the ground. “Has something like this happened before? Have they set fucking traps before?”

Hunter hadn’t holstered his gun. He still held it in two hands, staring at the top of the wall and waiting for more intruders. “No. This is new. Brand fucking new.”

“That one that screamed…it’s going to bring a bunch of others. This place will be crawling soon, Hunter.”

“We’ll handle it.” He holstered his gun and walked away from me to re-mount the makeshift stairs. I didn’t want to follow him. I didn’t want to see the bodies of his men splayed out in gory technicolor. “Don’t see any yet,” Hunter called down, his hand up to his eyes as he searched the area beyond the fence. “Need my damn hat.” He was standing atop the vehicle from which the voice had warned us of the trap.

When he looked down, I was glad I was too far away to see the expression that crossed his face. “They didn’t turn ‘em.” Hunter looked at me. “Looks like they just left Willy alive long enough for a good feeding. He’s gone now. Don’t think any of them are coming back as one of those things. Goddamn animals.”

“I’m sorry, Hunter.” Now I did move forward and climb up on the navy-colored sedan again.

“They were crazy kids, but not bad-hearted. They didn’t deserve this.” He was squatting down next to the sawed-out section of roof. I was on top of the double car stack now. I moved forward to peer inside the vehicle.

All three bodies of Hunter’s men were shoved into this one car. Two lying on top of one another in the backseat, one in the front. The two in the rear had been picked clean, even their heads gnawed open so the beasts could suckle on grey matter. The body in the front was slightly less mauled, but only slightly. And it looked like the child zombie had finished the job after the one-word warning that had given us time to react, time to survive. It looked as if a fist had plunged into Willy’s chest, nailing through flesh and squeezing fingers between ribs, to yank out his heart.

Which now sat unbeating and bleeding on the torn-out crotch of Willy’s jeans.

“Shit.” I felt bile build in my throat, but I pushed it down. “I’m pretty sure they usually turn them, keep them alive.”

“Yeah, that seems to be the case around here too. They killed these guys specifically to set this trap. These bastards are smart. Too damn smart.”

“I don’t mean to be crass, Hunter, but be grateful that they killed them outright. It would have been worse to have to put them down yourself. And if they’d been alive…undead…whatever…then the others could have fed on them and healed. It’s better this way.” I stare down at the bodies; I breathe in the scent of the blood, the stomach contents, the last escape of urine and feces. “It’s always going to be better to die rather than become what they are.”

“I’ll agree there.” Hunter looked out into the distance again, away from the carnage beneath him. “Come on, I need to get help to move the bodies and bury them. And then we’re going to string up those sons of bitches on the wall as a warning. If they’re smart enough to set a fucking trap, they’re smart enough to see that we’re not going to go down without a damn fight.”

I nod. I wanted to say, ‘I’ve seen something like that work. It’s a brutal but good idea’. That was before the zombies, before the non-human monsters. It’s something I don’t like to think about. A family couldn’t pay their crossing fee and the coyotes had slaughtered them and put their heads on spikes as a warning to others who might try for a free ride. They’d done more brutal things to the wife and daughter before killing them.

The wall was quiet when we pulled away, no other baddies following the scream of the girl creature we’d killed. Maybe no others were in hearing distance. That would be lucky. Can you be lucky at the end of the world?

Hunter drove us back to the main area of the golf course complex where the club house was and the other buildings I hadn’t explored. He bee-lined for one building in particular. It was different than the other cheery, brightly-painted buildings with the perfect floral arrangements flanking their entrances. This one had no such frivolity. It wasn’t dirty. It was painted a light tan. Yet…it still felt dark. I couldn’t explain it.

“With you dead set on just passing through, didn’t think I’d have cause to bring you here.” Hunter abandoned the Ford, leaving it idling and parked crooked in the spot near the building’s front door.

“What’s this building used for?” My words followed his body as I also got out of the truck. When he didn’t answer, I said his name again. “Hunter?”

“Storage,” he muttered, reaching for the handle of the door and turning it with a jerk. The knot in the pit of my stomach, the one that had been forming and enlarging and making me feel sick, grew even more.

Hunter was a law man. He was trustworthy. But these were untrustworthy times. So what had he done? What lengths had he gone to, to ensure that the folks he cared about survived?

As I walked into the dim interior of the building, I realized that it shouldn’t be as dark as it was. Outside, the sun shone brightly, filling the spaces between clouds with brilliant, blinding light.

In here, shadows moved like living, breathing things.

Looking around, I discovered why. The windows had been boarded up on the inside, sunshine only filtering through slim cracks in the wood. And it smelled.

It smelled like blood gone foul—earthy and rotten with too-ripe vegetables versus a clean metallic. Grunts and groans filled the world around me, joining the smell in some chaotic cluster of rabid life. My eyes began to adjust, my gaze working its way through the shadows until I could see outlines and movement. The building was large and open on the inside, makeshift stalls created out of two-by-fours and chicken wire. Inside the stalls, pacing like nervous animals, were Z adults.

“Oh, my God,” I gasped, realizing that this was a prison for monsters. “You’re not just killing them, you’re trapping them…but why?”

“It’s complicated, AJ.” He moved further into the darkness, nearly being swallowed up by the dim lighting so that I had to move forward to keep him in sight.

“Try me.” I was careful, making sure I stayed in the dead center of the aisle between the cages.

“Some of these things used to be loved ones. People couldn’t let them go, didn’t have the heart to watch them get a bullet through the head. For them, this is a mercy.”

“They’re not alive, Hunter. There’s no cure for what’s happened to them.” A young-looking woman, maybe in her twenties, caught my eye. She wasn’t a woman, though, or she wouldn’t be imprisoned. She looked less… dead than the others, her bright blonde hair that artificial yellow boxed color with just the barest hint of dark brown roots showing against the scalp. There was something familiar about her, something in the features and eyes, even though the color was now obscured by milky film. I paused, staring at her, and jumped when Hunter spoke so close that I could feel his breath on my cheek.

“That’s Dana, my granddaughter.” Hunter lifted his hand, his fingers nearly touching the chicken wire that separated him from his afflicted family member.

“She used to be your granddaughter.”

He turned on me, face fierce. “I’ve spent my entire goddamn life protecting people, AJ. What good is all that if I can’t save someone I love? The government will find a cure for this thing and I’ll be damned if I’m going to kill Dana before that happens.”

“I’m sorry, Hunter.” I could tell that what he needed in that moment was forgiveness. That he knew, in his heart that he should have put the monsters in this building out of their misery. This was his cross to bear, his sin. I worried that it would get him killed, get everyone here killed. “It isn’t safe to keep them here. You must know that. The adult…” I hesitated to call them monsters, with the way Hunter was looking at his former granddaughter, “The child monsters seem to have a connection to the adults, they seem to need them to keep them alive. Or, at the very least, somehow the adults heal the kids when they’re injured. From what I’ve seen, there aren’t a lot of living…no, God, that’s not the right word. There aren’t a lot of the adult zombies left in this area. What if the kid-sized monsters figure out that you have what they need here?”

“There’s no way they’d get past our defenses, AJ. No way in hell. We’ve got this figured out,” Hunter said like the conversation was over. I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him that he was wrong and that I’d seen what the kid creatures were capable of. He’d seen it to though. He knew what he was dealing with. It surprised me that he could be so irrational as a former Ranger.

But he wasn’t thinking as a Texas Ranger, he was thinking as a grandfather.

“Don. Jacob.” At the sound of their names, two large men carrying an arsenal of weapons across their bodies, strolled into view from where they’d been seated. I hadn’t known they were there. They hadn’t made a sound. Hunter looked them up and down. “Any trouble today?”

“No,” The smaller man, his skin as dark as the surrounding air so that his eyes and teeth were brilliantly white in the shadows, spoke in a voice that was higher than I expected. It was nearly feminine with only enough of a deepness that it saved him from sounding totally pre-pubescent or girlish. “Couple people wanted to come by and set bets for tonight. That’s as much activity as we’ve seen.”

“Bets?” I walked around Hunter, wishing I hadn’t left my bag and shotgun in the car. I was uncomfortable. Three against one. I didn’t know if I could trust Hunter anymore, former lawman or not. “What do you mean bets?”

“I told you we don’t get a lot of entertainment around here, AJ.” Hunter dismissed me with a wave of his hand.

“What does that mean?” I looked away from the well-formed, if a bit short, black man that had spoken and at Hunter beside me.

“I said some of the things in here used to be loved ones, but not all of them.” Again, Hunter said it like his words should be enough, that I shouldn’t need further explanation. He turned away from me, getting ready to say something to the two men manning the storage building.

“And the others?” I pushed, wanting more details.

“We round them up for Friday night battle dome. Only been one of them of course. All this shit ain’t been going on long, but it was a hit. Should have seen the shine on some folk’s faces watching.” The taller of the two men who’d been bathed in shadows spoke with an excited tremor in his voice. He was okay-looking, maybe even approaching good-looking, but his smile was too wide, his teeth too yellow, to actually be handsome. The stringy brown hair didn’t help his case either.

“That’s enough, Don.” Hunter gave him a stern look. “I’m here because I need you to go to the southwest—”

“Battle dome?” I interrupted and quirked an eyebrow, knowing I should be ‘getting’ what he was implying, but my brain wasn’t putting two and two together.

Don’s grin widened, showing that his back teeth were even darker. A canary color even in the dim lighting. “Multiple monsters in a pit, one side of meat hanging from a rope in the center. These bitches will fight to the death for a bite. At least, they did the first time.”

My eyelids parted and I knew a look of disgust had spread across my face. “You can’t be serious.”

“As a heart attack.” Don bounced on the balls of his feet, his body vibrating with barely-contained enthusiasm.

“I said that’s enough, Don,” Hunter barked.

“Hunter… you allow this?” My jaw dropped, my heart pattering a little faster, a little harder. I didn’t like when my impressions of people were wrong.

“It’s hard to keep people satisfied, AJ. They get bored, they do stupid shit. We can’t afford stupid shit that could bring down the whole fort. We’ve only done it once.” He said ‘once’ like it made the behavior okay. That’s like me saying ‘sure, I shot that guy, but I only did it once’.

“That’s not a good enough fucking excuse, Hunter. Not even two weeks, this shit’s been going on. What does it say about your community that they’re already so ‘bored’ that they have to sink to this sort of shit?” I pointed behind me, at his once-granddaughter who was leaned against the ‘wall’ of her cage and moaning quietly. “You’re sitting here, keeping your monster grandkid chained up, hoping for a cure, but at the same time, you’re using other sick people for entertainment. And the adults fight? Jesus Christ, Hunter. The adult monsters will do what a Z kid says. They’ll fight if they’re told to, but I’ve never seen them aggressive on their own.”

“You haven’t seen enough then, AJ. They’re not as fast, not as smart, but they’re just as much animals as the kid versions.” He turned from me again, went to say something to his men. Once again, I stopped him.

“It’s wrong, Hunter. God, this shit only started a little while ago. If this is what’s happening now, if this is what society is already becoming, what the fuck is it going to look like a year from now if there is no damn cure?”

“Hey, you’re a fucking stranger here. It’s not your job to come in and judge us, you stupid cunt.” Don stepped forward, all the excitement replaced by anger. Jacob stepped towards him as if he was ready to hold the larger man back if he tried to attack me, but it was Hunter that intervened by punching Don in the jaw so hard that a crack resounded through the building, joining the soft moans and growls of the adult monsters around us.

Silence followed the exchange, human silence at least.

And then, the monster that was once Dana, began to scream. It was a high-pitched siren, slamming into our ears.

“Shut her up goddammit.” This from Don, who stumbled towards the makeshift cage, his hands slapped over his ears.

“Don’t you hurt her,” Hunter called, moving after the man who had taken one hand away from his ear to pull out a six-inch blade from a sheath at his waist.

Dana’s screaming intensified, reaching a feverous volume that caused dew to form on my palms and sweat to spring to life at the small of my back.

“Hunter, I’m sorry, but she’s done this before. She’ll bring every monster left in the area down on our heads.” Don raised the blade, getting ready to shove it through a space between wires. He had it positioned beneath Dana’s jaw, ready to sink the knife upwards into her brain. She was still pressed against the chicken wire, wailing, but she didn’t strike out at Don. She didn’t try to ward off the coming knife.

Just as I thought Hunter and Don were going to get into it, with Jacob trying to control the brawl, a radio crackled to life. I swirled, finding the source of the sound. I had to move away from the three altercating men and get closer to see the card table and black handheld sitting atop its surface. It was a Midlands two-way, one I was familiar with.

The men behind me seemed frozen, waiting to hear what words were going to come out of the handheld. I stepped forward, lifting the radio.

“HOTEL JULIET, this is DELTA ROGER FOXTROT. HOTEL JULIET, this is DELTA ROGER FOXTROT. Over.” The stress coming from the voice was a living thing, like a heart beating outside a body, resting against abrasive cloth. It scratched and crackled and scared me.

Hunter was beside me now, reaching for the radio. “DELTA ROGER FOXTROT this is HOTEL JULIET. What’s wrong? Over.”

“ZULUs coming in. More than we’ve ever seen. ETA less than ten minutes. They’re on Morgan’s tail. Over.”

“Fuck,” Jacob said in his not-low-enough voice, the whites of his eyes showing large and ghostly in the darkness, as he rushed up beside Hunter. “Morgan went out on a scavenge this morning. Martha said we were running low on some things and it was her turn. Shit, Hunter. Shit. We got to get out there.”

“She’ll be fine, Jacob. She’s radioed in, given us warning. She knows what she’s doing.” Hunter depressed the response button on the handheld. “Is she coming towards the front? Over.”

“Yes. We saw your truck over at the hen house. Morgan made it sound like a damn army coming our way. We need you. Over.” The alarm in the voice was growing.

“Pull yourself together, Ned. This isn’t the time to lose it. I’m on my way. Over.” Hunter swallowed hard, the sound audible over all other surrounding noises. I wondered what he was thinking, wondered if he was seeing his boys massacred and stuffed in the car. Mostly, I wondered if killing those men was a precursor to bigger things. If the ‘trap’ was the monsters proving they could, and would, get past Fort Del Rio’s defenses. “Ned, do you copy? Over.”

“Copy, HOTEL.” The voice was still on edge like a shredded cable flopping around in the rain, live wires popping and sizzling. The radio gave a last crackle and then fell quiet. Behind us, the monster wearing Dana skin still keened. It was no longer ear-bleeding loud; this was a more pitiful, desperate sound. I moved away from the men, closer to her, my eyes squinted against the dimness.

It made my thoughts race, puzzle pieces that didn’t quite match…turning and twisting, trying to fit together and provide a cohesive picture. “You said she’s done this before? She’s just started randomly screaming?” The monster in front of me turned her head, finding my eyes. An obvious, piercing intelligence was held in those once-brown orbs. I didn’t like that. It scared me more than if she’d looked empty-headed and vicious. Hunter was wrong. The adults were different. They weren’t as animalistic.

“Yeah, a couple times.” Hunter nodded, not looking at his granddaughter.

Jacob was headed towards the door to leave the building. “Hunter, I’ll warn Martha. She’ll get the word out for everyone who can’t fight to hole up.”

“Do that,” Hunter said, his voice coming to life, like being around his Dana made him rethink everything about what he was doing, what the future held.

He said he didn’t jump at shadows. Maybe that was true, but here and now, he was being swallowed up by something dark. A twin of shadows that pitted morality against mortality. Straightening his shoulders, standing like he was once again in command of the world, Hunter spoke once more. “Have her send a group out to the southwest checkpoint too. No one’s protecting our flank there. If you three assholes had shut up long enough for me to tell you why I came here, you’d know that Georgie and the boys were killed. I was going to have you two round up the bodies, make sure they’re actually dead and not going to come back as one of those things. No time for that now, goddammit.”

“Mother fucker.” Don slammed his hand into the wall behind him, surprising us all. “Willy and I had a bet set on the fight and that bastard had all the money.”

Hunter turned on him, a violent storm contained beneath skin, caged by ribs and muscle. “The man is dead, Don. I’ve let you have your way with these fucking fights, but I will shoot everything in here if I find out you’re as bloodthirsty as the monsters. We can’t afford to fall that far from our humanity.”

I wanted to point out that just allowing the fights had already separated Fort Del Rio from humanness, but I didn’t.

Don clamped his mouth shut, his expression looking like he had something smartass to say, but, intelligently, he kept his lips sealed. Look at us, both smart people, keeping our thoughts to ourselves.

Hunter turned to Jacob who was hesitating near the exit, watching us with wary eyes. “Jacob, after you’ve passed the word to Martha, get your ass to the wall. Morgan will be fine, but I know you’re going to want to be there.”

“You want me to go and make sure Georgie and the boys are properly handled?” Don took a step forward as if to join Jacob.

“No,” Hunter said the one word with a finality like concrete nearly hardened over a grave. Don shrugged, as if staying in the dark ‘storage’ building was better anyways. Jacob was still not moving. “Now go, Jacob.”

Jacob left with a quick, jerky nod, emotions playing across his face like a television screen set to world news, images speaking of tragedies across the globe.

“You guys don’t have some sort of monster alarm system?” I sounded as surprised as I felt. With a fort this large, a warning system would have been my first priority.

“We try to keep things as quiet as we can, AJ. Sounding some sort of fog horn like a dinner bell wouldn’t be very smart.” Hunter turned away from me to look at Don once more. He opened his mouth to speak, but Don had regained his voice and it was full of snark and sass.

“Friday night got pretty rowdy.” Don’s creepy smile was back despite the fact that the fort was about to get hit by a pack of monsters.

“Don, sometimes you really rub me wrong, boy.” Hunter’s frown was deep, his wrinkles hard lines across his face. He turned from the irritating man who’d sat back down at the table and was shuffling a deck of cards. He didn’t look like a guy who was about to have his home attacked. “You stay here. I’m not feeling too fondly towards you at the moment. You get in the middle of the mix outside, and I might just accidently shoot you.”

“Love you too, asshole,” Don quipped in return, splitting the cards in half. Hunter didn’t say anything back. He did, however, glance at his granddaughter’s body, which was now slumped against the hard floor, her fingernails cutting lines into her arm as if she was punishing herself for some unknown monster crime.

This adult zombie…thing…it was all together too human to me in that instant. As if…as if the person she once was, was somehow trapped within all the decay and rot. I’d heard from a few people along the road since our flight from the border that some of the once-an-adult creatures seemed to do things that didn’t make sense, things that weren’t self-preserving or monstrous at all. I hadn’t seen it until now. I hadn’t believed it. The ones I’d encountered so far had been empty-headed drones, content to follow their smaller counterparts around and provide a pound of flesh when necessary.

Hunter’s granddaughter, his Dana, looked like any other grieving teenager in this moment. Slumped into herself, cutting away the pain. I could kill monsters when they were vicious, mindless things. But could I kill monsters that could think and…feel?

I didn’t like the question of morality punching its way through my brain.

As the door was closing behind us, our bodies bathed in bright sunlight, Don’s voice filtered out to us through the deep interior shadows. “You know I’m the best at handling bodies, Hunter. Got a real knack for making sure they’re dead.” His words were sinister, full of unsaid things. Hunter didn’t respond. Maybe, he was questioning the humanity of the ‘storage’ room the same way I was.

***

We were on the wall now. I’d wanted to go to the RV, to check on Sherry, Juan and Marty, but Hunter said he needed me. He needed my aim, my expertise. I served my companions better by protecting the fort. I knew he was right.

Hunter was yelling into a different radio now, given to him by the nervous-looking Ned. A man with ginger hair and large, thick glasses that spoke of near-blindness. Another man, someone Hunter called Sloane, was standing broad-shouldered and determined, his sunglasses blocking his eyes from the Texas sun and his dark skin shining like polished obsidian. He was night to Ned’s sunburned day. Polar opposites of courage versus cowardice. People like Ned weren’t made to survive situations like this.

 “Get every able gun to the front gate and all the ammo. Secure everyone else in the kitchen. YOU KNOW THE DRILL, DAMMIT!” He didn’t bother to say ‘over’ and the people he was yelling at didn’t bother responding. They just did as they were told like good little worker bees.

But it was still chaos, despite having a leader, despite everyone following orders.

The wall had added a human layer of defenders by the time an orange Jeep came into view going as fast as its four wheels and horsepower would allow. At first, I saw no danger behind the vehicle. I had my monocular though, shoved into the front pocket of my pants. I pulled it out, held it to my eye, and found the face of the driver. It wasn’t what I was expecting. It wasn’t a woman that looked like a ‘Morgan’.

It was a blood-coated child, no older than seven or eight at time of death, driving like Cruella Deville towards the fort.

***

HUNTER

(Hunter Jorgenson, Texas Ranger Ret.)

A grim smile warped my mouth as I reached out and took my M-16 carbine from my second in command. Sloane Dawson was a born and bred Texan and had been Del Rio’s Sherriff for almost ten years. Now he was the head of security for the Fort. He was a younger man, mid-forties, but I trusted him. I didn’t normally trust people whose resume wasn’t four pages long and experienced to the gills. Hell, even then, I didn’t trust most people.

I’d felt confident the front gate was safe, that none of the bastards would dare to breach this side. And, up until now, I’d been right. The monsters had picked at our defenses that had fewer men, less firepower. The back gate had been hit over and over again. We’d made it stronger, we’d built it up further, put more guns at that point.

But here was this rouge monster driving Morgan’s Jeep, leading a pack of the rabid dogs our way.

And it was a pack. At least fifteen kids and forty-plus adults. I hadn’t seen this many in one place since the day the outbreak had started. I thought they’d left, thought they’d moved onto a place that was still thriving with life, still relatively defenseless. I’d thought Fort Del Rio was safe. And I wanted to know what the hell had changed. Why, all of a sudden, were they hitting in force rather than a few at a time to test us? And where was Morgan? Where was she? Was she gone…dead? Jacob was going to be torn up over losing her. He’d commit suicide-by-war rather than live without her.

And I wouldn’t blame him. I couldn’t stand the thought of living without Martha. I’d already lost my daughter and son-in-law. I felt lucky that I’d been able to trap Dana before she’d disappeared into the horde.

Seeing my daughter get pounced on by that monster—seeing her throat ripped out like it was so much soft, undercooked steak—that had been the worst moment of my entire damn life. And I’d seen shit that would make a normal person’s skin crawl.

Behind me, a bestial cry came to life, carried across the wind to slap against my back and soak through my pores to poison my blood.

It was Dana. My Dana.

I’d know in my damn gut that it was stupid to keep her caged, to keep any of the loved ones imprisoned like a cure was only days away. This epidemic was only a week and a half old. Maybe two weeks…God, I wasn’t even sure what day it was now. It was all blurred into a painting of staying the fuck alive. The first two or three days had been a constant symphony of screams, shots fired, and death throes. The next few days had been a flurry of activity to make the golf course safe. And then, day after day, I was up after four hours of sleep seeing what else could be done.

Folks who’d stumbled past our fort, who’d sought refuge, had been disbelieving of all we’d accomplished in so short a damn time. But I’d talked over this plan more than once with Sloane and others. It could have been devastating earthquakes, enemy forces from overseas, or anything else, and we’d have followed the same protocol to create a livable society.

That’s what having a game plan means.

Over my dead bodies would we lose our safe haven now.

“Hunter, what do we do?” Sloane was speaking to me and I only half heard him, my mind was lost. That didn’t happen to me often. I didn’t lose focus, I didn’t jump from goddamn shadows. I was an old hand at managing the unexpected, at making it through shit so thick normal people would go blind from it. “Hunter!” Sloane raised his voice, nearly yelling, to get my attention.

“Yeah, Sloane. I’m here.” I balanced the gun in my hands, feeling the butt of it brush the handle of my retirement revolver. “This is a big show, a show to keep us interested. At least, that’s what my gut is telling me. I want you to take two convoys, four men to each vehicle, and check the other points. I didn’t have time to tell you, but the bastards killed Georgie, Shane, and Willy. Stuffed their bodies into one of the cars. Wouldn’t have made it out, wouldn’t have killed the fuckers if Willy hadn’t been just alive enough to warn us it was a trap.”

