Date: 2019-10-21 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; Humorous; General; Satire; Horror; Fantasy; Humour; Science Fiction
Description: John, Chris and Erik are neighbors in the quaint subdivision of The Creeks of Sage Valley Phase II. The three men happily live the typical suburban family life. Their only real problems have been with each other and the draconian rules of the HOA. But, that all changes when the dead rise from their graves and walk the Earth. Now, they must reluctantly join together to survive the spreading apocalypse and find their families. Personal fears, long buried secrets and their own personalities threaten to tear the group apart as they make their way across the zombie ridden landscape in Dads vs. Zomb
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services LLC - Kdp

DADS VS. ZOMBIES

Dads vs. Series, Book 1

BENJAMIN WALLACE

Benjamin Wallace

Copyright © 2013 by Benjamin Wallace.

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2013 by Benjamin Wallace.

All rights reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Monkey Paw Creative.

To everyone who has supported me in my endeavors
to joke around for a living, thank you.

If I were a zombie, I'd eat you first.

1

It had been years since they had been bowling, but it was not lost on any of the men that, even in the establishment’s logo, bowling was distinctly separated from the word fun.

The Meadows Park Family Fun & Bowling Center had gone to great lengths to look nothing like any bowling alley that they could remember. The interior designer had selected plush leather couches and rich wooden tables instead of the nicotine stained plastic furniture that used to line the lanes of America. Instead of flat beige walls marred with beer stains from flung bottles, the center was painted with dark and inviting shades of blue and red.

The concession stand was actually Finnegan’s, a mock Irish pub that offered more fare than heat lamp pretzels and microwaved cheese cups. It contained a dining area that encompassed the billiard room where regulation-sized tables filled a sunken area. None of which appeared to take quarters.

Beyond Finnegan’s, the screams of hyperactive children were swallowed by the gunfire, guitar riffs, and dance commands of an expansive arcade. Each ran on a “Fun Zone” card that you loaded with cash. This cash became credits that the kids could turn into points to redeem for tickets that could be exchanged for crap that the arcade kept in glass cases to give it the appearance of being really special crap. A piece of gum was five tickets. This equated to roughly four dollars by the time it had gone through the “Fun Zone” cash/credit/points/tickets/crap conversion.

Menacing aliens stood guard at the doors of the Laser Tag arena. These ten-foot monstrosities took their inspiration from Geiger’s nightmares, but each wielded a bright orange rifle designed by a committee at the Department of Safety and Ruining Fun. They probably shot bubbles.

A rope course was strung above everything. For five bucks a minute, kids could be tethered to a safety line and move from platform to platform via strung together bridges. One had to admit that from a kid’s point of view it could look fun, but for one of the men it brought back a tragic trust fall memory from an off-site work event.

There were also bowling lanes.

“So, why do you think they call it a turkey?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Maybe it matters to me, Chris.”

“Actually, Erik. It matters to you the least.”

“Why?”

Chris set his beer down on the coffee table. “‘Because you suck the most.”

“I do not. I got that strike in the first round.”

“You need three in a row, genius.”

“So what?” Erik grabbed his own beer. “You suck, too.”

John, having just thrown a gutter ball, sat down on the leather couch and pulled a fresh bottle from the pail that sat in the middle of the table. “We all suck. Bowling sucks. This sucks.”

Chris and Erik nodded.

“But, Chris is right, Erik,” John continued. “You suck the most.”

Erik sat back in the deep couch. “You guys are acting like this is all my fault. None of us want to be here. I’m just trying to make the most of it.”

“By sucking?” asked Chris.

“Our team name is your fault,” said John. “We were supposed to be called Austin Is a Big Piece of Crap so that Austin would know we think he’s a big piece of crap.”

“Yeah, well, the embroiderer charged by the letter and you guys didn’t want to pitch in for the shirts.”

“I didn’t even want a shirt,” said John.

Erik fired back, “The league requires bowling shirts.”

John set down his beer. “I could make the argument that any shirt in which I bowl is a bowling shirt.”

“Screw you guys. We needed shirts.”

“Fine, but,” Chris straightened out the pocket of his bowling shirt to reveal the team name. “Split Happens?”

“I thought it was clever.”

Chris and John shook their heads.

A clatter of pins echoed behind them and was quickly followed by an overly enthusiastic, “Yeah! Take it! That’s how Ball Busters do it!” This had been going on for quite some time. The team they were up against had been bowling in the league for years and drinking since the first frame.

A round of high fives shot off behind them and the three men of Split Happens sighed before an overly enthusiastic voice boomed in their direction, “Hey, Split Heads. It’s your turn, losers.”

“He’s talking to you, Erik.”

“Shut up, Chris.” Erik stood and stepped up to the lane. He pulled the purple house ball from the return, held it before his eyes and approached the line with cautious steps. There he stopped and eyed the pins.

The comment, “Nice ball, loser,” was followed by drunken laughter and a round of high fives from the other team.

“Do you think these guys are taking this a little too seriously?” John asked. “They know it’s bowling, right?”

“This whole place is crazy. I’ve been talked to by four different people for ‘breach of etiquette.’ I didn’t think there’d be so much protocol in trying to knock things over from a distance.”

John sat with his back to the lane. There was a grunt from behind him. “How’d he do?”

“Gutter,” Chris said.

John slammed his beer down on the table and made a pile of bottle caps dance. “I can’t believe we have to be here. Who would have thought the HOA had so much power?”

Chris nodded and echoed the registered letter they had each received. “Hereby required to socialize and get along for the benefit of the community.” HOAs loved sending registered letters.

“I certainly don’t remember the ‘mandatory bowling’ clause in the bylines. It’s BS. Just because he’s president, Austin thinks he gets to boss everyone around as long as he hides behind ‘for the benefit of the community.’” There was another grunt from behind him. “How’d he do?”

“He fell down,” Chris said. “Again.”

Most people would respond with a snicker. Perhaps they would pretend to hide it or just catch it in their hand. But that was not the Ball Buster way. The team’s mouthpiece bellowed the actual word, “Ha,” as Erik picked himself up from the lane. The rest of the team erupted in laughter.

Erik returned to the couch rubbing his elbow.

“On your way to a turkey, Split Head?”

“Shut up, Chris. I’ve never been good at sports.”

“This isn’t a sport, Erik,” John said. “It’s a game.”

“What’s the difference?” Erik snapped.

“For it to be a sport there has to be a potential for injury.”

“I just hurt my elbow.”

“Because you suck, not because this is a sport.”

Chris hung his head. “We’ve got sixteen weeks of this crap.”

“Maybe not.” John leaned in, expecting the two men to do the same. They didn’t move. He waved them in. They didn’t move. “What if we could get Austin ... “

“No,” Chris said.

“You haven’t even heard my plan.”

“Your last plan cost me my yard and got me stuck in a bowling league. No.”

“Don’t be such a baby. Your yard grew back. Look, I’ve been going over the HOA bylaws. Austin’s broken his own rules. Have you seen that ugly ass fountain he put in his yard?”

“The one with the kid peeing?” Erik asked.

Another strike sounded behind them. A series of high fives followed.

John continued. “It’s a total violation of HOA rules and probably public decency laws.”

Chris pulled another beer from the bucket on the coffee table. “It’s a terrible idea.”

“What is?” John asked.

“The idea you’re about to have. It’s the worst idea ever.”

The loudest and drunkest of the Ball Busters landed on the couch next to John and slammed his palm down on the coffee table. The empty beer bottles jumped and rattled. “Hey!” He was built like a former football player that ate like he thought he still ran two-a-days but didn’t. He put his arm around John. “Did anyone ever tell you that you look just like that guy from that commercial?”

“Which commercial?”

“Every commercial. You know that guy. Kinda fat. Kinda old. Kinda bald. That’s the guy you look like.”

John looked to his teammates. Each had a look of realization on his face.

“I hate you guys.”

“Anyway, fatty,” the Ball Buster continued, “are we going to bowl or are you girlfriends going to gossip?”

Chris shook his head in disbelief. “Girlfriends? Really?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, but it wasn’t friendly. “Girlfriends.”

“You guys call yourselves the Ball Busters?” Chris asked.

“Yeah!” The bowler stood and turned. Perhaps the Ball Busters knew a cheaper embroiderer, maybe one of them was handy with a needle and thread, but the entire back of his team shirt was covered with the Ball Busters logo—two balls striking a single pin between them. He pointed to the back of his shirt with his thumbs. “We’re the Ball Busters, baby!”

“You’re all dudes?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s stupid.”

The smile faded. “Just bowl, Mary.” The man grunted as he stood and walked back over to his team. “I called him Mary.” There was more high fiving.

“You heard him, Mary,” John said.

Chris shook his head. “This can’t get any worse.”

The overhead lights switched off and the PA crackled. “You know what that means, folks. It’s time for Laser Bowling!”

The speaker system had been playing 90’s rock all evening. Now the woofers took over duty as techno music began to blast through the massive cabinets that hung from the wall. Black lights cast the lanes in a pale blue hue that lit the pins in a horrid rainbow of dayglow colors. Strobes flashed and lights danced across the lanes.

“I can’t believe we have to do this.” Chris stood and approached the lane. He stopped and turned. “Before I go up there, I want it to be clear that I hate you both.”

John raised his beer and nodded his agreement.

2

The evening had not gone well, but it ended worse.

In the game of baseball, the winning team is not allowed an extra inning to run the bases while the losers are forced to watch from the dugout. Bowling, however, allows better players an extra rub-it-in frame. Each Ball Buster drew out his extra frame with a lengthy dose of insults that bordered on soliloquy before throwing each ball.

The three members of Split Happens suffered the trouncing by not caring one little bit about bowling. The insults didn’t faze them. The taunts did not irk them. But, the Ball Busters’ victory skit drove the three losers into hysterics.

This skit had consisted of a choreographed dance step, a chant that contained the chorus, “bu, bust, busted,” and pantomimed spanking. The dialogue was childish, foul and on par with a rap written by any company’s HR group. The victory skit culminated with all three Busters shaking beers and spraying them at the losing team.

John shot beer out his nose, Chris fell back into the couch unable to control his laughter, and Erik joined in with a chuckle once he realized that he should be laughing as well.

Grins turned to sneers and middle fingers as the Ball Busters packed up their shoes, balls, gloves and little wrist things and left the Family Fun & Bowling Center. Chris returned Split Happens’ rented shoes while John and Erik finished their drinks.

“Are you okay to drive, John?” Erik asked.

“What? Of course.”

“Because, if you’re not, I can drive. I’ve only had a couple.”

“Erik, I don’t let my wife drive my car. And I actually like her.”

Chris returned from the front counter. “We’re good to go. John, are you okay to drive?”

“Why does everyone keep asking that?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“I’m fine. Besides, it’s only a couple of blocks.”

Erik raised a finger. “They say that most accidents happen within a mile of home.”

“They also say, ‘Shut up or you’re walking home.’ Let’s go.”

“I’ve never heard them say that.”

“Move it, Erik.”

The throbbing soundtrack of Laser Bowling faded as the automatic doors closed behind them and they stepped in the parking lot. It had been full when they arrived but the spaces had opened up. They could see John’s car from across the lot and the three Ball Busters leaning against it.

“Oh, what is this crap?” John asked.

“Maybe they just want to wish us a good game. They forgot to inside.”

“Shut it, Erik.”

The biggest Ball Buster spoke as the three men approached. “You guys think laughing is pretty funny, huh?”

Chris and John exchanged a confused look before Chris responded, “No. Laughing isn’t funny. The funny thing has to happen before the laughing.”

One of the smaller, yet still large, Ball Busters pushed himself away from the car and pointed at Chris. “Shut up, loser.”

“You guys know this is just bowling. Right?” John asked.

The Ball Buster put a finger in John’s chest. “Just bowling?”

“Yeah. It’s just a game.”

“Ha.” The Ball Buster turned to his teammates. “No wonder these guys are such losers. They don’t understand how competition works.” He turned back to Split Happens. “That’s why you’ll always be losers.”

“You’re the one wearing a penis on his shirt,” said Erik.

“Shut up, dork!”

John clapped his hands. “Fair enough. Erik’s a dork. We’re losers. Now that all of that is settled, please step aside so we can go.”

The finger in his chest turned into a palm and stopped John from approaching the car. “You don’t get it, do you? No one laughs at the Ball Busters.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure everyone laughs at the Ball Busters. Now get off my car.”

The Ball Buster smiled as his teammates spread out. Each lined up across from one of the losers.

“Enough!” Chris stepped forward. “This is not happening. We’re not getting into a fight in a bowling alley parking lot.”

“Because you’re a pussy.”

“No. It’s because we’re all adults. Now get out of the way.”

The largest Ball Buster stepped forward and grabbed Chris by the collar. “I’m going to hit you the hardest.”

“Is there a problem here?” It didn’t matter how many arcade games or prize machines the Fun Center put in, it was still a bowling alley and needed an officer on the premises. As any couple can tell you, whenever wood flooring and alcohol are mixed, there’s going to be a fight.

The Ball Buster released Chris and stepped away with his hands outstretched. “Not at all, Officer. Just wanted to wish him a good game.”

The cop stepped in between the men and looked each one over carefully. “I’m glad to hear that. Now, I don’t think all of you came in this car, so why don’t you all head back to your vehicles.”

There was a nervous mutter of “yes, sirs” as the Ball Busters scattered into the parking lot to their various pickup trucks.

John pulled the keys from his pocket and unlocked the car. “Thank you, Officer.”

“Have you been drinking, sir?”

“What? Wh ...?” John sighed, locked the car and dropped the keys back into his pocket.

“Yes, sir. C’mon, guys. Looks like we’re walking home.”

* * *

The Meadows Park Family Fun & Bowling Center sat on the edge of the Meadows of Sage Creek neighborhood. In its time, the space had been a hardware store, a garden center and an empty building. Now it was the main attraction in a strip mall of empty storefronts and a breakfast diner that wasn’t smart enough to be open late on league night.

After shaking the doors to make sure that the diner was closed, the three men gave up their hopes of pancakes and began the walk home. A block into the stroll, they came to the top of the one hill in the neighborhood.

“Have I told you that I don’t like walking, John?”

“With every step, Chris.”

“Next time we’re taking separate cars.”

“This is total crap. I’m fine to drive. If not for that cop ...”

“If not for that cop we would have been beaten up by thirty-year-old frat boys.”

“We could have taken them,” said Erik.

Chris and John looked at the third member of their team but refused to acknowledge him.

“Fine, but wasn’t that the point of bowling? If we were going to have to hang out together because Austin is a prick, shouldn’t we be able to drink while we’re doing it? Besides, I’m not as drunk as that guy.” John pointed midway down the hill. A lone pedestrian lumbered from side to side along the sidewalk at the bottom of the hill.

Chris looked across the street. “You’re right, would you look at that guy.”

The walker’s destination was obviously the top of the hill but the grade was proving too much for his condition. He’d build up a good staggering momentum, move up the hill and fall over backwards. After rolling to a stop, he moaned in frustration and stood back up on legs that looked slow to comply. Once standing, the man tried again and fell again. His moans grew louder.

“Holy crap. Do you think we should help him?” Erik asked.

“No.”

“Not at all.”

“I think he’ll be fine.”

“He didn’t fall that far.”

“He rolled with it.”

“Yeah, you’re okay if you roll with it.”

“See? He’s getting back up.”

“He’ll be fine.”

Erik threw up his hands. “That’s what I thought.”

Continuing down the hill, the three men cast the occasional glance at the frustrated walker. Their looks were quick and infrequent fearing that the drunk would make eye contact and ask for help.

Erik stared a little too long. The drunk noticed and turned towards him. “It looks like Mr. Howard.”

John raised an eyebrow at Erik. “Mr. Howard?”

“Yes.”

“The widow Mrs. Howard’s dead husband Mr. Howard?”

“I didn’t say it was him. I said it looked like him.”

The drunk moaned, stepped into the street and began to cross.

John snapped his fingers. “Let’s step it up boys. I don’t know where he’s going but I’m sure there’s an angry wife waiting for him and I don’t want to be any part of the fight he’s got coming.”

The three men reached the bottom of the hill and turned right. The guy that looked like Mr. Howard stumbled slowly after them but was quickly left behind. Soon all they could hear was a distant moan.

“He sounded hurt,” Erik said as the moan faded.

“He sounded drunk,” Chris said. “A few more rounds and John would be making the same noises. You’ll see next week when we lose our asses at bowling again.”

John did moan. “I don’t want to go back. Bowling sucks. I just know that I’m going to hurt tomorrow.”

“From bowling? How out of shape are you?” Erik asked.

“You don’t understand, Erik, because you’re stupid. But, there are hundreds of muscles in the human body. Sixty-four of them are used only for bowling. They serve no other purpose. You could be a professional runner and one night of bowling would cripple you. This time tomorrow, we’ll hardly be able to walk.”

“That’s fine by me because I hate walking. Did I mention I hate walking, John?”

“With every step, Chris. It’s like your mouth is directly connected to the little bitch you keep inside of you.”

“I hate you, John.”

“I hate you too, man.”

3

Chris and Erik lived across the street from one another. John lived a block over and gladly left the pair where their paths diverged. The lack of Chris’s complaints and Erik’s stupidity gave him some time to think about what he would tell his wife about the car. More specifically he thought about whether he would tell his wife about the car.

Jenny was as far from dumb as possible. Any story he might concoct about a bad starter or dead battery would be received with skepticism and he rarely held up under questioning. The bowling alley wasn’t far. It was possible that he could tell her he was leaving early for work the next morning and just walk back to the car. She may never notice it missing.

No. Screw that. He knew his legs were going to hurt and he hated walking more than he hated guilt. As he approached the house, he decided to just beg her for a ride in the morning.

The lights were out. That was odd.

He unlocked the door and opened it to silence. At this time of night there was usually someone watching at least every TV in the house while browsing the web, or watching TV while listening to music while browsing the web.

The quiet was welcomed, but strange. John moved inside expecting a surprise party to launch from behind the sofa or out of the closet, but could think of nothing he had done that would merit one and he was fairly certain that it wasn’t his birthday. Oh, crap, was it someone else’s birthday? He ran through his pin codes and passwords in his head. No, none of them matched today’s date so it wasn’t a birthday or anniversary. How could it be so quiet?

He called out, half expecting the boogeyman to answer, but there was no response at all. He made his way to the kitchen. There was food there and there were teenagers in the house, so he was sure he would find people there consuming his disposable income at an alarming rate.

The lights were on in the kitchen but it was empty as well. He called out again, “Jenny? Jimmy? Sarah?” The only response was the quiet hum of the ceiling fan in an empty house.

His keys jingled as they dropped on the kitchen island. They slid and stopped next to a piece of paper. His name was on the paper. It was Jenny’s handwriting. He unfolded the page and began to read:

Honey, we’re fine. My dad came and picked us up in the coach.

He skipped to the end.

Love you, xoxoxo.

So that’s where they were. He remembered now. Jenny mentioned taking the kids camping with their grandfather. Well, he didn’t remember her telling him, but he would be sure to say that he did if she asked. He smiled and dropped the letter back on the island. The house was his. The couch was his. The TV was his. He tried to remember the last time this had happened. He got nothing.

The family was with the in-laws and he wasn’t. That worked out great. He had always gotten along with his wife’s parents but he liked it better when he didn’t have to. Especially if they were in “The Coach.” Jenny’s father was a former Navy man. Once retired and back on dry land, he had purchased the most ship-like vehicle he could find. Once a passenger bus, “The Coach” had been gutted and converted into a luxury apartment on wheels. The man’s rationale was that he had seen most of the world’s ports, it was time to see America. And he hated having neighbors. To be more annoying, he called it Land Navigation or Cruising the Country and the back of “The Coach” was covered with stickers validating their travels. The inside of “The Coach” rattled with novelty spoons that did the same.

It was a nice coach, John would admit to that. But despite leaving the sea, it seemed as if his father-in-law had never left the Navy, and the man ran “The Coach” like a battleship. John had learned on one excursion that every passenger was a crewman with a station and duties. While the kids were in charge of choosing which movie to watch and shopping for snacks, John had been assigned the head. At first he had thought that the position was not unlike a navigator or cocaptain. But he learned very quickly to hate both traveling in The Coach and family chili night.

John moved into the living room and found the remote in the center of the floor. His dad hackles went up and he began to yell at the kids before remembering that they weren’t around. He grunted and decided that yet another lecture was in order when they returned.

It would begin with the brandishing of a rusted pair of needle-nosed pliers. “These,” he would say and pause for effect, “these were my remote control.” He would avoid the phrase “When I was your age,” because he knew it translated to “stop listening now and do eye rolling exercises.” But he would impress on them that needle-nosed pliers used to be how people changed TV channels. All four of them. One would have to get up, cross the room, risk electrocution by jamming the metal pliers into an electrical device, and twist to rotate what they called a dial. Carefully. Too fast or too slow and what was left of the dial would break, probably leaving the TV set to PBS, which was worse than not having a TV at all.

If it looked like they weren’t listening, he would tell them that there were only four real channels not counting UHF—you didn’t count UHF channels because turning that dial was the same as willingly dragging sandpaper over your skin but less rewarding.

They, on the other hand, had a remote that, with the push of one little button, would set all of the components to whatever their hearts desired. This convenience came at a cost. That cost was $200. So if they continued to leave this blessing of modern science in the middle of the floor where it could get stepped on, he’d start leaving rusty tools on their floor in the middle of the night so they could step on those. He’d conclude with, “And I’m not paying for the tetanus shot. That’s coming out of your own allowance.”

Planning a lecture was never as satisfying as giving it, but it made him feel a little better. He pressed the “watch a movie” button and smiled as the entertainment system came to life and each device clicked to the appropriate setting.

Too often wasted on cooking shows and God knows whatever the kids were watching these days, it pleased him to know that the system he had so lovingly compiled would soon be rattling the windows with the explosions and the roars of his favorite war movie. He set the remote on the coffee table and went to get the movie.

The shelf was a mess of crap and hastily stacked DVDs. His movies were the only ones that were vertical, alphabetized, and, for the most part, still sealed in plastic. Over the years his family had cared enough to discover his favorite movies and give them as gifts. But would any of them watch them with him? No. Of course not.

The collection of movies brought back many memories of summer days spent standing in lines with friends waiting to see the latest blockbuster. These experiences fueled their bond and provided them a shared vernacular of quotes and facial expressions that persisted to this day. Much of his movie collection had been built to one day share these memories with his children. But, as they had gotten older, they had found their own movies to love and cherish. Stupid movies mostly. They wanted nothing to do with his “old” movies. It had bothered him at first, but he was now happy to have the movies all to himself. They were his memories, after all.

He ripped the plastic off the disc and began to struggle with the sticker that held the case closed.

There was a crash outside in the alley. On any given day, the din in the house would have made it impossible to hear such a noise, but now it was unmistakable. Those damn kids were at it again.

Issues with the neighborhood brats had begun innocently enough. They had been playing in his side yard without him yelling at them. His generosity was repaid when the kids left a handful of nails in his driveway only a few days later. He had told them to get out of his yard and it had just escalated from there.

One of their favorite pranks was overturning his trash can and spreading it all over his property. The police said there was really nothing he could do and that it was probably a raccoon and not kids. He had considered installing a security camera to catch the punks in the act and show the cop what he knew, but the more he considered it, the more it had sounded like work so he decided against it. Plan B was catching them in their strewing act and scaring the crap out of them. Until now, they had always come too late and too quietly. This was his chance.

Racing upstairs, he stripped off his bowling shirt and unbuttoned his pants. He knew he had only a few minutes. His pants hit the floor as he rushed into the bedroom and dove under the bed. His hand slapped the darkness until he found the warm wooden grip of his old baseball bat. The Louisville Slugger was kept there for whenever an intruder broke in or when Jenny heard the ice in the ice-maker fall into the ice tray but couldn’t place the sound.

Air dashed aside as he took a couple of practice swings in front of the mirror. The bat, the blue boxers, the sweat-stained undershirt—this was the look of the suburban psycho. Every teenage delinquent in the world knew this to be the uniform of the homeowner pushed too far. John smiled and ran back down the stairs.

The door to the back refused to open despite turning or violently shaking the doorknob, so he unlocked it and stepped onto the patio. There he stopped to listen. The clatter had stopped and he heard no distinct sounds of strewing, but he knew they had to be there.

For a brief moment he wondered what if the cops were right. What if it was some kind of animal? What if it was just a family of raccoons rooting around for dinner? He would feel pretty stupid if he dashed into the alley in his underwear swinging a bat and there was nobody around to see him. He’d still scare the crap out of them, but, after a while, he’d feel pretty stupid.

John bounced slowly to the gate and kept to the grass to lessen the sound. The dew soaked through his socks. He winced. Wet socks sucked.

He put his ear to the gate as if sound couldn’t travel over the eight-foot fence. All was quiet. Disappointed, he let the bat hang at his side. He leaned in closer to the gate and looked for a knothole to peer through. He knew he wouldn’t find one. The fence had been built too well. There were no gaps in the pickets or holes in the boards. He had seen to that during its construction.

John held his breath to see if he could hear breathing that wasn’t his. There was nothing. He had missed them again. Part of him wanted to open the gate and see what they had done, but the idea of picking up once bagged trash in his boxers was less appealing than watching a movie at full volume with no one to complain about it. Besides, his socks were wet and he couldn’t imagine a creepier feeling. The socks would have to be changed.

Then, there was a sound. A human sound. True, he wasn’t sure what kind of noises raccoons made, but it could be nothing like this. It was the beginning of a deep laugh—the mwa before the haha of a maniacal chuckle. The little bastards were still out there.

John tore open the gate and made sure that it flew against the fence and rattled. He raised the bat and rushed into the driveway screaming. The trash was everywhere. The kids were gone. He ran into the alley and looked up and down trying to see into the darkness. There was no one there.

The sound was still building. They had to be somewhere. They had to be watching.

“I know you’re out there, you little brats! And, when I get my hands on you ...” The rest of John’s words were swallowed by rage and turned into a frantic swinging of the bat.

“Oooooo,” came the reply from the darkness.

John raised the bat in the direction of the sound. “Are you mocking me?”

“Oooooo.”

“Damn right, you’d better be scared!” John could see movement towards the end of the alley. So that’s where they were. He started down towards the noise.

“Oooooo.” This time the sound came from behind him.

John spun around and looked into the darkness. He couldn’t see the source of the second voice. “Get over here! There’s enough hurt in this bat for both of you cowards!”

“Ooooo.”

“That’s right, ‘Ooooo.’ Just come and see the, ‘Oooooo.’”

Three voices, all from different directions of darkness, echoed his mockery, “OOOOoooo!”

John stepped back into his driveway. He couldn’t spot the third voice either. A fourth joined in. Now the mockery didn’t fade. The chorus of mockery rose in volume and didn’t cease. The taunts became a howling.

“So ... so knock off this ... this crap with the trash. Unless you want this bat shoved up your,” they were just kids, “noses.” Unable to pinpoint three of the four voices and the combination of dew-soaked socks, John felt a shiver grow at the base of his neck. He was creeped out more than he would ever admit. In fact, he’d probably never mention this to anyone.

“Oooooo!”

“Fine. As long as we understand each other. Just ... just stay out of the trash.” John ducked back inside the gate and slammed it behind him.

The voices grew louder. Were they coming to the gate?

John snapped a padlock on the latch and ran back to the house all while bravely ignoring the dew in his socks.

He had moved so fast that shame didn’t catch up to him until he was back in the house. He put his face in his hand and shook his head. “Damn kids. They broke me.”

They were at the gate. They were shaking the fence.

Let them shake it. His was the strongest fence in the neighborhood. John believed the old adage about fences and had it built to ensure he made the best neighbors possible.

Their mocking grew louder in frustration.

He’d show them. John pulled off his dew-soaked socks, strutted into the living room and grabbed the remote. “Seven hundred twenty-five watts per channel to drown out their crap.”

He slid the movie into the player, closed the tray, turned up the volume and collapsed across the couch. The DVD’s sound test rattled the windows behind him. He was asleep before the movie started.

4

It wasn’t the movie that woke him. And the mockery from the back of the house had stopped. Still he shuddered awake with a “huh” and looked around the room with foggy eyes. The movie was over. The disc menu looped every thirty seconds or so. It produced a lot of noise but it couldn’t have been enough to wake him.

John sat up and looked around the room trying to remember where he was. It was late. He should be in bed. He glanced at his wrist and noted that he should start wearing a watch again before digging his phone out of his pocket. It was after midnight—well past his bedtime.

There were few naps that he regretted. After having kids, it was one of the few pleasures he wasn’t forced to share. But, the pre-sleep nap always threw off his night. It would be minutes before he could fall asleep again.

He found the remote and, with the glorious push of a single button, turned off the entire system. He was surprised to find that he was already dressed for bed. The trash incident had been forgotten. All he cared about was getting back to sleep. He picked up the bat and turned out the lights as he left the room.

At the base of the stairs he heard a knock. Well, the start of a knock. There had to be more than one rap to be knocking and this was a single rap. He waited for it to turn into knocking. There was no second rap. He shook it off as never happening and started up the stairs. Three steps up the flight there was a loud bang and a dragging sound across the door like someone had not seen that it was closed, walked into it and comically slid to the ground face first.

It was enough to turn John away from bed. He raised the bat and stepped to the door. “Hello?”

There was another bang.

“Who’s there?” The door didn’t have a peephole. In the past he had said he was going to install one, but he said a lot of things.

Again the bang and the drag.

John put his head against door as if being closer to it would make it transparent.

“Who’s there?”

A voice spoke, but it sounded like low guttural gibberish.

“Stop mumbling. Speak up.”

The voice may have repeated itself. John couldn’t make out any words.

“Louder. You’re mumbling.” John couldn’t stand a mumbler.

The voice did get a little louder. But, it did not get any clearer.

“Bill, is that you?”

The muttering was still unintelligible, but John was convinced it was muttering in the affirmative.

“Bill, we’re not doing this again. You’re at the wrong house.”

The response was confused muttering.

“Remember? You moved across the neighborhood. You don’t live here anymore.”

The muttering was more inquisitive this time.

“That’s right. Your wife didn’t like the neighbors.”

There was a break in the muttering.

“Don’t you remember, Bill? You’re on the other side of the neighborhood, now. ‘The good side’ your wife called it.”

The muttering got louder and there was another bang against the door.

“Don’t get mad at me. You married her.”

The banging increased in frequency. It almost sounded like knocking. The drunk let out a loud moan.

“That’s right. Let it out.”

The banging stopped. The moaning stopped.

“There. Don’t you feel better? Now go home, Bill.”

The muttering returned.

“I’m not giving you booze.”

A bang.

“No. Last time you finished my whiskey. And I was saving that whiskey for when I wanted whiskey.”

Another bang.

“No, Bill!”

This third bang shook the door frame.

“Knock it off, man! It’s not your door anymore.”

There were three bangs in quick succession.

“Fine. I’ve got some Schnapps. You can have that crap. But, you can’t come in.”

Bang.

“I said no, Bill.”

John ignored the muttering, walked to the kitchen and pulled a half-full bottle of peach-flavored crap from on top of the fridge. He examined the bottle and wondered who would have drank the other half. He’d been meaning to throw the bottle out for years. He couldn’t stand Schnapps. Booze should taste like booze. It shouldn’t taste like candy or fruit or anything else.

Once he had accidentally tried an ice tea flavored Vodka. “You want ice tea, pour an ice tea,” he had slurred and swallowed the drink as fast as he could. The mere idea angered him. That someone wanted to enjoy the benefits of drink without having to taste the drink itself. It was a shortcut. It was cheating. The third glass hadn’t been bad.

John held the bottle by the neck and walked back to the front door. He could see the door shaking as Bill banged against it repeatedly. “Dammit, Bill. I’m coming. You’re, uh ... you’re going to love this stuff.”

John opened the door.

It wasn’t Bill. It was the rotting corpse of a man in a tattered suit. The threads of a former tie hung from around its neck and may have been the only thing holding the corpse’s head in place. Flesh hung like the threads of an old tie from the face of the creature in places but skull and bone made up the majority of its face.

John held up the bottle. “Schnapps?”

John would later say that the thing that wasn’t Bill lunged through the doorway. Truthfully it kind of collapsed into the foyer. It seemed to fall with gravity more than it was pushed with its legs, but the end result was the same, a rotting corpse tackled John to the ground and began to mutter.

The stench was worse than the smell of Peach Schnapps. It rose from half-rotted lungs through an aerated trachea and over a swollen tongue building up a momentum of decay as it went. The tongue flapped as the stench escaped to cause the muttering sound. It was the most disgusting thing he’d seen a human body do next to childbirth.

John screamed as the thing that wasn’t Bill moaned, leaned forward and brought its dangling jaw close to John’s throat. He grabbed the corpse by the shoulders and pushed it away. The corpse’s right shoulder snapped from the body. John screamed louder.

With the arm removed, the animated body fell closer and what was left of its jaws began to chew. John punched the thing across the mouth. The creature’s teeth flew from the rotting jaw in a single piece and landed on the floor a few feet away. Aside from losing its teeth, the creature seemed unfazed by the punch and dove into John’s neck. Weak muscles worked the jaws as it tried to chew into John’s throat.

Disgusted, frightened and ticklish, John laughed as he screamed obscenities at the man that lie on top of him. “Haha, get off of meeheheh, you freehehehak.”

He rolled out from under his attacker and scrambled back on all fours. He put his hand to his neck. There was no blood, no bite mark or even a hickey, but the entire area felt disgusted and embarrassed by the whole ordeal.

The thing that sure as hell wasn’t Bill crawled towards him.

John kicked at the corpse’s head and tried to push him away.

The creature caught John’s foot in its remaining hand and pulled itself closer.

John grabbed blindly for where he thought he had left the bat. His hand found the neck of the Schnapps bottle and brandished it like a club. He pulled his foot free of the corpse’s hold and stood.

The creature stood on weak legs. Its pants were still intact but John could see that only bone thin legs supported it.

“I don’t want to hit you. Leave. Go on. Git.”

The corpse lunged forward and John swung the Schnapps bottle. The bottle shattered on the side of the creature’s head. Peach Schnapps sprayed across the foyer. The creature dropped to the ground.

“Are you happy now? My house is going to smell like Schnapps for days. Now get out.” John turned to point to the door. “Oh, God.”

They lumbered from side to side stepping heavy on each foot and gave one a sense that they weren’t set on getting anywhere in particular. Still, somehow, John could tell they were coming for him.

Each creature was in a various state of decay. Some appeared rotted to the bone while others kept a less monstrous though still ghoulish appearance. About the only thing the creatures had in common was their attire. Though some hung like rags, each was dressed more formally than John would have expected monsters to dress. That and they all said, “Ooooo.” The same mocking noise the kids in the alley had made.

John rushed to the door and tried to slam it shut before the creatures reached his transom, but he stepped in a half bottle of Schnapps and slipped into a painful version of the splits. The alcohol soaked into his boxers. “Oh, that’s just great.”

The creatures in the yard got closer. Their moans began to synchronize in an unnerving harmony, “Oooooo. Ooooooo. John.”

“Oh shit, they know my name.”

Their mocking was never ending. The lumbering steps never ceased. There was a rhythm to their incessant consistency. It was driving him mad. He could swear he heard his name.

John struggled to stand in the puddle of Peach Schnapps but even with their bizarre gait, they were still faster than him.

The first creature reached the doorway and eyed John struggling to stand from the Schnapps induced splits. The horrid figure’s mouth snapped open and shut. Those were no dentures. They clicked with a sharpness unencumbered by cheeks and the sound echoed off the tile in the foyer.

John’s bat was sitting by the door. He tried to pull his legs together and dive for the weapon but the position was too unnatural and any movement just caused more pain. All he could do was yell. “Get off of my property!”

There was a thud and a ting and the creature nearest to the street collapsed. Another whack and another corpse fell from John’s view. There was a flurry of movement rushing towards his door. His name got louder as the moaning broke chorus and became a din of various growls.

John finally managed to stand. Three creatures filled the doorway. They could barely be called human. One had nothing left that one would recognize as a face. Patches of flesh outlined a skull and strung from the bone to create a fringe of former humanity that swayed as its jaws chomped the air.

John threw his shoulder into the door.

One of the creatures got a shoulder and most of his upper body through the doorway. There was a series of cracks as the door came to a stop. John couldn’t tell if it was wood cracking or bone. He imagined they would sound very similar. He hoped it was bone. New doors were a bitch to hang.

The combined force of the three creatures stopped John’s attempt to close the door. They leaned into the house, turned towards John, snapped their jaws and groaned. John fell back onto the floor. The door flew open and the corpses moved into the foyer.

John scrambled back over the body of the thing that wasn’t Bill. It smelled of death and Peach Schnapps. He wasn’t sure which odor caused his stomach to turn.

The creatures lumbered into the foyer.

The thing that wasn’t Bill moved underneath him.

John fell onto his back and the toothless corpse lunged at his neck. It began to chew. John began to giggle again. He screamed and laughed. “Get hahahout! Get hahahout of my hahahouse!”

The thing that wasn’t Bill was terrifying but harmless as long as it didn’t remember to put its teeth back in. But the other three that loomed above him bared sharp yellowed teeth that snapped at the air, warming up for when their once pearly whites finally met flesh.

John shoved the toothless corpse off of him and backed away on his elbows.

The nearest corpse that still had teeth moaned with excitement.

John heard his name again as the creature’s head absorbed a baseball bat. The skull fractured and caved in on itself but the creature did not fall. Instead, it turned towards its attacker.

Another swing of the bat collapsed the skull from the opposite direction and turned it into an hourglass—the world’s most hideous hourglass.

The creature roared as a third swing from the bat came crashing down on its crown and drove its temple to its chin. The moaning stopped and the corpse fell to the ground. Dead. Like a corpse should be.

Chris stood in the foyer with a tarnished aluminum bat. Erik swung some sort of green stick at one of the other creatures that had entered the house. The third was already on the ground with a flattened face.

John sat up. “Chris? Erik?”

The thing that wasn’t Bill leapt on him again.

5

Chris saw the creature on top of John, “John, are you ... oh my God.”

“It’s hahaokay. He doesn’t hahahave ahany teeth.”

“Do you want us to leave you alone?” Erik asked.

“Fuhaha, fuhaha, youhahaha.”

“This is really disturbing.”

“Hahahah, get it off of me, you assholes!” John pushed the creature up. Its half jaw flapped and its swollen tongue muttered. A moan grew in its chest and John could see the tongue get out of its way. The creature roared.

Four silver prongs appeared in the creature’s mouth and began to twist. Brittle bone cracked as the silver tines twisted through what was left of the body’s tissue. The moan choked to a stop and the thing that wasn’t Bill stopped moving.

Erik swung the body aside and pulled the green metal pole from the back of the creature’s head while Chris helped John to his feet.

John looked at the bodies in his foyer. “What the hell is that thing, Erik?”

“A Garden Badger.”

John shook his head. “Couldn’t even spring for the brand name, eh?”

“What?”

Chris dropped his bat to the ground. “John, forget that. Help us get these bodies out of here.”

John pointed to each body as he spewed questions. “What is going on? What are you doing here? Wait, tell me what they’re doing here first. And what they are. Tell me that.”

Erik grabbed one of the corpses and dragged it out the door. “They’re zombies, John.”

“What?”

Chris grabbed the thing that wasn’t Bill by the ankles. “Zombies, stupid. Now do you want the bodies out of your house or not?”

“Of course I want them out.” John hesitated to touch the bodies. He made several moves to grab one but pulled back each time.

“C’mon, you big wuss,” Chris said. “You were just making out with one and now you’re afraid to touch it?”

John shot him a dirty look, took a deep breath and grabbed one of the bodies under the arms. He dragged it into the front yard.

There were more moans. Distant, but still he spun around looking for the source.

Erik and Chris waved him back into the house. “Quick,” Chris said, “before more show up.”

“More? There’s more of these things?”

“Get in here.” Erik pulled him into the house, closed the door quietly and locked the deadbolt.

Chris double checked the lock. “John, I can’t believe you don’t know. They’re ...”

John held up his hands. “No. Stop. You’re going to say zombies again and sound even more stupid. So just don’t say it.”

“But, they are zombies,” Erik said.

“Do you see, Chris? Right there. That’s how stupid you were going to sound.”

“He’s right, John. It’s hard to believe but the dead have risen and all that.”

“I’m going back to the couch. I’m pretty sure I’m going to find myself there, sleeping comfortably.”

“John.” Chris’s voice was devoid of sarcasm. That wasn’t normal. “Do you know where my family is?”

This stopped John on his way to the living room. “No.”

Chris began to pace.

“John, do you know where your pants are?” Erik asked.

“Shut up, Erik.”

“Where’re Jenny and the kids?” Chris asked.

It took John a moment to remember the note. “They’re camping with her dad.”

“Are you sure?”

“She left a note. I’ll show you.”

John walked into the kitchen and searched the countertops for the note before finding it on the floor. He handed it to Chris. “See? She’s fine.”

Chris scanned the paper. “John, she says zombies right here.”

“What? No it doesn’t.”

“How much of this did you read?”

“Enough. She’s with her dad in his insane RV. Isn’t she?” John felt his pockets for his phone. He then remembered that boxers didn’t have pockets.

“Yes, John. But the note goes on to talk about the zombies and how she’s been trying to reach you. Her father wouldn’t wait for you—he must really like you, John—and she says that you’re an idiot.”

“What?” John grabbed the paper from Chris’s hand. “She did not say that.”

“Of course not. But the fact that you believed me proves it.”

John studied the note.

Chris could tell when he was finished reading because his lips stopped moving.

John folded the note and set it on the counter. “Well, at least they’re safe. What the hell are we supposed to do? Where’s your family, Chris?”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know. There wasn’t a note at my place.”

“Erik, is your family safe?”

“Yeah, they’re ...”

“Good. Okay. Good.” John began pacing the floor. “Okay, first things first. I need my bat.”

“And your pants,” Erik added.

“Fine, and my pants. You’re such a little girl, Erik.”

“Me? You’re the one that smells like Peach Schnapps.”

John sneered. “You guys turn on the TV and see what they’re saying.”

Before they could respond, John walked back into the foyer and grabbed the bat. He put his ear against the door and heard nothing. He unlocked the door and put his hand on the knob. It had been years since he needed a deep breath for anything other than rage management, but he found comfort in it. He cracked the door and peered into the darkness. He found it comforting that the bodies were still piled outside his door. None had appeared to move.

Shadows moved beyond the pile of corpses. After his eyes adjusted to the low light, he noticed a couple of figures lumbering along the street. If they saw him at the door, they paid no attention. They simply shuffled and groaned.

These sounds weren’t quite like those that the attacking creatures had made. These were calmer. He had made similar noises a few years back after deciding to take up running. He ran for ten minutes and groaned for two hours while draped across an ottoman soaking up the breeze from a ceiling fan. Running, he had decided, was stupid.

He closed the door without a sound and realized that he had been holding his breath the entire time. He shook his head. This couldn’t be real. Zombies? No. That was stupid. They couldn’t be zombies.

But, he knew it didn’t matter. Whatever these things were, they were dangerous.

At least his family was safe. His father-in-law was crazy as hell but he wasn’t stupid and he always had a hatred and distrust for humanity that would serve them well now. That coach was a rolling fortress. They would be fine. He just had to find a way to reach them.

He climbed the stairs with heavy feet and found his pants in the bedroom. He couldn’t find the balance to put them on without sitting on the bed. Across the room, the window looked out on the neighborhood. Pants on, he stood and opened the window.

The world was filled with a silence split with intermittent screams of horror. Gunshots popped like distant fireworks. An explosion sounded in the distance. He couldn’t see the flash.

He dug into his pockets and found his cell phone. There were no missed calls. No notices. That was odd. Surely Jenny would have called. He pulled up his contact list and dialed his wife.

A recorded greeting kicked in before it rang. “I’m sorry. All circuits are busy. Please try your call again later.”

John ended the call. It was later now. He tried his call again and received the same message. Several more attempts met with the same result.

He pocketed his phone, closed the window and walked back down the stairs. The two men were in the living room on the couch, staring at the TV.

John pulled out his phone again and dialed. “The phones aren’t working.”

Chris stared at him. “Duh. Do you really think we would run down here, risking our lives to find you, if the phones were working?”

“Wouldn’t you?” John asked.

Both men shook their heads.

“Fair enough,” said John. “Why did you guys come?”

Chris and Erik looked at one another and searched for an answer. Neither had one to give.

John rolled his eyes. “That’s sweet.” He pointed to the screen. “What is the TV saying?”

“Los muertos se han levantado y ahora caminar por la tierra,” Chris replied.

“What? What the hell does that mean?”

“It means your cable is out. Univision is the only channel coming in.”

“Well, what are they saying, Chris?”

“I don’t know, John. I don’t speak Spanish.”

“Doesn’t muertos mean dead?” asked Erik.

“Yes, it does, because they have that day of the dead thing. You know? Cinco de Mayo,” said John.

Chris nodded. “Right. So, how does that help us?”

Erik looked at his feet.

The broadcast came in so clear that the TV glass might as well have been a window. The broadcasters were impeccably groomed, despite the apparent crisis, and rattled off information faster than seemed possible. The three viewers focused, hoping for a word they might understand.

“El único saber implica a parar es a la huelga en la cabeza.”

Erik leapt from the couch and pointed at the screen. “He said cabeza. Cabeza means head. I know that one.”

“Okay. So what about head?” John asked.

Erik’s excitement waned. “I ... I don’t know.”

“Good job, Erik,” said John. “Your Sesame Street Spanish lessons have finally paid off. Bob and Maria would be proud. Now if somehow counting to twelve gets these things to go away, we’ll be just fine.”

Erik sat down on the couch, folded his arms and watched the broadcast.

“I think it means that you have to hit them in the head to kill them,” Chris said. “Look.”

On the screen, an animated reanimated corpse hovered between the two anchors. A cartoon mallet dropped onto the creature’s head with the crash of a snare and the creature fell to the ground. The image repeated several times.

John turned to the others, “Man, you’ve got to give their graphics department credit. They got on this quick.”

Chris nodded but added, “I think the drum sound is a little much, though.”

More Spanish prattled from the speakers. Erik guessed at a few more words and their significance before John turned the set to channel five.

Erik looked hurt. “It’s just static.”

“Yeah, but it’s English static. So, I understand it.”

“Well,” Chris leaned forward on the couch. “What do we do now?”

“I think we should make a run for it,” Erik said.

“And go where?” asked Chris.

Again, Erik was stumped. “I don’t know.”

6

“Look at them. They’re just crossing right through my yard.”

The three men stood at the window gazing into the street. Several creatures shuffled around. If they knew that there were men in the house, they didn’t seem to care.

Chris watched what was once a woman limp down the middle of the street. “What could have caused this?”

John shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t matter?” Chris asked. “How can you say that?”

“It doesn’t matter what caused it. Tomorrow, the sun will come up, the cops or army or whoever will come out, and it will all be over.”

Chris turned away from the window. “John, you realize what’s going on here, right?”

“Don’t say zombies.”

“But they are zombies. The dead have risen and now walk the earth.”

“So? Tomorrow, we’ll put them all back and tell them to stay there.”

“I’ll admit this is all pretty hard to believe. But if they rose from the dead like zombies, don’t you think they’ll spread like zombies?”

“Look at those things, Chris.” John pointed back out the window. One creature was trying to cross the street but had trouble mounting the curb. It tripped and caught itself with its arm. The arm shattered and the creature collapsed face first to the ground.

“That’s your big threat. Who’s stupid enough to get bitten by one of those things?”

Chris pointed to his neck. “How’s the hickey?”

“Shut up. That was different. He surprised me and ... and there was Schnapps everywhere.”

Chris turned back to the window. “I don’t think this is going to go away anytime soon.”

Erik had remained silent throughout the argument. “Do you think they’re sick?”

Chris answered. “They’re dead, Erik. What difference does it make?”

“If it was a disease, they could be cured.”

“But even if you cure them, they’d just go back to being dead,” John said.

Erik shrugged and continued to stare out the window.

“Oh, look at this one.” John pointed out a new creature that had just wandered into view. Though the tatters of his suit matched that of the others, he had more meat left on his body. He had obviously been a large man in life and had taken the weight to his grave.

Chris laughed. “What do you think killed that guy?”

John looked out the window. “Gym accident?”

“He’s the first one I’ve seen with any meat on him.”

“Yeah, all the rest are pretty emaciated. Maybe they were dead for so long they forgot they weren’t alive.”

Erik turned away from the window. “So, what do we do?”

The complete lack of ideas was interrupted by a piercing tone from the living room. The squawk broke the static.

Erik jumped. “What the hell?”

“Calm down. It’s just the Emergency Broadcast thing. I’ll go turn it off.”

“John, don’t you think maybe we should watch it?”

“It’s always just a test. It’s not like the bombs are falling.”

“But, zombies.”

John shook his head and stepped out of the room.

Back in the living room, the static had been broken by the EBS. The voice that followed the tone was not the recorded robot voice that so often interrupted the game. It was a man’s voice and he sounded scared.

“The Emergency Broadcast System has been activated at the request of the Unite States government to inform you that .... uh ... well, zombies. There have been confirmed sightings of animated corpses roaming the streets of every major city. Residents are being advised to stay in their homes. I repeat, do not attempt to leave your homes. Do not attempt to confront the ... zombies. Lock your doors and wait for further instructions. Do not go outside.”

The tone sounded again and the message began to repeat. John turned off the TV. “There you have it. Zombies. Told you.”

Erik had found a place on the couch. “So, what do we do?”

“I’m going to bed.” John set the remote on the TV console. “You guys can crash on the couch. Stay out of the fridge.”

“What?” Erik stood. “We can’t just go to bed.”

“The hell I can’t. So far tonight I’ve almost been beaten up by jocks, a corpse made out with me, my house smells like Peach Schnapps and I’ve just discovered that I might be spending the end of the world with two of the people I hate the most. I’m done. That’s it for me.”

Erik yelled. “How can you sleep? Your family is out there.”

“Are you kidding me? They’re safer in that RV than we are in this house. That thing is a fortress. The admiral’s got it wired with cameras and I have no doubt he packs a small arsenal under his pillow. Plus, he’s a mean bastard. He likes shooting at people whether they’re dead or not. They’re safer with the senile Rambo than I am here with the Homerun King and his sidekick Mr. Weedeater.”

“Why am I the sidekick?”

Chris lowered himself to the couch. He looked as if he was going to throw up. “I hope Rachel and the kids are okay.”

