SUNRISE

The Revised and Expanded Edition

a novel by Kody Boye

Sunrise By Kody Boye Copyright 2011. All Rights reserved Originally published in 2009 under the same title.

Kindle Edition

Edited by Felicia A. Sullivan Cover art by Kody Boye (with photography by Nevyn Noir) Interior formatting by Kody Boye

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of both the copyright owner and “Library of the Living Dead Press,” except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situation are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Also by Kody Boye

Amorous Things

The Diary of Dakota Hammell

Forthcoming:

Blood (the Brotherhood, Book 1)

Utopia

Wraethworld

For Rhiannon and Corey

For giving me a place to call home.

Introduction

Otherwise known as:

My Love Affair with the Gay Apocalypse

First and foremost, I want to say that the idea of the ‘zombie apocalypse’ isn’t something new. Since Night of the Living Dead and its subsequent sequels rolled around in the late 1960s, it seems like everyone and their dog has been writing about the end of the world. Rhiannon Frater and her As the World Dies trilogy; David Moody with his Autumn novels; Max Brooks and his Zombie Survival Guide; Wayne Simmons and his novel Drop Dead Gorgeous; Travis Adkins with his Twilight of the Dead series and the late Z.A. Recht with his Morningstar Strain —look up the word ‘zombie’ on Amazon to see just how widespread this phenomena is. How many results does it return? About 42,000. To say that the zombie apocalypse is popular would be an understatement.

As a child of the late nineties and early two-thousands, I got to experience the maiden voyage of the twenty-first century’s zombie craze. Dawn of the Dead, Zack Snyder’s remake, came out in 2004. The first time I saw it I was in shock and awe, and it was the very thing that made me write a zombie trilogy that has since (and gladly) been retired. But it wasn’t in 2004 that the idea for Sunrise came around. No. It was later, in 2009, when I first read Brian Keene’s Dead Sea , that the idea for Sunrise popped into my head.

What idea was that, you asked? It was a zombie story told from a gay man’s point of view.

Keene had successfully created what I believe is a realistic scenario in which the zombie apocalypse would happen. The events were traumatic, the writing fluid, the story gripping—he’d done everything I believe any good zombie novelist would do: create a non-stop zombie apocalypse story. However—while his main protagonist was gay, I felt as though we weren’t ‘in’ a gay man’s head. This frustration, combined with my teenage desire to read more about young men (or just men) who had my problems and my desires, was what spurred me on to write Sunrise.

I pulled this novel from circulation after Horror Realm 2009 because I believed it needed work, and by God it did. Since then, there’s been a bit of reconstruction regarding everything about this novel. Certain plot elements have changed, Characters have been renamed. Scenes have been added or taken out depending on their need. All of this, however, was to give you the novel you hold in your hands now—Sunrise: The Revised and Expanded Edition —and while other zombie novels with gay leads have since been released (Asylum by my friend Mark Allan Gunnells for instance,) I still believe Sunrise was one of the genre’s first.

The horror community, though often eager to accept new aspects of the genre, has sometimes been not so accepting of gay leads in novels, especially zombie novels. This isn’t to say that this community is not going to accept this novel. It does, however, mean that choice people may not be keen to read this. And to tell you the truth, I’m fine with that. Sunrise was written primarily for myself, but also for the gay community. The last thing I intended to write Sunrise as was the traditional ‘zombie’ novel. That isn’t to say this novel is without its scares, no, but it’s not a constant run-and-gun-‘em book. This novel is first, and foremost, about the characters—the people whom, through choice circumstances, have been united under one banner.

To the horror fans: thank you for at least giving this book a try.

To the gay community: thank you for your continued support.

And for the one person I wrote this book most explicitly for (me): Thank you for sticking with this. You’ve come a long ways since 2009 and this novel is better for it.

Enough rambling—now: on to the story!

Stay Alive, Zombie Fans, Kody Boye

12/29/11

Because I could not stop for Death

He kindly stopped for me

The Carriage held but just Ourselves

And Immortality

Emily Dickinson

CHAPTER 1

There comes a point in everyone’s life in which they change. Be it their age, their person, their family, their friends or their world, things come about and, eventually, things go awry. It doesn’t necessarily matter who you are. You can be anyone you want to be in whichever frame of mind you exist. All that matters is that regardless of what happens or who it happens to, you stay true to yourself and be thankful for the things you have.

Sometimes, if you’re not thankful for the things you have, they can disappear completely.

That happened to Dakota Travis the day his neighbor, Steve Earnest, burst into the adoption center and pulled him toward his apartment.

What’re you doing! Dakota had cried.

They’re here! Steve had replied.

Who’s here?

The zombies from New York.

Little more than a month later, not a whole lot had changed.

Seated inside a nearly-abandoned apartment building in a heavily-fortified, one-bedroom flat, Dakota looked up just in time to see Steve saunter out of the bedroom, shirt stretched forward to hold the contents of the medicine cabinet. Pills, ointments, toothpastes, razors and other necessities—there wasn’t a whole lot they could use unless they wanted to shave or brush their teeth.

“Is this it?” Dakota asked.

“This is it,” Steve nodded, a sigh escaping his lips.

Dakota closed his eyes.

Great. Just great.

It wouldn’t be long before they would have to run into town—on foot, no less.

“Hey,” Steve said, clapping Dakota’s shoulder, “we’ll be fine for a few more days. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“We still have cans,” Dakota said, pushing himself off the couch.

“And we still have all that bagged shit.”

“You always did eat too much junk food.”

Steve laughed and brushed a hand through his hair. “I did.”

Old habits didn’t necessarily matter anymore. They ate any and everything they could get their hands on, regardless of fat content or nutritional value. Distinguishing one thing from another based solely on a label was useless nowadays, especially when everything needed to be rationed to the point where it was nearly obsolete. They’d both slimmed down, based solely on what they’d been eating—cold canned beans, chips, pretzels and the occasional vegetable.

Not sure what else to say or do, Dakota made his way toward the window. There, he sighed, took a deep breath, then looked back at Steve before parting the curtain.

Outside, a lone figure shambled on.

The zombie had not a care in the world.

“I don’t like how there’s been so few of them,” Dakota whispered, shivering as Steve brushed up alongside him.

“Neither do I,” Steve said.

“Where do you think the rest of them went?”

“I don’t know. I hate to say it, but I hope some sorry bastard lured them off. At least that’ll save us the trouble of having to dodge around them.”

“I guess.” Dakota turned his head down, letting his long, stringy bangs shield his eyes from the waning light of the midafternoon sun. He traced the whispers of dust on the windowsill and tried not to think about how, were they not in their current situation, the window would be clean. Steve had always been a good home keeper, regardless of what some might’ve thought based on his scruffy, unkempt appearance.

Dakota closed his eyes.

Dust never shined on gloomy days. Then again, it didn’t shine at all.

“Dakota,” Steve whispered, startling the younger man out of his trance.

“Yes?”

“I’m closing the window.”

“Oh. Right.” He moved aside to allow Steve easy access to the curtains, then watched as his friend strung his fingers through the dark, maroon fabric and began to position them over the curtain—slowly, with a sense of patience like that of a snail crossing a hot highway on a busy day. Such a process became second nature over time. You watched for people watching you from across the street or the shadows of alleyways, for zombies cocking their heads to the skies; you drew the blinds over the looking glass into the outside world as though any and all movement could reveal your presence to others. If you didn’t, there might as well be a gun in your mouth and a finger on the trigger, a lone shell waiting to fire into your brain.

“I’m gonna go shave,” Steve said after he finished closing the window, pressing a hand against Dakota’s shoulder as he made his way to the coffee table. He stopped in midstride, when Dakota didn’t respond.

“Koda? You gonna be ok?”

“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

Nodding, but with a frown painting the curve of his mouth, Steve plucked a razor from the pile of toiletries and made his way toward the bathroom.

Dakota turned, looked at the curtains, and closed his eyes.

He never could’ve imagined how lonely being stuck in a dark room could be.

That night, Dakota drew his knees to his chest and tried to drown out his thoughts, a process easier said than accomplished. He went to bed and almost immediately closed his eyes, then tried to get as comfortable as possible. Somehow, though, he couldn’t fall asleep. Counting sheep, drowning in a black void, forcing himself to realize how good it felt to lay in a warm, soft bed—he tried everything he could, yet to no avail.

It took him only a few moments to realize what was wrong—he couldn’t count sheep because every time he tried to conjure one forward, it would disappear, he didn’t like the idea of falling into a place he couldn’t get out of, and Steve’s bed was too hard.

In the midst of everything, Steve shifted, once again jarring Dakota from a failed attempt at sleep. The older man’s side of the blanket settled on top of him a moment later.

Here we go again, he thought, tossing the blanket back.

“I’m not cold,” Steve mumbled.

“It’s cold,” Dakota said.

“Maybe to you, but it isn’t to me.”

Steve tossed the blanket back. More annoyed than anything, Dakota threw it right back at him.

“Dakota,” Steve said, exasperated now.

“Do you want me to sleep on the couch?”

“Please, don’t. I already said I’m not cold, so don’t throw the blanket back to me.”

“Whatever.” Dakota settled back into the bed, this time with the whole blanket. He drew it around his side and tucked it under him, rolling over so his back faced Steve.

After a moment, Steve chuckled, then said, “I guess this means you can’t sleep either.”

“I guess it does.”

“You wouldn’t be worrying about me otherwise.”

“Yeah right,” Dakota smirked, rolling onto his back. He stared at a poster on the ceiling, its edges long-since frayed and its corners curled. Men in capes, women in leotards, dogs with emblems on their chests—it didn’t take much to imagine the person that had once stood on this bed and pinned the poster to the ceiling. It was likely a teenager, possibly the only son of a single parent, or a middle-aged man without a girlfriend who preferred to inhabit a world of fantasy instead of reality. Steve said the poster had been there since the beginning and he hadn’t bothered to take it down. What is the point of removing something that once meant so much to someone? Steve had asked during one of their first conversations about it, right after it all had begun. You’re just taking a memory away.

“It makes you wonder,” Dakota muttered, smiling when he saw the metal tack wink at him.

Steve grunted and threw his legs over the side of the bed. “I have to take a leak. You coming?”

“You need my help?”

“Fuck you.”

Chuckling, Dakota crawled out of bed and followed Steve out of the room and into the kitchen. Steve took an empty plastic bottle from a rack on the cupboard and slid behind the island to give himself some privacy.

“Sucks the toilet doesn’t work,” Dakota commented.

“No kidding,” Steve said, lifting the bottle a moment later. He carefully opened a nearby window and rolled the bottle off into the dumpster below. “You need to go?”

“No.”

“You hungry?”

“For what?”

“A pickle.”

“I… guess.”

“Hey,” Steve laughed, “I don’t like ‘em either, but it’s food, right?”

Dakota nodded. No one needed to remind him of that.

While Steve turned and started rummaging through their meager food stores, occasionally swearing but mostly mumbling, Dakota looked out the window Steve had just opened and tried to imagine what it would be like to not have a home. In this day in age, things could change by the minute, if not the second. It didn’t take much for someone to come in with a gun or a group of cannibalistic corpses to charge down the street and storm your house. In a world without law and a country without borders, it took little for something to happen. Dominoes fell constantly, especially when you were alone.

“Here ya go,” Steve said, offering the pickle between two fingers.

“Thanks.”

“It’d be better with whatever, but we gotta save what we’ve got for tomorrow.”

“What?” Dakota asked

“We gotta go. We’re almost out of water.”

“Why the hell didn’t you mention this earlier?”

“Because I didn’t want you to argue with me.”

“Steve,” Dakota sighed, setting his pickle on the counter. The audible crunch of Steve’s pickle between his teeth made him grimace. “I wouldn’t have argued with you.”

“Yeah, you would’ve.”

“Maybe for a little, but not for long.”

“Look, Dakota.” Steve shoved the last bit of pickle in his mouth, chewed, then set his jaw. “We have to go out. I know you don’t want to, because I sure as hell don’t want to either, but we have no choice. If we’re going to stay in this apartment, we’re going to need water. As it stands, we haven’t taken a bath for nearly a week. We smell like shit.”

You’re telling me. Dakota took a bite out of his pickle. “When?” he asked.

“Tomorrow, before the sun comes up.”

“Where’re we going?”

“The supermarket. If we’re lucky, there’ll still be something left when we get there.”

Where the hell is Steve? Dakota shoved a can of creamed corn into his backpack. Steve had run off to explore the rest of the store, while Dakota had busied himself with gathering food and any other necessities. Fruits, vegetables, the occasionally saucy soup and snack cake—what little he could find filled the bottom of his pack, but he already knew it wouldn’t last them more than a few days. They each needed to eat, and it wasn’t much.

We need to eat more than we have been. As though it had a mind of his own, Dakota’s hand slid down his chest, lightly touching the now-visible bones. It doesn’t matter. This is why we came.

Sliding forward, Dakota pushed himself in the small space between the two bottom shelves and reached for another can, desperate to grab it. They couldn’t risk going another week with only five cans of food.

Or a half-week, he thought, grimacing. We can’t keep sharing one can a night.

Something rolled past him.

Dakota shot out of the small space, scraping his shoulders in the process.

“Dammit!” he hissed, tears springing to his eyes. “What the hell was that?”

A lone jar of mayonnaise continued down the aisle.

“Steve?” he asked, standing. “Are you there?”

Silence.

“Steve? Come on—this isn’t funny. Stop screwing around.”

Again, he was greeted only by silence. This time though, a figure stumbled into the aisle.