Sloane’s eyelids parted, just the tiniest bit. Someone who wasn’t looking right at him would have missed the minute movement. “A trap?”

“A damn trap, Sloane.” I looked out at the terrain in front of the fort, at the orange Jeep that was so close yet still too far away to shoot with accuracy. “I sent Jacob to warn Martha and send a group of men out to protect that part of the wall. They should be out there by now. I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I knew you were checking our rear.”

Sloane nodded, looking at the defenses set up around us. Firing teams of nine people- most armed with twins of the M-16 rifle I held and the rest holding an assortment of personal guns- stood facing the oncoming bogeys. One of the teams had placed themselves far down the line towards the eighteenth green to cover a perimeter gap. The cars had been set several feet apart instead of jammed together. A flaw in the design, something the group had done while I’d been checking other parts of the fencing. It was supposed to have been filled by now, stuffed with whatever we could find to give the wire ‘fence’ stretching between stacks of vehicles more ‘oomph’. “Why didn’t the damn gap in the fencing get filled?” I pointed. “That was supposed to be done first thing today.”

“I know, Hunter.” Sloane didn’t offer further explanation.

“We make it through this, then that has to be the first damn thing addressed.”

Sloane’s grim face agreed. “Yeah, I know. Sure you guys will be okay here? This is the biggest group we’ve faced.”

“We can handle it,” I said, looking over at the dark-haired border agent who was staring again through her monocular, her mouth a hard line. “Now, go make sure we’re not going to get raped up the rear.”

Sloane turned and mounted the ladder to make his way down to the ground. He called out the names of eight people as he went and those men also worked their way down to the ground from the wall. I didn’t like the absence of them, as if those eight men were the difference between success and failure in this fight. It made several of the firing teams groups of seven and eight, instead of nine.

The Jeep was nearer now, close enough that I could see the size of the driver without using my binoculars. “Get ready, people. This ain’t going to be pretty.” I pulled the M-16 into firing position, cracking my neck and loosening my shoulders so the kickback wouldn’t be too jarring.

“Hunter, we need to take out the kids first. I’ve seen that help in the past.” AJ lifted her own weapon, having traded the shotgun for one of the M-16s leaning on the wall. They were there, ready to go so I wouldn’t need to take the time to reload.

I peered at her, weighing her advice. We tended to just shoot what we could, take them down as fast as possible. If we could quicken this fight by taking out the kids first, then this may be an easier thing to survive. “Everyone else will shoot whatever the hell they can, but you and me- we concentrate on the kids.”

AJ nodded in agreement.

The wailing coming from the storage room was so loud now, Dana’s voice only part of the crowd. It hit me that it wasn’t random crying. That’s why AJ had asked if they’d done it before. There was a pattern to it, if I only looked hard enough.

They came to life, their voices howling, every time we were attacked. “We need to shut them up,” I breathed, my heart beginning to race. It was a weary gallop, a warhorse on the edge of losing his endurance. I’d never felt that way before. I’d never felt like I couldn’t push myself to do whatever the situation called for. It was the first time I’d ever felt my age, felt the aches and pains of my job taking over my ability.

It was like every old battle scar, every old bullet wound, was springing back to life, pumping blood out of my body and eating away at my resolve. And I couldn’t let that happen. I was a Ranger for God’s sake.

I held the radio up to my mouth, depressed the call button. “HEN HOUSE, this is HOTEL. Over.” The handheld crackled and spat until Don’s voice came through.

“Copy, HOTEL, this is HEN HOUSE.”

I took a deep breath, regretting the words I was about to say before I even gave them live. “Shut them up, Don. Just shut them up.”

There was a hesitation. I didn’t say ‘over’. I didn’t make it an actual order. In fact, my voice didn’t sound authoritative at all. It sounded tired.

“Repeat, HOTEL. Over.” Don’s voice held a note of hesitation, as if he couldn’t believe what I’d just said.

I barked my words into the radio, growled them in such a fashion that he couldn’t misunderstand, couldn’t argue. “Shut them the fuck up, Don. Kill them. But a goddamn bullet through their heads. I’ll deal with the fallout when people find out. Over.” I clipped the handheld to my belt, my hand shaking like a newbie after first shooting a gun.

Before Don could respond, the sound of a gun firing brought me back to the wall. The Jeep was yards away, barreling towards the bus I stood atop. It wasn’t slowing. It wasn’t going to stop.

The vehicle slammed into the bus so hard that it began to tip, knocking everyone but AJ and myself off. The people on other portions of the wall fired, guns popping off like popcorn in a microwave.

The radio once again came to life, this time Martha’s voice. “Hunter, Jesus, Hunter! Are you all okay? That sounded like a crash!”

I couldn’t respond to her, there wasn’t time. I hoped the Guardian Angels—an all-woman fire team I’d put together—was doing their job, protecting the untrained and elderly in the club house.

I scrambled, AJ followed. We both held the M-16s against our bodies, barrels pointed towards the edge of the bus’s roof that was now tilted, angled towards the sky. We reached the edge, our hands not holding our weapons gripping the lip of the roof overhang that kept the rain from pouring into the bus windows when they were open. We moved in unison, as if AJ could feel what my body was doing. Soon, we were both straddling the titled bus, finding stability in that position.

AJ gave me a thumbs-up, letting me know that she was fine. I reciprocated. She might look at me differently now that she’d been to the Hen House, but we’d make good partners. If only she was planning to stick around.

The scene below us was typical of a bus-car collision. The Z kid that had been driving hadn’t been buckled in, so his body was splattered across the Jeep’s hood. Flesh splayed out around him like tuna tartare and cocktail sauce. “One down,” AJ muttered and one look at her told me that she was already looking for a target. I liked that precision. I liked that focus.

I glanced swiftly behind me and saw that those that had fallen off had moved the ladder and were making their ways back up to perch on other, stable parts of the wall barricade.

The terrain was still crawling with adult ZULUs and monster kids. I followed AJ’s lead, balancing myself on the bus, which was stable with the Jeep jammed beneath it, and I shot at a once-a-girl wearing a pale pink dress with blood-stained ruffles crowning the hem and sleeves. The bullet caught her in the upper thigh as she jumped onto the back of an adult next to her. Her beast eyes found mine and hatred pure as sea salt burned through the reawakened wounds across my body.

The diminutive creature wearing the dress that was all-too-soft and lovely for what she was pulled at the Z-adult’s hair, guiding the large ex-man to walk towards the wall. She crouched down behind him, a monkey on his back, using him as a shield to approach the fort.

AJ fired her M-16, shooting at a once-a-boy in khaki overalls.

He too jumped out of the way and alighted on the back of a grown female monster.

Too smart. They were too smart.

They’d planned this. All of this.

I worried about Sloane; I worried for the men I’d sent to the southwest defense point. I worried that maybe this time, all my training and planning wouldn’t be enough.

The clank of metal on metal called my attention to the side of me, where four men had hauled the two M-60s we possessed up onto the wall. It was awkward, the way they had to position themselves to stay atop the width of the car and balance the heavy pigs. We’d salvaged them from the military base roadblocks after they’d fallen to the monsters. Two of the men carried 5 1000-round belts of 7.62 ammo. A formidable force multiplier. Any ZULUs that came at us headlong and in range, would be holey as swiss cheese before they could hit the wall.

With the way the once-a-kids were hitching rides on the back of the adults, we’d have to go through two bodies at once. And that, thank Texas, wasn’t an issue for the M-60s.

One of the men, his body positioned so that his feet rested in the beat-up bed of a truck and his upper frame stretched around and over a smashed-down red sedan, looked at me. I nodded. And that’s all it took for the two men doing the firing of the pigs to let loose a consistent popping of bullets.

Pop, pop, pop. Over and over.

Rapid succession fire that tore through the body of an adult child combo, felling them to the ground. The other duos began to move, keeping themselves from being directly in front of the M-60s.

It was easier for me to maneuver the smaller, less powerful M-16 than it was to constantly move the M-60 and resettle it on its leg supports. So I did. I moved, the firing teams around me taking lead from my actions, and I concentrated my efforts on shooting through the adults that were giving the small monsters piggyback rides. It was a crapshoot though, aiming for the chests and hoping to hit the heart or the head nestled behind.

I lowered my M-16 after a dozen shots. Out of my periphery, I could tell that AJ had moved a yard further from me, her rifle still loosing rounds. I scanned the terrain, assessed the situation, my brain working as rapidly as the M-60s fired. There were still too many standing. We were shooting, drilling holes in them like an oil field, but they were still moving, still coming towards us.

“Light it up,” I barked, directing my orders at a group that had formed behind me, standing on the ground on the fort side of the wall. We’d talked about what to do, practiced how to handle attacks. Each time the ZULUs had hit us, we’d gotten a little more efficient. Mollie, a woman with dark artificial auburn hair and a smile left lopsided from a stroke, started given directions to the others that accompanied her.

They moved towards the edge of the wall to where a duo of barrels sat. Both were loaded with Molotov cocktails courtesy of the glass soda bottles the clubhouse had once stocked, fuel from the golf cart gas station, and motor oil from the maintenance shed. One woman whose name escaped me began handing out the makeshift bombs. Mollie held the refillable lighter, the long-nosed plastic kind normally used for lighting gas grills, and started scaling up the ladder-which had been moved to another part of the wall. Behind her, her companions followed, creating a shipping line from cocktails to wall.

The glass bottles, filled with flammable solution and donning ripped bits of candle-dipped cloth to act as wick, began moving fast, passed from hand to hand. Once atop the wall, the guns around me stopped what they were doing and began taking them as soon as they were lit by Mollie.

It was a finely-tuned machine despite how short a time we’d been established as a community. It helped that the troublemakers had been tossed out, made an example of in the first few days. Threat of being banished into the land of zombies was enough to keep most in check. There were some, of course, who toed the line. Like Don. He was a breath away from being out on his hindquarters. Didn’t know how much more I could stand from him.

AJ didn’t throw the bombs. She kept firing, pushing the monsters in different directions, trying to slow their approach to the fort.

They were so close now, yards away from the wall.

Around me, flames were flying like small, misshapen phoenixes toward their targets. The bottles slammed into the ground, some well-aimed at the feet of ZULUs, some poorly-aimed and igniting the tired, sun-raw brush.

One adult zombie wearing a floral dress went up in fast, bright fire. The boy ZULU on her back jumped down, rolling against the dirty ground to put out the fire that wanted to burn him up. The flames licked upward on the adult zombie, consuming her obviously-not-flame-retardant dress in a hungry, crazed fashion. She screamed, her jaw opening too wide, like a snake undoing its jaw. The sound carried on the smoke, filling my lungs and choking me. It affected the others around me, stunting the tossing of the bombs, the sound of the gunfire.

“Keep moving, people!” I cough-shouted.

I realized then that the sounds of Dana wailing, that haunted, heart-wrenching sound, had quieted. I hadn’t heard gunfire from the Hen House. I wondered if Don had picked up his blade again, had sliced their throats to silence their mouths.

Picking up the binoculars, the cocktails resuming their arced flight through the smoky air, I turned and focused on the Hen House. I knew I wouldn’t be able to tell anything. I knew the windows would still be boarded, the door still closed…

But it wasn’t closed.

The front door to the Hen House was wide-open. And in front of that opened entrance, slow-walked my granddaughter, my Dana. And she was weighted on one side by something heavy in her hand. I lowered myself from that cocked-down shoulder and found her grip tightened around a wad of fibers that were brown. Oily.

Not fibers.

Hair.

Human hair.

Don’s hair.

I swallowed a lump that sprung into life, blocking my airways. “Fuck,” I breathed, too low to be heard over the constant sound of exploding glass, bestial cries, and gunfire. There wasn’t a choice now. I had to say goodbye to Dana.

I moved swiftly, binoculars still against my face, to look out into the mass of still-moving zombies.

Ten children and sixteen adults still standing.

Most of the large ZULUs were so ruined by bullets and fire that they’d fallen to the ground at the base of the wall. Too many. Still too many. I didn’t need the glasses to see them, their burnt hands clawing at the metal wall, looking to gain purchase, but for some reason I kept them to my face, depressed against my eyes, pushing hard against my sockets. Something was bothering me. Something I’d seen but refused to recognize.

There.

There she was.

Elaine. My daughter. What used to be my daughter.

As if drawn by a magnet, her eyes found mine.

Her body was scorched, burned black and crumbling from the Molotov cocktail that had eaten her floral dress. She was naked, yet not. The flakiness of her skin acted almost like material as she moved, bits flapping upwards to give a shot of bright red meat beneath the charcoal.

She opened her mouth, that too-elongated expression that set my teeth on edge, and screamed again. This time, it almost sounded like a word. It almost sounded like ‘Dana’. And I fucking hoped it was my imagination.

But behind me, another scream sounded.

And this one, most definitely, sounded like Mom.

“Jesus Christ,” AJ shouted beside me. “Did you hear that?”

I didn’t respond. I was frozen.

For the first time in my life, I was frozen and didn’t know what the fuck to do. This was my shadow.

This was my shadow and I was fucking jumping at it.

Dropping the binoculars, not caring that they fell and slid down the roof of the bus making a sound not unlike nails on a chalkboard, I aimed the M-16. I was going to shoot my daughter. I was going to shoot Elaine.

Dammit, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t shoot her in the face, in the eyes and mouth that looked so much like her mother’s.

“Fuck,” I breathed; the exhalation of the word taking longer than it should, like a stringy piece of cheese falling away from your mouth as you try to take a bite of pizza. And then it finally separated, hanging from my lips and swaying. Swaying like I would never be rid of that one word.

That one realization.

All the careful planning, everything I’d done and others had done to make this safe haven.

All ruined because I couldn’t say goodbye to my granddaughter?

Yeah, maybe.

“Fuck.” Once more I said the word, blowing away the first use of it with the more forceful second.

“Hunter, what’s wrong?” AJ was still aiming, still looking for a target. That’s what I needed to be doing instead of wallowing in the ‘what ifs’.

“That’s my daughter” I pointed down, at the charred body that was once Elaine. “And that,” I shoved a thumb over my shoulder brutally, as if I wanted to injure myself in the process, “is Dana carrying Don’s head.”

AJ’s eyes widened and she turned around, forgetting the cat and mouse game we were paying with the ZULUs trying to scale the wall. “Oh, my God,” her words were nearly a whisper, nearly lost in the chaos. Her gaze moved to my face once more. “That’s why Dana’s been screaming, that’s why, Hunter. She knew her…her mother was nearby.”

I nodded, that slow sort of nod that means you’re still trying to avoid the truth.

A yell brought our attention back to the wall activity, to the child-sized monsters that were now using the adult bodies as step stools to gain higher ground. The girl in the ruffled dress stood on the shoulders of the boy in khaki overalls. His own feet rested on an adult male’s shoulders who’d lifted his body to stand on the one leg that was still connected to his body. They were positioned four yards to my right, next to the gap in the cars.

The once-a-girl was high enough now that her fingers could claw and grip at the top of the third car level. She gave a small jump, upwards and to the left, bouncing off the boy and coming to land in a crouch atop the wall.

Mollie was in front of the diminutive ZULU when it landed. She screamed, trying to back away. But there was only so much space the roof of the car provided. Only so much separation it would allow. Mollie had been about to throw a lit Molotov cocktail down at the advancing monsters. It became a forgotten thing in her hand, the wick burning away. I opened my mouth to yell, to remind her to throw it before it blew up and killed her.

I wasn’t fast enough with the warning.

Moving like lightning, the ruffle-decorated monstrosity jolted forward, grabbing the makeshift bomb away from Mollie. With her free hand, the once-a-girl pushed Mollie hard in the stomach, sending her backwards, over the wall, to fall the twenty plus feet to the hard ground. Then, as if that pain was not enough, the girl gave a twisted, murderous smile and she threw the bomb down… down to land on Mollie’s chest.

Mollie didn’t have enough time to roll away or toss the bomb a safe distance. It exploded right after contact. It exploded and she screamed.

This time, it was not fear that opened her mouth, it was agony. The agony of glass shards slicing her skin and flame catching her dyed hair on fire.

I rushed forward, balancing across the edge of the tilted bus like a mountain goat on steep terrain. The M-16 was up mechanically, pressed against my shoulder and aiming as if it held a life of its own, a freedom of its own, to shoot and kill what it wanted.

This was training- this was what it felt like. This is what it meant to walk through the shadows like you were part of the darkness.

The gun fired when I was about ten feet from the girl who was hoisting the overall-wearing boy monster up onto the wall. Behind me, I heard AJ shout and fire. If we didn’t control this now, right fucking now, then the fort was going to be a goner. I knew it in my gut.

The first bullet caught the boy in the temple, the entry hole looking like a cigar burn on a kid’s arm and the exit hole infinitely larger, the bullet leaving the skull in a spray of black fluid and meatier things.

My second bullet caught the ruffled monster in the chest directly where her heart should be. She froze when the shot entered, froze in surprise like she’d made it so far and this shouldn’t be the end. In slow motion, her small body turned to me, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

Monsters should not be able to look shocked. They should not be able to look so innocent as the life drains away from them.

I shot her again, this time finding home between her eyebrows. She fell as the bullet exited, further splattering the banged-up white metal of the car beneath her. That was for Mollie, bitch.

I barely gave myself time to think the words before I spun around, finding AJ going hand-to-hand with a freckle-faced demon with short, blonde, blood-tinged hair. They both held the M-16, battling for dominance. I rushed forward, only giving my footing enough focus not to fall.

They were too close together to risk shooting. I shifted the M-16 to one hand and I reached for the knife strapped to my ankle. It was small, sharp, the sheath soft enough that I often forgot it was there.

It was awkward moving and extracting the knife, but I managed.

And when I was near enough, I reared back my arm and I sunk the four-inch blade down to the hilt, embedding it in the kid’s baby fine buzz-cut scalp. His body fell away from AJ’s and she straightened up, brushing sweat off her forehead that was threatening to spread to her eyes. We said nothing. We just kept fighting.

The way the bus was positioned, tilted and lying on the Jeep, created a gap in the wall. A gap that could be crawled through if one hoisted themselves up to the V-shaped crack. I found Elaine now.

I found her body as she pushed into that space.

And then I turned and found my granddaughter just on the other side, her free hand outstretched and Don’s head still held by the hair swinging like a sickly pendulum from her other, occupied hand.

***

SHERRY

AJ had been gone about an hour or so, maybe longer. Juan thought about going after her at one point to see what she was up to but he’d decided to stay with me and Marty. It’s funny how much my feelings were changing towards Juan. I could be his friend, but any romanticism was gone, withered and dead like the flowers I planted outside my house every year but forgot to water.

Marty and I had colored and colored and colored, having found art supplies stuffed beneath the couch cushions, in pocketed areas we didn’t know existed. We should have guessed though. RVs always have such inventive storage solutions.

A delightful rainbow was now spread out across the unattractive carpeting that could still be seen through the thin loose sheet the previous owners of the RV had stuffed into a dollhouse-size linen closet in the bathroom. I ignored the slightly darker portions of carpet showing through the sheet, the dried blood, the memory painted on the carpet.

It reminded me of these photos our history teacher had shown us junior year of high school. Pictures of Hiroshima that showed the shadow figures—the only proof that a person had once stood in a singular spot and died in the blast. Imprints, he called them.

The blood stains were imprints, the only proof that a family had once been in this RV and that they had died.

“I really like that one, buddy. What is it?” I pointed at a particular picture alive with swashes of turquoise, sage, and sunflower yellow.

“Mom’s garden,” he quietly said, putting the finishing touches on a white house with red shutters. “And this is Grandma’s house.”

“They’re really beautiful. Did you like art in school?”

He nodded. “It was my favorite class, although Mr. Spumnick wasn’t always nice.”

“Spumnick, that was his real name?” I laughed, picking up the one he said was his mom’s garden and trying to gently press out a crease that had whispered through the paper, giving the flowers wrinkles.

“Yeah. Some of the older kids changed it. Made his name sound…” He hesitated.

“Let me guess, they made it sound dirty and sexual.”

He nodded again. “Do you think I’ll see my Grandma’s house again? Do you think she’ll care that I lost Louie?”

It took me a moment, but soon I remembered who Louie was—the three-foot stuffed dinosaur that liked to cause trouble. Imaginary trouble. “No, I don’t’ think she’ll care, buddy. I think, more than anything, she’ll be glad that you’re safe.”

Juan was leaning back against the sofa, his legs outstretched, crossed at the ankle. His arms rested loosely across his chest. A weapon was nearby, ready to fire I’m sure, and his eyes were closed. A few times I’d heard him grunt softly, caught in a brief period of dozing. Then his lashes would separate wide and fast as if he hadn’t meant to fall asleep and danger could come into the RV at any second.

I was glad to have a moment away from that, away from the terror of the fight. Away from the monsters. “Do you like mine?” I let the garden fall against my crisscross legs and I leaned forward, picking up the misshapen horse with the pink saddle.

“It’s a little girlie, but it’s nice.” Marty’s voice was full of placating innocence, the way a child that’s telling a lie sugarcoats things so it won’t be so cutting, so adult.

Knock.

Knock.

A quiet tapping sounded at the door. It wasn’t tentative or shy, just purposefully soft. I don’t know why, but that fact made it send my heart thumping up into my throat. I’d much rather have been startled by an abrupt, loud banging.

“Coming!” Juan called, jumping up fast from the sofa as if he hadn’t been dozing only seconds before.

He opened the door and moved to one side enough that we both could see Martha. “You folks need to come into the club house for a while.” Her gaze flicked to Marty on the floor and I could tell she wanted to say more but didn’t want to scare the boy.

“Sure,” Juan said, slow nodding. “We can do that.” His eyes also shifted, finding me and Marty on the floor. Marty wasn’t paying attention, adding a thick black outline around his grandma’s house. It made the whole picture seem dark, less cheery. Maybe that was the point.

“What’s going on?” I asked the question, knowing the two other adults were purposefully trying to sidestep whatever was going on, for the boy’s sake.

“Oh, just something we do every now and then. Nice to get everyone together and inside,” Martha said in a clear, authoritative voice that clearly told me to ‘come along and stop asking questions’. There was urgency. Something bad was happening. Of course something bad was happening. We couldn’t just have a peaceful stay here and move on our merry way without incident.

I stood. “Marty, come on, buddy. Maybe Ms. Martha can find us something sweet to snack on.” I smiled when he looked at me, wide and sincere so, hopefully, he could avoid the onset of fear which was springing to life in my stomach.

“Ice cream?” he chirped, gathering up all of our drawings in a neat pile and placing each crayon gently in the plastic bag we’d found them in. He was a conscientious child, a gentle thing. He was the kind of son I’d want to have if I was ever blessed with motherhood.

That thought made me look at him with more intensity, recognizing what a special boy he was. It was the end of the world. This was my motherhood, perhaps my only crack at it.

“I can scrounge you up something.” Martha’s voice was still clear, strong, but also tender. “Growing boys need goodies.”

It’s something a grandmother figure would say. Here we were- an unlikely mother and stand-in grandmother. ‘Family’ forged by blood and ruin.

Juan stepped to the side of the door so Marty and I could climb out of the RV. Martha was already heading towards the clubhouse entrance. I didn’t begin following her until he stepped down also, joining us on the paved parking lot.

“What do you think’s going on?” I spoke low, barely above a whisper so Marty, skipping in front of us, wouldn’t hear.

“I doubt they have random middle-of-the-day gatherings for no reason.” Juan’s voice wasn’t stressed. He had more faith in this community than I did. Maybe it was his martial arts discipline attracting to other types of discipline—AJ’s law enforcement mentality…other things about AJ.

Like her gorgeous looks and ability to kick bad guy ass.

I sighed, wanting to say something else to Juan, but nothing came to mind. I was coming to terms with the ‘ship has sailed’ in reference to me and Juan. Jesus, there’d never been a me and Juan. It had all been fantasies, on both of our sides. I mean, at least on my side.

We entered the club house, the air conditioning hitting against my face. Colder than the RV. Cold enough to give me goosebumps, but I wondered if that was more a result of my jumpy nerves versus it actually being too cool.

The cold wasn’t what should have caught my attention.