“I’m sure they’re fine. You’ll hear from them as soon as the phones clear up. Now let’s all get some sleep.”

Erik began to protest, “But ...”

“But, what? Do you want to run out there in the dark and try and solve this problem now? If we go to sleep the chances are it will all be taken care of in the morning.”

Chris was pale. “You still think that?”

“Sure. The cops will come through and kill all of the zombies.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Everything will be fine in the morning.”

Erik began to speak, but John stopped him. “And, I’ll make pancakes. For everyone. Deal?”

Chris nodded. “He’s right, Erik. We should all get some rest. But we should sleep in shifts.”

“Good idea. You two talk about who goes first and tell me how it worked out in the morning. Good night, Splitheads.”

Chris held up John’s bat. “John, aren’t you worried that they’ll get in here?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No. That one practically fell apart when I shoved it. And you guys took down a few of them, so how tough could they be?”

Erik nodded, “I guess you’re right. I’ll take the first shift. I’ve got to get up early for work anyway.”

John laughed. “Work?”

“Yeah, work.”

“I don’t think there’ll be work in the morning.”

“Maybe not for you, but my office is always open.”

“Erik,” Chris said, “this isn’t some bad weather day. This could very well be the apocalypse. I think that justifies a sick day.”

“You don’t understand. I’m trying to get a promotion. If I show up when everyone else is out, it’ll look good. It works the same with snow days.”

“Wait,” Chris shook his head. “You’re telling me that if you’re the only one in your office dumb enough to go out in dangerous weather, they’ll think you’re smart enough to help run the company?”

“You don’t get ahead by staying in bed. That’s what they say at my office, anyway.”

Chris was bewildered. “So, I guess if someone wraps themselves around a telephone pole, they’ll make him president.”

“Well, maybe. If they don’t die.”

“Chris is right, Erik. I don’t think any of us are going to work tomorrow.”

“I’ve got a big project going on ...”

Chris shot up from the couch. “The dead are walking the streets, you idiot. Tomorrow we’ll wake up to a world with no order, no infrastructure. Tomorrow we’ll wake up to a world in total chaos.”

John slung the bat over his shoulder. “No, gentlemen. Let’s say Chris is right. Let’s say these crumbly zombies do happen to bite some idiots.”

Chris pointed at his neck.

“Shut up, Chris. And let’s say those idiots bite more idiots and the world begins to crawl with legions of the living dead. Then, tomorrow we’ll wake up to a world with no rules. Zombie day is the ultimate snow day. No work. No responsibilities. No HOA. No bowling. We’ll be able to do anything we want. And there won’t be anyone to stop us.”

7

The images were so familiar that he could not distinguish if they were remnants of a dream or memories. This happened often. The staff at the sleep clinic had called it sleep paralysis. They described it as a transition between asleep and awake that leaves the muscles in a weakened state and the dreamer unable to move both in bed and in the dream.

And, just to be a total bastard, the brain’s fight or flight response begins to scream flight over and over like a six-year-old with a splinter. Altogether these evolutionary and biochemical responses produced horrific images in the dreamer’s mind that they were helpless to do anything about.

For Chris, it was intruders in his home. He would lie in bed believing he was awake and suddenly become aware of an evil presence. Sometimes it was just a feeling—a cold chill despite being under the covers. But occasionally it was cued off of the sound of the front door opening. He would hear the creak and call to see whom it was. There was never an answer. All he could do was lie there in bed until the intruder rounded the corner. They never came charging in. They always strolled in with the confidence that he was unable to move.

They were always intent on doing his family harm. Any attempt to stop them was frustrated by the weakened muscles. Even attempts to shout were stifled by the condition. He always awoke with the knowledge that it was a dream, but his mind was fully alert and his stupid brain began feeding adrenaline to his system. He would sit in bed, panting and trying to calm down. Though the images were terrifying, he was never afraid sitting there in the dark. But he hesitated to go back to sleep. He hated to turn his back on reality. He knew he couldn’t trust it.

For others, he had been told, the intruders weren’t burglars but demons. Alien abductions, shadow people, the incubus and the succubus were often attributed to sleep paralysis. Learning this, Chris was thankful that at least his nightmares featured humans and nothing that involved probing of any kind. There had never been monsters. Until now.

Chris awoke with the visions of a nightmare fresh in his mind. The plot played over and over in his head before he could force himself to open his eyes. Gruesome creatures from the grave stalked him. They rotted. Flesh fell from their bones with every labored step. The pursuit had driven him running through his neighborhood to a place he would never go. It had to be a dream.

But, it seemed so real. He recalled the creatures clearly. One was in his home. He screamed for his family to run but he couldn’t find them. His wife and his young children. Were they safe? Why didn’t they answer? He was frightened. It wasn’t the hideous monster in front of him that scared him. If he didn’t know where his family was, how could he protect them? The kids were so young.

Despite his threats and the waving of a bat, the monster had come at him. Chris pushed it away with the end of the bat and told it to leave. Even now it sounded silly, as if he were trying to shoo away a stray dog that had wandered into his yard.

The monster made no attempt to move the club or walk around it. It merely tried to walk forward, snapping its jaws and groaning as if it wanted nothing more than to bite him.

God, it smelled. Did things smell in dreams? He tried to recall but couldn’t ever remember dreaming of anything with an aroma. Perhaps as a child he dreamed of pizza or candy, but it had been too long to know for sure.

He shoved the creature back towards the door with the bat. It stumbled backwards. Tissue and sinew hung loose from the bone and shuddered as it stopped itself and stepped forward once more.

“I’m warning you,” he had shouted. He thought he had shouted. He remembered wanting to shout but couldn’t be certain the words came out. This often happened in his dreams. Exclamations never seemed to work. If something needed shouting, he had to repeat himself several times. Usually, if they did escape his mouth, he would awake to find himself talking in his sleep and having to explain to his wife what all the yelling was about.

Whether he had said it or not, the creature continued forward and he placed the bat in its chest again. The creature groaned its frustration and Chris shoved it back again.

The groan turned into a roar and the creature stumbled forward faster than before.

Chris screamed and swung the bat. It connected with the snapping jaws. The creature’s head spun around with a sickening snap. Its jaw came to rest on its back. The monster did not fall. Instead, it shuffled slowly in a circle until its back was to Chris and it stared into his eyes.

It tried to groan again. Chris could hear the sound build in the monster’s chest, but it got caught in the now twisted throat and could not escape. It couldn’t possibly breathe, it couldn’t talk, it couldn’t be alive, but still its jaws snapped and it stared through Chris with vacant eyes.

Chris panicked and swung wildly with the aluminum bat again. He connected with the head and spun it back around.

The groaning returned. He hit it again and again the head spun. The groan was cut off with a squeak. It was looking at him again.

With each swing, the head spun. Chris’s arms tired and desperation filled him. He was giving it his all and nothing was happening. At this point, he couldn’t even tell which way the monster was facing. Its body turned constantly, trying to keep up with whichever way its head was facing—trying to keep its hungry eyes on Chris.

Chris screamed and placed the bat across the creature’s shoulders. His arms were tired—they got that way in his dreams—but he shoved the monster towards the door and was relieved to see it spill out onto the front porch.

It fell over backwards and face first down the steps. The cracking sound came from the skull, not the cement pathway that met the creature at the bottom.

Chris closed the door and the rest, of what must have been a dream, became a blur: racing through the house, calling for his family, tearing open closet doors, looking under beds. It all seemed like memories. Could this be real?

“No,” he argued with himself, “you’ve had dreams like this before. When you open your eyes, you’ll see that you’re being stupid. Your family is fine. Your wife is right next to you in bed. You’re going to feel stupid.”

Still he could not open his eyes. He let the rest of the dream play out through his mind, somehow rationalizing that it would help speed the process of waking up.

After searching the house, he had run outside. The creatures ambled everywhere and they took notice of him. They walked like toddlers taking their first steps and couldn’t move fast enough to catch him, but they still came with arms outstretched. Running through the neighborhood with the bat in his hand, he screamed his children’s names. It was too real. It couldn’t be a dream. Every detail of the neighborhood was right. Even the temperature and humidity fit. Was that all real?

At the bottom of the street, he ran into Erik doing his own yelling. Chris couldn’t remember what was said, but the two agreed that they should go to their neighbor, John’s, house and ensure that he was safe. There it was. It had to be a dream. Chris couldn’t imagine ever wanting to make sure John was safe.

Still he couldn’t shake the idea that it was real.

Erik then suggested that they fly to John’s to save time and get away from the monsters.

Again they agreed and the two lifted off into the air. From above the neighborhood, Chris could see that the monsters were everywhere. They lined the sidewalks, they beat on doors and, at the neighborhood’s edge, a large mob of the monsters gathered. There were thousands of them. Somewhere in the distance, a motor roared to life.

It was a lawn mower engine—the suburban sound of Saturday. This unfortunate reality mixed with the fact that he was flying was the realization that finally convinced his rational mind that all of this was a dream. Relieved, Chris opened his eyes. He was on John’s couch clenching a baseball bat across his chest.

“Dammit.”

Now awake, it became clear that it had been real. Not the flying, of course, but the monster in his house with the spinning head, running through the neighborhood, rescuing John from the zombies and being forced to crash on the couch of a man he despised.

He sat up. Erik was asleep on the floor with a blood covered weeding tool in his hand.

Chris stood from the couch and looked at the front door. Beyond it there were zombies. The dead had returned to the world for the seemingly sole purpose of killing. Out there, they lumbered and groaned in search of victims. Out there, there was also the sound of a lawn mower.

“Erik.”

Erik rolled over and continued sleeping.

Chris kicked him with the side of his foot. “Erik!”

Erik opened his eyes and looked around the room before his puzzled gaze settled on Chris. “It was real, wasn’t it?”

Chris nodded.

“Dammit.”

“Where’s John?”

“I don’t know. He relieved me of my watch a little while ago.” Erik sat up. “Do I hear a lawn mower?”

“You don’t think?”

Erik shook his head. “He’s not that stupid.”

“You know damn well he is. Grab your weed stick thing.”

8

Together they rushed into the foyer and turned their noses up at the stale smell of Peach Schnapps. Chris grabbed the doorknob and turned to Erik. “Ready?”

Erik raised the Garden Badger like a lance and nodded.

Chris opened the door. Neither said it, but both had envisioned a horde of the monsters outside the door pulling at one another to be the first in line to eat. Erik screamed and prepared to stab things. There was nothing there.

Chris peeked around the door. A gentle breeze rode in on rays of sunshine. Aside from the flesh-eating creatures roaming the neighborhood, it seemed like it was going to develop into a pretty nice day.

Weapons raised, the pair stepped outside onto the porch. Two creatures approached the house from different ends of the street. John was mowing the yard and smiling.

“John,” they screamed together.

John had the mower throttle set to full and the engine covered the screams. He pushed the mower at a relaxed pace and cut a remarkably straight path in the yard.

Chris stepped from the porch and into the grass. “John!”

John reached the edge of his yard, pushed down on the mower’s handle raising the front wheels into the air and turned with a flair that belonged in a stage show. He saw Chris and waved before throttling down the engine. “Good morning, boys. Did you sleep well?”

“John, what the hell are you doing?” Chris asked.

“I’m mulching.”

Chris turned to Erik, shook his head and turned back to John, “Mulching?”

“That’s right. I’m mulching, dammit.” John laughed and turned toward the street. He raised a fist and shouted, “You hear that, Austin? I’m mulching. Where’s your HOA now, you little prick?!”

Erik kept his eyes on the approaching dead. They were getting closer. One, formerly a woman, stumbled up the curb. “John, now is not the time.”

“Ha. It’s the perfect time. Let’s see them fine me for not bagging my grass now.”

Chris stepped closer and pointed out the creatures moving down the street. “But ... zombies.”

John laughed. “Not a problem.”

“What? How are zombies not a problem?”

The half-decomposed woman staggered through John’s yard heading straight for the mower.

John held up a finger while keeping one hand on the running mower. “Watch.” He pulled his bat from the mower and knocked the creature over. He placed the bat back on the mower, turned the machine around and ran over the corpse. The noise it produced sounded like a mower running over a pile of dried leaves. But, wetter.

“John!”

“What?”

“What the hell, man?”

“They make great mulch.”

“Dude!”

“Lots of nutrients. The grass loves it.”

Erik yelled into the yard, “There’s more coming.”

Chris followed his gaze to the end of the street. Several of the monsters were moving together. He turned back to John, “Get inside, you idiot.”

“Really, guys ...” Another creature stepped into the far side of the yard. John pushed the mower towards the former man, hit him with the bat and pushed the mower over its head. “... it’s no big deal. I’ve got it figured out. They’re coming from that old historic graveyard on the far side of the neighborhood. These things are really, really old.”

“Get inside!” Chris said.

“I got a cowboy earlier. An honest to God cowboy.”

“John!” Chris didn’t know if he should drag the man inside or hit him with the bat and then drag him in.

“Spurs and everything. Probably not the best for the blade.”

“Chris.” The green garden tool in Erik’s hand pointed down the street. “We need to get back inside.”

Chris followed the point of the Garden Badger. A group of five creatures were stumbling up the street. A group of seven lumbered behind them.

John pushed the throttle on the mower until it lined up with the drawing of a rabbit and continued mulching.

Chris dashed into the yard and grabbed John by the shoulder. The older man shrugged it off and kept mowing. He was humming.

Back on the porch, Erik was waving them into the house. His gestures were getting larger by the second. Chris pulled John’s hand from the mower, disengaging the fuel line. The engine chugged to a stop.

John threw up his hands. “Dammit, Chris. What’s your problem? This thing took forever to get started.” He stepped to the side of the mower and grabbed the pull cord.

“Zombies, John. That’s my problem.”

“I told you not to worry about it. I’ve been mowing over them for the last twenty minutes. They’re nothing. They’re frail little piles of dust. I’ve been taking them on three at a time.”

“Really?”

“Okay, one at a time. But, I’m pretty sure I could take three.”

Chris pointed over John’s shoulder and the man turned to look down the street. “What the ...? That’s a lot of them. Why are they coming here?”

“It’s the mower, TruGreen.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

John grabbed his bat from the mower, raised it over his head and screamed as he drove it into the ground. “First the HOA. Now zombies. What does the world have against mulching?”

“This might be bigger than just you, John.”

“C’mon, you guys!” Erik had one foot in the door. “You can keep arguing inside.”

“Oh, this is bullshit.” John stepped into the street and pointed his bat at the slowly approaching mob. “You hear me? I’m not going to stand for this. This is my home, my town and my planet. You can all go back to hell.”

“Great speech, John, but it’s too dangerous.”

“But, they’re slow and stupid.”

“So are you.”

“Dammit, Chris! I’m not in the mood for your jokes. I want to go kill these things now. So I can get back to my yard. So, I ...” John’s rage stumbled in his throat. There was more to the outrage but it refused to come out.

Comforting John was never something Chris thought he’d be doing. “I know, man. Me too. Remember, your family is safe. Erik’s family is safe. I still don’t know where mine is. Let’s go back inside. There’s too many of them.”

“There’s only a dozen or so.”

Chris turned John by the shoulders to face across the street. The zombies came from between the homes. They spilled from the side yards, over hedges and through open gates.

John’s anger waned. He lowered the bat and gave one more look to the ambling menace. He raised a middle finger to the group.

“There. Now don’t you feel better?”

“Shut up, Chris.”

“Guys.” Erik’s voice was getting higher in pitch. “Up the street.”

The pair in the yard turned. Another mass of undead had gathered up the lane and was approaching from the other end of the neighborhood.

“You just had to mulch.”

“I saw my window. I regret nothing.”

“Not even the sound of the engine attracting the legions of the undead?”

“Well maybe that, a little.”

“Guys! Don’t you see them?”

John turned suddenly with his hand outstretched. “Chris, give me your belt.”

“What? No.”

John ran to the yard and pulled the mower into the street. Several pulls on the cord later, the engine roared to life. “The belt. I’ve got an idea.”

“Once again, your ideas are stupid.”

“Give me your belt, Chris. Hurry.”

Chris sighed, unclasped the belt and pulled it from around his waist.

John grabbed it from his hands. “Hold this lever or the motor will stop.”

“I know how a mower works, John!” Chris held the lever down as John tied the belt around the handle.

“Yeah? I’ve seen your yard and I’m not so sure. Now, back up.” John grabbed the push bar and pointed the mower at the crowd. He smiled, “It’s just like bowling.” With a grunt developed over years of aging, he shoved the mower down the street. It quickly veered toward the curb and rolled to a stop at the opening of a storm sewer.

“Yep. Gutter. Just like bowling.”

“Shut up, Chris.” John rushed over to the mower and dragged it back into the middle of the street. The street ran downhill and apparently leaned a little to the right. He corrected his aim and shoved again. The grunt was louder this time but it seemed to work. The mower rolled slightly left then corrected itself down the center of the street.

“What does that do?”

“Hopefully, they’ll follow the sound of the mower.”

The zombies in the approaching crowd turned toward the mower as it rumbled down the street towards them.

Chris pointed to the zombies. “Holy crap, I think it’s working.”

“Of course it’s working.”

“Well, I don’t have quite the zombie fighting experience that you do. This is my first apocalypse.”

The undead horde converged on the noise as the mower gained speed. It knocked over an old man zombie and overturned. The crowd set upon the machine, attacking the source of the noise. With the blades exposed, limbs and pieces of bones began to spray everywhere. Despite being an illustrative example of “keep hands and feet clear of moving blades,” the zombies continued to attack the mower.

John gasped, “Oh, God. That’s ...”

Chris put his hand on his shoulder and pulled him from the sight. “Yeah, let’s get inside.”

Chris backed toward the house, keeping his eye on the other group of zombies up the street. Despite their vacant stares, it looked like they were watching him. He hoped that John was right and the mower would draw their attention away from the men in the yard. Chris turned and ran back to the door with John in tow.

The mower’s engine chugged to a stop. This could have been due to its inverted position. Chris didn’t know a lot about mowers but assumed that gravity helped feed the fuel. Turned upside down, he imagined that the engine simply wasn’t getting gas. But, he knew that the engine probably died because it was clogged with body parts.

Erik ushered the two men inside and closed the door without a sound.

9

Erik screamed, “What the hell were you thinking?”

John waved him off. “Relax, everything is fine.”

“How do you know that? How do you know that there aren’t a hundred more heading this way?”

“There aren’t.”

“You don’t know that!”

John shouted back, “I said relax. Besides, shouting isn’t going to keep them away.”

“Both of you, shut up.” Chris was standing at the front window peering through drawn curtains.

Erik ignored him and began to pace. “This is great, John. Just great. It’s not bad enough that dead people aren’t dead anymore, but now they’re alive and trying to eat other people out there and now you’ve called them here.”

“Erik, you’ve gone beyond bitching and into gibberish. Slow down.”

Erik took a deep breath. “I can’t believe how selfish you were.”

“What am I supposed to do, Erik? I’m losing it here. I woke up and I tried the phones. I tried the TV. Nothing. I had to do something. I couldn’t just sit here. What else could I do?”

“And mulching is what popped into your mind?”

“What else is there?”

“Uh, I believe you promised pancakes. You could have made pancakes. Where are the pancakes, John?”

Chris stepped between. “Both of you, stop it.”

“This man promised me pancakes, Chris. I want my pancakes.”

Chris slapped Erik across the face.

Erik gasped at the strike but the surprised look turned into one of shame. He nodded and looked away.

“Thank you, Chris,” John said. “He was driving ...”

Chris slapped John across the face.

John flinched but made no move to strike back. “Hey! I wasn’t acting all hysterical.”

“No, that was for the mower. And, Chris is right, you promised us pancakes.”

John folded his arms. “I think there are more pressing matters.”

“Yes. You two need to stop screaming. The mower proved that they’re attracted to noise.” Chris moved back to the window and peeked out.

Erik raised the Garden Badger. “Are they heading this way?”

Chris was afraid to open the curtain too much and moved back and forth to make the most of the small opening he had created. “I can’t see. I don’t ... I don’t think so. But ...”

“But, what?” John asked.

“I think they saw me.”

“So what do we do?” John asked.

“We need to barricade this door. Board up these windows.”

John shook his head. “No. No. You’re going too far.”

“Let’s get some nails and ...”

“Not my door. Not my windows. You’re not putting holes in my wall. Jenny would kill me.”

Erik was looking around the room. “What if they come to the door?”

“Then, we won’t open it.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “We need to do more than that.”

“First of all, Mister Quiet Time, hammering a bunch of boards to my wall is going to make a lot of noise. Second, in case you didn’t notice, my house is not a lumberyard. There’s not enough wood to board up anything.”

Erik ran over to a bookcase. “We can use the furniture.”

“No, it won’t work.”

“Sure it will.” Erik grabbed one side of the bookcase. “Chris, help me move this.”

Chris handed John his bat and grabbed the other side of the case.

Both men squatted and gripped the side of the bookcase. “Got it?” Erik asked.

“Yep.”

“On three. One, two ...”

“Shut up and just lift it.”

John pointed one of the bats at the two men. “Don’t do it.”

The two men lifted with their legs and the laden bookshelf collapsed. The shelves fell away and spilled their contents on the floor.

“What the hell?”

“I told you it wouldn’t work. It’s that cheap Swedish crap.”

The two men let go of the bookcase. It promptly leaned to the right and collapsed to the floor.

“You put this together yourself, John?”

“It was fine until you morons touched it.”

Erik leaned down and began to pick through the mess collecting shelves. “We can use the boards to ...”

“Forget it, Erik,” Chris said. “They’d tear right through it.”

Erik dropped the shelves “So what do we do?”

“We stop wrecking my house and then we do nothing. The holly could keep an army away from the windows.”

“They don’t really seem to mind prickly things, John,” Chris said.

“It’s too thick for them to get near the windows, jackass.”

Erik pointed to the door. “What if they try and break down the door?”

“They’re brittle, Erik. They’ll just break their wrists. Really, we’ll be fine in here.”

“But ...”

“Fine,” John held up his hands and walked out of the room. He returned a moment later with a kitchen chair and propped it under the doorknob. “There. Happy now?”

“No,” said Erik. “You just put a chair under the door and said there. How is that supposed to stop the legion of the undead?”

“Maybe we hang a no trespassing sign up too. Between that and the chair ...”

“You two need to calm down,” John said. “Stop this panicking. It’s embarrassing. Let’s take a deep breath and act normal.”

Chris tapped Erik on the shoulder. “Maybe we should go mulch the yard.”

“Okay, I’ll admit I freaked out a little. I didn’t know what else to do. The phones are still dead. The only thing on the news is static. Even the emergency-interrupt-your-programming station is just repeating what it said last night. I felt helpless. I needed to do something I could control. So I mowed.”

Chris said nothing. He still had no idea where his family was or if they were even safe from the insanity that was happening across the country. He had rushed into the streets screaming his wife’s name only to find Erik in the middle of the road screaming into the darkness as well.

Together they had decided to head to John’s. They never discussed why. They just had. Looking back now, and looking at John in his grass-stained mowing socks, he realized it must have been blind panic. If all they could do was place a chair against the door, he would have been just as safe on his own.

No, he corrected himself. There would be safety in a group. Even if most of that group was stupid.

He looked over to Erik. The man was staring at the collapsed bookcase. He looked lost as well. His family was safe. At least he had that. John’s family was with his in-laws in an RV that John seemed to think was a bunker on wheels.

John sat on the staircase and dropped the bat. Erik looked to the two men, waiting for one of them to speak.

Chris picked up the aluminum bat. “Okay, provided a hundred zombies don’t end up at the door, there was no harm done. And the longer we sit around here ... waiting is going to drive us crazy; we need to start doing something. We need to be proactive.”

“So, what do we do?” Erik asked.

Chris thought for a moment. “We need to see what’s on the other side of that door. We need to make sure they didn’t follow us. John can ... “

“I’m not opening it. You open it. You’re the one that’s so curious.”

“John, can you get us a drill?”

“What for?”

“We’re going to make a peephole.”

“The hell you are. I told you, no holes.”

“John, I will buy you a brand new door when this is over, but we have to be able to see what’s out there.”

John sighed. “It’s in the shed. Let’s go.”

* * *

They stepped into the yard without a sound. Chris and Erik had their respective clubs raised as they scanned the yard. They heard nothing outside the fence though there was a constant groan about the neighborhood.

Chris whispered, “Hurry, John.”

“Do you see that fence, Chris? Eight feet. Steel post. Board on board. And it’s not that crappy white board either. Nothing is getting through that fence.”

Erik was spinning in all directions at once. “Shhh.”

“No one shushes me in my yard, Erik. This whole space was made just for me to not be shushed.”

It was quite the space. Just by looking at the layout, Chris could tell John had nothing to do with its design. The whole yard felt as if it was another home. Different sitting areas were separated as if they were rooms. An outdoor kitchen was at the center of it all. And he knew there was no way John planted the flowers himself. They were too cheery and would no doubt react poorly with his perpetual grumpiness.

The three crossed over a cobblestone pathway to the door of a massive garden shed. John spun the dial on the doors’ combination lock without even looking at it. It released and he opened the double doors.

Sunlight poured into the workshop. Chrome bounced the sunlight back in their faces. Each tool gleamed like it was in a store display. Not a single tool was out of place and each looked as if it had just come out of the package.

Chris’s eyes grew. “John, I had no idea you were so fastidious.”

Erik looked around the shed. Every wall was lined with equipment. Some of which he couldn’t even identify. “Yeah, I always thought you were kind of a slob.”

“Shut up, the both of you. It’s important for a man to take care of his tools.”

Erik lit up with opportunity. “Yeah, but if a man polishes his tools too much, people ...”

“Do you want the drill or not?”

“Yes. Grab it.”

John grabbed the drill and pulled a battery from the charger. He turned to walk back into the yard. Chris eyed the small drill bit that extended from the cordless drill.

John noticed he wasn’t moving out of the way. “What?”

“We’re going to need a bigger bit.”

John studied the bit in the drill. “Of course.” He stepped back to a cabinet in the rear of the shed and pulled out a box of bits. “Let’s go.”

The three men walked back inside to the front door. John held the drill. “All right, Chris. You’re paying for this hole. You might as well grab me a bit.”

Chris opened the drill bit case, pulled out a half-inch spade bit and handed it to him. John took the bit and turned the drill towards himself. He dropped the spade in his pocket and grabbed the smaller bit that was in the drill. He pulled on it for a second, stopped and tried again. He turned the drill over in his hand and found the directional switch. He flipped it and tried again to pull the bit from the drill.

“John?”

“Hold on.”

John spent the next few moments flipping switches, adjusting torque, reseating the battery and trying to pull the bit free after each motion. He grew more visibly frustrated with each failed attempt to remove the bit. During this time the drill acquired several new nicknames beginning with “little bitch” and ending with something that sounded like a foreign language but definitely had the word fucker in it somewhere.

“John. You turn the chuck.”

“I know; it’s stuck.”

“No, turn the chu ... turn the end of the drill.”

“I know what I’m doing, Chris.” John grabbed the end of the drill and turned the head. The entire shaft rotated but the bit did not loosen.

“John? Do you ... do you not know how to use a drill?”

“Of course I know how to use a drill! This son of a bitch is just broken is all.” John threw the drill down at Erik’s feet.

Erik picked up the drill, loosened the chuck and pulled the bit free. He looked at Chris. The pair looked at John.

John heaved with frustration. “Fine,” he screamed. Both men shushed him.

“Inside voice,” Erik said.

“Fine,” John used his inside voice. “I don’t know how to work the damn thing. I don’t know how to use any of those tools. All right? You happy?”

“But the shed.” Erik pointed over his shoulder in the shed’s general direction. “It’s all so organized and everything is so clean.”

“That’s because I never go in there, you dumb ass!”

Both men shushed him again.

“I’m sorry, John,” Erik said. “I just thought with all the tools that you’d be really good at ... tools.”

John stomped over to the fallen bookcase. With a huff, he made a sweeping gesture of the mess on the floor.

Erik nodded, “You make a good point.”

“I don’t get it.” Chris took the drill from Erik and walked over to John. “If you never use them, why do you have them?” He stuck out his hand and John slapped the spade bit in his hand. Chris dropped the bit into the drill and tightened the chuck.

“Because a man’s gotta have tools. Right?” John’s voice was cracking. “What’s a man without his tools?”

“John ...”

John cut Chris off, “I’ve tried to always do what was expected of me as a man.”

“Except use tools,” Erik added.

“I have always taken care of my family. I’ve provided for them. I’ve worked hard. I’ve ...” He waved his arms toward the front of the house. “I’ve mulched. And all that for what? Zombies? No one told us about zombies.” John put his head in his hands.

Chris looked to Erik. Erik shrugged and remained silent. Chris moved over to the door. “In all fairness, John, I don’t think any of us were expecting the dead to stop being dead.” Chris held the drill to the door.

“No.” John signaled for him to stop.

“We’ve got to see, John.”

“No. I’ll do it.” John walked over to the door and took the drill from Chris. He held the bit to the door and pulled the trigger. The drill bit spun and John began to laugh. “This is easier than I thought. All these years I just looked at this like work.”

“John. You’ve got it in reverse.” Chris reached over and clicked the direction switch.

The drill bit dug into the wooden door and whined as it poured shavings onto the tile floor. Within half a minute, it was through to the other side. John struggled to pull the drill back through the hole but managed on the third or fourth yank.

“Ha.” He blew into the hole, turned to the other two men and smiled.

“Well?” Chris asked.

“Well what?”

“Are you going to look through?”

“Right.” John turned and peered through the first hole he ever made. He looked for only a moment before setting down the drill and joining the other two men.

“What did you see?” Erik asked.

There was a thud at the door. It wasn’t loud but it was followed by a scraping sound.

Erik stood, garden tool at the ready. Chris raised his bat. The three men stood shoulder to shoulder, terrified of a bump at the door.

From the other side of the door there came a faint moan.

Chris and Erik looked at John.

“So, pancakes?”

10

Erik chewed a mouthful of dry pancakes. “I can’t believe you don’t have syrup.”

“Yeah,” Chris added, “this is the worst apocalypse ever.”

“Well, it was on the list for today, Erik, but zombies.”

“How can you offer someone pancakes and not have any syrup?” Erik asked.

Chris had tried to drown his pancakes in butter and powdered sugar. “I guess it’s not the worst thing to happen today.”

Erik nodded and took another bite of dry pancake. “So, what do we do now?”

“It’s obvious that we can’t stay here,” Chris said.

“Actually, I think that is the obvious thing to do.” John cut his pancake with great precision. The lack of syrup didn’t seem to bother him. “All we have to do is wait this thing out and our families will come home.”

“Wait this out? We’re back to that again?”

John nodded. “While you two have been bitching about syrup, I’ve been doing some thinking. And, based on how easy a lawn mower took them down, we should be hearing from the authorities in no time.”

“John, the news isn’t even broadcasting. Even in a hurricane, they’ve got some poor schlub standing on the beach in a poncho reporting the news. If things were getting back to normal, don’t you think they’d be telling us?”

“I’m sure it’s just technical difficulties.”

“John, listen.”

John rolled his eyes, “What?”

“No, I mean be quiet and listen. What do you hear?”

John stopped chewing, cocked his head and listened. “I give up.”

“Nothing. No sirens. No motors. No airplanes. No gunfire. If the authorities were out there cleaning things up, don’t you think they’d be making some noise?”

John took another bite of his pancake.

Chris continued. “We have to face the real possibility that there is no one out there coming to the rescue. We could be on our own. Is this really the best place to be?”

The TV had been playing static with the occasional burst of the Emergency Broadcast Signal. It had played so many times that each man could recite the message verbatim. It always began with the klaxon breaking the white noise.

“The Emergency Broadcast System has been activated at the request of the United States government to update you on the situation.”

The three men repeated the word, “Update.”

“That’s new.” John dropped his fork and rushed into the living room with the other two men close behind.

“It is important that you stay in your homes and stay off the streets. The authorities are handling the situation and predict that the threat will be resolved in the next twenty-four hours. Do not, we repeat, do not leave your places of residence. If you are on the road, seek shelter in a secure building immediately. You are in no danger if you remain indoors. Under no circumstances should you go outside. Again, the situation is being handled and will be resolved soon. Thank you for your patience. This message will repeat.”

John nodded, “Thank you, TV. I think I’ve made my point.”

Erik shook his head. “Something’s not right here.”

“That would be the zombies. Good eye, Erik,” said John.

“That’s just it. He didn’t say zombies. Did you notice how the language changed?”

“Yeah, it was an update,” Chris said.

“Not the message. The language. This was more polished, more prepared than the original message.”

“Sure,” John said. “That means things are getting back under control. Just like I said.”

“Or they want us to think that.”

“No, we’re not going to do that. You’re not going to go all conspiracy happy on me, Erik. We stay here. Right, Chris?”

Chris didn’t want to give John the satisfaction of agreeing with him. But, he didn’t want to give it to Erik either. He sighed, “I don’t know what to think. But we seem safe for now.”

“Have both of you lost it? There are zombies at the front door!”

“So we’ll put another chair under it.” John counted three chairs left at the kitchen table. “But, you’ll have to stand to finish your pancakes.”

Chris continued, “Erik, maybe we should wait it out another day. Stay quiet. Keep trying the phones. And just see what develops.”

John tried to high-five Chris. Chris ignored him and walked back to the kitchen.

“Fine.” Erik sat back down. “But if we’re going to stay here, we need to plan. We need to take inventory. What have you done to prepare, John?”

“What do you mean? For this?”

Erik nodded.

“Well, like Chris said, I don’t think anyone really saw the whole zombie thing coming.”

“Obviously. But how have you prepped for storms? Food shortages? The collapse of society as we know it?” Erik stood and counted the items on his fingers. “I’m talking canned food, bottled water, weapons, medical supplies.”

“Well, let’s see. Shall we?” John stood and crossed the kitchen to the pantry. He opened the door and scanned the contents. “There are some green beans in here. But I don’t really like those. There’s not really a lot. Jenny’s been on a fresh food kick.” He moved a few boxes around. “Ah, here you go Erik.” He held up a can of ravioli. “This is my post-apocalyptic preparedness pasta.”

“That will get you to Tuesday.”

“Says you. What if I don’t feel like ravioli tomorrow? Then it will last me to Wednesday.”

“What about first aid?”

“I’ve got some Band-Aids in the medicine cabinet from when the kids got booboos. You can have the Miss Piggy ones if you want.”

“Weapons?”

John held up the bat.

“No, guns?”

“I don’t like guns. I’ll stick with bats.”

“Water?”

John wore smugness like an old college sweater. “Now that I’ve got plenty of.” He strolled over to the sink and cranked the faucet. Nothing happened. John turned to the sink and moved the handle back and forth frantically hoping that the water was just stuck or maybe it just needed priming and yanking the handle would pump it out.

Erik stood. “That’s what I was afraid of.”

“What? What were you afraid of?” Chris asked.

“John is an idiot.”

John protested. “Look, I didn’t see this coming. Who could be prepared for this?”

“The city services are breaking down and we’re not prepared for anything.”

“Oh, you think not.” John made sure to turn the faucet off. Jenny hated when it dripped. “Come with me. Both of you.”

* * *

Chris nodded. “Now that’s prepared.”

Every shelf of the fridge in the garage was filled with beer. The appliance was faced like a store shelf and every row of bottles bore a different label. The shelves were divided between IPAs, lagers, stouts and girly drinks.

“Who needs water? Am I right?”

Erik folded his arms. “This isn’t the same thing.”

Chris grabbed a beer, “It works for me.”

John grabbed a beer for himself and another. He handed it to Erik. “Look, you can have all the wine coolers. Everything is going to be just fine.”

“Quit saying that. You don’t know that.”

“Of course I don’t know that. But worrying isn’t going to help. You’re probably a big ‘stay calm’ guy, right? I’ll bet you even have one of those stupid posters in your office at work.”

“So what?”

“So we stay calm and drink up. Let’s go inside, have a few beers, play some cards and keep trying the phones. Everything will be fine.” John popped the cap off of Erik’s beer.

All three men went silent. It wasn’t a sound that drew their attention. It was the lack of it. The electrical hum that fed their every day had long since faded into the background of their lives. If ever asked, “Do you hear something” one would never think to say, “yeah, the electricity.” But as soon as it went off, and the world became truly silent, only then did they realize how big a sound it was.

John could see that Erik was about to use the power grid’s failure as a reason to bitch again. “Don’t panic. It just means we have to drink faster.”

11

John smiled. “We should do this more often, you guys.”

They had piled all of the furniture in the room against the front door and, to everyone’s surprise, especially his own, John’s theory of the holly bushes seemed to be holding true. They had placed the poker table in the center of the room and dealt by flashlight.

“Really, we should do this like once a week. It could be a regular thing.”

Chris dropped his chips in the pile at the center of the table. “You don’t mean the whole zombie apocalypse thing?”

“Haha,” John reached out and slapped Chris on the shoulder. “You, you always crack me up, Christopher. Because, you know what, you’re a funny guy. So witty. I admire you for that.”

“I admire your beer fridge.”

“No. No. No. I mean we should hang out more often. This is fun. I mean, look at us. Just three guys, hanging out, doing what guys do. This is great. I, I missed this.”

“We’ve never done this,” Erik laughed.

“Not with you guys. I miss just ... this. Hanging out with the guys. You know? You grow up and it all becomes about family and, and AND, that’s great and all, I’m not saying it’s not. But a guy needs his guys. You’re my guys.”

“Gee, John, I never knew you cared,” Erik laughed.

John put his cards down. “Chris, you see what’s happening here? To Erik?”

“What’s happening to me?”

Chris nodded. “I see it.”

“Should we tell him?”

Chris shook his head. Then nodded. “I don’t know.”

“Should you tell him? Or you want I ... me to tell him?”

“I ...” Chris began.

“You tell him. You tell him. You tell him. No, I’ll tell him. Erik, what Chris wants to tell you,” John turned to Chris, “but doesn’t have the guts. It’s that you’re that guy, man.”

“I’m what guy?”

“You’re that guy, that gets together with the guys and has a few beers ...”

Chris snorted, “A few beers?”

“Okay,” John corrected himself. “A lot of beers, a lot of beers. And you start laughing at your own jokes.”

“I do not.”

“AND, and ... and your jokes aren’t funny.”

“Yes, they are.” Erik turned to Chris. “Chris, tell him my jokes are funny.”

Chris nodded and turned to John. “John.”

John, head bobbing more than he intended, held Chris’s gaze. “Yes, Chris?”

“Erik’s jokes are funny.”

The laughter built from a stifled chuckle between the men. John laughed out loud first. Chris laughed louder. John put his hands up. The laughter turned into a shushing and John held up his finger for silence.

Chris forced himself to stop laughing.

John looked at his neighbor and slurred, “Shush. The zombies will hear us.”

Both men erupted in laughter again. John rolled back in his chair. Chris gave him a high five and almost knocked him over backwards.

Erik threw his cards on the table. “Screw you guys.”

John regained his balance. “I’m sorry, Erik. We love you.”

“If I’m so unfunny, why do you hang out with me?”

“Because Austin’s a prick and he thinks that being president of the HOA makes him a prick that matters. But he’s really ... he’s really a matterless prick that doesn’t matter as much as he thinks he does ... matter.”

Chris picked up his beer, “What John said.”

Erik threw his cards on the table and crossed his arms.

“No, no, no. Don’t be that way. Don’t pout. We were, Chris was just kidding. We’re neighbors, Erik, you and I and Chris and you and that’s special because it means we all have something in common. None of us can afford a moat.”

Erik tried to hold the pout but the corners of his mouth began to turn.

“Because, if I could I’d have a drawbridge and when you guys came by I’d be all like, ‘Hey! It’s that Erik guy. Raise the drawbridge!’ But I don’t have a drawbridge, Erik. And that’s special. And that’s why we’re friends.”

“Because you don’t have a drawbridge?”

John put his hand on Erik’s shoulder and smiled. “That’s right.”

Erik rolled his eyes.

“What? Am I the asshole here because I don’t have a drawbridge?”

Erik laughed, “No, it’s ...”

“Then a toast. To good friends. Let there be no bridges between us. No wait, that’s not right.”

The three men began to laugh that contagious laugh that builds from one party to the next. John started making drawbridge motions with his hand and the intoxicated laughter grew.

There was a bang at the door and the three men leapt from their seats. The poker table overturned, spilling chips, cards and empty beer bottles across the floor. The three men held their weapons up and turned to the front door. There was no laughing now.

The bang did not repeat.

John took a cautious and unsteady step towards the door.

John turned, “Shush. I’m going to check it out.”

The drunken climb to the front door was made all the more difficult with the pile of furniture in front of it. He fought for balance as he stepped across the sofa and almost tripped as he stepped over the pile of books. He was almost to the top half of the door when there was another bang.

John peeked through the hole for a long moment and turned to the men. “It’s dark outside.” He hesitated for a moment before leaning in slowly and rapping on the door. “Hello?”

His only answer was a chorus of moans. “Ah.” He turned and started back down the pile. “Don’t worry, guys. It’s just the zombies.”

The three men broke down laughing. John slipped on a cushion and fell down the pile of furniture until he landed sitting on the couch. They laughed harder.

It was a great laugh. He hadn’t had a laugh like it in years. It ran deep in his chest and peeled away a frustration of courtesy laughs and socially obligated chuckles that had built like soot. He couldn’t stop it. Sure, part of it was the alcohol laughing, but he didn’t want it to stop. He let it exhaust him of breath before gasping through a smile to fill his lungs.

“Ooooo,” the moan seeped through the barricade.

John slammed the bat against the top of the door. “Shut it. We’re talking.”

The other two men wiped tears from the corners of their eyes as Erik, despite laughing, pled with them, “This isn’t funny.”

Chris walked over and helped John out of the couch. “That’s what’s so funny about it.”

“I don’t get it.”

John found his footing. “Whose deal is it?”

Chris directed the beam of his flashlight to the overturned table.

“Oh, right. Okay, we’ve got this. Erik, go get us more beers. I put some in the sink with what was left of the ice.”

Erik wiped a tear from his eye and headed to the kitchen as John and Chris started gathering the poker chips from the floor.

* * *

Erik had been drinking. He knew that. But he didn’t realize how much until he had laughed the air from his lungs. He was light-headed and each foot landed heavily on the ground. He flashed his beam on the sink and spotted the brown glass of the bottles.

He pulled three from the sink and listened to the ice settle in to fill the voids they had left. He held a beer to his head and sought sobriety in the cold. The house had warmed since the power went out and the simple act of playing cards had brought him to a sweat.

The breeze from the open door was nice. He turned toward it and closed his eyes. The gentle wind magnified the effect of the cold condensation from the beer bottle. He smiled. Then he yelled, “Guys!”

John and Chris stumbled around the corner, bats in hand, ready to hit anything that should be dead but wasn’t. Their flashlights danced around the kitchen and adjoining living room searching for the cause of Erik’s alarm.

John was especially jumpy. “What is it?”

Erik pointed, “The door is open. Something opened the door.”

“Oh, that.” John lowered his bat. “It’s okay. That was me.”

“You left the door open?”

“Yeah, it was getting hot in here. Kind of trying to air out that Schnapps smell, too.”

Erik suddenly felt less drunk and more frightened. “Dude!”

“What?”

“Zombies!”

Chris shrugged. “He makes a good point.”

“I told you, Erik. Nothing is getting over, under or through that fence. It’s fine. Besides, the door’s been open for an hour or so.”

There was a ticking.

Erik asked, “What’s that ticking?”

“I don’t hear it.” John swayed as he listened. “Oh, maybe it’s your watch?”

Erik held up a bare wrist. “I use my phone for my watch.”

“Don’t be stupid, Erik. Phones don’t tick.”

The ticking became louder, not like a watch, quicker and lighter and it scurried across the hardwood floor. Watches weren’t known to do that.

Erik chased the sound across the floor with his flashlight. “What the hell was that?”

Spots of light played across the floor as each man directed his flashlight to different parts of the kitchen. They saw nothing. One of the lights moved back and forth across the ceiling. John was making a humming sound mixed with a clashing noise.

Erik bent over and directed the light under the case of the counters. “It sounded like a tiny dog.”

John ceased the sound effects. “Dogs bark, Erik. They don’t tick.”

“No, like a dog’s nails on the floor.” He ran the light the length of the kitchen island and found nothing. He stood, backed up to the counter and listened. The sound was gone. “I don’t hear it now.”

There was a high-pitched grunt from behind him. It was on the counter. Erik turned slowly and raised the flashlight. Black eyes turned yellow and green as the beam lit them. Patches of fur clung to the small creature wherever bone wasn’t showing through. Its teeth were wicked—two inches long and sharp from all angles. The creature chirped. Erik jumped and dropped the flashlight. All three men screamed. Chris put his beam back on the counter. The creature was gone.

Erik raised the Garden Badger. “What the hell was that?”

“It looked like a rat. A really big rat.” Chris ran the light across the counter. “Where did it go? You got rats, John?”

“No, of course ... oh. Oh, God.”

“What?” Erik backed away from the counter. “What is it?”

“It’s Captain Awesome.”

Chris’s flashlight lit John’s face. “You’re going to have to explain that, John.”

John gripped his bat. “Sarah, my daughter, my little girl ... she had a guinea pig, a couple of years ago. She named it Captain Awesome. When it died we had a funeral ...” John pointed out the open door, “... in the yard.”

The liquor bottles on top of the fridge rattled. The scurried clicking moved across the floor. The trash can fell over. Something fell inside the pantry.

“How is it doing this? How is it all over the place? I’ll admit I don’t know much about guinea pigs, but I don’t think they’re this fast. Dead ones probably less so.”

“Captain Awesome died.”

Chris used his bat to move a canister on the counter thinking the undead pet might be behind it. That’s why he jumped when nothing happened. “We get that, John.”

“No. Sarah went to camp and left me in charge of Captain Awesome.”

Chris turned back to John. “You killed Captain Awesome. Didn’t you, John?”

“I forgot to feed him. Give him water. He didn’t last the week.”

Chris finished the story. “So you went to the pet store and got another Captain Awesome. One that looked just like the original.”

John nodded. “I didn’t want Sarah to cry. I wanted to spare her the hurt of losing a beloved pet.”

“You didn’t want to get caught.”

“That too.”

Erik shook his head. “You murdered her guinea pig?”

“No, it wasn’t murder. I didn’t do it on purpose, it was petslaughter. No. Wait. That sounds worse.”

“Petricide?” Erik offered.

John pointed at his neighbor. “You’re not helping me, Erik.”

The rapid clicking approached from two directions. The three men squealed and pointed their lights at the ground while trying to lift all of their feet off the floor at once.

The clicking scurried by.

Chris slammed his hand on the counter. “Look, this is stupid. We’re three grown men. These are just two little undead rodents.”

John squirmed. This wasn’t a story he ever thought he’d tell. But now was the time to come clean. “Well, more like five or six.”

Both men looked surprised. “What?”

“Captain Awesome died.” John shrugged. “A lot.”

“You killed and secretly replaced your daughter’s beloved pet four times?” Chris asked.

“Or five. I can’t remember.”

“How could you not know?” Erik asked.

“Well, I remember I had to wear a disguise twice because at one point the guy wouldn’t sell me anymore Captain Awesomes.”

Guinea pigs rumble when angered or threatened. They had never heard the noise before because, until that night, not one of them had ever threatened a guinea pig. Rumbling resembles a high-pitched purr and is not necessarily an intimidating sound. But, when it comes from six undead rodents and six separate directions, it tends to put grown men on edge.

The three men drew closer together and peered into the darkness looking for any sign of the creatures. The rumbling stopped. A bottle dropped from the top of the fridge and shattered on the floor. The aroma of whiskey quickly filled the kitchen.

The smell reached John’s nose. “My whiskey? That’s it.” John raised his bat. “Captain Awesome is going down.”

There was a “wheek” behind him and he spun in time to see one of the Captain Awesomes on the counter. He screamed and swung the bat. He missed, over-rotated and struck Erik on the arm.

“Ouch. Watch it, John!”

A patchy ball of fur and bone ran by Chris’s foot and he jumped, squealed and swung low hoping to chip the creature back into the yard. He missed and struck Erik in the ankle.

“Dammit, Chris!”

“I’ve got him.” John swung at the Captain Awesome that Chris had missed and connected with the back of Erik’s leg.

Erik collapsed onto his back.

“You dicks.” Erik rolled over on to his chest and began to push himself up. A blood-curdling chirp stopped him. He looked up and found himself face to face with an all but bald Captain Awesome.

The vacant stare of a guinea pig was horrific. In the void that was its gaze, Erik could see only the love of carnage. The beast chirped again.

Erik screamed and pushed himself back against the cabinet. He frantically kicked and poked at the creature with the Garden Badger and frantically missed.

The beast charged, bearing fangs over an inch long.

Erik was too drunk or scared to stand.

The monster reached his foot and bit. It chewed with such ravenous fury that, given half an hour, the vicious beast would chew through Erik’s shoe and reach flesh.

“Oh.” Erik pulled his foot away and Captain Awesome began to rumble again.

Chris reared back and punted the guinea pig through the open door and into the yard. He grabbed Erik’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

“Thanks, Chris.”

“Behind you!” He threw Erik out of the way and swung at the counter. The zombie rodent moved rather quickly for a dead thing and scurried down the counter to the wall. John’s bat crashed down on the marble countertop, crushing Captain Awesome’s head and taking a chunk out of Jenny’s prized countertop.

“Oh, oh. That’s not good. Jenny is going to be pissed.”

Chris looked at the damage. “I think she’ll understand, John.”

“Yeah?”

“Sure, once you explain to her that we were being attacked by an army of undead guinea pigs—that you secretly buried in the backyard—after you left the door open in the middle of the zombie apocalypse.”

John thought that sounded terrible. “I’ll just tell her Erik did it.”

Erik was rubbing the back of his leg. “Why me?”

“I don’t know. You’re just the easiest to push around.”

“That’s not true.”

Chris shouted, “Erik. Move!”

Erik hopped aside and Chris stomped at the ground as a Captain Awesome ran across the floor. He missed and the guinea pig disappeared into the darkness once again.

The skittering of tiny undead claws stopped and for a moment the kitchen was completely silent. Then it began. The three, or four, remaining pets began to moan in high-pitched squeaks. The sound built in intensity as each creature found a similar pitch. This alone was eerie enough, but the guinea pig chorus reached the undead at the front door. Their moans grew louder.