A zombie, caked with dirt and dried blood, turned its head as it caught sight of Dakota, then stretched its arms out like a friend long since lost to time.

Reaching down, Dakota grabbed his backpack off the floor, slid his hand down to his belt, and fingered for his holster.

At that moment, he remembered he didn’t have the gun—Steve did.

Great, he thought. Just fucking great.

Turning, he ran down the aisle, not bothering to look back and see if the zombie gave chase. It obviously would—because like all predatory creatures, it would chase its prey to the death—but it wouldn’t run him down. An entire month of decay and exposure to the elements had ensured that most of them could no longer run, at least not in this lifetime.

Rounding the corner, Dakota made for the entrance, all the while searching every aisle he could. At the front door, he stopped, looked toward the security lounge, then sighed. Steve stood behind the glass doors, rummaging through a desk.

“Steve!” he hissed. “Steve!”

“Dakota?” Steve called. “Why are you yelling?”

“We gotta go. Now.”

“Go? What?”

“Zombies.”

He didn’t need to explain further. Without another word, Steve grabbed the gun sitting on the corner of the desk and ran out of the office.

It was their turn to play cat and mouse.

They ran.

Around street corners, between dead, idle cars, across wide stretches of road and through long, winding alleys, they stopped for nothing, not even when Steve’s pack dropped from his shoulder and spilled out nearly half its contents.

“Come on!” Steve screamed, grabbing Dakota’s arm and dragging him along when he fell to gather the supplies. “We can’t stop!”

“I know!”

Something howled.

The hairs on Dakota’s arms rose.

No, there can’t be. The fast ones all rotted.

They’d found a freshly-killed zombie. That could be the only explanation.

“RUN!” Steve screamed, pushing Dakota ahead.

“What are you doing?”

A zombie burst into the open.

It screamed.

Steve shot. The bullet tore through the creature’s head and put it down for good. “We’re almost there,” he gasped, leading Dakota through the last stretch of the alley. “We just gotta turn up here and jump onto the fire escape.”

“The fire escape?”

“It’s the only way back into the apartment building unless we want to run up ten flights of stairs.”

“That’d be safer than jumping onto the fire escape!”

“Not with the zombies chasing us it won’t.”

He’s crazy if he thinks we’re going to be able to jump that high.

Regardless, they had to get back into the apartment building—now.

When they rounded the final corner, the metal skeleton of the fire escape came into view, complete with its hanging ladder of a tongue and its twisted face of support beams and wire flooring.

“It’s too high, Steve. We’re gonna have to go another way.”

“No we’re not.”

Dakota cried out as Steve ran forward, wrapped his arms around his waist and pushed him into the air. Unable to think, Dakota grabbed onto one of the cold, steel bars and began to pull himself up, only barely managing to force his upper half over the safety rod once he cleared the ladder.

Just as he stood up, the zombies came around the corner. “STEVE!” he screamed.

“HURRY DAKOTA! HURRY!”

He threw his upper body over the railing and grabbed Steve’s hands, digging his fingers into his friend’s wrists so hard it hurt. The muscles in his back caught fire as Steve’s weight pulled his arms forward, creating a pressure so unimagined he didn’t think it was possible. His back felt like it would snap at any minute, while his neck and collarbone screamed to be set free of his ribcage.

Steve was too heavy. He couldn’t maintain his weight.

“Come on, Koda,” Steve said, despite the howling zombies just feet below him. “You can do this buddy.”

“You’re too heavy, Steve.”

“No I’m not. You can do this. Come on. Just believe you can.”

“I can’t.”

“Listen to me Dakota.” Steve’s wrists slipped. The older man dug his fingernails into Dakota’s arms, nearly drawing blood. “On the count of three, you’re going to lunge back and pull me up, all right?”

“Steve—”

“Just do it! On the count of three. One… two… thu-ree!”

An opposing force tugged Steve back.

Dakota’s chest slammed into the bar.

A huge zombie, at least six-and-a-half feet, held Steve’s ankle in a death grip.

“FUCKER!” Steve cried, lashing out with his other foot. “Let go of me!”

“QUIT STRUGGLING STEVE!”

“It’s got a hold of my fucking foot!”

“Three, Steve! THREE!”

“JUST DO IT!”

Dakota threw himself back.

Stars exploded over his vision.

This just in: The president has declared a state of emergency in the United States of America just after the CDC issued this statement: ‘It is with our utmost concern that we alert everyone in the continental United States that the bodies of the dead are coming back to life. Our research has concluded that once a victim has been bitten, scratched, or has exchanged blood or saliva with an infected host, the immune system begins to fail. This process can take days, hours, or even minutes to occur. Once this happens, the victim clinically dies, then comes back to life within anywhere from one to five minutes later with an increasing sense of violence and rage. We suggest anyone who sees these infected victims to remain indoors and wait for help to arrive.’

Help?

Help?

What help?

Dakota…Dakota…wake up, Dakota! Wake up!

“Wha-What?” he managed. “Stuh-Steve?”

“It’s me, buddy.”

“What happened?”

“You pulled me up.”

Eyes focusing, vision clearing, Dakota sighed as Steve came into view. “Thank God,” he said, somehow managing to push himself into a sitting position. He wrapped his arms around his friend and buried his face in his neck.

“Come on. We need to get inside.”

“Just… give me a minute, Steve.”

“Just one more minute.”

Dakota closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

Somehow, despite everything that had just happened, they’d managed to make it back alive.

With a final laugh, he blacked out.

“Dakota… Koda! Wake up!”

“What?” he gasped, shooting upright. The back of his head throbbed like he’d just been hit with a hammer. “Fuck.”

“You passed out,” Steve said, pressing a damp cloth to the back of Dakota’s head.

“I’m fine,” he said, setting his head back on the cushion. “What about you? Did you get hurt?”

Steve pulled up his pantleg. A four inch long gash traced the ball of his heel. “Don’t worry,” the older man laughed upon seeing Dakota’s look of concern. “We’d both be dead if I’d’ve been bit.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing I caught my leg on part of the fire escape.”

“What could you have caught it on?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

“As long as you’re ok.”

“It hurts like a mother.”

Mother. He chuckled. That’s Steve.

“What’s so funny?” Steve smirked, settling down at the end of the couch. “You think that’s funny?”

“I think it’s funny how you say mother like that,” Dakota smiled. “Usually a mother’s a good thing. I’m not one to judge though.”

“Oh fuck, Dakota. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. It’s not your fault.”

Closing his eyes, Dakota tried not to remember a night seven years ago, when he’d woken to find his mother asleep in bed and a note from his father pinned to the door. To this day, he still remembered what the note said.

I love you, Tanner.

“I love you,” Dakota whispered.

No father loved their son when they drove his mother to kill herself.

“I was too young to remember anything about them,” Dakota said, opening his eyes when he felt the moment was right. “You couldn’t have done anything, Steve. You didn’t even know me then.”

“I didn’t know you until you were eleven,” Steve nodded, looking down at the hands he’d set between his knees. “I still remember reading your name in the paper.”

“I know.”

“How come you don’t like people calling you Tanner?”

“For the same reason that I don’t like thinking about my parents,” Dakota sighed. “It’s part of my past.”

“That fuckin’ asshole. I swear, if I ever got a hold of your father, I don’t know what I’d do.”

You’d kill him, Dakota thought. Rip him in half and cut him in two.

His friend didn’t need to say anything to make that much clear. “Anyway,” Dakota sighed, wetting his lips. “I try not to think about it. Why should you?”

“I just worry, you know? I’ve been your best friend since you were twelve.”

“It’s not very often a seventeen-year-old is friends with someone who’s twelve, is it?”

“Not really,” Steve said. Dakota chuckled. “You know I care about you, Kode. You really are my best friend.”

“I know. You wouldn’t have run to the adoption center otherwise.”

“It’s still hard to believe we used to live near each other. It couldn’t’ve been more convenient.”

“No. It couldn’t have,” Dakota agreed. Pushing himself forward, he reached back, grabbed the damp rag that had been behind his head, then lifted it in front of his face. A faint trace of blood speckled its surface. “I was bleeding?”

“Not bad, but enough for me to put a damp rag behind your head. Ice would’ve been better, but… well… you don’t need me to tell you we don’t have any.”

“Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Don’t mention it. Hey, you’re the one who saved my ass from being zombie chow.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

“Through thick or thin!” Steve laughed.

“And through death or undeath.”

Sleep didn’t come easily that night, not even with Tylenol. Ringing, pounding, throbbing, banging—he couldn’t imagine where all the sounds were coming from. Like a marching band at a parade, a chorus of pain lit up the side of his head, keeping him awake throughout much of the evening. When he did manage to fall asleep, he woke up an hour or so later, to the sound of gunshots going off in the street.

“What is it?” Dakota whispered.

“The gang.”

“What?”

“There’s been a gang coming through here for the past few nights. I’m surprised you haven’t heard their jeep.”

“They’ve got a jeep?”

“And from the sound of it, guns.”

Another shot rang out. A holler followed soon after.

“We’re gonna be ok, right?”

“Honestly, I don’t think we have anything to worry about, at least not until they come in here.”

“Why would they come here though?”

“For the same reason we’re here—shelter. We may be in a shitty little apartment, but at least we’re in this shitty little apartment. There’s not many people who can say they have what we’ve got.”

If there’s anyone who can say that.

Dakota kept his thought to himself.

“You need something?” Steve asked, easing himself out of bed.

“Like what?”

“A blanket, another Tylenol—whatever.”

“I don’t think I should take anymore. I’ve already had three.”

“Another Tylenol isn’t going to kill you.”

“I’d rather not risk it.”

“Suit yourself. Call me if you need something.”

As Steve made his way out into the kitchen, Dakota readjusted his position and closed his eyes, thinking about earlier and how easily one of them could’ve died. He could’ve dropped Steve, he could’ve hit his head harder than he did, the gun could’ve gone off and shot one of them. Anything could have happened.

“Steve?” Dakota asked.

“Yeah?” Steve replied, appearing alongside the bed.

“Please don’t tell me we’re going back down there again.”

“We’re not,” Steve said. “We’re going through the apartments next time we need something.”

Dawn cast its shade through the red curtains and stained the interior of the apartment like blood freshly cast from an open wound. Cold, tired, and head still aching, Dakota stumbled out of bed and into the living room. He found Steve standing in the kitchen, counting cans of vegetables and bags of food.

“Morning,” Steve said, smiling when he took note of Dakota’s disheveled appearance. “I’ve got good news.”

“What’s that?”

“Even though we lost half of the water and a few cans of stuff, we’ve still got enough food to last us a week or two.”

“Thank God.”

“The only bad news is that almost all of the canned shit is tomato soup.”

“That sucks,” Dakota grumbled, already bitter at the prospect of eating the same thing for the next two weeks.

“Food’s food, whatever it is.”

“You’ve got that right.”

Smiling, Steve reached over and tossed Dakota an open bottle of water. Dakota took a few sips before passing it back, then turned to look at the window. “It’d be nice if it rained more,” he said. “At least then we could collect our water.”

“Only one problem, bud—stove doesn’t work. We can’t drink it if we can’t clean it.”

“Couldn’t we start a fire? I know it doesn’t clean everything, but at least it wouldn’t be completely filthy.”

“I’m afraid that the sprinkler system would go off,” Steve said. “That is, if it even works.”

“What’d be so bad about the sprinklers going off?”

“Alarms, Dakota.”

“I thought they only went off on the main floor.”

“I wouldn’t count on that. Besides, even if they were only on the bottom floor, we can’t risk drawing zombies to the apartment.”

“You’ve got a point,” Dakota sighed.

He crossed the kitchen and made his way through the living room, where he entered the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He reached for the medicine cabinet and started combing its shelves for Tylenol, all the while regretting his ignorant display of stupidity. His head throbbed so hard it felt like someone was slamming him into a wall.

Or hitting me with an iron bar, he thought, then chuckled, swiping the bottle when he found it.

He closed the medicine cabinet and was turning to leave when he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. He seemed to have changed so much in such a short amount of time. Cheeks thinner, hair longer and hanging in his eyes, grey eyes bloodshot and jaw lined with stubble—he’d never looked this way before, not even in the least. The woman who used to run the adoption center would’ve never allowed him to look like he did now.

You’re setting a bad example, Dakota. You’re the oldest—you should be the one the boys look up to.

“The one they look up to,” he mumbled, tightening his grip on the bottle of Tylenol. “The one they want to be like.”

Unnerved beyond belief, he unscrewed the bottle, popped two pills in his mouth, then swallowed.

He didn’t need water for them to go down.

“Everything ok?” Steve asked.

“Huh?” Dakota asked. “Yeah. Everything’s cool.”

“You sure? You act like something’s wrong.”

“Just thinking about my past,” he sighed, leaning back into the couch. The plush cushion wrapped around his shoulders and pressed into his arms, allowing him one brief moment where he thought he was being embraced. The fantasy lasted only a moment, because when he realized they were not arms, but fabric, he leaned forward and set his hands between his knees.

Unless you want to talk about this, you should probably buck up and stop acting the way you are.

He’d never been good at hiding his emotions. After his mother committed suicide and his father ran off, he’d shut himself off from the world, hoping that someone or something would save him from the horrible agony of being alone. Mother Teresa was right when she said loneliness was the most terrible poverty. You could have all the money in the world and all the fame you could ever desire, but you would never be truly happy unless you had someone at your side.