What I should have realized first was that we’d just walked into what appeared to be a completely empty building. Not a single person sat at the tables. Not a single person bustled about the room.

Martha hovered at the door to the kitchens, the door she’d strode out of during breakfast. “Y’all are moving like turtles.”

“I thought we were going to have something sweet?” Marty had stopped walking. So had Juan and I, I realized. “No one’s here.”

“They are. Just gathered in another spot. Now come on.” Martha waved her hand, beckoning us forward, and then she pushed through the door to the kitchens. To the kitchens, and wherever else the entrance led.

Juan and I exchanged a glance and then we followed. “Come on, buddy.” I took Marty’s hand as I passed, bending down slightly to reach his fingers. It felt right, our two hands intertwined. I gave a little squeeze, causing his eyes to flick upwards to my face. When I smiled, he tried to smile back, God love him.

The space beyond the door was a kitchen. Smaller than I expected, but everything a person would need to make decent meals. There were two other doors, one leading to a small wash room, the other leading to what looked like a store room.

The latter is where Martha stood, looking impatient again. We watched as she shifted a large shelving unit out of the way to reveal yet another door. “This isn’t some secret passageway, as y’all might be thinking. The golf course developers didn’t have the foresight to expect hell on earth.” She gave an abrupt, throaty laugh. “We added the shelf, quarantined this part off. It leads to a large conference space. There was a second entrance but we boarded that up. And the windows of course.”

We followed her through the door she’d just revealed and opened.

“This way, the kitchen staff could access both sides of the building. One side for normal golfers, other side for special events and such.” Martha closed the door again once we were all behind it and then she locked it. Two deadbolts plus a thick slab of wood nestled on two same-height brackets. “We added a few security measures here and there but nothing fancy. It’s a good place to keep the kids and people who can’t fight.”

“I can fight. I shouldn’t be in here.” Juan’s voice was confident.

I spoke fast, not wanting Martha to respond. Not wanting him to leave. I may not want to jump his bones anymore, but he still made me feel safe.

“Why wouldn’t you just secure this whole building?” My words came out in a fast jumble. And then I remembered something I’d thought about the club house when we’d first entered. No wonder the outside of the club house seemed so big compared to the inside. We weren’t seeing more than half of the actual interior. I could hear soft voices now. We were walking through a dim hallway, boarded up windows on one side, a line of mirrors on the other.

“Well, that’d be Hunter’s doing. He likes the view from the dining area, likes the sun coming in. Says it cheers him up.” Martha turned the knob on one more door. “That man usually gets what he wants. Then again, he also saved all these people by setting this place up so fast. I don’t imagine any other man in the world could have done what my Hunter did.”

“I think you might be right, Martha,” Juan said. And the conviction in his voice kept me from saying anything else, from questioning anything else. I wasn’t sure of this place, wasn’t sure at all, but I could tell that Juan might stay here if it wasn’t for AJ needing to move on, to get to her station. AJ again. This time I didn’t sigh. You don’t sigh when an unavoidable truth keeps rearing its head. That’s just a waste of energy. And I wasn’t the type of girl to waste energy. If I was, then I’d waste away my waist a little more often.

I almost laughed at that thought but I didn’t.

I’m sure all of the people in the large room, sitting and lying on sleeping bags, would have looked at me like I was an insane person. Insane at the end of the world. Insane in the membrane.

Shit, laughing would make me feel better, dammit.

No sooner did Martha close the door behind us, again locking the door with several bolts and other measures, then gunfire erupted in the distance.

Juan placed his hand on Martha’s shoulder as she put the piece of wood in place. “Martha, AJ’s out there. I should be too. I can handle myself.”

“They’ve got it under control, Juan. You’re a good man for wanting to go help. You can do a world of help here too if things get out of hand.” Martha lifted her own hand and patted his gently. “Take care of Sherry and the boy. He looks shaken up. There’s a few plates of cookies over on that table.” She pointed. “Just so he doesn’t feel totally suckered into coming here.”

I turned away from them, Marty’s hand still firmly in mine, and looked where Martha had pointed. A round table sat in the corner of the room, laden with cookies and water bottles. “Cookie?” I questioned, looking down at the boy and realizing Martha was right. He’d put two and two together. He knew we weren’t here for a gathering or any sort of fun.

Marty’s eyes found mine, his face pale and drained of color. “Sure,” he croaked in the barest whisper of a whisper. We began walking.

Several women carrying firearms moved also, catching my attention as Marty and I headed towards the large piles of chocolate chips and snickerdoodles. The women each took a spot at the back of the conference room next to another row of boarded-up windows. These windows had strategic holes in the wood to provide sightlines. I found it comforting that the glass beyond those holes were unscathed. Unbroken.

No bullets had been fired to protect this room.

That had to mean that here, we were safe.

Another round of gunfire sounded, invisible bullets pushing through my skin to embed in my stomach and make all the assurances I tried to mentally feed myself, die.

Nowhere was safe now.

And if I’d known this is where I’d end up at the end of things; still overweight, still single, still battling the occasional bout of teenage-inspired acne- I probably would have said screw the diet shakes, screw the self-starvation, screw the gym memberships I never used. I would have eaten cake. I would have eaten cake as often as I freaking wanted.

Because there’s no dessert at the end.

We were at the cookies now, Marty already reaching for a perfectly-browned circle of goodness.

And I did laugh.

I fucking laughed because there was dessert. Here, folks, join the apocalypse. We’ve got zombies and white chocolate macadamia nut. And they’re simply to die for.

Marty and I both ate a cookie huddling together on the cool floor so close to the sweets table that the white cloth covering its surface brushed my shoulder. It felt like we sat there forever, muffled screams and gunfire the soundtrack that muted the soft conversations around us. I didn’t look at the people enduring this with us. I didn’t want to see the ‘what ifs’ on their faces. It would just compound what I was feeling and I didn’t need that.

Finally, after a lifetime, the chaotic CD outside shut off. The voices around us fell into silence, joining the quietude. And then, I did look at the expressions of hope and fear and fragility. Then, and only then, did I entertain the ‘what ifs’ that surrounded me.

***

AJ

I saw the war raging on Hunter’s face. I saw anger and frustration and disbelief.

But then I saw him aim his gun at his once-daughter.

I saw him pull the trigger.

I saw the bullet enter her temple and her face go slack.

And then he turned towards his granddaughter.

“Hunter, let me.” I moved my body, getting her in my sight lines. Balancing on the edge of the tipped bus had been increasingly more difficult, so I’d moved to the adjacent car across the gap in the fence where his daughter had been trying to pass through.

“No, AJ. This is my job. My doing. I never should have kept my granddaughter alive. I knew it was wrong, knew it in my bones. And look what it’s caused.”

Nodding, I said nothing more, because I understood. He and I were both the type of people who had to right whatever wrongs had happened at our own hands. It was a sense of honor. I aimed at another demon child trying to climb up the wall. I wasn’t the only one shooting. Bullets flew like falling stars, digging into the last of the assaulters.

There were only three Z kids left standing now. The adults were ripped to shreds, even the adult male that had lifted his one-legged body up so the overall-wearing mini-monster could stand on his shoulders and fallen back to the ground. They still tried though, still flailed and shifted and tried to stand to mount the wall. I wondered if they did it of their own accord, or if the remaining Z kids were making them continue to try.

Don had said the adults would fight if the kids weren’t around, that they would go for fresh meat. That could have been a fluke though. They’d only had battle dome once. I shudder, thinking about it. It was wrong. These people couldn’t help what had happened to them, they hadn’t asked to be changed, to be altered. To die.

Pitting them against one another in some sick Ultimate Fighting Championship was inhumane.

Finally, after what seemed like an endless barrage of bullets and so many hours that my trigger finger was starting to cramp, the guns quieted. And everything became eerily quiet. So silent that a pin dropping would have been a punch to the eardrums.

The first thing to break the silence was Hunter talking into the radio he’d had clipped to his belt this whole time. “SIERRA, this is HOTEL. Do you copy? Over.”

Silence like fog descended once more. No answer. He waited. We all waited.

“SIERRA, this is HOTEL. Do you copy? Over.”

Fog. More fog.

“Get the injured to the pro shop for tending. Pile up the bodies and burn ‘em,” Hunter’s voice called out, the radio returning to its place clipped to his belt. I could tell he was making an effort not to look down at his daughter’s inert body wedged in the crack between the tilted bus and car wall or at the space a few yards into the fort where his granddaughter Dana was folded against the hard ground. Don’s head had fallen from her grip and rolled a yard away from her. Even from the height and distance I was at, I could see that his eyes were open. It made my blood run cold as ice in my veins.

“I want to go check on my friends,” I said, looking for my easiest route down from the wall.

“I’m sure Martha’s got them in the safe room.” He looked down too, shifting his feet on the angled bus. I didn’t know how he’d stood on it so long. My calves were aching from the strain of keeping my balance. Hunter really was part mountain lion. “I need to check on Sloane. I know you’re worried about your friends, but I promise you they’re safe. I can’t say the same about my men and Sloane is like family.”

I knew what he was asking and knew why he wouldn’t say it out right. I wasn’t one of his people. I had no obligation to follow him into another fight. I would, though. Of course I would.

“I’ll come with you if you could use an extra hand.”

He didn’t allow relief to show on his face. He didn’t posture or feign extreme gratitude. He just said ‘thanks’. A single word, but I knew the weight behind it.

***

HUNTER

As we drew closer to the battle raging at the back wall, I heard M-60s open up and then rifles. Sloane and seven other men stood atop the wall, using short controlled bursts so the weapons wouldn’t heat up and jam. The seven still with him weren’t all part of the eight he’d chosen at the wall. Some had to be the group Martha sent out after Jacob went to warn her. She’d have sent four, maybe five people. Probably some of the Guardian Angels because they would have already been with her.

I saw no women, only men. I knew that meant we’d lost people here, more than at the front gate. Five or six dead. That blood, too, was on my head. All for the love of a daughter and a granddaughter.

I slammed my truck into park behind the wall next to the black cargo van Sloane drove. Getting out, M-6 at the ready, I looked up and caught sight of one man who had paused firing to glance behind. It was a guy we’d nicknamed Duke because he claimed to hail from some aristocratic line in England, yet looked, talked, and acted like a coarse country boy. He was a good aim, though, one Martha must have sent. He didn’t say anything or nod, he just went back to firing at the incoming ZULUs.

It was a fact that Duke couldn’t die here. He’d served as a field medic in the Army for over five years and we needed him. Aside from a girl a year into nursing school, he had the most medical training in the community.

AJ and I walked closer to the wall, me in the lead, and both of us simultaneously looked at the bodies of the men laid out side-by-side next to the single and double pile of cars that acted like a faux staircase. Georgie. Shane. Willy. Each head bore a bullet hole. They’d made sure they wouldn’t come back as one of those things. That was good. Beside those carefully rested bodies, was a smoking pile of blackened flesh and peeking bones. The Z kids AJ and I had killed when we were here. The trap-layers. They weren’t just burned by the sun now, they were overdone BBQ, too charred for even good sauce to make them edible.

We mounted the cars, working our way onto the wall to join bullets to the cacophony of war.

Sloane gave a jerky, fast nod when I took position beside him.

And then I looked out onto the terrain, to ingest the enemy numbers beyond the border of the world we’d built so fast, thinking we could survive whatever the hell was happening to the world.

We’d worked tirelessly piling the cars, running the wires, bolting the metal. Some days, we’d run off coffee and adrenaline. What we’d accomplished in about two weeks would seem impossible to someone who hadn’t witnessed the well-planned, coordinated efforts. Even with the game plan in place, the buddies on board, the fort was still a miracle. A miracle I didn’t want to give up.

But there were so many. More here than at the front of the wall.

Sloane and the men had put a massive dent in the attackers. Some were too riddled with holes to move, others dragged bleeding lower halves across the dusty ground. One Z adult was a mass of stringy flesh and intestines from the hip down. She army-crawled, her mouth gaping open and closed, a Z kid in a purple romper holding the end of her necklace in her hand and urging her onward.

The rest of the small monsters were racing forward, fast and furious, their short legs pumping at Olympic speeds.

But Sloane’s men were effective, downing the incomings before they could get within five yards of the wall.

I didn’t understand how there were so many. We’d scouted this terrain, we’d checked the abandoned military vehicles. We’d done everything we could to ensure there wasn’t some secret den of fuckers lying in wait.

We’d seen a stray monster here and there, but this…

These monsters had joined the hunt, they’d been recruited. Not mindless creatures. They were mothers seeking daughters. They were strategists. Tactical.

The weapons on the wall were being fired in full fury. Bestial screams sounded, filtering through the noise of gunfire. I could also tell the pitch of the weapons was changing, getting loader and more pronounced. I lifted my gun, AJ following suit, and I joined the fight.

Pop.

Pop.

Pop.

I kept track of my trigger pulls in my head; I followed the tract of my bullets. It was a way to stay focused in the din, a tactic I’d used before.

Sloane yelled, “Someone get that bitch!”

My eyes flicked to the left, finding the once-a-kid that had pushed through that magical fifty-foot line they’d been trying to maintain. It was a boy, pale as snow, unlike the other Z kids we’d seen too-long exposed to the sun. This one had been protected, preserved. He moved the tiniest bit faster than his counterparts, hoping from foot to foot like he was traversing tires at a football training camp.

He dodged each shot that came his way. We tried, even I tried, but no one could fell him.

And then, when he was ten feet from the wall, he crouched and leaped. He leaped into the air and landed on the body of a Rick Jarvis, a man who’d worked his entire life as a line cook and had had very little gun experience before finding his way to the fort a few days after the shit hit the fan.

Rick screamed, dropping his gun and trying to push the Z kid off of him. No one could shoot, it would put the man as well as the monster at risk. Sloane swung his gun onto his shoulder by the webbed strap and he pulled out a 12-inch Bowie knife from the sheath at his waist. I knew the knife. His wife had given it to him for their anniversary two years ago. It even had a nice engraving.

Lunging forward, Sloane pushed his own hand into the space between Rick and the Z’s body. He pulled the monster too him, feeling around and making sure he’d only sink the knife into the ZULU’s body. And then he pushed the tip of the blade against the side of the once-a-boy, angled it at about 45 degrees and pushed, pushed until the full foot length of the sharpness slid into the flesh and found the heart.

The boy went limp, but not before Rick screamed bloody murder. When Sloane lifted and threw the boy over the side of the wall to land with a ‘thunk’ on the smoldering pile of other Z kid bodies, I saw why Rick had yelled.

His nose was bitten nearly clean off, but not. It hung by a single piece of flesh, about the width of a pencil. It swung from his face, a sickly tail wagging below a hole that spurted blood. Rick’s eyes rolled back in his head and he began to fall. Sloane tried to catch him, but he couldn’t.

It was a slow-motion scene- Rick’s body falling off the wall to join the Z kid’s that had just mauled his face- and we had no rewind button.

“Keep shooting, dammit!” I yelled, when I realized half the men were staring at what had just happened. “There’s still more!”

I jumped down off the main wall to the layer of two cars and then jumped twice more to land on the ground. AJ stayed on the wall, shooting and taking out the ZULUs still attacking.

By the time I reached Rick, he was going into shock from blood loss. The fall hadn’t been enough to kill him or even break bones because he’d landed mostly on Georgie. I took off the plaid shirt that was buttoned-up over my white under tee and I balled it up, gently pushing the barely-held on and bloody nose slightly to the side so I could apply pressure to the large wound.

I knew it wasn’t going to do any good. The blood flowed like a river despite the cloth and the pressure of my hand and beneath my two fingers that I pressed to his wrist; also, I could feel his pulse slowing.

“Fuck, Rick, stay with me.” I pushed the wad of cloth more firmly. “Come on, dammit. I’m not going to tell your son that you died here today.”

Rick’s eyelids parted a fraction, his face screwing up in pain, more pain than I could fathom. I’d been shot, but I could imagine a bullet was nothing like getting your goddamn nose ripped off.

“Come on, Rick.”

His eyelids parted a little more. He was trying. That, unlike the pulse throbbing ever slower beneath my touch, was a good sign.

I gave him an ‘attaboy’ grin when his eyes opened wide. Scared-awake wide. Until I realized it wasn’t the will to stay alive blooming in his gaze, it was fear. Abject fear. He was seeing the reaper.

And the reaper was a once-a-boy that wasn’t as dead as Sloane had thought when he’d thrown him off the wall.

His pale body was streaked with charcoal, brushed like a wild painter had taken some cocaine and gone to town. I turned around too slow. I’d let down my guard. Even tending a wounded man, there was no excuse. Not thinking about Rick, his chances of surviving, I pulled my hand away from the wound, stained plaid shirt still gripped in my hand. I jerked without thinking, shoving that bloody-ruined mass of cloth into the incoming beast’s face. His mouth was open and he gagged as I shoved the shirt between his lips. I shoved it harder, further down into his throat, and he slapped out at me, nails trying to find purchase in my skin.

Then I felt pain.

Pain like a hot iron pressing against my side. No, not against, but into my side. A red-hot poker forcing a path through my flesh, barely missing my organs. A bullet. I’d been shot.

Then more pain. More pain, but this time my right shoulder. Another through-and-through.

The monster trying to attack slacked its jaw and screamed, the sound added to the pain.

Pain and more pain.

I fell back against Rick’s body, too focused on my own wounds to notice whether he was still breathing. The once-a-kid fell on top of me, still wriggling and trying to bite.

One more time, pain coursed through me like radio waves. I couldn’t see it, but I could hear it. I could feel it. Music with a harsh tempo, a staccato of noise. A drum beat added to the thrum of cymbals in my head. I realized after only a moment that it was the sound of my blood pumping through my veins. Wetness trailed down my face.

Pump. Pumping.

Pumping…

And then, despite my best damn efforts, the world went black.

***

I woke up fast, taking in the world around me through blurry eyes. I was a diver come up from a long time under, the tanks strapped to his back low on oxygen, his mask fogging from the change in temperature from water to air.

As my eyes cleared, I saw a pretty filly staring down at me. I blinked twice, rubbing toothpaste on the invisible mask and then mentally rinsing it away with saltwater to clear my vision fully. The expression of concern on the onlooker’s face struck me as almost comical and forced me to smile at least until the wave of pain hit me. People don’t look at me like that, as a general rule, because I’m rarely in a position for people to be concerned over my wellbeing. Even when I am in that position, banged-up, shot, bleeding, people still don’t look at me that way. I’m just not that kind of person, to elicit concern. Maybe it’s because people always assume I’ll pull through. Martha once said that I was related to the cockroach. No matter what came at me, I’d keep kicking.

I tried to sit up and it felt like someone had smashed my head with a sledgehammer. No, scratch that, it felt like someone was still whacking at my head. I breathed out the longest string of expletives I’d ever uttered in my life. Every word in the book, enough to warrant a soap-in-mouth punishment had my grandmother Paulie been alive.

“Hold it there, cowboy, no moving just yet. Duke said you need a few more days sack time. Pure damn luck that you didn’t die.” The speaker wasn’t the concerned face still staring at me. No, this speaker was one I knew like the back of my hand.

“Don’t start fussing over me like an old biddy, Martha Magnolia Tate,” I said, but I also laid back down as she bid.

“Calling me an old biddy and using my maiden name isn’t going to do you any favors you old billy goat.” That’s when I heard the note of grief in Martha’s words and it both sobered me up and brought me fully back to reality.

“I’m okay, Martha. I promise.”

She came into view then, her hair disheveled, the beautiful lines on her face deepened with worry. “I thought I was going to lose you, Hunter.” Tears escaped her eyes and damn near put me down right then and there like a lame horse too broke to be cured.

I reached out and took her hand. “I’m alright.”

She nodded quickly in response and then moved her body to stand near the head of the bed. I looked over at AJ, the first face I’d seen. The expression of concern had faded a bit.

“How many did we lose?” It was the question that had been slamming at my temples ever since I first came back to the surface of being alive.

“A lot,” is all she said, and that was enough.

“Dammit.”

“But the fort is safe, Hunter. My friends are fine. It could have been worse.”

“Any of the ones we lost married?” The second most important question, at least in my mind.

She nodded. “Four of them and I know that Jacob and Morgan weren’t married, but he’s as torn up as any of them. Morgan’s body was smashed into the back of the Jeep. They did a number on her.”

“They were planning on getting hitched, asked me to officiate since we don’t have a pastor.” I gripped Martha’s hand a bit more firmly. “Damn shame.”

“Losing people is always a shame,” she confirmed, putting her hands on her hips and dipping her head just the tiniest fraction, as if she wanted to bow her head completely and give into her own personal memories of loss. “We buried the bodies that we could two days ago on the bank of the largest pond and burned everyone…everything else. Some of your people added grave markers to the ones we buried and Martha said a few words since you weren’t there.”

“I’m sure Martha’s words were a hell of a lot more eloquent than mine would have been. I’m not poetic. Usually just cross myself and ask the good lord to help them along the way to whatever’s next.” I sighed, closing my eyes. After less than a minute though, my eyelids parted quickly. She’d said two days ago! Two days. “Wait, how the hell long was I out?”

“Five days. You got shot three times, Hunter. That’s not something most men would walk away from,” Martha responded this time, using her free hand to pat my shoulder.

“I’m not most men,” I grumbled, using my own hand that didn’t hold hers to feel around and find the bandages. One at my side, one at my shoulder, and a big damn bandage wrapped around my head. Don’t know why I hadn’t felt it before- maybe that’s why I’d felt like I was wearing a dive mask. “Who the fuck shot at me.”

“Hunter, pretty much everyone was scrambling to keep that thing from sinking its teeth into you.”

“But there wasn’t a damn clear shot.”

“So you’d rather have not gotten shot, but been bitten and turned into one of those monsters?” AJ said it like she knew the answer, like she knew every fucking thing about me. Maybe it was the pain, but that pissed me off more. Even though I knew I was being stupid. And Rangers aren’t stupid. They can’t be stupid, or they die.

I swallowed down the anger, the pissed-offness, the pain and I shook my head. “No, dammit. I know being shot was preferable to the alternative, but dammit, three times. Who the hell shot me three times?”

“Two different people shot you, Hunter, and trust me when I say, they aren’t going to confess to it. Shit, in my mind, they should because you owe them a damn thank you.” AJ was standing so close to the bed that she could rock her body slightly forward and push at the mattress. Her face said ‘You’re alive, idiot. Stop getting your boxers in a wad’.

“I’d love to say thank you if you just tell me their names.” I gave a sly smile, knowing how it made me look like I was a kid staring in a mirror practicing my best ‘come hither’ face. AJ was about to respond, her own mouth a sarcastic, curved line, but Martha decided, for the second time, that she should answer the question.

“Hunter, you’re going to leave those boys alone. They saved you and have double cake and liquor privileges for a month. Besides,” she paused for effect, letting go of my hand so she could turn to look at me full in the face, “looks to me like you already gave them a piece of your mind, in a manner of speaking.” She brushed a finger against the head bandage.

And then, dammit, both AJ and Martha broke out into laughter so loud, it made my already-hurting head open the gates to welcome a bona fide migraine.

***

AJ

The sun was coming up once more over Fort Del Rio, fingers of riotous color walking their way across the lightening sky. It was beautiful, angelic. I didn’t like it. Not a bit.

The unreal vividness of dark pinks weaving in and out of careless golden streaks made me think of blood, crimson wetness against sun-kissed, or naturally melanin-rich, skin. And I’d seen too much of that lately, no matter how beautiful this sunrise was, it still felt morbid to me. Turning away from the brilliant colors, I walked into the building that acted as the hospital for the fort. I wanted to see if Duke, the ex-Army medic, could spare any basic medical supplies. I had a feeling he’d give me something, but it would be a pittance. A place like Fort Del Rio doesn’t survive by investing in folks passing through. At least, it shouldn’t. It needed everything it had to support its own people.

I’d refused to leave until Hunter was back on his feet and able to go back to running the show. Sherry and Juan hadn’t liked that. After the defenses were almost breached, those two were ready to hit the ground running. I felt a responsibility. Not to Hunter really or the community he’d help build, but to… Hell, I don’t know. To life, I guess. To leaving this place the way we’d found it with Hunter at the helm.