“They’re signaling the others,” Chris said. “We’ve got to stop Captain Awesome before they draw every zombie in the neighborhood to your door.”

“Plus,” Erik added, “they’re really freaking me out.”

“So what do we do?” John asked.

Chris smiled, “I’ve got an idea.”

12

“Did we have to tie him up?” Erik asked.

“Sure,” Chris said. “Bait is always tied up.”

“Mmmrrmph,” said John.

“Besides, if we untied him, he’d just pull the gag out of his mouth.”

“It just seems a bit much.” Erik looked at John as he sat in the middle of the living room floor struggling against the ropes.

“Mmmrmphumpahs!”

“I can’t argue with the gag though.”

“Mrymrpphee?”

Chris kept his eyes on the room but answered John. “You know why. Because you’re the one that buried the five ...”

“Orrummmphif.”

“... right, or six, guinea pigs in the yard. And, you’re the one who left the door open.”

“Hatrumphnanyin.”

Erik pulled on a pair of gardening gloves and picked up the Garden Badger weeding stick. “You’re also the most drunk and least capable of killing Captain Awesome.”

“Mmrumphit.”

Chris and Erik swept the room with their eyes. They assumed that the attack would come from the kitchen, but Captain Awesome had already proven to be unpredictable.

The creepy chirping had stopped not long after the three had stepped out of the kitchen. There was no sound except that of John trying to chew through his gag.

“Why isn’t it working, Chris?”

“I don’t know. Maybe they’re attracted to movement and sound.”

“Do you think we should ungag him?”

“You and I both know that’s not a good idea.”

“So what do we do? I won’t be able to sleep with those things in the house.”

“Erik, get his shoes.”

“Hurmrmph?” John began to kick his legs and pull harder at the ropes.

“John, stop it. This will all be over soon. And don’t worry. We won’t let them get you.”

Erik sat on John’s legs to stop the squirming and pulled his shoes from his feet.

“And socks.”

Despite the gag, John laughed as Erik removed his socks and grumbled, “Mrumphu.”

“He’s really ticklish.”

Erik stood up and dropped the socks on the floor. “Now what?”

“John, wiggle your toes.”

“Hno.”

“Come on. The sooner you do it, the sooner this will all be over.”

John sighed through the gag. His shoulders slumped and he began to wiggle his toes. A little.

“C’mon, man. Like you mean it. Wiggle those tasty guinea pig treats.”

John scowled, bit on the gag and wiggled his toes faster.

“There you go.”

The Captain Awesome stampede began. From different corners of the kitchen, three undead guinea pigs charged. Considering that they were both guinea pigs and dead, the former pets moved faster than the men had anticipated.

“Here they come!” said Erik.

“Get ready!” said Chris.

“Arrrrrrgumph!” screamed John.

The clicking of their nails grew louder as they entered the living room. Their moaning chirps began again. Chris jumped in, swung the bat at the ground and missed. Erik stabbed at the lead Captain Awesome and impaled it on the prongs of the Garden Badger. Chris stomped the head of another.

The final Captain Awesome, undeterred from the murder around him, charged for the wiggling toes.

“HHHROOOMM!” John screamed as he lost sight of the monster in the dark.

Erik held up the Garden Badger. Captain Awesome squirmed on the end of the prongs. “I got one!”

“Me too! Where’s the last one?”

John stared at his feet. He couldn’t explain why, but he was still wiggling his toes. He stared into the darkness looking for the final guinea pig. Where had it gone? He began to laugh. Then he screamed. Erik had been right, his feet were extremely ticklish and now he could feel a tiny nose rubbing against the sole of his right foot. He tried to yell but his bastard friends had tied the gag too tight. All he could do was stare at his toes and try not to laugh.

The tickling got worse. He felt the creature put his claws on his foot. First one set, then the other. It rose slowly above his big toe. John saw what remained of an ear first. The head of Captain Awesome appeared next. One entire side of its face was missing. Yellowed bone contrasted with the matted dark brown fur to create a demonic look. Captain Awesome turned its head and looked at John through its only eye.

It was here for revenge. John knew it. And the creature wanted him to know it. John began to whimper. “Hrmph orree aptan awphome.”

The beast reared up and opened its jaws. The lack of pudgy cheeks made it look fearsome. Its fangs hung like a guillotine blade set to seal his fate.

The monster hissed.

John screamed.

Chris swung.

The bat connected with Captain Awesome and most of John’s big toe. The guinea pig crunched as it flew across the room and crashed into the wall. It did not move once it hit the floor.

“Yeah!”

“Nice swing, Chris.”

“Arrghm bastars.” John rolled over on the floor.

“John. You can get up now. You don’t have to be bait anymore.”

John swore through the gag as he rolled over and struggled to his knees. Spit rolled out from behind the cloth that covered his mouth as he worked up a string of insults that neither of the two men could understand.

Erik pulled the gag from his mouth mid-threat.

“... dumb bastards are going to pay. You hit my foot, you stupid son of a bitch. Untie me now so I can take that bat to your head.”

“Calm down, John.” Erik loosened the rope and hopped out of his reach. “Don’t you see? Everything is going to be okay. We beat Captain Awesome. We’re unstoppable.”

John stood up ready to fight but found himself quickly favoring his leg. “You idiots. You think because you beat up a bunch of rats, and my toe, that everything will be fine?”

Chris was still riding the high of victory. “You said it yourself, John. These creatures are old and frail. I’m pretty sure we can take them.”

Erik agreed. “Yeah! We should open the front door and go kick some ass.”

“Yeah.” Chris and Erik ran to the front door.

John hobbled behind them as fast as his injured toe would allow. “Wait, idiots. Wait.” He found them removing the pile of barricade material from in front of the door.

“Would you two idiots stop this?”

“It’s okay, man. These things are practically falling apart.”

“Yeah, and they’ll be way easier to hit than a tiny guinea pig,” added Erik.

“You two are the ones that keep saying they’ll spread. What if there are stronger ones out there? I can barely walk.”

Chris picked up one end of the couch and motioned for Erik to grab the other end. “John. You’ve been saying it all day. Who would be stupid enough to get bit by one of these things?”

There was a bang against the door. Not a thump. Not a thud, a whump, or a bump, but a bang. Chris and Erik stopped lifting. There was another bang at the door.

Erik approached the door with caution and put his eye to the homemade peephole. It was dark outside, but there was no mistaking what he had seen. He turned. “It’s one of the Ball Busters.”

13

The pounding wouldn’t stop. It beat on the inside of his head like a sadistic imp with terrible rhythm. He didn’t want to open his eyes, but keeping them shut wasn’t helping at this point. He had awakened several times before and willed consciousness away, hoping that a few more minutes would be enough to ease the inevitable burst of pain that sitting up would bring. But, he’d passed the point of no return. Sleep wasn’t going to come again. John wanted to wail in pain, or bitch in general, but every time he opened his mouth it crackled, his lips split and that bastard imp beat harder.

He never blamed the booze or the beer for a hangover. That would be childish. A real man knew what he was in for when he drank and to damn the bottle for his own failings was weak. Even worse would be to swear off drinking altogether. John wasn’t above making promises he wouldn’t keep, but he preferred to do that while drunk. He had no issues blaming the booze or the beer for bad promises.

He had suffered countless hangovers in his life and he chose never to regret the events that preceded them. The past was the past. Things that were said could not be unsaid. Dares that had been accepted could not be undone. Dance moves that had been busted could not be unbusted. John had never had much use for regret, but, looking back, getting hammered during the onset of the zombie apocalypse may not have been the best idea.

Closing his eyes made his head spin, so he pulled the pillow tight around his face and ears to block out the world. Some men looked at alcohol as an elixir that granted them courage or charm. John never bought into that. He knew the truth. Drinking granted only one super power—that of super hearing. And it came the next morning when all one wanted was silence. John heard everything.

Chris was still asleep. His snoring could wake the dead had they not been awakened days earlier and milling about outside in the world of the living.

Erik was awake. His neighbor was trying to stay quiet but a whistling nostril betrayed his presence. It was the left one.

In the closet, he could hear a watch tick the seconds. John even heard the silence of the power outage, which made each individual noise that much crisper and more annoying. Together these sounds and silence echoed in his head and amplified the pain. If just one would stop—the snoring, the whistling ... he would flush that watch down the toilet once the water was running again.

And, of course, the undead bastard in the bowling shirt that was beating on his front door wasn’t helping matters either. The Ball Buster that had shown up at the door the night before had never stopped pounding.

John gave up the fight for solace and silence, pulled the pillow from his eyes and accepted the light and the pain it brought. He imagined himself sitting up and decided that he hated the idea. Instead, he rolled to one side and let the weight of his legs pull him up.

His voice was weak and he hardly recognized it as his own. “That jerk is still at it?”

Erik turned away from the bedroom window. “Yeah. He hasn’t taken a break since I took watch.”

They couldn’t see the front door from their perch, but they had agreed that it would be safer on the second story just in case years of overzealous high fives had given the Ball Buster the strength to knock the door from its hinges. Erik had said the stairs would make a great choke point in case they had to defend themselves from the horde of zombies. John and Chris had made fun of Erik for using words like choke point.

“I can’t believe he’s more annoying dea ...” John lost the word in his chest. He let it go, assuming that if it got out so would the food that was in his stomach.

Erik stood and crossed the room. He handed John a glass of water from the nightstand.

The water felt good in his mouth but went down sideways in his stomach. He had to take cautious breaths for a moment before his strength returned.

Chris’s snoring broke and turned into a question, “How does it look out there?”

Erik picked up another waiting glass of water and explained as Chris drank it down. “Not good. They just keep coming.” He crossed back to the window and cracked it open. The moans of the horde poured into the room. Within the noise there were voices stronger than others—louder, more forceful. The first day had seen the dead rise. But, now they were turning the living against their own and those that had been turned groaned with more vigor and lung tissue.

“Close it, Erik,” Chris said. “That noise is killing my head.”

Erik slid the window shut without a sound. “So what do we do about the zo ...?”

“Shhh.” John tried to shake the fog from his head. Each toss of his head hurt more than the last. “I don’t even want to hear the word zombies until I get breakfast. A good greasy breakfast.”

“That sounds great,” Chris said. “But, the power’s still out.”

“Let’s hope the gas is still on and the food we threw in the freezer is still good.” John stood up and was surprised to find that he walked with a limp. “Crap. Why does my foot hurt?”

Chris and Erik said nothing as they left the room.

* * *

Every bite of egg was a gamble. It hurt to swallow but every bit of food that successfully made it to his stomach cut the pain of the hangover in half. Soon the nausea had all but disappeared and John’s headache dulled enough to think somewhat clearly. Although, the constant pounding at the front door prevented him from coming up with anything good.

They said little while they ate. Chris kept his eyes on the plate and took deep breaths before every bite. Erik chewed each bite carefully and thoroughly before swallowing. He didn’t seem to be suffering as much as the other two.

They finished off the carton of eggs and a pound of bacon before returning to the upstairs window and surveying what they could of the neighborhood.

Chris looked out over the street. There were nearly a hundred of the creatures pacing on the roads and in the yards. “I think it’s safe to say that things have gotten worse.”

Erik nodded. “Where are they coming from?”

“They’ve been turned, bitten,” Chris said.

“Duh,” John said. “But how are there so many? There can’t be this many stupid people out there.”

Chris shrugged. “Maybe they all slipped in Schnapps.”

“Shut up, Chris. I explained that. Forget how they got bit. Why are they coming here?”

The creatures’ moans were sporadic. The one constant sound from the outside world was the banging on John’s front door. Chris pointed downstairs. “If I had to guess, I’d say it’s all that banging from our bowling companion.”

John threw up his hands, “Of course it would be him. Years of high fives have made him especially good at being an undead asshole. I wonder how he got here anyway?”

“I guess he never got out of the neighborhood that night,” Chris said.

John stood up from the window. “We’ve got to stop him before he brings every corpse and corpse-bitten idiot to my front door.”

Chris settled onto the windowsill John had vacated. “I’m not going out there.”

John snorted and limped out of the room.

“What do you think we should do, Chris? If we listen to John anymore we’re just going to end up drunk again.”

Chris shook his head. “I don’t know. I guess we could make a break for it. But where would we go? We don’t know if any place is really safe. I’ve been trying the phones all morning. There’s still nothing and I’m running out of battery.”

“Same here.”

There was a crash. Chris and Erik leapt to their feet with the greatest speed a hangover would allow and rushed toward the noise. It wasn’t the front door. The crash hadn’t come from downstairs. It came from down the hall.

They heard John swear and the cursing led them down the hall to an open bedroom door. They ran into the room with bat and garden tool ready to strike. Inside they found John losing a fight to a pile of boxes.

John stood from the pile and tore the lid from a box. “Aha!” He picked up the box and walked past the two men into the hall.

Chris lowered the bat as he passed. “What the hell was that, John?”

“What was what?”

“That scream.”

“Oh. I was looking for my son’s secret stash. It was up in the closet and most of the closet fell on me.”

“Secret stash?”

“C’mon.” John walked back into the master bedroom, set the box on the bed and turned it over to reveal an arsenal of fireworks. “Bottle rockets, black cats, roman candles, cherry bombs ... the works. That kid makes me so proud.”

Erik sifted through the pile. “How did you know he’d have these?”

“Please, Erik. He’s a fifteen-year-old boy. If he didn’t have a secret stash of fireworks, well then what kind of father would I be? I remember my own secret stash. I’ll bet my dad knew about it as well. Pocket knives, fireworks ... I am a little disturbed by the lack of nudie mags, though.”

Chris and Erik answered together, “Internet.”

John pointed at Chris. “That’s right. Damn kids have it so easy these days. Do you know what I had to do to get my fir ...”

Chris stopped him. “Let’s get back to the box.”

“Right.” John rifled through the stash of explosives and pulled one out. “Aha! Cherry bomb!” Bright red with a green fuse, the firecracker brought back memories. “This was the cornerstone of my own teenage arsenal. Man, the trouble I used to cause.” He dug further into the box and pulled out a lighter. “Erik, get ready to open the window on my mark.”

“Wait,” Chris stopped him. “You’re going to try and blow up a horde of zombies with a cherry bomb?”

“No, genius. I’m going to throw it in the yard and hope that the noise draws them away from the door.”

Chris looked stunned. “Holy shit.”

“What?”

“You finally had a good idea.”

“Shut up, Chris. Erik, get ready to open the window on my mark.” John held the fuse over the lighter.

Erik unlatched the window locks and grabbed the frame at the base.

“One. Two.”

Chris held up his hands, “Wait!”

“Three!” John’s thumb flicked the striker wheel of the Bic.

Flame jumped from the lighter. The fuse sparked. Erik threw open the window. Chris yelled, “Screen!” John threw the cherry bomb. It bounced off the screen and rolled back into the room at the feet of the three men. Each one screamed different from the other, but the terror of a lit explosive in the room was evenly matched.

Chris dove behind the end of the bed. Erik wrapped the curtain around himself. John jumped into the bed and pulled the covers over his head.

Then, suddenly, nothing happened.

John peeked out from under the covers.

Erik peered from behind the curtains.

Chris stood up. “Is it a dud?”

John crawled from beneath the covers and looked at the round red firecracker sitting on the floor. There was no smoke, no hiss. It sat still and quiet. “I guess so.” He nudged it with his toe and the cherry bomb exploded with a tremendous pop, hurting him just a little. John jumped back on the bed and grabbed his foot. “Crap. My other foot.”

Erik grabbed at his ears. “Oh, God, John blew his toes off.”

John moved his hand expecting the worst, but he only saw toes. “No, no. They’re all there. Stings like a bastard though.”

Outside the moans grew louder. The banging on the door intensified. Even muffled by the walls of the house, the report of the firecracker had drawn the monsters’ attentions.

Chris grabbed the lighter from John’s hand. “I can’t believe I have to spend the apocalypse with you two idiots.” He pulled a string of Black Cats from the box, kicked the screen out of the window, lit the fuse and hurled the firecrackers into the yard. A moment later the reports began to sound as the twisted fuses burned down to their respective noisemakers.

The zombies that had been milling about in the yard turned towards the noise. The expressions on their faces had not changed, there was no recognition in their eyes, but they now had a place to be. The former corpses moved slow and unsteady to the charred piece of lawn. The fresher, recently turned creatures moved quicker than the others. Fresher tissue and complete ligaments made their movements all but indistinguishable from those of the living.

These new zombies appeared faster and stronger. As they reached the epicenter of the fireworks display, they tore the older, more decrepit creatures out of the way. A mass of undead grew in a mound until the Ball Buster reached the pile. There he grabbed a body with each hand and threw them back from the stack again and again until he reached the charred grass beneath. Finding nothing but the ash of the Black Cats, he just stared at the burnt strings of former fireworks.

“Holy crap.” Chris had leaned out the open window to watch the results. He ducked back inside the bedroom. “Did you guys see that?”

“I sure did,” said John. “You owe me a screen.”

14

“Bob, don’t forget to take out the trash.”

“I’m doing it now.”

“And put on some pants.”

“What do you care if I’m wearing pants as long as the trash gets taken out?”

“Someone could see you.”

“Who’s going to see me? It’s the middle of the night.”

“Sally. Sally could see you. That’s who.”

“So? Who is Sally? The pants police?”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m just going to run the trash out and be right back.”

“What have you got against pants?”

“I don’t have anything again ...”

“You walk out of this house without pants on you might as well come right back in and put them on because there will be no reason for you ever to take your pants off in this house again. Do you understand me?”

“Not really.”

“If you don’t ...”

“Fine. I’m putting on a stupid robe.”

“And then,” John returned to using his own voice, “wham! Zombies got him. And if she had of let him just take out the trash in his underwear, the zombies never would have even seen him. But, no. There’s Bob in my yard all undead with an open bathrobe and a soiled pair of boxers. I do like his house shoes though.”

“What about that one?” Erik pointed to a man in running shorts and a tank top. The earbud of a pair of headphones hung from one side of his head. His ear hung from the other.

“Mr. Track and Field? That’s easy. He got what was coming to him.”

Chris was sprawled across the bed. He had refused to play “how they zombied” with his neighbors but when he heard this he sat up. “How can you say that?”

“Look at him. He’s got those stupid toe finger shoes on. This guy takes his running too seriously. He probably goes to bed early. We’re talking weird early, like seven or eight, just so he can get up and go running. Now, if he had stayed up to an adult’s bedtime, he would have known what was going on with the whole undead thing and skipped this morning’s run. But, no, he has to get his run in. So he gets up early, throws on his headphones, slips the gloves on his feet and heads out the front door. He probably got a few blocks before he even noticed what was going on. He could have tripped over one of them and not known it because he was in ‘the zone.’” John threw up a pair of very sarcastic finger quotes.

“And he deserves to be a zombie for that?”

“I’m just saying that no one ever got hurt lying on the couch. All these fitness nuts come into the office bragging about some stupid race one day and the next week they’re on crutches or have one of those Robocop boot things on their leg. And all because they want to make sure everyone knows that they’re a runner. This is pretty much the same thing.”

Chris shook his head and lay back down. “You’re an idiot.”

John dismissed him with a wave of his hand and turned back to the window. “Who’s next?”

The firecracker had drawn the mob away from the door but brought still more of the undead to the front yard. The three had spent the morning hours watching the crowd grow and discussing what to do next. Each had a different thought. John wanted to stay put. Erik wanted to run. Chris wanted to make their way to whatever shelter the authorities had established. The only thing they agreed on was that nothing should be done until they had gotten over their hangovers. So, they sat and stared out the window and they watched the crowd grow.

“Erik, pick another zombie.”

Chris moaned, “I am so sick of that word.”

“Hey, you’re the one who didn’t want to play.”

Erik was quiet for a moment. “I think we should call them walkers.”

John slapped Erik on the back. “I’m proud of you, Erik.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ve known you for a long time, and you’ve said a lot of stupid things but this ... this may be the stupidest thing you’ve ever said. You finally topped yourself. I didn’t think you could do it. I’m proud of you.”

“What’s so stupid about calling them walkers? They’re walking.”

“These things have risen from the grave. Returned from the dead. Are cannibalistic in nature and have a bite that will both kill you and bring you back to life as a nightmare creature and you think we should call them walkers? Because they walk? So do dogs, cats, people that aren’t undead, bugs and even birds when they’re on the ground. But, no, you think these monsters own that particular mode of locomotion.”

“I just thought that ...”

“You didn’t think. You saw them doing something and said the word. Like a three-year-old.”

“What if there are different kinds, John? What if we need to distinguish between types? We need to establish a baseline description.”

“Okay. I’ll make you a deal. We see one driving a car and we’ll call these walkers. But until then, we’re going to call them zombies.”

Chris groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

John looked back out the window and stood up with a start. “Holy crap! Chris, you’ve got to see this!”

Chris rolled out of the bed faster than he should have and his head punished him for it. He stumbled to the window and looked into the yard. “What? What is it?”

John had a grin on his face. “Look at this one. They must have got her in the shower.”

She was in her mid-thirties and completely naked. A wound in her neck spilled blood down the side of her arm. It had clotted hours ago. The undead gait caused some jiggling that made John giggle.

“What the hell is wrong with you, John?”

“Uh, Chris, boobs.”

“Show some respect.”

“I have nothing but respect for boobs.”

“You’re such a child. Why would you even think that I’d be interested in seeing this?”

“Because boobs!”

Chris walked back to the bed. “Dead boobs, you pervert.”

John looked back out the window. The dumb look on his face could have meant that he was considering Chris’s words. Or he was just looking dumb. “No. There’s still some life in those puppies. Let’s call them half-dead boobs, then. Does that make you feel better?”

“No.” Chris draped his arm over his eyes. “It doesn’t.”

John looked to Erik with raised eyebrows. “What kind of man doesn’t like boobs?”

“The perverted kind that can’t use tools,” Chris said and lay back down.

“I hate you, Chris.”

“I hate you too, John. Now shut up so I can rest.”

Erik looked out the window. Until John had asked him to play “how they zombied,” he hadn’t said much. His gaze lingered on the naked woman for a little but he seemed to be taking in the whole scene. “We’ve got to get out of here. We’d be safer in a cornfield than here.”

“That’s a pretty stupid statement,” John said.

“There’re too many people around. They’re going to keep coming. We need to be where there weren’t so many people to begin with.” Erik nodded in agreement with his own assessment. “Yes. If we get outside the city we’ll be safer.”

John put his face in his hands. “This again?”

Erik nodded again. “It’s the only plan that makes any sense.”

“Look out that window, Erik. What do you see? I see a growing crowd of flesh hungry monsters. I’m staying safe inside behind my pile of furniture.” John slapped Chris on the foot. “Chris, tell him there’s no way in hell we’re going outside.”

“Erik, there’s no way in hell we’re going outside.”

Erik pointed out the window. “It’s Austin! He’s a walker!”

John and Chris rushed to the window. Their neighbor, their HOA president, and the bane of their recent existence, shuffled slowly down the sidewalk covered in blood.

“I’m going to kill him.” John grabbed his bat.

“No. I get to do it.” Chris grabbed his bat.

“I think it’s obvious that I hate him way more than you do. If not for him, I’d still be able to mulch my own yard.”

“Your yard? If not for him, I would have been with my family when this whole thing started. I’d know where they are! I’d be at home with them instead of shut in with you two assholes! He’s mine!”

“Guys,” Erik stepped into the doorway and blocked the two men from leaving the room. “You can’t do this.”

“Why not?” John asked.

Erik put up his hands. “I don’t like Austin either, but you can’t just kill him.”

“It’s not killing him,” Chris said. “He’s already dead.”

“Yeah,” John agreed. “It’s like killing him again, but not the first time. It’s like if you’re the second one to run over roadkill. You didn’t kill it, but you get the satisfaction of the crunch.”

“Dude!” Erik said.

“Roadki ... What the hell is wrong with you?” Chris asked. “No one feels that way!”

John shrugged.

Chris continued, “Look, John’s sick. But, Austin’s undead. We’re just going to put things right.”

John pointed the bat towards the window. “Right. It’s the natural order of things. It’s our contribution to the world.”

Erik didn’t even blink.

“Look,” John continued. “This is like the one bright point in an otherwise shitty apocalypse. You’ve got to let us have this.”

He put his hand on Erik’s shoulder and moved him aside.

Chris and John rushed through the door.

Erik grabbed his Garden Badger and ran after them. “But it’s not worth it!”

15

The pile of dead-again guinea pigs was a reassuring sign that everything was okay in the backyard. Nothing had gotten through the fence and the Captain Awesomes had stayed dead from the night before.

John ran across the yard, opened the padlock and swung the gate open enough to stick his head out past the fence. The driveway was clear as well. The string of firecrackers had drawn everything to the front yard. John opened the gate further and moved into the driveway and up the side of the house.

Rushing along the neighbor’s fence, Chris and John fell over each other as they raced through the side yard. John had all but forgotten the pain in his foot as the idea of killing the zombie Austin played in his mind.

They reached a half-wall of brick that separated the two homes and crouched behind it. The two men peered over. Austin shuffled up the sidewalk through the crowd of undead with the same expressionless look as the others. Unlike the rest, however, Austin did not make for the center of the yard. He moved past the growing crowd and continued up the street.

“Perfect. He’s moving away from the crowd. Geez, even as a zombie he’s stupider than everyone else. And did you see that stupid look on his face? Haha.” John stood up to leap over the half-wall.

Chris put a hand on his shoulder and stopped him. “John. Is Erik right? Is this wrong?”

“No. It’s the same as beating a corpse.”

“John. That’s wrong.”

“No. It ... look. We’re taking out a zombie. A creature of evil that will bite and spread its curse among the living. If anything, what we’re doing is a good thing. Just because we’ll enjoy it doesn’t change that. We’re saving lives. We’re heroes, Chris.”

“Yeah. Okay, I can buy that.”

“Well, I’m a hero. Because I’m going to club the shit out of him before you do.” John leapt over the wall and fell down the other side—hurting himself, only a little. “Dammit.”

Chris landed on his feet. “Nice jump, John.”

John got to his feet and threw a cautious glance to the zombies in his front yard. If they had seen the pair, it hadn’t registered in their tiny undead minds. He chased after Chris, but his neighbor had a decent lead.

Chris was fast. Faster than John anyway. In his shape, there was no way he could overtake his slightly younger neighbor. Still, he had to try, so he ran.

* * *

Austin passed through a pair of creatures heading down the sidewalk toward John’s yard. They saw Chris and moaned as they turned after him. They weren’t like the ones the men had fought the first night of the apocalypse. Freshly turned, their muscles reacted quicker than those that had crawled from the grave and they sprang toward Chris. He misjudged their speed and was still drawing back his bat when the first one tackled him.

Chris screamed as he collapsed to the ground beneath the creature. The zombie groaned as if it had never eaten and snapped its teeth at Chris’s face as he held back the monster at the shoulders.

Unlike the yellowed stumps of the creatures from the grave, the monster’s teeth were straight and gleamed a supernatural white. They clicked as they met and Chris had no doubt they would not have any problem tearing the skin from his face.

Though its teeth were clean, the creature’s breath was rank with decay and a hint of garlic. Spit ran from its mouth as it snarled.

Chris turned his face as it dripped down his cheek. He screamed.

The monster made a push and came dangerously close to a bite just before its head crumpled under the force of the bat. Blood seeped from the crack that appeared in its face, but it was nowhere near the amount Chris was expecting. The monster went limp and the shifting weight collapsed on top of him. Chris wriggled free from the corpse, expecting to find a waiting hand to help him up, but John was pointing the bat at Austin.

“You’ve got this, right?”

“What? No, help me up.” Chris held out his hand.

“You’ve got this.” John shoved the second zombie into the street, watched it trip and started after Austin.

“John, you dick.” Chris rolled the corpse off to the side and stood up. The zombie John had pushed into the street was getting to its feet. Chris’s brain stammered between fight or flight. These fresh zombies were so much quicker than the crumbling dead, if he made a break for John, the monster would not be far behind. He decided to stand his ground.

The creature had been an older man not long ago. Aside from the bite wound on his arm, a lack of color in his skin and a pale white coating to his eyes, he looked very much alive. None of this seemed real. The monsters from the first two nights had looked like nightmare creatures. Flesh hung from yellowed bones and flies followed them around. This man in front of him had not been buried. He had not been reanimated. He had never been dead. His life had been taken from him and turned. Was there someone still inside of this monster?

“Stop. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The creature wheezed but said nothing. It started towards Chris.

He took a step back and raised the bat. “Seriously. Get back. Go on. Just leave me alone.”

The creature stopped. For a moment it seemed to consider Chris’s words.

“Please. Everything will be okay.” Chris had children so he knew all about making empty promises in the face of fear and uncertainty. Sometimes comfort was more important than truth and faith more important than fact. Usually, though, his lies concerned a scraped knee or a broken toy. The whole undead thing was taking it to a whole new level of bullshit.

The creature opened its mouth and a chunk of flesh fell to the ground. Blood spread from the chunk as it landed with a splat on the ground.

“Oh, that’s ... that’s not right.”

With the flesh out of the way, a snarl escaped the man’s throat and he started forward again.

“Please, don’t.”

The man stretched out his hands.

“I don’t know you, and I’m sure you were very nice before you tried to eat whoever that was. Please stop.”

But the creature didn’t stop and Chris swung the bat. The old man fell to the ground and lay motionless. Guilt began to flood Chris’s mind. He looked at the bat in his hands and the body on the ground. That man had been a person not long ago. His gaze wandered to the chunk of flesh that had fallen from the man’s mouth and the guilt ebbed. Anger replaced it and the man ceased to be human in Chris’s mind. Now it was only the creature, the beast, the monster that had caused him to be separated from his family. The flesh on the ground was somebody else. Another person. Another victim of the outbreak. There was no way to know that it wasn’t his wife or one of his children.

Chris swung the bat again and again, caving the skull of the creature until it no longer resembled a man. Even this did not sate his anger.

Chris looked up the street. John was gaining on the zombie Austin. The former HOA president hadn’t seemed to notice that he was being stalked. John was fat, so Chris ran.

* * *

John pulled the bat straight back over his head. Chris grabbed it as John swung and pulled it from his hands.

Stunned, John turned and looked at Chris. “Dick!”

Chris threw the bat to the ground. John scrambled after it. Why couldn’t bats roll straight?

“This is for my family, you little prick.” Chris drew his own bat back and swung.

There was a crack as it was intercepted by John’s Louisville Slugger. “No you don’t. I get to kill him.”

Chris swatted the bat down and John parried. Years spent watching movies filled with sword fights gave them both a reference for what a bat fight should look like— intercepted swings, parried blows, spins, twirls, lunges, feints and deft moves as both men fought for an advantage. What followed looked nothing like that. As they both tried to intercept each other’s swings, they missed. A lot. When the bats did finally connect, painful vibrations rang through their hands, numbing their palms and causing their joints to ache.

The first connection made them both swear. The second made them quit.

Chris put up his hand. “We’ll both hit him. Okay?”

John pouted, “Fine.”

The pair turned and raised their clubs.

Austin was staring at them. “John? Chris? What are you guys doing?”

“Oh, shit,” Chris said. “He’s still alive.”

John lowered his bat. “Dammit.” He knew it was wrong to be disappointed but he couldn’t help it. It was like having to stand in line to wish a competing team a good game when all you wanted to do was spit in your hand and slap them as they passed. Or skip the line altogether and let the air out of their tires.

“You made me bowl!” Erik ran from around the corner of the house and raised the Garden Badger.

Austin spun around, “Erik?”

Chris and John raised their hands and shouted together, “Wait!”

Erik swung the weeding tool. Blood exploded across Austin’s face as the Garden Badger connected with his nose. He screamed in pain and fell to the ground.

“Oh shit!” Chris dropped to Austin’s side.

“Erik, you idiot!” John grabbed the Garden Badger out of his neighbor’s hand.

“What?”

“He’s still alive!” John looked at the fallen man. “Well, he was still alive.”

Chris put his fingers on Austin’s neck.

Erik had turned white and he began to stammer. “Is ... is he okay?”

Chris shook his head. “It’s hard to tell. I’m not sure what I’m feeling for.”

John pointed at Austin’s rising chest. “Look, he’s still breathing.”

“I didn’t know! I thought he was ... “

Chris tried to lift the man from the ground. “John, help me lift him. We’ve got to get him inside.”

“Why?”

“John!”

“What? We were going to kill him anyway. Now we’re trying to save him?”

“No, we were going to kill him when he was already dead. This is different. Erik, help me here.”

John paced back and forth as the two men lifted Austin from the ground. He stepped forward a couple of times then backed away, not sure where he should be. “What do you want me to do?”

Chris grunted and he hefted Austin from the ground. “Kill the runner.”

“Do what?”

“Kill the runner.” Chris pointed with his chin.

John turned. The yelling, the bat fight, their simple presence—there was no telling what had drawn their attention, but the zombies that had gathered in front of John’s house were moving towards the four men. Their gait was curious and it looked as if many of the zombies were simply following the crowd. Only a couple of the creatures had fixed their dead eyes on the group. The mob walked, but the runner, he ran.

“Oh, crap, he’s really moving!”

Chris had Austin’s arm over his shoulders. Erik had the other arm and the pair was dragging their unconscious neighbor toward the side yard of two homes. “Stop him, John!”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Make fun of his shoes.”

John widened his stance and hunched down. He gripped the bat and Garden Badger tight. He stuck out the weeding tool like a lance and raised the bat behind his head.

The runner began to snarl.

John squealed and ran. He jumped to one side and the runner missed him like a mad bull that wore stupid shoes. The zombie turned and pursued. John dodged again. The creature grabbed a handful of John’s shirt as he passed.

John spun and his shirt grew tight as the force pulled the creature away from him. John struck out with the bat and knocked the hand away from his clothes. Free of the creature’s grasp, John ran towards Chris and Erik. Running sucked.

John loved sports but hated exercise. He had never run so fast in his life. His arms pumped, his heart, filled with fear and a disdain for running, beat at his chest in a plea to make the running stop. For a brief moment he even experienced what he had heard called the runner’s high. Those that ran had always talked about it like some euphoric sense of flight. John now knew that it felt more like nausea and light-headedness. On the plus side, the pain in his feet all but disappeared. He also felt that he was going to make it.

He wasn’t going to make it.

Whether it was the five-fingered shoes or the fact that even a reanimated corpse was in better shape than him, the zombie gained.

Erik shouted the warning, “Behind you!”

John spun and made a weak attempt to strike with the bat. He was still moving at full speed when he spun and he fell over backwards to the ground as the runner pounced.

Having no desire to watch his own face being eaten off of his head by some loser wearing gloves on his feet, John shut his eyes.

The face chewing never came. The weight of the zombie did not collapse on him. There was no growling. John opened an eye, just one, just in case he didn’t have time to close both before the attack came. The creature’s arms hung limp at its sides. They didn’t reach for John. The monster’s face was suspended three feet above him and had a Garden Badger sticking out of it.

“Oh, thank God.” John wiggled from under the dead athlete and got to his feet. Still driven by endorphins and terror, it didn’t take him long to catch up to Chris and Erik. “Did you guys see that?”

Chris nodded. “Grab his feet, John.”

John picked up Austin’s feet and the three increased their speed back to the house.

16

“He’s been out for almost an hour,” John said. “We need to wake him up.”

“How?” asked Erik.

“Try shaking him.”

Erik shook Austin gently by the shoulders. “Austin? Austin? I’m really sorry I hit you with the weeding stick.”

There was no response. Blood had dried around Austin’s nose making it difficult for him to do anything but snore.

“Austin, you’ve got wake up!” Erik shook harder but there was still no response.

“Slap him,” John said.

“I can’t.”

“You can hit him in the face with a garden tool, but you can’t slap him?”

“I ...”

“Slap him, you wuss.”

Erik pulled back his hand.

Austin’s eyes flickered. “Guys?”

Erik slapped.

“Ouch. Dammit, Erik.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry.”

“Why’d you slap me?”

“I was trying to wake you up.”

“I’m up.” Austin tried to stand but buckled at the knees and fell back into the chair. His eyes were glassy and his gaze floated around the room. “Where the hell am I?”

John pointed to himself. “My place.”

“How did I get here?”

“Erik knocked you out. Then we dragged you here.”

“You knocked me out, Erik?”

John jumped in, “Then we saved you and never even thought twice about leaving you behind.”

“Thanks?”

Erik sputtered. “I ... John, get Austin some water.”

“Okay.” John moved off to the kitchen and grabbed a glass from the cabinet. He turned the faucet on and nothing happened. John walked back into the living room where Erik was still apologizing. “Hey, Erik. The water’s still out.”

“I know.”

A realization washed over John. “Hey, Erik. Where have you been getting the glasses of water that you’ve been bringing us all morning? And don’t say the toilet.”

“The toilet.”

Chris and John both began to mouth, “Oh my God,” but Erik stopped them. “It’s the only water in the house.”

Chris was the first to recover. “What about the hot water heater?”

Erik pointed a thumb at John. “Captain Gadget here has a tankless heater.”

John stuck out his chest. “It’s awesome.”

Erik nodded. “Yeah, well, that leaves us the toilet water. Now go get a glass.”

John hesitated then raised the glass. “I guess we have no choice. One glass of toilet water coming up.” He left the room and turned down the hall. Only a moment passed before John yelled, “Oh, way to go guys. You pissed in our water supply. And you didn’t even flush.”

“John! Don’t!”

The flush echoed down the hall and John emerged a moment later. “Some house guests you are. Who raised you?” John offered the glass to Austin.

Erik knocked it from his hand.

“What the hell, Erik?”

“You idiot. You get the water from the tank. Not the bowl.”

“Oh. Yeah.” John looked at the water spilled across the floor. “That would be less gross.”

“You just flushed the rest of our water.”

“Well, I ...”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Never mind that. Austin, what the hell were you doing out there? We thought you were a zombie.”

“You thought I was a z ... I thought you came out to save me.”

“We ... uh ...”

“You were going to kill me. Weren’t you?”

“No. Not really,” Chris said.

“It wouldn’t have been killing you since you were already dead,” Erik said.

“And in my own and Chris’s defense, we stopped trying to kill you the second we realized you weren’t dead,” John said.

“You guys are unbelievable. Do you really hate me that much?”

“No.”

“That’s not it.”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

The three men looked at John. “What?” he said. “There’s not room for honesty in the apocalypse?”

“Thank you for your honesty, John.”

“No problem. Besides, wandering around out there, it’s like you wanted to die.”

Austin dropped his head. “I guess I did. Honestly. I don’t know what I was doing out there. I don’t even remember going outside. The last few days just seem so unreal.”

“What do you remember?”

“I remember my wife. I remember,” Austin choked on the memory. “I remember her coming home and saying that she had been attacked outside her office. And I remember freaking out because, and we haven’t told anyone yet, she was pregnant.”

“Congratulations,” Erik said.

Chris slapped him on the back of the head.

“What?”

Chris leaned in and whispered, “He’s using past tense.”

Chris blushed, “Oh.”

“Twins. We were pregnant with twins. We were so excited. We’ve tried for years to get pregnant and now it ... it was finally happening, and it was twins.”

“Real twins or science twins?” Erik asked.

Austin finally looked up from the ground, “What? Real twins.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Erik?” Chris asked.

“What? I was just wondering. So many people are having twins nowadays and it’s usually because of in vitro or fertility drugs or something.”

“We did use in vitro. We’ve been trying for years to have kids and ...”

“See, those are science twins.”

“What difference does it make?” Chris asked. “Twins are twins.”

“The difference is,” Erik spoke slowly, “it pisses me off when couples go on and on saying things like ‘we are so blessed, we’re having twins’ and acting so surprised, when the whole time they were downing things that made her drop more eggs than an epileptic farmer.”

“Erik, seriously ...” Chris didn’t get far.

“I’m sorry, it just pisses me off, okay. Ask anyone with twins—real honest to God freak of nature twins—and you’ll get the same answer. These people are stacking the deck, but they still walk around like it’s something special. It’s like piling a crap load of $500s under the Monopoly board and being genuinely surprised when you win.”

“So, what do you want, each kid’s name to have an asterisk or something?”

“No, I just want science twin parents to stop acting like it’s the same thing as having real twins.”

“Erik. Stop.” Chris gestured to Austin.

The man had broken down. The only reason they couldn’t hear his cries was because he could not draw a deep enough breath to make them heard. He shook more than sobbed, fighting for breath as tears poured from his eyes.

“Oh, God. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Austin. I don’t know what I was saying. I’m sure your twins will be great.”

Austin shook his head.

The three men grew silent as their neighbor and nemesis stammered the word “she” several times before a sentence finally followed. “She had been bit. The bastard had bit her. We ... we did what we could to dress the wound. It wasn’t long before we knew what was happening. The news ... before it went out ... the ...” Austin rubbed his palms into his eyes, trying to stem the tears. “I sat with her all night. We were so scared. We couldn’t say anything. We just looked into each other’s eyes, knowing what was coming. You have no idea ... no idea.”

Erik sat next to Austin on the couch and put his arm around him. “Austin. We don’t know what’s going to happen. We don’t know what’s happening. Maybe the CDC knew this was coming. Maybe they, I don’t know, maybe they have a cure.”

Austin took a deep breath in several starts but his reply still came out weak. “I killed her. I killed my wife. This morning, I killed her.” The tears ran down his face and mixed with the blood to form runny blood. It dripped onto the couch and pooled on the leather cushion. The three men said nothing. John pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and set it on the couch to catch the blood. It was several minutes before Austin could speak again.

“It was what she wanted. We’ve both signed DNRs. And the minute she turned, I could tell. It wasn’t her anymore. My wife was gone. So I ... there’s no cure. No hope.”

There was only silence and sobbing. The three men watched as their neighbor mourned. Each added their own tears as visions of their own families grew in their mind.

Erik was overcome and stood up from the couch. He wouldn’t even look at the others as he left the room and stepped into the yard.

Chris spoke first, “Austin, I don’t know what to ... John’s separated from his family. I don’t know where mine is. We’re all terrified. We don’t ... nobody knows what we’re facing here—what it must be like. I’m sure that she’s in a better place. I’m sure you did the right thing.”

Austin was barely able to open his eyes, but he looked in Chris’s direction and gave an agreeable nod. It was slight—not unlike the one a driver gave another when he knew he was in the wrong. It was brief; he couldn’t hold his head up.

Chris elbowed John in the arm.

“What?”

Chris gestured first but whispered when he realized the motion was lost on John, “Say something.”

“What the hell do I say?” John whispered back.

“Say something reassuring. Something nice.”

John shrugged. “I’ve got nothing.”

Chris glared.

John spoke, “Austin. I’m really sorry about your wife. She was really ... hot.”

Chris slapped John.

“What? That’s nice!”

“Dude!”

“I love it when people tell me my wife is hot.”

Austin’s voice was but a whisper, “I wanted to die. That’s why I walked onto the streets. I wanted to die.”

Chris put a hand on Austin’s shoulder. “Well, you’re with us now. And nobody here is dying.”

“That’s right. We’re going to beat this thing,” John added.

“How can you know that?” Austin’s grief entered the anger stage with resounding speed. “You don’t know that! How can you even say that?”

“It’s called lying. But, it’s one of the good lies. You know, to make people feel better, like ‘no, you don’t look fat.’ One of those.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, John? This thing can’t be stopped. The world is dying and you’re stupid enough to believe you can stop it?”

“That’s right.”

“So what’s your plan, zombie fighter?”

“Well. My plan was to stay here. But that was until I found out we were drinking toilet water. So I’m working on a new plan.”

“I’m sure it will be brilliant.”

“Look, I may not have a plan just yet but it’s better than the sit and bleed on someone’s sofa strategy you’ve got going.”

Austin stood and stormed across the room. “Whatever you’ve got planned you can leave me out of it. I wouldn’t follow you through a fire exit.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Like if there was a fire.”

“Oh. Okay, wow. That’s not cool. Would you rather sit here and die of thirst?”

“I was out there trying to kill myself, you idiot. Why didn’t you just leave me out there!”

“Because, Chris wouldn’t let me!”

“Leave me out of this,” Chris said.

“All of you, shut up.” Erik stood in the kitchen. He held a crowbar in one hand and a sledgehammer in the other. In his belt there was an assortment of hammers and long handled screwdrivers. His expression, usually one of kindness and confusion, had changed. It was hard and humorless. There was no longer any argument in his voice. He was through making suggestions. He was stating facts. “We’re leaving.”

John argued that it was dark out and that they should wait until morning before heading out. Erik had called him a pussy, moved to the front door and started dismantling the barricade. John frantically placed every item back in front of the door until Erik placed the crowbar in his chest.

“Erik, let’s talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. We’re almost out of food. We’re out of water and we’re surrounded. We’re leaving.”

“To where?”

Erik lowered the crowbar. “My place, to start. I’ve got supplies there. From there ... we’ve got to find answers.” He turned back to the door and moved a chair from the pile.

John grabbed the chair before he could set it aside. “Fine. I can’t stop you. But I’m not going to let you just walk out of here.”

“I’d like to see you stop me.”

Erik’s eyes were cold. In the few years they had been acquainted, John had never known him to be like this. Erik had always been easygoing. He seemed eager to please. He was the one in the crowd that wanted to make sure everyone got along. Now he was making threats. This sudden change in character was unnerving.

“I’m not trying to stop you.” John put his hand on Erik’s shoulder. “I want to show you something.”

17

“It’s a ’68.”

The flashlight beams ran the length of the car and its polished body bounced them over the garage. The Mustang before them was flawless.

“Okay,” Erik said. “This is better than walking.”

Chris stepped closer and put his hand on the hood. “Nice. V-6?”

Offended but proud, John corrected him, “No, 390, 4-speed.”

“I’ve always wanted one of these,” Chris said. “It’s even green. Just like McQueen’s.”

“Man, this is so cool,” Erik said.

Austin’s nose had started bleeding again and he pinched it to stem the flow. His voice sounded funny. “It’s just a car.”

John mocked the nasal sound, “Nits mist a card.”

“It’s a dream car, Austin.” Chris opened the door and shined his flashlight inside.

“Maybe if your dream is ruining the Earth.”

John wasn’t fazed. “What do you drive, Austin?”

“Prius.”

“Okay. You’ve forfeited your right to say what’s cool.”

“It gets ...”

“Don’t start. You’ll just look stupid.”

Austin sighed. “Let’s go.”

“We’re not going anywhere in my car until you stop bleeding.”

Austin checked his nose. He pinched it shut and leaned forward. “Dammit, Merik. Mat did mou hit me wit?”

“A Garden Badger.”

“Mat thing from TV?”

“Sorta.”

John asked, “What’s with that thing? Why didn’t you grab your bat? I grabbed my bat. Chris grabbed his bat.”

Erik shrugged. “I don’t have a bat.”

“You don’t keep a bat under your bed?”

“No.”

“What do you do in boogey man situations?”

“The boogey man? Really, John?”

“Boogey man, intruders, noises, bugs. Actually, I’d say we could add zombies to the list. I thought you were all into the prepping thing and you don’t even have a bat under your bed? I’ll bet even Austin has one.”

Austin nodded.

John continued. “You don’t keep that garden thing under your bed, do you?”

“What? No.”

“So where do you keep your bat?”

“I don’t have a bat, okay?”

“You don’t have a bat? How can you not have a bat?”

“I hate sports, okay?”

Silence filled the garage. For a long minute only the moans of the undead in the front yard could be heard. None of the men knew what to say. They looked to each other for guidance, but only saw their own confused looks staring back.

“You hate sports?” John asked.

The men began to laugh.

Erik’s face stiffened. “It’s just my opinion. It’s no big deal.”

John argued, “It is a big deal.”

Even Austin pulled his hand from his nose and joined in. “How can you call yourself a man and not like sports?”

“This from the guy that needed science’s help to knock up his wife?”

“Hey.”

“Sports are awesome,” said John. “Sports bring out the best in people. They drive us to perform at our best. They teach us teamwork. They build a spirit of brotherhood.”

“Oh please. Sports take the worst qualities of humanity and amplify them.”

“Like what?”

Erik began with a list. “Blind devotion and unquestioning loyalty. Misguided hate. Gloating over wins. Making excuses for failure. Productive hours upon hours consumed staring at a TV.”

John countered, “What about man, performing at the peak of athleticism?”

“I’ve got better things to do with my time than admire the physical prowess of another man, John.”

John held up his hands. “Wait ... It’s not like that. Besides, it’s more about teamwork. Men working together for a common goal.”

“Against other men. Even a bad call is good if it’s in your favor. There’s no honor in that. You’re taught that nothing matters but victory.”

“Nothing does matter but victory.”

“At the expense of others?”

“Someone’s got to lose, Erik.”

“By that logic we should have left Austin outside.”

“Hey,” Austin said.

John shook his head. “That’s not how it works, Erik. Sports teach us to be nice.”

“Only to your team and their fans. It teaches you to be a dick to everyone else.”

“That’s because they’re too stupid to root for the right team. That’s not my fault.”

“And who’s your team, John?”

John gave Erik the look of a disappointed father. “You always root for the home team, kid.”

“So, the best team—the most pure, the most deserving and the most talented—is the one you happen to be geographically located near? What were the chances? You must be one lucky guy, John.”

“Sports are a big deal,” Austin said.

“You want to talk about a waste of resources, Mr. Hybrid? Look at what’s expended for a bunch of grown men to play a game. Men who are hoisted up as heroes and role models for nothing more than their ability to run fast and make a ridiculous amount of money.”

The men were quiet.

“Okay, so college sports. Right?” Chris asked.

“Right,” Erik said. “College sports are worse. The devotion is higher than pro teams, and why? Because at one point in your life you were in the same building as the players?”

“You’ve got to support your alma mater,” John said.

“I did support them. I supported them with almost 80,000 dollars. But, I gave them the money. They gave me the degree. End of transaction. I don’t owe them my loyalty. I don’t have to wear their colors or hum their anthem. I don’t owe anything to Walmart just because I bought a TV there once.”

John nodded, “You probably throw like a girl. Austin, are you done bleeding yet?”

Austin touched his nose and checked his fingers in the flashlight. “I think so.”

“Then get in the car. Chris, in the back with Austin. Erik’s going to open the door for us.”

Chris paused. “John, what about your foot?”

“What about it?”

“You should let me drive.”

John doubled over laughing. “Get in the car.” John got into the driver’s seat and put the keys in the ignition.

Erik pulled the release cord on the garage door opener and grabbed the bottom of the door. “Ready?”

“Just open the door.”

Erik rolled open the door. John pulled on the lights. The driveway was full of the undead. “Where the hell did they come from?”