Looking up, he sought out Steve’s eyes, hoping to find the reassurance he was desperately searching for. However, when he looked at his friend’s face, he saw nothing but concern and hurt, worry for a friend he didn’t know how to help.

“I’ll be all right.”

“I worry about you, Koda. I’m surprised you’ve held up so well given all the shit that’s happened to you.”

“Me?” Dakota laughed. “What about you? You’re in this mess too.”

“At least I was lucky enough to grow up in a good home.”

Dakota said nothing. Instead, he stood and made his way toward the window, where he fully intended on parting the curtains and looking at the outside world.

Before he could get there, he stopped.

The gangs.

“Steve,” he said, looking over his shoulder.

“Hmm?”

“What’ll we do if the gang gives us any trouble?”

“What anyone would do,” Steve said. “Run.”

A gunshot cracked the silence of midafternoon.

Rising from their seats as though something might burst through their window at any moment, Dakota and Steve slowly made their way toward the window, careful not to make any sudden, rash movements for fear of being seen through the curtains. When Steve stepped forward and wrapped his fingers through the fabric, he gestured Dakota to the opposite wall, then gently drew the curtains aside.

Outside, a pickup truck rolled down the road at a steady fifteen miles an hour. Two living men, armed with what appeared to be shotguns, stood in the bed of the truck, picking off zombies as the driver skirted the edge of the street.

“Shit,” Steve breathed.

“What’re they doing?” Dakota asked, frowning as they pulled to a stop. A third man exited the vehicle, drew a pistol, and blew the brains out of an advancing corpse. “They’re just drawing more by shooting.”

“I don’t know. Let’s wait and see.”

Four men in total stood on or around the truck, frantically gesturing at the area. The man who emerged from the driver’s seat threw a hand up in the air and stabbed a finger toward one of the buildings.

Steve and Dakota froze.

“Close the curtain, Steve,” Dakota whispered.

“I’m doing it,” Steve said, carefully pulling the curtain back into its original position.

One of the men cried out and pointed at the window.

Dakota tore the curtain out of Steve’s grasp and pulled it over the window. “They saw us,” he breathed, grimacing as another gunshot rang out. He half expected it to come through the window and hit one of them. “What the hell do we do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, tangling his hands through his hair. “Fuck, Dakota. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“We can’t stay here. They know where we are.”

“What do you suggest we do then? Run?”

“That’s exactly what I’m suggesting.”

“We don’t have anywhere to go!”

“What do you expect us to do Steve? Wait here until they find us? Shoot back? You saw what they were carrying. They’ve got shotguns. I even thought I saw the guy in the passenger seat holding an uzi.”

“A what?

“A machinegun you idiot!”

“I know what the fuck an uzi is!”

“Then why the hell did you ask?”

“Stop,” Steve said, pressing a hand to his forehead. “We gotta figure out what we’re gonna do.”

“There’s only two things we can do: stay or run. I don’t think staying’s a good idea. Not only are we gonna to have to deal with them, we’re gonna have to deal with the zombies once they get here.”

“Goddammit!” Steve cried, tearing into the kitchen. “God fucking dammit!”

Grabbing the backpack that sat on the floor, Steve pulled the small box of supplies off the top of the fridge and began shoving everything into the bag. Not sure what to do, Dakota grabbed his own backpack and headed for the bathroom, where he opened the medicine cabinet and pulled anything he could off the shelves. Most of it was useless, but they didn’t have time to sort through their belongings.

They could be here at any moment.

Dakota slung the pack over his shoulder and made his way out of the bathroom. Steve stood in the living room, loading a gun Dakota hadn’t seen before. “Where’d you get that?”

“Supermarket,” Steve gasped, inhaling a breath. “I found it in the office. Apparently the manager had a penchant for firearms. He had a whole case of ammo too.”

“Give it to me.”

“I’m working on it, Dakota. Fuck. Give me a second.”

“We don’t have a second, Steve.”

Steve grabbed the box of ammo sitting on the couch and passed it over. Shoving it into his backpack, Dakota took a moment to familiarize himself with the gun Steve offered soon after—what appeared to be a standard-issue pistol—then accepted a freshly-loaded clip his friend offered.

A crash froze them both in place.

“First floor,” Steve said. “Janitor’s office.”

“That means they’ve only got three floors left.”

“Fuck that.” Steve threw his backpack over his shoulder and pulled the curtains aside. The gang’s truck sat idling on the side of the street, though no one stood nearby. “We gotta go out the window.”

“What about the fire escape?”

“It’s out in the hall. There’s no way we can risk it.” A spray of gunfire sounded. Dakota felt something fall under their feet. “No time to wait.”

“Can we scale down the roof?”

“Yeah. It’s just a slide and a short drop to the balconies below.”

“What if one of us falls?”

“We won’t fall.”

Footsteps echoed into the hall. Steve pulled the window open, then peered out and around the corner. When he gestured him forward, Dakota sighed, took a deep breath, then climbed out and onto the roof.

Immediately, his foot caught and he began to slide forward.

Shit.

“Steve!” he hissed, pushing his weight back to slow his descent.

“I’m right here,” Steve said, peering down at the balconies. “You go first.”

“Why me?”

“Just do it!”

Dakota jumped and landed on the balcony below with little more than a grunt. Steve, however, wasn’t so lucky. His momentum lost by the sound of the apartment door caving in, he landed on the railing and would’ve went over had Dakota not lunged forward and grabbed his shirt.

“Thanks,” Steve breathed. “That’s twice you saved my ass.”

“You can thank me later,” Dakota whispered, pulling Steve deeper onto the balcony.

“Where’d they go?” one of the men cried.

“Fuck them!” another responded.

Steve reached for the glass door that separated them from the inside of the third-floor apartment.

Dakota swallowed a lump in his throat.

Come on.

The door slid aside under the force of Steve’s hand.

They stepped into the apartment without so much as a gasp.

“That was close,” Steve sighed.

A zombie stepped out of a nearby room. Steve raised his gun.

“No,” Dakota said. He grabbed a statue of Atlas bearing the world on his shoulders from a nearby shelf and slammed it into the creature’s face. Caught off-guard, the zombie stumbled into the wall, leaving its head perfectly open for a second, then third hit. Its skull cracked under the pressure and shards of bone cascaded from its face like rain from freshly-formed clouds when Dakota delivered a second hit into its nose. Not a sound was made throughout the entire ordeal until the zombie fell to the floor, now permanently dead.

“Shit,” Steve said. “You’re a badass, Dakota.”

“I try,” Dakota replied. He slammed the statue into the zombie’s skull one last time, then let it fall to the floor. “What now?”

“We wait,” Steve said. “It’ll be dark soon.”

“You think they’ll try looking for us?”

“I doubt it. For all they know, we’re already long gone.”

After the sun set and their fear escalated to a screaming pitch, they fled the apartment building and made their way down a long stretch of road. Guns drawn, a single flashlight aimed in front of their feet, they made their way around long-dead cars and the occasional piece of debris. Though quiet and without a sound, the night offered no solace for Dakota’s troubled mind.

“Where do we head from here?” Dakota asked, grimacing as he heard something rustle in the tree overhead.

“No clue,” Steve sighed. He straightened his posture and ran a hand through his hair, grimacing as his fingers crested the curve of his skull.

“Something wrong?”

“I’ve got a headache. That’s all.”

“You want some Tylenol?”

“Not now. Maybe later, after we figure out where we’re going.”

“Let’s think logically,” Dakota said, resting his gun against his thigh. “What’s on this street?”

“I dunno. Houses, a school, maybe a church.”

“A church?”

“One of those universal ‘Love in Christ’ ones.”

“You think it’s worth trying there?”

“Maybe, but not unless we absolutely have to. I don’t like the idea of going into a church that probably had tons of people in it right before…you know.”

Yeah, Dakota thought. I know.

Televangelists had flooded the airwaves after the CDC announced the true happenings in New York. God, they said, was punishing them for everything they’d done wrong. For the people they killed, for the wars they fought, for the babies that didn’t get to live and the abomination of sin. He’d punished them by opening the doors to Hell, the good men said, and letting all the dead run free. People were easily persuaded when told they were being punished by God. It didn’t matter that the government had confirmed that a virus was bringing the dead back to life; by that time, most of the west coast had fallen and people were scrambling for any sense of faith they could hold on to. Mass suicides swept the nation and the churches filled to bursting. Baptisms rose, confessionals stopped running, and priests were summoned to the front lines, only to be shown that God wouldn’t protect them in their time of need.

People knew it was over when the Pope rose up and took a bite out of one of his priests.

When it finally did end, people were hardly even aware of it.

“Dakota?” Steve asked. “Thinkin’ about something?”

“The church,” he said. “I don’t even want to think about going in there, let alone actually do it.”

“No worries then. We’ll figure out something.”

Shaking his head, Steve tapped Dakota’s shoulder and continued forward, once again hunching his shoulders and aiming his flashlight toward the ground.

Dakota had little choice but to follow.

Their pursuit for shelter eventually led them to an abandoned front porch. Tired, nervous and unsure of their next destination, Dakota settled down with worry in his heart and doubt in his mind, content to have stopped, but afraid of what was to come.

It’ll be ok, he thought, shifting further back into the shadows. Nothing’s going to see us in the dark.

Though he couldn’t necessarily be sure, he consoled himself with the idea that zombies, like people, couldn’t see in the dark.

Dakota leaned back and set his head against the wall, tilting his face up to allow himself a view of the sky. Shrouded behind a veil of cloud, the moon winked at him with its pearly, opalescent eye, taunting him in his moment of doubt. It could easily move at any moment, throwing them to the wolves and the teeth they bore, but he didn’t think that would happen. No, the moon would allow them respite, if only for a moment.

“Steve?” he whispered, reaching for his friend.

A hand grasped around his wrist. Dakota jumped, but managed to withhold his cry of surprise.

“It’s just me,” Steve said.

“You think we should try to get in?” Dakota gasped, still recovering from his sudden scare.

“Maybe. I don’t know.”

“Why wouldn’t we?”

“I’m afraid of breaking the glass on the door. I don’t want to make any noise.”

“What’re we supposed to do then? Wait out here?”

“I already told you, Dakota, I’m not sure. We shot down the church idea, so we either break into a house or see if we can get into the school—which, to be honest, kind of freaks me out. All those kids…” Steve shivered and released his hold on Dakota’s hand to brush his forearms. “Creeps me out.”

“I get what you mean,” Dakota sighed, “but sitting here isn’t helping us any.”

“We haven’t seen any zombies, so I don’t see—”

“Wait.” Dakota held up a hand, concentrating on something he thought he’d just heard.

“What are you—”

“Did you hear that?”

“What?”

“That.” What sounded like footsteps echoed inside the house, as though someone had stepped out of a hall and was making their way toward the front door. “You hear that, or am I just imagining things?”

“I hear it,” Steve said, propping himself up on one knee.

“You think it’s a zombie?”

“I don’t know.” Dakota saw Steve fingering the safety on his pistol in the faint glimmer of moonlight that shined through the screens on the porch. He seemed tense, pressed into a situation where he might have to reveal their location in order to protect them. “Look through the window. See if you can see anything.”

“What if something sees us?”

“If there’re any zombies, we run. If there are people…” Steve shook his head. “No harm in looking.”

Unless there’s zombies, Dakota thought, but kept his silence. Leaning forward, he pressed his face to the glass and braced his hands around his eyes, squinting in the hopes that whatever was moving around inside would reveal itself. “I don’t—” he started, but a flicker of movement crossed the room before Dakota could blink.

The door opened.

Steve raised his gun.

A man stood in the threshold, arms raised and face skewed with surprise. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Steve said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you here alone?”

“No, my wife, she—”

“Are either of you bit?”

“No, we’re not. Do you gentlemen want to come inside?”

“We’d appreciate it,” Dakota said, waiting to see if Steve would make any further comment. When he didn’t, Dakota stepped forward and held his hand out for the man. “Hi. I’m Dakota Travis.”

“My name’s Gerald,” the man said, taking Dakota’s hand. “Please, come inside. This is no place to be out in the cold.”

“Where did you come from?” Gerald asked, setting a pot of warm coffee in front of them.

“The Domino Apartments,” Steve said, nodding his approval as he poured both himself and Dakota a cup of coffee. “We’d still be there if it weren’t for that gang.”

“Gang?”

“You know, the guys in the red truck.”

“Oh,” Gerald nodded. “Them.”

“You’ve seen them?” Dakota asked.

“Yes. They’ve been tearing through the streets here the past couple of nights. I can’t say I hate them, seeing as how they’ve been killing the corpses, but I can’t say I like them either.”

“How come?”

“They took someone hostage. I heard the guy yelling something about not having any food or money right before they pulled him out of the house. Used to be a neighbor. Not anymore.”

Steve sipped his coffee, brown eyes watching the older, greying man across from them. Dakota watched them for a brief moment, but was distracted by the sight of a woman ducking back into what appeared to be a bedroom. “Sir?” Dakota said. “Was that your wife?”

“That’s Elise all right.”

“Is something the matter?” Steve asked.

“She’s a bit…troubled, to be honest.”

“How so?”

“It’s not my place to say, Mr. Earnest, especially since it’s my wife’s business, but I’ll be honest, she’s a bit wrecked over the current circumstances. I’m surprised she’s out of her room, let alone taking the time to see whom I’ve let into the house.”

“We’re ok to stay here, though,” Dakota asked. “Right?”

“You’re both fine. I have no intentions of kicking either of you out, but you’re forewarned, she’s of the opinion that God’s taken it upon himself to punish us for what we’ve done.”