Not that I was actually needed. Hunter could have stayed in bed for as long as he’d wanted and I was about as necessary as a spindle of thread to sew on buttons in a world that ran on Velcro. Sloane and Duke had stepped right in, temporarily filled the leader position, and got everybody back to work. The bodies of the Z kids and adults had been dumped in a mass pit and burned until nothing save ash remained. No one cried at first.

No, that’s a lie.

Martha cried at the start because her daughter and granddaughter had been among the burning mass of flesh and bone. Someone had suggested burying anyone who was once the loved one of a fort occupant, but they only buried the dead that hadn’t been infected at time of death or had died before infection set in. Hunter’s rule; and even though he hadn’t been awake to enforce it, no one suggested breaking the edict.

By the time the smoke had died to a smolder and not a single body remained, everyone had shed at least one tear. Regardless of what the Zs had done, this was a disease and once upon a time, they’d been happy, healthy whole.

Once upon a time, someone had loved the girls and boys. Someone had called the adults mother or father or neighbor or friend.

Or maybe all the smoke had just irritated everyone’s eyes. I know that’s the excuse I fed myself, like a warm plate of calorie-free lies.

The day after Hunter regained consciousness a troop of people arrived in a VW micro bus. It was a dull, faded teal with white trim and the front of the bus was missing the iconic silver logo. They were a pitiful lot, battered and bruised with nothing to add in the way of supplies, but the people at the fort welcomed with open arms. Hunter even hobbled his way out of the club house, having transitioned from the makeshift hospital to stay here, nearest to the food and to Martha. This kindness, this openness to survivors, endeared me to Fort Del Rio, even though I knew the darkness beneath the cheery surface. I knew what had once been allowed and I suspected, even with Don’s death, that ‘battle dome’ would carry on. Maybe I was wrong. I hoped I was wrong.

But Hunter’s words resonated- bored people do stupid shit.

And he was right, which made it worse. Bored people in this new world, in this situation, would look for ways to take away the pain, even if that meant causing pain or walking the razor’s edge between sanity and insane acts.

Or maybe bored people could just get some fucking crayons and color away the boredom. That was the new trend for adults, wasn’t it? Here, here’s a coloring book. It’ll solve your damn problems. Just wait until you finish your first complicated picture. Just wait until you see the colors!

I’d never seen the appeal of coloring.

One of the VW arrivals had been an engineer and he’d been, after a hearty meal from Martha, put straight to work finishing the wall. The folks also brought rumors of a military base that was up and running in Las Vegas, Nevada. It had to be Nellis; as far as I knew, it was the only one in the area. Unless it was something makeshift, formed in response to the crisis. That gave me hope, though, hope that Albuquerque Station was operating. This hope, this news, increased Juan and Sherry’s desire to get on the road. And I was right there with them. Sherry had always had doubts about Fort Del Rio. Juan, I suspected, would have gone with me even if there was little hope on the horizon.

Duke didn’t just give me medical supplies. No, he passed along to Hunter that we had some needs and Hunter had graciously made sure the RV was filled, or at least mostly filled, with fuel and food. More food than we need, in addition to giving us one of the M-16s and quite a bit of ammo. I’d told Hunter it wasn’t necessary, but he said it was. Maybe it was one last enticement trying to convince me to stay. He was enough like me to know that a final gift wouldn’t keep me from going where I need to. One thing his generosity did do was make me rethink my own gracious spirit. If I’d been running this place, I’d reserve goods for people who were staying, who were going to contribute. He’d allowed some bad things to go on, but he was still, at his core, a good person.

No, fuck it. I’m just as good. My partner died saving Juan, Sherry, & Marty. I could have died. Isn’t that worth as much as fuel and food?

Maybe not in this new world.

Hunter made it clear that we were part of the community now with an open invitation to return if things didn’t pan out. Despite the corner shadows of this little world Hunter had helped pre-design during beer sessions at a bar with the end of the world in mind, I could only hope there were more like them scattered across the land. More communities furiously built off blood, sweat, tears, and burning bodies. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t pretty. Nothing was perfect or pretty now though.

Besides, if surviving were pretty, it would be an action reserved for social affairs and not the apocalypse. It would be something a girl did in a pageant to catch the judges’ eyes and make herself unforgettable. I would have been ‘surviving’ all those years ago as I sucked in my nonexistent stomach because no matter how small I was and no matter how little I ate, I still felt self-conscious and slinked about the stage in hot pink sequins instead of parading myself around like a side of beef at a steak house trying to win a crown, a title, and a small scholarship.

As I boarded the motor home and began to close the hollow door, Juan already at the wheel and Sherry and Marty already settled on the sofa, Hunter moved a fraction forward from where he’d been standing with Martha and he reached out his hand to keep the door open “AJ,” he said in a serious tone, his face unreadable, “this badge belonged to one of my best friends. He died, oh, five years back now.” In his hand was a large silver star, somewhat tarnished, but still shiny enough to catch light and blink at me like it held a secret within its metal. “This is what a Texas Ranger is. This star, there’s power behind it. That might sound stupid, but—”

I interrupted him. “That doesn’t sound stupid, Hunter.”

He smiled, it was a half-formed thing, his eyes crinkling only a little at the edges and his face showing more age than it had before he’d been injured. “There’s only another 150 like it. Keep it safe. It you ever run into another of us, just show him the badge and tell him I gave to you. It’ll earn you a friend hard and fast.”

“Hunter, I can’t take that,” I said, pointing at the star. It was beautiful. Not in a Mona Lisa hanging in the Louvre way, although I suspected both the star and the lady of the painting held secrets, but in the belief system it stood for, in the sincerity in which it was offered as a gift.

“Yes, you can. I know you don’t agree with some of the things I’ve let happen here, but the world’s changed hard and fast. Hard and fast like a shooting star.” He grabbed my hand, fast so I wouldn’t have time to pull away, and he shifted it, gently prying my fingers open so my palm faced the sky above us. He set the star into the shelf of my hand. “A shooting star, AJ. I haven’t taken the straightest path, but I’ve survived and these people are alive.”

I let my fingers close around the metal of the badge. “Don’s gone. Does that mean that whole…that awful fighting them for entertainment will stop?”

Hunter’s mouth had been a straight line, but now it fell into an obvious frown. “Don wasn’t the one who started that, he just jumped on the bandwagon. There’ll be others wanting to organize it, wanting to go out and try and round up a few. Bored folks do—”

“Do stupid shit,” I finished for him. “Yeah, I heard it the first time. And you know what, Hunter, it’s still a sorry ass excuse. You…you I respect. What you’ve managed to do here so fast, that I respect. But the path to being as evil as the fuckers we’re fighting, that’s a slippery slope.”

“Take some advice from a man you respect, and not a man falling down that slippery slope- shoot first, ask questions later. Stay alive.” The way he said it, a world existed in his words. It enveloped me in shades of shadows, hope, and sadness.

“I understand.” And in truth, I did understand. I understood that he wanted me to stay alive, not in a physical sense, but to keep alive my sense of duty, my sense of rightness. He was telling me to keep focused on my moral compass, to shoot through the sky like the star I gripped in my hand. “Goodbye, Hunter.

He smiled and shook his head. “Goodbye, AJ.”

As I entered the RV, the theme song to Walker Texas Ranger met my ears. It was a soft humming, an unconscious sort of sound. It was coming from Juan, sitting patiently in the driver’s seat, thrumming his fingers against the steering wheel. As the sound died away, killed by the increasing tempo of the engine shifting and firing and pushing us forward, I knew in my gut that I’d never be back to Fort Del Rio or see Hunter again.

PART III

<The Group>

The mobile home navigated the littered road deftly, thanks to the focused hands of Juan. AJ had taken the passenger seat, her legs tilted towards the busted windshield, the toes of her shoes playing against the dirty, cracked glass. She’d had a lot on her mind since leaving Fort Del Rio, not the least of which was images crashing through her brain like they were carried on a roller coaster, the front cars full of bloody meat, the back cars full of salivating zombies.

Battle dome. Ultimate Fighting Championship, but the fighters were already dead. The sick thing was AJ thought that would have gone over well in the world pre-apocalypse.

“Want a snack? Martha sent a ton of sweets,” Marty’s voice floated up to Juan and AJ.

“I can’t believe how much food they gave us.” Sherry’s voice sounded odd, like she was speaking through layers of plastic wrap, her psyche only half-touched by the reality around her. It was distant, quiet, shielded.

“I’m not hungry, but thanks,” Juan said, turning the wheel just a fraction to go around an overturned truck that was sticking slightly into the road.

“I’ll take something.” AJ turned in her seat, looking the little boy full in the face. He seemed so happy, just staring at the cardboard box stocked with dessert-y goodness.

“Éclair, mini sweet potato pie, donut—”

AJ had a feeling that Marty would go on for hours if she didn’t stop him. “Just give me whatever, I’m not picky.”

Marty grabbed something out of the box and he jumped quickly from his knees to a standing position before moving the few feet to AJ. “This looks good, but I’m not sure what it is.”

AJ smiled, reaching her hand out for whatever it was Marty offered. Her smile widened when she held the sweet in her hand. “It’s a plantain fritter. My neighbor back home used to make these when I was young. She’d bring them over hot with a tub of ice cream whenever she knew both my parents were working late.”

“Is it good?” Marty looked like he regretted giving AJ the fritter, now that he knew what it was and that it might be really tasty.

“They are, at least the way my neighbor made them they were.” AJ sniffed at the fritter and then she took a small, tentative bite. Her eyes smiled right along with her mouth when the flavor hit her taste buds. “There’s something a bit different in these, but they’re every bit as good as I remember.” AJ broke the fritter in half, taking the side she’d bitten on for herself and handing the other half to Marty.

Marty took it, a hungry look in his eyes. He nearly shoved the entire half pastry into his mouth. It had been large as far as individual desserts go and he chewed and pushed and struggled for a moment before the half fritter disappeared into his mouth. Then, crumbs falling from between his lips, he grinned and spoke around all the flaky deliciousness. “These really are good.”

Everyone laughed. AJ’s was a distinct, alto rumble that sounded as if her normal mostly-feminine voice had screamed and screamed until she was hoarse. Juan’s was a masculine bark that shredded at the end, falling into chuckling pieces. Sherry’s was a pealing sound, a little hysterical and yet all-to-sane at the same time, like polar-opposite worlds colliding. And Marty… God, his was a child’s laugh.

For a moment, a blissful, dessert-fueled moment, the inside of the motor home sounded like heaven.

And then everyone sobered at the sight of bodies in the road. Dozens of bodies broiled and baked, courtesy of the hot sun above.

***

AJ

I sat in the back of the mobile home and turned the Texas Ranger badge over and over idly as I studied the wrinkled road map. I’d been staring at the map so long that all of the lines and colors and symbols were beginning to look like an abstract painting.

There were basically three ways to get from Del Rio to Albuquerque. To the West via El Paso, which was out of the question. El Paso was large, the kid population would be through the roof, and it was slam up against the Mexican Border. To me, that was kids from all side. And I’d fled the border once already; I didn’t plan on doing it again.

Then there was to the South towards North Lubbock and the outskirts of Amarillo. Lubbock had a population of close to a quarter million; it was no Del Rio, microscopic chance that another Hunter and his compadres had planned for the worst and set that game plan into motion as soon as the shit hit the fan. Combine the size and probable chaos of Lubbock with Amarillo…more potential hostiles than I could imagine. I liked Highway 84; I was the most familiar with it. It avoided Amarillo by 60 miles but it went straight through Lubbock. I hated this.

I hated how the familiar was no longer safe.

The last option was right up the middle through Carlsbad and Roswell. Carlsbad’s population was about ten thousand less than Del Rio and Roswell’s was about 10 thousand more. It was a gamble, but everything was. I had always wanted to see aliens though (maybe not as much lately, if I’m honest).

At normal highway speeds it would have taken only a few hours to get from Del Rio to Fort Stockton, the first real town we’d come across after Del Rio, but we were hardly going highway speeds. Juan kept the big vehicle rolling along around 40 to conserve gas, keeping the window form getting worse and to avoid the occasional road blockages.

So, going grandma speeds, it took a solid four hours to make the trip to Stockton and by the time we began approaching the town, I could tell Juan was getting tired of the mundane driving.

“You ready for a break?” I prodded, pulling my feet down from the dash where they’d been perched once again and sitting up stock straight. It made my back pop unpleasantly and I realized my ass was aching too. It had gone numb, I’d been sitting for so long and it protested my sudden movements.

“Yeah. Know it’s not been that long really, but driving slow is maddening. Few times there, thought I was going to nod off.” Juan cruised to a stop, not bothering to edge towards the side of the road because, hell, there was nothing moving in front of us or behind.

Only a short while later, I rolled past the town welcome sign at a dead slow crawl. No, not dead slow. We knew now that death comes fast. Those Z kids…it was ridiculous how swiftly they could move at times. Mike used to say something like ‘fools rush where angels fear to tread’. I never really understood it, still didn’t understand it, but I knew I wasn’t a fool. Both the angels and I feared the threats that might hide in the town…in any town now.

Bringing the RV and attached trailer to a stop less than a hundred yards from a sports park, I studied the scene. I could see at least three baseball fields beyond the child’s park that boasted slides and swings, but nobody was out swinging the bat today. Instead, at least six large white tents had been set up across the fields; the red dust of the ground had deposited a powdery layer against the bottom of each soiled pale surface like the world was bleeding upwards.

Behind those tents were neatly arranged cars and trucks. There were tables and overturned chairs. Coolers, some open…some closed. It wouldn’t have taken a trained eye to see that this is where the town had tried to organize, to round up survivors, and get them out. There wasn’t a sign of military anywhere. No, this was regular folks trying to save regular folks. I had a feeling they’d failed.

The park was a ghost town. Nothing moved. The world outside the dirty RV windows didn’t even seem to breathe, like it had been suffocated slowly, mercilessly, and left in the dry heat to dehydrate.

Unbuckling and standing up, I turned around to face my three companions. Juan was stretched out on the couch, Sherry and Marty leaning against one another on the floor, both looking at a book. More goodies found stuffed in random hidden RV storage.

“I want to check this out. Doesn’t seem to be anyone around, so should be safe.” I said ‘should’ like I was sure. I wasn’t sure, not even a little bit.

“Then what’s the point?” Sherry lowered the book and let it rest against her lap. “If there’s no one here, what can possibly be gained by taking the risk?”

Marty set his book down also and looked up at AJ. “We’ve got plenty to eat and stuff. We don’t need to stop here. Let’s just keep moving.” The boy’s voice was frightened, trembling. The book in his lap shook with the movement of his fingers connected to his body, vibrating with fast-coming fear.

“It’s always good to try and find out as much as we possibly can. There could be just the piece of intel we need to keep moving forward safely.” I reasoned, but even to me it sounded a bit thin.

“I agree with Sherry and Marty, AJ. This isn’t military. I mean, there’s not a single military-looking vehicle in sight, the tents look like something you’d see at a town farmer’s market. Even you have to admit that there isn’t likely to be some vital piece of info that tells us where to go, what to do, and how to keep from dying.”

 “Just stay here and lock the door behind me.” I didn’t wait for any more debate. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was people standing around talking instead of doing something.

The set-up was definitely organized by the town. It looked like Martha Stewart had designed the little pamphlets that told the townspeople to ‘Stay calm in the wake of crisis. Panic never helps’. I wondered if that’s something the Mayor had commissioned. ‘Here, don’t worry, read this trifold and know everything will be just peachy’.

I searched for only a short time, realizing quickly that Sherry and Juan had been right—this was a waste of a stop, an unnecessary risk. I was moving back between two of the tents, passing a table next to three knocked-down chairs, when a beaten-up briefcase caught my eye. I grabbed it and wondered if it would make this little trip worthwhile.

“Found it lying on its side in the corner of the tent,” I said, holding up the case as I pushed through the open doorway. Juan had locked it after I’d left, kept a lookout for my return, and then swung the door open as I’d approached. “You all were right, waste of time.”

“Let’s open it. Who knows, maybe it contains the keys to the kingdom.” Juan secured the door again and followed to the sofa. When we were both seated, I flipped open the briefcase latches. Marty got up on his knees, dropping his book to the carpet so he could see what was inside. Sherry didn’t seem interested. She held her book loosely in her hands, cross-legged on the floor, staring towards the windshield blankly.

Inside were flyers and instructions to the population of Fort Stockton as to what and how much they could carry, when they were assigned to be evacuated, and their destination.

Their destination…

“Those poor people,” I breathed out, “they didn’t stand a chance.”

Juan leaned in closer to me so he could see the destination. “Damn,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t they make it?” Marty lifted as tall as he could from a kneeling position and found the name of where the people were supposed to go for safety. “To be air-lifted out of Laughlin…that sounds familiar.”

“It’s the base that was overrun, the one in Del Rio near the fort we stayed at, Marty.” Sherry’s voice was still; that quiet storm, clouds flashing with unshed lightning. “That means that they—”

Marty interrupted Sherry. “It means they didn’t make it, right?”

“Some could have gotten out, Marty.” I said, patting his shoulder lightly. “Security could have held long enough to get a few planes off the ground.” I didn’t believe what I was saying. In my gut, I knew the whole town was dead. They wouldn’t have made it to Laughlin in time. I wondered how many of the vehicles on the road coming this way had been people from here trying to get to the base.

“Yeah, I guess,” Marty replied softly dropping to sit fully on the ground.

“Let’s get on the road,” Juan muttered, reaching across me to lower the lid of the case and flip the latches into the locked position. “No use crying over shit we can’t change.”

“We really shouldn’t curse around Marty,” Sherry’s storm-strangled voice whispered.

“I heard way worse from my mamma anytime we were running late or got stuck behind ‘some slow ass’ on the road.” Marty changed his voice when he said ‘some slow ass’, like he was trying to mimic his mom. I think it made him sad, because he immediately sobered and quieted.

I took the wheel again, my thoughts miles down the road and focused on getting us to safety. My station had to still be intact. Albuquerque had to still be operational. But if the military couldn’t rescue a small town like Fort Stockton then what would happen to the bigger cities? I tried to forget about it and focus on the road ahead of me. We would pass through some small towns but the next one of any size would be Carlsbad, New Mexico. If we were lucky, we’d get through it before dark and hunker down for the night in the middle of nowhere land- zombie free.

The small town of Pecos went by in what felt like a blink, like if I closed my eyes and reopened them then the town would disappear altogether, the buildings going wherever the bodies had ended up. Because I was sure they didn’t survive. I’m sure it was the same here as it was in Stockton. Go to Laughlin, they’ll get you out…only, they wouldn’t. It was the falsest kind of hope wrapped in the guise of brittle, waning authority.

I could hope, though, that they’d tried to evacuate to a different location. A girl could hope. A girl could dream. Juan took over for me after Pecos. I wasn’t tired, not really. It was more that the loss of Stockton, even though I didn’t know the people, was enough to tire me out. To drain my brain, body, heart.

I looked at Sherry as I moved from the driver’s seat back to the kitchen, my stomach growling for a bit of something. Her eyes closed and lying in one of the bunkbeds with Marty curled against her. I envied the peace of the boy’s face. I did not envy the look of nightmares that continually flashed across the woman’s though. Grabbing a baked good, not even paying attention as to what kind it was, I moved back to the passenger’s seat. My eyes began drooping before I’d finished the second bite.

I jumped when a hand touched my shoulder and a voice whispered. “Marty’s really hot, running a fever I think. Do we have anything for him?”

Forced back into alertness, I straightened up my body. It had slumped down along with my eyelids. I’d slept for a short while; I must have, because it was beginning to dim in the world outside the windshield.

“Where are we, Juan?” My voice didn’t sound sleepy at all. Good for me.

“Still maybe two hours outside Carlsbad,” he replied, eyes focused on the road.

Carlsbad was two hours away still, when the sun began to do that dance it did each morning and evening, kissing the horizon either hello or goodbye. We wouldn’t make it by dark. We needed to park somewhere safe soon. And what did it mean that Marty wasn’t feeling well? Could he have somehow contracted the virus? No…no…he hadn’t been near enough to the monsters, near enough to be harmed. I stood up and followed Sherry back to Marty. I looked at him appraisingly, seeing the flush of his cheeks and the dew clinging to his brow.

“How bad is it?” Juan tossed over his shoulder, deftly shifting the wheel around some barrier I could not see in the road.

I placed my hand on Marty’s cheek. “He does feel pretty warm.”

“Could it be…I mean, he can’t be sick. He can’t have what those things have.” Sherry knelt next to the bed, her hands fluttering over the sheets, her face looked lost and scared.

“I don’t think it is, Sherry. I know he didn’t get hurt. We’ve kept him safe.” Still, I found myself lifting the legs of his shorts and checking for bites, pushing the sleeves of his shirt up and looking at each and every inch of his skin that could be easily seen.

“If you’re so sure, why are you checking him like that?” Sherry’s question was low, frantic. She was mindful enough not to want to wake Marty in her panic.

“Sherry, kids get sick. Healthy, happy kids get sick. Just because it’s the end of days doesn’t mean the common cold and the flu stop finding victims. I’m sure that’s what this is. We were around a lot of people in Del Rio. Any one of them could have been carrying something viral.” I moved over to a kitchen cabinet where some of the medical supplies gifted to us by Del Rio were. I felt tension in my back ease as I found a nondescript white bottle. Generic aspirin. “Wake him up gently. Let’s get some medicine and water in his system.”

“Is it starve a fever or feed a fever?” Sherry murmured, shaking Marty’s shoulder gently. “Marty, wake up, honey.”

“Is it what?” I questioned, coming back with a single aspirin in my hand. I wasn’t sure how much to give him, how much he weighed. I wished we had some children’s stuff, the liquid kind that had exact measurements for dosing and a little blunt syringe.

“Starve a fever, feed a cold. Starve a cold, feed a fever. I can’t remember what my grandmother used to say.” Sherry was fighting back tears.

It was then that I realized how very broken she still was. She’d improved on handling a gun; she’d pulled away from Juan and acted like she was becoming tougher. She wasn’t, not beneath the surface where it really mattered, where a person’s real grit resides. When Marty finally responded to her urgings for him to wake up, she stood and went to the sink, soaking a tattered wash cloth from the bathroom. I listened to the plink, plink of the water as she rung out the excess. Marty swallowed the pill with little prompting and drank quite a bit of the water. That was good.

“I don’t feel well,” Marty’s voice was weak, but clear.

“We think it’s just a cold, buddy. Don’t worry.” Sherry was there again, kneeling and placing the folded, damp cloth on his forehead. Marty closed his eyes and his face screwed up in a silent wince. “That’s cold.”

“You have a fever. We just need to let it run its course.” I stood up, cup in hand, to get him more water. “And you need to keep hydrated. Drink as much as you can stomach.”

“Do we need to find somewhere to stop or do we have what he needs?” Juan had slowed a little.

“I really think it’s something viral, Juan. There’s little we can do other than keep the fever in check and wait for his body to fight it off.” I could tell that Sherry didn’t like my response. She was his surrogate mother, and mothers were hardwired to want to do everything possible to keep their babies from any level of suffering. Whether it’s a hangnail, a fever, or something infinitely more harmful.

“Good, because it’ll be dark before we reach the next town. It won’t be safe to stop and try to scavenge for things. If he’s still looking bad in the morning, we can hunt down something with electrolytes. Find some sport’s drinks, maybe some vitamins to boost his immunity.” Juan hesitated for a moment, and then spoke again. “But you’re sure it’s not something else, AJ?”

I understood why he directed the question at me and not at Sherry. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

He nodded. “Good.”

We parked the RV well on the outskirts of Carlsbad, letting the engine idle for a moment, waiting to see if anything was going to come crawling out of the shadows. Nothing did, but we still took turns staying awake and watching for trouble. I managed a fitful hour whilst Sherry was on watch. I didn’t trust to stay awake or to keep her attention off of Marty enough to be an effective lookout.