“It was all your stupid whining about sports, now get in.”

Erik hurried around the open passenger door and jumped inside as the horde turned towards the lights of the car and the men inside. “How were they so quiet?”

“Being zombies must make them quiet the same way it makes them so fast.”

“They’re not so fast, John,” Chris commented from the backseat.

“You didn’t see that one run me down.”

“I did. He wasn’t that fast. You’re just really, really slow.”

“I’ll show you slow.” John stomped on the clutch and turned on the car, “Ouch!”

Austin was shocked by the painful cry. “What happened?”

“These dicks hit my foot with a baseball bat, that’s what happened.”

John revved the engine as the horde moved into the garage and pawed at the windows.

“John, we need to move.”

“I’m on it.” John pressed the gas and let out the clutch. The Mustang leapt forward and stalled.

Monstrous faces slammed against the window. They were trying to eat through the glass to get at the occupants. For the most part it was just gross licking, but the occasional filling and braces scratched the glass windows.

John winced as he stepped on the clutch and cranked the engine again.

The creatures began to rock the car.

“I told you I should drive.”

John gave Chris the finger and screamed at the zombies. “Get off my car!” John floored the accelerator and let go of the clutch. The wheels spun and filled the slick surface of the garage floor with tire marks as the garage itself filled with blue and white smoke. The Mustang took only a moment to gain traction and it shot from the garage.

18

Zombies spilled off the hood. John grimaced with every impact and potential dent to his prized possession. This car had been pampered by the last three owners. It had been loved and doted on. It was never meant to see such horror.

The car quickly reached the end of the drive and John spun the wheel with amazing speed. It wasn’t fast enough. He stomped on the brakes and narrowly missed driving through his neighbor’s fence before the car stalled.

“Dammit, John,” Chris said after slamming into the back of Erik’s seat. “Can’t you drive this thing?”

“Oh, I can drive it.” John turned the engine once more, damned his sore foot and opened the throttle. Rock music poured from the speakers as the cassette tape in the drive whirred. The Mustang tore down the alleyway fighting for traction the entire length of the lane.

Chris smiled. Austin complained. Erik grabbed the strap above the door.

They reached the end of the alley. Erik’s house was to the left. John went right.

Erik pointed towards his house. “Where the hell are you going? We’re supposed to turn left.”

“I just want to show you something.” John moved through the gears, accelerating to sixty miles an hour in a matter of seconds. He turned right, well before an intersection and the car turned sideways. He cranked the wheel left and kept his foot on the gas as the rear wheels spun. The Mustang drifted into the intersection and he let up just enough for the tires to grab a momentary hold of the street.

The engine roared its approval and the vintage car shot into a labyrinth of winding streets that branched off into secluded cul-de-sacs once sought after for their low traffic and relative safety. There were no children playing this night and John made full use of the circular inlets to spin the Mustang with little more than throttle control and a few pulls on the car’s emergency brake.

Chris laughed. Austin pleaded for it to stop. Erik spoke with a disturbing calm, “Get us to my house now.”

John completed a spin and let the car come to a stop. He smiled and shoved the stick into first. The burnout lasted fifteen seconds. The car became engulfed in the smoke and smell of burning rubber. John flew out of the cul-de-sac and headed back through the neighborhood.

He slalomed through the walking dead as he raced. Each dove for the car, proving to the passengers that even basic self-preservation was not a priority to the creatures. If they did not value their own well-being, they would value nothing. It was now certain to all of them. There was nothing but monster left in the creatures.

John entered the bottom of Erik’s street sideways and was in third gear before the passengers had stopped jostling around.

He felt Chris’s hand on his shoulder, “Well done, John. You really can drive this thing.”

“I told you. There isn’t anything about this car that I can’t handle.”

There was a sudden wheek. The car had never made that sound before. It came from the floorboard. John looked at his feet and screamed, “Holy shit, it’s the last Captain Awesome!”

The guinea pig roared and moved closer to his foot. John’s leg became a flurry of stomps as he tried to crush the undead pet. But Captain Awesome was too fast. John did successfully hit all of the pedals in the wrong order as he reached to grab the monster rodent.

The wheel spun free. The Mustang spun sideways and struck the curb. The strike corrected the vehicle but put it on a collision course with a purple and blue Smart car.

The passengers screamed as half of the Mustang drove up the Smart car and rolled over onto the roof. The car continued to slide and spin as the passengers fell to the roof below them. It blazed a trail of sparks a hundred feet before stopping.

“I take it back, John.”

“I knew you would, Chris.” John’s door had been crushed half open in the crash. He managed to right himself and force it open enough to get into the street. He stood up and stared at the Mustang. His pride and joy. He had loved how others had envied her. Austin squeezed out the driver’s door and Erik and Chris forced the passenger door open. With every shove, John heard the sheet metal wince.

Erik limped around the car and shoved John out of the way.

“What? Sorry, Captain Awesome scared me.”

Erik pointed his flashlight down the street. The light revealed a massive horde of zombies rushing towards them. “Good job, John. I think you found every one of them.”

The engine died and the groans of the mob could be heard. But not just the groans. There were also the sounds of doors being pounded on. Up and down the street, each house reverberated with the undead inside trying to get out. Windows suddenly shattered and the four men could see bodies rolling out of windows and into the street. John watched as the numbers swelled. “Well, shit.”

Erik pushed John aside and bent into the car. He pulled a screwdriver from his belt and stabbed it into the steering wheel. The horn blared.

“Hey, what are ...”

Erik stood. “That should draw them here instead of my front door. Now c’mon.”

Erik’s was only a few houses up the street, but even the short distance was occupied with zombies. He shoved the sledge hammer at Austin, gripped the crowbar with both hands and led the way.

The freshly dead converged on them. Erik became an unbridled mass of rage. Every bit of anger and frustration that he had ever suffered came out as he swung, clubbed and stabbed the creatures that meant to do him harm.

Chris and John kept raising their bats to help but by the time they got to the oncoming zombie, it was only a newly dead corpse on the ground.

Even the loss of the crowbar couldn’t slow Erik down. A fierce swing drove the hook through a zombie’s skull and the tool became lodged. Erik let go of the bar and pulled two hammers from his belt. These sped up his killing frenzy and his arms moved faster as he began to take on two creatures at a time.

John apologized. “Erik, I’m sorry I said you throw like a girl.”

The rest of the group followed in awe to Erik’s front porch. Erik pulled his keys from his pocket and worked the lock as the other three men provided a wall of baseball bats to keep him covered. But they weren’t needed. The Mustang’s horn and Erik’s outrage had kept the creatures away.

The door opened and the three men stepped inside.

Erik closed the door behind them and turned the deadbolt, a second deadbolt and latched a bolt each at the top and bottom of the frame.

“My God, Erik. Got enough locks?”

“Let’s hope so.” Erik dropped the keys back in his pocket with a jingle.

There was a moan, low and fierce.

The three men jumped and raised their clubs.

Erik seemed unconcerned.

The moan grew louder and was joined by a second that was higher in pitch.

“Erik. I think there are zombies in the house.”

“Don’t worry.” Erik gestured for them to lower the bats. “It’s just my family. They’re not feeling well.”

19

Bowling, and sports in general, were for someone else. Erik rubbed his hip. It was bruised from when he fell on the lane—a couple of times. For whatever reason, his lack of coordination was confined to athletic endeavors. Outside of a competitive environment he was not clumsy or accident prone, but put a score on it and he was bound to hurt himself.

Embarrassment was another issue. One that he didn’t have. Long ago he learned to stop caring about how well he performed in a game. He saw no reason to dwell on it. So he couldn’t bowl. So he couldn’t run for very long. So he couldn’t hit a pitch if it was thrown by a child. So what? There were other things he did well and he considered them more important than any game.

He and Chris had spent the walk up their street complaining about bowling and Austin for forcing the three men to bowl. John lived a block over and when he peeled off from the trio to walk to his own home, Erik was surprised that the conversation hadn’t been filled with complaints about their fellow neighbor. He expected Chris to start in with the insults before the man was out of earshot. But, he didn’t.

The truth was, despite the bruised hip, the inconvenience of the walk home and the near brawl with the Ball Busters, Erik had enjoyed himself. He and Christine had been the first of their friends to have kids. This meant they were forcibly removed from their social circle before it naturally collapsed under the weight of numerous newborns. Three years later, when the rest of the group became parents, they began to understand where Erik and Christine had been all that time.

With this newfound understanding, his friends vowed that it wouldn’t happen to them. Extra effort was made to gather and socialize. Skeptical at first, Erik was surprised to see the efforts working. He reveled in the parties. He ate up the dinners. And then they had twins. No amount of planning could overcome that. So Erik and his family stayed home and their friends went back to not understanding why.

Compulsory bowling night had been a nightmare when the HOA first decided that it would be the solution to the trio’s “malicious mischief.” But, now that the first night was over, Erik decided that he enjoyed it. Not bowling. Bowling sucked. But, he enjoyed hanging out with Chris and John and he suspected that, despite their intense hatred for one another, they enjoyed it, too.

He couldn’t say why exactly, but Erik had always felt out of place in the neighborhood. Everyone seemed to have everything figured out. At least, they pretended to have it all figured out. Regardless, Erik never felt as if he belonged in a community of people that only seemed to talk about their jobs and current or impending remodeling projects. Chris and John weren’t necessarily like him, but they seemed just as out of place.

John made it clear that he wanted to be left alone to do whatever he desired, which was usually nothing. Chris was the opposite. He always seemed to want more from the neighborhood. Halloween, Christmas, Fourth of July—Chris went above and beyond the normal preparations for any event. He invited the neighborhood to celebrate with him. He provided entertainment, decorations, music and an often annoying spirit to match the festivities.

But, he was always denied his moment. Trick-or-treaters had dwindled over the years, opting for school carnivals and trunk parties, the neighbors were skeptical to eat from the grill he had set up in the front yard and no one really liked fruitcake.

There was too much community for John and not enough community spirit for Chris. Erik didn’t want either of those things but maybe it was because they each felt out of place that he felt they were his only real neighbors. Was this why he enjoyed the bowling? It certainly wasn’t the bowling. It had only been twenty minutes since the last frame and he was already starting to hurt the way John promised he would.

He slid his key into the lock and opened the front door of his home. It had been nice to get away but it was always a great feeling to come back to his family. It was even nicer when he knew the kids would be asleep.

It was most likely only in his mind, but there was a magic hour between the kids’ bedtime and his wife’s in which there was a slight possibility of some grown up stuff happening. It never did happen, but there was always a slight possibility.

He closed the door behind him and called for his wife. “Christine?”

There was no answer. Dammit, she was probably already asleep. Twins had a special way of sucking the life from you. Yes, they provided twice the love, and twice the pride, but they innately staggered their needs so you never, ever got to sit down.

Someone who thought they were clever once asked Erik if having twins was like trying to knit a sweater that someone else kept unraveling. Erik said no and that it was more like using the knitting needles to gouge out your eyes and nose so you could claim ignorance of any dirty diapers.

Twins were capable of an incessant pooping that wore a person out. He couldn’t blame Christine if she had gone to bed the second after the kids were down. He’d let her rest.

Erik dropped his keys on an entry table and moved into the house. The TV was on in the living room. Maybe she was still awake. He had little hope. She was more than likely asleep on the couch. She often fell asleep watching the news. If she watched it all. She never discussed current events and could simply be using the patterned voices and corny jokes to nod off.

He swung his leg over the baby gate to step into the living room. He grimaced as the bowling pain in his thigh made itself known. The lights were out and the news was droning on, but Christine wasn’t on the couch. She must have been especially exhausted and forgot to turn it off when she went to bed.

Erik stepped around the playpen that was in the middle of the room and made his way for the remote. A raspy coo stopped him. He peered into the playpen and saw his twins.

Erik smiled. “Hey, guys. What are you still doing up?” He leaned over and picked up his youngest son. His daughter reached up for him as well. Even at this age they would not allow him to play favorites. Whenever he picked up both he found it difficult to do anything else. Whenever he picked up just one he found it to be loud, so he picked up his daughter as well.

He looked into their eyes. The TV cast an eerie glow on their skin and gave them a pale appearance. It was obvious they were tired, but they were so beautiful. They seemed a little cold so he held them close. They burrowed their faces close into his shoulders. Erik smiled. Then he winced.

There wasn’t a tooth between them but each had decided to sink their gums into his neck at the same time. Erik breathed deep and hopped from one foot to the other while resisting the urge to spike the children like footballs. That’s what being a father was, ignoring your natural instinct and dismissing your well-being for the benefit of a person that will pee on you the first chance they get.

He tried to hold his son away, but it brought his daughter closer and she bit harder. He tried to hold her away and it brought his son closer. This went on for a moment before he could set the twins back in the playpen. He didn’t say ouch until they were safely back in the playpen.

“Ouch. What’s with you guys? Are you teething?”

The infant twins said nothing.

“Where’s Mommy?”

Christine wouldn’t leave them in the playpen like this. She must be using the restroom. Or sick. Or dead. Erik began to worry. This wasn’t like her at all. He didn’t want to leave the twins alone but he had to find her.

Erik stepped over the baby gate, winced and ran up the stairs. The bedroom door at the end of the hall was closed and he found himself moving faster. He passed the bathroom door and heard a moan from inside. He stopped and listened. The person inside moaned again.

It wasn’t Christine. As far as he could remember, she moaned differently. Erik smiled. It was Ryan. His oldest son Ryan was in the bathroom moaning and it could mean only one thing. He was pooping. Erik knocked gently on the door. “Way to go, son.”

Potty training Ryan had not been a problem. Through consistency, proper timing and a healthy amount of Hot Wheels bribery, it had gone easier than most of the comments online had led them to believe. But about a year later, he wouldn’t poop. They couldn’t get a reason out of him, he would simply not poop for days. When his ass had finally had enough of his shit, it just dropped it into whatever pants he was wearing at the time. At first it had been embarrassing, but as the habit had gone on and all attempts to counter it failed, it became more of an irritant. It ruined birthday parties, it ruined family events, it really ruined pool day.

Rational discussions and cutesy kids books on the topic did nothing to convince the kid that he had to go every day. He had said it wasn’t fair and screamed and cried whenever the topic came up.

The moan grew louder.

“That’s it, buddy. You can do it.” Erik couldn’t imagine what Ryan was going through. The moans sounded painful. But, he was doing it.

There was another moan and a bang.

“You’re doing great, Ryan. Keep at it and I’ll come check on you in a bit.”

Erik pumped his fist and continued on to the bedroom. He opened the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Sweetie, are you in here?”

Christine was in the bed. He could see her figure beneath the covers. The blankets moved as she stirred.

Erik continued, “Honey, great news. Ryan is taking a dump. All by himself. He’s in there right now grunting one out.”

Christine moaned.

“I’m sorry, honey.” He moved over to the bed and began to rub her back. “Are you feeling okay?”

She rolled over at his touch and moaned again. It was slight and kind of dirty. She reached up and put her arms around Erik.

“I guess you are feeling okay.”

Her moans continued and grew in intensity as she pulled him closer.

Erik chuckled. “I should go bowling more often.” He leaned over her and kissed her on the neck. She was cold. No wonder she was bundled under the covers.

Christine turned her head, trying to place her lips against his neck. Erik rolled his head and kept her mouth away as he ran his lips to her shoulder. He wanted to kiss every inch of her. Magically, she was already in the mood, but at any moment there would be a knock at the door followed by a little voice saying, “I pooed!” He wanted to make sure that there was enough built-up desire that talking to his son about his successful crap wouldn’t ruin the evening.

She dug her nails into his neck and turned his head.

“Honey, that hurts.”

She groaned a response.

Erik shrugged his shoulders. “Okay.”

Christine buried her face in his neck. He felt her mouth working against his skin and rolled his eyes with excitement. It had been so long since she had acted like this. Then he felt her teeth against his throat and he pulled back. “Honey, no teeth. No teeth. We’ve talked about this.”

But, she didn’t stop. She leaned in and bit harder.

Erik jumped off the bed. “No, honey. I told you I don’t like that.” Erik felt his neck. “God, you almost broke the skin.”

Christine moaned. It was impossible to resist her. Finding Bigfoot was easier than finding a mother of twins in the mood.

“Okay, but no biting.”

Christine hissed.

Erik stepped back. “That’s a new one. Is this like a cat thing?”

His wife stood from the bed and the covers fell to the ground to reveal the body underneath.

“What the hell? You’re still dressed?”

Christine crouched and hissed again. She raised her arms and dashed toward him. Erik reflexively moved aside and Christine crashed into the dresser. She turned and growled.

Erik backed into the bathroom. “Look, honey. I may have misread the situation here.”

She dashed again. He tried to catch her and the pair fell to the ground. She snarled and bit as he held her back.

“Christine, what is wrong with you? You’re scaring me.”

She raked him across the face and moved to strike again.

Erik caught her hand. There was a bite mark on her wrist. It was small—Ryan sized—and the wound looked strange. Instead of the clotted darkness of a scab, the area around the bite was green and festering. Looking at her closely now he could see that her skin was pale. He looked into her eyes and saw nothing of his wife. The stare was vacant and distant. She had lost her mind.

Erik’s fear turned to fright. His stomach turned cold. He always had a plan. He considered himself prepared for almost anything, but his wife going insane and developing a taste for flesh was nothing he expected.

Her teeth snapped inches from his face. Morning breath was an issue overcome by all couples, but the rank odor from her mouth caused him to turn his head away.

Erik rolled and found himself on top of his wife. He spread her arms and pinned her to the ground. She continued to snap and bite at him.

“I’m so sorry, Honey.” Erik pushed himself up and ran through the bathroom door. He slammed it shut and toppled a chest of drawers in front of it.

Christine banged at the door and the dresser jumped, but she was not strong enough to force it open.

Erik stared long at the door and listened to every groan and hiss for several minutes before turning and stumbling from the bedroom. He walked slowly down the hall and stopped at the bathroom door. Ryan moaned from inside.

“You ... uh ... you keep at it, champ. Everything ... I’m going to make everything okay.”

Erik descended the stairs. The twins were moaning in the playpen. He moved away from them and towards the kitchen where he picked up the phone and fell heavily into a chair.

He stared at the number pad and realized that he had no idea who to call. A red light flashed in the corner of the phone. He punched in the code to retrieve the message. It was from earlier that day.

“Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, this is Bonnie from the Tiny Tots Daycare. I just wanted to inform you that there has been a biting incident. Your son Ryan was bit by a child. You may want to keep an eye on it, the child went home sick later today.”

Erik dropped the phone on the table and moved back into the living room. The twins moaned. He turned up the news.

“ ...if anyone in your family has been bitten, it is crucial that you quarantine them immediately. The infected are dangerous. They display no recognition of loved ones or other family members and will attack anyone they encounter. There are still more questions than answers at this point but we do know that the infection is spread through biting and it is probable that it will also spread through bodily fluids.”

Erik looked into the playpen and muttered, “Like breast milk.”

“At this point, no one is sure what we’re dealing with. The CDC says it is working to determine the origin of the disease and will work on a vaccine as soon as possible. We will stay with you until this situation is resolved. In the meantime, government officials have asked that you stay indoors...”

Erik turned the TV off. For a moment he listened to the sounds of the house. His wife banged around the bathroom upstairs. The twins moaned in their playpen. He couldn’t hear Ryan.

Erik stepped outside and sat down on the front porch.

20

“Your entire family is zombies?” John held the bat high waiting for any zombied Peterson to come around the corner.

Chris was also on his guard. “You said your family was safe, Erik.”

“They are safe,” Erik pulled the bat from John’s hands. “They’re here. And this is the safest house in the whole damned neighborhood.”

“Erik, we can’t stay here,” Austin said. “Not in a house full of zombies.”

“They’re not zombies. They’re my family. And they’re sick. That’s why we’re not staying here. We’re going to find a cure.”

Chris began to speak, “Erik ...”

Erik shot Chris a look that told him to shut up, shut up right now or you’re going to regret what you say. Chris knew that look. His wife used that look and he learned to listen to it.

John had also seen that look many times from his wife. But, he had never learned. “Erik, there is no cure for being undead. A cure would just make them dead.”

“You don’t know that.” Erik slammed the bat against the kitchen table. “Nobody knows that!”

John continued. “Well what do you think, Erik? This thing is a brand spanking new kind of horrible. There are all kinds of diseases they’ve known about for years that they still haven’t cured. Do you really think they’ll crack this overnight? I’m sorry, man, but Jonas Salk is dead.”

“Who is Jonas Salk?” Austin asked.

“The guy that cured Polo. Geez, Austin, learn your history.”

“I hate to say that John is right, Erik,” Chris said. “About the diseases, not the Polo thing. They’ve been working on the cure for cancer for years and nothing.”

John shook his head. “No kidding. I wish they’d hurry up and cure that.”

Chris closed his eyes and took a deep breath before turning to John. There was more. He knew there was more. There was always more. “John, I think it goes without saying that we’d all like to see cancer cured.”

John nodded, “Of course.”

“But you probably have some stupid selfish reason for it. Don’t you?”

“No. It’s not stupid.”

The two men looked at each for a moment before Chris sighed. “All right. I’ll go first. I’d like to see cancer cured so people won’t die.”

John folded his arms and snapped, “Well of course that.”

“And?”

“And ... well I’m sick of not being able to say anything without having cancer being thrown back in my face, okay?”

Chris threw up his hands, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Well like the other day—I was complaining about having to go to the post office and I said ‘there’s nothing worse than standing in line at the post office,’ and the guy I was talking to said ‘oh yeah, John? What about cancer?’ And, don’t even try to complain about being sick. I’m pretty sure you can get malaria and not get any sympathy.”

“Do you think maybe it’s you, John?”

“I don’t have malaria, Chris. It was an example.”

“So you want cancer cured so you can bitch more?”

“No, not more. I just don’t want people to be able to throw it back in my face. And while we’re at it, can we please get the third world up and humming? I’m so tired of people saying ‘first world problems’ like some smarmy little bastard that needs a stomp on the neck.”

Austin’s mouth hung open. “You’re unbelievable, John.”

“I just want what’s right for the world. And to cure cancer so all the people stop dying and stuff.”

“This is not the same thing,” Erik said.

“Exactly. Exactly it’s not the same thing,” John said. “There’s no pink ribbon for zombies. There’s no grassroots effort. There’s no National Undead Awareness Month where traffic stops so a bunch of women can go for a walk together.”

“You’ve got something against the breast cancer walks?”

John cocked his head and snorted, “Chris, I think you know me well enough to know that I completely and one hundred percent support anything to do with boobs.”

The three men looked at each other. In turn, each rolled their eyes away from John.

John muttered, “Look, I’m just saying that yogurt hasn’t even gotten behind the cause so I just wouldn’t expect much. That’s all.”

Erik shook his head. “There’s a cure. Or they’ll find a cure. And until then my family stays here where they’re safe. You three wait here. I have to grab a few things before we go.”

Chris stood up.

Erik pointed to the kitchen table. “I said wait here.”

“But, I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Fine. But, use the one down here. Do not go upstairs. It’s through the living room and down the hall.” Erik turned and left the room.

John turned to Austin and Chris. “Okay, wow. This is creepy. Erik has gone off the deep end.”

Chris shrugged. “I guess it’s possible there’s a cure.”

“How is it possible?” Austin had risen from his funk and was returning to his old ways of telling people they were wrong. “Do you think the AMA knew this was coming? Do you think government did? How could anyone be prepared for this? There’s no cure. There’s no way there could be a cure.”

John put his hand on Austin’s shoulder, “Now, now. You’re just saying that because you already killed your wife.”

Austin slapped John’s hand away.

“What’s next, Chris?” John asked.

“I really do have to pee. Just wait for Erik. And watch him. He’s beginning to scare me.” Chris turned and left the kitchen and stepped down the hall. Enough moonlight came through the skylight to illuminate his path so he left the flashlight in his pocket.

He tripped over the baby gate, stood and pulled the flashlight from his pocket. Chris picked up the baby gate and it clattered as he frantically tried to put it back. The faster he moved the more noise it caused and the less progress he made. Erik would hear and Chris would be busted. He took a deep breath and slowed down. He placed the gate in the open space and lowered the crossbar.

It was too tight. It wouldn’t fasten. He readjusted the bar and lowered it again. It caught and he let go of the gate. It collapsed and clattered.

“Oh, fuck this.” Chris turned and directed his flashlight across the living room. “Holy crap.”

It didn’t look like any living room he had ever seen. The entire room had been baby proofed to such an extent that it looked like a maximum-security baby penitentiary.

In the center of the room was a playpen—baby lockup. Should the child, or children, break out, there was still little hope for escape. Secondary fencing in the form of multiple baby gates would keep those on the lam confined to the room. A sheet of cardboard, duct taped to the brick facing, sealed off the fireplace as a means of escape. The tape itself could not be cut. Every sharp corner in the room, from the corners of the coffee table to the base of the mantle, was padded with inch-thick foam. Even access to power tools would frustrate the baby and every outlet was covered with a safety cap that was bolted to the wall. Any hopes the infant had of scaling the furniture and escaping through an air duct were thwarted by the removal of all bookcase shelves four feet and below.

Even the hope of connecting with the outside world was discouraged by a gated corral in front of the entertainment center. The TV was tethered to the wall in case the child decided to throw it through a window in an act of desperation.

Chris shook his head and tripped over another baby gate before finding his way to the bathroom door. A turn of the handle produced no results. The flashlight illuminated the problem. A plastic orb enveloped the doorknob. Chris tried it again. The orb spun freely and nothing happened. He really had to go and began to hop from leg to leg. The pressure didn’t help with opening the door. He spun the plastic ball with his palm, hoping to get lucky and was relieved when the spin revealed a finger-sized indention. There was one on the opposite side as well and pressing them in engaged the doorknob. The bathroom door opened.

So if the child broke free of the playpen, scaled the gate and deciphered the puzzle that was the doorknob, he or she could then, what, escape through the plumbing? Chris laughed at the thought of a baby trying to flush its way to freedom. Although he wouldn’t be surprised if there was a lock on the toilet bowl.

“Oh, you’re kidding me.”

It wasn’t a lock. It was a bar. It swung from a base at the rear of the seat and held the lid closed. There was no time to figure it out.

* * *

“Erik, I couldn’t figure out how to open your toilet so I pissed in the sink. I hope that’s okay.” A pink backpack flew at Chris from across the kitchen. Chris grabbed it just before it hit his face. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s a backpack filled with emergency supplies.”

Chris examined the bag. “Why is it pink?”

“It’s Christine’s.” Erik turned and left the kitchen.

Chris blinked long and hard. He hadn’t thought. Of course it was Erik’s wife’s. He turned silent as he looked at the bag in his hands.

John laughed, “Haha. Yours is pink.”

Chris looked at the bag in front of John, “So? Yours is Batman.”

“Yeah, but Batman is cool.”

Erik returned and dropped a five-gallon water jug and some glasses on the kitchen table. “Everyone should drink up. It’s important to stay hydrated.”

The men hesitated.

Erik sighed. “I promise that it didn’t come from the toilet.”

The men drank; each grabbed a glass and drank it down in one go. They each filled a second glass and continued to sip.

Erik filled a pot from the spout on the water jug and set it on the stove. Despite the electric and water being turned off, the gas stove still lit with a fwomp and Erik disappeared into the pantry.

Chris and John dug into their bug out bags and began to take inventory.

Austin sat at the table looking at clasped hands. “I didn’t get a bag.”

“Don’t worry. That’s just because nobody likes you.” John pulled several items from the bag: duct tape, an emergency blanket, a small first aid kit ... “Cool! Hot Wheels!” John rolled a pair of cars across the table. It wasn’t long before he was adding sound effects and had them colliding head on.

Erik returned just as one of the Hot Wheels shot from the table or “cliff” as John had screamed. “Yeah, there are a few toys in there you may want to take out. Chris, you should check your bag for tampons.”

John laughed.

“Shut up, Batman.”

The two men rifled through the bags and pulled out the items that did not fit their age or anatomy.

Chris reached into the bag and pulled out a black plastic case. He assumed it was another first aid kit. It certainly didn’t look like a tampon holder. He unsnapped the case and opened it up. He gave a soft whistle and lifted the revolver from the case. “Holy crap, Erik.”

“What?” John had been playing with a Batman action figure and looked up. “Whoa, that’s a gun.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “I know it’s a gun, John. Why is it in here, Erik?”

Erik set three boxes of macaroni and cheese on the counter. “That bag is for emergencies. It’s best to be prepared.”

“Why is it pink?” Austin asked.

“Yeah, why do you have a pink gun, Erik?” John asked.

Erik huffed, “I told you. It’s Christine’s.”

John was puzzled. “Does pink make it shoot better or something?”

“No, it ... Look, Christine doesn’t like guns. So, I got her that one. I thought the pink might make it easier for her to accept.” Erik shrugged. “She likes pink.”

“Oh my God, I hope my gun has Batman on it.” John dumped the entire backpack onto the table and poured through the contents. “Hey. There’s no gun in here. I didn’t get a gun.”

“John, that’s my son’s bag.”

John just stared.

“My four-year-old son.”

John gave no sign of clarity.

“I’m not giving a four-year-old a gun.”

“Well, I’m not four and I want a gun.”

“I thought you ‘don’t believe’ in guns, John.”

“I didn’t believe in zombies either, now give me a friggin’ gun.”

Chris held up his hand. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Erik.”

John pointed at his neighbor across the table. “Shut up, Chris. You got a gun.”

Chris set the pink revolver back in its case and slid it towards John.

“I don’t want your lady gun, Chris. I want a man’s gun. Erik, give me a man’s gun.”

Erik said nothing.

“Please, give me a man’s gun.”

Erik picked up the revolver, dropped open the cylinder to confirm it was loaded and slapped it shut. He tucked the revolver in his belt and pointed at John. “Come with me.”

John stood and followed Erik out of the kitchen. He stuck his tongue out at Chris as he left the room.

The pair walked through the living room. Each almost tripping on the fallen baby gate. Erik turned on a flashlight that lit most of the room.

“Geez, Erik. It’s like Baby Gitmo in here.”

“Quiet.” Erik pointed to a sliding glass door across the room. “We’re going outside.”

“Why? We’re safe in here.”

“I have a shed, too, John.” Erik handed the revolver to John. “You might need this. Only shoot in an emergency.”

The pair wound their way past the playpen and baby swings to the door.

“There.” Erik pointed out the door to the garden shed at the far end of the yard.

“You don’t keep your guns in the house?”

“I told you, Christine doesn’t like guns. She says I only get to keep one in the house.”

“She says? What kind of man are you, Erik?”

Erik reached behind his back and pulled out a black automatic. “I’m the one holding a gun that isn’t pink.” He stared into the yard for a moment. “It looks pretty clear out there. Stay quiet and this shouldn’t be a problem.”

Erik slid open the door and slipped into the yard with John behind him.

The backyard was unoccupied but the moans of the undead flowed into the yard from all directions. Erik led as the two men crept across the yard. His eyes were hard and moved systematically around the perimeter of the yard watching for movement.

John’s eyes were wide and darted everywhere as they tried to keep up with the source of the moans. They came from everywhere. The darkness swallowed most of the yard, but John convinced himself that he saw the creatures moving through the gaps in the boards. The shadows moved everywhere. The moaning was incessant but individual voices rose above the mass. These are what made John’s head turn.

A gruff moan was at the end of the fence. The moan of a woman was on his left. A young moan laced with sarcasm came from the gate. John spun as he tried to face each one. His feet began to move faster than the creeping pace permitted. He turned to run to the shed. He’d beat Erik there and cover him. There, at least he’d have his back to a wall.

John quickened his step, moved around Erik, tripped over a little red wagon and accidentally discharged a pink .357 magnum.

Like a clap disrupting the chirping of crickets, the moaning stopped. John used the brief moment of silence to close his eyes and wish he could be somewhere else. The moaning returned more agitated and louder than before.

Erik slapped John on the head, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him to his feet as the fence began to shake.

Cedar pickets and thick fence posts popped and cracked as they were pushed beyond their natural limits. Entire sections of the fence began to splinter as undead hands pushed their way through. The creatures were everywhere and more were coming.

John’s eyes flew around the yard. Hands waved above the fence line and gripped the tops of the pickets to pull them free. Other creatures massed together and inward to collapse the fence.

The two men raced through the yard to the doors of the shed. Erik stopped and grabbed the lock to dial in the combination. John collided with him and drove Erik into the door.

“Idiot.” Erik found the lock again.

“Sorry, hurry, please.” John watched the yard. It seemed there were monsters everywhere as the entire length of the fence shook. Lumber protested in creaks and pops as it slowly gave way to a force of evil it was never designed to hold back. Prying eyes? Yes. Nosey neighbors? Sure. Stupid kids? Of course. Legion of the undead risen from the grave to consume the living? Not so much.

John looked to the patio. It wasn’t that far. If they had to run for it they could make it. Even he could make it. Chris and Austin appeared on the patio. They leaned out the sliding door, shouted in whispers and waved the two men back to the house.

“We should go back, Erik. Your fence won’t hold. It’s shitty. It’s a shitty fence.”

The crack of the fence post sounded like a gunshot and an eight-foot panel collapsed into the yard. Several creatures spilled in after it.

Chris jumped back inside and slid the door shut.

“See? Steel posts, Erik. Steel posts.”

“Shut up, John.” Erik spun the wheel a final time and jerked the padlock open.

The zombies stumbled to their feet and rushed toward the shed.

John raised the pink revolver to shoot. Erik snatched it from his hand and opened the door. He pulled John in behind him and yanked the door shut before dropping a thick wooden plank across the entryway to brace the two of them inside.

The moans grew at the door and the shed itself trembled from the undead hands that pushed against it.

John backed away from the door. Then from the walls. He found the absolute middle of the shed and panicked. “We’re screwed, man. Screwed.”

Erik reached up into the rafters and turned on a battery-operated light. He held the pink revolver up for John to see. “What the hell were you thinking, John? Chris was right. Giving you a gun was a bad idea.”

John hung his head.

Erik grabbed a canvas duffle bag from overhead and spread it out on a shallow workbench that lined the wall. “All you had to do was be quiet. All you had to do was nothing.”

John was about to speak but Erik shoved him out of the way and continued yelling at him as he stepped up to a large safe in the rear of the shed. “You’re great at doing nothing. Nothing is what you do best.”

John stumbled back against the door to stay out of the way but jumped back to the middle of the shed when he felt it shake.

Erik spun the dial on the safe and turned the handle. “Doing nothing is the only thing you do well. But you still screwed that up!”

“Shhhh, Erik. The zombies will hear you.”

“It’s too late to stay quiet.” The safe door opened without a sound and revealed a small arsenal of weapons. Erik reached in and pulled out two shotguns. “It’s time to make some noise.”

John smirked.

“What?”

“You sounded like such a dork when you said that.”

“Shut up, John.”

21

“What do you see? Do you see them? What do you see?” Austin was hiding in the dark behind the living room couch.

“All I see is zombies. I think they made it into the shed, but ... they must have. All of the zombies are heading that way. Damn, there’s got to be a dozen of them and more are coming.”

“Oh, man. We’ve got to get out of here, Chris. Look, my car is a across the street. We can run over there while they’re distracted, I can change out of my bathrobe and we can just go.”

Chris could hear the tremble in Austin’s voice. “What’s with you? Yesterday, you were walking around wishing you were dead.”

“I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“You’re losing it.”

“I’m not. I live close. We could make it.”

“I’m your next door neighbor, remember. I know where you live. We’re not leaving them.”

“They’re losers.”

Austin had a point. He would never choose the two men that were trapped in the shed as friends. John was an ass and Erik ... Erik wasn’t too bad. He was just kind of a wimp and his planning was just too much. But, he couldn’t leave them to their deaths. They had been through too much together. That didn’t sound right. In fact, it sounded like a stupid thing to say. But it was how he felt.

“C’mon, Chris. While we have a chance.”

“We’re not leaving them.”

“But you hate them.”

“I hate you more and I’m not spending the apocalypse sitting in your Prius and listening to you whine. Now start thinking of a way to save them.”

Austin crumpled to the floor and began to sob.

Chris looked around the room for anything to use as a weapon. He swore as he realized he was standing in the safest room in the world. Everything was padded. There had to be something he could use.

He watched the growing mass of creatures in the yard. His bat was in the kitchen, but it wouldn’t be enough. Why did he have to give John the gun as a joke? If he still had it ... no, it wouldn’t be enough either. There were too many of them.

Chris stared out at the shed as his stomach filled with the sick feeling of despair. All he could do was lead them away and give the guys a chance to get back to the house. He grabbed the handle to the sliding door and flipped the lock free.

The shed door and most of a zombie’s head exploded with a boom. Wood splinters fluttered to the ground through a beam of light that erupted from inside. The deep bellow of a shotgun sounded several more times as patches of light burst through the door.

The monsters shuddered and fell as the shot struck them. Many began to stand the moment they hit the ground but another volley of shots forced them back to the ground with less flesh than they had before.

Light poured into the yard from the shed and lit the twisted faces of the creatures as they pressed towards it. Chris couldn’t see anything inside the shed, but he soon realized that Erik could now see out.

The shed door continued to fall away as more buckshot tore it down, but the shots were becoming more accurate. The zombies began to fall as blind fire became calculated headshots. These creatures did not get back up.

Within moments there was little left of the paneling on the door or the crowd before it. The riddled frames swung open and Chris could finally see inside. Erik had kicked open the door and stood in the light holding a shotgun at his shoulder. John stood behind him burdened like a pack mule. Bags hung from every appendage and he carried a large duffle bag in his arms. He looked uncomfortable and whiney. And more than a little silly in the earmuffs he was wearing.

Chris slid open the door and heard Erik command John to run. When John didn’t move, Erik kicked him out the door into the yard where he fell into a pile of mostly dead bodies.

“Get up, John!”

John struggled to his knees. “This stuff is heavy.”

Erik fired again as a fresh batch of creatures entered the yard.

“Go!” Erik dropped from the floor of the shed to the yard and pulled John to his feet.

John ran funny. His hips got closer to the ground with every step as the bags on his back and in his arms dragged him to the ground.

Erik did not run. Even steps moved him closer to the house but his focus was on the hole in the fence. He kept the shotgun leveled and took careful shots at the zombies that posed the biggest threats. He rarely missed.

Chris waved John inside. The man’s run had slowed to a walk as the bags began to droop from his arms. “Hurry, John.”

“Rambo made me carry all the heavy stuff.”

Chris turned to the cowering figure behind the couch. “Austin, start getting stuff to pile against the door.”

There was a whimper of a response and Chris ran into the yard. “Hurry.”

John pointed to the hearing protection on his head. “I can’t hear you.”

Chris ripped the earmuffs off.

“Umm. Ow.”

“I said hurry.”

“I was hurrying.”

Chris grabbed the duffle bag from John and pushed him towards the door as he stripped one of the bags from his back. “This is heavy.”

“I told you.”

“You got him?” Erik asked between shots.

Chris looped the backpack over his shoulder. “Almost.”

There was a crash behind them as another fence panel fell and more of the creatures tumbled into the yard.

John had fallen again and Chris was now dragging John to the door by one of the backpacks. John’s feet backpedaled, trying to help as much as he could. He pointed frantically at the new threat. “Erik, behind you!”

Erik spun around and pulled the shotgun’s trigger. The resulting click was heard above the moans as the firing pin snapped against an empty chamber. The moment the click sounded, Erik dropped the weapon. The shotgun fell against the sling and dropped to his side as he reached into a belt holster and pulled out the black automatic. It wasn’t as loud as the shotgun but the pistol spit fire at the zombies much faster.

With controlled motions, Erik moved the barrel from target to target. The smaller rounds didn’t have the dramatic impact of the shotgun shells. The zombies were not thrown about and pounds of flesh were not rent from their decomposing bodies, but they fell. The brute force of the shotgun could slow their advance but the smaller weapon had to be used with more precision and Erik guided each shot towards the head.

He fired forever. Chris was familiar enough with guns to know that Erik should have been out of bullets by now. But the gun kept firing as Erik moved closer to the door.

Chris heaved John in the door and turned to Austin, expecting to see the man pushing the couch toward the door. “Austin?”

There was no answer.

“John, get the couch.”

“You get the couch, I’m tired.”

“John!”

John wriggled out of the backpacks and got to his feet. “Fine, I’ll get the couch.”

Chris looked back into the yard. Erik had finally exhausted the magazine and holstered the gun before drawing another. How many did he have? “Erik, we’re in! Come on!”

Erik did not look to the door but quickened his pace.

John moved to the arm of the couch and spotted his neighbor. “Austin, what are you doing on the floor? Are you crying?”

Chris grabbed the other end. “John!”

“What?”

“The couch!”

“Austin’s crying.”

“The couch!”

“I’m at the couch!” John pushed into the large sofa and shoved it towards the door.

Chris stepped aside as Erik stepped through the door.

Erik fired twice more, slid the door shut and locked it.

Chris shoved the couch against the door.

Erik drew the curtains and stepped aside as the two men threw the couch against the door.

Chris pointed at John. “Get more stuff.”

“Right.” John dashed across the room and grabbed one of the mostly empty bookcases.

Erik dropped the gun back in its holster and sat down on the couch.

John pulled at the bookcase. It fell towards him and stopped. He tugged again. “This stupid thing is tied to the wall!”

“Get something else.” Chris had jumped the baby corral and tried to pull the TV down so he could grab the entertainment center. The tethers frustrated him as well. He gave up and rushed over to help John pull the bookcase from the wall. “Pull on three. We’ll rip the damn thing out.”

“Okay.”

“One. Two. Three.” The two men heaved and nothing happened.

John stepped back and looked at the shelf. “Wow, that thing is really on there.”

“Guys.” Erik’s voice was soft. “You need to be quiet.”

“I think it’s too late for that.” Chris looked around the room and back to John. “The coffee table.”

“Right.”

Each man grabbed an end, lifted the padded coffee table and walked over to stack it on the couch.

John was exhausted. It showed in how he started using manners. “Erik. Would you please move?”

Erik held up a finger and said, “Shhhh.”

There was a loud boom from the backyard. Deeper than the shotgun but just as loud. Chris dropped his end of the coffee table.

John fell backwards under the table. “Ouch.”

Chris grabbed the curtain, “Is there someone else out there?” He pulled the curtain back. A zombie stared back and startled him.

There was another boom. It came from the shed. Another followed close behind.

The zombie that had been staring at him turned towards the shed.

Chris closed the curtain as another report filled the backyard. “What is that?”

John pushed the table off of him, looked at Erik and whispered. “Is this what you were doing with the bottles?”

Chris realized he dropped the table on John and helped him up. He matched John’s whisper. “What are you talking about?”

“I was loading up everything in the shed and I turn around and Mr. Wizard here is mixing up things in soda bottles like some kind of mad scientist.”

There were two more booms, a long pause and a final blast.

Erik lowered his finger. “Now check.”

Chris pulled back the curtain. The porch was empty. Zombies continued to pour into the yard but they were still heading for the shed. He smiled, “Holy shit, Erik. That was amazing.”

“No kidding.” John was grinning. “Did you see this guy? Where did you learn to shoot like that? You were dropping those things left and right.”

Erik stood up from the couch and pointed to the bags John had carted from the shed. “Bring the bags. The water should be boiling by now.”

22

Erik served each man a bowl of macaroni and cheese and a gun for dinner. He placed a spoon next to each bowl and a box of rounds next to each weapon.

“I don’t want a gun.” Austin had also turned up his nose at the bowl of pasta while mentioning something about gluten.

“I want a bigger gun,” John said as he shoveled the mac and cheese into his mouth.

“You’re lucky you’re getting a gun at all,” Erik said. “Your panic shot almost killed us both.”

John looked deep into his bowl. “Sorry.”

“But, we’ll each take a shotgun or rifle as well. I think it goes without saying—but since John is with us I’ll say it anyway—that the guns are to be used in emergencies only. It’s obvious that these things are drawn to sound so as we go we should try to be as quiet as possible.”

Chris looked at the assortment of weapons laid out across the kitchen island. There were several rifles, several shotguns and thousands of rounds of ammunition. “Erik, what is all this? I had no idea you were this into guns.”

John dropped his spoon into his bowl and used the now free hand to point at Erik. “Oh my God. I get it now. You’re one of those prepper people.”

Austin shook his head, “What?”

“You know. Like those shows on TV. These preppers are people that figure society is going to collapse, or Yellowstone is going to explode, so they spend all their time and a shitload of money getting ready for it. They’re crazy.”

“I’m not a prepper.”

“Sure you are. The guns. The bullets. The jugs of water. All the things you were asking me at my place. Your shed is packed with supplies.” John picked up the Batman backpack. “And, this. I know what this is now. This is a bug-out bag. A Batman bug-out bag.”

Erik shook his head. “It’s not. It’s just ... “

“No, it totally is. You’re one of those preppers.”

Erik backed away from the table. “I just wanted to be prepared.”

“If you’re so prepared, why are we eating mac and cheese for our final meal?”

“I’m saving the MREs for the road.”

“MREs? Prepper.”

“Fine. Maybe I am. So what of it?”

“You people are crazy. You spend so much time getting ready for things that are never going to happen. What a waste of time and money.”

“This happened.”

John waved off the comment. “Yeah, but what were the chances of this happening?”

Erik sighed and ate his food.

Chris chewed for a moment and asked. “I don’t understand, Erik. If you had all these guns here, why did you just leave the house with a garden tool?”

Erik shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess it ... I really didn’t want to believe it was all happening. I didn’t want to run through the neighborhood with a gun if it was all nothing. There are rules with guns. I didn’t want to break them.”

Chris nodded. “After the yard back there, there’s no denying that it’s real.”

John looked up from his bowl. “That was awesome, by the way.”

Erik shrugged.

“He’s right,” Chris said. “That was amazing. I lost count of how many you took down.”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not? We finally found something you’re good at. You bowl like shit, but, man, can you shoot.”

“John, I just killed ... murdered a dozen or more people.”

“Monsters, Erik. Monsters. You’ve got to stop thinking of them as people. There’s no saving them.”

There was a loud crash from above them. A groan from Christine followed.

“Oh,” John put his hand over his mouth. “Right. Sorry.”

The three men ate in silence. Austin just stared at his bowl for a long moment before asking, “Where are we going to go?”

“We should stay here,” John said. “Erik is stocked for the apocalypse. You should see that shed.”

“No,” Erik said.

John started to speak, “But we should ...”

“There’s no cure here.”

“That again. Look, you should kind of hope there’s no cure.” John pointed to the yard. “If there is, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.”

Chris shot John a vicious look. “Erik’s right, we have to go. We have to get out in the country where there aren’t so many people. Every time we make a sound we have to contend with a small army of these things. And since John doesn’t know when to shut up or not shoot, it’s going to keep happening.”

Austin mumbled, “We should try and find help.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. An army base or something. FEMA has to have something set up.”

“If my family is still alive,” Chris found the words hard to say, “that’s where they would have gone.”

“Not mine,” John said. “Good old Dad will have taken that motor home of his and made for the hills.”

Erik stood and disappeared from the kitchen. He returned a moment later with a radio and switched it on. He thumbed through the dial until he landed on a clear signal. A monotone voice was reading off shelters like a list of school closings on a snow day. The list included a major city and the nearest shelter. It took several minutes before there was a place they recognized—Greenville.

“That’s four hours away,” Austin said.

“Figure two or three times that now. The freeways will be clogged. We’ll have to use the back roads,” Chris said.

John rubbed his chin to secretly hide that he was wiping away some food that missed his mouth. “I wonder why so far away?”

Chris pointed to his chin to show John where he missed a bit. “They’re probably thinking like we are. A small population to begin with. And anyone that makes it there will most likely be living.”

“I can’t believe they’d give up on the cities so quickly,” Austin said.

Chris didn’t know what to say. “It’s been four days. We don’t know how bad it is out there. The whole city could be lost. They’d have to set up far enough away that ...”

Erik shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. We’re not going to a FEMA shelter.”

Austin threw up his arms. “We have to go somewhere.”

“I’m not walking into any government camp.” Erik dug through his bug-out bag and pulled out a state map.

A formal tone of debate crept into Austin’s voice. “Erik, if there’s going to be a cure, it’s going to come from the government. It’s your best hope.”

“No. The second we walk into that place they’ll take everything from us. We’ll be at their mercy. I’m not going to trust the government to protect me from a threat no one understands. More importantly—once we’re in, I doubt that they’d ever let us out.”

“Prepper.”

“Shut up, John.”

Chris thought for a moment. Erik was probably right. As dangerous as it was outside, they still had the ability to move around. If they went to a shelter and his family wasn’t there, he would probably be forced to sit on a cot until this whole thing was over. At least on the outside, he could still search for them. “Okay. Look, maybe we can head that direction and find a place to hole up nearby. We don’t have to stay in the camp, but we’d be close enough if they resolve this thing or things get too hot for us to handle.”

For a long moment Erik said nothing. He gave a slight nod and folded the map away. “I think you’re right.”

“Can I go to the camp?” Austin asked.

Chris shot the man a hard look. “We’ll be more than happy to leave you wherever you want.”

“How can you say that?”

“What?” Chris dropped his fork.

“I mean ... you guys saved my life.”

“We did it because it was the right thing to do, not because you were the right person to do it for. I saw you cowering in the living room. You’re a selfish prick. You always have been.”

“Is this about the HOA stuff? All I ever wanted was to make things better.”

“For you. You never thought about the rest of us, Mr. President.”

“Everyone in the neighborhood thought I was doing a good job.”

“Yeah?” John asked. “Let’s ask them now. Let’s take a poll. What do you think they say now? I’ll bet it’s something like, ‘Oooooo.’”

“Enough,” Erik slammed his fist on the table. “Four is better than three. Even if mister passive aggressive here won’t take a gun, he’s another set of eyes.”

Chris picked up his fork and stabbed at the macaroni. “If he’s not busy covering them.”

Austin hung his head. “Thank you, Erik. And I can still help. I’ll drive. We can take my Prius.”

Chris shook his head. “No, we’ll take my van. It’ll be more comfortable.”

“We’ve got a long way to go and I’ve got a full tank. Chances are, we won’t have to stop for gas.”

John leaned back in his chair and laughed. “A Prius is the worst apocalyptic getaway car ever. Besides, your music probably sucks. Let’s take Chris’s van.”

Austin shrugged. “It’s quiet and you guys want to be quiet, right? Hell, I have to honk half the time to let people know I’m there.”

“It’s because they’re ignoring your stupid car,” John said.