Judgment Day.

Dakota shivered. He picked up his coffee and sipped it, but knew his gesture was not unseen. Steve’s wandering eyes made that more than clear.

“Is there something I should be aware of?” Gerald frowned, leaning back in his seat.

“Nothing of particular worry,” Steve said, once again glancing at Dakota. “At least, I don’t think there is.”

“It’s nothing that would be mentioned for any reason whatsoever, at least not intentionally.”

“Neither of you are bit,” Gerald said. “Right?”

“No,” Steve said. “It’s nothing like that at all. I think Dakota’s more so referring to the fact that he’s—”

“Gay,” Dakota finished. As he’d expected, Gerald said nothing. However, unlike what he’d initially anticipated, the man didn’t show any overt shock either. “That’s not going to be a problem, is it?”

“Not unless you say something, no, I don’t believe so. Elise is fundamentalist, yes, but I don’t think she’d go out of her way to start something.”

“Can never trust that,” Steve mumbled. Dakota merely shrugged.

“Anyhow,” Gerald said, rising. “I trust you gentlemen must be hungry, given your circumstances. Would you like something to eat? I’ve just made Elise and I some popcorn, though I can’t guarantee it’ll taste very good.”

“Popcorn’s good,” Dakota said. “Right, Steve?”

“Definitely,” Steve agreed.

Smiling, Gerald nodded and left the room, disappearing into what Dakota assumed was the kitchen. When he was sure Gerald wouldn’t return within a short amount of time, Dakota leaned forward and offered Steve the worst glare he could muster. “What?” Steve asked.

“What the hell was that all about?”

“If the woman’s a nutter, it’s better he knows you’re gay than if he doesn’t. I was testing him out.”

“You know how people are in these parts,” Dakota growled. “Goddammit, Steve, if there was one stupid thing you could’ve done, it would be this.”

“Don’t start ratting on me. At least I got us somewhere safe.”

“You?”

“I was the one who decided to go down this street.”

“That doesn’t matter! And it doesn’t mean we’re safe eith—”

“Sorry for taking so long,” Gerald said, stepping into the room with the bowl of popcorn. “Here you go, gentlemen.”

“Thanks,” Dakota said. He took a handful of popcorn, stuck it into his mouth, then sighed. He chewed what was in his mouth before looking back at Steve.

Steve reached over to slap Dakota’s arm. “Hey, bud, it’s cool.”

Shrugging, Gerald set the bowl of popcorn before them and reseated himself. After leaning forward and taking a handful of popcorn for himself, he set his hands between his knees and watched both Dakota and Steve with unsure eyes. “Where do you plan on heading now that your apartment’s been taken over?”

“No idea,” Steve said. “We’ve been holed up there since the beginning. Now that we don’t have it…”

“It’s like we’re lost,” Dakota finished. When Steve nodded, Dakota leaned back and closed his eyes. He sat there a moment, waiting to see if someone would reply. When no one did, he opened his eyes. “I guess the only thing we can do is wait and see what happens,” he said.

“All anyone can do nowadays,” Gerald agreed.

All anyone can do, Dakota thought, closing his eyes. All anyone can do.

Later, after the night began to wane and Dakota and Steve were just ready to go to bed, Elise joined them. Garbed in a nightgown and with her hair pulled back into a knot, she seated herself beside Gerald and set her hands in her lap, watching them with calm, almost-calculating eyes. At first, Dakota merely thought that she was interested in what they were doing, as they’d both gotten down to arrange their bedding. After a while though, he soon began to realize that her attention to them wasn’t purely casual and nonchalant.

“Hello,” Dakota said, hoping to break her unnerving gaze. He smoothed out the corner of a blanket and smiled, praying the added gesture would help.

“Hello,” the woman replied.

“Thank you for letting us stay in your house, ma’am,” Steve said. “It’s much appreciated.”

“There’s no need to thank me. I’m not the one who let you in.”

I’m not the one who let you in? Dakota thought. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

The thought racing in his mind, he shuddered, brushing his arms to fake what most would consider a chill. “Anyone else feel that?” he laughed. When no one replied, he bowed his head and looked at Steve, who offered him an ‘I know what you mean’ look.

“Would you like extra blankets?” Gerald asked, rising. “I can get you another if you like.”

“That’s all right,” Dakota said.

“Thank you, though,” Steve added. “We’ll be fine. It’s not like we’ll need more than one blanket.”

“That wouldn’t be expected,” Elise smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Dakota grimaced. He would have bit his lip were he not afraid of drawing blood.

“It means exactly what it means,” the woman continued, a smile cresting her lips. “Sinners such as yourself have no need for modesty, not when you flaunt it so openly.”

“Sinning?” Steve asked. “What the hell are you talking about lady?”

“And the lord said, ‘Do unto others what would be done unto you,’” she laughed, raising her hands as she rose from her seat. “Do unto others? Do unto others? What shall be done unto us, you godforsaken heathen, when the world is wrought with queers such as you? What will happen when you have tainted all there is to taint and there are no men left to populate the world with the sons of Adam?”

“Elise,” Gerald warned, standing. “That’s enough.”

“Your forbidden desires and your lust of the flesh was what brought these creatures unto us!” the woman cried. “You did it! YOU did it!”

“We didn’t do anything!” Dakota cried.

“Oh, boy, you did. You know exactly what you’ve done.”

“Lady, I haven’t done anything! I’m still a virgin!”

“So says the boy who comes into our home with a man.”

“That is more than enough,” Gerald said, taking Elise by the arm. “I won’t have this, especially not after everything we’ve gone through.”

Elise stopped moving. Her muscles, tense from her husband’s initial touch, relaxed, while her lips curled in horror as though Gerald had delivered her last penance. It took a moment for the shock in her eyes and the horror from her face to clear, but when it did, what replaced it was so much worse than anything the dead could have summoned.

“So,” she said, after a moment’s hesitation. “You’ve sided with the heathens.”

“I never said that.”

“I always knew that was wrong with you, Gerald. I saw you.”

“Saw me what?”

“I saw you looking at other men.”

The hair on Dakota’s arms stood on end and the weight in his heart increased tenfold. A pendulum dropping upon his head, it sliced any calm rationale within his mind and let it fall into two pieces. At his side, Steve stood silent, though his hand strayed to the holster at his side. Please don’t, he thought, ready to lash out and tackle his friend to the ground at any moment.

“This is ridiculous,” Gerald said, breaking the brief moment of silence that shattered the violent cloud of hate in the room. “Elise, I have never—”

“That time at the amusement park, when we were with little Sophie and her parents. I saw you looking at him, Gerald.”

“Who?”

“That boy. I always knew you were wrong, Gerald. I should’ve listened to Mother when she said you were a bad man, but by God, I didn’t want to believe it. I didn’t want to believe that the man I loved, my husband, wanted men. I didn’t. I didn’t. I DIDN’T!”

“ENOUGH!” Gerald roared.

“They’re being too loud,” Dakota whispered, eyes darting to the window as he saw shapes moving on the road. “Steve, they’re going to hear us in here!”

“God will deliver me to his kingdom!” Elise cried, throwing herself to the front door. “He will deliver me my salvation and send his angels with trumpeting horns to free me from my mortal sin!”

“ELISE!” Gerald screamed.

“NO!” the woman cried.

She hurled the door open.

A figure lunged from the shadows just as the glass in the front windows exploded into the living room.

“GET AWAY FROM THE DOOR!” Gerald cried. “ELISE! NO!”

“It’s not worth it,” Steve cried, grabbing the man’s arm. “Don’t do it, Gerald! Don’t do it!”

In the final moments of her life, Elise spread her arms and smiled. Crucified by her mortal sins, she closed her eyes and whispered a prayer just moments before the zombie burst into the living room and dragged her to the ground.

“NO!” Gerald screamed, tearing away from Steve’s grasp and grabbing a nearby lamp. “BASTARDS! LEAVE MY WIFE ALONE!”

“DON’T DO IT!” Dakota screamed.

Steve tried to grab the man, but it was no use. By the time Gerald slammed the lamp over the zombie’s head, three more appeared from the shadows and launched themselves into the house, pulling Gerald away just as he reached his motionless wife.

Dakota raised his gun. He flipped the safety off.

“No, Dakota!” Steve cried. “They’re already dead! We have to get out of here!”

“But I…they…” Tears streaming down his face, he lowered his gun and followed Steve into the kitchen, toward the door that led out into the backyard. From the other room, he could hear Gerald’s cries of anguish as the creatures ripped him to pieces. A shambling zombie attempted to follow, but Dakota raised his gun and fired a shot, which could barely be heard over the howls of agony projected from Gerald’s lungs.

Steve kicked the door open.

The corpse fell to the ground with a bullet through its head.

Dakota took one last look into the living room. He saw a painting of a beautiful sunrise just before Steve pulled him out the back door.

CHAPTER 2

“Corporal Marks, has the perimeter been secured?”

“Yes sir,” Corporal Jamie Marks said, taking a brief glance back at the chain-link fence. “The perimeter is clear, sir.”

“How many casualties?”

“Six confirmed, sir, possibly more.”

“Dammit,” Sergeant Armstrong breathed, swiping a hand across the stubble on his head. “Civilians, military?”

“Mostly civilians, sir. Two military.”

“Who?”

“Marsh and Rangers.”

“Privates,” the sergeant sighed. He surveyed the area, his usually-mean eyes softening to the point of what looked to be sorrow. “Have the corpses been dealt with?”

“All within the perimeter have been dealt with, sir,” Private Erik Roberts said, stepping into place beside Corporal Marks with his hands clasped behind his back.

“What do you mean ‘within the perimeter’?”

“Some of the civilians were trapped outside when we closed the door—most bitten. Casualties, sir.”

“The remaining civilians?”

“Dustin Bowers and Michael Young are waiting inside the front lobby with deputies Kirn and Wills. Last I saw, the boy followed them in.”

“He have a name?”

“Desmond, sir. Desmond Child.”

“Good. Corporal, Private, I’d like you both to enter the building and scout the first floor. We don’t want any of them pus bags sneaking up on us.”

“Yes sir!” they said in unison.

Turning, Jamie strode across the sectioned-off parking lot and sighed when he caught sight of the body bags stacked against the far wall. They’d have to be burned eventually, before the birds and bugs came in, but that didn’t seem necessary at the moment. Though the perimeter around the building had been secured, the building itself had not.

“You all right?” Erik Roberts asked, brushing up alongside him.

Jamie grunted, head swimming with the lovechild of a headache.

Erik opened the glass door. All eyes turned toward them as they entered. “Listen up,” Jamie said, raising his voice to gather the attention of both the civilians and his fellow soldiers. “Private Roberts and I have been instructed to secure the first floor. Kirn, Wills, I want the two of you to stay here and guard the lobby, stairway and civilians. We’ll need an escape route if something goes wrong.”

“Nothing in here, Corporal,” Wills said.

“Nope,” Kirn added, lifting his cigarette to take a drag. “Anything in here would’ve already heard us.”

“Regardless,” Jamie said, “it’s better we stay smart and safe until we know for sure.”

“Whatever you say, Corporal.”

Though Jamie caught the telltale snicker from Wills and the sarcastic undertone from Kirn, he ignored them, instead making his way toward the hallway that led to the first-floor apartments. He drew his pistol and aimed it toward the ground, waiting until Erik did the same before stepping forward. “Some apartment building,” he mused, admiring the porcelain-white tile and the coal-black plaques embossed upon the doors.

“Didn’t use to be one,” Erik said.

“Huh?”

“This apartment. It’s converted.”

“From what?”

“An asylum.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“Kirn and Wills.”

Talk about creepy, Jamie thought, suppressing the shiver that crested the curve of his spine. He gestured to the first door with a nod of his head and reached for the doorknob, nodding as Erik raised his gun.

“On three. One… two…”

He threw the door open and raised his gun, half-expecting something to lunge out at him. However, when nothing did, he sighed and lowered his weapon, stepping into the room to examine the fine plush carpet and the neatly-redone paneling on the walls.

“They really did some work on it,” Erik said, brushing past the gap between Jamie and the wall. “It doesn’t even look like a holding cell.”

“Is that what this was?”

“I imagine so. Why else would it be so small?”

Convenient living?

The thought made Jamie chuckle. At about thirty feet wide and fifty feet long, the room, though small, held the common necessities that anyone would need—a bed, a bookshelf, storage space on the far wall in the form of a pull-away closet. What looked to be a bathroom opened up at the side, but Jamie doubted they would be using that. “No running water,” he said.

“What?” Erik asked.

“Nothing. Let’s keep going. The Sergeant’ll chew our asses if we don’t secure the first floor.”

They spent the next half-hour clearing the first floor. Having searched a total of twelve rooms, each equipped like the last, they returned to the lobby to find the sergeant conversing with the civilians, all of whom appeared to be shaken up. The boy, who couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, stood in the corner of the room, watching the events of the outside world with wide eyes.

“Kid,” the sergeant said, raising his already-loud voice. “Something bothering you?”

“N-No sir. I’m F-fine,” the boy managed.

“Good,” Jamie said. Then to the Sergeant, “The first floor’s clear, Sergeant Armstrong, sir.”

“Good. Kirn, Wills, I want the two of you to run through the second floor.”

“Aww,” Kirn groaned. “Come on!”

“Don’t be a pussy, deputy. Just do it.”