It was my turn to take watch again around five, sending Sherry to sleep. The sky outside was still dark and I seated myself in the passenger’s seat with my feet propped up to the left and atop the dash relaxing my muscles and staring into the black open scrublands. If it hadn’t been almost pitch black because the lack of a moon I may not have noticed the dim reflection in the RV’s driver side mirror. My gut told me it wasn’t dangerous just some distant light behind us and way up in the hills.

I moved over to the driver’s side and looked back through the side glass. There it was further and higher than I had guessed. A dim light radiating out like a dusty haze, A building or a fire? I couldn’t tell, but it was there, but it wasn’t a danger to us.

Juan woke up about 5:30 and joined me, pushing the thought of the strange light out of my mind, two eclairs in his hand looking so good that my stomach growled immediately at the sight. I smiled when he handed it to me.

“You get any sleep?”

I shook my head ‘no’ before taking a first scrumptious bite of Martha’s cooking. It had gone a little stale already and I knew I’d really miss this sort of thing once it was gone. Sometimes, it felt like it would be better to just stuff our faces while things were fresh, versus trying to ration it out and having to eat it when it was dry and gritty days later.

“Marty is still hot, but his face doesn’t look nearly so red,” Juan said around a mouthful.

“That’s really good.” I took another bite, chewed, swallowed, spoke again. “It’s a funny thing to be sick like that in the middle of all this. Doesn’t seem fair that we should have to battle monsters and colds.”

“Yeah, not fair at all. Then again, nothing’s ever been perfectly fair.” Him being still a little sleep-addled made Juan’s accent come out stronger. I liked that. It reminded me of working near the border, even though geographically Juan originated in Puerto Rico, which was nearly 8 hours by plane and God knows how long by car and boat. Still, the accent, it made me feel at home. I loved being across the border, especially in Juarez at the bustling marketplace where you better keep all of your important documents on your bodily person. Although, I don’t go there often now, not since my ex-boyfriend’s accident…the one that had led me down this path in life.

I’d been with a college group across the border when I was younger and they’d told us it was okay to leave our packs in the van whilst we shopped at a sort of flea market-type thing with homemade goods and crafts made by the women’s shelter. When we’d come back, everything we’d left was gone. I sometimes wonder if the driver was in cahoots with the thieves. I was the only person who’d had their money and IDs in a fanny pack and not inside their left-behind bags.

“Want to press on since we’re both awake?” Juan finished his pastry, wiping his hands roughly on his pants.

“No reason not to,” I said, also finishing my food and wiping my hands together briskly to brush away any crumbs.

“Want me to drive?”

“No, I’m okay right now.” I settled into the seat more firmly, sliding the key fully into the ignition and turning the RV on. “I always liked driving at night, even when I was first learning how. It seems peaceful to me.”

“I can see that, although I’m a daytime man myself. I get pretty damn tired at night.”

“I’m the opposite. Like…a cat sitting in a windowsill during the brightest part of the day. It makes me doze off way more than darkness.”

“Are we going through or around? It doesn’t seem like Marty needs any extra supplies. He drank water fine yesterday.”

Sherry didn’t stir until we were in the middle of the small city, buildings rising around us like too-short giants. Like they were the brothers and sisters of actual skyscrapers, but had gotten the poor end of the height gene pool.

“Couldn’t we have gone around?” she spoke, stepping between the front seats and rubbing her eyes gently.

“We could have,” I agreed, “but it would have added on a lot of time and the bypass still goes through the outskirts of town. At least this way, we get through Carlsbad faster.”

“The sun’s not even fully up. I’d think that made this more dangerous.” Sherry was wide-eyed now, staring out into the dim early morning, looking for the wraiths that likely lay low in the shadows looking for prey. Maybe that was an exaggeration, maybe it wasn’t. And maybe I should have followed that little line on the map that arced around this town. The choice had been made, Juan agreeing whilst she was sleeping. I remembered what Juan had said; the world was never fair and not everyone gets a vote. I glanced at Sherry; she was biting her bottom lip, as if deciding whether or not to say something. “If we’re already so near buildings and things like grocery stores and such, could we not stop and try to find Marty some things? Maybe ice pops or Gatorade. Soup maybe? I know they gave us some back at Del Rio and we have some of that ramen stuff from the truck stop, but kids don’t really care for things like split pea soup and bean and ham. And ramen is so salty, I’m afraid it would do him more bad than good.”

I listened to what she was saying, knowing it was more a mother’s desire to ease her child’s pain, but I couldn’t help but sympathize and want to give her what she asked for. So far, we hadn’t seen a single Z kid or zombie adult. So far, things seemed safe.

Yes, that could change at any moment, but if it was safe, then why couldn’t I give her and Marty this small relief? Why couldn’t I defy the shit world we were existing in and give a kid some chicken and stars soup?

“I think we can manage something,” I started, seeing from my peripheral vision that Juan had leaned forward in the passenger’s seat and turned towards me. I continued quickly, “but we have to be as sure as we possibly can that wherever we stop is deserted. Juan’s doing better, not that I’ve actually asked him how he’s feeling since leaving the truck stop, but I don’t think any of us are ready to take another beating.”

“I’m certainly not risking getting ambushed by humans or the monsters just to get the kid some soup and crackers.” Juan sounded colder than I expected.

“Juan, that kid is counting on us to protect him. We took him under our care. Maybe not by choice, but by circumstances. We’re all he has. Would you let your own kid subsist off water and pain medicine if you could give them something more?”

“Sherry, you were the one just fussing that we hadn’t gone the longer and safer route. You’re the one who was just talking about it being still too dark and not safe. Now you want us to find a store and risk our lives for what? Soup and crackers?”

“No, but—”

“Sherry, don’t’ be stupid.” Juan’s voice was toeing the line between anger and dismissiveness. I think Sherry would have taken better to full-out anger versus being dismissed and called ‘stupid’, because as soon as that one exited Juan’s mouth, Sherry’s entire disposition shifted. She went from that beaten, limp thing with that threatening storm inside of her chest, to a hurricane of Katrina proportions.

“No, you listen,” Sherry stamped her foot. I almost laughed at that, because it made her look so childish, but I didn’t. Let her direct that storm at Juan and not me. Besides, I was sure she’d like being laughed at by the woman who’d all but usurped her position in the group even less than she’d liked being called dumb. “We’ve gone through hell, Juan. You’ve been beaten black and blue. I’ve nearly been raped. Marty is sick. This is something we can do, something we can control in this stupid fucking world that’s lost its damn mind. He needs chicken fucking soup. It’s not like I’m asking for steak and merlot here. There’s a sick little boy back there and we can give him some comfort.”

Juan’s face was unreadable, at least it was for a passing moment, and then he melted, his eyes going soft and looking at Sherry the way I’d first seen him look at her back at the truck stop when their relationship started to change for the worse. “Okay, Sherry. If we find somewhere that looks safe enough.” He smiled then, and it was the sort of fragile thing that makes me think of fawns learning to walk in spring time. “You know, you sound like a damn Disney character when you curse, Sherry.”

Sherry nodded, her face gone pale, but she didn’t smile back. “I’ve been told that before.” It was like that storm I’d been seeing playing at the surface of her body had finally crested, pushing against the surface and stealing the color from her skin. It had finally come out to play, play and be fully seen, if only for a moment. I’d known her a brief time and knew I did not know enough to judge her, her actions, the way she dealt with things. But I knew that there was a rage in her, one that warred with fear and anxiety for dominance. “So we’ll find Marty something to help him?” She held herself in a firm hug, waiting for assurance.

“Yeah, Sherry, we will,” Juan replied, that fragile smile gone now, a hunter’s bullet gone astray on its path towards a buck.

Good.” Sherry turned away, going to sit on the sofa and hold the book she’d been reading yesterday. “Good,” she said once more, so low that it was almost inaudible.

***

JUAN

It was still dimmer than I would have liked, the shadows cast by the buildings adjacent to the oddly placed convenience store, buried beneath the great form of a parking garage, making the interior even darker. I carried a large flashlight, almost too thick for my hands to hold it easily, and I approached that building. I was carrying the hand gun, fully-loaded thanks to Hunter’s generosity. My trusty ASP was in my pocket. I felt safer with its weight there.

I knew it was stupid to be taking this chance, but Sherry’s words had supplanted my good sense. ‘Juan, that kid is counting on us to protect him. We took him under our care. Maybe not by choice, but by circumstances. We’re all he has.’ It was guilt that was making me go into this dark building looking for soup and Gatorade and shit kids would like. Ice pops, if they had them- the kind that could be stored unfrozen, liquid sloshing inside plastic sleeves.

Guilt because I’d failed her once. I’d failed Marty once. I was having nightmares since the truck stop of what would have happened had AJ not shown up.

AJ had wanted to go instead of me, of course she had, but I was done being the damsel in distress hiding with civilians in the back of a club house while she put her neck on the line. That wasn’t the sort of guy I was. And I was just as capable as she was, maybe not with a gun, but I had the training. My body was a weapon, far more so than hers with her petite frame and small, defined musculature.

When I left, I’d told the women to turn off all the lights inside and out. The motor home became a still shadow on the street. Not hidden, but not calling attention to itself either. As the sun rose, it would come into relief. But I hoped no one was nearby to notice the new addition to the landscape; I hoped no one would drive this way while we were still parked, because they might see the RV and think it was a better ride just like I had back…back forever ago it felt like.

We’d creeped through town looking for some place, any place, that looked secure enough to go inside. Most of the buildings had sported busted windows, rotting bodies…no sign of the kid-sized monsters.

The convenience store was almost camouflaged by its narrow, tinted-glass entrance and two un-tinted windows that were nearly covered in advertisements for local bands, art fairs, and the like. Had I not been looking closely, I would have missed the small stickers on the door that displayed what sort of payments they accepted and, above that, an advertisement for chewing tobacco and smokes. I didn’t recognize the name of the store, so it wasn’t a chain, more mom and pop.

Pushing the door open, I froze as the tinkle of bells met my ears. It sounded so loud, like someone playing an organ at full blast. I waited, looked behind me and around and finally down through the gray-scaled glass, where I found a set of four bells hung from maroon and gold string hanging from the interior handle of the entrance. Taking a deep breath, I pushed so slowly that it felt I was making little progress, but the bells did not sound again.

I moved slowly into the building, keeping a hand on the door so I could close it as slowly as I’d pushed it open. I waited for an interminable amount of time and then, hearing no sound, I ventured down the center aisle. The interior of the store seemed frozen in time, untouched by scavenging and monsters. We didn’t need the food, the chips and the crackers and the candy and the warm sodas, but I was going to take them anyways. I wasn’t going to leave anything for the next person, not if I could carry and store it all.

That was selfish maybe. I should leave some for the next person who might discover this little hidden store. But no. Fucking no. I was going to take care of me and mine. What was I becoming…

Martial Arts is about vastly more than self-defense. It was about more than inflicting pain. It was about control, a respect for life, a respect for the world around us.

So…God, I’d leave some for the next sorry sap who came along, the next survivor who was on their last crumb of bread and shred of fucking hope.

I searched the entire store before I let my guard down. I checked the back room with it’s black-screened surveillance TV, and the store room, which was surprisingly bare considering the well-stocked status of the main store.

Making a beeline for the register once I was sure I was well and truly alone, I found what I was looking for: stacks of handled brown paper bags. I set about filling them, not just with soup and sports drinks, but with single-dose packets of meds, candies as a treat, canned spaghetti and meatballs. I took everything I could load into six paper bags. Plastic would have been better; I could have shoved my arms through the handles of all six and walked out of the store. I’d been through the whole place there wasn’t a cart or a dolly anywhere.

Resigning myself to at least two trips, maybe three if I wanted to keep the gun handy, I propped the front door of the store open and moved all of the bags out onto the sidewalk.

As I carried the first three bags to the RV, settling on making less trips without the weapon out, I kept my gaze in constant motion, making sure nothing was going to come out of the surrounding buildings unexpectedly. AJ was already stood at the top of the RV stairs, hands out and ready for the bags. I handed them over, only nodding and not initiating any verbal exchange. The faster I got the other three bags over, the better.

This was too easy. Far too easy. And that made me nervous, jumpy, unsure of myself.

I was almost to the store, my upper body already bent, my arms already extended and my fingers already prepared to curl around the paper handles, when the oddest sound made me stop in my tracks.

I paused, feeling like I was a movie and the watchers had hit the slow-motion button so they wouldn’t miss any second of what was about to go down.

The sound was almost a ‘clomp, clomp, clomp’, in slow, almost perfectly coordinated succession. And it was a dual or triple or quadruple sound, like there were several of the same whatever it was making that ‘clomp, clomp, clomp’ at the same time, imposed over one another like a compounded soundtrack on a rap CD.

I turned my attention to the street corner two buildings down and the most bizarre image I had ever seen met my eyes. And the ‘clomping’ was joined by a neighing.

I stood, frozen and unable to take my eyes off of the three half-dressed Native Americans on horseback, all armed with AK-47s, riding slowly toward me. The horses’ hooves knocking against the pavement of the road as they arced around the sidewalk and unlit streetlamp, was like something out of a post-war painting, in some alternative universe where their people were never murdered into submission and forced onto reservations. If it wasn’t for the rifles, the smack of modernization surrounding me, I would have sworn I’d fallen through some rift in time.

When they were upon me, the horses’ legs shifting with repressed energy, I sputtered out the dumbest thing I could possibly have said. “You’re Indians…” I let the words trail off, knowing they were stupid as soon as I started saying them.

“And you look like a cowboy,” the front rider said, in a voice free of cultural or geographical inflection.

The burst of laughter from the apparent leader was followed by chuckles from one of the other riders. He was a good-looking brute, not much over 5’9” (although it was hard to tell on horseback) and he carried himself with an air of confidence. I knew I was gawking but seeing three live Indians ride up bareback, what else was there to do? Eventually the front man, his deeply-tanned skin and black hair falling in a wild curtain around his head, spoke again.

“My name is Kirkland Ross, also known as Ahote, the Restless One. This is Chepi and this is Matoskah. Chepi let out a “YIP!” when his name was mentioned. Matoskah remained stone-faced.

“Nice to meet you,” I squinted; the sun was cresting one of the lower buildings now, the perfect position to assault my eyes. “I’m Juan.”

“Juan, what brings you to the fine city of Carlsbad.” The way Ahote said it, there was possession in his tone. His eyes moved from my face to the RV. I followed his gaze and found AJ stood on the pavement near the RV, M-16 in her grip and her face unreadable. She had her issue vest on, the one that made it clear who she worked for and what she was. “And what brings the Border Patrol here so far from the border and all of the desperate people only seeking to make better lives.” Now, the possession had been replaced by distaste.

Chepi and Matoskah grumbled through closed lips. For some reason, none of the men felt kindly towards AJ, or AJ’s career choice. I couldn’t help but admire Ahote’s confidence though…or maybe it was the fact that he was, at the moment, positioned on a horse, looming over me and looking larger than life.

“Look, we don’t want trouble. AJ,” I pointed at her and she moved a step forward. I stopped her with an open palm pushing outward, signaling for her to stay where she was, “saved my life and the life of my friend, plus a little boy we’ve been taking care of. She’s a good woman. All we’re trying to do is get some soup for the kid who’s sick and make our way to Albuquerque Station.”

Ahote looked at AJ once more and then back at me, the small thread of tension dissolved between us. “We have wondered more than once why this store had not been raided.” He glanced at the propped-open door.

“It was pure luck that let us see what the hell it was. Damn things practically disguised.”

Ahote nodded. “Yes. We don’t have any grief with you, Juan. We patrol Carlsbad now, absorbing it back into the lands of our People. We have ridded this area of the demon spirits and we will keep it that way.”

Chepi and Matoskah repeated his words, their voices low and reverent. “Demon spirits.”

“Demon Sprits?” I asked, because it didn’t dawn on me at first what the hell they meant.

“The dead that have risen, friend,” Ahote clarified, “The elders call them demons, I call them the reckoning for this world that has so mistreated the world, our mother. I call them punishment for the world which has so mistreated its people and forgotten the five genders and the ways of the true spirit, the energy of the planet.”

“You…your people…there are no more of the demons here?” I tried not to sound sarcastic when I said ‘demons’. I had my own beliefs—in an unseen God and winged angels—it was beyond hypocritical to judge another’s beliefs because they felt like fantasy.

“That is a long story, my friend. One I do not care to explain. Let us see the boy, let us see if there is something we can do.” Still, although he spoke more formally than the average American, there was no accent marring his words.

I just looked at him, nodded and began walking across the street after picking up the three paper bags still sitting in the morning light against the sidewalk. The sound of the horses followed me, but now also the sounds of feet padding softly against the street joined the chorus. I knew the world had gone to hell in a hand basket but this was just plain weird.

As we were nearly to the motor home, someone spoke from behind me. I think it was Chepi, although I had not heard his voice enough to be sure. “Have any coffee in there? I really miss that stuff. Haven’t found any anywhere since this all happened.”

“Yeah, we’ve got some,” I said, my eyes meeting AJ’s. She’d stayed standing next to the RV, her shoes firmly planted against the ground, the M-16 still in hand. I knew what she was feeling, that fear that at any moment, this strange situation could turn deadly. The weirdness of it had settled over me, but my gut told me we had nothing to fear from this band of men resurrected from a wild world long lost.

I did wonder what it meant in the scheme of things, in the hope for the future. Are these the sorts of things we should expect now, as the planet and its inhabitants continue to adapt? They’d said Carlsbad was free of the demons, of the monsters, yet, it was still silent and dormant. The life had not returned.

Weeks…only weeks…and the world was presenting as a changeling that would not go willingly back to being what it was.

It was a really odd scene a half hour later in the RV. Ahote had said it was okay to turn on the light what with the zombie adults and kids gone, so we did and now we were sitting in the living room listening to his story. Marty was in the back with his new friend Matoskah. He was leaning against a stack of pillows on the lower bunk bed looking pale and hot, but he was playing a game with cards that I didn’t recognize and he was weakly smiling at the man who taught him whatever game it was. An empty cup that once held a tincture of herbs and hot water lay on its side on the bed. Sherry was making him soup, standing at the stove with her back to me and AJ. We were sitting on the sofa with Ahote on the soiled carpet. Chepi, for his part, was on his second mug of coffee already; basically in heaven, or so he said.

Matoskah, I found out later after a fast-whispered sentence from Ahote, had lost his boy a year ago when he fell into a ravine. Ahote said it was the first time he had seen the man really happy, playing with Marty and periodically checking his head with his palm, seeing if the herbs were having some effect on the fever.

Ahote had told us much already, but he was just entering into his story, his origin, his survival of the apocalypse.

“…with 1st battalion 10th Special Forces group in Fort Bragg, NC when the virus or whatever it was began turning the kids. The spec ops boys immediately launched under order and flew off with SOLL, that’s Special Operations Low Level, in their C-17s. About three more groups of Rangers and Green Berets left shortly after to support them. I don’t know what their mission was but I can only assume it was to protect the president and the Chiefs of Staff, but that’s a guess. The rest of us, Army, Airforce, etcetera, stayed to try and stabilize the post and secure any civilians we could lay our hands on.” While he spoke, Ahote fiddled with a bone-handled knife, rolling it in his hands, still sheathed. He opened his mouth to speak again when Chepi jumped in.

“Man, I miss this stuff. You mind if I have another cup?”

“You’ve had two cups already.” This from Ahote. “Do you have no care for rationing?” There was no bite to his words, like he was used to Chepi’s boyish absentmindedness and unveiled enthusiasm for things.

Chepi hesitated and then gave a cockeyed smile, his teeth looking brilliantly white against his deep-hued skin. “So, I can have a third cup then? You know, because of rationing.” He said the last bit deadpan and we all laughed. Even Sherry, who was pouring the warmed soup into a chipped ceramic mug for Marty to drink.

AJ hopped up, getting the coffee carafe and pouring another cup of black joe for Chepi. When she resettled herself, I prompted Ahote to continue. “So what happened then? What brought you here?”

“We lost control is what happened,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “They were everywhere. In Fayetteville, on the base, just…everywhere, from all angles, they came at us. There was no place to cut them off, because the base was too porous, too many entrance points that we couldn’t plug up. We held the base as long as we could and got a lot of people onto c-130s and helicopters but then the whole thing collapsed. The last bird took off and we were left. Matoskah, also called Steve Shepherd, me, and six others. Chepi’s my younger brother. He was back here with our people.”

“So you’re a Green Beret also?” I turned and interrupted Matoskah’s game with Marty.

He didn’t look at me, his eyes only for the boy who probably made him think of his son. “No. I was Air Force Para-Rescue assigned to Pope AFB which is adjacent to Bragg. Just happened to be there with my brother.”

“You two are brothers? So you’re all family then.” I glanced from Matoskah to Chepi; I didn’t think they looked at all alike even though they were decidedly Native American

Ahote laughed. “Him and me? Hell, no. He doesn’t even know who his mother is! Owwww!” Ahote barked, a smile still warping his face. “Cut that shit out!” he chuckled, reprimanding Matoskah for tossing a pillow at his head. He smiled at his brother-in-arms, wonderment on his face, like since the death of Matoskah’s son, their friendship had faded and seeing it come back to life, even for a moment, was a gift.

AJ and I glanced at one another and I wondered if she was feeling how I was feeling; glad that there were still men who could joke and laugh and carry on like this now, but also worried and disheartened that we were hearing about yet another place that had fallen to the ‘demons’.

Sherry was moving quietly, opening drawers looking for something. She must have given up, because she finally picked up the mug of soup and took it over to Marty. “He should take a break now. He needs to rest and eat.”

Matoskah looked at her, sorrow like a thin veil over his features. “Yes.” He turned to Marty. “Rest now, boy. Get better.” He tousled Marty’s hair and then stood before speaking again. He was a serious personality without the softening effect of a child. “We are part of the Apache Nation, Mescalero. Ahote and I have been spirit brothers for as long as I can recall. We were stationed together at Bragg even though we were in different branches.” He moved to the kitchen, motioning to a mug. When I nodded, he poured himself coffee. Unlike Chepi, he didn’t even fully fill the mug, instead erring on the side of being polite.

 “So how did you get out?” AJ leaned forward a little, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands.

Ahote obliged and picked up where he left off. “We did what we do best, we ran and we gunned. We had Humvees on the flight line so we hightailed to the arsenal, took what was left and headed out. It was total chaos. Looting, carnage, civilians running or fighting. I’ve never seen anything like it. It took everything we’ve been taught about surviving to make it to the reservation, across the damn country.”

Matoskah took over then. “After we arrived, we found the old ways already reemerging. Our elders have said for decades that it would be our time to rise once again, when the world could take no more of industry and human service to money above honor. The town here had already been evacuated leaving the infected behind. We did what was needed. And now the demons are gone.”

“I didn’t think the Indian reservation was that close to Carlsbad?” I asked knowing it was a good 70 miles away

“It’s not. Our lands are expanding. Like our return here,” Matoskah pointed at Ahote, “a wider scale rebirth is happening. It’s not just Apaches. Navajo and Pueblo have come to us, a group of Sioux from the East Carolinas have survived their way across the states. It truly is a gathering of the people. We have patrols like ours extending almost a hundred miles from Ruidoso. We set buildings that are defensible, stock them, and use them as staging bases for anyone who has need. The land from the outskirts of El Paso to Albuquerque belongs to us once more.”

“Albuquerque is where we’re heading.” Sherry had returned, the mug in her hand. I wondered if it was empty, or if Marty hadn’t been able to eat. “Does that mean that it’ll be safe? The rest of our way there, we won’t have to worry?”

“There’s always the possibility of danger,” Ahote said, watching Sherry deflate. “But, it will be safer than the alternatives. Central El Paso is a war zone. Two of our people on patrol were ripped right off their horses before they could get away. The men were bloody masses of flesh and bone in minutes. That is why we call them spirit demons. The shadow of humanity gone evil.”

“Albuquerque’s not all that and a box of chocolate, folks,” Chepi quipped, running his index finger inside his cup and licking off the very last of his coffee. “Our scouts say a lot of it’s burning and there’s still consistent gun fire in the area. That was four-day old information when we got it. Things may have changed.” Chepi eyeballed the coffee carafe and then pouted, setting his mug down and resigning himself to only the three cups of joe he’d had. “If I were you, I’d go somewhere else.”