“All of you, stop it.” Erik looked around the table to each man.

“I want to show you something.”

* * *

The 4X4 stood on large, knobby tires and all but touched the ceiling of the garage. A light bar and cargo rack on the roof added to the height and probably made getting the vehicle in and out of the garage a slow and breath-holding ordeal.

The gate hung open and the rear of the large SUV was filled with supplies. Boxes marked “rations,” jugs of water, unlabeled black crates. So this is where Erik had been disappearing too.

“Prepper.”

“Shut up, John.”

Chris walked around to the front of the car and smiled. “This is perfect, Erik.”

“You bought a truck for the end of the world?” John asked.

“No. I inherited it from my father-in-law. It was his hunting truck for years. It spent most of its life out on his hunting lease.”

“And it runs okay?” Chris asked. “We don’t want to get out there and break down.”

“Better than okay. I’ve been fixing it up and it was already tough to begin with. He put a massive brush guard on the front ...”

John raised his hand. “What’s that?”

“You’d probably call it a rammy thing.”

John nodded.

“Skid plates underneath, winch up front, you can see the lights. It could tow a house and climb its way out of almost any hole. It’s not bulletproof but it should be zombie proof. I can’t imagine anything that could stop it.”

“This thing will run out of gas before we reach the edge of town.”

Erik shook his head. “It’s diesel and it’s topped off. I’ve also got some extra tanks in the back.”

Chris nodded. “Yep, it’s got my van beat.”

“What are we waiting for?” John asked. “Let me just grab my gun and we can leave.”

Erik stood in the doorway and didn’t step aside. “A minute ago you wanted to stay here.”

“I go where the food goes. Plus, I’m sticking with the number one zombie killer here. That’s you. So let’s go.”

“Not yet,” Erik shut the gate of the SUV. “First we rest. After today, we’ll have no idea where we’ll be. It could be days before we sleep again. We’ll leave after dark.”

23

“Did it have to be mac and cheese again?”

“It’s called carbo loading, John. You’re going to need the energy.”

“It’s called lactose intolerance, Erik. You’re going to need to roll the windows down.”

Erik dropped a five-gallon jug on the table. “Get ’em out in the shower.” He stepped into the garage and returned with two more jugs. “I emptied the water heater so you guys could freshen up.”

“Thank God. John stinks.”

“You’re no rose yourself, Chris.”

“Hey, at least you and Erik got to change.” Chris tugged at his shirt. “I’ve been wearing the same thing since this whole thing started.”

“At least you’re not in your pajamas,” Austin said.

“True. I could be you,” Chris said.

Erik pointed down the hallway. “There’s soap in there. Shampoo. Get cleaned up. I’m going to be in a car with you guys for hours.”

Erik stepped out of the kitchen and walked to the base of the stairs. He stared up to the second floor of his home and tried to take a deep breath. The breath stuttered as he inhaled.

The stairs were weird this day. Every step seemed taller than it used to be. There seemed to be more of them as well. He didn’t remember this many steps. He took each with a pause before reaching the top of the staircase. He didn’t remember the hallway being so long either.

He fought to take each step and passing in front of the bathroom door took a level of courage Erik was surprised he had. He placed his hand on the bathroom door and pressed his head against it. The moans coming from inside were slight and weak. Erik began to worry that his family needed food. Did the undead need to feed on the living to continue being undead? He didn’t know.

“It’s going to be okay, buddy.”

The weak moans turned as fierce as they had been a few days earlier and Erik backed away from the door. “No, you listen to me. You’re my oldest boy and I ... I have to leave. So you’re in charge. I need you to look after your mother for me. And your brother and sister. Can you do that for me?”

There was a scratching at the door and the child growled.

“I love you, Ryan.”

Whatever evil affliction had them, it would not be the end of them. The boy still had plenty of fight in him. Erik could find a cure and return. They would be waiting for him.

He backed away from the door and moved down the hall to his bedroom. He had moved the twins there earlier in the week and they continued to moan and coo inside the separate pack-n-plays. He picked up his youngest son. The baby tried to bite but Erik kept the child’s mouth at bay and kissed him on the head.

“Everything is going to be fine, son. I’m going to fix your mother. And your brother and sister. We’re all going to be a family again.”

He set the boy back down and picked up his daughter. Was it possible that even her morbid groans were adorable? He kissed her and smiled at her. “I just decided that you deserve a pony. I’m going to get you a pony.”

She grabbed his finger and put it in her mouth. It tickled and Erik smiled and she gummed at his hand.

“I love you, princess. Everything is going to be fine.”

She continued to chomp at the air as he set her back down.

Erik turned to the bathroom door. Behind it was the woman he loved. The woman he swore to keep safe. The woman he promised he would spend all of his days to ensure her happiness.

He collapsed to the ground and began to cry. It was so much easier to lie to children.

* * *

The water bottle shower did Chris more good than he had expected. Maybe even more than the rest he had gotten. Four days in homes without A/C, a lot of running and constant fear had covered him in a layer of filth that turned the water brown as it washed over him.

Despite having to put on dirty clothes, he still felt more human than he had in a few days. There was no telling how long it would be before things returned to normal and a shower became routine again. At least for now he had washed the stink and grime away. That’s one of the reasons he was so upset when he found the front door open. Sweat covered him instantly.

He wanted to shout and slam the door, but he knew he couldn’t. He didn’t want to go near it, but he knew that he had to. He had to know if someone had gone out or if something had come in.

As he stepped closer, he could see no damage on the door. It hadn’t been forced open, so someone had to have left. Was it Austin? The man had said very little and was well aware that he was not well liked. The fighting at the kitchen table may have been more than enough to drive him out. Or had his depression driven him back into the streets?

Chris drew the pistol that Erik had given him and looked at it in his hand. They didn’t need a horde chasing bangs. One shot would make the house a target again. He placed it back in the holster and picked up his bat before moving closer to the door.

A breeze blew in through the doorway and moved it open a few inches. Chris stopped and gripped the bat harder. Nothing followed the motion and he approached again. He grabbed the edge of the door and pulled it open further. Every muscle was prepared to slam it shut and run away if more than a breeze approached the door.

The porch was dark. Some moonlight lit the street but it didn’t reach the front of the house. The monsters moved along the street in no particular direction. Like those in front of John’s house, they appeared to have forgotten why they came.

The gunfight in the yard had called but silence had welcomed them and now they moved with no destination. They were a mass of death waiting for a trigger and Chris wasn’t about to give it to them.

“Christine and I used to come sit out here like this.”

It took everything Chris had to both jump and scream without making a sound of either. When he landed he was facing Erik with bat raised above his head.

“We would come out here just looking for a few minutes of silence. It’s so loud with three of them.”

Chris lowered the bat and looked at his neighbor. He was sitting on a bench, staring into the night. “Erik?”

“But we were too scared to ever shut the door on them. So we’d leave it cracked just like that. Then we’d sit and talk. Even then we’d never really listen to each other. We were too busy listening for the kids. If they ever made a sound we’d run in. Gladly abandoning our precious silence to rescue them.”

“Erik, is this a good idea?”

“They haven’t seen me. They’re not looking for me.”

“Good. Let’s go in before that changes.”

He could barely see Erik shake his head in the dark. “I’ve been out here for half an hour.”

“Doing what?”

“Counting.”

“Counting? Counting what? Zombies?”

“Friends. Neighbors. People I’ve seen at the grocery store. People I’ve never seen before. There’s one girl here wearing a server’s apron from that Italian place by the mall.”

“That’s a few miles away.”

“Yes. It is. There are hundreds of them, Chris.”

Chris stared into the dark. There were more than he remembered from earlier but hundreds seemed an exaggeration. “That seems ...”

“The longer you stare into the dark, the more you see. And they don’t all stay. Some come and walk around in circles. Some pass through the crowd. But the ones that I don’t like are the ones that just stand there. They stand still. They don’t wobble or stagger like the rest. They just stand there wondering what brought them there. And they seem ... mad about it all.”

“Erik. Please. Let’s go inside.”

“It’s me, Chris. I brought them.”

“We’re not going to start placing blame. And if we are going to do it, we’re going to blame John.”

“I should have been more prepared.”

“Erik, you’ve probably saved us all.”

“But, I couldn’t save my family.”

“It’s not too late. You’re ... you’re probably right. There is a cure and we’ll find it.”

He could hear the smile in Erik’s response, “Thanks for humoring me, Chris. I want you to know that as much as I hate you, I consider you a friend.”

“Nothing like a zombie apocalypse to bring people together, huh?”

Erik laughed a forced laugh. “Always with the jokes.”

“No. No, I’m not joking. In fact, I’ll bet you that if aliens invade tomorrow we might even start to like John.”

“Okay, now you will make me laugh. Then all these zombies will start heading this way.”

“I’ll be good. Mind if I have a seat?”

Erik shifted over and Chris sat down on the bench.

“Half an hour, huh?”

“As long as we’re quiet.”

“Hey!” John never missed his cue to act stupid. “Which one of you assholes left the front door open?”

The slamming of the door was startling. The silence that followed it was terrifying. Every creature on the street stopped moaning and turned towards the house.

They had started lurching towards the porch by the time Erik and Chris had gotten to their feet. The two men rushed to the door and resisted the urge to pound. They tried the knob. It didn’t work. They tried whispering through the solid core door.

The whispers and gentle knocking grew within moments to screaming and pounding on the door. “John! John!” There was no response.

Chris stopped pounding. “He’s either deaf or ... well, we know he’s stupid. Open the door, Erik.”

“The keys are inside.”

“Do you have a hide-a-key or something?”

Erik’s face lit up. “In the rain spout.”

Chris turned to run into the yard while Erik continued to pound on the door. He got nowhere and turned in a complete circle. “You go get it.”

Erik turned and saw the horde at the bottom of the steps.

Chris raised his bat.

Erik drew his gun and began to fire into the crowd.

The moans grew as the creatures massed behind each other at the base of the porch. For every creature that dropped another took its place.

Chris swung the bat and knocked one of the zombies back into the crowd.

“The gun, Chris!”

Chris dropped the bat, drew the gun and started shooting. Each shot echoed in the confined porch and battered his ears. Had it not been for Erik’s steady rhythm of fire, he would have no doubt gone trigger-happy and expended the entire magazine within moments. He matched Erik’s calm and deadly pace until he was yanked off of his feet.

Chris fell through the doorway and collapsed into the foyer and onto John.

“Get off me!” John screamed as he pushed Chris aside and jumped to his feet. “Erik! Get in here!”

Erik continued to fire as he backed into the house.

John slammed the door as the horde of zombies flooded the front porch. He engaged each lock and turned to the two men. “Are you guys okay?”

Erik held out the gun. “Hold this.”

John grabbed the gun by the barrel. A half second later he began to scream.

Erik took the gun back.

John stuck his hand between his legs. “That’s hot!”

“That’s for calling the legion of the undead to my door! Twice!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t ...”

“They’re not stopping, guys.” Chris watched as the door flexed in the frame. The sheer number of creatures was enough to bring it down no matter how many locks Erik had installed.

The crack and shatter of glass erupted from the living room as the patio door gave way.

“They’re in the house.” Erik turned the gun towards the living room.

John headed towards the kitchen. “The baby proofing should hold them.”

“Shut up, John. Everyone get your gear and get to the truck.”

Chris scrambled to his feet and passed John on the way to the kitchen. Austin was standing at the door to the garage, bouncing up and down. “Hurry. I hear them. I hear them.”

Chris grabbed the pink backpack and the automatic shotgun Erik had assigned him. He pointed the barrel at the entrance to the kitchen. “I’ve got you, Erik. Come on.”

Erik backed into the kitchen, grabbed his own bag and the keys to the truck. The moaning of the dead filled the house and moved like a wave from around the corner. They heard the clattering of the baby gate.

“We’re good, Chris,” Erik yelled. “To the garage.”

Chris backed towards the door as the first monster crashed into the kitchen. He fired and the shotgun drove into his shoulder. The shot collapsed the lead zombie and two others tripped over the body. Chris ran through the garage door.

Erik pulled it closed behind him. “Cover John while he opens the door.”

“No,” John ran around to the driver’s door. “I’m driving.”

“My head still hurts from the last time you drove,” Erik said.

John threw up his hands. “That wasn’t my fault! That was Captain Awesome’s fault!”

The moans grew at the door to the garage. The garage door itself bounced with the weight of the undead. The four men looked at each other.

John spoke first. “Guys. You know I’m right. I can drive. And you all know that we want Annie Oakley riding shotgun.”

Chris put his hand on Erik’s shoulder. “He’s right. I’d feel better with you behind a gun.”

“Dammit.” Erik tossed the keys to John. “Start it up. Chris, cover me.”

John leapt in the truck and cranked the engine. A puff of black smoke shot from the exhaust pipe and the engine rumbled to life. The headlights came on and lit the garage.

Erik pulled the door release overhead and grabbed the door. “Opening now.” Erik heaved and the door began to lift. It was shoulder high when the first hands began to grab at his shirt.

Erik grunted and threw the door up hoping it would be enough. He backed away quickly as the creatures poured into the garage.

Chris fired from behind his open door as Erik jumped into the passenger seat. “Go, go, go!”

The truck lurched forward as Erik struggled to close the passenger door. Rotting arms reached through whatever opening they could find to pull him from the cab. Erik was all but in John’s lap struggling to keep the door from being ripped open.

John floored the accelerator and the old SUV crept forward.

With the lights on and the roar of the engine, they had attracted the attention of the creatures and they massed in front of the truck.

The massive torque of the vehicle pushed forward through the crowd but John felt the truck slowing. It picked up a little speed as the creatures began spilling over the fenders.

A horrible shriek filled the air as the top of the truck dragged across the garage door.

“Damn. The door is ...” John winced as the shriek grew louder.

“Keep going!” Erik shouted.

Pops and bangs rang out from the aluminum door as each light caught its lip and the truck made its way through the crowd.

The alleyway was filled with the undead and their numbers were packing tighter together forming a wall that even the truck’s torque couldn’t move.

“Where the hell are they all coming from?” John’s foot ached as he tried to press the pedal through the floor.

“I think this guy came from the mall.” Chris pointed to a portly man in a security uniform at the front of the truck. He had one foot on the hood and his key ring dragged across the paint.

The truck bogged down in the human mass and the engine threatened to stall.

The security guard stood on the hood and howled. It drove the others into a frenzy.

“Enough,” John shouted and threw the truck into reverse.

The security guard took a roofline to the head as the truck raced back into the garage and collided with the house.

The movement was so sudden that Erik almost lost his grip on the door. One of the zombies grabbed his arm. The creatures at the front of the horde fell forward to the driveway.

John shoved the truck into four-wheel drive and gunned the engine again.

The sounds from the roof were worse than before as the undead bodies beneath the wheels drove the truck higher into the air. But the truck shot from the garage and had built up enough momentum to plow through the crowd.

The creature that had grabbed Erik was pulled away and he pulled the door closed.

John cranked the wheel as the truck bounced across the undead and down the alley. They were still coming but the farther they got from the house, the less dense the horde became.

“Yes!” John punched the roof with excitement—hurting himself only a little.

Erik was finally able to sit upright in his seat. “You guys watch the streets. Another crowd that size could stop us.”

John cranked the wheel as they reached the end of the alley and he turned back up the street. “Are you kidding? You were absolutely right, Erik. Nothing can stop this thing. Watch.”

Chris tried to stop him—whatever it was. “John. Don’t.”

John laughed as he clipped a zombie that was heading towards the house.

“Stop, John,” Austin cried.

John veered right and knocked three more out of the way.

Austin bounced around the backseat with every hit. “Quit doing this!”

John cut back to the left and the headlights illuminated ten more walking up the middle of the street. They fanned out in almost a perfect triangle with the Ball Buster at the head of the crowd. “You like bowling, Austin?”

“Stop!”

John rolled down his window and honked the horn. The crowd turned and the Ball Buster roared.

John screamed, “Bu, bu, bu, busted!”

The truck plowed into the crowd of zombies and knocked them to the ground. John turned the wheel for extra effect.

“No more, John!” Austin was screaming. It was the loudest he had been since they found him. “I’m telling you to stop.”

“Sorry, Mr. President. With the end of the world came the end of the HOA. You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore.” They were coming up on Austin’s house. “As a matter of fact, I’m taking over. Consider it a coup.”

Chris saw what was ahead. “John, don’t do it.”

“... and as my first order of business, I say that your stupid fountain has got to go.”

All three men screamed no as John cut left, jumped the curb and steered into Austin’s yard. He placed the fountain of the little boy peeing square in the headlights.

No one knew what it meant, but Austin screamed, “My Manneken Pis” as the SUV collided with the fountain, rolled over and crashed into the yard.

24

“That’s the second car you’ve crashed tonight, you dick!” Chris grabbed the door handle and pushed. It wouldn’t open.

John held the pedal to the floor and the powerful diesel drove the wheels but, since the truck was upside down, it did little good.

“Everybody out now.” Erik unbuckled and fell to the roof. He kicked the door open, grabbed his gear and crawled out of the car.

The zombies had followed the crash and spotted the living. The entire neighborhood was coming for them.

Erik fired.

Chris followed Austin out his door and reached through the open window to help John.

“This way. Come on.” Austin was halfway up his walkway.

Erik ran around the car as John crawled free. He helped Chris pull John to his feet and the three men ran after Austin.

They piled through the open door.

“This way.” Austin led them through the house towards the garage.

Three zombies were in the formal dining room and charged the men.

Chris struck one with the shotgun. Erik shot the other two.

They were coming through the front door. Erik and Chris stood side by side and took careful shots at those in front as Austin ran into the kitchen.

He grabbed his keys from a hook next to the fridge and turned to run, but he stopped. “Oh my ... Melanie?”

She was seated at the kitchen table still wearing her robe. Like the last time he had seen her.

“Hurry up!” Erik shouted from the front hall.

John rushed in after Austin and grabbed his shoulder as the woman began to turn.

“Is that ...? I thought you killed your wife.”

Melanie turned toward them and stood. The handle of a kitchen knife stuck out of her chest.

John covered his mouth. “Oh my God.”

“Sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

John pointed at the kitchen knife “You stabbed her in the chest? You have to hit them in the head.”

“I didn’t know that!”

“Haven’t you ever seen a zombie movie?!”

“We don’t have a TV!”

“Oh, you’re such a fucking weirdo!”

Melanie lunged across the room. Austin was in shock and made no attempt to move.

“You gotta move, man.”

Austin raised his arms to hug her. She hissed and leapt.

John tackled Austin to the ground as his wife flew past them and collided with the fridge hard enough to leave a dent.

Austin pushed him away and rushed to her side. “Melanie!”

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” John screamed and got to his feet.

“She’s my wife.” He put his hand on her shoulder.

She turned surprisingly quick for a pregnant woman with a knife sticking out of her chest. She hissed again and grabbed Austin’s arm to pull him closer.

John struck her across the head with the butt of his shotgun and she crumpled to the floor.

Austin stared with wide eyes at her corpse.

“Dude, I ... I’m sorry, man.” John grabbed Austin by the collar of the robe and pulled him through the house as he shouted back to Chris and Erik. “Let’s go, guys!”

The four men rushed into the garage and surrounded the Prius. John ran to the driver’s door, “Gimme the keys.”

It was a stupid enough statement to bring Austin back to the moment. He shoved John away and opened the door. The Prius made no sound as the engine activated.

Chris and Erik closed the door behind them as they entered the garage.

John threw open the garage door and smiled. The driveway was empty. He climbed into the front seat and Austin placed the Prius in drive.

Austin was right. The car was quiet. It rolled out of the driveway and into the alley without a sound. He drove around what few monsters were in his path and made his way out of the neighborhood.

The first few minutes of the drive were spent with each of the men taking turns yelling at John. John said nothing. He took their abuse in complete silence and stared out the window as he watched the city roll by.

Soon the whole car grew quiet. There was nothing much to say. Instead, each man played their own personal fears.

As John stared out the window, he worried that he’d never see his wife and kids again. He was certain they were safe with his father-in–law, but there was no guarantee that he would ever find them.

Chris had no idea where his family was. He didn’t know if they were alive or dead. If they were at the FEMA camp, he wasn’t sure how to get them out without going in himself.

Erik knew that a cure was unlikely but he held on to hope. Until then he would do everything to stay alive in case something could be done.

Austin wept. He had been forced to kill his wife and unborn children. He had done it out of mercy and he had screwed that up as well. There was nothing that any of them could say to him that would matter. There were no condolences or words of sympathy that could take his mind off the horrors he had been forced to commit.

John turned from the window and looked at the weeping man and began to cry as well. Austin’s family was gone. And, unlike the rest of the men in the car, there wasn’t even the slightest chance that he could get them back. For a moment John thought that there was nothing left for the man to lose. But, then he saw it.

“Austin,” John said. “You’re bit.”

25

As the night turned into early morning, the Prius whirred out of the city. Or hummed. Or whatever that sound is that a Prius makes. It wasn’t a rumble or a roar.

Austin remained focused on the road ahead. The occasional undead had tried to cross the road but paid little attention to the car itself. The hybrid was all but silent at low speeds and did little to attract the attention of the creatures.

The farther they had traveled out of the city, zombie sightings became less frequent, but Austin refused to place his attention anywhere but the road.

Chris, John and Erik remained focused on the driver and the bite on his arm. They had ridden in silence since John had called attention to Austin’s wound. Austin had refused to talk about it. He had only said that he felt fine. He probably wasn’t, but it had been the last words he had spoken for hours.

“Oh, I know!” John’s clap and general excitement made everyone in the car jump. He pointed at Austin but looked at the two men in the rear of the car. “We could cut off his arm.”

“What?!” Austin cast John a quick glance and put his eyes back on the road.

John held up his hands. “Just wait. Hear me out, okay? We cut off the arm.” John folded his hands.

“And?” Austin asked.

“That’s it.”

“That might work,” Chris said.

“Of course it will work,” John said. “A zombie bite is probably like an infection. If we chop his arm off, the infection can’t spread.”

“What if it’s already spread?” Erik asked. “Then we’ll have cut his arm off for nothing.”

John scratched at the stubble on his chin. “Well, not for nothing. Because a) we’ll learn how to cut off an arm. You never know when that kind of knowledge will come in handy. And b) if it doesn’t work, and he turns on us, we’ll just have to fight a one-armed zombie Austin and that’s like twice as easy as a two-armed one.”

“What would we do with the arm?” Erik asked.

John shrugged. “Throw it out the window. I don’t think there would be any reason to ...”

“No one is cutting my arm off!” Austin screamed.

Chris leaned forward and spoke in a soft voice. “Austin, I agree that it’s a stupid idea.”

Austin readjusted his seatbelt. “Thank you, Chris.”

“But maybe we should consider it,” Chris continued. “It could save your life.”

“You? You, too, Chris? You’re in the amputation camp?” Austin reached over and punched John in the head.

“Ouch.” John ducked in his seat but the Prius was too small to move out of reach.

“I like this arm.” Austin punched John again.

John put his arms across his head. “Stop it.”

“In fact, it’s quickly becoming my favorite arm.” He struck John three more times.

“Hey, I said stop it! Chris, make him stop hitting me.”

Austin put both hands on the wheel. “No one is cutting off my arm.”

John rubbed his head. “Jeez, try to help the guy and Mr. Pacifist turns into Rocky.”

“Help me? Cut off my arm?”

John sat back up in his seat and looked out the window. “It was just an idea.”

“I told you all. I’m fine. I don’t think she bit me hard enough to turn me. I mean ... I’d be feeling it by now. Right? It’s been hours. I’d be sick or something and I feel fine.”

No one had an answer. They had as much experience with the undead as anyone alive and they had no idea how zombies really worked. From what they had pieced together, the dead had risen from the grave first. Then they started attacking people that were too stupid not to get bit by slow-moving skeletons. Those stupid people then became zombies and tried to attack anyone who wasn’t dead. The newer zombies were quicker and stronger but no quicker or stronger than they had been before they turned. The only thing they knew for sure was that zombies bit people. A lot.

Ever since he married, John hadn’t been sure of anything. Since that day, he had been wrong almost every time he opened his mouth. Over the years he had decided that it would be better if he weren’t certain about anything. It was safer that way. A shrug or an “I don’t know” kept the peace in the house more than any opinion ever could. But, for some reason, he was certain about this. “Look, Erik said that the news said the disease spread through bites and bodily fluids. Right, Erik?”

Erik nodded. “That’s what I heard.”

John continued. “So unless the zombies are running around and humping everybody that isn’t paying attention, it must be their bite that turns people. And, I’ve seen zero zombie humping.”

Austin gnashed his teeth. “I feel fine.”

“You wouldn’t have to lose the whole arm.” John tried to put a smile in his voice. “We’ll just cut it off at the elbow.”

“No.”

“I’ll get you a hook.”

“No.”

“Pirate Austin. Arrgh.”

“Enough!” Austin slammed on the brakes and the Prius skidded to a stop on the two-lane blacktop, throwing the three passengers forward in their seats. He put his finger in John’s face. “I’m getting tired of you, John.”

John stared at the finger in his face, placed his hand on Austin’s and lowered the arm. He put his other hand just above the bite mark. “Just right here. Everything above here, you get to keep.”

“Give me a gun, Erik! I want my gun now!” Austin reached down and unbuckled his seat belt. He turned and lunged at John.

“Oh my God. He’s a zombie! Somebody shoot him!”

Austin pulled back his arm and tried to land a series of punches. Most were deflected by John’s flailing. “I haven’t turned, you idiot. I’m going to kill you. I’m so sick of your damn mouth.”

John argued as Austin continued to punch. “I’m just trying to help.”

“Pee break,” Erik shouted.

“What?” both men asked.

“Pee break,” Erik repeated. “I have to go. Since we’re stopped we might as well go.”

Austin huffed and sat back in his seat.

Erik opened his door and turned to the other men. “Anybody else? We’ve been driving for hours.” His position in the car behind Austin permitted him to wink without the driver seeing.

John sat up and grabbed the door handle. “Yeah. I need to go.”

Chris and John opened their doors and stepped onto the road. A distant moan sent the men grabbing for their weapons. “I’ve never had to pee with a shotgun before.”

Erik opened the door and paused. “Austin? Do you have to ...”

“I’m fine.”

“We’ve been ...”

“I said, I’m fine.” Austin pulled the seat belt across his chest and snapped it into place. “Pee quick.”

Erik nodded and turned from the car. He waited a moment for the other two men to join him before he began to walk down the shoulder and up to the forest that lined the road.

“What do you ...” John began.

Chris shushed him and pointed to a clearing in the trees that wasn’t far off. The three men crunched through the brush towards it.

After they had walked another ten seconds, Erik began to speak, “He’s going to turn into a zombie. There’s no doubt about it.”

Chris agreed. “So what do we do? If he’s behind the wheel when he turns, we could crash. And we’ve already survived two crashes this week. I don’t think we’d live through a third.”

Erik nodded. “We’ll have to watch him closely. As soon as he turns ... well, we should be ready.”

“What about John’s idea?” Chris asked. “Do you think it would save him?”

Erik shook his head. “We’d probably kill him trying to save him. Besides, I think it’s too late. Whatever it is, it’s in his system already. Did you see him attack John like that?”

“Yeah, but it’s John. He can drive anyone into a blood lust driven murderous rage with that stupid mouth of his. I never heard so much crap come out of one ass.” Chris turned to John. “No offense, John.”

“John?” Chris turned and couldn’t see the man. He had been right behind them.

Erik looked around and turned to Chris. “Where’s John?”

Chris looked around. “I thought it was your turn to watch him.”

“John?” Erik didn’t want to shout. They seemed relatively safe in the middle of nowhere but there was no telling what lurked in the dark between the trees.

“John?” Chris took a few cautious steps to the left as Erik went to the right.

There was a crash from the grouping of trees. Chris and Erik raised their shotguns. Erik dared to raise his voice above a whisper. “John?”

John stepped from the trees, buckling his belt. “Yeah, what?”

Erik lowered his gun and whispered, “What the hell, John. Where did you go?”

John wore confusion like a second skin. “To pee.”

Chris lowered his gun as well. “You idiot. This is a fake pee so we could talk about Austin without Austin hearing us.”

“But, I had to real pee.”

“You shouldn’t wander off,” Erik snapped. “Austin could get suspicious.”

“And you think three guys taking a pee side by side isn’t suspicious?”

“Shut up, John. Now fake pee with us.”

“Fine.”

The three men lined up shoulder-to-shoulder and pretended to pee.

“What are we talking about, anyway?” John asked.

“Killing Austin,” Chris said. “We’re trying to ...”

“I’ll do it.” John pulled out his pistol.

“Put that away!” Erik whisper-yelled. “You’re going to shoot your fake dick off. Anyway, we’re not killing him now.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“Because, he’s still a person,” Erik answered.

“Yeah, but ...” John waved the gun.

“No buts, John.”

“I don’t know, Erik,” Chris said. “John might have a point.”

“What point?” John asked.

“If we wait for Austin to turn it could happen when he’s driving,” Chris said. “The crash could kill us all. If we ... well, kill him now ...”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Let’s call it a mercy killing,” John said.

“He’s not even feeling sick. How is it a mercy killing?”

“It’s not,” John said. “But we’ll call it one so you can feel better.”

“Stop this.” Erik waved his hands out to his side. “We’re not talking about this.”

“Look. He’s basically dead already. Or undead. I’m not sure how that works. Do they die and come back undead? Or do they just undie? And how is undead different than alive?” John shook his head. “Either way, he’s going to go zombie on us. What difference does it make if we kill him now or wait until then?”

“It makes a difference,” Erik said.

“It’s not like we’re going to miss him.”

“John, you do not want that to be your only criteria for killing someone,” Chris warned.

“Shut up, Chris. I’m just saying that killing him now is no different than killing him after.”

“It’s totally different. And it’s not happening. What if he’s immune? What if he doesn’t change?” Erik turned suddenly. “We’re not killing him and that’s final.”

John looked at his feet. “Aw, man. You got fake pee on my shoe.”

Chris looked at the ground. “Is that a chance we can take?”

The three men were silent for a long moment before Erik spoke. “No. No it’s not.”

“What if we just left him here?” John asked.

“In the middle of nowhere?” Erik asked. “That’s the same as killing him.”

“Except that we’re not killing him so it’s really kind of the opposite.”

Chris nodded.

Erik hesitated before speaking. “Okay. You’re right. Let’s go carjack a Prius.”

“Okay. Fake shake on three. He’s probably getting suspicious. One. Two.”

“Shut up, John.”

The trio turned and walked back up the shoulder to the car.

“Just get in like nothing has changed,” Erik whispered. “Let’s try and talk to him first. If that doesn’t work, I’ll ... I’ll pull a gun on him.”

“Oh, can I be the one to yell stick ’em up?” John asked.

Erik rolled his eyes. “No. Let’s not make this any worse than it has to be.”

Chris pointed to Austin. He hadn’t moved. “Do you think he’s okay?”

Austin sat behind the wheel with his eyes locked on the road just as they had left him.

“Do you think he turned while we were fake peeing?” John asked.

Erik approached the car with caution, fearing that Austin had succumbed to the bite. His fears evaporated when Austin turned to look at him. He didn’t look undead. He looked pissed, but not undead.

Erik gave an exaggerated thumbs-up and pulled up on the door handle. The door didn’t open. Erik tried again and again the handle lifted but did not engage the release. They were locked out. “Austin, the door’s locked.”

Austin started at them through the window. He made no move to unlock the doors.

Erik knocked on the window. “Austin, unlock the doors.”

Austin’s hands reached for the controls on the door and Erik reached for the handle. There was no clunk of the doors unlocking but only the whir of the window opening. He looked back at Austin.

Austin didn’t smile. “You guys can’t whisper for shit.”

The window closed.

Erik knocked against it. “Austin?”

Austin looked back at the road.

“Austin?”

The Prius whirred and pulled away. Erik and Chris chased after the car for twenty feet, shouting after the driver.

John stood where the car had been looking at the empty space. “He just left us out here?”

Erik turned around. “That’s what it looks like.”

“What a dick.”

Chris sighed and pointed to the road behind John. “At least he left us our stuff.”

John turned around and spotted the bug-out bags on the ground. He picked up the Batman bag and slung it over his back. “Seriously, a total dick.”

26

The stretch of road was open and quiet. They had purposefully steered clear of the main roads to avoid traffic snarls and other people, but now each of the men felt alone. Each direction held nothing but asphalt and an eerie silence that was broken only by the occasional sound of animals in the woods and John’s constant complaining. It had gone on for hours and it wasn’t stopping.

“We should have killed him before we went for the fake pee.”

“You said that already,” Chris said. “A lot.”

“Yeah, well nobody said anything, so I wasn’t sure anybody heard me. If we had have killed him, we wouldn’t be walking.”

Erik fired back, “If we killed him before he turned into a zombie you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself.”

John shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m pretty cool.”

Chris and Erik looked at one another, said nothing and moved ahead of John.

“What? Guys?” John readjusted the Batman backpack and stumbled on.

They walked on for another few minutes before Erik began a conversation just to cover John’s complaining. “How much farther do you think it is?”

Chris kept his eyes focused on the road. “Erik, if you’re asking me ‘are we there yet’ I will turn this apocalypse around and go straight home.”

“I’m not even sure how far we got in the car.”

“Yeah, I was watching the guy with the zombie bite instead of the odometer. I have no idea how much farther or how much longer.”

“It’s 50.1 miles until Greenville,” John said. “Should take us about seventeen hours. Almost eighteen.”

Chris and Erik stopped.

John muttered to himself, “That sounds a little ambitious. I can’t remember the last time I was awake for eighteen hours.”

Chris turned to see John’s confused face lit by the glow of his phone. “Your phone works? Mine’s been dead for two days.”

“Mine, too. But I charged it while we were in the car.” John smiled. “You guys didn’t think to do that?”

“Call somebody!”

“Don’t you think I tried that? The lines are still busy. Try again later.”

“But you’re getting Internet?”

John looked at the map on the screen of his phone. “Oh yeah. I guess I am. That’s off because I usually only get like one bar outside of ...”

“Did you check your e-mail?”

“I don’t have my e-mail on here. I still like to be out of touch sometimes so I ...”

“Do you have Facebook?”

“Yeah, but I hate that thing. It’s just people complaining that their lives aren’t just perfect enough, so I never use it. Whatever happened to the days when ...”

“Give me your phone.” Chris swiped the phone from John’s hand and quickly navigated the screen.

John looked at his empty hand. “Fine. Fine, Chris. Just take it, why don’t you? What are you going to check in the middle of nowhere? You want to be the king of nowhere?”

Erik peered over Chris’s shoulder. “Shut up, John.”

Excitement entered Chris’s voice as the screen responded to his touch. “It’s working. It’s working.”

“Oh goody,” John bounced up and down. “You’ll be able to update my status to ‘stuck with two losers who stole my phone.’”

“Oh my God.” Chris’s face looked pale in the phone light to begin with, but now his face drooped as he scrolled through the page.

“What?”

“It’s everywhere. Everything on here ... a friend of yours in Pittsburgh says the city is overrun. Someone is Florida says the army was in the streets but have had to evacuate, leaving them there to die. Your friend in Denver is running out of food. Another one here says she’s been bitten and wants to know what to do.”

“What did I say?” John pointed at the phone. “It’s just people complaining.”

Erik pointed to the screen. “Check the messages.”

Chris pulled the phone away, “I’m checking them.” Chris’s focused stare lit with joy. A smile grew across his face that he could do nothing to stop. “They’re ... they’re ... my family’s okay. They’re with yours, John. They’re at the military camp. They’re alive. They’re alive!”

Chris threw the phone back to John, grabbed Erik and hugged him.

“What are you hugging him for? It’s my phone.”

Erik took the hug but did not hug back.

“They’re alive, they’re alive, they’re ...” Chris released Erik and saw the man’s expression. “Oh man, I’m sorry.”

Erik dropped his head. “Don’t be. This is a good thing.”

John held up the phone. “This is from a couple of days ago. Do you think they’re still there?”

Chris rushed over to John and hugged him as well. “Of course they are. Let’s go. Come on, let’s go.”

John held up a hand as he studied the phone. “Just let me tell her we’re coming. How do I do that?”

“Seriously?”

“I told you I never use this stupid thing.” John stabbed at the buttons. “Wait. That’s not what I wanted it to say.”

“Come on,” Chris was bouncing up and down.

“Why do you ... arrrgh. Stupid phone. That’s not what I want to say!”

“It’s the autocorrect, John.”

“It’s autofuckingwrong, Erik! It’s not what I’m typing.”

John screamed at the phone. “That’s not what I want to say! Where’s the stupid apostrophe!? I can’t find the ... oh there it is.” John hit send and put the phone back in his pocket. “Okay, we can go now.”

Chris began to run.

John shouted after him. “Whoa, whoa, where are you off to, zippy?”

Chris stopped and turned around. “Greenville.”

“Yeah, but what’s with the running?”

“It’s faster than walking.”

“It’s stupider, too. We’re walking.”

“Are you kidding me? We’ve found them. We finally found our families and that doesn’t make you want to run?”

“Of course it does. But, that doesn’t mean I’m going to. We can’t burn ourselves out. We’ll collapse in a couple of miles and not move for days.”

“No we won’t,” Chris said.

“Speak for yourself. I’ll be useless.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re so out of shape.”

“No. John’s right, Chris. And you know it. We need to take it easy.”

“You’re on his side?” Chris asked.

Erik shook his head. “No, I ...”

“Of course he’s on my side.” John put his arm around Erik who promptly stepped away. “I’m the leader of this band of merry men and ...”

Chris raised a finger into the air. “Excuse me?”

“What?”

“The leader?”

“I assumed you guys knew.”

“What could possibly make you think we’re following you? Every idea you’ve had has been bad. And that includes all the ideas you had before the dead came back. You’ve caused two car accidents. Unleashed a horde of undead guinea pigs on us. Almost blew your foot of with a firework. Attracted the entire metro population of the undead to our door because you can’t hold a gun. And got the guy who was giving us a ride bitten by a zombie so he ended up leaving us. Why, why the hell would we ever follow you?”

“Because, I’m the oldest.”

“You’re the oldest! What kind of playground bullshit is this?”

“With age comes wisdom. You’ll understand that when you’re a little older.”

Chris dropped the pack from his back and let it fall to the ground. “I’m going to kick your ass, John. Let’s see how much your wisdom helps you with that.” Chris charged.

John stepped behind Erik. “Protect your leader, Erik.”

Erik stepped to the side. John shuffled to stay behind him.

Chris circled around his neighbor. “Get out of the way, Erik.”

“I’m trying.”

Erik faked left and then moved to the right.

John fell for the fake and Chris charged again. John ran away onto the shoulder.

“Some leader.” Chris turned and walked back to his bag.

“Fine.” John walked back. “So you’re the leader now?”

Chris picked up his gear. “I’m not leading anything. I just want to see my kids again.”

“So we’ll put Erik in charge.” John slapped Erik on the back. “He’s the only prepper anyway. So what say you, Erik? Do we run? Or, in your expert opinion, should we conserve our energy?”

Erik sighed.

“See? Our leader has spoken.”

Chris rolled his eyes. “Fine. We walk. For now. But don’t think for a minute I’m following either one of you.”

“I don’t care as long as I don’t have to run.” John turned to Erik. “Right, buddy?”

“Shut up, John.” Erik walked ahead and joined Chris, leaving John to trail behind.

* * *

“Skis and snowshoes. Pogo sticks. Rollerblades. Those awesome boats with the big fans on the back. Jet packs.”

“Jet packs aren’t real,” Erik said.

“Fine. Jet skis. Zip lines. I’m telling you, everything that has been invented that’s any good was invented so we didn’t have to run anymore. But people still like to run. Because people are stupid.”

“I’d hardly call what you’re doing running, John.”

“Would you two hurry?” Chris shouted from up ahead.

“You suck,” John shouted back. “Those tricycles with the giant wheels that you can ride into the ocean.”

Chris rolled his eyes so hard that the two men could see it from down the road. He stopped and waited for the two men to catch up. “What now?”

“What do you mean what now? I can’t keep running like this,” John said. “I couldn’t keep running at this pace even if you two hadn’t hogtied me and beat my toe with a baseball bat. I couldn’t keep this pace up even if there was a bloodthirsty mob after me.”

“There is a bloodthirsty mob after you, idiot.”

“See?” John sat down. “I was right. I mean, how far have we run? Twenty miles?”

“Maybe two,” Erik said.

“Really? But we’ve been running for hours.”

Chris sighed. “We’ve been running for twenty minutes.”

John sat down. “God, this sucks.”

“We voted, remember. Half an hour run. Half an hour walk. I want to get to my family.”

“So do I, but I can’t show up looking like some running fitness freak. They’d never recognize me. We have to slow down.”

Chris stabbed a finger at John. “You voted.”

“Yeah, but I also voted to walk first and was going to change my vote when it came time to run.”

Chris threw up his arms and turned away. He turned back and began to shout. “You have got to be the laziest piece ...”

John laid back on the blacktop and took a deep breath. “Democracy has failed us all.”

“John is right, Chris.” Erik kept his voice low. “Look, we did some running like you wanted. We covered some ground, but we simply won’t be able to fight or run if we’re exhausted. Let’s take it easy and just make sure we get there.”

“Fine,” Chris huffed and walked on slower than before. “Let’s go.”

John stood up slowly. “Seriously, how have we not seen any cars?”

“We chose this road because there wouldn’t be many people on it.”

“But none? That’s pretty creepy if you ask me.”

“Would you rather it be filled with zombies?”

“No, you make a good point about the zombies.”

“The sun’s starting to set. If we don’t find something soon ...” Erik said. “Just keep your eyes open for a house off to the side of the road. There’s got to be a farmhouse or something.”

“You want to steal a tractor?”

Erik smiled. “Maybe someone can give us a ride?”

“A hayride?”

“A ride. Or lend us a car, or ...”

“Or maybe they’re zombies and we can just take their car,” John said. “That’s what you were going to say. Isn’t it?”

Erik nodded, “Or maybe that.”

“Erik Peterson, you would steal from a farmer? The salt of the Earth? The hard-working American?”

“I ...”

“That’s low.” John smiled.

“Shut up, John.”

“Guys. Get up here.” Chris had not slowed and in fact began to jog when he reached the foot of a hill. Now, he was at the top of the hill and pointing up the road.

“Do you think we should run?” John asked.

Erik sighed, “Probably, or he’ll start complaining again.”

“Maybe if we just made it look like we were jogging. You know? Just bend our arms and swing them a little farther.”

“It’s worth a try.”

Chris paced the top of the hill casting glances to his neighbors below and up ahead. “Do you guys have any idea how stupid you look when you run?” he asked as Erik and John walked but “looked like jogging” to the top of the hill a minute later.

John smiled inside and asked, “What is it?”

Chris pointed up the road, “I found a car.”

John looked to the bottom of the hill and took a deep breath. “Well, that’s a stupid place to leave a train.”

27

At the bottom of the hill, the road straightened for about a mile before it intersected with a rail line. From the looks of the cars piled up, the traffic itself had intersected with the train. East of the road, the train had derailed and spilled freight containers down the scree of the tracks. The engine was beyond view, hidden by the woods on the side of the road, and the rest of the train disappeared to the west.

The backup was a mile deep and extended far off the road. Drivers had shot down the easement trying to reach the end of the train to continue on their way. Judging by the number of abandoned cars, there was no way around.

Erik dropped his shoulder and let the shotgun sling slide down his arm. “Maybe there’s a car on the other side.”

“What are you saying?” John asked.

“We stay quiet and we hurry.” Erik checked the shotgun’s chamber. “Don’t shoot unless you have to.” Erik started walking.

“Wait, why don’t we go around?” John asked.

Erik swept his hand along the visible length of the train. “There is no around, John. There’s only through.”

“Wait a minute. Chris, don’t you ...” John looked to his neighbor.

Chris had readied his shotgun as well. “No. I don’t. Let’s go.” He nodded to Erik and the pair began walking towards the pileup.

John pulled the shotgun from his back, pretended he knew what he was looking at somewhere around the chamber and walked after them. He didn’t speak again until he had caught up with them. “We could double back and find another road.”

“That’s just more walking, John,” Chris said. “And we know how much you love walking.”

John groaned. Walking sucked enough without the pain in his toes, but walking through a traffic jam of the, most likely, undead made him consider the scenic route. “But, what if there are zombies in there?”

Erik shushed him. “That’s why we’re being quiet. Remember?”

Chris’s eyes were locked on the road ahead. “We’ll be through it soon enough. If we don’t make any noise, we should be fine.” He looked back at John. “You should probably practice shutting up now.”

“This is stupid.”

Erik and Chris rolled their eyes, put their fingers to their lips and pressed on.

John followed. Each step sucked and brought them closer to the mass of cars. There was no telling how long they had been there. No hazard lights flashed. No engines ran. Each was silent in the most horrifying way. Had the occupants given up and chosen to walk? Had they been turned into zombies and wandered off? Or did the monsters lie in wait? Could zombies lie in wait? He didn’t know. They didn’t seem too into ambushes. But, for creatures that stank like rotting meat and had a propensity to wheeze, they were surprisingly good at sneaking up on people.

The trio reached the line of cars. Chris and Erik paused. John could tell they knew now that this was a stupid idea. He could see it in their hesitation. He was about to make his “let’s walk around” case again. Being this close to the scariness would give it more weight. Before he could speak the two men nodded to one another and moved into the traffic.

He could easily back out. He could double back, cut across a field ahead of the train and rejoin them on the road farther down. He could take care of himself. He would be fine. But, would they be fine? Days ago he wouldn’t be thinking like this. He wouldn’t have hesitated to go his own way. John sighed and followed his neighbors.

The sun was setting on the other side of the train. Fading light broke through the shipping containers and cast long shadows over the cars and trucks that sat dead before it. The three men kept their eyes on the road ahead while casting only quick glances into the vehicles they passed to ensure they were empty.

Maybe the crowd had continued on foot—abandoned their cars, scaled the train and walked on. That would mean no zombies, and no zombies would be great.

A crash sounded up ahead and the three men crouched. Chris and Erik put their backs against a car and peered over the hood.

Walking sucked but waddling in a crouched position was even worse. John’s calves began to ache immediately and for a moment he considered crawling on all fours. He hurried to catch up with the other men.

Chris kept his eyes forward but held up his hand and signaled for John to stop. John stopped. Chris waved for John to get lower. John crouched lower. Chris waved his hand farther to the ground. John put his elbows on the ground and stretched his legs out until he was lying down. Warmed from the day’s sun, the smell of asphalt crept into his nose and caused it to wrinkle.

Chris turned toward him with a grin. His waving hand turned into a middle finger and the grin turned into a smile.

John huffed and stood back into a crouch. He waddled up behind Chris and whispered, “Dick.”

Chris just smiled and moved forward.

The crash had turned into a clattering. Metal banged against metal as if someone was rummaging through a pile of scrap or dragging a pole against the bodies of the cars. Staying close to the vehicles and hidden from sight, the three men moved on. A larger crash stopped them.

John peeked above the hood of a car. The noise was coming from a school bus a hundred feet ahead of them. He could see people moving, but the light was fading too fast to tell if they were alive or dead. John crouched back below the car. “There’re people up there.”

“Are they alive?” Chris asked.

“I couldn’t tell,” John said. “It used to be a lot easier to tell the difference. I think maybe they’re scrounging through the luggage, so they must be alive. What would a zombie need with a change of clothes?”

Erik thought for a moment and spit on the ground. “They’re probably looters. It never fails. In any disaster, man shows his most base qualities. We turn into animals of greed and lawlessness.”

“We were going to steal a car.”

“That’s different.”

“How is that different?”

“It doesn’t matter how it is. It just is. I’m going to stop them.”

Chris put a hand on Erik’s arm. “Slow down, Batman. If they’re messing with the luggage, we’ll just sneak by. There’s no reason to go all vigilante on strangers. They could be more dangerous than the zombies.”

Erik stood up.

“Dude.” John stopped him. “It sounds like there’s a lot of them.”

“I’m just going to scare them. That’s all. If you’re willing to let the world go to hell, just stay here.”

John sat back against the car. “I’m willing.”

Chris cocked his head. “Come on, man.”

Erik shook his head and crawled along the edge of the car. He disappeared around an SUV.

Chris sighed, “We should go.”

“Why?”

Chris sighed and nodded. “Don’t you think we should at least have his back?”

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.”

Chris shifted the gun in his hand. “Come on, John.”

John pushed himself up from the car and waddled behind Chris to the edge of the SUV.

Chris pointed to the left side of the truck. “We should split up.”

“Of course, because if cartoons have taught me anything it’s that splitting up is the best thing you can always do.”

“Just go that way. We’ll have him covered from both sides.” Chris moved to his right.

John followed.

“I said split up.”

“I said that’s stupid. Or did you not get the sarcasm in the cartoons comment.”

“Dammit, John. Go left.”

John shrugged and went to the left of the SUV. Chris went to the right. They met at the front of the SUV.

Chris backhanded him across the shoulder. “John.”

“I’m not splitting up.”

Chris sighed, “Just make sure that thing doesn’t go off in my back.” He made his way through the cars with John at his heels. They passed several more empty cars until they could see Erik again.

Their neighbor was crouched by a pickup near the school bus. The banging got louder and began to come from more than a couple of directions. Luggage was spilled all over the ground, but each bag was unopened.

“These guys are terrible looters. All the good stuff would be in the bags.”

“Shut up, John. Something’s not right.”

“Oh, is this apocalypse not going how you planned?”

“Shut up. We’ve got to warn Erik. Something is wrong. These aren’t looters.”

Erik stood and rested the shotgun on the bed of the pickup truck before yelling. “Excuse me! This is no way to behave.”

From their position, they couldn’t see what Erik saw, but they did see his face transition from confident do-gooder to frightened little child. They also saw him mouth the words, “Oh shit,” before he turned and ran back to the two men.

He passed right by them and they had to wave him back. Erik collapsed between the two of them and grit his teeth while inhaling sharply. “My bad.”

“Not looters?” John asked.

“Worse. Band nerds.”

28

John and Chris peered over the top of the hood of the car. Fifty members of an undead high school marching band stared back at them. The costumes that weren’t covered in the blood of other motorists gleamed in the late evening light. They didn’t roam like the other zombies the men had seen. For the most part they stood still and, where space would permit it, they lined up next to one another.

Instruments hung from harnesses and dangled at their sides. The brass clanged against car bodies as those zombies that did move struggled to get in formation.