“I’ll do it,” Kirn grumbled, pushing past Jamie with a rough bump of the shoulder. Jamie caught the tail-end of stupid old motherfucker as the man passed, but didn’t say anything. For such well-thought-of police officers, they seemed less willing to do the sergeant’s bidding than even his own men did.

Guess that’s what you get when you mix two different branches together.

Shaking his head, Jamie seated himself on the leather couch dividing the lobby in two and set his rifle at his side. He lit a cigarette, took a short breath, then offered it to Erik, who took it with a simple shrug of thanks. “Sir,” Jamie said, looking up at the sergeant. “How many floors are we clearing?”

“As many as we can,” the sergeant said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d imagine any civilians that were here might have blocked off a stairway or two.”

“What makes you think that?”

“Rash thinking. If you can’t get out, they can’t get in, right?”

“I guess,” Jamie shrugged. In that moment of perpetual thought, he glanced at the civilians, both sad for their discomfort, but glad for their safety. The man he’d come to know as Dustin Bowers stood conversing with his friend, Michael Young, who appeared to be in much better shape than his older companion. He’d caught word that Dustin had lost his wife, but couldn’t be sure, as he hadn’t heard from the source. If that were indeed true, his heart hurt for the man, burned like the intensity of a thousand suns exploding inside a destructive solar system. He couldn’t imagine how Dustin must have felt right now.

You can’t imagine much of anything, his conscience whispered. Because you don’t have anybody to—

“Third floor’s blocked off!” Kirn called down.

“With what?” the sergeant hollered.

“Junk! Chairs mostly, but there’s some junk tangled in some of it.”

“Does it smell!”

“What!”

“I said does it smell?”

“No, sir!”

“Then leave it be. There’s no point in removing it if it’s not doing any harm.” The sergeant turned and looked at the five men in his midst. Then, as an afterthought, he called, “How many rooms are up there?”

“Fifteen, including a dining room, kitchen and lobby.”

“Good,” Armstrong smirked. “That’s more than enough room for all of us.”

They spent the remainder of the day repairing and adding minor adjustments to the first floor. Covering some of the windows with black electrical tape, creating a headquarters in the lobby by rigging up a radio from one of the army jeeps, preparing rooms to turn them into storage closets—the afternoon quickly faded away, and with it all sense of worry. By the time night fell, Jamie collapsed into bed, exhausted from the day’s work. “Long day,” he laughed, glancing up at Erik.

“No kidding,” the younger man said, stripping his shirt off his head. “Still freaks me out though.”

“What?”

“The bars on the windows.”

Jamie looked up. Until that moment, he hadn’t paid them any mind; but now that Erik mentioned it, he couldn’t help but stare. Each of the five bars vertically aligned across the window served testament to the imprisonment they all suffered by being within the apartment building. “Yeah,” Jamie said, tearing his eyes away from the troubling scene. “It does.”

“Does what?”

“Freak me out.”

“At least we know we’re safe,” Erik laughed, settling down on one of the beds. “Right?”

Jamie sighed. “I guess.”

“You guess?”

“Today was just rough, that’s all. We lost six people, two of them ours.”

“You can’t beat yourself up for it though. You tried. We all did.”

“I know. It just…” Jamie sighed. “Sucks.”

“Of course it does. It’s always sucked. It probably always will.”

Hopefully not, Jamie thought, rolling over to stare at the wall. Hopefully it’ll all let up.

Maybe they’d get some kind of miracle.

A man could hope.

They rose at six in the morning and continued about their regular chores. Erik, known within his unit as both the medic and head communications specialist, headed downstairs to man the radio, while Jamie was charged with finding the civilians something to do. Though he didn’t like the idea of immediately tasking them with work so soon after their brush with the dead, he couldn’t disobey orders, regardless of how much he wanted to.

“So,” he asked, pacing from one side of the group to the other. “What can you all do?”

“Do?” Dustin asked. His eyes still appeared miserable and as bloodshot as ever.

“Yeah,” Jamie said. “Do…as in, what are you good at?”

“I used to be a mechanic,” Dustin said.

“And I filed papers,” Michael said. When Jamie raised an eyebrow, Michael smiled, then said, “I used to work as a secretary…after I lost my accounting job.”

“What about you?” Jamie asked, turning to the young, fire-haired teen. “Desmond, was it?”

“Yes sir,” Desmond said, turning his eyes up. Jamie smiled at the shock in the emerald eyes that greeted him. “I can cook.”

“Cook?”

“I used to fry eggs and grill hamburgers at a Mexican restaurant.”

“Can you cook beans? Soup? Vegetables?”

“All you have to do is follow directions. The vegetables are nothing new. I’ve cooked them before. I can make stir fry if I have to.”

“Then you’ve got the job,” Jamie smiled, clapping the boy’s shoulder. “So, let me get this straight—Dustin, you’re the new mechanic; Desmond, you’re the new cook; and Michael…”

Michael offered a slight smile when Jamie trailed off. “I’ll do whatever anyone tells me to do.”

“I guess that’s it, then, gentlemen. You’re dismissed until someone tells you otherwise.”

Turning, Jamie started down the hall, toward the flight of stairs leading down to the first floor, but stopped when he sensed someone watching him. He waited for whoever it was to speak, expecting a response, then glanced over his shoulder when none came. He found Desmond standing in his original position, eyes glossy and face blank of any discernable expression. “Desmond?” Jamie asked.

The boy jumped “Yes sir.”

“If you’re not comfortable with cooking, I can find something else for you to do.”

“I’m fine with cooking.” Desmond blushed. “Pardon me, sir.”

Jamie laughed, turning to cross the distance he’d just walked. When he stood in front of the boy, he paused, not sure whether or not to reach out to him. He eventually caved to better human nature and set both hands on the kid’s shoulders. “If you need something,” Jamie said, “you can tell me.”

“Sir?”

“I know the sergeant’s a hardass, and you’re not likely to find a friend in Kirn or Wills, but I’m here for you, Desmond. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in your situation.”

“I’m not any worse off than you guys are.”

“That’s where I think you’re wrong.”

“How so?”

“We got to live life,” Jamie said. “You’re…what? Fourteen, fifteen?”

“Seventeen.”

“There. See? You’re not even an adult yet. You probably haven’t even drunk a beer or smoked a cigarette.”

“Tried cigarettes,” the boy said. “Didn’t like it.”

“Probably better for you anyway,” Jamie laughed. “It’s a bitch of a habit. Suffice to say, we won’t have smokes forever, especially since everyone’s…”

“Dead.”

“Yeah. Dead.” Jamie clapped the boy’s shoulder. “Like I said, buddy, if you need something, come to me, even if it’s just to talk.”

“I will. Thank you, sir.”

With that, Jamie turned and continued on his way, all the while thinking about the seventeen-year-old boy and his brilliant green eyes.

“How’d the civvies do today?”

“They did good,” Jamie said, collapsing into bed. “Why do you call them civvies anyway?”

“Always called ‘em that,” Erik shrugged. “It’s not like they’re any different than they were before, J. We’re still the army, they’re still the civilians.”

“I wasn’t saying that.” Jamie sighed. Leaning back, he fluffed a pillow up behind his head and closed his eyes, taking a moment to gain his bearings on the current situation. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know what?”

“It’s always bothered me—the army not giving faces to the people they protect.”

“We are the army, Jamie. You’re making us out like we’re assholes.”

“Not us, Erik. I’m talking about them.” He jerked his finger at the wall next to him. “I’m talking about Kirn and Wills.”

“You’re missing the point. Kirn and Wills aren’t army, they’re police officers who got upgraded because we needed extra people.”

“Ok. Point taken.”

“I get what you’re saying. You don’t like it that Kirn, Wills and the sergeant are bossing the civilians around. I get that entirely. I don’t like it either. What I am saying is that things haven’t changed, at least not in groups like ours. We still have to listen, we still have to obey, and we still have to watch what we say.”

“I know, Erik. No need to lecture me.”

“I’m not. I’m your friend, Jamie, and I want what’s best for you. I don’t want you getting thrown out for something said in a moment of passion.”

“Wait…what?”

“Nothing. Get some sleep. If you’re still worried about it in the morning, we can talk. We’ve got guard duty.”

Great, Jamie sighed, pulling a blanket over his shoulders. Just great.

As if zombies weren’t the only thing he had to worry about, now he had guard duty.

The morning lay shadowed in fog and mist. Hanging low to the ground, wrapping around telephone pones, breaking into cars and sneaking around corners, it swam through the streets like floodwaters from a hurricane and crashed against the chain-linked fence like sharks in the movie Jaws . What few zombies were scattered along the street shambled blindly through the fog like lost souls amidst the devastation of a horrible storm. Occasionally, one would bounce off something—much to Erik’s amusement—then continue on its merry way, but they always came back. Whether or not they knew people were still inside the apartment building was anyone’s guess, but the majority had wandered off over the past two days. Regardless, that didn’t make their situation any less dangerous. They could still be nearby, hidden in the fog, watching but unable to reach them.

Standing inside a watch tower that hadn’t been removed by the people renovating the asylum, Jamie watched a female zombie wander to the gate, then turn around to return to her initial position. Nearby, another zombie followed suit, only to repeat the same actions as its female companion. “See that?” Jamie pointed.

“What?”

“The zombie doing exactly what the other one did.”

“You already know their instincts are based on impulse.”

“I wish Marsh were still here. At least then we might be able to make some sense of it.”

“The only thing Marsh figured out was that they were controlled by impulse and that they followed any living human they could. He even proved that they might be psychic based on the test he did with the one Humvee back at the base.”

“You mean when he let it roll down the hill?”

“The zombies didn’t give two shits.”

“They could’ve seen that there wasn’t anyone in the vehicle, Erik.”

“But that doesn’t explain why the ones who weren’t looking at it didn’t give pursuit.”

Content with the answer, Jamie settled down in his seat and pulled out his pack of smokes. He flicked a butt out of the carton, swiped his lighter out of his pocket, then lit it, sighing as the nicotine burned its way into his lungs. As he always did when Jamie pulled out a smoke, Erik gave him a longing look, to which Jamie replied by taking another drag and offering the man his cigarette. “What happened to your pack?”

“I don’t keep them on me.”

“Then why are you bumming smokes off me all the time?” Jamie laughed. “Start carrying your own you dumbass.”

“I don’t want Kirn or Wills to take them.”

“They’re just your typical high school bullies, Erik.”

“But they’re high school bullies that the sergeant likes.” Erik expelled a lungful of smoke. Jamie sighed when he inhaled the traces of smoke. “Remember what we talked about last night? How we’re supposed to keep our mouths shut and not say anything that might get us in trouble?”

“I remember.”

“Do you feel any better at all this morning?”

“A little.”

“Look,” Erik passed the cigarette back, “I apologize for arguing with you last night. The sergeant’s been riding my ass when it comes to manning the radio.”

“At least you don’t have to worry about doing the dirty work.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like I enjoy having my ass planted in a chair for ten hours a day. I signed up for the army to get away from that, not the other way around.”

“Your dad really would have made you work in his business?”

“It was his way or the army.” Erik closed his eyes. “Damn.”

“What?”

“I miss that fucker, even if he was an asshole.”

“I do too,” Jamie confessed. “I miss him a lot.”

“He was practically your dad too.”

“He was the only dad I knew,” Jamie corrected, then sighed. “It’s kind of ironic, huh?”

“What?”

“How I’m in the military, exactly where Dad died in ‘91.”

“I don’t think it’s irony,” Erik said, crouching down beside him. “You wanted to go to school. All I wanted to do was get away from my dad’s business.”

“They offered to help you go to school.”

“I barely made it through high school, Jamie. How the hell would I have made it through college?”

“What’re you talking about? You managed to make it through medic training.”

“That’s only because I wasn’t having to read books upon books upon books that rambled on about particular little nerves that didn’t mean a thing.” When Jamie shrugged, Erik laughed and added, “At least your mom was cool.”

“My mom drove me nuts.”

“Don’t tell me you weren’t a momma’s boy.”

“I’m not,” Jamie laughed, smacking his friend’s shoulder. “It happens when you don’t have a dad.”

Erik sighed. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“It happens.”

Standing, Erik placed his hands on the railing and looked out at the fog-covered cityscape before them. “Hey,” he said. “Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“So much for the war being over.”

For a brief moment, Jamie thought about replying. After a moment though, he sighed, stood, and made his way to his friend’s side.

Only one thought occurred to him the moment he clasped his friend’s shoulder.

The world really had ended in 2012.

Later that morning, after both he and Erik had finished their watch duty, Jamie stood beneath the spouting head of a locker-room shower faucet, rolling amidst the freezing waves of bliss that rained down upon him. With power briefly restored by a charitable Kirn and Wills, who’d managed to locate a generator within the boiler room beneath the converted asylum, Jamie had been offered a five-minute shower, one he’d been quick to take immediately upon entering. Erik, meanwhile, had been instructed to take up his position in the lobby, much to his displeasure. Though he pitied his friend, Jamie felt thankful for his moment of solitude.

Stepping out of the shower, he flipped his towel off its rack and made his way across the brief distance from the shower stall to the sinks. As the fog from the mirror began to clear, revealing grey walls, shower stalls and the charcoal-tiled floor, Jamie leaned forward and examined his reflection. His bangs were a mess and his usually clean-shaven jaw was sprouting a beard. He took a moment to study his new appearance, then reached for a razor and scissors.

The sarge is going to kill me, he thought, slathering his hand in shaving cream.