“Albuquerque Station is where I’m assigned. It’s where I have to go. If they’ve made it, they’ll have information. About the government, about how we’re responding and where it’s safe.” AJ’s voice was firm, making sure not to invite or spark a debate. I could see Sherry wanted to say something, her foot tapping and her arms crossed.

“I’ll tell you what’s up with the Government,” Burst out Chepi, a jester-like expression of amusement on his face. “It’s tits up! If there’s a government out there, then it’s holed up way out of the disaster zone. They’re going to keep them safe even if it means ignoring citizens that might be saved. As far as your brothers and sisters in the Border Patrol, well I’m guessing they’re either dead or scattered to the four winds. The closer you get to the major cities the worse it is. Go somewhere else, man, unless you want to be demon chow.”

“Chepi, shut up,” Ahote said the way an older brother reprimands a younger after the younger has done the same annoying behavior for the millionth time.

“It’s the truth,” Chepi grumbled.

AJ was scowling at the loudmouthed youngest of the three, but secretly I wondered if he was right. If Special Forces couldn’t hold their own base, what chance did a few Border Patrol agents have of holding their station? “What about Kirkland AFB? They could be there.” AJ asked looking for a glimmer of light, her scowl still in place.

Ahote answered before his little brother could make a bigger ass of himself. “they could have survived if they headed there. There’s always hope as well as danger. Kirkland has a perimeter fence and a good contingency of shooters. Plus they might get air cover. Yeah, it’s a possibility, but consider it like drawing to an inside straight. The possibility might not be worth the risk.” He glanced at his younger brother. “Chepi might not have the most politically-correct way with words, but he is right in that you might reconsider your destination.”

I knew what he meant by ‘drawing to an inside straight’ to beat the odds, but it was possible. Besides, I knew AJ well enough now to know that she wasn’t going to give up on Albuquerque Station. She wasn’t going to give up until she saw her fellow agents were either gone or dead. “No, that’s where we’re headed. It’s a group decision.”

“And I have to know.” AJ spoke after me. “I have to know if they’re alive and what’s going on out there. I have to know if the Government is alive and kicking, even if they are just holed up somewhere staying safe.” It was like she was convincing herself that she was making the right choice, that she wasn’t going to her station out of stubbornness or pride.

“Then you’re going the right way.” Ahote’s voice held a thread of sadness, like he knew what our fate would be should we continue on our path. “We would escort you but we would never be able to keep up with this rig, too hard on the horses. You may run into other patrols and if any of them stop you, just mention our names. They’ll let you proceed through our lands.”

“Do they do something to trespassers…if you consider this your land now?” Sherry’s voice this time.

“This has always been our land,” Matoskah responded, his face seemingly carved out of brown, golden-veined granite. “And it will always be our land.” Sherry shrunk away from him, tightening her crossed arms around herself. Matoskah walked over to Marty, whispering a goodbye, or so I assumed, and then he exited the RV without waiting on the two others.

“Pay no attention to Matoskah. Losing his son has changed him greatly.” Ahote bowed his head slightly. “Safe travels.”

“And thanks for the coffee!” Chepi quipped before following his big brother out into the now-bright day.

“Ahote?” it was AJ who spoke. I watched the Native American turn and look at her “I saw lights in the hills outside of town, what was it?”

The Green Beret looked her and smiled. “That would be the caverns. Sacred to us and were no White man will ever go again little sister.” With that he turned and stepped into the darkness.

***

SHERRY

I watched as the three men mounted their horses and rode away from us. It amazed me that they had not even tied the horses, yet the beautiful, silky-coated beasts had stayed, waiting on the return of their riders. I shut the door when they were out of sight. Juan and AJ were seated in the driver’s and passenger’s seats again, looking over the map and getting ready to drive once more.

 Before leaving, Matoskah had come back to the RV and handed me a necklace. I’d nearly flinched away from him, so discordant was his personality when not brightened by being near Marty. “For the kid,” he’d simply said. It was a thick cord of handmade silver with a turquoise pendant shaped like a bird. I turned the stone over in my hands, finding some writing there: for Ahanu, my son.

It was beautiful.

Moving towards the bunk bed, grabbing a children’s book as I passed the place on the floor where I’d piled up all the books we’d found in the RV, I went to Marty. Amazingly, his face was less pale, his forehead cooler.

“I don’t feel like reading,” Marty said, seeing the book in my hand.

“Okay,” I responded, moving my other hand into view and letting him see the necklace I held. “Matoskah left this for you.”

Marty’s eyelids parted a bit more, his mouth falling slightly open. “Oh, wow. I told him I loved birds… well, birds and dinosaurs.”

I turned it over and then placed it in his open palm, so that he could see the inscription.

“It was his son’s?” he questioned, in astonishment. I nodded. “Wow,” he breathed and then leaned into my body. I wrapped my arms around him and that’s how we stayed the rest of the journey to Roswell.

***

<The Group>

Even though there were still hours of sunlight left, Juan and AJ were exhausted and they opted to stop on the edge of Roswell and sleep. Ahote had said Roswell was part of their lands, that it should be safe and zombie free, but it was always better to be cautious. Sherry and Marty were dozing, their bodies glued together in a somewhat forced-looking embrace.

When they awoke they were greeted by another patrol just outside their door. Four men this time, on brown and ivory horses with feathers braided in their manes like show horses. The neighing was what stirred AJ and she gently pushed Juan’s shoulder. When he opened his eyes, she pointed to the windshield. “Company again and we’re all out of coffee.”

The latter part of the statement wasn’t true.

“I’ll go out first,” Juan mumbled, rubbing his eyes. AJ followed close behind. Sherry and Marty had woken also and stood to see what was going on. “Stay here, I’ll be right outside.” Juan’s eyes were for Sherry only. She nodded. The argument they had over soup and Gatorade had long since dissipated, but things were still different than they were, with the idea of what would never be floating between them constantly.

When Juan stepped outside, the morning air a bit chilly and the sky looking like a firework of sunrise color, a man hopped deftly off his horse, landing almost soundlessly on the pavement. “You are the ones which spoke with Lazy Bear last night.” It was more of a statement than a question.

“Yes. I’m Juan.”

“I’m Noshi.” Unlike Ahote, Noshi did not introduce his companions. “It is good that we found you.”

Juan looked the man up and down, noting that he was quite a bit larger than Ahote had been, with the same dark skin tone and hair plaited in a long braid. He was older than Ahote also, the wrinkles from the desert sun evident.

“Ahote said to stop you and tell you that something bad may be happening in Albuquerque. We lost track of one of our patrol there.”

“How do you get your information so fast? We just saw Ahote last night, how did he tell you to find us?” Juan was trying to work out in his head how they were communicating, how they’d found them so quickly.

Noshi stared at Juan, an expression of near-amusement balanced with incredulity. “We’re savages,” he said sarcastically, “but savages with radios.” He did not smile when Juan went red-cheeked and sputtered out something that might have been an apology, if it had been intelligible. “Each one of the patrol stations we’ve set up has its own hand crank powered transmitter and receiver. We stay in touch with each other to make sure nothing catches the nation off guard.”

“Yeah, I kinda feel like a clown right now,” Juan said, this time able to be understood. “I didn’t mean…”

Noshi waved a dismissive hand. “It is fine. Just because the world has altered, I should not expect those outside the Nation to shift their perceptions. Ahote asked us to warn you. You have been warned. Get through Roswell as fast as you can. We ran into some problems in there last night. It will take some days to clean up the mess.”

“Demons?” Juan questioned, his blood going cold thinking how they’d stopped right at the edge of the town to sleep.

“Yes,” was all Noshi said and, without another word, he mounted his horse, let out a thrilling sound not unlike a bird, and kicked his horse. In a few minutes, Noshi and his patrol were disappearing into the heat waves of the desert.

After hearing what the patrol had told Juan, AJ and Sherry agreed to heed the advice of the patrol and moved through Roswell. They didn’t stop until they made it to a place called Clines Corners. There wasn’t much too it but a truck stop/gift store combo, a chain mall that had seen better days, and a US post office. Everything looked caught in time, antiquated, like at some point, modernization had abandoned it. But, in a way, that made it feel quaint and unusual, a real oasis in a world too industrialized. An oasis in the middle of nowhere on the outskirts of Albuquerque.

Juan was driving when they rolled into Clines Corner and he slowed the RV, eventually coming to park adjacent to a short, blunt water tower that was mostly white save for a red banner sporting the town’s name.

Something felt odd to him, but it wasn’t enough to send him rolling down the road, not when there were two trucks in plain sight that could provide them with a fill-up. Because they already needed fuel, or were getting down enough to need it soon. He didn’t want to drive past two sources of diesel if he could help it.

“Fuel?” AJ asked, shifting in her seat so she sat on the edge and could easily look out the windshield and two side windows to find any lurking danger.

Juan indicated the two eighteen wheelers. “Seems smart to stop, especially since we know these areas have been mostly cleared of the monsters.”

“Mostly cleared,” AJ responded, “But they said some had come back to Roswell. I don’t know if we should.”

They both stared at the outside, waited, watched.

“We need to take it when we can, AJ.” Juan shifted into drive and moved the RV deftly, being careful of the trailer it pulled, until it was lined up with the closest truck. Then he got up from the driver’s side after turning off the engine.

“I’ll come out with you,” AJ said; she’d stayed quiet why he repositioned the motor home.

“No, you stay with Marty,” Sherry, who hadn’t spoken to either of them since they’d moved swiftly through Roswell, interjected. “I can help Juan get gas. You protect Marty. He’ll be safer with you alone than with me alone.”

AJ looked at the other woman a moment before nodding. “Okay.”

Juan and Sherry, after going into the mechanic’s trailer and finding an actual long black garden hose, moved their way between the two vehicles. Juan twisted off the metal, chained gas caps of the truck and RV and then threaded an end of the hose into the truck’s tank. He sucked on the other end, long and hard. It took four times before he pulled the tip out quickly and spat fuel on the ground. Quickly, he pushed the other end of the hose into the RV’s tank.

“You know, someday fuel will be useless. It’ll take time, but it’ll deteriorate, won’t be usable.”

“How long does that take?” Sherry.

“I don’t know. Time, sometime…maybe enough time for all this shit to right itself and the world get better.” Juan quieted, and then spoke again. “I’ve never told you how sorry I was about what happened, that I wasn’t able to stop them. If AJ hadn’t shown up…fuck, I still have nightmares.”

Sherry looked uncomfortable, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. “I blamed you, Juan. I know it wasn’t right, but I did. I’m sorry for that. I’m just a mess inside. Hot then cold. Cold then hot. I don’t even know who I am now.”

“You’re Sherry,” Juan said simply. “I’m Juan. We’re friends. Or we were once.”

“We’re still friends, Juan.”

They stood silently, waiting until the hose had sucked all it could from the truck. To Sherry, it seemed to take an eternity to finish.

When the hose was pulled out from the truck, Juan held it up in the air to shake out in last drips. He rolled the hose loosely and dropped it to the ground gently. “Let’s go move the RV again, next to the other truck.”

“Okay,” Sherry replied, that single letter full of weight. Sherry moved first, threading her body between the several-foot gap between the vehicles. Juan watched her as she moved, appreciated how she looked as he often had during her kickboxing class with him. He still cared about her, still found her attractive, but nothing was going to happen for them now. It was obvious, and seemingly unchangeable.

Sherry was nearly to the edge of the gap, about to walk out into the open day and leave the shade of the two tall vehicles. Juan was still somewhat lost in thought, a dangerous thing to be at the end of everything sane and safe. Both of them jumped at the sharp sound of hands slapping against glass. Juan turned, tilting his face upwards to find AJ framed by the bathroom window. Her palms were against the glass, her face looked terrified.

When she saw that Juan was looking at her, she frantically began moving her hands, trying to curve her fingers under the bottom of the bathroom window and then all around. She was trying to open it, but it wasn’t that kind of window. It didn’t slide upwards. It only unclipped and pushed outward by an inch or less. She slapped the glass again, frustrated, scared.

That wasn’t like AJ, Sherry and Juan knew that. Juan turned away from her, finding Sherry, who stood confused and staring at him. He spun around and saw no danger that way. And then he looked up. He looked up and found the water tower. He followed the line of it, past the lettering, and he found it: the child-sized monster atop the ladder who stood on tiptoe, both hands on the rails.

Sherry turned, seeing the change in Juan’s expression and saw the Z kid also.

“Oh, my God,” she sighed, the sound like a caged bird who’s whistled so long for help that her voice has faded. “Oh no.”

“Run, Sherry,” Juan raced to her, closing the distance between them. He grabbed her shoulders and spun her around. “Run!”

She did, after he pushed her. She began running as fast as she could, pumping her legs and feeling her thighs rub together, making the sweat pants she wore swish. She ran, tumbling around the back of the RV and falling to the ground in her panic. Juan reached for her, pulled her to her feet. Both of their heads turned at the same time to look at the water tower.

The bite-sized demon was gone. Gone from the top of the tower.

No, he was on the ground bolting towards Sherry and Juan. He wore a blue and white striped shirt with a little American flag on the lapel pocket. His shorts were torn in so many places that they barely existed at all. He was so fast, so fast. He came at the duo who were still too far from the RV door to fall into the bosom of safety in time.

He was a nightmare with sun-peeling skin and eyes gone white. Pale moonlight buried in a craggy river of unmoving, thick blood.

“It’s too fast!” Sherry screamed. “It’s too fast!”

Juan grabbed her hand and pulled Sherry with him. He knew, knew that it was futile. They hadn’t brought a weapon. Why hadn’t they brought a weapon? So stupid…so stupid…Ahote had said this place was safe, but it wasn’t. The word of a stranger and a life given.

Sherry stumbled again, Juan’s hand the only thing keeping her upright. Juan wished he hadn’t left the hose on the ground. That at least could have been used as some sort of weapon. A lasso maybe to wrap around the diminutive body?

Not that you can tie up a nightmare and stay its course. Nightmares will come, no matter how you wish for pleasant dreams.

“Hurry, Sherry,” Juan yelled as Sherry stumbled a third time. A third time. He didn’t have time to look at her, didn’t have time to see what was making her so clumsy. No time. Yet, he moved, he moved and yanked and positioned himself behind Sherry so that the nightmare was coming at him and he was the one in its direct path.

“No!” Sherry screamed, realizing what Juan had done. “No!”

Another voice joined the din now. AJ had found her way out of the RV, gun in hand. “The door’s open. Run!”

Juan was moving backward, the Z kid only feet away. He pushed Sherry once more without looking at her, his hand connecting with what felt like her chest. He tried to push again, but Sherry’s body was gone. That meant she was safe. It had to mean she was safe. Juan moved, glad for his training as it allowed him to travel backwards deftly. But then the Z kid jumped, that frog-like bounce into the air that could sail them far and fast.

And then AJ screamed. “Sherry, no!”

Sherry raced around Juan, this time pushing him out of the way, and settled herself into the shadow of the monster sailing towards her. She stood in the shade of a nightmare and faced a thing that would kill her, could kill her.

Did kill her.

The once-a-boy in tattered shorts landed on Sherry’s body. She stumbled, working so hard to make sure she didn’t fall backwards towards Juan. She felt herself tilting, tilting forward towards the ground with the Z kid on top of her. And she knew there would be no clean shot for AJ to take with her gun.

Juan watched what was happening in horror, watched Sherry, the girl he once thought he might like as something other than a friend, other than a student, support the weight of the monster. He watched her not allow her body to fall backwards; he watched her fight to fall away from him, away from AJ. He took a step forward to help Sherry, to get the thing off of her, but a hand clamped around his shoulder.

“There’s not a clean shot, Juan. If you go hand-to-hand, we’ll lose you both.” AJ’s voice was full of grief. Her hand was a vice.

“I’ve got to help her.” Juan’s words also held grief, longing, and hate for what was happening.

And then Sherry was screaming. Screaming and screaming and screaming, so loud and brutal and piercing that it worked to rip through the sky and shoot out into the cosmos.

“Dammit!” Juan yelled, stumbling as he was willed backwards by AJ’s hand pulling him.

“Juan, come on. You have to come on.” AJ pulled harder.

When the RV door was shut, locked, AJ raced to the driver’s seat, knowing Juan was too in shock to drive. She didn’t even hand him the gun because she doubted he’d be able to use it even if it was necessary. She cranked the engine, slamming the gear into drive, and she shot the RV forward, feeling the trailer jerk and bump behind the RV. She drove so fast, so erratically, and hit a bump in the road so violently, that the mechanic’s trailer jumped into the air several inches. AJ heard a screeching, metallic sound and she knew what had happened- the trailer hitch had hopped off its perch. “Fuck,” she muttered, feeling how poorly the RV was handling now that the trailer wasn’t attached properly.

Juan stumbled to the window to the right of the door, he found Sherry’s body lying on the pavement, the boy still on top of her. As he watched, the Z kid reared back, blood and flesh dripping from his mouth…and Sherry’s head supported in his hands.

That was a blessing at least. Without a head, Juan thought it can’t be possible that she’ll become one of those things. She has to be spared that…at least that.

Marty was sobbing, curled up in the bunk bed. Juan wanted to go to him, wanted to console him, but he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t handle anything save for his own sadness.

***

AJ drove, listening to the grief like a great ocean rising and falling behind her. They were so close now, thirty or forty miles at most, and that proximity only made AJ more nervous. She worried about getting to her headquarters. It was near the airport off of Yale, but to get there they’d have to drive through some of the densest parts of the city. They already knew, thanks to Ahote, that things were still unsettled in Albuquerque. They also knew that it might be more than unsettled, what with the patrol gone missing. But, then again, Ahote had also made it seem like we’d be safe on our way there.

No. He said that there was always a possibility of danger. He never promised safety. Never. AJ hit her hands on the steering wheel, her sadness always translated to anger, red hot and scalding. AJ glanced to the west, at the mountains there. Maybe there is where the people she knew might have gone, might have had a chance to survive out in the wild. But if they hadn’t, if they’d stayed in the middle of Albuquerque…AJ didn’t want to think about it. She wanted her friends, her fellow agents, to be alive and kicking. She needed them to be or this whole trip was a waste.

Sherry’s death was a waste. “Dammit,” AJ shout-whispered, slamming her hands against the steering wheel once again. She’d saved Sherry from rape and worse just to have her die anyways.

Albuquerque had to be okay. The station had to be operational. Maybe the Native American patrol had just gotten sidetracked, just late checking back in. Empty hopes again. Wishes in the middle of that nightmare.

Albuquerque was different than most towns. It was nestled in a mountain, its houses and buildings part of the geography. so that the skyline was almost natural-looking. If the virus was had been out of control here, it would have been bad. There would have been no way to contain it. Thousands of places for the monsters to hide above in the rocks and in the buildings below; it would be the ultimate death trap. And in the same part of town, just minutes from HQ, was Kirkland- the AF base AJ had hopes for, in case the station had been overrun.

The going was slow and AJ found the slow pace exhausting. But between the freakishly high winds and the cars and trucks scattered on both sides of the highway, she couldn’t go any faster. On two separate occasions, she was forced to use the RV to move a smaller vehicle out of the way. The screech of metal and plastic bending and ripping would have been gut-wrenching, if everyone wasn’t already gut-wrenched by what had happened to Sherry. All AJ could think each time she had to manhandle the RV and push her way through was that the old owners of the motor couch must be rolling over in their graves at the thought of their quarter million-dollar investment being used as a battering ram.

Finally, towards the top of a pass, the cars began to thin out and AJ could pick up a little speed. It didn’t much matter by then. They were close now, close enough to taste what it felt like to near the end of a too-long journey that has left you longing for the comforts of home.

Then it was there. The outskirts of the city, the repose of its buildings against the late day still so hot that the heat waves were seeable and nearly touchable despite the fading light. There was still another area of hills to fully see the city, to see the lower half that would be more encased in darkness than the bright tips of the buildings that reached for the sky above. One more barrier before the truth would be seen. An enchanted mirror where only the skin beneath the makeups and the lotions and the lies could show.

One thing was sure; they’d know fast how bad things were. All they had to do was get that degree closer, crest the next range of hills to reveal the entire city. Lost in her own thoughts, AJ jumped when Juan came to sit in the passenger’s seat. His face was steel, any tears wiped away. “No second thoughts about this?”

“No. We’ve come this far; we have to keep going now.” AJ wanted to say more. We have to keep going. If we don’t, what the fuck did Sherry die for?

“Let’s finish it then. What’s the fucking worst that could happen.” Juan didn’t make it a question, because it wasn’t one. No, it was a challenge, almost a challenge to fate and reality and whatever the fuck was controlling the destiny of humanity

“We should wait for morning. There’s only an hour or so before dark.”

Juan didn’t respond to AJ immediately. When he finally did reply, he sounded defeated. “Fine. Morning and we finish this.”

They stayed on high ground, resting atop that last lump of hills and facing the city that could be seen from floor to ceiling now. The night was quiet, too quiet for the longest time, and then the winds picked back up like screaming wraiths in the night. The gusts were so strong that they rocked the camper back and forth like a teeter totter. As had become their habit, they’d cut all the lights as they’d entered full dusk flirting with black night. In the past, they’d talked about things, nothing important, nothing relevant. Just things like old news stories they’d read, their favorite sports teams, the places they’d traveled.

That night they could find nothing to say. They sat quietly in the dark, as separated as was possible within the confines of the RV. Marty fell asleep first, crying himself to sleep. Neither Juan nor AJ moved to comfort him.

The last thought AJ had before drifting off to sleep, her legs propped up on the dash, the driver’s seat leaned back as far as it would go, and the M-16 across her thighs, was that life doesn’t turn out how you expect it. It doesn’t follow a plan. You don’t find the one, have those two-point-five kids, balance a career, and be totally happy until the end of your days.

No, sometimes happiness isn’t that picket fence or that life spent single and traveling the world. Sometimes, you get into a position where happiness is sitting in a comfortable chair, in an RV that had air conditioning, and feeling fairly sure you’ll survive the night without being eaten.

And she decided, right then and there, that if this apocalypse right itself, if the world re-found some semblance of order, that she wouldn’t spend her life chasing down folks who were just trying to survive or give their family a better life. She’d find a more normal pursuit, something that didn’t leave her feeling inhuman at the end of the night.

Juan didn’t fall asleep, he kept himself awake by focusing on the guilt that poured through his person. The near-rape of Sherry and his inability to save her then. His deferring to AJ and siding with AJ at almost every turn. His letting Sherry die instead of him.

He stood by the window that he’d looked out of to see Sherry’s head cradled in the Z kid’s hands. He looked up and stared at the stars. It was amazing how big they were and how close they seemed out here. It was like you could reach out and touch them. High up, Juan saw a satellite racing across the sky, sharing space with those blinking stars. It reflected the now invisible sun’s light back to Earth. Those stars, that satellite, they were oblivious to what was happening down here. Juan had never stopped and just appreciated the stars. What a waste that was.

Juan was about to leave the window, move to the front of the windshield and check the terrain from that angle, when a muted light shone suddenly down the road in front of the RV. Juan could just see it, flickering almost at the base of the hill. It wasn’t light like from a flashlight, it was something else. Fire maybe. Juan turned away from the window, searching around until he found AJ’s monocular. It was hard for him to find the light again once the monocular was pressed to his eye. He waited patiently, eventually thinking it was a trick of the mind.

Then, it appeared again, like someone had stoked it back into existence. Stoked, because he realized that it was a camp fire, small and unimposing against the dark landscape. Small, but visible. And visible meant vulnerable. “Who the hell would be stupid enough to have a campfire in the middle of the damn night?”

Juan moved to AJ and shook her shoulder gently. “AJ, wake up, we’ve got company.”

AJ stirred immediately. “What did you say?” Her voice only sounded moderately sleep tired.

“Company, we’ve got company.”

She was out of her seat in a moment, eyes finding the still-sleeping Marty first. “Are you wanting to go check it out?”

“They’ve got a bloody fire going. They’re going to get themselves killed whoever the fuck they are.” Juan went back to the window and AJ followed. He handed her the monocular and she made short work of finding the flame in the distance.