Their dead eyes had seen Chris and now searched the traffic jam for his new location.

The band leader spotted the men peering over the car and began to move. Step for step, the undead band moved with her toward the three men.

The two men dropped behind the car and John pulled the shotgun tight across his chest. “That is so creepy.”

Erik was trying to apologize but nothing came out.

Chris put his hand on Erik’s shoulder and nodded his understanding. “Yes, that was stupid.”

The steady march of the undead band grew louder. The solid thud of fifty feet and the resulting jangle of instruments told the men that they were moving quickly.

“Why would they have their instruments?” Erik asked.

“I have a theory about that,” John said.

“Really?” Chris asked. “Already?”

“Yes. I think they were probably doing the whole Titanic bit. Playing while the ship goes down kind of thing. But it was a marching band so the zombies just killed them because marching band music sucks.”

“Shut up, John,” Chris said.

“What do we do?” Erik asked.

Chris answered. “Run. Double back. John’s plan.”

“No.” John had a grit in his voice the men had never heard though they could tell he was using it to cover panic. “We’d never outrun them. That’s all these kids do is march. March and play all day long. It’s not like they have girlfriends or anything.”

Chris snapped. “I was in marching band, asshole.”

“And ...”

“Okay. You’re probably right.”

John looked at the shotgun is his hands. “Their stamina has got to be insane. They’d march us down in no time.”

“So what are you saying?” Erik asked. “Stand our ground?”

“No. We run. But we make for the train. We’ll go over and leave the color guard here to march in circles.”

“John. Are you sure about this?” Chris asked.

He nodded. “It can’t end this way. Not with a marching band. There’s no way my tomb will say ‘Here lies John. He was eaten by a flutist.’”

“It’s flautist,” Erik corrected him.

“You know stupid things.”

Erik dropped his head.

John gave up whispering. His voice rose to match that of coaches he’d seen give inspiring halftime speeches. “We’ve got this. Over the cars. Over the train. And on to the camp. Let’s show these geeks we’re not afraid of them.” John stood and pointed the shotgun into the crowd before screaming, “Oh shit, they got really close.” He pulled the trigger and the shotgun bucked in his hands.

Erik jumped as a pith helmet landed at his feet. A moment later a feather fluttered to the ground next to him.

John fired again and leapt onto the hood of the car. He screamed and charged forward, leaping from one car to the next.

Erik and Chris jumped to their feet and followed onto the hood.

John charged ahead. Over the roof and across the hood of one car and on to the trunk of a sedan. The cars shook beneath his movements. Chris and Erik followed.

“Chris.”

“Yes, Erik?”

“We’re following John.”

“I won’t say he’s probably right if you don’t.”

“Deal.”

A clarinet player reached for John. He kicked it in the head and sent the helmet flying into the crowd of zombies. The clarinet player grabbed his ankle and pulled him to the top of the trunk. John kicked again and sent the creature falling back into the zombie lines. He rolled over and dove onto the roof, slid down the windshield and jumped the roof of a hatchback.

The marching band turned as one to pursue him across the top of the traffic jam. Chris and Erik followed the path set by their neighbor. Only occasionally did they have to fire. Every undead eye was on John as he sprung from car to car.

The constant stomping of the band provided him with a solid beat and he quickly fell into a rhythm that took over several cars. The raised gate of a pickup broke this stride as he had to step carefully around the contents.

John fired in to the crowd and a drummer fell to the ground. He glanced up and yelled, “Hurry up, you two.”

The thick hands of a tuba player grabbed Erik’s ankle. He fired. Most of the shot went into the monster’s head. The rest went into the tuba and spun down the brass instrument.

Chris shot at a drummer as he stepped to the next car. They were moving fast across the pileup. The train was getting closer.

They watched John jump to the top of an SUV.

Chris fired into a group of what he now knew to be flautists and looked back. John was gone.

“Where’d he go?”

Erik had been distracted by the approaching color guard. “I don’t know. He was just there.”

“John?!”

The shotgun emerged first and was soon followed by the top half of John’s body. He pointed towards the ground and yelled, “Stupid sunroof is open! Watch your step.”

John scrambled from the cabin of the SUV as two band members crawled up the hood. John saw them, shot one and bashed the other back to the ground.

Chris and Erik leapt to the roof and grabbed John under the arms. They pulled him free of the vehicle’s cabin and jumped down to the hood.

They looked back. Scurrying over the traffic jam had given them a decent lead on the band. They still struggled to form ranks and they still marched on, but the three men had a clear path to the train. They dropped to the ground and ran down the length of the train.

Erik turned and watched as the band turned away from the cars and began marching towards the train, their feet beating a horrifying rhythm into the air. “They’re annoying even without their instruments.”

“Get up the ladder,” John said. “I’ll hold them off.”

“You?”

“Just get up there and cover me!”

Chris grabbed the rusted steel of the freight car’s ladder and climbed past graffiti and stenciled markings to the top of the car. He rolled onto the roof and rushed back to the edge.

Erik scrambled up the ladder and joined him, firing into the crowd as they shouted at John to come up.

John slung the shotgun over his shoulder and grabbed the ladder. The marching band had reached the freight car and the shotgun blasts were doing little to hold the performance back. He pulled himself up the ladder as hands of the undead grabbed at his feet.

One seized his ankle and pulled his feet free from the rung. His arms jarred and his hands ached as his weight crashed down on his shoulders. But he held. He spun around and kicked at the band nerd that had his ankle with his free foot, knocking the plumed helmet from its head.

“Come on, John!”

John spun back around and found his footing. He shot up the ladder and pulled himself on top of the freight car. Erik grabbed John’s belt and helped pull him to the roof.

“Nice work, John,” Erik said.

John was out of breath but still managed to flatter himself. John stumbled to the other side of the train car. His legs had been driven by adrenaline and it had gone as quickly as it came. “Yeah, it was easy. Now all we have to do is drop down the other side and go.” He looked down at the road ahead. “Well, shit.”

The mass of zombies on the northern end of the road could fill the uniforms of three marching bands. As much traffic had been heading south as north and the undead motorists were lined up across the base of the train.

Chris stomped the roof of the train car. “Oh, what the hell? Why are they there?”

Erik looked over the edge into the crowd of undead. “Maybe they were trying to help the people on this side of the train.”

Chris backed away from the edge. “Well that was a terrible idea. What do we do now?”

“Let’s stop and think about this.” John sat. “At least we’re safe up here.”

Erik pulled off his backpack, removed a box of shells and began feeding them into the shotgun. “We could see where the train takes us.”

“It’s derailed, smart guy,” John said. “This train’s not going anywhere.”

“I mean walk down the cars, smart-ass.”

“Oh.”

John looked to the back of the train. The cars stretched on forever and disappeared around a bend. “How long is this thing?”

“Could be miles,” Erik said.

Chris shot back, “Then that could be miles out of our way.”

John shrugged. “Forward and back are off the table. We’re going to have to go around.”

Chris stomped the roof again and walked to the far end of the car.

John leaned back on his hands and shouted to his neighbor. “Look at it this way, Chris. At least up here it’s zombie free.”

The hand that reached around John’s neck didn’t look like the hand of irony. It looked like the arm of a teenage girl. Slender and toned with only a few festering sores, the lithe arm pulled John onto his back and began to drag him to the ladder.

Chris rushed across the roof. “Oh shit, they’re climbing!”

Erik dropped the shotgun, dove to the ground and grabbed John’s feet, as his head was pulled free of the car.

“You see, Erik?” John squealed. “You see? This is why you don’t call them walkers.”

“Shut up, John.” Erik pulled John towards him.

“Because now you’ve got walkers climbing all over the place surprising people like me.”

Chris arrived and swung the shotgun at the head of zombie teen. The strike knocked her from the ladder and sent her falling into the marching band.

Erik groaned as he pulled John back onto the roof of the car.

John adopted a high-pitched and whiney voice. “We should call them walkers. Because they’re walking.”

Erik panted. “I’m pretty sure that if you stopped talking, bad things would stop happening. Everything you say is like a segue for disaster.”

The blast from Chris’s shotgun sent another band member back down into the crowd. “They’re not stopping.”

“We should run then.” John stood up and started running.

Erik was close behind him.

Chris pulled the trigger again but the firing pin landed on an empty chamber. Chris swore, slung the shotgun over his back and chased after the two men.

The creatures reached the top of the ladder and stepped onto the roof. Shaky legs and rotted joints sent many of them tumbling back to the ground but others found their footing and began to pursue.

“Run!” Chris shouted as he passed the other two men and leapt to the neighboring car.

Erik and John picked up speed. John closed his eyes as he leapt the distance between the cars.

“That was easier than it looked in the movies,” John said as he and Erik landed safely on the other side.

“The train isn’t moving, stupid.”

“But they are.” Chris pointed to the side of the car.

John ran closer to the edge and saw the horde moving along the side of the train and filling the ladders as they went. The swarm was coming for them.

John cast a glance back. The monsters on top of the train were having trouble clearing the gap between cars. They could walk, they could run and they could climb, but they kind of just fell over the gaps. Many fell between the cars, but a few fell forward far enough to gain the other side. It slowed them down enough for the men to take a lead but they still continued their pursuit.

Up ahead, undead hands began to top the ladders. Erik drew his shotgun and prepared to fire should any get to the roof before they passed. “We’re going to run out of train soon.”

The line formed by the train cars began to curve and the men rushed around the gentle bend in the tracks. They leapt several cars before the train began to straighten again.

Chris saw it first and pointed ahead. Raising his arm threw off his balance and he found himself running close to the edge of the car.

More creatures came from the woods and scrambled up the scree to the train. They were everywhere.

Chris moved back to the middle of the car and shouted, “Up there.”

Erik nodded, “I see it. Hurry.”

John looked ahead as well. “What? The bridge? Oh, no ... there’s no way.”

They ran on and cleared a dozen more cars before they reached the bridge.

John cringed as the ground fell away and was replaced by a forty-foot drop to the water below.

Chris ran to the middle of the trestle and waved his friends on. It was the first time he had looked back in a while. The horde on top of the train was thick with zombies. Their ranks filled the top of an entire freight car. Their numbers were so thick that many spilled over the side as the fresher and faster zombies forced their way through the throng.

The sheer mass of creatures had also made crossing the cars easier for the zombies as spilled bodies formed bridges for the others to trample over.

Chris pointed to the mob. “Hurry up, guys!”

Erik slowed and turned. The horde was a few cars back but gaining fast. He raised the shotgun.

John ran to the car at the center of the bridge and stood next to Chris. He looked down at the river and back to his neighbor. “You’re nuts. And stupid.”

“Jump!” Chris pointed to the river below. It looked deep enough but there could be anything beneath the surface.

“That’s forty feet!”

“It’s more like fifty. Jump!” Chris put his hand on John’s back.

“Hey!” John jumped back from the edge. “I could have fell!”

“Either way you’re in the water!”

“Don’t push me!”

Erik yelled back to the two men. “Go!”

Chris leapt from the car.

John tried to count how many seconds it was before Chris hit the water but Erik started shooting again and he lost count somewhere around one. When he looked back to the water all he saw was the remains of a splash.

“Jump, John!” Erik fired again as the horde growled and hissed its way onto their car.

John backed up, took a deep breath, ran to the edge and then stopped. “Oh, fuck thi ...” John turned from the edge as Erik tackled him across the chest. The two men fell from the edge of the train into nothingness.

He still wasn’t sure how long it took to hit the water, but John did have enough time to say, “Oh, you’re a bastard.”

29

At some point during their plummet, Erik shoved John away and the two hit the water separately. It hurt. The impact forced John’s chin into his chest and he felt the current sweep him down river before he could even determine which side was up.

The weight of the shotgun and the Batman backpack made swimming harder than he remembered. Rolled by the current, he struggled to straighten out and swim. He quickly found forward and back but couldn’t find up. His lungs ached for a breath as he pulled his hands through the water trying to find the surface. The strokes weren’t well formed and soon he began grabbing more than swimming. There was no way to tell how fast he was moving, but the current was definitely forcing him downriver.

A finger broke the surface and he pulled frantically to get his head above the water. The thrashing paid off and he finally got his mouth above the surface. A desperate breath drew in as much river as air. He coughed it back out and slipped back under the surface. One last kick put him back on top and in some manner of control. He wiped his eyes and looked around for Chris and Erik.

Looking downriver he saw nothing but night. He looked back up the river. The horde had reached the train car the men had leapt from and were now spilling off of the bridge. Their hisses continued as they fell to the water. Those that weren’t crowded off the train car simply walked off the edge in pursuit of the three men.

Erik broke the surface next to him and looked back at the bridge. “Let’s hope they can’t swim.”

John tried to punch Erik but fell back under the water. He came up swearing. “You could have warned me.”

“There wasn’t time.”

“You just tackled me off a fifty-foot bridge! I could have died.”

“Yeah. That was fun.”

“I hate you.”

“Okay. Where’s Chris?”

“I don’t know. I was falling. Remember? Because, you’re a bastard. Remember?”

Erik tried to peer downriver as John watched the falling horde. Each creature landed with a tremendous splash as they dove with poor form. They didn’t surface. They didn’t bob. They just sank.

“Do you think they can drown?” John asked.

Erik looked back at the cascading zombies. “I doubt it.”

“But the moaning ... they must breathe.”

“If they can survive anything short of a blow to the head, I doubt they need to breathe. It’s probably just a reflex or something they do purely out of memory. Kind of like the marching band.”

“So you think they’re just walking along the bottom of the river?”

“Or being dragged by the current.”

John had never been comfortable swimming in open water. Fish creeped him out. The idea of creatures that he couldn’t see brushing up against him made him uncomfortable. When declining invitations to the lake he would often site alligator sightings or the rare piranha caught in a local lake. There was a fish from South America that was chomping people’s junk off in Norway. He knew these were isolated incidents but, still, he preferred pools. Now, the thought of a hundred or more cannibals walking the riverbed beneath him all but caused him to panic. “That’s ... I want to get out of the river.”

“Guys!” Chris’s voice sounded distant but they could tell it came from downriver.

A bend in the river caused an increase in the current and the two men felt themselves pulled toward Chris’s voice. They rounded the bend and saw Chris hanging from the anchor line of a trawler. He spotted them and waved them over. The current made reaching the boat easy.

Chris pointed to the boat. “I found a boat.”

Erik swam up next to the hull. He couldn’t reach the gunwale. “Is there anyone on board?”

“I’ve been calling for help for the last few minutes. No one answered.”

“Must be abandoned,” John guessed. “So that would make it our boat.”

John knew the look Erik gave him. His wife used the same look whenever he asked for seconds at home. With one glance she conveyed, “it’s a terrible idea, but I know you’re going to do it anyway, so why argue, just know that I disapprove, fatty.”

“You want to swim to Greenville?” John asked.

Erik sighed and grabbed the anchor line. He pulled himself halfway out of the water before falling back in. He tried again and tried to place his feet on the hull for support but it was too far away. He went under when he fell and popped up a second later. “I can’t do it.”

“Wuss,” John muttered.

“Yeah? You try it, John.”

“Fine, I will. I’ll have you know that I held the fastest time on the twenty-foot rope climb back in high school.”

“Oh yeah? What was your time?” Erik swam out of the way and let John on the rope.

“His time was twenty-five years ago.”

“Shut up, Chris.” John attempted three climbs and each was more unsuccessful and embarrassing than the last.

“Move, John.” Chris grabbed the anchor line again and pulled himself out of the water. His feet cleared the top of the river and he began to slip. He tightened his grip until his hands ached and locked his legs around the rope. It stopped his descent and he was able to worm his way up to the edge of the boat. He reached out and grabbed the lip of the bow. He let go with his legs and hung off the side of the boat.

Erik smiled. “You made it! Now what?”

Chris kicked his leg out and tried to catch it on the bow but the day’s walking, swimming, zombie fighting and a general aversion to stretching his entire adult life had taken its toll on his flexibility. He couldn’t lift his leg far enough to catch the gunwale and the momentum of the miss almost pulled him back into the river. His hands were slipping. He didn’t have the energy left for another climb, if he didn’t make it this time the three men would have to swim away from a perfectly good boat. His left hand slipped.

A hand reached out from the boat and caught it. He kicked his leg over the bow and used it to support most of his weight.

The hand that caught his began to squeeze. Another hand just like it appeared over the bow holding a large revolver. The barrel touched against Chris’s head and he froze. A large bearded face appeared a moment later and spoke. “Say something.”

“Uh ... I like your boat?”

The man on board dropped the gun, grabbed Chris by his jeans and rolled him onto the deck.

The stranger stood in front of the setting sun. Chris couldn’t see his face or anything but the outline of a large man.

“You and your friends don’t know much about boats, do you?” The shadow stepped around Chris and leaned over the bow. “There’s a ladder around the back, boys. Welcome aboard the Darling Dear.”

John’s whisper floated from the river to the deck of the boat. “That’s a stupid name for a boat.”

“Shut up and swim, John.” Erik swam around the hull of the boat and found the ladder the stranger had mentioned. He pulled himself from the water and stepped onto the deck.

Chris and the boat’s owner joined them as John climbed the ladder.

The older man helped John onto the deck. “I named her after my wife. I guess most people do. Probably because their wives expect it.”

Chris stood behind him.

Erik took the stranger’s offered hand. “Thank you.”

The stranger sighed with a smile. “All wives want to be Nefertiti, don’t they?”

“I think they voted against that.”

“You must be John.”

“Yes? How’d you ...”

“Chris told me you were an idiot.”

John said nothing.

“Nefertiti? Queen of Egypt? She went up and down the Nile on a big boat.”

Chris put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s really not worth it, Tim. Thanks for letting us on.”

Tim’s voice was deep and rough either due to his thick build or a cold he appeared to be fighting. He coughed often and wore a sweater that seemed thick for the warm season. “Ah, well. Welcome aboard. What were you boys doing in the water?”

“Running.” Erik upended the shotgun and shook the water from the barrel. “Those things cornered us on a bridge.”

“Disgusting things. I can’t really tell if they’ve turned into monsters or just let man’s true nature out. What do you boys think?”

The three men looked to each other for an answer. They found none.

“Okay. I’ll ask you an easier question. Would you boys like a beer?”

* * *

The four men sat around a small dinette table in the trawler’s main cabin. Getting in had not been easy. Each man had to sit then scoot around to make room for the next. Once in, they sat shoulder to shoulder wrapped in towels that Tim had pulled from below deck.

Erik sat across from John and watched as the man pulled the tab back on a can of beer. “John, do you really think you should be drinking?”

John held the beer at his lips. “I don’t know how else to be on a boat.”

Tim lifted the lid of a small cooler. “The beer’s cold, son.”

“It’s not that. I appreciate the offer.”

Tim pulled a can from the chest and closed the lid. “More for us. Right, John?”

John smiled and took another swig.

“It’s just that those things are still out there in the river and if they show up I don’t want to be drunk.”

“We’re safe out here.” Tim raised his own beer to his lips but set it back on the table as a coughing fit overtook him. In the middle of the fit he began pointing to the river. Finally he managed to say, “They can’t swim. I’ve been watching them since this whole thing started. Never seen one swim. All they do is walk.”

“And climb,” John added.

Erik nodded. “Exactly. They could climb up the anchor line.”

“You couldn’t climb up the anchor line,” Tim opened the cooler as Erik began to argue. “And I pulled up the ladder.”

Erik sighed and put his hand out.

Tim filled it with a beer. “There you go.”

Chris nursed his own drink, savoring the cold more than the alcohol. “How long have you been out on the river, Tim?”

“About four months now, I guess.”

Chris set down his beer. “Four months? You live out here?”

“Are you one of those ...” John couldn’t think of the word, “hermits?”

“No. I’m a looper.”

“Is that an old people thing we don’t know about?” John asked.

Tim laughed, “No. The great loop is a course around the eastern part of the country. Rivers connect it all together. You can boat from Houston to Ottawa and barely put any saltwater on the hull.”

“So it’s kind of like RVing for fishermen?”

“My wife and I were always history buffs. We always talked about selling everything, buying a boat and doing the great loop when we had a chance. She thought it would be a great way to see the country. You know, a nice way to spend our golden years.”

“Like Nefertiti,” John smiled.

Tim smiled back. “There you go, John. You’re a quick learner.”

“When can we meet the queen?” John asked and was instantly kicked in the shin. He didn’t know who did it.

Tim looked down at his beer. “No. No, she’s gone.”

“Zombies?” Erik asked.

“No. Cancer. A few years ago.”

The three men at the table didn’t know what to say. For a moment, in this world where everything was trying to eat you, it was easy to forget that there were still horrors in the world beside zombies.

“Anyway, after she passed I sat around. Literally, I just sat around. After a while I couldn’t sit and stare at our walls anymore. There were too many memories. Doing the great loop seemed like the thing to do. So I sold everything, bought this boat and set sail. Just like we planned. I used to always call her Darling Dear.”

“What did she call you?” John asked.

The old man smiled, “Tim.”

John nodded. “Fitting.”

“It was. It really was.”

The uncomfortable silence returned. John and Chris glanced at Erik to make sure he was okay.

Tim noticed their concern and broke the silence. “But, if she could see me today ...” he stood up and crossed the cabin. He returned wearing a white hat with gold leaf embroidered on the brim. “She’d have to call me Captain Tim.” Tim put his hands on his hips and stuck out his chest.

The three men chuckled and Tim joined them before a coughing fit overtook him. He sat back down and placed the hat on the table. “This damn cold.”

Chris leaned back in the bench. “So where is this ship headed, Captain?”

“Nowhere in particular. I figured I might as well just continue the loop.”

“How far does it go?”

“Canada.”

“Really.” John finished his beer and set the empty can on the table. “That far?”

“Yep, up the Erie Canal across the great lakes, all the way to Ottawa if the locks are still working. I might set anchor there for a while and ride this thing out.”

“Why Canada?”

Tim shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any.”

“There’re going to be zombies there, too, you know.” Erik had barely touched his own drink and his voice now was anything but cheerful.

“Yeah, but I figure they’ll still be Canadians and might be too polite to bite.” Tim started to laugh at his own joke but lost it in another cough.

Chris smiled. “Have you got family up there?”

Tim shook his head. “My Darling Dear was my family.”

“Friends?”

“No. I was never too big on friends. Or other people, for that matter.”

John raised his beer. “Here, here.”

Tim did not return the toast. “No. Let me tell you this. You don’t get to be my age without having a few regrets. My biggest was not having more friends. I always found other people annoying. They’d just get excited about the dumbest stuff and it was easier to not be around them than it was to humor them, you know. But, now, and really since my wife died, I wished I put up with their crap enough then to have someone to talk to now.

“Like you guys. You’ve got each other to depend on. I can tell you weren’t thrown together in all this. You’ve been friends for a while. Haven’t you?”

No one answered.

Tim continued, “You can build what you think is the perfect life without anybody’s help, but if that life comes crashing down ... well. It would just be nice to have somewhere to go besides Canada.”

John looked at his empty beer for a moment. He felt Chris’s eyes on him and he refused to look up. After a moment he began to spin the empty can. Tim took note and dug into the cooler for another cold beer. He set it in front of John. John said thanks and pulled back the top but did not lift it off the table.

“Well that’s enough about me and my great escape plan. Where are you headed?”

Chris sat forward and put his elbows on the table. “Greenville.”

Tim shook his head. “Never heard of it. But I’m not from here.”

“The government has a refugee camp there. That’s where we were headed when the zombies chased us into the river.”

“Do you think that’s best? I don’t know how much I’d trust the government to keep me safe.” Tim ended the statement with a cough and hack. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his mouth.

“It doesn’t matter. My family is there.”

Tim nodded, “Then that’s where you should be. We’ll check the charts and we’ll see how close the Darling Dear can get you to the town and we’ll head out in the morning.”

John looked up from the beer. “Thank you, Tim.”

“It’s my pleasure.” Tim grabbed the hat from the table and set it on his head. “And it’s my duty as a captain.”

Chris and John smiled.

Tim’s voice boomed in the small cabin, “I, Captain Tim, will reunite you with your loved ones that you may finish out your days in their warm embrace.”

Chris saluted. “Thank you, Captain.”

John raised his beer again. “To Captain Tim.”

Chris raised his beer as well. “To Captain Tim and his Darling Dear.”

Tim raised his drink, “Thank you, boys.”

“Your Darling Dear would be proud of you,” John said and they all drank.

Tim tossed the empty can in a trashcan and sighed. It was a moment before he spoke. “I watched her die for so many years. To watch someone die like that. To fade away. To see them in constant pain. It’s ... Watching the person you’ve loved most in the world just being eaten by something so sinister and uncaring ... I’ll get you back to your families. And I want you to make the most of everyday you have with them.”

Erik excused himself and left the cabin.

“What’s with him?” Tim asked.

“It’s ...” Chris started but couldn’t find the words to finish.

“What’s he so upset about? It was my wife that died.”

John picked up the can. “He recently lost someone as well.”

“Cancer?”

“Zombies. They’re still alive—undead, I’m not sure how that works— and he’s hoping for a cure.”

“Oh.” Tim sat back in his chair. “Unfortunately that’s something I know all about. Do you think I should go talk to him?”

Chris ignored John, “No, just give him some time.”

Tim nodded and sat quiet for a moment before a chill overtook him. He pulled the sweater tighter around his neck. He coughed again a pulled the handkerchief from his pocket.

Chris looked at him with cocked head. “Are you sure you’re okay, Tim?”

“Just a stupid cold. I’ve got enough food on this boat for months but I forgot to stock up on the Nyquil. I’ll get over it soon enough.”

The boat lurched and the three men grabbed the table. It lurched again and began to drift.

“What’s going on?” John asked.

Tim stood from the table. “Someone’s tugging on the anchor.”

“Zombies?” Chris guessed.

“Could be someone else in need of help,” Tim stood and rushed out the cabin door.

John and Chris began to scoot their way out from behind the tight table. It was going to take a minute.

* * *

Erik pulled on the line and felt the weight of the anchor climb through the water. The first two tugs had pulled it from the riverbed, now he collected the rope.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, son?” Tim rushed across the deck of the boat.

Erik pulled the line hand over hand until the anchor broke the surface.

Tim reached around him and grabbed Erik’s wrists. He shook them like a baby’s until he dropped the rope and the anchor began to slide back into the water.

“No.” Erik grabbed the rope again. “We’ve got to keep going.”

“This boat doesn’t go anywhere till the captain says. And that’s me. Remember the hat?”

“You don’t understand.”

Tim tried to grab the rope. Erik moved out of the way.

“Listen. It’s too dangerous at night. I’m not going to risk running the Darling Dear aground because you’re in a hurry. That’s not going to do your friends any good.”

Tears filled Erik’s eyes and he sniffled as he spoke. “I couldn’t protect them. Don’t you get it? I couldn’t save my family. I thought I was ready for anything, but I wasn’t. I’ve lost them. But, I can save theirs. I can save them. If we hurry. We have to go now.”

“Son, I understand. I do. But, this is not how you help.” Tim chased him around the deck until he cornered him in the bow and grabbed Erik’s wrists.

Tim was strong despite his age and questionable health. Erik looked at the hands that held his wrists. “Tim. You’re burning up.”

“I told you I had a cold. And standing out here isn’t going to make it any better. Now, please, let go of the rope.”

Chris stepped onto the deck having heard the argument. “Erik, it’s okay. We can wait until the morning.”

Erik looked at his friend. John stood behind him nodding his agreement. Erik let go of the rope and the anchor dropped back into the water. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

“It’s okay. I understand. I really do.” Tim coughed and doubled over. Again he produced the handkerchief and covered his mouth. This fit lasted longer than the others and it was a few moments before he stood and walked back to the cabin. He passed between Chris and John and stopped. “Now, if you all don’t mind, I haven’t had a good night’s sleep all week. That’s probably how I got this stupid cold. One of you keep an eye on that anchor.” He pointed across the deck and the sweater rose up on his arm. “Make sure it stays in the water and that nothing crawls up it.”

“I thought you said they couldn’t climb up it.”

Tim tugged his sleeves back over his wrists. “I’ve been wrong before. Just keep an eye out. Everything should be fine.”

Chris nodded. “Sure thing, Tim.”

“Of course,” John said. “Thanks again, Tim.”

“No, thank you. I’m going to sleep like the dead.”

The three men replied in unison, “Good night, Tim.”

The old captain disappeared into the cabin and moved below deck.

John and Chris walked slowly to the bow. The three men looked at each other. Chris held up his arm and pointed to his wrist.

The other two men nodded and turned to stare into the river.

30

The boat’s flying bridge gave them two levels of separation from the slumbering captain but still they whispered. They were crowded around another small table not unlike the one in the cabin. They were leaned in close to one another, so John and Eric jumped when Chris slammed his hand on the table.

“Because, we can’t just cut his arm off, John!”

“How do you know that it won’t work?” John asked.

“Because he’s too far gone.” Chris cast his eyes down and lowered his whisper. “He’s coughing up blood. I saw it on the handkerchief.”

“So, here we are again,” Erik said. “What do we do?”

The three men were silent. The river lapped against the hull below them and slapped out the passing seconds. They had all seen the bite under the sweater. There was no accepting that Tim had a simple cold. It was the disease or virus or whatever kind of wicked cooties caused one to die but not stop moving.

They hadn’t heard anything from the cabin below since Tim retired for the night. He could be one of the creatures by now—rotting in his bed instead of resting from a cold.

Chris was the first to break the silence. “We have to kill him.”

John stood up from the table. “No.”

“He’s suffering, John.”

“We could barricade him in the cabin and take him with us to Greenville.” Erik was unsure of what he was saying, but it didn’t stop him from talking. “There could be a cure and ...”

Chris put his hand on Erik’s and stopped the rambling. “If we show up with a zombie, they will never let us in that gate. They’ll probably shoot us all.”

“But, we could ...”

“You know I’m right, Erik. Besides, he’s an ox. He’d break through anything we put up.”

“We’re not killing Tim,” John said. “And that’s final.”

“You were all ready to shoot Austin before he turned.”

“Duh. I didn’t like Austin. I like Captain Tim.”

“I like him, too. Okay? He seems like a really nice guy. He’s the kind of neighbor I always wanted. Instead I got you.”

“Enough. I’m the leader here and what I say goes. No one is killing Captain Tim.”

“We’re not doing this again. We’re not. I’m going to make it perfectly clear, John. You’re an idiot. And I don’t mean that in the way I’ve always said it. You’re not an idiot like, ‘hey, he’s a dummy.’ You’re an idiot. You’re incapable of rational thought to the point that you should not be allowed to make decisions. Every choice you’ve made, both this week and in your entire life, has had one criteria—does this help John? You are selfish to the detriment of your fellow man. Your existence causes suffering whether you know it or not. And the fact that you don’t notice makes you less qualified to have an opinion on anything. And, most importantly, nobody cares what you think. Ever.”

“You are not our leader. I wouldn’t follow you in traffic if you were the line on the road. It would only lead to disaster.”

John stared at his hands and picked slowly at some dirt under his fingernails. “My family would follow me.”

“Your family? The only reason your family is still alive is because you weren’t there to protect them. They were lucky you weren’t around.

“If you have any desire to see them again you’ll shut up and let the grown-ups figure this out. People who will look at this logically without putting their sole wants into every decision they make. This isn’t about what we want to do. It’s about what needs to be done. What’s best for everyone, not just John.”

John stood from the table and walked to the center of the flying bridge.

Chris expected tears when the man turned back around but there was only a cold look on his face.

John looked to each of his neighbors, turned and walked down the steps to the deck of the ship.

Erik looked over the edge and watched John move to the bow of the ship where he stood by the anchor line and stared out into the river. Erik turned back to the table, “That was harsh.”

“Was it? Or was it something he needed to hear some time in his teens?”

“This whole zombie apocalypse is new to all of us. We’re all going to handle it in our own way.”

“His way doesn’t work.”

Erik nodded, “True. But, still, we’re in this together whether we like it or not.”

“That’s why it had to be said. We can’t argue every time we face a difficult choice. Even if his ideas don’t get us killed, his arguing could.”

“Who put you in charge?”

“I’m not in charge.”

“You sure act like it.”

“I’m not. I just want to get back to my family. And he’s the biggest threat to that. Even more than the zombies.”

“What if I disagree with you? Are you going to put me in my place, too?”

“What? No.”

Erik stood up from the table and stepped away. He took a deep breath and spoke to the night. “I know that there’s no cure. My family is gone. You guys are all I have left. And, Tim, briefly. Before we knew he was about to be a zombie. How sad is that? My only goal now is to get you and John back to your wives and kids.”

“Erik ...”

“You’re my friend. And, John is my friend, too. Like it or not.”

Chris hung his head. “We haven’t heard anything from Jenny since that message two days ago. There’s no telling they’re even there.”

Erik sat in the pilot’s seat. “We could all be together for a while.”

Chris grimaced and nodded, “I’ll apologize when he comes back.”

The gunshot made them jump. Both men searched the surrounding water for its origin before they realized what had happened.

John walked slowly up the steps and stopped at the entrance to the flying bridge. He looked for a long moment at Erik in the pilot’s seat and then turned his gaze to Chris sitting behind the table. John took two silent steps and set the white captain’s hat on the table in front of Chris.

Chris looked at the hat in front of him and then back up at John.

John nodded and turned away and started down the steps. “I’ll be watching the anchor line if anyone needs me.”

31

Chris lay somewhere between awake and asleep. The sun warmed the back of his neck, coaxing him to turn into the sun. He resisted. Sleep had not come easy. Erik had left him alone on the bridge with his thoughts and for hours he had replayed the conversation over in his mind. He had said terrible things to John. True things, but terrible nonetheless. For an hour he had considered apologizing to his neighbor but could not bring himself to walk down the steps to the bow of the boat.

For that time, John had stood unmoving at the bow line. He never turned. He said nothing. He kept a watch on the anchor line. Just like he said he would.

Chris couldn’t see his face, but he could tell John was hurt. The man was never this quiet. For someone who claimed to hate people so much, John sure seemed to enjoy sharing every single thought he ever had with anyone who would listen.

Ashamed, Chris had finally stretched out on the bench and tried to sleep. It eluded him for hours. He didn’t want to give it up now that he had finally found it, but as the boat turned, the sun became more direct and insistent that he wake.

Chris rolled over and opened his eyes just long enough to see that Erik had eventually returned to the bridge and taken the bench across from him. Chris closed his eyes just long enough to think, “That means John is driving the boat.”

Chris jumped to his feet, collided with the tabletop that he had forgotten was there and sat back down hard. “Erik.”

His neighbor rolled away from his voice and covered his head.

“Erik.” Chris inched his way out from behind the table and stood. The boat was steady. The engines thrummed. He was expecting the whine of redline. Chris looked ahead of the bow. The Darling Dear was moving down the middle of the river in a safe manner at a reasonable pace.

Erik sat up. “What?”

“John’s driving ... good.”

Erik stood and looked over the bridge console. “That’s not like him.”

“I know.” Chris found his shoes at the foot of the bench and slid them on before moving down the steps to the cabin below.

John sat in the pilot’s seat with both hands on the wheel. “Good morning. I made breakfast. It’s in the little ... oven ... thing over there. I don’t know what they’re called on boats. But it should still be warm.”

Confused, Chris walked over to the oven and opened it. The aroma of bacon and eggs filled the cabin. He looked back at John. “Is everything okay, John?”

“I wasn’t sure about the bacon at first, but then I figured any bacon is better than no bacon.”

Chris took a bite from a piece of bacon. “I wasn’t talking about the bacon.”

John swept the dash with his eyes. “No problems so far. I’ve kept it pretty slow just in case I’m reading those charts wrong.” He pointed at the small dining table covered with nautical maps before turning back to the river ahead. “If we do run aground, I don’t want to hit it so hard that we can’t back off of it.”

“That’s ... good thinking.”

“I’m trying.”

Chris dished up a plate of food and moved to the small table. There was no place to set his plate without damaging the maps.

John noticed this and apologized. “Sorry about that. I’ve been checking them quite a bit.”

Chris looked at the charts laid out across the table. Blue was water, green was land, but nothing else made sense to him. “Do you know how to read these things?”

“Um ... the nautical ones, not so much. But there was a road map in there that I figured out just fine. The good news is there is a blue line that runs right past Greenville and I’m pretty sure that means water.”

Erik stepped into the cabin. “Is everything okay?”

John looked at Chris for a moment before answering. “Sure. Why wouldn’t it be? Well, there’s the whole zombie thing, but you already knew about that.”

Erik looked at Chris. Chris shrugged.

John’s focus was out the window. “Breakfast is still hot, Erik. It’s in the ... Chris, do you know what that’s called?”

“Oven.”

“Really?” John turned for only a moment before putting his eyes back on the river. “Even on a boat?”

“I think so.”

“Hmm. Figured they’d have a special name for it. They seem to have some stupid name for everything else. Front. Bow. Aft. Back. And I’m pretty sure one of these sides is a port or something.”

Erik fixed a plate and sat next to Chris at the table. He leaned over and whispered, “Are we okay with this?”

Chris nodded.

Erik examined the map on the table. “Where are we?”

John answered, “Best I can tell—from studying the maps, looking at this compass and judging from the position of the sun—we’re in the middle of a river.”

Erik rolled his eyes.

“But we’re definitely on course to Greenville. I think we’ll be there in about four hours. I’m a little under half speed. I don’t want to push it much faster than that.”

Erik whispered to Chris again, “I think you broke John.”

Chris shushed him.

John held his gaze on the water ahead and continued, “I’ve been standing up here for about an hour now and I think I’ve learned a few things about boats. This thing’s top speed seems to be about fifteen knots an hour, we’ve got more than enough fuel to travel five hundred knots and there is no way to whisper in here without everybody hearing it.” John tapped on a dial on the panel in front of him. “I still don’t know what a knot is though.”

“Sorry,” Erik mumbled and shoved a fork full of eggs into his mouth.

“You guys weren’t shy about speaking up last night. I don’t see why things should be any different today.”

Chris dropped his head. “John, I’m ...”

“Chris, if you apologize to me now, you’re going to lose all the respect you gained with your little speech.” John took a deep breath before continuing. “I did a lot of thinking last night. You can only stare at a rope for so long before your mind starts to wander. Do you guys know why I don’t like people?”

“You’re an asshole?” Erik said.

Chris glared at him.

“Sorry. Reflex.” Erik held up his hands. “This respecting each other is going to take some getting used to.”

“It wasn’t a bad guess. But, I’m not an asshole because I don’t like people. I’m an asshole so people won’t like me. Saves me a lot of time not liking people that way.”

“Wait,” Erik set down his fork. “So being an asshole is like a self-defense thing?”

John shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s not fun. You know this, Chris. You’ve tried it.” John made a slight correction on the wheel and the boat responded.

Chris couldn’t help but laugh. “Okay, John. So why don’t you like people?”

“You can’t trust them. You were right when you called me selfish. But, isn’t everyone? I just refuse to hide behind BS and fake smiles. And the small talk. Holy crap, I hate small talk. Do you really think anyone cares that much about the weather? What a waste of time. Empty promises and white lies—all so we can walk away from a conversation without feeling awkward. I don’t see the point, so I don’t bother. I’m not the biggest asshole you know. I’m just the most honest asshole you know.”

“And you think this is a good thing?” Erik asked.

John nodded. “Of course. I’ve only ever lied to you about one thing.”

Chris recalled his history with John, and despite the bickering and insults, he couldn’t actually think of a time the man had lied to him. He had to ask, “What’s that?”

“I don’t really hate you guys. Well, that’s not true. I hate you guys. But I hate you like friends. You’ve never lied to me. Both of you are weird, but you’re honest.” John made an adjustment to the wheel. “And like I said ... that’s a pretty rare thing.”

Chris and Erik looked at one another, each searching the other’s face for something to say. Chris began to stammer, “I ...”

“Chris,” John said.

“What?”

“If you say anything now it’s just going to make things weird. Don’t make it weird.”

Chris smiled. “You’re an asshole, John.”

John looked back and grinned.

“So, isn’t this zombie thing the perfect scenario for someone who hates people? I mean, pretty soon you won’t have anyone left to bother you.”

John looked at Erik, his mouth open, his eyes horrified, then turned back to the window. “How can you say that? That’s a terrible thing to say. Sure, you fantasize about not having anyone to deal with, but who’s going to do things for me now? Who’s going to grow the crops, flip the burgers, make the power, play the sports? We’re going to have to start doing everything for ourselves now. And that’s way worse than dealing with people.”

“So, you’re saying your laziness outweighs your hatred of all mankind.”

“I’d never thought of it that way. But, yes. I’d rather buy a burger from an idiot than make the burger myself. I can’t imagine what kind of monster would actually want the world to end.”

Chris looked at the map on the table. “Do you really think we can sail all the way into Greenville?”

“I think it’s called motoring,” said John.

“Okay, do you think we can motor all the way to Greenville?”

“I’m not sure. I know that the water goes there. But I can’t tell if there’s anything in the way: a bridge too small, a dam or even if it’s deep enough. I was going to get us as close as possible by boat and figure it out from there. If that’s okay with you guys?”

John asking for an opinion? It sounded strange, like a bad note on the ear. Chris looked at Erik and nodded before looking back to John. “Makes sense to us.”

“Good. There’s only one thing I’m really worried about.”

“What’s that?”

“If you look at the map there’s a big red line crossing over our blue line.”

Erik looked at the map on the table. “Yeah, they call that a road, John.”

“No, smart guy. In this case they call it a bridge.”

“So, we go under it,” Erik said.

“I don’t know about the two of you, but I have a pretty vivid memory of the last bridge I was on.”

Chris realized John’s concern. “Oh God.”

John snapped and pointed to Chris. “There you go. It was bad enough being pushed from a bridge full of zombies—thank you, Erik. I’m not looking forward to passing underneath one.”

Chris recalled the cascade as hundreds of zombies plunged from the trestle to pursue the trio in the water. He wasn’t sure what they would do to the boat. “Holy shit.”

“Yep,” said John. “There’s the bridge.” He leaned down to peer under the roof of the cabin to the deck of the span. “Actually, I think we’re going to be okay.” He bent down and looked again at the bridge ahead. “No. Wait. Yep. We’re screwed.”

32

The undead lined the span of interstate that crossed over the river. The fact that they paced the bridge instead of plunging from it ensured the men that they had not been spotted.

John pulled back on the throttle and the boat slowed to a drift in the current. He turned to Chris. “What do you think, chief?”

“Don’t do that, John. I didn’t ...”

“I’m serious. What’s the call? The instant they see us it’s going to turn into one giant zombiefall.”

“I know.” Chris stared at the mass of creatures on the bridge. There were hundreds. Chris looked at Erik. “Do you think we can run it?”

John tapped the throttle handle. “Like I said, I think this thing will do fifteen knots. But if a knot is anything like a mile, that’s school zone slow.”

Chris thought out loud, “It may be enough.”

“Are you kidding?” Erik asked. “In that time we could have a hundred corpses strike the boat. Even if that doesn’t sink us, we’d still have to clear the decks of a shitload of splattered zombies.”

“That current might pull us through,” John said. “We cut the engines and drift. Of course, we wouldn’t be able to steer.”

Chris nodded. “And if they did see us it would take too long to get back up to speed.”

The three men stared out the window of the cabin at the scattered monsters above them.

“Dammit,” Chris sighed. “It would be twenty feet at the most. And there’s no way through it.”

“So what?” Erik asked. “Run the boat ashore and walk?”

“No way. I’ve seen these guys try to swim,” John said. “I like being in the water.”

Chris moved over to the table and started to rifle through the maps. “John, you’ve been looking at these. Is there any other way around?”

“I don’t think so. Not that would still get us to Greenville.”

Chris sat down, put his hands over his face and ran them through his hair. “Then I guess we try to run it. Erik, you and I will clear the decks. John’ll keep driving.”

“Whoa, wait. You want John to drive? I’m sorry, weren’t you in all those car accidents with me?”

“He’s doing fine.”

John held up his hand to show scout’s honor. “I’ll be careful, Erik.”

“I’m not comfortable with this.” Erik sat and started poring over the map. “Even if Andretti here manages to keep us afloat and the falling bodies don’t sink us, we’ll be surrounded, extremely outnumbered and once we’re done killing everything, if we kill everything, the boat will be really, really gross.”

Chris leaned back in the seat and let out a deep breath. “I don’t see any other way. And whether we go fast or slow, we’re going to have a mass of zombies raining down on us. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always thought that running through the rain was better than walking through it.”

“A smart person would just come in out of the rain,” Erik said.

“That would be a great option to have. But we don’t have it.”

John killed the engine of the boat. “Erik, you just gave me an idea.”

“Don’t say that. I don’t want to be held responsible for any of your ideas.”

“No,” John held up his hands. He was excited. “This is a good one.”

Erik looked at Chris and rolled his eyes.

Chris nodded but shrugged and gestured for John to continue.

“Okay, this is really good.” John walked to the front of the cabin and pointed to the bridge. “The problem is we’ve got a whole lot of dead things up there just waiting to fall on us.” He pointed to Chris. “Like rain.”

“Yes, but rain that will eat us.”

“Right.” John moved back to the panel. “Slow or fast, it’s going to fall on us.”

Erik nodded. “John, if your plan is just repeating what we’ve already said, I want absolutely no credit for giving it to you.”

John shook his head. “No, it’s when you said smart people stay out of the rain. That’s what gave me the idea.”

Erik turned to Chris with a tired look and sat down. “I was being sarcastic.”

Chris held up a hand to calm him down. “Out with it, John.”

John paused before he spoke. “Okay. It’s going to sound crazy.”

Erik’s eyes grew wide. “Enough of this, John. Let’s hear it.”

John smiled and slammed his hand down on the boat’s console. The air horn sounded so loud that Erik’s swearing was swallowed by the tri-tone bellow.

John pulsed the air horn several times.

ROHHHN

“You …”

ROHHHN

“motherf ...”

ROHHHN

“idiot, you ..?”

ROHHHN

“and take …”

ROHHHN

“up your …”

ROHHHN

Erik leapt from his seat and sprung across the cabin. He tackled John to the ground and put his arm across his neighbor’s throat. “You’re the dumbest bastard I’ve ever met. There’s no sneaking by now. Every zombie for miles is going to be plunging our way now.”

John coughed as he tried to speak through a giant grin. “Exactly.”

“Can’t you go one day without doing something stupid? Or are you trying for a personal best every time you wake up?”

Chris stood and moved to the front of cabin. “Erik.”

“What?” Erik shook John by the throat trying to shake the grin from his face.

“Stop killing John and look at this.”

John’s grin grew bigger. He tried to nod as he pointed to the front of the boat but it was hard to see with all of the shaking that Erik was doing.

Erik turned his head but refused to stop choking John. The zombies had heard the blare of the horn and their pacing had turned into a frenzy. They rushed to the edge of the bridge and stepped over just as they had from the train trestle. “Yeah, they all heard it thanks to Gilligan here.” Erik resumed choking John.

Chris stepped over and pulled Erik off of their neighbor and guided him to the front of the cabin. “Yeah, they all heard it.”

The zombiefall created a froth in the river at the base of the bridge as the horde splashed in. It didn’t stop. Hundreds of the monsters leapt with bloodlust in their eyes. Hundreds more filled in behind them jostling to get to the bridge’s edge.

Erik pointed at the sight and began to argue, “Right, they all heard it and ... they... they ...” He stopped for a second and dropped his arm. “Oh.”

The horn sounded several long blasts. Erik turned to see John leaning on the button. The grin on his face was unbearable.

* * *

“Like this?” John held up the barrel of his automatic for Erik to inspect.

Erik took the barrel and peered down its length. “Yeah. That looks good.” He handed the barrel back to John. “Do you know how to put it back in?”

John chuckled. “Please. If it comes apart I can put it back together. Just a couple of weeks ago the boy dropped the remote and it shattered. There were pieces all over the place.”

“And you put it back together?”

“Better.” John set the barrel in the slide and picked up the spring. “It works just as well with only half the parts.”

Erik reached over and took the parts from John. He quickly reassembled the slide and handed it back.

John took the slide and picked up the pistol. “Did you not hear me about the remote?”

“A remote is not going to blow up in your face.”

“It started to smoke once. But, just once.” He stared at the parts of the gun for a moment before Erik took them from him. John leaned over and sounded the horn.

“Are there many left?” Chris was peering down the barrel of his shotgun. Satisfied it was clean, he laid the barrel back on the table and prepared to reassemble the weapon.

John leaned back in his chair and looked through the windscreen. “They’re few and far between now. I think it’s almost safe to go.”

“Good.” Chris examined the shotgun pieces in front of him. “Erik, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

Erik laughed. “You guys did well. I’ll finish up.”

John stood and leaned on the horn one last time before stepping out of the cabin. “Thanks, Erik. I’ll start pulling up the anchors.”

“I’ll give you a hand.” Chris slid out from behind the table and followed him to the bow of the boat.

The two men set to pulling up the anchors. John flipped the switch on the winch and watched the cable begin to spool while pulling the boat gently upstream.

“Do you think we’ll find them?” John asked.

Chris shrugged. “I guess we won’t know until we get there. But, I trust that the government would be looking out for itself, so it’s probably the safest place they could be.”

“Do you really think that?”

“Of course not. But it’s more comforting than applying logic.”

The high-pitched whir of the winch turned to a low groan as the cable slowed. Chris stepped towards the winch.

“It’s okay. It did that last night.” John stepped to the front of the boat and grabbed the cable. “I just had to help reel it in a bit.”

John grunted as he pulled on the line. The winch became silent and the line stopped completely. “It’s really snagged on something. Give me a hand.”

Chris leaned over the bow and put his hands in front of John’s. Together the two men strained to pull the line up. The winch picked up the hard fought slack an inch at a time.

John gritted his teeth and put his full strength into the pull. “Last night it was a log.”

Chris said nothing and readjusted his grip. He placed his feet on the bow, pushed back with his legs and pulled enough line from the water that the creature on the end of the anchor broke the surface.

For a moment only water flowed from its mouth. Soon it sputtered and the fountain of river water was replaced by moaning. The noises seemed no more than the normal groans of the undead and appeared to be unrelated to the anchor sticking out of the creature’s chest.

The corpse turned and spotted the men on the boat. The moans turned violent as the creature reached out for the living and began to spin on the line.

“Throw it back. Throw it back,” Chris said as he jumped to stop the winch.

John reached out and pulled his hand back. He reached forward again and retracted before turning to Chris, “How? It’ll bite me.”