He carefully shaved and trimmed the beard to a neat, almost-professional appearance. His hair he left alone, though it would most likely get him reprimanded, with his straight, boyish bangs hanging over his eyes. No longer did he look like a rugged wildman freshly emerged from the woods. Now he looked handsome, charming even in his own respect.

“Better than nothing,” he mumbled, stroking his fingers through the hairs hanging from his chin. He took a moment to clean the area before dressing in army casuals and making his way out of the room.

The moment his foot touched down in the hallway, a pair of hands grabbed him and pushed him against the wall.

“What took ya so long?” Derek Kirn growled, shoving Jamie against the wall when he tried to step away from it. “Jerking off in there?”

“I was only in for five minutes.”

“Five minutes my ass. Look at my watch.” The man raised his wrist. “Five oh one.”

“Oh,” Jamie smiled. “You gonna tell the sarge I was in the bathroom for one extra minute?”

“Damn right I will, faggot.”

“You’re the one who seems obsessed with whether or not I’m jerking off in the bathroom, Kirn . I wouldn’t be calling me a faggot if I were you.”

“Why you little—”

“That’s enough,” Sergeant Armstrong said, stepping into the hall. “Is there a problem here?”

“This little pussy was in the bathroom longer than he was supposed to be,” Kirn said.

“Yeah,” Donald Wills added. “What Kirn said.”

“I’ll have you both aware that this little pussy, as you call him, is your commanding officer. Don’t forget, gentlemen, that Mr. Marks here is a corporal.”

“Fuck that!” Kirn cried. “He was in the bathroom for longer than he should have been!”

“Like Corporal Marks said, Mr. Kirn, you seem to be a bit too fixated on the fact that your commanding officer was in the bathroom longer than you anticipated.”

“But you said—”

“Enough! Kirn, Wills, go to your room. Jerk your dicks on your own time.” With nothing else to say, both men turned and made their way up the stairs, both mumbling under their breaths. Once sure they were out of earshot, the sergeant turned to face Jamie. “My apologies, Corporal. I see you haven’t cut your hair.”

“Wasn’t in the mood.”

“Or your beard.”

“Only had one razor,” Jamie smiled.

“I’ll let it pass because there’s more important things to attend to. I will, however, ask that you not let Kirn and Wills get away with such behavior.”

“I wasn’t aware that they weren’t under your orders, sir.”

“You’re not stupid, Corporal. You know what stands with me and what doesn’t. You’re dismissed until eighteen-hundred hours. Dinner will be served on the second floor.”

“Thank you sir,” Jamie said, raising his hand to salute.

After the sergeant saluted him back, Jamie hefted his pack up under his arm and made his way toward his and Erik’s room, all the while dwelling on what the sergeant had said about Kirn, Wills and their control over him.

You know what goes, the man had said.

Jamie only wished he did.

“It’s gotta be aliens,” Kirn said.

“It could be the government,” Michael suggested.

“We already know it’s a virus,” Wills said, always one to be clever in his moments of stubbornness. “Roberts is the doctor. He’ll tell you.”

“I’m not a doctor,” Erik said, “and yes, it is a virus.”

“How do you know?” Kirn asked.

“Because it only replicates inside living organisms.”

“But the things out there are dead,” Michael pointed out. “How can a virus survive outside a living host?”

“I have no idea,” Erik said, nodding as Desmond slapped down a pair of biscuits and a bowl of soup in front of him. “Thank you.”

“Biscuits?” Wills asked. “Where in the hell did we get biscuits?”

“I made them,” Desmond said.

“I don’t know,” the man continued, narrowing his eyes at the boy. “I’m not sure I trust you…”

“Just eat the damn biscuit,” the sergeant grumbled, nodding as Desmond set his food before him. “Thank you, young man. Your work is much appreciated.”

“It’s no trouble, sir.”

Jamie waited, watching the boy round the table and offer each man his dinner. When Desmond set Wills’ food down in front of him, he waited, likely expecting some kind of lip. When none came, Desmond set Kirn’s food before him, then Dustin’s and Michael’s. When he finally came to Jamie, the boy set the food down with a smile. “Here you are, Corporal.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jamie nodded, offering the boy a smile.

With everyone served, Desmond seated himself at the very end of the table and began to eat. A few short moments of silence followed after the teenage cook finished making his rounds at the table, but the previous conversation quickly began to follow suit. Michael and Dustin continued debating over the ethics of the virus with the less-intelligent-than-average Kirn and Wills, while the sergeant, seated between the four men, ate in silence. Erik, always the unusually silent one, kept to himself, as did Desmond, who only occasionally looked upon the group.

This is a bit awkward, Jamie thought, raising an eyebrow when Erik looked up at him. His friend merely shrugged, then dipped a biscuit into the canned beef stew. I already knew not to expect you to talk to me, Erik, but the kid?

He’d been under the impression that Erik would bond with the boy, or, at the very least, give him a little attention. Then again, he couldn’t really expect Erik to do much of anything, especially with a kid whose very presence most likely dredged up bad memories.

Aaron died when we were fifteen, he thought, looking down at his soup. Which means it’s been…what? Eleven years?

It was hard to believe that Erik’s little brother had died so long ago. Afflicted with Leukemia, the seven-year-old had little chance of surviving infancy, let alone his toddler years. The fact that he’d made it so long had been a miracle. Everyone had expected him to beat the disease, or at least go into remission. All the treatment, all the chemo—“Jamie?” Desmond asked. “Everything ok?”

“Everything’s fine,” Jamie said, shooting a glance at Erik, who offered him an indifferent look. “How about you?”

The boy nodded his head in agreement. “Is your food ok?”

“It’s great. You said you made the biscuits from scratch?”

“It wasn’t easy, but I did.” Desmond glanced down the end of the table, to where the sergeant sat between the still-debating civilians and police officers, then whispered, “It’s probably the only time I’m doing it though.”

“Too much work?” Jamie asked.

“No. Too much supplies.”

“But it’s only flour, sugar, shortening, stuff like that, right?”

“I wanted to get on the sergeant’s good side,” the boy said, “but I won’t get there if the stuff in the kitchen starts disappearing.”

“Good on you,” Jamie said, clapping the boy’s shoulder. He squeezed Desmond’s arm and returned his gaze to the rest of their small group. “You’ve done a good thing tonight, Desmond.”

“Sir?”

“If we’re really in this for the long haul,” Jamie said, “at least this will help us prepare for it.”

Though likely unsure of what to say, Desmond settled back into his seat.

When Jamie looked up, he caught a smile in the corner of the boy’s eyes.

The sight made him smile.

“Jamie,” Erik said. “Mind if I ask something?”

“Shoot,” Jamie said, leaning forward to unlace his boots.

“What was with the weird look you gave me at dinner?”

Jamie paused, fingers tangled within his bootlaces. “That.”

“That.” Erik braced his arm against the foot of his cot, fingers tightening around the metal rung to the point where his knuckles turned white. “Want to explain what was up?”

“I was wondering why you weren’t talking to Desmond.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just surprised me, that’s all. You got along with all those Chamorro kids from Guam so well.”

“Guam was different.”

“From what?”

“From this.” Erik sat down on his cot and ran his hands over his face. Like a child just woken from sleep, he rubbed his eyes with the tops of his fists, making it more than clear that he wasn’t going to speak any further.

“I miss Aaron too, Erik.”

“This isn’t about Aaron, Jamie.”

“Yeah it is. I’m not stupid, buddy. I can tell by the way you were acting that it was bringing up bad memories. All those kids back in Guam…you hovered over them like they were your own flesh and blood. The one boy was Desmond’s age.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“Just come out and say it, Erik—you were bothered that Desmond looks so much like your brother.”

“Fuck you,” Erik said, rolling onto his cot. “Aaron looked nothing like Desmond.”

“No, but he would’ve.”

To this, Erik had no reply. Instead, he laid an arm over his eyes and took a deep breath, first inhaling, then exhaling. His chest rose and fell as if he’d just risen from the water after not having a breath of air for several minutes. During this lapse of silence, Jamie watched his friend with sad eyes and a heavy heart. Had he misdiagnosed his friend’s behavior, Erik wouldn’t be acting like he was. He’d hit the nail on the head in exactly the right spot.

I shouldn’t have brought it up . He caught the glimmer of a tear snaking its way down Erik’s face. This was a really fucking bad idea.

Still, he wondered, was it better that he’d done it now instead of later? He was well aware of Erik’s random mood swings and his past dependency on drugs. After Aaron had died, Jamie had frequently seen random bottles of pills lying amidst the piles of dirty underwear and girly mags, the latter of which he’d stolen from his father, the former the subject of depression and bad habits. He’d only seen Erik’s room in that state a few times over the years, but the times he had were enough to assure him that his friend had fallen low during that crucial time in his life.

“Are you taking pills?” Jamie finally started to ask.

“What?”

“I asked if you were taking pills,” Jamie said, dropping his boots to the floor.

“No,” Erik laughed. “Why would I?”

“Because you used to do it.”

“I got out of that habit when I was sixteen. You know that.”

“Not really. You could’ve picked it back up.”

“I assure you, I didn’t. Even if I did, what business would it be to you?”

“You’re my friend. I’m worried about you.”

“Just because I’m being visited by my little brother’s ghost doesn’t mean I’m going off the deep end.”

“It’s not that hard to get there nowadays.”

“What about you?” Erik asked. “You still think about Jake?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Jamie said, setting his head on the pillow.

“But you—”

“I said I didn’t want to talk about it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Erik said, rolling onto his side.

Jamie closed his eyes.

The past was the past. He had to keep telling himself that.

A knock came at the door at four-thirty a.m. Roused from sleep by both the sound and the idea that something was coming to get him, Jamie rolled out of bed and quickly crossed the room. When he reached the door, he started to peer out it, but stopped when Erik lifted his head. When he mouthed ‘Who is it?’, Jamie shook his head, then peered out the peephole. Desmond stood outside, hands in his pockets. “It’s Desmond,” he said.

“Desmond?” Erik frowned. “What’s he doing here?”

Jamie opened the door. “What’s up, buddy?” he asked, leaning an arm against the doorjamb.

“Can I come in?”

“Sure. Of course you can.”

“I’m not dressed,” Erik said.

“I don’t care,” Desmond replied. Jamie closed the door and Erik pulled the sheet up over his waist. “Sorry for bothering you guys.”

“No problem,” Jamie said, locking the door behind them. “What’s the matter? Why’re you here, especially so late at night?”

“I’ve been sleeping on the floor.” Desmond paused to reconsider his words. “Sergeant put me up in the kitchen,” he continued. “Said we needed to keep the rooms open just in case more refugees come in.”

“That’s bullshit,” Jamie growled, heading for the door. “I’m gonna up there and give him a piece of my mind.”

“Please, don’t,” Erik moaned. “This is exactly why no one used to tell you anything back in high school.”

“You went to school together?” Desmond asked.

“We grew up in the same neighborhood. Next door to each other, actually.”

“Can we cut the pleasantries?” Jamie asked. “This is bullshit.”

“Yes, Jamie, you’ve made that more than clear.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Desmond said, looking down at his feet. “I was just wondering if I could bum a place on your couch.”

“Go ahead,” Erik said.

“Desmond,” Jamie started.

The boy made his way toward the couch. “Really, sir, it’s ok. I…I just don’t like being alone, that’s all.”

“What’ve you been sleeping on for the past two nights?”

“A mattress.”

“So at least you haven’t been completely uncomfortable,” Erik said, rolling onto his stomach.

“You can stay here,” Jamie said. “You want to sleep in my bed?”

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” the boy said. “Thank you, Jamie.”

Desmond stepped forward and wrapped his arms around Jamie’s chest.

When the boy set his head against his shoulder, Jamie wrapped his arms around him.

If his life amounted to nothing more than helping this boy, that was enough for him.

CHAPTER 3

“Fuck,” Dakota breathed. “It’s hot.”

“What do you expect?” Steve asked. “It just rained.”

“We shouldn’t be getting warm fronts in September.”

“We’ve been getting a lot of things we shouldn’t’ve.” Steve stopped in the middle of the road. He raised his hand and shielded his eyes to peer down the street to their east.

“What?” Dakota asked.

“I’m trying to figure out where to go.”

“We’re not going to get anywhere without a car.”

“Huh?”

Dakota shot his friend a dirty look. “You heard me.”

“Don’t start.”

“You’re the one who didn’t want to take the bus. We were perfectly capable of taking them just down the road, but no. You said it would draw too much attention.”

“It would!”

“At least we’d be high up. They couldn’t break the windows.”

“And if we got stuck? They’d swarm the bus and we’d still be dead.”

“That’s not the point, Steve.”

“Then what is the point?”

“Never mind.” Dakota turned and started up the road.

“Where are you going?”

“To find something that’ll help us!” Dakota said, turning to face his friend. He spread his arms and continued walking backward, flushing his fingers to gesture Steve along. “Are you coming, or are you just going to stand there like an idiot? We can argue all day and still get nothing done, Steve, so we might as well just—”

“DUCK!”

Dakota threw himself forward.

Steve fired his gun.

A moment later, the telltale signs of a corpse falling to the ground echoed throughout Dakota’s ears. “Fuck!”

“What?” Steve asked, falling to his side.

“Nothing! I’m ok! I’m ok!” Dakota cried, pushing himself to his knees. His throbbing elbows dripped fresh blood onto the rocky road below him. “Shit. It hurts.”

“Let’s get you away from there,” Steve said, pulling Dakota to his feet. “You didn’t get any blood on you, right?”

“No. You shot it pretty far back.”

“Doesn’t matter. You can still get blood on you.”