“I’ll go, you stay with Marty,” AJ said in a way that made it clear she didn’t want to be argued with. “This could be a trap and I can sneak up them better than you can. This is my training.” AJ moved from the window, giving Juan the monocular back. She retrieved the M-16 she’d left sitting on the driver’s seat and she pulled her bullet-proof vest over her head, tightening the straps until it was snug.

“And if it’s a trap? If you don’t come back?”

“I’ll come back, Juan.”

Neither of them said what they wanted to say- that she might not. That Sherry didn’t.

“When I come back, I’ll say ‘is this the slow boat to China’ if everything’s okay.”

“And if everything isn’t okay,” Juan pushed.

“If I say anything other than that, Juan, be prepared for a fight.” AJ unlocked the RV door and pushed her way through into the night. She soon disappeared against the darkness- her black vest, her black hair swishing in its ponytail, becoming nothing more than more shadow to merge with shadow. The wind had died down, which was a good thing, the dust not kicking up and attacking her eyes.

The fire was a good hundred yards away from the RV, very close to where the traffic was backed up again on the downhill slope going into the city. It was in the area known as Woodring and all around nestled into the mountain were homes and estates. Z kids would likely be there, with so many places to hide. Whoever these people were, they didn’t have the sense God gave a goat and they were just asking to be a happy meal. AJ shook her head, disbelieving the utter stupidity.

She knew that not everyone was like her. Not everyone knew how to stay safe, how to stay hidden. How to be smart.

AJ moved slowly and quietly towards the light. The scene around the flame was taking on definition now and I could see two bodies sitting in folding chairs next to the fire. How stupid could these people be? she thought. Not just a fire, but a cooler and chairs and a vehicle nearby with the back hatch open, bags and goods fully visible. No, it had to be a trap, AJ realized. She paused, thinking, wondering what to do. And then she heard a voice. It was singing something, low and sweet. A lullaby. Why would someone set a trap and then sing a lullaby?

Slowly, AJ started her approach again. Just outside the ring of light she pushed the safety on the M-16 to semi-auto. She could see one man and a woman now. The woman sat profiled and at her feet was a large basket-like thing. No, too wide and tall for that. She squinted, trying to see the details better. It had a thick handle coming out of the top.

The woman was still singing, singing and she started to rock the handled basket at her feet. If it held weapons or other things, why would she rock it? AJ brought the M-16 up and stepped into the circle of light.

“Nobody move a muscle,” AJ said and watched for reactions from the man and woman. The woman jumped, both of her hands going down to the handle of the basket at her feet. The man made like he was going to stand, but AJ spoke again so he’d stay seated. “Put your hands out in front of you where I can see them and stand up. Anything fast and you’re dead.”

The man hesitated. AJ studied his face in the light of the fire that was fluctuating brighter and then fading and then brighter again. She realized that he was barely a man, maybe early twenties. Maybe only late teens. She turned to the woman, to his companion. She was mid-thirties, maybe older. And AJ suddenly realized what she was bending over to protect.

The woman, emboldened by AJ’s too-long stare, spoke then. Bold enough to speak or not, her voice still quaked. AJ found that she respected that the woman, scared for herself and for those she cared about, would still find the will to speak. “My name is Bethany Thomas. My husband is the Press Secretary for the White House. This,” she pointed at the young man sitting near her, “is Scott Chambers. His father’s the Secretary of Defense. And this,” her voice cracked with emotion, “is my daughter Mari.”

AJ began to lower her weapon. Then she raised it again, because what were the chances that they’d run across these people, these folks with a very real connection to the government? “How do I know you aren’t lying about who you are?”

“How do we know you didn’t steal that border patrol vest off some dead agent and decide to parade around like you have authority,” the woman, Bethany, said as if she’d already fallen prey to someone who’d done exactly that.

“I am a border patrol agent,” AJ confirmed.

“And we really are who we say we are.” Bethany murmured something to the child at her feet. “If you really are a Border Patrol agent, then we could use some help.”

“You’re fifteen hundred plus miles from the district.” AJ had always been good with geography, with maps and finding her way. She’d been to the district more than once, flying out for this and that, once just to finally see the Smithsonian. It crossed her mind, before she spoke again that the world wasn’t just wild and fierce and dangerous, or more so than it had always been, but it was strange. Full of oddities. Cowboys with insta-forts, Indians on horseback, zombies and now DC elite roaming the desert. AJ wondered if they’d have found Aliens had they not driven fast through Roswell. “What the hell brought you out here?”

At that, Bethany started crying and she finally fully relaxed my grip on the gun, pushing the safety back on. When her mother started crying, Mari began crying also. “Do you mind if I pick up Mari? She’s crying. She cries so much.” Bethany didn’t wait for AJ to respond; she bent down, fiddled with something, and then finally picked up the little girl. She was small, either very young or very petite, with hair so black it shone like a raven’s wing in the fire light. Beautiful.

The sight of the baby, so fragile and tiny, made AJs heart jump into her throat. She didn’t want to be outside any longer and she didn’t want them to be either. Even if they were actually lying, even if they ended up being people with no important connections, who knew nothing, she’d want to keep them safe.

“We have government cards, dependent cards, if that will help you believe us,” Bethany said it quietly, whispering it against her daughter’s dark hair and rocking the child gently. “I can tell you still don’t. If Cliff has taught me anything, it’s how to tell when someone doesn’t believe you and how to lie so they do. Politics, he calls it.”

“I’m going to stand up if that’s okay,” Scott spoke then and he stood. AJ didn’t stop him. She watched though, as he left the fireside and moved to a vehicle she had not seen, so dark was its paint and so small was it. It looked like a reject from the 80s. She walked up, fascinated that the son of the SECDEF and wife of the President’s Press Secretary had come across the country in basically a shoe box. “What the hell kind of car is that?”

“No idea. I’m not into cars, don’t drive or even have my license. Bethany’s BMW was low on fuel, something knocking badly under the hood.”

A BMW, that made more sense to AJ. “Well, it got you here, that’s all that matters.”

Behind them, AJ could hear Bethany whispering to Mari again. And that brought the baby back to reality. It was stupid to stand here in the open by a fire that could call the monsters at any moment, and talk about a car. AJ changed the subject. “Grab what you can. Come back to the RV with me. I can guarantee it’s safer.”

“Do you have a lot of guns?” Bethany questioned behind AJ. She turned to her. “Cliff doesn’t like guns. He doesn’t want Mari around them.”

AJ almost laughed, thinking she was joking. “This isn’t some campaign in the district where gun control is going to win you votes. There are zombies, or didn’t you get the memo?”

Her face looked haunted and I almost felt bad for speaking so bluntly. “Yes, I got the memo,” she murmured, and I could see her arms tighten just a little around her daughter.

“We’ve been doing fine on our own.” Scott sounded stubborn standing next to the dwarf-sized car. “We’ve got a plan. We’re going to find my dad and Cliff and we don’t need help.”

“Look at the damn world, kid. Everyone needs help.” AJ lifted her hands, the gun held loosely in one, and dropped them dramatically. “Saying you don’t need help is like saying you can go a day without pissing.”

He started to argue again but Bethany stopped him. “Scott, I know the car means a lot to you, but we need to find a safer situation. For you, for me…for Mari. If she can keep us safe, keep everyone alive, then we need to go with her.” She said ‘everyone’ like they’d lost someone already on their road to survival.

“Bethany, we don’t—”

“And if Cliff and your dad aren’t here? What then? We need someone who knows this place. I’ve never been here before, ever. I don’t know anything about the landscape or where things are. We need help. That’s not a question or a maybe. It’s a certainty.”

Scott clammed up then and he walked around me to the open hatch of the car. He pulled out two medium-sized pull along suit cases, a duffel bag, and what looked like a diaper bag. “Is that everything?” AJ asked. When Scott nodded, she reached forward and grabbed the duffel, slinging it over her shoulder to rest against her back, and then she also grabbed one of the pull along cases. “Come on. We’re lucky as hell that nothing’s attacked us already.”

Bethany stood, keeping Mari nestled against her chest instead of placing her back in the car seat. “Scott, can you get Meri’s seat?”

He nodded at her, sliding the baby bag over his shoulder and grabbing the handle of the second suit case. Moments later, he was beside Bethany and bending over to pick up the car seat. He stayed right with the older woman as AJ moved and they followed. He was dedicated to them, the kind of guy that made a promise and kept it no matter the costs. AJ didn’t know what the exact relationship was, maybe they were just thrown together by circumstance and the fact that their father and husband worked together, or maybe there something more tangible between them. Scott seemed overly concerned with the baby in Bethany’s arms, constantly leaning nearer so he could catch a glimpse of the sleeping child’s face. There was love in that look.

The group of four moved quietly, cutting through the blackness. All three of the adults held hope with every step that no attacks would come tonight, that their luck would hold.

AJ knocked on the RV door when she got there and she waited a moment before saying, “Is this the slow boat to China?”

Juan opened the door a few seconds later and his gaze widened a little when he saw the two people behind AJ. He said nothing though, not until the RV door was closed and locked again.

When Mari was nestled in the lower bunk, Marty having moved to the higher, with pillows on one side as a soft barrier, Bethany slumped to the floor next to the bed, hung her head, and sighed deeply. “This is the first time I’ve felt even a little safe since everything.”

“AJ says you’re from the district,” Juan said, lifting a pot of coffee and waiting until both Bethany and Scott saw it. They shook their heads that, no, they didn’t want any.

“Yes. Cliff and I actually live in Bowie, Maryland. He had to go into work the day it happened. God, I guess he had to go into work because it was happening. He was supposed to have the day off. We had something to do for my nephew. Feels like a lifetime ago.”

“I’m their nanny,” Scott broke in, “so I was with her and Mari the day everything went to hell. A huge Oktoberfest on the mall was happening when all this started. I was supposed to be there with friends, but when Cliff went into work, Bethany asked me to come to work. We watched it on the news as it happened. It was awful. People were trying to escape, trying to get away, but they couldn’t. And the subway system. Last we heard, that was the worst of all. A total death trap. I could have been in the middle of all that.” Scott’s face looked haunted.

“There was a school doing a tour of the Capital. Six classes of young kids. Really young kids.” Bethany took a turn telling their story. “The last thing we saw on film was those things…those kids…jumping over the White House fence.

DC was a disaster area.

Juan and AJ listened intently as the duo spoke. When they paused for more than a few moments, AJ asked what she’d been wondering since first meeting them. She’d actually already asked it once and hadn’t gotten an answer. “What are you doing here? I still don’t understand. Surely there were better places for you to go.”

Bethany looked at AJ. It was easy to see how exhausted she was. “It was the only place I could think of, the only place I remembered. Cliff used to say that Kirkland was an E4 base, one of the places that could support Air Force One and in an emergency; that they could land here. Every state we passed through, as the miles piled up and we got lower and lower on foods, I kept this stupid hope in my head.”

“You drove clear across the country because Air Force One might be here?” Juan sounded incredulous.

“No, I came more than fifteen hundred miles because my husband and Scott’s father might be here. It was the only thing we could think of, the only thing that at all made sense to do. There was no staying in DC. I don’t have any family near our home in Bowie. We tried to get through the city, tried to get to Cliff before he was evacuated. We couldn’t, not even with Two Penny’s and a secret service agent named Hank’s help.” Bethany started speaking quietly, but her volume had increased by the end, stress warping her voice.

“Two Penny?” Juan questioned. “Sounds like a street name.”

“It was,” Scott confirmed, his words sad. “We wouldn’t have made it out of DC without him. They got us nearly halfway before—”

“Levar died trying to get us some food. Went into a large box store that seemed safe, but it wasn’t. It was a total ambush. They were just lying in wait, knowing someone would eventually walk through the doors. He’d told us to go if things went bad, to just start driving and not look back. Hank jumped out to save him. That’s the last we saw of them. You know,” Bethany let out a choked laugh that was more sob than anything else, “Hank wouldn’t have fit in that little POS car.”

“Fifteen hundred miles with a baby,” Juan breathed, “I don’t know how you made it.”

“We wouldn’t have without the both of them. The rest was luck and prayer.” Bethany turned away from the rest of the adults in the RV, she stood, climbing gently into bed and curving her body around Mari. Everyone else followed suit, turning away from conversation to commune either with dreams or their own thoughts.

The morning broke in all of its splendor, like every other morning in the desert; bright, unbelievable colors fanning out over dry earth. AJ woke before everyone else and stepped out into the day to stretch. Juan followed moments later, maybe sensing that she’d woken up. All of them had fallen asleep at some point, no one standing watch. That had been stupid.

It was chillier than it ought to have been, around 40 degrees or so, but the cold was refreshing to the duo who stood, looking towards the City. The wind from yesterday was still gone, just a memory, and I heard somewhere in the distance the cry of a predatory bird. It could have been peaceful, had the world been back to normal. By the time the group decided to head into the city, the sun was bright and sat on the horizon, a beautiful ball of fire sending rays streaming between buildings and making prismatic colors dance in any shadows that still existed fighting the sunshine.

Juan drove this time, moving the RV deftly, but fighting to keep the trailer in check. They’d done their best to fix the hitch and ball but the damage from dragging it had been extensive. Now it jumped and jiggled like it had a life of its own and occasionally wanted to take a different course than the cumbersome RV. Juan didn’t see how AJ had kept it in check when they’d mad-dashed away from Clines Corner.

“We need to leave the trailer. Navigating the roads is already going to be hard and this makes it twice that.” Juan slowed the motor home, coming to a stop. He grabbed the .38 and AJ followed suit, taking the shotgun.

“I’ll help. Let’s make this quick.”

Juan nodded, agreeing.

They were only gone moments, wheeling down the support leg of the trailer and then continuing to crank until it lifted off of the hitch. They worked quickly, efficiently, with AJ watching the terrain like a hawk on the hunt while Juan transferred some of the necessities, like food, to the big rig. Juan and AJ hated to leave the stocked trailer behind. They took what they could, what was most important to keep them alive, in case someone found the trailer and raided it. It was necessary….

Sometimes necessary shit sucks.

AJ couldn’t help leaning over in her seat to find the growing-smaller trailer in the side mirror. Juan refused to look back. “We’ll come back and get it if we can.”

“If it’s still here,” AJ qualified.

The RV crept closer to the city. Residences and buildings became thicker, like a grove of trees planted too near to one another during the conception of their field so that when they grew larger they crowded one another. If the military still holds the base, then we can come back, AJ thought, not feeling confident. Shit, if they don’t, we’ll still come back…if we can. If we are even still fucking alive. Whether she’d admit it out loud or not, AJ had all but given up on the border patrol station. She just didn’t see how it could have held on its own. Anyone who got out would have gone straight to Kirkland. It just made sense to go straight there, to skip trying the station all together.

AJ wondered if maybe the entrance of a baby on the scene had changed her willingness to take risks. There was already a child under their care, but Marty was a boy. He seemed less…breakable.

“We should check Kirkland first, Juan,” AJ said, fighting not to retract her words as she said them.

“What about the border patrol sta—”

AJ cut him off. “As much as I want to go there, as much as I hope it’s still there, I doubt it is. We have to be more careful, go with the best bet and not just hope. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

Juan didn’t say anything in response, but he thought about what it meant to weigh hope against what was the best bet. He wondered how that would debase humanity more than the monsters.

They drove towards the base, pushing their way through the city until they were close enough to scout out the situation at the base before getting any closer. There was nothing around, no Z kids, no danger. Ahote and his people had been wrong. AJ and Juan climbed atop the RV using the ladder attached to the back to the right of the hitch, leaving Bethany and Scott to watch the children. Marty had been nervous, not wanting to be left behind with the strangers, but Scott had comforted him, offering to color and that had put the boy at ease.

AJ raised the monocular to her eye, her heart thumping faster than normal. The base was fine, her fellow agents were there, the base was fine.

But it wasn’t fine.

It wasn’t fucking fine at all.

Where the entrance of the base should be, a giant crater was instead. Shallow, enormous, and sending tendrils of smoke upwards like the land would surrounding a volcano as it began to heat and work towards explosion. Past that first crater were three more just like it. The devastation of the base had been total, without mercy. Kirkland Base was a smoldering wasteland. I moved the monocular slowly, looking around the craters for any sign of life. I did not find life though, only death.

Bodies of various sizes strewn about like popped corn bursting from an overcooked bag, the guts and blood like the buttery grease that covers your fingers. Only this wasn’t yellow and salty. It was dark, sundried jerky and the blood were stains, waiting for the first rain to wash them slowly away. AJ’s hope withered within her body, caved-in and charred black. It burned until she held her own crater within her body. She did not even bother to wipe away the tears when they started to fall from her eyes.

“Who the hell did this? Jesus Christo, there were families on that base, innocents. They couldn’t have possibly been all affected by this plague.” Juan did not ask for the monocular to see more clearly. He did not want to. The distance kept the details from being clear. That helped his sanity not shred to pieces.

“Couldn’t be nuclear. There are still trees standing way on the outskirts. A nuke would have burned them all up. And if the area was that hot, we’d probably already be showing the affects as close as we are. It has to be conventional, but damned if I know what could do it. Maybe one of those bunker busters they’re always talking about. I just don’t know.” AJ was still looking through the eye glass. She spoke clearly, without any sign of sadness, but the tears contradicted that.

“Why in hell did they do it? They blew up the whole fucking base, the whole base. It doesn’t make any sense.” Juan shook his head slowly. “It doesn’t make any damn sense. Hijo de puta!” He stammered out, his voice rising in pitch and his hands slapping against his legs in anger. “Dammit!”

AJ finally lowered the monocular, her face well and truly soaked now. “It makes perfectly good sense, Juan. They had to contain it. They lost control and they were trying to contain it. I wouldn’t be surprised if we found a lot of other places like this.”

“Jesus, who would wipe out a city to contain a disease?” Juan knew what he said sounded naïve, like a child’s lack of understanding of the world and the way things worked. But he didn’t care. He was tired of death, tired of brutality. And this smacked of both.

“Only one man has the authority to make that call and it tells me that the Government is alive and kicking,” AJ said it like it was a positive thing. To Juan, it wasn’t.

“The President?”

“Yes, and that means that Bethany’s husband and Scott’s Dad are alive. They’re not here, but they’re alive. That’s something. If we can find a way to contact them, let them know that Bethany and Scott and Mari are with us, we can get help. I’m sure we can. If the SecDef can’t do something to save his own son, then there’s no hope at all.” AJ knew, and Juan knew, that she was clawing at sand, trying to pick out the singular grain of faith that would keep her going. Even if her optimism was as naïve as Juan’s disbelief that the U.S. government would blow up an entire base to contain the monsters, it was a thread of life.

AJ and Juan climbed down from the RV, their minds already working towards their next move. Juan focused first on getting the trailer back; AJ’s mind went towards the mountains where she’d thought in passing that her fellow agents might have survived out in the wild. But again, a shot in the dark that would likely sail around hitting nothing.

Scott and Bethany, already emotionally brittle from fighting their way across the country, crumpled under the news that the base was gone.

“God. Oh, God…what do we do now?” Bethany looked down at her daughter who was suckling hungrily, filling her belly with warm, nourishing milk. “We have to find Cliff. I need Cliff. I just need to hear his voice. I wish I could just hear his voice.”

“I’m sorry, Bethany. I know this is hard to handle,” AJ comforted the woman, ignoring her own vast disappointment.

“Wish it was as easy as a phone call,” Scott said, rubbing at his eyes with his shirt sleeve whilst also coloring a sky blue with his other hand. “Wish I could just pick up a phone and call Air Force One. ‘Hey, Dad, Scott here. How’s the apocalypse treating you?’ But you can’t do that. By now they’ll have cut all communications and are controlling every word that goes in or out of that plane. I may be the SecDef’s son, but that don’t mean jack now. Everything is being routed through a single point for security. No call, emails, or text in or out without authorization and we ain’t on that list. So no Dad’s voice, no Cliff’s voice.” Scott dropped the crayon he was holding and ran a hand through his hair, sort of yanking softly at the strands before resuming coloring.

“You seem to know a lot about the communications on Air Force One,” Juan commented, going to the kitchen and pouring a cup of day-old coffee. He drank it cold, absentmindedly. “Is that what you do, communications or something?”

“No, my degree is in computer engineering. In a way, yes, I guess. It’s just a fact of life, everything is run by computers even communications. Trust me, if there is a way to get in, I could do it. It’s one thing to hack the White House Info page or the Government Accounting office. It’s quite another to hack AF One when it’s at Def Con. We’d have a better chance at launching an ICBM than…wait a minute. We may not know what they’re up to or where the hell they are, but they know everything that’s going on.”

“What do you mean?” AJ moved to lean on the counter beside Juan, her nose crinkling slightly when she realized he was drinking the old coffee, not just old, but also frigid. Unwarmed, no sugar. That was just about hell in a mug for her. “They monitor everything; they know everything? Sounds a bit big brother to me.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. Everything is pumped into the command post. It’s just filtered by importance. If it’s broadcasting, it’s being monitored. It’s that simple.” Scott set down his crayon once more and hopped up. “Guys, I think I can do this. I think I can reach my dad.”

“And Cliff?” Bethany spoke, Mari over her shoulder now to be burped.

“Yeah, Cliff too. All of them. The whole fucking Air Force One or whoever the hell is listening. I need my luggage.” Scott began pacing, looking for his bag. When he found the duffel, he unzipped it and pushed through the contents, eventually pulling out an iPad.

“It’s the end of the damn world and you think an iPad is going to do you any good?” Juan tilted the cup back, the rim to his lips, and he drained the rest of the coffee, even crunching on the grains that had snuck through filter when it had been brewed.

“Look,” Scott took on a teacher tone, like he was stood in front of a class of kindergarteners trying to explain the concept of gravity, “some of the servers may be down, but out there, somewhere, is a tower still going strong on its back-up power. We had to do this study last semester all about Points of Presences and the longevity of communications.”

“And you think the generators are still running?” AJ asked, her face not unreadable now, but disbelieving.

“Yes. Imagine light running through a glass rod, that’s fiber optics. The light transmits information, it’s constantly boosted, split and re-directed for different purposes. All this occurs at Points of Presences, or POPs. A lot of those send information to what is loosely referred to as a ‘CO’ or central office. A lot of these ‘CO’s are at cell phone towers and these cell phone towers project not only cell phone communications, but a lot of times internet. Or Wi-Fi. These POPs and COs have backup power and most have a minimum of a 7-day reserve diesel tanks some much more. So as long as we can find one still running, me and my iPad can get back on the web.”

Juan and AJ both wore similar expressions, but Bethany looked like she’d found a possibility worth clinging to. She spoke then, Mari giving a little burp right before her voice came to life. “Scott’s smart. Not just valedictorian smart, but Einstein smart. If he says he can do this, then he can.”

“Fuck,” Juan breathed, setting the empty mug he’d still been holding on the counter top. “Any chance is better than what we have right now which is jack and shit.”

“I didn’t understand a damn thing he said. Mechanics and computers. None of that means anything to me. But like Juan said, any chance is better than what we currently have.”

Before Scott launched in a longer, more detailed explanation of what he needed and where might be a good chance to find a CO or POP, Bethany spoke, cradling Mari in her arms and wiping a dribble of milk from her daughter’s mouth using a thin yellow blanket printed with turtles. “If at all possible, could we try not to curse so much around Mari?”

Juan and AJ looked at her. Scott didn’t, as if he was long used to her dislike of cursing. She wasn’t joking though, and Juan and AJ nodded. They each knew that they’d still curse, still spill out expletives when shit hit the fan, but for now, they nodded. Bethany was protecting the innocence of her child. And who the fuck could argue with that at the end of the world where nightmares were real and death wasn’t necessarily the end?

AIR FORCE ONE

The 747-8 was the first of the new Presidential planes to be put into service.

It had extended range, better avionics, and a much more sophisticated command and control structure than its predecessor. It was the most advanced technological marvel of the 21st century and designed to keep all its passengers safe and sound through the worst possible scenario, for example: nuclear war. On its own, it could travel almost half way around the world, but with in-flight refueling it could stay aloft until food and water ran out, and that was a very long time.