Chris moved back to the bow and looked over at the creature. It began to hiss and chomp at the air. He shook the line, but it had no effect. He stood back up and thought for a moment.

“Does it really matter?” John asked.

Chris shrugged. “I guess not. Maybe once we get underway he’ll shake free.”

John nodded. “Okay, keep an eye on him though.” He turned and walked back into the cabin where Erik was reassembling the last gun.

“What’s going on out there?”

“There’s a zombie on the anchor.”

“How?”

“Like this.” John took on a blank expression. He hung out his tongue, stood on his toes and twirled slowly.

“That’s not what I meant. How’d he get on the anchor?”

“I don’t know, we just hooked a live one. Well, a dead one. An undead one. That seriously makes no sense. There should be a better name for these things.”

“I told you we should call them walkers.”

“And I told you that’s stupid. Besides, this one is more of a dangler.”

Erik turned away and muttered. “He still walked into it.”

The hull shuddered as John turned the engine over.

Erik shouted over the engine. “You’re just going to go. What about the zombie?”

“What about it? It’s safer to let him play fish on a hook than try and knock him off.”

Erik nodded. “It just seems cruel.”

John pushed the throttle forward and the Darling Dear began to move. After dropping anchor, the gentle current had turned them away from the bridge so John cranked the wheel and adjusted the throttle for a slow and sharp turn.

There was a thud against the hull and Chris stepped into the cabin with an outstretched hand. “Shotgun please.”

Erik handed him the shotgun.

“Thank you.” Chris stepped back on the deck as the zombie climbed over the rail of the boat with the anchor still in his chest. Chris fired into its chest and the creature rolled back over the side with the anchor still attached.

John pointed the boat down river and opened the throttle a little more. The Darling Dear responded and rode smoothly through the water. And then it reached the bridge.

Another thud against the hull caused John to jerk the wheel. A second bump followed and he pulled back on the power. The thuds came faster now and he quickly lost count.

“Stop,” Erik said. “You’re hitting something.”

“I did stop.” John pulled the throttle to reverse to slow the boat faster. The rear of the Darling Dear sent vibrations through the cabin. “What the hell is that?” John moved from behind the wheel to the deck. He looked at Chris who responded with a thumbs-up. “Do you see anything odd?”

“Corpse on a rope,” Chris said.

“Not that.”

Chris just shook his head and turned back to the anchor line.

Erik stepped up next to John. “What do you think you hit?”

“I didn’t hit anything. I’ve checked the chart. It’s shallow here, but deep enough that they still run barges through. We should be able to make it.” John walked to the rear of the boat and looked into the river directly behind the prop.

Erik stood next to him. His voice was soft and his mouth hung open causing the sarcasm of his comment to lose impact. “So what do you think you hit?”

John stared into the river behind the Darling Dear and answered, “Everyone.”

“That can’t be good for the prop.” Chris had joined them at the rear of the boat and stared into the bloody river with them. Red fanned out from the boat’s propeller and washed toward each shore in its wake. Severed hands floated to the surface. Cleaved heads bobbed in the water before sinking back under. John wasn’t sure how that leg had gotten to the surface.

Erik waved his hand over the scene and struggled to find something to say. “What the hell?”

“It’s too shallow,” John said. “It’s only about seven feet here. Which is fine for the boat but not so good for a zombie standing on the bottom and trying to grab a boat.”

Erik asked, “Do you really think they could pull themselves up the back?”

There was a moan from the front of the boat and the anchor line zombie rolled back onto the deck and got to his feet.

Chris looked toward the noise. “Sorry. I’ll get it.”

Erik and John couldn’t take their eyes off the carnage they had left in their wake. Erik spoke first. “So what do we do?”

John gave him a blank stare, shrugged and sighed.

Erik sat down on the stairs to the flybridge and put the shotgun across his lap. “Oh, this is going to be gross.”

John walked back to the bridge and started the engine. It sounded chunky. It got worse as they went on.

The current was weak and did little to move the creatures onward. They merely sat on the bottom as the boat passed over head. John pictured them pacing the riverbed much like they did on land. Only now in his imagination they had a lot fewer hands.

The Darling Dear passed under the bridge and the thumps and shudders became more severe as its propeller cut through the water, blood and bone. On the other side of the bridge the noises grew less frequent and the boat’s ride turned smooth once again. John throttled up and tried not to think of what was behind. The sound of the engines wasn’t enough to drown out the sound of Erik throwing up.

33

The zombie fell off the anchor with little more than a groan and the Darling Dear motored on without incident for several miles—or whatever a knot was. The men watched the shoreline. They saw nothing on the riverbanks, living or undead. It was always a relief to not see the monsters, but the absence of people and the still of the world unsettled each of them.

Erik stared at the nothing and asked, “How many of us do you think there are left? Did any of us make it?”

“We made it,” Chris said. “And I think it’s safe to say that if we can do it ... I’m sure lots of people have made it.”

Erik smiled but didn’t laugh. “It’s been a week now. Anyone who wasn’t prepared will be running low on water and food. If they chose to stay in their homes. If they left ... Well, the roads were obviously a mistake.”

Chris searched beyond the riverbanks for any sign of life. How many were left? At first, when people had the best chance at survival, the creatures came in the guise of loved ones. It would be all but impossible to accept the reality of the situation as they bit into your neck during a caring embrace. By the time people knew what was going on and faced the reality of what had to be done, they were simply outnumbered. Survival seemed daunting, but humanity had faced extinction before. “If humanity has proven anything over the years, it’s a stubborn ability to go on living. I’m sure there are plenty of people left. It can’t be a world full of monsters.”

“But it is. Isn’t it?” Erik said

Chris said nothing and turned away from the rail of the boat. He walked up to the flybridge where John was focused on the river ahead and probably trying to forget all that was behind.

“How goes it?”

John glanced back. “I’m keeping her in the middle of the river and all the gauges are pointing to the middle so I think we’re okay. Though she’s moving a little slower than before. My guess is that the prop got chewed up pretty bad back there.”

Chris shuddered. “Ugh.”

“Yeah. That was probably the most horrible thing ever. But this seems to be the week for the most horrible thing ever.”

Chris nodded and sat down at the small table. “Hopefully, it’ll be smooth sailing the rest of the way.”

John winced. “I don’t know.” He pulled a chart from his back pocket and tossed it to Chris. “Take a look. The river gets pretty shallow past Greenville.”

Chris unfolded the map and pretended he knew what John was talking about. “Can we make it?”

“That was about seven feet back there. The creek is marked lower and there’s no telling how high it’s running. It may be too shallow.”

Chris sighed and folded the map back into nothing that resembled a folded map. “So what do we do?”

“We could do that thing where we throw everything overboard to get the boat to rise. But then it won’t be enough so we throw Erik overboard and we just scrape by and onto victory. ”

“No. The bad guys always do that and their boat or plane or blimp or whatever blows up.”

“Oh yeah. You’re right. So, I guess we shouldn’t do that. That’ll be good news for Erik.”

Chris chuckled.

“We could build a raft and Huck Finn it the rest of the way,” John said.

“So, we either ditch the boat and run for it or we find a smaller boat.”

“Right,” said John. “Or the raft.”

“Where are we going to find a smaller boat?” Chris asked.

John pointed down river. “There’s two coming right at us.”

Chris stood and looked. Two smaller runabouts had appeared from around a bend and were heading upriver. “Who are these people?”

“Maybe they’re from the shelter.”

“Maybe. So why I am nervous?”

“I have answers for that but they’re mostly guesses that will all sound like insults.”

Chris leaned over the rail. “Erik.”

“I see them.” Erik picked up his shotgun and held it at his waist. “Do we think they’re nice?”

Chris pulled out the automatic and raked the slide.

“That answers that.” Erik turned to face the visitors.

“And I’m the one that doesn’t trust people.” John’s shotgun was leaning against the table. He moved it closer and put his hands back on the wheel.

“We’re too close. I’m not taking any chances.” Chris tucked the gun into the back of his pants and walked to the edge of the flybridge as the boats pulled near. “I guess we’ll just say, hi.”

“I think it’s ahoy.”

“Does it really matter?”

The two boats split apart. The one on the right shot past the Darling Dear while the one on the left slowed and pulled alongside. Three men were inside. The two in the back were armed with rifles, but pointed their barrels up when they saw that Chris wasn’t a zombie. The man behind the wheel pulled the throttle back to idle and waved. “Ahoy.”

“I told you,” John muttered as he pulled the throttle back.

Chris waved back. His nerves had not settled.

The pilot of the small craft threw Chris a smile he didn’t trust. “Glad to see you guys are human.”

“Same here.”

“You boys headed for the Army camp?”

Chris considered lying, but he saw no harm in giving them their destination. “Yeah. Are you from there?”

The pilot shook his head. “No. There’s an island around the bend and a few of us have gathered there.”

“Is the Army still there?”

The man shrugged. “We haven’t seen anyone come upriver. And you’re the first boat we’ve seen in a couple of days. First one with people anyway. I’m relieved we don’t have to sink you.”

“Us too,” John shouted. He kept his hand on the throttle. There would be no outrunning the smaller boats, but he was ready to move on.

“The last few boats that have come our way were filled with the dead. Now we try to sink them before they get to us.”

“Seems like a good plan,” Chris said.

“We’re not taking any chances.”

The second boat turned and shot back by the Darling Dear again before slowing off the bow. The wake flowed into the hull and rocked the trawler.

“Why don’t you guys follow us back? You can rest up. Trade for supplies.”

“We’re kind of in a hurry,” Chris said.

“Aren’t we all.” The pilot nodded to the other boat which responded by throttling up and pulling along the opposite side of the Darling Dear. The three men inside were also armed with their barrels to the sky.

Chris stood back from the rail. “I think you should know that you fellas are making me nervous.”

The pilot put up his hands. “Just trying to help, friend.”

“Never trust anyone who calls you ‘friend,’” John said low enough for only Chris to hear.

Chris nodded and yelled back to the boat, “We don’t want any trouble.”

“There won’t be any trouble, friend.”

“He did it again,” John whispered. “He did it again, this guy’s a liar.”

The pilot reached out and put his hands on the Darling Dear’s railing.

“Hands off the boat, please.”

The pilot made no move to back up. “Calm down. We just want to talk.”

“Talk with your mouth, not your hands.”

The pilot smiled. “You’re a dad. I can tell.”

Chris said nothing.

“Sure you are. Dad’s talk like that. You’re probably trying to make it back to your family.”

“I said hands off the boat.” Chris pulled the gun from his back and pointed it at the pilot. The two men in the back of the boat lowered their guns in response. Chris could hear Erik arguing with the other boat and he imagined the situation was much the same.

John picked up his shotgun and couldn’t decide which side to point it at so he kept switching between both.

The pilot kept his hand on the boat and smiled. “Now everyone just calm down. The whole world is dying around us. There’s no reason for the living to go shooting each other to death. We’re just asking that you stop by our little camp.”

“You already asked. We decline. Thanks for the invitation.”

The pilot smiled. “We’re going to ask again.”

Over the idling engines, Chris heard the roar of a motor at full throttle. He cast a quick glance down river and saw four more ski boats round the bend and race toward them. He looked back to the pilot. The man had not given up his smile.

Chris sighed and lowered his gun. He motioned to John to do the same.

John yelled down to the other side of the boat. “We’re giving up, Erik.”

Erik dropped his gun to the deck with a clatter. “Yeah, I figured.”

“That’s the spirit.” The pilot motioned to the men behind him. They jumped from the runabout onto the deck of the Darling Dear and made their way to the bridge.

Erik joined them a minute later, led by the crew of the second boat.

John stepped aside as one of the men took the wheel and eased the throttle forward. “You’re relieved, Captain.”

John pointed to Chris. “He’s the captain.”

“Is that so?” A large man stepped up to Chris and looked down on him. “So you’re in charge here.”

Chris looked to John who only nodded and then back to the man in front of him. “Sure.”

The punch knocked him clear across the bridge. Chris caught himself on the rail and managed to prevent himself from going over the edge.

“Now, I’m going to check you guys for bites and you’re probably not going to like it.”

Chris stood up and looked at the large man. “We’re not bitten.”

The second fist struck harder than the first and Chris collapsed to the deck. The man stood over him. “That sounds like something someone who is bitten would say.” He kicked him in the stomach.

Chris felt the toe in his back and his stomach turn. He grabbed his stomach and wheezed to get his breath back but his diaphragm fought him.

“You look kind of sick to me.”

Chris put his hand down and tried to support himself.

The man struck again and the kick rolled Chris onto his back. He placed his foot on Chris’s chest. “We don’t want any walkers on our island.”

John rolled his eyes. “You call them walkers?”

The thug turned. “Yeah. Why? What ... what do you call them?”

John shrugged, “Zombies, mostly.”

“Well good for you but we’re going to keep calling them walkers. What do think about that, smart guy?”

“I think it’s stupid.”

The guard crossed to John in one stride. “What did you call me?”

“Oh. I see. You’re one of those guys that makes it all about you.” John sighed. “Well, I said calling them walkers is stupid. They run, they climb, they ... well, they don’t swim. I imagined they’d crawl but I haven’t really seen it.”

“Yeah, well I’ve never seen them do any of that.”

“You’ve never seen a diploma either, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

He struck John in the stomach and grabbed him by the back of the neck as he doubled over. “I’m going to keep on calling them whatever the hell I like. What do you think of that?”

“I think it’s dangerously misleading.”

The thug punched John in the face and sent him sprawling back across the console. “How’s that for misleading?”

John coughed and pushed himself up. It was weak but he managed one last line. “Nope. That’s pretty direct.”

The thug turned back to Chris who was barely moving.

“Unless you’re going to kiss me next. Then it would be misleading.”

The final strike knocked John unconscious.

Erik rushed to help him and got cracked on the back of the head with the butt of a shotgun.

Chris rolled over and looked at his friends sprawled out across the floor. Neither stirred. He tried to stand but found his legs unwilling to listen. He knew what John had done. He took the beating intended for him. It was a stupid plan like all of John’s plans. And, like most of John’s plans, it didn’t work. The thug from the boat turned back towards Chris and smacked his fist into his palm before smiling and saying, “Your turn.”

If he couldn’t stand, Chris would sit. He wouldn’t be beaten on the ground. He rolled over and pulled himself up against the gunwale. It was impossible to stand. His legs wouldn’t support his weight.

The large brute grabbed Chris by the collar and pulled him to his feet. He drew back his arm and smiled. “I haven’t decided which yet, but at least one of you is going in the river.” The thug turned towards John. “Probably that guy.”

Chris wanted to put his arms up, but they were too weak. He closed his eyes and waited for the punch. It was all he could do.

“Hold on, Barry.”

Barry? He was going to get his ass kicked by a Barry? Life wasn’t fair. The only upside was that John and Erik were knocked out. He’d tell them that the guy’s name was Bluto or something.

The blow didn’t come. Barry asked, “What?”

“The Duke says to bring ’em all back alive.”

“Alive?”

“Right.”

“But not conscious?”

“He didn’t say.”

Chris opened his eyes just in time to see the fist hit his face.

34

“You look like crap.” John sat on the edge of a bed and spoke through a swollen lip.

Chris sat up. His face throbbed. He had never been punched before. One time as a kid he had caught a line drive too close to his face. The ball drove the glove into his nose. It felt kind of like that but a lot more so. John looked like he felt just as bad. “You’re one to talk.”

“Yeah, but Erik and I talked about it and we agree that you look the worst.”

Erik sat next to John and nodded.

It hurt to smile so Chris decided to complain instead. “You guys couldn’t have put me on the bed?”

John stood and turned his back. “It’s taken.”

Tim was in the bed. They were still on the Darling Dear. Chris covered his mouth. “Oh my God.”

The old man lay comfortably tucked in his bed where John had found him. The shot had been clean but the pillow was red. He was already starting to look like the undead. His skin was ashen and pocked in places. Chris began to wonder if the bite continued to turn the victim even if they could never come back.

“Yeah.” John turned back to Chris. “Oh my God.” He looked at Tim for a moment, closed his eyes tight and looked away.

Chris hung his head. “What’s going on?”

“We all woke up in here,” Erik said. “The engine is quiet. I guess they brought us to the island.”

Footsteps sounded on the short staircase and the door to the cabin opened to reveal an armed guard. “I thought I heard you boys up. Come on. The Duke is waiting for you.”

Erik helped Chris to his feet and John stepped forward muttering, “The Duke? What kind of idiot declares himself royalty but only picks duke?”

“You. No talking.”

“Why no talking?” Erik asked.

“You guys are fine.” The guard pointed to John. “Just not him. I’m certain I won’t like anything he has to say.”

Chris slapped John on the shoulder. “Your reputation precedes you, John.”

John shrugged and the three men walked up the stairs ahead of the guard.

They stepped from the Darling Dear onto the deck of another boat, crossed it and then stepped onto another. Ten boats were lined up next to one another to form an improvised dock. This configuration was repeated at several other points from the shore. The four men were joined by another guard as they stepped from boat to boat. Each boat was empty.

The final boat was the smallest and a runabout making it easy to step onto the island. The island itself was large enough that they could not see to its end. The river split around either side as it gradually widened.

Immediately to their left they saw a barge that had been moored on the bank. It wasn’t large and the only freight it carried was a cargo container in its center. Yellow paint had faded to only a tint of the color and rust lined the seams. It moaned.

Chris couldn’t count the number of voices inside. The numerous moans blended together to form the now familiar and horrific chorus of an undead horde.

“What the hell is that?” Chris asked.

The guard stepped over the barge and banged the hull. The sound stirred the horde inside and the moaning grew louder. “That’s the hole. You break the law, you go in the hole. It’s as simple as that.” The guard waved the rifle and the three neighbors walked on. They passed a line of armed men that paid little attention to them. Instead their eyes were focused on the shoreline. “Who are they here to shoot? The dead or the living?” Erik asked.

The guard nodded. “That’s right.”

Farther into the island they came upon a camp. Supplies of all sorts were stacked in the center of a clearing and watched by another armed guard. Tents lined the edge of the clearing and Chris noted the people sleeping inside. He assumed they were the night watch.

The guards acknowledged each other as they passed but made no move to wave or nod at the prisoners. They only looked at them with a certain defeat that made Chris’s stomach sink.

They moved past the camp and down a wide trail that had once been maintained by the constant movement of trucks. Long since abandoned grass now filled the ruts and saplings made their break for daylight at its center.

They followed the trail for half a mile or so before it ended at the site of a masonry building. Whatever its purpose had once been, it had long since been abandoned and now found use as the center of the island’s new operators.

Two guards stood outside the door armed with semi-auto rifles and no sense of humor. One knocked on the door and announced the prisoners’ arrival.

A friendly voice inside responded, “Send them in.”

“Gentlemen,” the Duke said with a smile. His appearance wasn’t regal or royal. It was disheveled and a little dirty. The man before them wore a fedora cocked to one side and was using an old office chair supported by three casters and a brick as his throne.

“You don’t look like a duke to me,” John said. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a cape?”

The Duke laughed and pointed to his head. “It’s the hat. Everyone saw me wearing the hat and started calling me the Duke like I’m some sort of cowboy.”

Erik spoke slowly and the room could hear his confusion. “But that’s not a cowboy hat.”

“And why is it crooked?” John asked.

The Duke smiled. “I know. I asked them to call me the Chairman instead, but no one really got it. But, enough about me and my hat, I called you boys here to welcome you to our little slice of post-apocalyptic paradise. It’s pretty nice, right?”

The three men looked around the old building. Chris noticed that bricks were missing in places. The roof had caved in at the rear. And they were pretty certain something had been peeing in there for years. “It’s kind of crappy.”

The Duke looked hurt at first but waved it off. “Ah, it’s only temporary. We’ll all be living in style in no time.”

“That’s great. Can we go now?” John asked.

“But, you just got here.” The Duke crossed the room and opened the lid of a cooler. He pulled out a bottle of water and offered one to the three friends. “You can’t leave yet. You’d be insulting my hospitality.”

“Sorry, where are our manners?” Chris rubbed the bruise on his face. “If you wanted us here so badly, why didn’t you just ask?”

“I did ask.” The Duke chuckled. “You declined.”

Erik looked at Chris, “I guess he kind of did.”

“Shut up, Erik. He could have been a little more inviting.” Chris turned back to the Duke. “Do you beat the shit out of all your guests?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about Barry. He’s a big dumb guy and beating people is kind of what he does. And as I hear it, one of you really pissed him off.”

Erik pointed to John. John raised his hand. “It’s a gift.”

“Still,” the Duke said with open arms, “you’re here. You’re conscious. And I’m happy to meet you.”

“What do you want from us?” Erik asked.

“Why is your hat crooked?” John asked.

The Duke stood from the chair and the shriek from its movement made everybody jump. “You boys are the first living folks we’ve seen in the last two days. We were starting to think the zombies had won.”

Chris pointed in the direction from which they had come. “Then who did all the boats belong to?”

“There were a few that made it here the first couple of days. But ever since, every boat that’s floated our way has been full of walkers.”

John raised his finger.

Erik slapped it down. “Shut up, John.”

The Duke continued. “That damn bridge has been raining death on anyone who tried to run it. But, you fellas were too smart for them. Weren’t you?”

“Yes,” Chris said. “We outsmarted a bunch of corpses.”

The Duke nodded. “It seems obvious to you. But you’d be surprised how many people missed the obvious.”

“Yay for us.”

“Now don’t be like that. I’m excited to have you guys here. I could use smart folks. So far your average survivor seems to either be lucky or like Barry. I want you guys to stay here on my island.”

“Your island?”

“That’s right.”

“And how did you come to be in charge?”

“I don’t know really.” The Duke began to laugh. “To tell you the truth, I think a part of it was the hat. I put it on when it got sunny and everyone started listening to me.”

“It is a nice hat,” Chris said.

“Why is it crooked?” John asked.

“People will follow charisma whether it’s got brains or not. They’re just lucky I’ve got both.”

“That they are,” Chris said. “We’d like to go now.”

The Duke turned off his big smile and charm. “Please don’t. Look, I’d really like to talk to you. Have a seat, we’ll get something to drink and we’ll just talk.” He led them to the table in the center of the room surrounded by rusted office chairs.

The four men sat and the four chairs filled the room with an ear-tickling shriek.

“Sorry about that.” The Duke leaned forward. “I want to ask you, what do you think of this whole apocalypse thing?”

Thinking that answer was obvious, the three men looked at each other.

“Because I think it’s awesome.” The Duke laughed. “I mean, I have been waiting and waiting for something like this to happen.”

“You were hoping for zombies?” Erik asked.

“Well, not zombies. But a plague. A war. Something to kind of thin the herd a little. People were getting too cocky. We needed to be knocked down a peg.”

Erik leaned across the table. “Excuse me? People are dying. Families are being torn apart. The world is dying!”

“No, it’s not. The world is being reborn. This is our black plague. It’s nature’s way of saying, ‘there are too many of you and you’re doing stupid things.’ The world is self-correcting and we’re going to make the most of this fresh start. And I need you boys to be a part of it.”

“Why us?” Erik asked.

“You’ve made it this far. You have what it takes.”

“What if we got lucky?”

The Duke leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Look, I’m not going to lie. I’ll take just about anybody now. You saw the hole?”

John pointed out the door. “That box of zombies out there?”

“That’s a good name for it too. Yes. Look, being in charge isn’t all personality and a great hat. It takes discipline too. And, I can admit this, I may have gotten a little carried away with the hole. I’ve never had this much power and it kind of went to my head. But, I’m much better now.”

“How ... how many ...” John began.

“I don’t really know and it doesn’t matter. No one else will fit. The hole is full. Which is probably best because I’d have just kept cramming people in there anyway. But don’t tell anyone. It still makes for a great threat.”

Chris leaned back in his seat. “You’re crazy.”

“Let’s also keep that a secret. But what do you say? Are you boys in?”

“Thanks,” Erik said. “But we’ve got our own plans.”

“Right. The Army camp. Look, I really don’t think you boys should head there.”

“Why not?” John asked.

“I’m going to wipe it out.”

“What?” Chris stood up. A guard sat him back down. “Why would you do that?”

“I really don’t like the government. And I mean really don’t like them.”

“But you can’t just kill them.”

The Duke shook his head to better understand the statement. “Why not?”

Chris nodded. “Our families are there.”

“I doubt it.” The Duke shook his head. “That place is about empty.”

“What? You’re lying.”

“Hardly. We’ve been watching the camp and they’ve been bussing people out of there in convoys for the last two days. They’re evacuating. The government is quitting on its people. That’s the old world dying and making room for ours. And I need you three to help me.”

“No. We have to go.”

“I’ll give you each your own city. What do you like? You like Vegas? You guys can have Vegas.”

“You are shit nuts, Duke,” John said.

“I’m really not. I can see why you’d say that, but I’m really not. And I’m telling you, if you go to the shelter, you’re going to regret it.”

“We have to see for ourselves.

“Man, I really wish I could threaten to throw you in the hole.” The Duke grew quiet and began to nod slowly. “You don’t understand. I’m not saying that you’ll get there, not find them and be disappointed. I’m saying if you insist on going there, I’m going to kill you.”

“Just because you don’t get your way?” Erik asked. “That seems like a pretty severe hissy fit. I can’t believe you’d do this all out of spite.”

The Duke shook his head. “Partly out of spite. Have you ever seen the Army retreat? They leave all kinds of stuff behind. Those are supplies my men can use. We’re going to go get them. There’s only a skeleton crew left behind those barricades.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Erik said. “And I’ve been traveling with this guy for five days.” Erik put his hand on John’s shoulder. “You’re going to storm an Army stronghold?”

“No, he’s going to send in a box of zombies to do it,” Chris said.

The Duke touched his nose and pointed at Chris.

“But our families could still be there. And you’re going to send in an army to kill them?”

“If it’ll make you feel better, I can pretend to be sad about it.”

The three men were quiet. The Duke wasn’t right in the head, but he could be right about the camp evacuating. Either way they were going to have to see for themselves. They would have to be alive when they did it and now they’d have to stop a shipload of zombies.

“Right now, they are the powers that be. You can’t start a cable when other powers are being. You boys know what a cable is, right?”

The three men shared a confused look and nodded.

“The old cable is gone. And once we wipe out the Army camp, it will finally have been snuffed out. That leaves only us. We’re going to get the world going again and run everything. Our way.”

Erik raised his hand.

The Duke rolled his eyes. “This isn’t a classroom.”

“Do you mean cabal?”

The Duke leaned closer. “What the hell is a cabal?”

“It’s a group of powerful families that people think secretly run the world through financial institutions and the influence of world governments.”

The Duke folded his arms and stuck out his chest. “That sounds an awful lot like a cable.”

John lost his patience. “This is why people shouldn’t try to learn things from Internet forums.”

Chris studied the Duke. “Quiet, John.”

“No. This guy’s an idiot with a stupid crooked hat. Can we please get out of here now?”

The Duke stood from his chair. The humor in his expression was gone. He dashed across and stuck a finger in John’s chest as he yelled, “Don’t you make fun of me. Or the hat.”

John stared at the finger in his chest, reached up and straightened the Duke’s hat.

“That’s it!” The Duke shoved John against the wall and stepped away. “I gave you boys a chance to join my cable and you choose to insult me? As the lord regent of this island, I hereby accuse you of and find you guilty of bringing an infected person to our lands.”

“What are you talking about?” John asked. “We’re all fine.”

“I’m talking about the fourth member of your party. You are guilty of collaborating with the dead and conspiring to the downfall of our nation.” The Duke leaned in close to Erik and whispered, “And my cable.”

“Who? Tim?” Chris asked. “But he’s not a zombie.”

One of the guards spoke up. “Not yet. But our doctors say he’ll turn within the hour.”

“Did your doctors get their education from the Internet too?” John asked.

The Duke ignored him and delivered the sentence. “Normally I’d throw you right in the hole. But it’s full. Normally, for your crimes of conspiracy with a corpse I would sentence you to share its fate, but I’m going to give you one more chance. You will be placed in your vessel with the creature until such time as you have contracted the infection you wished to spread or you decide to join our party.”

The guards fell in behind the three men and lowered their rifle barrels.

“You boys really fucked up. You could have helped me rule the world. One way or another you’ll help me conquer it as one of the dead.” The Duke leaned in close to John and raked his hat so it sat back at an angle. “I hope you like being a walker.”

John groaned. “Seriously?”

The guards pushed the three men back outside and down the trail.

“Holy crap, John. Pissing people off is like your superpower.”

John turned and looked at Chris. “We’re out of there, aren’t we?”

Did John really think he had done good? How could their situation possibly improve from being locked in the Darling Dear with Tim’s rotting corpse?

As they passed through the camp, the citizens of the small tent city peered out of their shelters. Once they saw the guards behind the three men, they turned away and stepped back inside with a shrug or a slight shake of the head.

Erik spoke over his shoulder. “Not a lot of happiness in this new world of yours, is there?”

The guard responded by pressing the gun barrel into his back. “We’re safe here.”

“As long as you stay on Captain Crazy’s good side,” John said.

The guard stiffened a little at the remark. “I’ll take my chances.”

The three men were led back across the floating dock onto the deck of the Darling Dear. One guard directed them into the cabin and pointed below deck. “Get in.”

John stepped down the stairs without an argument. Erik followed a moment later.

Chris pointed down the stairs. “He’s not a zombie. He’s dead.”

“I said get in.”

“So are you going to let us just starve to death?”

“Your friend will turn you into a walker long before that and then he’ll bite you. I can’t really imagine a fate worse than that. Can you? You’re alive but not in control of yourself as your tear into loved ones. Do you think the dead know what they do? I think they do. I think you’ll see it all. I think you’ll have to watch as the flesh falls from your body. I think you’ll smell your organs rotting from the inside. I think you’ll live every agonizing minute of your undead life. I don’t know about you, but I would gladly take a bullet if it meant not turning into one of those things.”

John snorted. “This guy’s pretty cheery.”

“Look, Tim’s not going to tu ...”

Chris’s argument was settled with a barrel in his chest. The guards shoved him backwards down the stairs where he collapsed at the foot of the bed. John helped him stand and the three men watched as the door closed.

35

Tim was still dead. This was unfortunate but comforting. Their time spent with the Duke had been brief, but even now the former captain’s body was breaking down. Chris knew little about death, other than what he had seen in the last few days, but he knew that Tim’s rapid decay wasn’t natural.

Was the Duke right? Could Tim still turn into one of the undead? Or did the man think Chris was lying to him about Tim being dead? And why was John such an idiot?

John reached under Tim’s pillow.

“What are you doing, you idiot?” Chris grabbed John by the shoulder and pulled him back from the body.

“I’m not an idiot.” John slapped Chris’s hand away. He began to whisper. “Not this time.” He got back on his knees and reached both arms under the mattress. “Actually, this may be my best day ever for good ideas.”

Chris backed away and looked at his neighbor with a puzzled expression. “What are you ...”

John pulled one arm from the mattress and held a finger to his lips. Then he turned the finger into a gun.

Chris got it. Tim had a gun on him when he let them on board. Chris remembered the feel of the cold barrel against his head the night Tim pulled him from the river. Chris moved to a small cabinet, opened the door and felt around for the pistol.

“What are you guys looking for?” Erik asked before either man could shush him.

Chris and John turned frantically toward him as the door to the cabin opened and the guard stepped in.

The guard eyed the men without saying a word. The silence stood for a long minute as John tried to act nonchalant.

He was up to his elbows in mattress, Chris had an armful of T-shirts and Erik had a stupid look on his face.

“It was under his pillow.” The guard pulled the large pistol from his belt, smiled and left the cabin.

John sank to the floor as the door closed. “Way to go, Erik.”

“What? They already had it.”

John kicked the bed and put his face in his hands.

“It was good thinking, John,” Chris said.

“Sorry I didn’t have time to run it by you, Cap,” John sighed.

Chris sighed and began to search the cabin.

“What are we going to do now?” Erik asked. “This asshole is about to launch a zombie bomb at the shelter and we can’t warn them because we’ll be locked up in here until we starve to death.”

“Or until Tim turns into a zombie and eats us all,” Chris said.

“Thanks. I forgot that possibility.” Erik’s voice turned to a whisper, “We have to get out of here. If we just had some kind of weapon, a knife, a baseball bat, anything.”

“So now sports aren’t so bad?” John whispered back.

“Shut up, John. You know what I mean. Any kind of weapon.”

“You’re the survival guy.” John got excited with the idea and his whisper began to get louder. “Can’t you just make a weapon out of something in here?”

Erik shushed him. “I’m a prepper, John, not MacGyver.”

John smiled.

“What?”

“You admitted it.” John’s smile grew. “You finally admitted it.”

“So what. A lot of good it did anyone.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” John stretched out his legs. “Who could have prepared for this? This is worse than the bomb or an asteroid. Those you can prepare for. And at least they don’t try to eat you afterward. If you think about it, this is the scariest thing that can happen. Well, unless bears became super intelligent. That would be scarier, I think.”

Erik closed his eyes hard. “What?”

“It’s the claws.” John held up his hands and made talons with his fingers. “And they’re huge. And you can’t outrun them.”

“Are we really talking about bears?” Erik asked.

“Well, I am. You’re just kind of sitting there and looking confused.”

“Dammit.” Chris slammed the open cabinet door and whispered. “There’s nothing in here but us.” He kicked the cabinet door. “We’ve got to get out of here and warn the Army that a missile full of zombies is headed their way.”

Erik sat on the edge of the bed. “So, what do we do now?”

* * *

The lack of sun through a tiny window was their only gauge for the passage of time. They eyed Tim nervously as his body continued to decompose. He never stirred or tried to rise from death, but his descent into dust was happening before them.

As moonlight began to illuminate the cabin, Chris and Erik realized that they had sat quietly for hours as John whispered idea after idea: the sick prisoner routine, digging out through the hull, intentionally sinking the boat, bribing the guard, threatening the guard, pretending that they were putting on a play and asking the guard to play the lead role and escaping during the climactic monologue. The two men responded with only the shake of a head to each suggestion.

“What if we start tapping out a signal in Morse code on the boat? Someone will hear it. They come to rescue us and we escape. Do either of you know Morse code?”

“Enough, John!” Erik stood up and paced what little floor there was in the cabin. “For hours we’ve listened to you vomit ideas and each and every one was terrible. And I’m pretty sure at least half of them were Gilligan’s Island episodes. Can’t you just shut the hell up for five minutes?”

“Not half,” John muttered.

“Shut. Up.”

“At least I’m trying, Erik,” John whispered. “You guys are just sitting there doing nothing.”

“We’re trying to think, John. It’s what people do when they’re not running at the mouth their entire life.”

“Okay. What have you been thinking?”

“I ...” Erik fell silent and looked at Chris. “I’ve got nothing. You?”

Chris shrugged and shook his head

“See? You guys weren’t thinking.”

“We’re trying to,” Chris said. “But there’s this persistent sound of asshole filling the air making it impossible.”

John shut his mouth and looked away. He began whispering again. “What if we ...?”

“No.” Erik spoke louder than he wanted to. “That’s not how thinking works, John. You don’t just spew shit from your face until an answer falls out. Be quiet for a moment and let someone else concentrate.”

“I’m sorry, Erik. That’s just how I think. I’ve always just kind of thought out loud.” John smiled. “I’m an extrovert. What can I say?”

“You can say nothing for a change and give the rest of the world a break.”

“Why are you stopping me? I’m on a roll today.”

“A couple of ideas that happen to work in your favor does not constitute a roll. Not after a lifetime of horrible ideas.”

John looked at his hands and rolled the gold wedding band around his finger. “I’ve had my moments.”

“Good for you. Now shut up.”

John was about to strike back but held his tongue. He let the two men think. They could have their quiet. And he would show them that he could think without speaking as well. For possibly the thousandth time he looked around the cabin for something to aid in their escape. The guards had left them nothing but Tim’s body and the blood-soaked bedding. Even the table lamps had been removed. The cords would have made a great garrote or, at the very least, a pretty good whip that would leave a welt.

They could get the guard to open the door, but it wasn’t going to do them any good unless they could overpower him or scare him into cooperating. Even if they could get the gun away from the guard, it would do little good. He seemed more frightened of the Duke than a bullet.

John put his head back against the wall and stared at Tim. The captain had lost weight as the zombie disease ravaged his corpse. In the few hours they had been sitting in the cabin, his flesh had begun to fall away.

Chris and Erik continued to think. After a while they began to exchange ideas that sounded less like ideas and more like hopes.

“Maybe we’ll get lucky and a few of those zombies from the bridge will wash up on shore and cause a distraction.” Erik crossed his fingers and smiled.

“Yeah, that guard sounded terrified of them.”

“Too bad we can’t threaten to turn him into a zombie. He’d probably do anything we’d ask.”

John shot to his feet. His whisper rose with excitement. “I’ve got an idea. Erik, we’ll dress you up as a zombie. We’ll call in the guard and tell him that if he doesn’t take us to a boat, you’ll bite him.”

Erik stood up to shush him but ended up whispering just as loud. “If I’m a zombie, how can you tell me what to do?”

John opened his mouth but nothing came out. A moment later he added, “I didn’t really think this through.”

“You never think anything through,” Erik said. “That’s why you’re an idiot!”

John pointed a finger at his neighbor. “I’m getting really tired of you calling me an idiot.”

“I’m getting tired of you being such an idiot.”

“You just did it again.”

“You’re right and I’m going to keep doing it until you get it. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.”

“That does it.” John swung a fist at Erik and missed.

Erik shoved John back into the wall of the cabin causing the boat to shake.

John sprang forward and tackled Erik onto the bed and pushed him down next to Tim. He tried to punch, but Erik grabbed his arms and held them back.

“If you two knew how stupid you both looked right now, you’d stop,” Chris said.

John struggled to pull his arms free. “He started it.”

“John, I’m not your mommy. I don’t care. I’m just saying it looks more like you’re about to make out than hurt anybody.”

The next few moments were a flurry of John pulling his hands away, Erik grabbing them again and nothing much else happening. This went on until Erik tried to sit up and the two men bonked heads.

“Arrgh,” John backed away from the bed holding his forehead.

Erik stood and grabbed his own. “See? See what you did, you idiot?”

John screamed and tackled Erik again. This time the two rolled clear over the bed, over Tim and down to the floor on the other side. Both men rolled to a sitting position and hit their heads on the cabin wall, causing them to squint against the pain.

“Look what you two did,” Chris shouted.

John opened his eyes first and looked on the bed. He gasped and covered his mouth.

Erik was still squinting. “What is it?”

“You knocked Tim’s head off.”

“What?” Erik opened his eyes and looked on the bed. Tim’s head and body lay sideways across the mattress. His head was sitting upside down on the pillow, staring at the two men on the floor. There was no need for Erik to whisper; his voice was almost too weak to be heard. “Oh crap, Tim’s head came off.”

“That’s what I said. Way to go, Erik.”

“Me? You did it.”

“You were on bottom.”

“Because you tackled me.”

“Both of you, shut up.” Chris approached the body with hesitation. He reached for Tim’s feet to put them back on the bed but pulled his hands back before touching them. He reached out again and pulled them back once more before finally grabbing the feet and returning Tim to his resting place.

“What about the head?” John asked.

Chris stared back. “What about it?”

“It’s just staring at me. Move it.”

“You move it. You broke it.”

“I’m not going to just pick up his, oh my God, I just got an idea.”

Erik waved him off, “We’re done with your ideas.”

There was no protest in his voice. “This one will work.”

“Yeah, right.” Erik began to share another thought but Chris held up his hand.

Chris could see it in John’s face that he really thought he had an idea. John’s usual smile looked too confident to be real. Whenever the man had a real idea, he smiled but looked confused. “John. Is this a good idea?”

John shook his head. “No. It’s the most horrible idea I’ve ever had.”

36

“Oh my God!” Chris screamed. “He’s turned. He’s turned. Get us out of here.”

John crashed into the bulkhead and yelled in terror. “Let us out.”

“Do you wish to become members of our party?” the guard asked through the door.

“Whatever you want. Oh my God, open the door. This mattress isn’t going to hold him.” Chris and John had upended the mattress and pinned Tim’s body to the wall behind it. “Help us.”

The guard opened the door and rushed to help push back the mattress. He threw his shoulder into it and felt the mattress buck back. The guard stepped back and raised his rifle to fire through the mattress when he felt teeth at his neck.

“Don’t shoot,” Erik whispered. “We wouldn’t want to make too much noise.”

Chris and John backed away from the mattress. Chris put his hand on the barrel as John whispered in the guard’s ear. “What you feel on your neck is the head of zombie Tim. Give him the gun or Erik makes him bite. Then you’re dead. Or whatever it is.”

Erik’s face was pale white with disgust and he held the head as far away from himself as possible. He had one hand through Tim’s thinning hair and the other at the base of his jaw.

The guard hesitated. John pulled the mattress away and revealed the rest of Tim’s body. The guard handed over the gun. “You guys are sick.”

“This isn’t our proudest moment.” John patted the guard down and pulled out a revolver that was tucked into the guard’s waistband. He laughed quietly and held up the pink weapon. “Holy crap, Erik. It’s your lady gun.”

The guard hung his head. It was not his proudest moment either.

Chris pointed to the stairs. “Is there anyone outside?”

The guard shook his head and jumped as the motion pushed his neck further into zombie Tim’s teeth.

“Good.” Chris pointed to the door with the rifle. “Lead us out.”

The four men stepped from the cabin onto the deck of the Darling Dear. John looked around for another guard but there appeared to be no one. “Take us to a fast boat.”

Erik pushed the guard forward with Tim’s head and they stepped out into the moonlight. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Hold it together, Erik,” Chris whispered. “We’re almost out of here.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not holding a severed head.”

John put his hand on Erik’s shoulder. “You’re doing great. Quit being such a baby.”

“Hey.” Erik turned toward John.

“Teethteethteethteeth,” the guard seemed too frighten to yell.

Erik eased up on the head. “Sorry.”

John pointed down the makeshift dock to a red and white boat. “That one looks fast. We’ll take that one.”

The four men stepped into the small ski boat. Erik pinched the jaw shut a hair. “Where are the keys?”

The guard was doing his best to stay calm. “In the ignition.”

“I guess you didn’t figure on a bunch of guys with a zombie head hijacking your boat, huh?”

“It never came up at our meetings.” The guard was calm, but his eyes were alive with motion.

John turned and followed the guard’s eyes. There was nothing there, but that didn’t mean there was nothing there. He felt his stomach turn. “I’m getting a strange feeling in my gut. How about you guys?”

“I’m holding a dead man’s head. How do you think my stomach feels?”

“Like a baby’s,” John said. “Chris, untie that side. Erik, keep Tim pointed at the guard.”

Chris and John untied the ropes that kept the boat in line with the others. Chris moved to the pilot’s seat and sat down. He stood up a moment later. “John, you drive.”

Erik leaned over the shoulder of the guard. “Are you crazy?”

The guard buckled at the knees. “Teethteethteethteeth.”

“Oh, shut up. Chris, you can’t let him drive.”

“He got us here, didn’t he?”

“In a slow ass boat,” Erik said. “This is more like the Mustang.”

“I’ll be careful, Erik. Promise.” John sat down and reached for the ignition. He looked around to make sure he was clear and realized that something was missing. “Where’s the barge?”

The guard smiled.

“Erik, make Tim bite.”

The guard buckled farther towards to ground. “Ah. Okay. The Duke sent it down river.”

“Already?” Chris asked. “We’ve got to stop it.”

“How? All we’ve got is two guns and a zombie’s head.”

Chris shook off the doubt. “We’ll think of something. Get rid of the guard.”

“How?” John asked.

“I don’t know. Knock him out or something.”

John stepped behind the guard and nodded to Erik who lowered Tim’s head. John raised the pistol and whipped the guard across the back of the skull.

“Ouch! That hurt!” the guard yelled.

“Shhhh.” John whipped him again.

“Stop it!”

John brought the butt of the pistol down on the base of the guard’s neck. The guard dropped to his knees and grabbed the back of his head.

“John!” Chris snapped.

“I’m trying. I’m new to this pistol whipping thing.”

The guard looked at his hand. “Great. Now I’m bleeding.”

John raised the gun again. “Hey, fella. This isn’t easy.”

Chris brought the stock of the rifle down across the man’s face and the guard fell to the deck of the boat unconscious.

“Yeah,” John said. “So? You’ve got a bigger gun.”

“Hurry and dump him in that boat. I’m sure someone heard him yell.”

John sat and fired up the boat as Erik and Chris threw the guard into the next boat over. The roar of the engine stirred the night watch on the shore and they heard shouts approaching. John pushed the throttle forward and the jet boat shot from its slot in the improvised marina and out into the river as shots began to sound.

Erik held up Tim’s head. “What do I do with Tim?”

“Throw him over,” John said. “But say something nice first.”

“That’s disrespectful!” Erik shouted.

“Disrespectful? You’ve been pointing his head like a gun, you sick bastard.”

“Sick bas ...this was your idea, John!”

John smiled “And it worked!”

“I know it’s not right, Erik,” Chris said. “But he’s safer in the river than here with us. There’s no telling what John will think of next.”

Erik nodded and held up Tim’s head. “I’m sorry, Tim. You and your head deserve better. Thank you for everything.” Erik tossed Tim’s head into the river. In the darkness he couldn’t even see the splash it made. He turned away and changed the subject. “How are we going to stop this thing?”

Chris stared ahead into the night. “I have no idea.”

* * *

Moonlight bounced off the river’s surface and lit the path in front of them. The boat shot along the water faster than John expected. His gut told him to throttle back in order to see where he was going but he kept it pressed to the stops and did his best to keep the boat in the river.

They shot down the length of the island taking only a few shots from the night watch on the shore. It was at the other end of the island where things got heated.

The first boat shot out of a small cove and tore straight for them. The chop of the river made it hard for their pursuers to aim, but it didn’t stop them from shooting. Shots squeaked as they tore through the fiberglass hull of the red and white ski boat and Chris and Erik dove to the deck. John hunched down and tried to be invisible.

Chris passed the rifle to Erik. “You take it.”

Erik grabbed the rifle and examined the clear magazine. It was full of thirty rounds, but it was all they had.

“Make ’em count.”

John turned hard and the two men rolled across the deck.

“John!”

“Not my fault.” John pointed to his left as another boat screamed out of a small creek to join the pursuit. The sharp turn had prevented a collision.

More bullets tore at the water and John swerved to throw off their aim.

Erik rose to one knee and fired a single shot at the first boat. In the dark, there was no telling where the bullet had gone. He clearly missed but he had been close enough to cause the boat to turn away.

He spun and brought the rifle to bear on the second boat. It was closer. A man sat up front in the bow and pointed a rifle their way.

Erik fired a quick shot that caused the gunman to reposition. Erik fired again and missed the shooter entirely. He struck the pilot who slumped to his left. The boat veered away toward the riverbank. They heard the gunman scream as the ski boat ran itself aground and tossed him into the shrubs that lined the shore.

The second chase boat began to fall away. The red and white jet boat was too fast for it to keep pace. Bullets continued to buzz by but they fell silent as John turned the boat around a bend in the river.

They saw it up ahead. The barge thumped down the river. A single escape boat followed behind it on a towline.

John sped ahead not wanting to lose any lead they had gained on their pursuers.

Chris tapped him on the shoulder. “There can’t be that many on board. Give me the lady gun.”

John pulled the revolver from his waist and handed it over. “Don’t let them see you shoot them. They’ll laugh at you.”

Chris turned to Erik. “We can do this, right?”

Erik shook his head. “There’s no way in hell we can do this.”

“We have to. If that thing gets to the camp, my family, John’s family ... they’re all dead.”

Erik pulled the rifle tight against his shoulder. “I said there’s no way we can do it. I didn’t say we wouldn’t try.”

“Thank you, Erik.” Chris turned back to John. “Can you get in front of it?”

“No problem. Can I do it without getting run over? No way.” John pulled away from the barge and ran down the opposite side of the river skirting the shoreline.

If the men on the barge saw them, they didn’t react. They would be expecting any boat on the river to be their own.

John drew even with the barge and began to cut across the water. A beam of light exploded on the river and focused on the jet boat. Chris and Erik dropped into the seats with their backs to the barge hoping that no one on board would recognize them. John pulled in front of the barge and stopped ahead of the vessel. “Get ready.”

Chris and Erik stood and put a foot on the rail ready to make the jump.

John watched as the barge loomed towards them. It moved slow, but he knew this was going to hurt. “I don’t think you thought this through, Chris!”

The two men leapt and John closed his eyes as the barge collided with the smaller boat and began to push it down river. The jet boat went up on its side and threatened to tip John into the river. Water rushed in over the side and began to fill the boat. John jammed the throttle forward and hoped enough of the boat was still in the river to fill the turbines.

Erik landed on the deck of the barge next to the yellow cargo container. Chris landed in front of it, slammed into the doors and bounced back into the boat.

The turbine caught a blast of water and shot the boat out from under the bow of the barge. John turned the wheel to the left and sped down its length.

“John!”

John turned. “Chris? You’re supposed to be on the barge.”

“I know! Get me back there.”

“That almost sank us.”

“Erik’s alone up there.”

“That’s because you’re supposed to be with him!”

“I know!”

“Well, help him. Shoot something.”

Chris looked up to see two of the men on the barge rush to the railing. He fired a shot from the pink revolver and forced them to take cover.

John passed the barge’s helm at full speed, but he was still able to see the Duke’s stupid crooked hat. “It’s the Duke!”

“I saw him. Come around again.”

Erik ducked behind the cargo container as the men on board fired. Zombies beat against the walls of the container and raged into a fury as the shots bounced off the heavy metal.

“Well, I’ll say that I’m impressed.” The Duke was on board and his voice carried from the rear of the small barge. “I figured you boys would be a part of the second wave for sure.”

Erik leaned to the edge of the container and shouted around the corner. “Stop the barge, Duke. You can’t do this.”

“Oh, I’m doing it. We need a clean sweep. If the government is too stubborn to hold on, then we’ll give them a little push.”

“But they’re people.”

“People that were too weak to take care of themselves. The new world doesn’t need people like that. We need survivors.”

“They’re women and children.”

“They’re fools. Trusting fools. The government will take everything from them. Just like they did me.”

“This isn’t about you, you selfish prick. This is about everyone.”

“Screw ’em.”

“Erik, look out!” The boat shot past the bow and Chris fired two shots down the side of the container. Bullets threw up a trail of water behind the boat as they continued past.

Erik peeked around the corner. Two of the men had been sneaking along the side. Chris’s shots had forced them to the deck where they fired from cover after the boat. Erik rushed to his left and fired down the opposite side of the container.