“I didn’t.” Grimacing, Dakota brushed the rocks and dirt off his elbows as best as he could. “Sorry for being such an asshole.”

“Happens to the best of us.”

“What’re we gonna do, Steve?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Steve said, setting a hand at his side. “Right about now, your bus idea is sounding like a good one.”

“So why not do it?”

“I’m just not too sure about anything right now.”

“Look,” Dakota said, taking hold of his friend’s arms, “I get where you’re coming from, Steve, I really do. But there’s nothing here for us anymore. We’ve been walking the streets all morning and we haven’t seen a single person, we’ve had to dodge around or avoid at least ten zombies, all the stores are raided and most of the buildings that were probably safe aren’t anymore. There’s nothing left for us here.”

“Nothing,” Steve mumbled. “Nothing at all.”

“Exactly! Which is why I say we go for it now, while we still have a chance. We’ve got supplies, we know where the bus depot is, we can get supplies from the store across the street. Let’s go for it. We’ve got nothing to lose, right?”

“I guess not,” Steve sighed. He turned to face the direction they’d just come from. “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” Dakota agreed, “and get the hell out of this town.”

After procuring supplies from the hardware store, Dakota and Steve cut the lock on the bus depot’s gate and stole into the parking lot. Once inside, they broke into the garage and went to work on the highest bus they could find—an ice-blue, five-aisle vehicle that appeared to have made its way from one of the bigger cities only to be left behind.

“Big fucker,” Steve said, pulling himself out from under the hood.

“Yeah,” Dakota said. “It is.”

He looked at the machine and imagined it wrapped in barbed wire. A beast, it would be, were its sides equipped to eviscerate the bodies of the undead, as would its grill if it bore fangs, but such enhancements would only serve to further complicate its purpose. The bus need not take hold of its enemies and rip them apart—it need only push them aside should they get too close.

“Hey, Koda? What’re you thinking about?”

“How much barbwire we should put on the side. I think we should stick to putting it under the windows and along the underside.”

“What if the wire comes loose and pops one of the tires?”

I didn’t think of that. Dakota frowned. “Good point,” he said.

“I think the wire under the windows is a good idea,” Steve said, slamming the hood into place. “I also think it might be good if we put some metal mesh over the windows.”

“Can we get that here?”

“I don’t see why not. Then again, it might not be the best thing for the front window. Might want to stick to something rubber for that. Don’t want it caving in and hitting one of us in the face.”

“I can’t drive this thing. It’s a boat.”

“It’s actually a bus,” Steve laughed. “Why can’t you drive it?”

“Because I haven’t been in anything bigger than a town car before. Put me behind the wheel of this and I’ll probably plow into a house.”

“It’d probably survive it.”

“Still, we don’t want to find out.”

Chuckling, Steve slapped Dakota’s back and circled the vehicle, checking any nooks and crannies he found that might be detrimental to their process. Once, he stopped and peered at something so closely that Dakota thought he might actually sink into it, but Steve rose shortly after and continued checking the tires. While he did this, Dakota pulled the door open and stepped into the vehicle, sighing when he took note of the leather seats and the welcome, inviting interior.

Won’t ride one of these to town. He settled down in the driver’s seat and ran his hand over the steering wheel, only briefly looking up when he saw Steve’s head pass across the back window in the rearview mirror. Ah well. Can’t do much about it.

“Hey, Steve!” he called. “What all do we need to do?”

“Start pounding the nails in. We’re gonna lace some wire.”

When night fell, along with their worries, chains snarled below windows and sweat marked the passage of their effort, snaking its way down their faces, tracing the curve of their cheeks and crossing the bridge of their noses. The silence whispered that all was well, that nothing was unaccounted for and that nothing would disturb them in the depths of their sleepy hollow. Even once, when a bird cried out bloody murder as something outside startled, then ate it alive, neither of them jumped. Instead, they slept blissfully in the cold aftermath of a day’s work, silently dreaming of things that wished them no ill and a world where the dead did not walk.

A bead of sweat ran down Dakota’s face, jumping his cheek and the sharp curve of his jaw, and the young man had one brief moment to sigh before it hit his hand.

He jumped; his knee collided with the dash.

Steve burst from sleep, sat up quickly, and hit his head on the bar connecting the overhead mirror. “Fuck,” he groaned.

“My bad,” Dakota said, looking down at his hand.

“What happened?”

“Woke up.”

“Bad dream?”

“No. I thought something touched my hand.”

“Did something?”

“It was just sweat.”

“Ah,” Steve chuckled, leaning back and rubbing his forehead. “I see.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s ok. I’ll just have a bruise in the morning.”

“You’re an asshole,” Dakota laughed, punching his friend’s arm.

“But you love me anyway.”

Smiling and unable to control himself, Dakota wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulder and leaned into his side. Ahead of them, nearly hidden by a storage shelf and the contents within it, a window offered a faint glimpse of the buildings across from them. Illuminated by moonlight and sharpened by reflection, their images cut a hole in Dakota’s mind and sent shivers down his spine.

“You ok?” Steve asked.

“Just a little nervous, that’s all.”

“About what?”

“Leaving.”

“Me too,” Steve said, setting an arm across Dakota’s back. “Trust me, buddy, I am too.”

Not sure what else to say, Dakota simply sat there, reveling in the closeness they shared. It took him less than a minute to turn his head, lean forward, and plant a brief kiss on his friend’s cheek. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“For what?” Steve asked.

“For coming back for me.”

Neither of them spoke.

They simply listened to the birds.

Morning came with a crisp lining of rain. Drizzle running down the window and a chill creeping into the garage, Steve and Dakota rose from their place in the bus and continued work on their modifications. Dakota hammered down the nails protruding into the bus and capped them with a protective lining, while Steve crawled onto the hood of the vehicle and strung rubber mesh across the windshield. Throughout this process, the weather continued to worsen. Rain sprinkled the street in five-minute bouts and fog threatened to overwhelm the city with its lingering presence, though whenever the weather seemed to get worse, it always cleared, offering a brief glimmer of hope in the form of sunshine. In a way, the sporadic work of Mother Nature reflected upon their current situation, almost to the point where it made Dakota uncomfortable.

You’re just being paranoid. His wandering mind nearly made him smash the hammer down on his fingers. Concentrate!

“Hey, Dakota?”

“What?” he called back.

“How close are you to being done with the nails?”

“Almost done with this side.”

“This weather’s starting to make me nervous.”

“You’re not worried about floods, are you?”

“How can you not be? We’ve had problems with flooding for the past four years.”

You’ve got a point, he thought, then sighed. He hammered down the last nail, then turned to work on the other side. “How soon can you be finished with the windows?” he asked.

“I can do a quick and dirty and just string one line of mesh across all the windows on both sides, but I guess it depends on what you think is safest.”

“Do you think it’s safer?”

“I’m not sure. I mean, we could hammer nails in above and below each window, like we did with the barbed wire.”

“Can we use the nails that we used on the barbed wire to secure the mesh?”

“We’d have to take the barbwire down.”

“That’s not going to happen. Do whatever you think is best. I’ll keep hammering these nails down.”

“But I…” Steve trailed off. Dakota leaned out into the aisle to look at his friend, offering a quizzical look out to the front of the bus. “Nevermind. I just realized we could hammer nails in on the sides of the windows, since they’re separated a few inches apart.”

“Whatever works best!” Dakota called out.

He slammed a nail down on the second nail on the left side.

An explosion sounded throughout the garage.

Frowning, Dakota looked down at his hammer, then offered the third nail a blunt slam to the side of the head. The sound it produced was nothing compared to the explosion that happened just a moment before.

“Dakota?” Steve’s asked, his voice’s strength wavering. “That wasn’t you, was it?”

Dakota gulped. He leaned into the aisle and shook his head. “No. It wasn’t me.”

Both men turned to look at the window.

A red truck sat across from the street, four living men and a dead body in front of it.

“Shit,” Steve breathed. “Get down, Dakota. Get down!”

Dakota fell to the floor and waited for the sound of Steve’s footsteps to echo across the garage floor. When they didn’t, his first reaction was to peek over the top of the seats and look for him, but instinct took hold. Instead, he bit his lower lip and closed his eyes, tension rocketing through his veins like harsh drugs in an addict.

Tell me you didn’t just flatten yourself against the hood, he thought. By God, Steve, don’t tell me you did that.

Something dropped onto the garage floor.

Dakota sighed.

Someone cried out and a gunshot ripped into the garage.

“Fuck fuck fuck!” Steve screamed, throwing himself into the vehicle just as another shot rang out. “FUCK!”

“ARE YOU OK?” Dakota screamed.

“No I’m not fucking ok! They’re shooting at me!”

“ARE YOU SHOT?”

“I’M NOT FUCKING SHOT!”

A second, then a third shot came, followed by what sounded to be a thousand hammers echoing against the side of a mountain. A spray of debris went up along the far wall and the chain-link fence crashed open outside, its gargantuan screech slicing through Dakota’s ears and into the base of his skull.

“Steve?” Dakota whispered.

“What?”

“We didn’t lock the door, did we?”

The garage door slammed open.

The sound of footsteps followed.

“Kitty kitty kitty,” a voice said, gun cocking in the dead silence of the room. “Come out come out and playyyyyyy.”

Steve reached for the gun lying on the front seat.

“We won’t hurrrrttttt you…”

These guys are fucking psycho. Dakota reached for his gun, but Steve shook his head and pushed a finger to his lips. Frowning, Dakota mouthed, What the hell are you doing?

Steve mouthed back, Wait.

The second lump in his throat now swallowed, Dakota prepared for the worst to happen.

Someone in the garage knocked something over.

“You fuckin’ idiot!” someone cried.

Steve shot upright and fired a bullet out the window.

Someone screamed.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?” a second voice cried.

A dirty grin lighting his face in a hellfire expression, Steve gestured Dakota toward his gun and eased toward the front door of the bus just as a returning shot came firing into it. Dakota, unsure of his place in the current situation, grabbed his gun, then reached for what appeared to be a box of papers.

Steve nodded.

Dakota raised a manila folder up in front of a window. A bullet tore through the top edge of the paper just as Steve rolled into view and fired three shots. Dakota jumped up and took a blind shot of his own before falling to the floor.

No return gunfire followed.

“Did you get everyone?” Dakota whispered.

“Just wait a minute and let me check.”

“Please,” a voice said. “Stop.”

Dakota’s ears perked up.

“I’m not with them,” the same voice called. “Please! Don’t shoot anymore!”

“Throw your guns to the side!” Steve called back, pushing himself to his knees.

“Don’t do it,” Dakota growled. “You don’t know if it’s a ploy.”

“I shot all of them, Dakota.”

“You don’t know if they’re all dead.”

“I must’ve missed this guy.” Steve frowned. Six clinking noises, as though something metal had just been thrown, softened his expression. “That must be it. I want you to stand up when I do.”

“But—”

“Just do it.”

Rising to his knees, Dakota took a quick breath and readjusted his grip on the gun. When Steve took hold of his pistol with both hands and began to rise, Dakota, too, rose to his feet, training his gun outside of the bus.

Though his doubts had been great, Steve had delivered in his promise—all the men on the floor were dead, sans the one who’d just been speaking. Tall, muscled beyond compare and with a buzzed haircut that reminded Dakota of the military, the guy appeared to be more of a child than he actually was at that very moment. His eyes were puffy and the end of his nose was red. A trail of blood trickled down his one arm, but Dakota couldn’t see any major damage.

You missed. Dakota snickered to himself. You, a pro shooter, actually missed.

“Quit laughing,” Steve chuckled, “because that’s the guy you shot.”

“DON’T SHOOT ANYMORE!” the straggler cried. “PLEASE!”

“We’re not gonna shoot you,” Steve said, stepping out of the bus. “You—get up. Dakota, you stay there and keep your gun on him.”

“Got it,” Dakota said, silently hoping that the situation wouldn’t take a turn for the worse.

The man stumbled to his feet with a grimace and a curse. After untangling his feet from his dead companions’ limbs, he stepped in front of Steve and pressed a hand over his wound, allowing his other arm to remain slack as he stared the shorter man in the eyes. At first, Dakota grimaced, knowing more than well that the man—who stood at least four inches above Steve, if not five or six—could easily lash out and choke his friend if he wanted to.

“So,” Steve said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “If you aren’t with these guys, why were you shooting at us?”

“We just broke out of jail, man. The guys said they’d kill me if I ran.”

“Why were you in jail?”

“I raped a girl,” the big man admitted. “It wasn’t one of my graceful moments.”

Dakota’s grip around his gun loosened for a moment, but he picked up the slack and readjusted his hands, sliding his finger away from the trigger.

“What’s your name?” Steve asked, holstering his gun.

“Ian,” the gangbanger said. “Ian Shaw.”

“Keep your gun on him, Dakota. I’m gonna tie him up.”

“With what?”

Steve glanced around the garage, looked to the storage shelf that had since been shot to hell, then stepped around the bodies and began to rummage through the shelf’s contents. A moment later, he stepped forward with two plastic strips and managed to improvise a pair of faux police handcuffs.

“Y-you’re letting me live?” Ian asked.

“No reason not to,” Steve said, tightening the plastic with a tug from both hands. “You’re not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“Everything good?” Dakota asked.

Steve gestured Dakota out of the bus. “Ian, meet Dakota, my best friend.”

“Nice to meet you,” Ian mumbled, face reddening upon Dakota’s approach.