However, the designers never could have guessed that a situation would arise that would not allow for a safe landing somewhere, anywhere. They could only hope that eventually, they’d be directed somewhere that was safe, somewhere that they could rest AF1 and touch the earth again. For now, the plane cruised on auto pilot, in orbit, with a single National Guard KC-135 off its wing, waiting for someone to give her instructions.

Willard Calhoun Winslow, mid-fifties with surprisingly thick hair that was, so far, untouched by grey, looked at the people surrounding him in his “Airborne” Oval Office. His eyes narrowed. So this is what is left. This is what I have to work with. He controlled his face, letting his eyelids part more naturally to frame his sable-hued eyes. Of the 23 men and women on his staff, only five had been within arm’s reach when the crisis hit. Fortunately, Harvey Munson, the Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, had been in the office with him and the SecDef for a private meeting the day it had all started, otherwise no one from the military would have been there. Other than those two, the fiftieth President of the United States had the Secretary of State, Secretary of Energy, and the head of Homeland Security to rely on for advice and guidance to save his country. He worried it wouldn’t be enough.

“All right, folks,” The President started, “we’ve been airborne for almost a week while the world is falling apart. I know everyone has been working hard with our limited resources, but it’s time for some answers and some serious decision making. Linda, let’s start with you, please.”

“Mr. President…”

“Linda, unless you want me to address you as Secretary of State, let’s cut the formalities. Time you call me Willard or Will, if you’d prefer. You can call me Mr. President when we get back on the ground. Okay?”

“Yes, sir.” Linda was uncomfortable calling her boss and leader of the free world Willard, but an order was an order. She clasped her thin, wrinkled hands together and fought to ignore the strand of white hair that had escaped her low bun. “Willard, the situation hasn’t changed much since we were forced airborne. In fact, in some cases it’s gotten vastly worse. Most of the developing nations have been infected and the majority have lost control of the situation. Great Britain was hit the worst aside from us. We’ve lost communications with parliament and the Prime Minister. We can only assume it’s over for them. France isn’t much better, along with Spain and Portugal. The Mediterranean states are in chaos as are parts of Germany, Luxemburg and the rest. According to the information we have, just about everywhere but the Scandinavian countries are suffering.”

“You mean like Finland and Norway?” Willard asked.

“Yes. And Greenland; Iceland also in fact. From the data we’re, receiving the countries which are northern tier are reporting that the outbreaks are both limited in their scope, slow, and controllable.”

“That would correlate with the information I’m getting, Willard.”

The president turned to the speaker, Allen Chambers, Secretary of Defense. “Explain, Allen.”

“Both our Air bases in Alaska, Eielson and Elmendorf, are stable, as well as the surrounding communities.”

“Interesting,” Willard responded and then turned back to Linda. “Continue, please.”

“Relief efforts are flying in and out of those countries to assist the mainland Europe, but the results are sketchy. Last we heard was that Finland has stopped all efforts after the loss of one of their aircrafts and its crew on the ground. We were negotiating with them for help, but nothing has come of it. That’s the good news.”

“And the bad?” Willard wasn’t really sure he wanted to hear the bad, but he had to. It was his job. Linda continued.

“It seems all of our enemies are disease free. North Korea, Iran, most of the Middle East actually. Things are iffy coming from Russia and China, but it seems that the outbreaks are negligible or non-existent there also.”

“What are the sources of the information? Are we sure they’re reliable?” Willard was always very concerned with fact-checking, being sure of things before acting. He wasn’t what people could call a passionate button pusher. He liked to think things through, up until that point where a decision was absolutely necessary and a delay would cost lives.

“Mostly from NOCs, Non-official Cover agents, sending it to the agency. It’s the best we’re going to get and, yes, it’s reliable. In fact, both the Russian and Chinese delegations have offered help in the form of troops and supplies. But if they’re not experiencing an outbreak, there has to be some reason. I’m not sure I would trust the offers.”

“I’m not ready to allow a foreign nation to land an army on US soil. Not yet. Is there anyone out there who we can trust? Anyone who’s actually still capable of giving aid. Aside from—”

“The UN can put a force together if we ask, but I don’t know how effective they will be. Most countries don’t have forces to supply and without the US military, it won’t be much of a contingency.”

“Alright Linda, we will assume for now that the Cavalry isn’t on the way. Thanks. Priscilla, your turn.”

Priscilla Westley looked down at her notes and then at the president; her long, slightly crooked nose the only imperfection in her otherwise flawless features. She fought to keep the fear out of her eyes. That was easier said than done though. She was the Secretary of Energy and, in a nutshell, she wasn’t in charge of much now. “Mr. President, I mean Willard, it’s simple. Without people, the grid will fail, nationally. Over the last few years, we have tied everything into a series of massive grids. Nothing is independent unless it’s military, government, or a few specialized research facilities. In fact, even most of those rely on the grid and only go to their independent power sources if nothing else is working.”

“So what is running right now?” Willard asked, picking up a blue and silver pen and rolling it around in his fingers. It helped him concentrate, to fiddle with things. It helped him focus.

“Not much. Most of the nuclear reactors were SCRAMed almost immediately at the news of the outbreak…” Priscilla’s voice trailed off.

“And a SCRAM is?” Willard asked, clicking the top of the pen six times in quick succession. His staff was used to his ticks, used to how he operated.

“Emergency shut down of the reactor. We determined that the danger of a meltdown if the crews were gone was too dangerous to take a chance. My office sent out the word. The only East coast reactor which wasn’t SCRAMed was the Savannah Nuclear Power Station.”

“And why was that?” Willard felt like he was playing twenty questions, twenty questions to save the world. No pressure.

“The quick answer? Security. It’s more isolated and very heavily guarded. No reports in that immediate area of any affected. Yet, at least. Many of the other reactors were in or around major cities or highly-populated areas. Just too dangerous. Unfortunately, the Savannah station doesn’t generate nearly enough power to support the grid it’s attached to, so all its power is going unused or solely supporting government systems. In the West, we have Hoover dam. It’s buttoned up tight, but with minimum security and staff. Our best guess is it will run about 6 months before that have to shut it down. Some barnacle or something binding the turbines. Any number of things. Regardless, everything else is petroleum or coal and the smaller dams are either isolated on the grid and producing rolling blackouts, or have been shut down to keep from doing more damage to the grid. It’s a mess.”

“Any bright side?” Willard set down the pen. It wasn’t helping as much as he’d hoped and he was getting more and more frustrated with his uselessness in the crisis.

“There is some. There’s always some thread of brightness, Willard.” Priscilla said it like she knew her President needed to hear it that way. “Dugway, Aberdeen, The CDC in Atlanta, Cheyenne Mountain, Offutt AFB, all under our control and running on their own independent power.”

“Those are some of the places we sent the special forces teams from Bragg to provide structure,” Harvey Munson added.

Willard glanced at Harvey and then back to Pricilla. “That’s it? The world’s most powerful Nation reduced to a few acres of light?” He debated picking the pen back up, giving it another shot as a stress reliever. It hadn’t failed him in the past. The past hadn’t been nearly so precarious though.

“That’s about it, Mr. President, and without a lot of experts and people on the ground we are not turning the rest of the lights on…ever.”

“Willard, Priscilla. Call me Willard.”

“Yes. Sorry, Mr. Pres—” she stopped herself. “Yes, sorry, Willard.”

“Well, I certainly get the picture in terms of our ability to power our nation. What does the Department of Homeland Security have to offer, George?”

George Blakenship, a thin, reedy man with sparse hair and eyes so dark brown, they looked mostly black in any light, leaned back on the leather executive chair and shook his head. “I have less than a thousand people that I know of in the entire DHS network and that includes the Coast Guard and the only ones left in the Coast Guard are parked off shore in their ships. I managed to get fifty-six key people airlifted to Aberdeen also. But that’s it, Willard. Everyone else is either buttoned-up in their headquarters, pissing in buckets and drinking warm sodas, or unaccounted for. As far as state and local police go, I’ve pretty much lost contact with everyone.”

“Jesus, George. What the hell?” Willard lifted his left hand and cradled his face for a moment, blocking out the sight of the people around him, the people he wanted to have all the answers so they could cure this fucking mess.

“Nature of the beast, Willard,” George continued. “We were either in the field and totally vulnerable or behind a desk. There wasn’t much in between. I really have no hope for the field guys or anybody at their home when this hit. When it shakes, out we may have a few thousand more, but I’m not counting on it. This thing hit us blind and unprepared.”

Willard couldn’t fathom what he was hearing. There had to be away to recover from this. “Alright, Harvey, you’re the Chief of Staff of the Military. Thomas, you’re the SecDef. Get my ass out of this wringer.” Willard didn’t really make it an order, but if they took it that way, more the better. He needed solutions. He had information. He knew the problem.

He needed that answer that would cut through this mess and turn back the clock.

Allen shifted in his seat and then looked at Harvey. It was a ‘you go first look, I’m thinking’. Harvey went first, words like gossamer pouring from his mouth. Faded gossamer that was part of a dress so old the age stains would never wash out.

“Sir, when this began, I assumed we were under a biological attack that was well-organized and orchestrated. I assumed that we were going to lose the majority of our government and military, which would immediately leave us open to invasion. In that situation, the Joint Chiefs have a game plan set in place around a specific segment of our population to recover command and control and protect the borders till we can find a solution. The operation is called ‘Hail Mary’.” Harvey paused, waiting to make sure everyone was with him.

“Go on, Harvey,” Willard prompted, seeing a flicker of hope in the dimness.

“’Hail Mary’ is fairly simple in its initiation. It’s designed to deploy immediately, troops to predetermined secure locations or locations depending on the threat. They are only equipped with limited war fighting capabilities, but with a lot of varied skills. The ‘Hail Mary’ teams are pulled from all the services based on talent sets, but they’re primarily Army Special Forces, Navy SEALs, and MarSOC, with some Air force personal thrown in. They’re deployed with a series of specialized Aircraft Known as SOLL, Special Operations Low Level, supported by C-130 TALONS and Spectre Gunships. On the water, all of our Sub Forces goes to their predetermined points and go dark while any Battle Groups return to our waters. We activated ‘Hail Mary’ Fifteen minutes into the outbreak.”

“And the success of it?” Again Willard didn’t know if he wanted to hear the answer.

“Mixed, sir. The Navy, for their part, went off without a hitch. We had two carrier groups deployed. One each is now sitting off the East and West Coasts. All subs are in place awaiting orders.”

“And the ground forces?

“That’s a little more complicated. We diverted five of the teams to the places Pricilla mentioned as an immediate stop gap and to ‘hold the fort’ for lack of a better term.”

“And the rest?” Willard was back to the game of twenty questions. It made him think of a movie he once watched with his father. Flash Gordon…we only have fourteen hours to save the earth! And something about love. I love you, but…Willard thought about Katherine, his wife. He’d tried to not think about her, tried not to go over everything that might have happened to her. All his resources as president, and they couldn’t find his damn wife. The goddam First Lady. He came back to the present slowly, realizing he’d missed a few of Harvey’s words.

“—and we found that none of the pre-determined places were viable. We lost the first team at our kick-off place in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Kirkland to be exact. When we lost contact with them, they were fighting for their lives against the infected and couldn’t get the aircraft off the ground. We ordered the rest to rendezvous at an abandoned research and test facility known as Tonopah.”

“You mean Area 51?” Willard asked, surprised

“Yes, sir, Area 51. It’s a dry lake bed. We basically have eight hundred of the finest fighter in the world along with air support and some vehicles sitting in the desert waiting for orders.”

“Only eight hundred? Seems like a small number.” Willard knew a novice might think eight hundred sounded like a lot, but it wasn’t, not in terms of war and loss.

“Yes, sir, it is, but on a good day, they can average a seventy-five-to-one kill ratio against a modern enemy and that’s roughly 60,000 KIA. But there not there to win the war; their job is to secure an airbase so the rest of the troops can win it.”

“And how many troops do we have to win this war, Harvey?”

“We were able to secure close to 13,000 men and women, plus air support, and some light armor before we lost total control. They’re now sitting tight at Denver National Airport, again awaiting orders. We also have Eielson and Elmendorf to pull from. Everything else is a loss in my opinion.”

“Christ, less than 20,000 people to take back a nation.” Willard did reach for his pen now, clicking it and clicking it and then rolling it in his hands so the coolness could press against his fingers.

“Don’t discount the American soldier’s resolve, Willard.” This from Allen, who’d stayed quiet as Harvey spoke.

“I’m not, Allen.” Willard nodded at Allen and then turned his attention once more to Harvey. “So, do you have a plan then?”

“Albuquerque is still our best bet. It’s Isolated and has a major highway going both east and west. I want to take everything we have left and expand from there. Conscript everyone we run into and start to build our muscle one town at a time.”

“How are you going to arm them?” Willard continued holding the pen, almost like it was a security blanket in his grip.

“It’s America, sir, I’m counting on, not only our people, but on civilians being armed. I’m just going to organize them and put them under command of the deployed teams.”

Willard closed his eyes a moment, trying to recall what he’d heard so far, and then he reopened them, a new question on his lips. “I thought you said Kirkland and the city was a loss?”

“Yes, sir, it is. According to the reports we got before we lost the team and going by the limited satellite imagines we have, it’s overrun by the infected. With 90 percent of them being in or around Kirkland. We’re not sure what drew them there, but it’s good that they’re localized near a single point. We use Daisy Cutters to flatten it, Willard. We make a hole and make room. A safe place.”

“Daisy Cutters, Harvey?” George interjected. “I thought we dropped the last BLU-82 years ago.”

“Yes, well,” Harvey’s face suddenly grinned, “that’s what we told the press. We still have a few and a couple of the birds at Tonopah already have the little eggs in their bellies. Should clear a path for the teams fairly effectively.”

“It will. And it will leave us with a lot of empty space to land in, but no buildings to operate out of,” George responded, knowing the BLU-82 was one of the most powerful conventional bombs ever made.

“So, you’re saying we destroy the base, Harvey. And it’s overrun. We won’t be killing a bunch of families or personnel?”

“There may be some people still fighting there, Willard. It’s your call. However, I will tell you straight up. The longer we wait, the worse it will get and the lower my guys will be on supplies.”

Willard leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Not since Eisenhower and D-Day did a single individual have to make such an enormous decision. If he made the wrong one, he could lose the country. He thought of his wife, wishing she were by his side. He thought of his twelve-year-old son asleep in the stateroom just a few meters away. He thought of the future, of a child growing up without a country. And he made his decision. He sat back up, looking slowly at his remaining staff, and he squared his shoulders.

“Alright, Harvey. Bomb Kirkland, kill every last one of them. Then get our men in there and let’s begin the process of taking back our damn country.” Willard stood, rubbing his eyes. The pen was still in his hand. He didn’t put it on the table, instead pushing it into his pocket.

“Yes sir, Mr. President.” Harvey stood also. Willard did not bother correcting him over the ‘Mr. President’ title. No one spoke as Harvey left the room, headed to relay orders that might kill innocent lives. No, it would kill innocent lives.

“Now, for the rest of you, I’m tired of flying. Someone tell the pilot to get me to Elmendorf. Allen, can you get Mr. Thomas on your way out and send him in; I want to figure out what we can do to talk to the nation.”

SecDef Allen Chambers left the president. It was short work to find Press Secretary Cliff Thomas, who was his friend and had been for some time. He was standing with Harvey; his face pleading. Allen caught the tail end of the discussion.

“—but my wife, my child, Allen’s son. They’re out there together and if I know my wife, she’ll head to Albuquerque. She’ll remember what I said in the past about it being somewhere AF1 can land.”

“I’m sympathetic, Cliff, I am, but we have a duty to the entire nation, not just to one woman and a child. Not to a young man, just because his daddy’s important in government. That’s not how this works.” Harvey’s voice was calm, determined to make Cliff understand. It wasn’t kind or unkind. It just was. Harvey walked away from Cliff then, without waiting for him to say anything else.

“Cliff, the president wants you.” Allen approached his friend and found that he was shaking, a vibration so mild that it could only be seen in close proximity.

“Damn that man!” Cliff’s words rushed out laced with heat and anger.

“I know, Cliff. Believe me, I know. But he’s right. Our duty is to this country first.”

“It’s your son, Allen. Do you really hold your job higher than your own son?” Cliff looked at his friend in disbelief, like he was seeing him for the first time or with new, clear eyes.

 “Yes, he’s my son. I’d give my life for him if I could. but it’s also a whole damn nation on the verge of collapse. Even if I knew where they were I wouldn’t ask anyone to divert assets to them.”

“I’ve thought you to be a heartless man, Allen.”

“I’m not, Cliff. I’m just choosing to ignore my heart for the good of the entire fucking world.” Allen took a deep breath. “The president wants you, Cliff. Go do your job.”

Cliff walked into the room where the meeting had just been conducted, he greeted the president with professionalism and poise, but inside he was dying. He wanted his wife. He wanted Bethany. He wanted to hold his daughter again. And he feared that would never happen.

So you know what to expect in the future from

The Z Children Series!

ZC1: Awakening (the groups begin to form through origin stories) http://amzn.to/2qmbbVZ
ZC2: The Surge (focuses on JW's group) http://amzn.to/2tvk8wG
ZC3: The Rising (focuses on Juan's group) http://amzn.to/2t5U0cx
ZC4: D.C. Burning (the fall of D.C., focusing on character Bethany Thomas, introduced in ZC3)
ZC5: TBT (Focuses on JW's group, intersecting with Susan Fields & family)
ZC6: TBT (Focuses on Juan's group)
ZC7: TBT (Focuses on JW's group, new characters introduced)
ZC8: TBT (The origin of new characters from ZC7)

ZC9: TBT (Focuses on Juan’s group)

ZC10: TBT (Focuses on JW’s group)

The books are going back and forth between groups and we know that can be frustrating- especially when a particular book ends on a cliffhanger and you aren't getting the satisfaction of the next book carrying it forward immediately! Eventually, readers will be able to choose if they want to consume a group's entire story straight through (when we end ZC and head into ZC: Mutation) instead of following the original publication order, but a consumer just might miss some of the common threads and things that are building up between sequential books.

Read on for a short & [unedited!] sneak peek of Z Children 4: D.C. Burning.

Z CHILDREN

D.C. Burning

BOOK FOUR

ELI CONSTANT

B.V. BARR

Part I

Hank McCoy

‘The Beast’

It was the Secretary of Transportation that saved my life.

And, dammit, I couldn’t even remember his name, not right now- with my pulse so thick I could taste blood. He’d taken the full blow of the freakish kid. It had been aiming for me… for me. But then the Secretary had walked into the hall- a timely (or untimely for him) entrance and that was it. I was alive; he was dead. I’d left him there, screaming and writhing on the ground with a small girl wearing a blood-spattered daffodil-hued dress straddling his body and ripping into his throat with her teeth. She’d worried at it hungrily, not coming up for air. As I’d pushed through the hallway, doing my job, getting the President to safety, the Secretary’s yells of agony had followed me like elevator music I couldn’t escape. No, I just went down and down, further into hell, with the symphony of screaming a constant companion.

Other people might have evaluated why they’d been saved, spared a brutal fucking death, but I didn’t have time for that. I had to keep going forward, putting round after round into the monsters we passed. It felt like we’d been sucked into some sort of violent video game. These things couldn’t be real… they couldn’t have once been children. Finally, as we rounded a hall, a gun sounded behind us and the Secretary fell quiet. I hoped the miniature bitch that had killed him was dead too. The FN P90 barked harshly in my hands and two heads exploded into a cloud or crimson mush. Quickly and efficiently I dropped three more of the rabid kids as they bounded down the long hallway toward the group I was attempting to protect. Everyone could die, everyone was expendable. My job focused on one man, and one man alone. The sharp reports of the plain-clothes Secret service pistols were like bang pops, the kind of firecrackers you toss on the ground to make a satisfying snap and fizzle. Sort of like that candy I’d used to eat as a kid. Pop rocks. I’d been scared as hell to mix pop rocks and soda after this movie I’d seen while I was still in Junior high.

“Get the President into the damn elevator,” I yelled. It was a waste of breath, I knew that. We were already pushing hard and fast, shoving the boss along with the other VIPs surrounding him in a sort of protective circle. We were nearing the elevator as fast as we could. Nearing protection. So I didn’t need to yell. I didn’t need to let everyone around me know the urgency of our situation. Yet, I also did need to. I needed to make sure everyone was focused. Or maybe I needed to make sure I was fucking focused. A seed of doubt began to grow in my stomach. Part of me didn’t want to go near that elevator.

As if it really would descend me into hell.

We were passing a hallway to our right, a weak point, an entry point. I flipped the selector switch to full auto just before we passed the opening. Sure enough, a bunch of the monsters were barreling our direction. I dumped the mag into the large group of the creatures, children, whatever they fucking were. It was the first time I thought I should have put the ‘can’ on it; the burst of 5.7mm broke the sound barrier and filled the hall with high decibel noise. We were still moving, still pushing the ‘important’ men and women towards the elevator. I turned to cover our flank. I fired and fired. Bullet after bullet.

A head shot.

A chest shot.

A groin shot.

Blood fanning out in wet arcs, rainbows in the air composed of a singular color.

Anywhere I could aim and do damage. I was lost, for a time, in the gunfire and the killing. My mind went red and dark in a murderous version of tunnel vision.

It took a hard slap on my back to bring me back to reality. Everyone was in the elevator; it was time to get in myself. Too late though.

Too late.

Already the next wave of what had been a White House tour- comprised of six classes of young, gifted children from a local Science and Engineering magnet- was coming my way at full speed.

ABOUT THE AUTHORS

B.V. BARR

B.V. Barr has been teaching Survival, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) continually since 1981 when he joined the USAF as a “Survival Instructor”. In that Thirty+ year period, he has taught all aspects of SERE, trained at both domestic and international schools, written SERE doctrine and instruction, researched  and developed cutting edge programs  for dealing with both the psychological and physical challenges of survival, tested new equipment, written numerous papers on equipment and SERE-related disorders, and taught thousands of classes. B.V.’s research and program development is the basis for many of the national and international survival schools in operation today. He is a USAF Master SERE Instructor.

Members of the Rangers, Green Berets, Para-rescue, Combat Control, Navy SEALs, Air Force Crew Members and MARSOC have all been his students. Outside the military, he has taught people from the DEA, Local Law Enforcement, Department of Natural Resources, the FBI, and other Federal Agencies. With over 12 years in the disaster mitigation and security fields, his advice on the development of advanced survival systems is irreplaceable and his knowledge of the physical and psychological aspects of both manmade and natural disasters is unparalleled in the survival world.

Z Children: Awakening, written with Eli Constant, is B.V.’s first official foray into fictional writing. His technical expertise has proven a valuable asset in the development of plausible situations, appropriate survival responses, and how the world would really operate at the ‘awakening’ of an apocalypse.

Check out B.V. Barr’s survival company: www.usiusa.com

Find him on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Author.B.V.Barr

ELI CONSTANT

Eli attended USC-L, Columbia College, Texas A&M, & George Mason University. She studied everything from Mariculture to Differential Equations. Settling on Biology, Eli participated in research fellowships in Texas and at NIH, worked a few random jobs, and finally settled into a Virginia lab where she focused on mastering diagnosis procedures and implementations of histology and pathology. Choosing to be a dedicated homemaker after the birth of her first child, Eli rediscovered her passion for writing. She's never regretted the decision; not only are her kids the most amazing creatures, but writing fulfills her soul in a way science never did.

Eli calls herself an author of speculative, mind-bending fiction. She adores all things quirky and nerdy and she once thought she’d marry Martin Short… until she discovered Alan Rickman. #Always. She also writes as Eli Grace & Eliza Grace. She is the author of The Dead Trees Series, The Shadow Forest Series, DRAG.N, The Tears of Chios, The Water is Sweeter and more. Her books are available in eBook, paperback, & audio formats.

Stalk Eli on social media:

Official Website: www.authoreliconstant.com

Twitter: @Author_EliC

Books on Amazon: http://amzn.to/1leEDEo

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6901568.Eli_Constant

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