The first man ducked. The second was struck in the chest and fell into the river. The first man shot back and drove Erik back behind the container.

“You’re not going to win this one, friend,” the Duke said. “Get off of my barge.”

Erik heard the men approaching from his right and the man on his left was almost to the bow. He had nowhere to go but up. He slung the rifle across his back and turned to face the container. He leapt and grabbed the lip with his hands and scrambled with his feet until he found a foothold on a crossbeam.

A hand grabbed his leg and pulled his weight out from under him. He slipped and felt the impact in his shoulders as his fingers refused to let go. The attacker tugged at his leg to pull him from the container. Erik tried to shake the grip as he struggled to regain his footing with his free leg.

His foot caught on the container and he pushed up to gain some leverage on the man that held him. He kicked again and sent the man into the river but knocked loose the handle on the container as it gave under his weight. The door unlatched.

Erik yelled as the door swung open and the horde inside poured out of the container. Many charged off the short bow into the water while others turned and swarmed the deck of the barge. Driven by the escaping mass of undead, Erik swung out over the river as the men on the deck screamed their final horror.

The zombies covered the deck as they rushed across the barge looking for more flesh to consume. One soon spotted Erik dangling from the door. Hissing, it drew attention to the dangling man and the crowd rushed towards him. The weight of the horde shifted the barge and it began to list.

They couldn’t reach him from the barge. Erik exhaled a breath he had apparently been holding as he realized the door was too wide for them to reach him.

They began climbing the door.

“No. No!” Erik scrambled to the edge of the door. He was as far from the boat as possible but they still came. Several clung to the door and served as ledges for the others to climb. Arms with rotted nails grasped at his hands. Their moans turned to screams as they drew closer. Erik closed his eyes.

“Erik,” Chris shouted as the jet boat rounded the rear of the barge.

John was standing behind the wheel and waving with his arm towards the boat. “Jump!”

They were too far away. A cold, dead hand grabbed his own and Erik leapt from the door’s edge into the night. He awaited the hard strike against the water and the cold that would come with the plunge underneath.

His upper body hit the deck. One leg hit the gunwale and the other a bench. But, it was as cold as he expected. The water had flooded the boat during boarding and soaked into his clothing. It chilled him in an instant.

“Nice jump!” Chris grabbed Erik and tried to help him to his feet.

Erik slapped away the hand. “Where the hell were you? You were supposed to be with me.”

“I was!” Chris yelled. “Then I wasn’t. I ... I slipped.”

Erik stared hard at Chris for a moment then held up his hand. He laughed as his friend helped him up.

Chris laughed back. “You did it.”

John kept his eyes forward. “Way to go, Erik! I wish I could have seen the look on asshat’s face.”

The three men laughed and Erik doubled over with his hand on his stomach.

Chris slapped him on the back. “Good job, man.”

Erik did not stand. He fell into one of the seats and looked at his hand. The blood was so thick where it stayed, it appeared almost black. He held it up for Chris to see before falling over into the seat.

Chris dropped to his knees and shook his friend. “Erik. Erik!”

Erik was conscious but too weak to speak.

Chris looked behind them and saw the towed boat from the barge bearing down on them. The Duke was at the wheel. A gun was in his hand.

37

“Erik’s been shot!”

“What?” John spun to look and accidentally turned the wheel.

The boat went left and Chris had to grab the seat to stay upright. “Pay attention!”

“I am paying attention!”

“To the river.”

“The river, the madman, the gunshot victim in the boat. There’s a lot to pay attention to! You’re asking a lot of me!”

“Just drive!”

Chris kneeled down beside Erik. “You’re going to be okay.” It was a stupid thing to say.

“That’s a stupid ... stupid thing to say.”

“I knew it was.”

“I’ve been shot. It’s pretty much the opposite of okay.”

“I know but ‘you’re going to be okay’ is all I’ve got. Just try and stay awake. Or go to sleep. Or whatever you’re supposed to do here. I just don’t know. You’re the one that knows what to do. Tell me. You read about this stuff. Tell me what I’m supposed to do, Erik!”

Erik closed his eyes tight as he tried to move. The effort exhausted him. “Okay. First thing you do ... the first thing you do ...”

Chris was coiled, ready to launch into action once he knew how to make the bleeding stop, to take away the pain, to help his friend. “Yes?”

“The first thing you do is calm the victim.”

“How?”

Erik winced again. “I don’t know.” Erik smiled. It was weak. He looked sleepy. “Tell them everything is going to be okay.”

Chris could see his friend fading. He saw the life pouring from the hole in his abdomen. He put his hand on Chris’s arm and smiled. “You’re going to be okay, Erik.”

“Man, am I relieved to hear that. Here I am bleeding all over the damn place ... I figured I was done for.”

Chris laughed. Erik had always been the nice guy, the one that wanted everyone to be comfortable. Now he was trying to make his own death easy on Chris. The bastard was making him laugh. “All right, you’re calm. Now what?”

Erik looked down at his stomach. Blood ran through his fingers as he tried to hold it in. “We should probably stop this bleeding. It’s ruining the boat.”

Chris scrambled around the small craft ripping open every compartment and hatch searching for towels, rags or anything to use as a bandage. He found a yellow and blue dry bag tucked in a compartment and pulled it out. He tore open the first aid kit and found that it had never been used. “Thank God.”

Erik looked even sleepier now and Chris shook him gently to get his attention. Erik opened his eyes and looked at Chris holding the bag. “Lucky us, huh?”

Chris tore open a smaller bag in the kit and pulled out a large gauze bandage. Erik stopped him from applying it.

“What?”

“See that bottle?”

“The one that says wound irrigator?”

Erik nodded.

“We’re not growing crops here, Erik. We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

“Just squirt it.” Erik tried to pull his shirt up but ended up closing his eyes again.

Chris shook him. “Stay awake.” He pulled up Erik’s shirt. He couldn’t see the wound for all the blood. He squeezed the plastic bottle and saline spread across Erik’s stomach clearing the blood away. The bullet hole was perfectly round and quickly refilled with deep red blood. Chris set the gauze against it and pressed.

Erik screamed.

“Sorry.”

The pain had brought life back into his eyes. Erik shook his head. “No. That’s, that’s ... at least we know that’s the spot.”

“What now? What’s next? Pressure, right? I apply pressure?”

Erik placed his hand over Chris’s. “Now, move your hand out.”

Chris pulled his hand away and Erik held the compress in place.

“Okay. I’ve got this for a bit.”

“What do I do now, Erik?”

“Okay. The last thing is ...” Erik’s voice faded. He leaned forward and tried to pull the rifle from his back. “Help me with this.”

Chris leaned him forward and pulled the sling over his neck. He set the rifle down and helped Erik lay down across the bench. “What’s next?”

Erik pointed to the rifle. “Kill the fucker.” Erik draped his arm across his eyes.

Chris grabbed the rifle and moved to the front of the boat. He stopped to put his hand on John’s shoulder. “Turn around.”

John looked at the rifle in Chris’s hand and smiled. “Blow that stupid ass hat off his head.”

Chris moved into the bow and kneeled on the front bench as John slowed to turn. The craft bounced as it crossed over its own wake. Chris held the rifle firm in his hands. John straightened out and mashed the throttle to full. The boat roared and shot across the black and silver river toward the Duke.

Chris placed his elbow on the bow and held the rifle to his shoulder. Peering down the barrel, he placed the sights over the right windscreen of the approaching boat. He couldn’t see the man behind it but he knew the Duke would be at the wheel.

The Duke’s boat moved into shadow as the jet boat bounced over the river. It was impossible to keep the rifle straight and Chris soon lost the boat altogether. He stared into the darkness hoping to catch a glimpse of the Duke’s navigation lights. He couldn’t see anything.

“Where’d he go?” John shouted from behind the wheel.

“I don’t know.”

When the boat leapt from the shadows, it was closer than either man felt possible. The navigation lights were off but the moonlight lit the hull and muzzle flashes popped like a strobe behind the windscreen.

Bullets hit the water in front of the boat and Chris almost lost the rifle when one screamed by his ear and shattered the windscreen across from John. He regained his grip and pulled the weapon tight against his shoulder. He found the cockpit in the sights and fired.

He resisted the urge to empty the magazine but fired quick and consistent shots. As the two boats neared, the Duke’s shots grouped tighter. Chris felt shreds of fiberglass against his skin and found himself shooting faster but missing more.

“Would you please shoot him.”

“It’s really hard!”

The two boats shot across the river towards one another. The Duke’s boat filled John’s windscreen.

“I think he’s going to ram us. Shoot him now.”

The rifle bucked and then went still. The Duke’s boat was only a hundred feet away and Chris was out of ammunition.

“Shoot him!”

“I can’t!”

They could hear the bullets from the Duke’s gun.

“Shoot him.”

“I’m out of bullets!”

The roar of the Duke’s engine began to drown out their own.

“Throw the gun at him.”

The two boats were on top of each other. The Duke turned the gun towards the passing boat. Chris dropped the rifle and stood as the Duke’s boat raced past. The lady gun may have clashed with his apparel but it fit perfectly in the palm of his hand. The kick was most un-ladylike and the blast of the magnum round drowned out all sound when it barked.

The Duke fell. Chris wanted to believe the hat hung in the air for a brief moment before following the lunatic to the ground.

“Holy shit, I got him!”

“Yay, lady gun!”

The Duke’s boat rolled hard to the right and bounced over John’s wake. It continued to turn sharp and John had to swerve to avoid a collision.

The turn threw Chris to the floor. He half crawled and half rolled to the rear of the boat and found Erik unconscious.

“No. Wake up!” He nudged Erik’s arms and got no response. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him gently. “Erik?” He shook harder and Erik’s hand fell away from his stomach. Blood poured from behind the gauze and Chris pressed it back in place. He wasn’t sure how much pressure to apply so he pushed as hard as he could. Erik was breathing but it was weak. “John! He’s dying. Get us there.”

“I don’t know where it is.” John pointed the boat back downriver and searched the shoreline ahead. It was still and black. He knew Greenville was ahead but he had no idea how far. If the army was still there it would be lit. There would be noise. There would be troops. There would be activity impossible to mask in the night. But he saw nothing.

Since the beginning, darkness had been the only constant. With each new encounter they had been exposed to some new kind of horror from the living or undead but always at night when the blackness swallowed hope and left the men alone. It had been little consolation in the beginning but they had each other. Hatred or compassion, it didn’t matter as long as there was someone to direct an emotion at, they had not been alone. Now they were losing one of their own.

The river curved and narrowed. John had left all caution behind and didn’t slow to turn or assess the path ahead. He just gripped the wheel tight and never let go of the throttle should it betray him and try to slip even a little.

Up ahead a haze of light broke through the night. He had seen it on so many late night road trips, a distant city refusing to sleep, forcing dawn on the world ahead of the sun. John smiled. There were people ahead and they weren’t living in the dark. He shouted to Chris but his friend’s attention was on Erik. Chris wasn’t listening.

John turned toward the light. They weren’t alone any more.

38

Greenville was like Greenville sounded. It was a town that wanted to call itself a city so it added as many franchise restaurants as possible and filled what had once made it quaint with what would eventually make it fat. Although, there was no chance for that now. At the very least the zombies had saved everyone from overeating.

The river split into two and the shoreline turned from shrubs and trees to manicured yards. The homes were not lit. There were no signs of the residents. John assumed that the camp did not extend this far and sped past the darkened homes.

The light had grown brighter but their source wasn’t revealed until they motored into the historic section of town. The shore was lit with dozens of work lights posted on stands and stuck into the sand. Chain-link fence ran down from the nearest building and into the water. A second fence fifty yards down did the same. John couldn’t see any on the beach but he screamed to Chris, “We’re here!”

“Hurry.”

John leaned on the horn and turned the boat. He eased back on the throttle but it was not enough. He shut his eyes. “Hold on!”

The boat launched up the beach and rolled to its side. John crashed into the gunwale before rolling over onto the sand. “Sorry.”

Chris was on the beach behind him and already on his feet. He pointed to Erik who was laying half in the boat. “Help me with him.”

John jumped to his feet and stepped back into the boat. He leaned Erik forward and put his arm over his shoulders. He lifted as Chris draped Erik’s other arm around his neck. The two men stood. Erik was limp between the two. His head dropped to his chest.

“He’s not coming to.”

“I can tell. He’d just be complaining about me crashing the boat.”

“We’ve got to get him some help.” There was a panic in Chris’s voice that John had not heard. Despite everything that had happened over the course of the week, his friend was more frightened than ever.

John grunted as they dragged their friend and neighbor up the beach. The loose sand fought to pull them down beneath Erik’s weight. “Where the hell is everybody?” John looked up the beach. Fifty yards inland a parking lot was lined with sandbags and improvised barricades. Behind the sandbags were ten soldiers armed with rifles. Each was pointed at the three men. “Oh. There they are.”

A voice boomed from a megaphone as the soldiers leapt the sandbags and moved down the beach. “Stop where you are.”

Chris shouted back, “You’ve got to help him!”

“No infected.” The metallic ring of the megaphone took what little sympathy there was from the soldier’s voice and filtered it out.

“He’s not a zombie,” John shouted as the trio stumbled forward.

“Drop the infected.” The megaphone was overkill and ominous.

“He’s not bitten,” Chris yelled. “He’s been shot.”

“Drop him or we will fire.”

The group of soldiers formed an armed wall between the three neighbors and the town.

“What the hell is this?” John screamed at the man with the megaphone. “You’re supposed to be here to help.”

The soldier behind with the megaphone was unarmed. He lowered the amplifier and stepped closer. Even without the megaphone, there was no sympathy in his voice. “There’s no helping the undead.”

“What?” John pointed to Chris. “He just told you that’s he not dead. He’s been shot.”

“We get a lot of stories. Drop him or we’ll drop you.”

“Are you fucking kidding me! We’ve been through hell to get here. Everything and everyone has tried to kill us. And now you?” John grabbed Erik’s arm and lifted it over his head. With his right arm hidden from view he reached Chris’s back and grabbed the pink revolver. He turned to Chris. “You got him?”

Chris nodded.

John let Chris take Erik’s weight. The soldier stepped forward and John surprised even himself. He leapt and grabbed the soldier around the neck. He spun the two of them around and put the revolver against the soldier’s head. The pink revolver was easy to see on the beach.

Several of the other soldiers began to scream and shout threats. Others were trying to talk him down, but they didn’t have the megaphone. John had been a parent long enough to know that a whisper was the loudest sound in a room full of screaming. “Hold it up,” he said into his hostage’s ear. The soldier held the megaphone up over his shoulder.

John’s voice boomed across the beach and drowned out the soldiers’ threats.

“Jenny? Jenny Matthews?” He paused for only a moment. “Sarah? Daddy’s here.”

There was little activity behind the barricade and it caused John’s fear to run deeper. John yelled louder. “Jimmy? Buddy?”

The soldiers moved forward.

“Get the hell back or this guy dies.”

The hostage held up his hand and the soldiers stopped. “Sir, nobody’s here.”

“Bullshit. They have to be here.” Spit flew from John’s mouth as he whispered back and pushed the barrel farther into the man’s temple. John spoke back into the megaphone and shouted into the still streets of Greenville. “Rachel ... uh ... Peterson? Rachel Peterson?” There was no motion in the town. “Um ... whatever Chris’s kids are named? Chris’s kids? The Peterson kids?”

“I’m sorry, sir. They evacuated all of the civilians.”

John’s panic grew as he began to believe the soldier. He had expected to see his wife come running down the beach with his children behind her. There’d be slow motion. There would be hair bouncing as Jenny ran into his arms and the soldiers dropped theirs. But there was nothing.

The megaphone amplified his panic as he shouted his father-in-law’s name. “Robert Harrison?” Tears formed in the corners of his eyes and he screamed the name again. “Robert Harrison? Dad?”

The soldiers looked to one another as John let his hostage go. The soldier backed away as John dropped to his knees in the sand and cried.

The guards did not rush him. They didn’t shoot him. He’d expected at least a good pistol whipping but it never came. John placed his face in his hands, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. He couldn’t remember the last time he cried. Probably some stupid kids’ movie where the son connected with his father. Or a sports movie. Those always got him. But, even if a dog died in a movie, it never brought tears like this. They flooded his eyes and dropped to the ground. He put his hands down to hold him up while he drew a deeper breath and noticed that his own tears had fallen like rain on the sand.

The pocked sand disappeared as a shadow blocked the light. Here came the blow he had been expecting. What took them so long? Maybe they were afraid to hit a crying baby.

A hand touched his shoulder. “John.”

John looked up only enough to see boots and camouflaged pant legs.

“Son.”

John rolled back and looked up into the face of his father-in-law. “Robert?”

“Are you crying?”

John stifled his tears as best he could but at this point they were out of control.

“Why are you crying?”

“I’m n ... it’s just ...”

Robert Harrison reached down and pulled the revolver from his son-in-law’s hand. “What’s with the pink gun?”

“I didn’t ... It’s not ... I asked for a black one.”

His father-in-law turned to the soldier. “Help him up.”

Two soldiers ran to John’s side and pulled him to his feet. He looked into his father-in-law’s eyes and saw those of his wife. He wanted to hug the man, but there were soldiers present.

“I want you to be honest with me, John. Is your friend bitten?”

As John shook his head he became aware that snot was running from his nose. He wiped it on the back of his hand. “No. No. Promise. He’s been shot. Just a few minutes ago.”

Robert turned to another soldier. “Get him to the aid station.”

Two soldiers responded by grabbing Erik and taking him up the shore, leaving Chris with a confused look on his face.

“You Chris?”

Chris nodded.

“You have a wonderful family, Chris. You must be a hell of a father.”

“They’re okay? Where are they?”

Robert nodded. “My boys were telling the truth. All the civilians have been evacuated to a more secure location. Your family ...” Robert looked at John, “and ours, John, all made it safely.”

John smiled and fell to his knees again.

“Get up, you baby.”

John stumbled to his feet.

Chris moved closer and helped him balance. “John? Who is your father-in-law and why is everybody obeying him?”

John looked at the man in front of him wearing battle fatigues and a white captain’s hat. He looked across the beach as the soldiers filled his orders. He looked back at the old man he had known for years. “I have no idea.”

* * *

They sat in a café on the town’s square that had faithfully kept to its vintage roots. John looked around at the walls and wondered if 60’s cafés really posted so many old cigarette ads. He decided probably not, but it was nice to be in a room that wasn’t rocking, even if the walls were lying to him.

His father-in-law sat across from him. Ever the gentleman, his captain’s hat sat on the table as they ate. “The garrison left yesterday. An armored convoy and several busses full of refuges were sent to a safer stronghold. People stopped trickling in two days ago. We stayed behind for any stragglers.”

“But, why you? You’re retired.”

“Let’s just say I reenlisted and leave it at that.”

“But you’re navy. This town is a terrible boat.”

“Ship,” his father-in-law corrected him.

John had been corrected on this so often before that he’d taken to making the mistake on purpose. This time it was an accident. “Sorry, this town is a terrible ship.”

“Leadership is leadership, son. It doesn’t matter if you’re on a boat, in a conference room or protecting a town against zombies. These men needed someone to take charge after their commander was eaten.”

“Eaten?” Chris said.

“They weren’t expecting the outbreak to strike way out here. That’s why they set the post up in the middle of nowhere. They figured a nice little barricade on the road would be enough to keep the dead out. They were wrong. We spent the first night gathering fencing, moving trucks and piling everything we could find around the town center.”

“Is it working?”

The old man nodded. “So far. But, it doesn’t matter. We’re leaving in the morning.”

“What about stragglers?”

“You’re the last. And if you’d come by the road you’d never have made it in. The zombies have packed the gate. We can’t let anyone in without letting them in as well.”

“Can’t you just shoot them?”

“We don’t have the ammo to pick them off and defend ourselves if we’re overrun. Like I said, we’re the ones that chose to stay behind. We’re the volunteers that were never requested.”

“Why would you do that? Why would anyone do that?” Chris asked.

The former Navy man straightened up in his seat. “It’s the right thing to do. When things are this messed up, sometimes the right thing is the only thing to do. Besides, I’ll bet if you ask anyone of these men why they did it, and they were willing to give you an honest answer, my bet is you’d find that everyone here is either waiting for someone or has no one left to wait for.”

“Why are you here, Rob?” Damn this apocalypse, John could feel tears welling up again.

“John, a long time ago you promised my daughter you’d do everything you could to make her happy. That used to be my job. And I kind of missed it. Then you went and got yourself caught in the middle of an apocalypse. This was my chance to get my old job back.”

John said nothing.

“Son, if you’re going to cry again, I can excuse myself.”

“No, no.” John wiped at his eyes with his shoulder. “I’m fine.”

“Good. Because you should have been at the damn house in the first place.”

John’s voice turned to that of stammering child. “But, I ... I was bowling.”

“Bowling is no excuse for leaving your family.”

“It was court ordered.”

Chris interrupted before John could speak again. “We’re leaving this morning?”

“First light.”

“So we’ll see our families soon?”

The old captain nodded. “It’s a day’s drive to the facility. The road’s been cleared by the convoy. You should see them tonight.”

“And they’re okay.”

Robert smiled. “They’re absolutely fine.”

Chris’s shoulders relaxed as if he had been carrying a literal weight since the outbreak began. He put his hand on John’s shoulder and shook him. “We made it. We made it.”

John felt it, too. He had never felt so relieved. The only thing that had come close was when the courts lost the results of his breathalyzer test. It didn’t last long however. “What about Erik? What about a cure?”

“What cure?” Robert asked.

“Is there a cure?” Chris asked.

The captain gave Chris a puzzled look. “For death?”

“Or whatever it is.”

“It’s death, son. It’s not a virus. It’s not a bug. It’s death.”

“But they’re working on a cure. Right?”

“Son, you’re not hearing me. There is no fixing this. There is only stopping it. And the only way to stop it is to kill it.”

“Kill death?”

Robert nodded. “That’s right.”

John’s shoulders sank. “If Erik wasn’t already dying, this would really bring him down.”

“Your friend’s not dead yet. We’ve got an excellent medic here. She’s a surgeon that volunteered to stay behind with the rest of us. If she can stabilize him for the ride, he should make it. You boys are just lucky all three of you didn’t get shot landing on the beach like that. That was a pretty stupid move pulling a pink gun on the soldier, John.”

“I’m sorry I ...”

“Stupid, but ballsy. You saved your friends.” The old man smiled at him the way he smiled at his daughter. “I’m proud of you.”

“I ... You’ve never said that before.”

Robert shrugged. “I’ve never been proud of you before.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t let it go to your head. It probably won’t last.”

John smiled. “You’re finally sounding like yourself again, Rob.”

Robert smiled back and picked up a coffee mug. It wasn’t even to his lips when a soldier stepped through the café door and saluted.

“Captain.” The soldier looked tired—as if he hadn’t slept in days.

Rob set the coffee down without taking a sip. “What is it?”

“There’s a barge drifting this way, sir. It’s crawling with walkers.”

John looked at Chris. “I thought we stopped it.”

Robert nodded. “Very well. Are there any rockets left?”

“One, sir.”

“Go ahead and use it. We’re clearing out in a few hours anyway.”

“Yes, sir.” The soldier saluted again and left.

“Rockets?” Chris asked. “You have rockets?”

The old man nodded and picked up his coffee.

Chris put his head on the table.

Robert lowered the coffee. “What?”

John dropped his head back against the wall. “Nothing.”

Outside there was a hiss and an explosion. John dropped his head to the table next to Chris’s.

“You boys are weird. I think you need some sleep.”

39

Sleep wouldn’t come. For the first time in a week they were safe and comfortable and sleep wouldn’t come. They both lay awake in cots staring up at the roof of a canvas tent surrounded by the snoring of twenty others.

Whether it was the adrenaline, the relief or just the idea of seeing his family later that day, John’s blood raced through his body and fueled him with excitement.

His father-in-law had no answers for what came next. His contacts in the military didn’t know the cause of the outbreak or even how widespread it had become. Early reports had placed it as a global event. It was unlikely to get smaller than that.

“For as bad as it is here, it’s got to be worse there,” he had said of the oversea version. Population density alone would be a tremendous factor in the spread. He feared for Asia and gave them little chance of survival. He pictured four billion monsters lumbering across Europe with little in the way of protecting themselves. “What are they going to do in France?” he had asked. “Throw bread at them?”

The military would be making plans, he said. They always had plans. But, until they knew more about their enemy, they wouldn’t put anything into action.

With a vague assurance of hope, Robert Harrison ordered the two men to rest. So, now, every time John spoke, he was disobeying a direct order.

“Chris?” John whispered. “Are you awake?”

Chris lay with his back to John. “Yes.”

“We made it.”

“Not until my children are in my arms.”

“C’mon, we’re ...”

“Stop. Stop right there. That sentence is going to end with ‘what could go wrong’ and if you so much as whisper that I will beat you to death with my boot.”

“Your boot?”

“You took my gun.”

John laughed. “I won’t say it, but ...”

“Stop. You’re going to say something just like it. And when you make assurances the world will find a way to make you look like an ass. It’s nothing personal. It’s just a fact based on observation.”

John was quiet for only a moment. “What are you going to do afterwards?”

“What?”

“You know. What are you going to do when the apocalypse is over? I doubt that our old jobs will still be there. After all this, I’m thinking I might be a cop.”

“Are you seriously asking me what I want to be when I grow up?”

“No.” John chuckled “No. No. Well, yes. I guess I am.”

“You’re turning this into a sleepover?”

“Think about it. This is a chance for a fresh start. We could be anything. Hell, I’ll bet even the NFL will be lowering their standards for next season. I may try out.”

Chris sighed and rolled over. “Now you’re sharing your dreams with me? I feel honored and creeped out but, just to be clear, more creeped out than honored. Way more.”

Chris was right. The tent, the inability to sleep, chatting with a good friend—it all added up to a child’s sleepover. John giggled. “Maybe I am. But think about it, this is a great chance to start over. We can do anything we want.”

“I don’t want to start over. I just want to see my family.”

“Of course. Me, too. But once the Army wipes out the zombies and we try to return to a normal life. Then what? I won’t be going back to the office, I can tell you that. We didn’t do anything for anyone. The world won’t need us. It’s going to need farmers and cops ...”

“And football players?”

“Of course. All of the important things.”

“You think football player is an important job?””

“You’re starting to sound like Erik.”

Both men fell silent and John knew Chris’s head was suddenly filled with the same pain as his own. Erik had lost everything. There was no cure and he didn’t even know it yet. For Erik, it really would be a fresh start. One the man never wanted.

“What will Erik do?” John asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Hey, we should all go into business together.”

Chris laughed. “No, we shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be the worst business ever. Can you just imagine our board meetings?”

“We’d make them fun.”

“We’d make them violent.”

John laughed. “Granted. But if I’ve learned anything over the years, any meeting is tolerable as long as there are donuts.”

“Bagels,” Chris said.

“What?”

“Bagels. I don’t like donuts.”

“You don’t like donuts?”

“No.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What do...”

“What kind of person doesn’t like donuts?”

“Me, I guess.”

“I couldn’t work with anyone who doesn’t like donuts.”

“That’s an interesting way to discriminate.”

“Not at all.”

“Fine.” Chris rolled over to end the conversation. “We’ll have donuts. I’ll just take half like I do at the office now.”

John’s euphoria left in a wave as surprise washed over him. “What?”

“I don’t want a whole donut. I’ll just take half. But, hey, that’s more donut for you, right?”

John’s voice left weak from his mouth. “Oh my God. You’re a halfer.”

Chris sat up in the cot. “What did you call me?”

One of the other refugees stirred and muttered a sleepy, “Shut up.”

John sat up and pointed. “You’re a halfer. I should have known.”

“Oh, I thought you called me something bad.”

“A halfer, Chris, is the worst thing there is. You and your kind make a mockery of the social contract. And you do it thinking you’re justified and kind. It’s the worst kind of self delusion.”

“What the hell are you talking about, John?”

John turned and put his feet on the floor. “When you take half a donut, you’ve convinced yourself that you’re leaving half for someone else.”

Chris nodded slowly. “Yeah?”

“You’re not!” John’s voice grew from the whisper. “You’re not leaving half a donut for someone, you’re taking half of someone’s donut!”

“I don’t think it’s that big of a ....”

“That’s because you’re selfish. Halfers are selfish. If you can’t commit to the whole donut, you don’t deserve any donut. There is someone right behind you in line that showed up for a donut. A round, glorious, full of life and deliciousness donut. But you’re standing in their way desecrating the donut, cutting through it like the desires and dreams of others. And always, always with a smile on your face and the talk of diet on your lips.” John’s voice grew into a roar. “Guess what? You’re on a diet? DON’T GO NEAR THE FUCKING DONUTS!”

A pillow flew out of the darkness and hit John in the face. A voice screamed, “Shut up!” John ignored it.

Chris stared at him in silence for a long moment before turning his back and lying back down. “That’s it. I don’t want to be a part of your company.”

“Fine.” John beat his pillow fluffy and lay back down with a huff. He could tell sleep would elude him and he sighed. “So now what do we do?”

Chris ignored him for a moment before looking over his shoulder. “Well, the good news is we’re a sure thing to win the bowling league.”

The two men laughed like two friends at a sleepover until they fell asleep.

40

Zombies amassed at the gate causing the improvised barricade to shake. Their moaning was consistent with the more violent ones the three men had heard on the road. John kept an eye on them over his shoulder as he and Chris stood with the twenty other refugees before a convoy of military and civilian vehicles.

They were all anxious to leave, but a departure could not be had without a final speech from the commander. Robert Harrison stood on top of a Humvee with the sun rising behind him. He saluted the men who either saluted back in grand fashion or were just holding their hands up to block out the sunlight.

“You men have fought bravely against an enemy born of nightmares. You have literally faced death these last few days and together we made a valiant effort to keep this post, this lifeline, open for those fortunate enough to survive the journey. It’s been a week and it’s time to admit to ourselves that no one else is coming.

“I know this is not the news many of you had wanted to hear. Many of you stayed out of loyalty, not to the Army, but to loved ones you hoped would show. This does not make your dedication any less valiant. Our nation’s armed forces have always fought for freedom and liberty, not to spread these ideals to foreign shores, but to protect and ensure those rights for our loved ones back home.

“You men have served brilliantly for a commanding officer that you had never met and you performed your duties without question or hesitation. It is for that reason alone that these twenty-two people—and one in the ambulance—are alive and well—except for the one in the ambulance—today. Without you, there is no telling what fate would have befallen them. John here would probably have crashed his boat and drowned.”

The men all looked to John and laughed.

John wanted to yell “Hey” but was afraid to interrupt, so he said it under his breath.

“You know he’s right.”

“Shut up, Chris.”

“You men have served your country and your families with honor. And, I’m damn proud to have served with every last one of you.” Robert pointed into the crowd. “Except Johnson there, but we already had our little talk.”

Johnson lowered his head in shame.

“Now we’ve got a long road ahead of us. All reports are that it’s clear and there are fuel dumps waiting for us, but that gives us no excuse to get lazy and careless. Like Johnson there.”

“I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, son.” Robert looked back to the men mustered before him. “We’re going to be sneaking out the back way, but I don’t want any of you to think this a retreat. It’s just that there are a lot less zombies that way and we don’t want them gumming up the grills of our vehicles. Let’s show these citizens why we’re soldiers. Their lives are still in our hands until we get to the base. Let’s be professional. We’ll all be home soon.”

The captain saluted once more and stepped down from the Humvee. The men dispersed and moved towards their vehicles. Some grumbled that they were not ready to leave but they knew they had no choice. It was over in Greenville.

John walked over to his father-in-law. “I would not have crashed and drowned.”

“I thought it would be good to open with a joke.”

“But that was somewhere in the middle.”

“It’s time to get on board, son. You and your friend are riding with me.” Robert opened the door to the Humvee and set a foot inside.

A soldier in soiled fatigues ran up to the captain. “Sir, there’s a car approaching.”

“Show me.”

The three men ran with the soldier to a pickup near the gate. Robert climbed into the bed and took an offered pair of binoculars before dismissing the soldier. “Now who is this crazy son of bitch? Is that a Prius?”

Chris and John looked at one another and climbed into the back of the truck. “Let me see, Rob.” His father-in-law handed over the binoculars and John looked through the lenses. “Holy shit.” He handed the binoculars to Chris.

Chris put the specs to his eyes. “Holy shit! It’s Austin.”

Robert leaned in close to John and spoke quietly. “A friend of yours?”

The smile on John’s face was more of bewilderment than joy. “No, we kind of hate him.”

“Good, because we didn’t see him. Now let’s go.” The captain dropped to the ground.

Chris and John stared at one another before chasing after the old man. “What?”

Robert turned. “Dammit, keep your voice down.”

“You’re not going to save him?” Chris asked.

“No. I’m not.” The commander turned and strode toward the Humvee.

Chris raised his voice, “But, you’ve got to.”

Since first meeting John’s father-in-law, Chris had never seen the man move in anything other than even and measured steps. He had never hurried and never rushed. The speed in which he moved now put Chris back on his heels as the old man appeared in his face.

“Lower your voice, dammit, and get this straight. I will not stay out here as hell rises up around me a second longer than I have to. I’ve accomplished my mission and that does not include letting anyone else through those gates.”

“Your mission?” Chris pointed back to the gate. “Wasn’t your mission to save people?”

The commander said nothing.

“No, Chris,” John said. “His mission was to save us.”

“And that’s done. It’s time to go.”

John didn’t know what to say. All of this had been for him. “Thank you, Robert.”

“Don’t thank me. Thank my daughter. I never quite understood it, John, but you make her happy in a way no one could. You’re a good husband, John. You’re a good father and a good man. The world is going to need good men.”

Chris pointed back to the gates. “Austin is a good man, too.”

“No, he’s not, Chris. He’s kind of a dick.”

“You’re willing to leave him, too, John?”

“Chris, he’s been bit.”

“Bit?” the old man asked.

“Yeah,” John said. “I wanted to cut off his arm, but the baby wouldn’t let me.”

“If he’s been bit, that tears it. We’re under strict orders not to let any infected in, whether they’re alive or dead.”

“But that was days ago,” Chris said. “And he’s made it this far. Maybe he’s immune. Maybe he is the cure. Maybe his ridiculous diet saved him.”

“That would be the shittiest ‘I told you so’ ever,” John said.

“You have to let him in!”

The old man took another step forward throwing Chris off balance. “I said, lower your voice.”

Chris stood up straight and turned towards the gate. “If you won’t, I will.”

“Don’t you go anywhere near that gate. I like your family, Chris. I’d hate for them to see you all beat to hell by an old man.”

“I’m doing it.”

Robert pulled a gun from his holster and put it in Chris’s face. “Stop right there or I will shoot you, son. Do you understand?”

John stepped to his father-in-law’s side. “Chris, don’t do it. Just get in the truck-thing. Austin is as good as dead.”

Chris looked into Robert’s eyes. They were steel but sad. “You won’t shoot me.”

Robert stepped closer and set the gun against Chris’s chest. “Later, when you have a day or two, I will read you a list of all the men I’ve shot.”

“Let him in,” Chris said.

“No.”

Chris grabbed the gun and pulled it to the side and reeled back with a fist that caught Robert under the chin.

The old man went down and Chris ran for the gate.

John helped his father-in-law up with a smile on his face.

“What are you smiling at?”

“I always wanted to do that.”

“He’s going to get us all killed. Your friend is an idiot.”

“Most of my friends are.”

The commander bellowed to the convoy. “On the gate! On the gate!”

Soldiers poured from the vehicles and rushed to form a firing line. The turrets on the Humvees spun and brought the heavy caliber machine guns to bear on the entrance to the town square as Chris ran towards it.

Chris reached the fence and searched for the latch.

“Chris, come back here.” John moved to run after his friend but his father-in-law held him back.

The old man’s grip was fierce. “You, stay.”

Chris saw the Prius slam into the crowd of undead. The reanimated corpses flew aside and into the air as the electric vehicle whirred its way into the crowd. It wasn’t stopping.

Chris turned and ran away from the gate as the Prius compressed several creatures through the chain-link. The gate crashed down and clattered behind Chris as he ran. He looked over his shoulder to find himself directly in front of the Prius. The bumper was inches away. He jumped into the air as the Toyota whirred underneath him. He felt it in his calves first as the force drove his legs up. He crashed onto the hood with his back as his legs continued to travel over his head. The momentum pulled his body and he rolled up the windshield and crashed his head into the safety glass. For a brief moment he found himself splayed out on the roof of the car. He slid down the back and came to rest on the hatchback just before the Prius collided with a parked truck.

The car spun from the rear and dropped Chris to the ground before rolling over several times while casting doors and body panels into the streets.

Chris was broken. He could feel it. His legs were numb, only one arm could support his weight. His entire body called him an asshole for getting it into this mess. He dragged himself with one arm toward the wrecked Prius looking for the driver. The car was upside down and driver’s side was facing away from him. Was Austin okay? Did he make it out? To have come so far and die in a car crash would be tragic.

Austin stood from the wreckage, looked over the twisted hulk and spotted Chris. Austin hissed.

Chris collapsed and all went black.

* * *

John tore Robert’s hand from his shoulder and screamed, “And that’s why you don’t call them walkers!” John rushed towards the wreckage yelling Chris’s name. His friend lay motionless between himself and the car.

Austin scrambled over the Prius. His hisses grew to loud growls as he dropped to the ground and began to run. Behind him the zombies that hadn’t been run over by the Toyota rushed in through the broken gate and swarmed towards the town’s center.

John charged ahead. He had to reach Chris first. His legs moved like never before. He wasn’t running forward so much as he was pushing the Earth behind him. It should have exhausted him yet he felt nothing but the need to reach his friend. He screamed Chris’s name with full lungs of breath that he had no right to posses.

Austin dropped to the ground and charged. He had no eyes for John, only for the defenseless meal he sensed before him. He was fast.

John cursed Austin’s healthy lifestyle, that even in death he moved like an athlete. John had no stamina, no agility and no right to win. All he had was brute force. As the two residents of The Creeks of Sage Valley Phase II collided over their fallen neighbor, brute force won.

John drove his weight into Austin’s slender frame and it felt as if he hit nothing at all. His dash was uninterrupted as he picked up the zombie Austin on his shoulder and carried him away from his friend.

They collided with the wreck of the Prius. Austin’s body folded back over the frame of the car and John felt several things snap as the creature’s body absorbed the impact.

Broken in multiple places, Austin shifted his focus to the threat before him. He moved differently but no slower. The monster hissed and dove at John. Outstretched hands grabbed for the man’s throat and a mouth full of bared teeth followed closely behind.

John grabbed the creature by the throat and spun, turning the monster’s momentum against him. He slammed Austin into the ground and heard several more bones break.

Gunfire filled the air. The reports were met by the collection of moans and snarls of the horde that swarmed the street around him.

Austin sprang back to his feet. The back of his head oozed something black down his neck. John grabbed him by the shirt, drove his hand into the creature’s stomach and heaved. Austin was allergic to everything, including the air around him. Talk of his special diet and afflictions had always annoyed John, but it served him well now. Austin’s leap combined with whatever mystery hormones John’s body was doping him with combined to throw the man into the air and over the wreck. The creature landed with a crunch on the Prius’s undercarriage.

John surveyed the street. Heads exploded everywhere as the remaining garrison of Greenville fired into the crowd of undead. They were falling, but they weren’t falling fast enough. Some marched toward the soldiers but many marched toward their closest target. Him.

John searched the wreckage for anything he could swing as a club. Of course Austin would have a bike rack. He grabbed at the cross bar. It had broken free on one end and it released from the roof when he pulled it back. The metal bar wasn’t heavy, but he hoped it would be enough. He raised it to his shoulders like a Louisville Slugger and backed towards his friend.

John continued to shout Chris’s name hoping for a response. None came.

A zombie charged from the left and ran into the blunt side of the crossbar. Rotted even more than Austin, it dropped to the ground incapacitated. Another came from his right and he was able to push it back before bringing the metal pole down on the creature’s head.

Austin slid off the car and limped slowly towards John.

Three more monsters charged together. Everything in him screamed, “Run! Run! They’ll call you a coward but you can live with that, just run!” Despite the sense it made, he ignored the voice and drew back the club.

Two of the creatures blew brains across the street as the soldiers’ bullets hit their mark. The third’s head exploded as John connected with the bike rack.

More came. John could suddenly here Robert screaming over the chaos. “Get back here. There’s too many.”

John felt his heel bump Chris’s leg and he stopped. “Just keep shooting!”

“They’re too close. We’ll hit you.”

“Try really hard not to!”

A group to his left fell to gunfire before he could swing. A creature on his right dove for Chris. John moved in its path and shoved it back into the dwindling horde. Still more came. He felt the whiz of rounds as they passed close to his ears. More zombies fell.

John swung the club with an adrenaline fueled rage but skipped the follow through ensuring he could always pull the weapon back. His little league coach would be so disappointed.

Many of the monsters had been dead all week or longer and fell to a well-placed blow. Others, though, were fresher and stood back up when knocked to the ground.

Through the crowd John could see Austin limping toward him. He knew he was imagining things, but Austin’s eyes appeared more focused than the other zombies. They were directed at him.

John got caught with the club too close to his chest and one of the undead tried to choke him. He grabbed the bar in both hands and held the attacker at bay. It hissed and groaned and gurgled before John realized that it must have come from the river—and it had been down there a while. The zombie was soaked to the bone adding more weight to the creature. John fell to the ground with the club across his chest and tried to bench press the threat away.

Drool or puss ran from the creature’s mouth as it snapped its teeth at John’s face.

He pushed harder and the monster was thrown clear. Austin snarled in its place. The former HOA president had yanked the monster away and now fell on top of John.

The heavy machine guns lit up and drowned out Austin’s groans. All around him—and, more importantly, above him—the creatures began to explode from the waist up. The rattle of the belt-fed weapons tore through the horde and parts of former men and women rained down around him.

Austin rotated and tore the club from John’s hand. John rolled the creature to the side and scrambled back to Chris to protect him.

Zombie Austin leapt through the air.

John watched several bullets rip chunks of him away. But, it wasn’t enough.

John pulled back his legs and caught Austin by the chest with his feet. He grunted as he kicked and threw Austin to his feet and back into the line of fire.

Austin hissed as machine gun fire passed through his corpse. Ignoring it, he looked back at John and reeled back to leap again.

The lady gun’s report was brief compared to the din created by the machine guns, but it was loud enough to assure John that it had fired.

The right half of Austin’s head fell in chunks to the ground. The rest of him fell on top of John.

He heard his father-in-law yell, “Stay down, John,” shortly before every weapon in the convoy erupted.

It was over soon.

John pushed Austin’s really dead body to the side and turned to check Chris. His friend’s breathing was slight.

Soldiers rushed in and quickly pulled Chris to the ambulance. Others helped John to his feet.

John looked around. Nothing stirred. Every creature was truly dead. “And stay dead.” John panted and heaved but a smile grew across his face. He stumbled backwards toward the convoy. He was exhausted. All the activity finally made it to his brain and told his body where everything hurt and which muscles to seize up.

His legs were tired. His back was sore. His arm hurt like hell. He knew he should sit down or collapse but he would walk proudly back to the convoy. He turned.

Every gun was pointed at him. The soldiers behind the sights had no expression of victory. They looked defeated.

John took a deep breath. “What?”

“I’m sorry, son.” His father-in-law stood behind a drawn pistol. “You’ve been bit.”

John looked down at his arm. Austin had got him.

41

His mouth was dry. Chris could feel his lips crack as he drew air across them. His head felt as if it was floating somewhere near his body. Opening his eyes caused him pain as bright light poured in. It was like he was staring into the sun, but he could tell he wasn’t outside. It was too cold. There was no smell of vegetation or even concrete. There was no breeze. The air was sterile and still.

He forced his eyes to open farther and the white light faded to a bright gray. His body lay beneath covers and when he tried to move his hands he could feel the tack of tape on his skin and needles in his arms.

His voice felt weak from disuse but he croaked out a dry and painful, “Where am I?”

He heard the quick, short squeak of a chair and a flurry of movement. The painful light was soon blocked by the shadow of a woman.

“Rachel?”

“Oh my God. Chris! Chris! You’re awake,” Rachel cried.

He felt her tears drip on to the blanket that covered him.

“Rachel? Thank God. Where am I?”

“Oh, Chris.” Tears choked her voice. For a moment all she could do was weep. “You’re in a hospital.”

“Let me see you. I want to see you.”

Rachel moved closer and her face turned from shadow to pure beauty. Her smile took his breath away. One of the machines attached to his arm began to beep.

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

He wasn’t even sure if he was truly awake. It all seemed so unreal. He was probably still dreaming. Caught somewhere between consciousness and sleep. The lousy sleep paralysis had forced him to question reality so many times that he could no longer trust himself. Pieces of memory refused to fall into place. They were all so unreal that it could only be the impressions of a nightmare. Horrific monsters. Evil men. Had he been chased? It had to be a dream.

He looked at his wife. She was beautiful and she was here. Something inside the vague memories told him he had lost her. But, if she was here now ... he didn’t care if he was dreaming or not. “There you are.”

Tears shook from her face and she nodded and Chris took every moment of it in. Dream or not, he was happy and he smiled.

“I knew you’d make it back to us,” Rachel said between sobs. ”I knew it.”

“Where did I go?”

“You were in an accident. You’ve been in a coma for a week.”

A week? “What accident?”

“You were hit by a car, honey. Don’t you remember?”

“I remember so much, but ... I don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”

Rachel could only smile and cry. She wiped her tears from her eyes and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. I’m just so ... I thought the last words I’d ever say to you were ‘have fun bowling.’” She laughed. “How terrible would that be?”

Chris remembered the bowling. He remembered John and Erik and the walk home. “I remember the bowling.”

“And the next time I see you, you’re here and you’ve been hit by a car.”

Chris could feel his mind clearing. The haze of medicine still clouded everything, but he was now able to separate memory from dream. “Austin?”

“Yes.” Rachel nodded and more tears rolled from her face and splashed onto the hospital blanket. “Yes. Austin, our neighbor Austin. He hit you.”

“I was on my way to see you. And the kids.”

Rachel nodded and lost her words in tears again.

“The kids?”

“They ... they can’t wait to see their daddy. They’ve been so worried.”

Chris heard the door to the room creak open. “He’s up?” The door slammed into the wall and footsteps raced across the room. “He’s up!”

“Is that John?”

Rachel nodded. “He’s barely left your side.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “It’s been pretty annoying.”

“Hey, I heard that,” John said.

Rachel continued, “But, sweet.”

“That’s right. You hear that, Chris? Your wife called me sweet.” John pulled up a stool and sat next to Chris’s head. It was only then that the man’s face came into focus. Erik stood behind him.

“John? Erik? Why are you here?”

“Don’t you remember, honey?” Rachel asked. “They were with you?”

Impossible images were telling him to believe in them but he dismissed them as fantasy. It had to be. Only one memory made sense. “The bowling team?”

Rachel nodded.

“That damn bowling team,” John said. “I told you guys it would lead to no good and I was right. It begins with bowling and ends with Austin running over you with a car.”

He remembered the bowling. He remembered the walk home. And then he got hit. Everything else his mind was trying to tell him was nonsense. Chris smiled. He was happy to be awake and certain of everything. “Thanks for being here, guys.”

Erik shrugged. “Where else would we be?”

“So what’s it like being in a coma?” John smiled and leaned forward for the answer. “Did you see heaven?”

Chris shook his head. “No. It was more like hell.”

He heard the door open again and tried to see who had come in.

“It’s the doctor, dear.”

“Mr. Peterson. Welcome back. You’re a very lucky man.”

Chris looked at his wife and squeezed her hand. “I know.”

“I told you he’d make it, doc,” John said. “It was only a Prius.”

“Yes, you did, John,” said the doctor. “Every single day. And somehow it always got funnier to you.” The doctor turned back to Chris. “We’re going to move you for a bit and make sure everything is waking up the way it’s supposed to. Your wife can come with us.” He pointed to John and Erik, but mostly John. “They have to stay here. Away from me.”

A nurse stepped around the hospital bed, kicking it in several places until Chris felt it roll. John rolled the stool back as the nurse turned the bed.

Chris looked over to his friends. “Thanks for being here, guys. Things seem so weird right now. It ... I never thought I’d say this, but it means a lot that you’re here for me.”

“We made it, buddy,” John smiled. “High five?”

Chris’s arm was weak but he was able to raise it above the rail of the gurney.

John stood and raised his stump.

Chris gasped. “Holy shit!”

“Haha,” John slapped Erik on the shoulder.

Erik rolled his eyes and turned away.

John continued laughing as he pointed to the bandaged stump on his right elbow. “That is never going to get old.”

“He did it to me too,” Erik said. “I also popped my stitches I screamed so loud.”

Chris screamed, “Holy shit!”

John’s laugh faded. “I know.” He moved the stump through the air. “Freaky, right? Kind of feels like it’s still there. Beats the alternative though, right?”

Alarms attached to Chris began to beep. “Holy shit!”

“At least I won’t have to go bowling ever again.”

Chris was finally able to speak. “John! Where’s your arm?”

John smiled. “I told you it would work.”

THE END

If you liked his zombie apocalypse, read Benjamin Wallace’s bestselling post-apocalyptic comedies,
the Duck & Cover Adventures.

Check out the whole 5-book Duck & Cover series:

Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors

Knights of the Apocalypse

Pursuit of the Apocalypse

Revenge of the Apocalypse

Crossroads of the Apocalypse

And, here’s the short stories collection

Tales of the Apocalypse Volume 1:

A Duck & Cover Collection

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Also by Benjamin Wallace

JUNKERS

Junkers

Junkers Season Two

THE BULLETPROOF ADVENTURES

OF DAMIAN STOCKWELL

Horror in Honduras

Terrors of Tesla

The Mechanical Menace

DADS VS

Dads Vs The World

Dads Vs Zombies

OTHER BOOKS

Tortugas Rising

SHORT STORIES

Commando Pandas & Other Odd Thoughts

UNCIVIL

UnCivil: The Immortal Engine

UnCivil: Vanderbilt’s Behemoth

About the Author

Benjamin Wallace lives in Texas where he complains about the heat.

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Table of Contents

- Title Page
- Untitled
- Copyright
- Dedication
- Untitled
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- Untitled
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
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- Untitled
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- Untitled
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- Duck & Cover Series
- Also by Benjamin Wallace
- About the Author