“You too.” Dakota gave the man a once-over. One look at his tattoos was enough to show that he’d been involved in gang activity before the shit had hit the fan. He looked at Steve, who merely shrugged and gestured Ian away from the bodies.

“What’re you gonna do with me?”

“We—and I mean Dakota and me—are going to finish fixing this bus after I get these bodies out of the garage.”

“Where are we going?”

“Wherever we can,” Steve sighed, hoisting the first corpse into his arms. “Wherever we fucking can.”

“Checklist,” Steve said. “Food.”

“Check,” Dakota replied.

“Water.”

“Check.”

“Ammunition.”

“Seven packs. Check.”

“First aid kit.”

“Check.”

“Emergency supplies—rope, knife, alcohol.”

“Check.”

“What else do we have?”

“Extra clothes,” Dakota said, nodding to the backpack. “More plastic ties, a nail gun and a pack of nails, two or three hammers.”

“What about the uzi and the shotgun?”

“Uzi’s out of ammo and the shotgun only has two shots.”

“Two shots more than we have.”

“All right. Well, other than that… I think we’re good.”

“We sound good,” Steve said, making his way around the bus. He stopped near the hood to check the ornate display of plywood and barbed wire before turning his attention to Ian. “Anything else you want to tell us before we leave?”

“Like what?” the man asked. Hands behind his back, he grimaced as he adjusted his position on the ground. A fresh bead of blood flowed down his arm. “I was in a gang. My arm’s fucking hurting. My last name is Shaw. I’m half-Mexican. Should I continue?”

“Don’t give me any fuckin’ lip,” Steve growled. “Or we might just leave you here.”

“Steve,” Dakota sighed. “Not now. Seriously.”

Steve turned his eyes on Ian. “Look, I believe you when you say that you got roped into this gang, but I don’t trust you one bit, especially since you were shooting at me.

“And me,” Dakota said.

“Right. You were shooting at us, so don’t expect to get any special treatment. Don’t treat me like an asshole and I won’t treat you like one. Got it?”

“Got it,” Ian said.

“Good. As soon as we get the ball rolling, Dakota’ll patch your arm up. I don’t want to stick around here for much longer anyway.”

“The zombies would’ve probably already made it here if they heard anything,” Dakota sighed, rolling the extra supplies into a tool bag.

“I know,” Steve said. “I just don’t trust the ‘probably’ part.”

Neither do I, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to come out of the blue and get us.

Shaking his head, Dakota gathered up the rest of the supplies and loaded them onto the bus. While Steve continued his last-minute maintenance on the vehicle, pounding extra nails here and applying extra barbed wire there, Ian sat idly by, only offering Dakota his attention when he caught the younger man looking at him. Dakota smiled, hoping it would entice a positive response, but frowned when it didn’t. Though the ex-con’s demeanor seemed to lighten, his overall expression didn’t. His ice-blue eyes appeared sharp, angry in the aftermath of their admittance of mercy, and his rough, stubbled jaw looked so set that Dakota thought it would break right off his face. The tip of his strong nose and the lobes of his hooked ears—places that, normally should have been immune to such displays—looked red, as though scarlet with shame or hurt, and his thin lips seemed just on the verge of quivering. The whole spectacle was sad, especially when he himself felt bad for the man.

Do I really feel bad for him , or is it just pity?

He’d never been able to distinguish the two from one another. Pity felt just like any other form of remorse. A man lost his wife and you felt bad for him, even going so far as to ask how things have been and what he planned on doing with his life, but it was never a true emotion. Sure, that feeling was there, and it would stay with you if only briefly, but it didn’t pass the impersonal barrier called your short-term memory. That was called pity.

Disturbed by the notion, Dakota stepped forward and offered a second smile. “You care if I sit by you?”

“Go ahead,” Ian said.

Taking his cue, Dakota seated himself on the floor beside Ian and watched Steve circle the bus a second time. His thoughts in knots and his stomach threatening to do a barrel roll, he tore his eyes away from his friend and looked at the man beside him. “Where’d you get them?”

“What?”

“Your eyes.”

“They’ve always been there, kid.”

“I meant what side of your family.”

“My Dad’s.”

“They’re beautiful.”

“Whatever,” Ian grunted, grimacing as another bead of blood flowed down his arm. “Care to do me a favor? Fix my arm up if you’re not doing anything right now.”

“I’m not,” Dakota said, rising to make his way toward the bus. He stopped in midstride. “You need anything else?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. A drink of water, medicine…”

“Water would be nice.”

At least he’s straightforward, he thought, taking a step into the vehicle.

A moment later, after combing through the packs and finding the first aid kit and a bottle of water, Dakota stepped out of the bus kneeled at Ian’s side. He popped the cap off the water, tipped it to the man’s lips, then got to work, first sterilizing, then applying cotton over the wound—which, though not completely severe, would not fare well if left untreated.

“Where did you come from?” Dakota asked, measuring a length of bandage.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, where were you guys?”

“North. In the city.”

“What’s up there?”

“Zombies,” Ian said. “Cars. Some food. A few guns.”

“I’m guessing there’s not much more than that.”

“Nope. Not at all.” Ian paused when Dakota began to wrap his arm up. “You know where you guys are going?”

“Steve said south.”

“Toward the army base?”

“I forgot there was an army base down there,” Dakota said.

“We’re not going to the base,” Steve said, slamming the hood down. “At least, not yet.”

“Your buddy doesn’t have a clue where to go,” Ian whispered. “Does he?”

“No one knows a lot of anything,” Dakota sighed. He pinned the bandage into place and began to reload everything into the kit. “We’re just trying to figure out where to go.”

“You care if I come with?”

“He’s not coming with!” Steve called out. “Not after what he did.”

“He’s not an asshole,” Dakota whispered. “He wouldn’t leave you here.”

Ian snorted.

You may not trust him, Dakota thought, but even you wouldn’t leave behind someone like him.

No. He wouldn’t leave Ian here, especially not after what had happened three years ago, when he came home from the desert with a mark on his heart and his hand to his chest. Three bones had been broken.

A soldier was no use if he couldn’t fire his gun.

“You won’t leave him here,” Dakota whispered. “You won’t.”

Steve looked up from a map on the table. “Bullshit I won’t.”

“His arm’s a mess, Steve. He can’t fend for himself.”

“He’s an ignorant prick who let someone bully him into doing something he didn’t want to do. I’m not taking him with us. Besides, his arm’s fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“Just like yours was?”

Steve froze. His eyes rose and his jaw clenched together. “You’re telling me,” he began a moment later, “that my arm was just a flesh wound?”

“It wouldn’t have killed you.”

“My arm was almost amputated because it was so bad.”

“It wouldn’t have killed you though.”

“You’re not getting the point. My humerus was almost snapped in half, and you’re saying it couldn’t’ve killed me? That’s bullshit and you know it. I could’ve bled to death.”

“Steve—”

“I love how you’ve just turned this situation around just to make me look like an asshole.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“I don’t give a fuck, Dakota. It’s bad enough that you want to take an ex con with us, but now you’re belittling my injury? I could’ve died out there.”

“Look,” Dakota said, raising a hand. Steve tried to slap it aside, but Dakota took a steady hold of his friend’s upper arm, sighing when his thumb traced the ugly scar under his shirtsleeve. “I’m just…confused, not sure what to do.”

“We leave him.”

“We can’t just leave him here. That’s like…like what they did to you.”

“My unit thought I was dead.”

“They still would’ve left you behind if you hadn’t called to them.”

Steve remained silent. Head bowed and eyes closed, he reached up to grip Dakota’s arm. He took hold of his wrist and gently pried it away, careful not to apply any unneeded pressure.

“It still hurts,” Dakota said, “doesn’t it?”

“It always hurts,” Steve muttered. “It’s always gonna hurt.”

“I’m just glad you’re ok.”

“I am too, bud.” He paused, then smiled and said, “I ever tell you you were the first thing I thought of when the bomb went off?”

“No.”

“Well, you were.” Steve chuckled, though the sound held no amount of joy. “I thought I was gonna die. The only thing I could think about was how you’d take the news.”

“I’m alive because of you, Steve.”

“I know, little brother. I know.” Steve wrapped an arm around Dakota’s side and pulled him into his chest. “You listening to me? We’ll take him with us. Just promise me you’ll watch him.”

“I promise,” Dakota whispered.

He bowed his head into Steve’s chest and closed his eyes.

Such moments were to be treasured. They were so easily lost.

“We’re gonna take you with us,” Steve said, “but you have to agree to a few things.”

Ian waited. Dakota thought the man would nod, but he didn’t; he simply stared at Steve with the same cold eyes he’d had since he’d been tied up.

“You listening?” Steve asked.

“I am,” Ian said.

“You stay put,” Steve began, “and you stayed tied up, at least for now. You listen to whatever either of us tells you. No talking back, no bullshit. If you try to run, we’re shooting you in the back.”

“I’m not going nowhere.”

“Good. If and when we decide to untie you, we’ll talk about it then. For now though, just listen to what we say and do what we tell you to do. Dakota may think you’re worth saving, but I don’t trust you, not one bit. You’re gonna have to prove yourself to change my opinion.”

“Sounds right. What’s your plan?”

“The moon’s going to be out tonight, so we’re going to take full advantage of it. We’ll take the highway for three-hundred miles toward Arcburrow. We should have enough fuel to make it there. I siphoned the gas out of the rest of the buses.”

“What if we don’t have enough?” Dakota asked.

“There’s stops along the way. We can make it.”

“What happens if we get stranded in the middle of nowhere?” Ian asked. “What then?”

“We won’t get stranded. It’s a one-way shot.”

“And the zombies?”

“Won’t be able to keep up with us,” Steve finished.

“All right then,” Ian smiled. “When we leavin’?”

“Just before the sun sets.”

Night washed over the horizon like a fresh tide to a sparkling beach, along with a sense of dread unlike anything Dakota had ever felt. While Steve helped Ian onto the bus, struggling with his broad shoulders and his equally muscled weight, Dakota stared out of the garage and tried to imagine what life would be like away from the town he had grown up in his entire life.

This is it, he thought. You’re leaving.

Settling down at the foot of the open garage door, he crossed his legs and set his gun in his lap, taking slow breaths to try to fight off an oncoming headache that threatened to bloom at the base of his skull. He heard something fall behind him, then one of the two men swear, but chose to ignore it. He couldn’t help them—not now, especially if he couldn’t even help himself.

“It’s ok,” he whispered. “What was ever here for you anyway?”

Home.

If it could even be called that—the adoption center was never really home. Home wasn’t supposed to be a place where a dozen children ran amok, asking a woman who was not their mother if they could go somewhere. Home wasn’t meant to isolate twelve boys into one designated room, then make them sleep together up until the day they turned eighteen. Home wasn’t supposed to strip away dreams and inspire fears. No. Home wasn’t supposed to be anything but good, a happy place in which you could feel comfortable regardless of everything else going on around you.

The adoption center was never home.

He hadn’t been home for nearly seven years now.

“How you holding up?” Steve asked, setting a hand on his shoulder.

Dakota tensed, fingers tightening around the gun in his hand. “Kinda,” he said. “Sorta.”

“Worried about leaving?”

“Worried about how I’m supposed to feel is more like it.”

“Think of it this way,” Steve said, crouching down beside him. “We’re leaving to go somewhere safer.”

“I’m worried about leaving…”

“Leaving what?”

“Home.”

Steve remained silent.

As the sun began to fall and the night began to lay it to rest, Dakota felt the last shreds of his old life dying.

He’d been holding onto the past for so long.

Now…he had to let it go.

The sun passed by in a flicker of brief moments. First like light divided by plastic curtains, then like a glowing object slowly sinking in the sea, it crested the horizon until it eventually fell into nothing. Its light, however, did not wane. For at least an hour after the sun disappeared, its presence could still be seen in the sky by the halo pulsing in the far distance and the tones of pink and purple bleeding from its existence.

When the sun finally disappeared—when the world finally went dark—all that was left was the road, the bus, the men inside it and an endless, rolling plain.

Seated in the frontmost seat on the right side of the bus, Dakota watched the plains roll by with a dead sense of wonder, body slack and eyes slowly willing themselves to close. At his side, Steve navigated the stretch of road with a stunted yet fluid ease. It was obvious from the way he drove that he’d never handled a bus, let alone a vehicle bigger than the standard moving truck or something similar. He’d speed up, stop, then speed up again, much to Ian’s displeasure, who almost always slid about in his seat whenever Steve adjusted their speed.

“Could you try and drive a little slower?” Ian asked, grunting as he fell back into his seat. “Or at least try and keep your speed?”

“Never drove one of these before,” Steve replied.

“I can see that.”

Dakota chuckled. Steve cast a glance at him in the mirror normally reserved for watching the civilian passengers. “What’re you laughing at, kid?”

“You,” Dakota smiled. “Hey, Ian, lean back in your seat and push your feet against the seat in front of you. No one’s going to care.”

“That doesn’t help me any.”

“It’s better than rolling around in the seat. Besides, at least that way you can get some sleep.”

“I’m not even tired.”

Neither am I, Dakota thought, but that doesn’t mean we really aren’t.

Shaking his head, he bowed his head to his chest and closed his eyes, hoping that he could simply sleep this drive off.

He had a feeling he would have no such luck.

What seemed like a moment later, Dakota opened his eyes to find the bus still moving. His hopes dashed and his disappointment more than light, he pushed himself into a sitting position and looked out the window, sighing when he saw no identifiable signs of Arcburrow in the distance.

“We’re still going,” Steve said, drawing Dakota’s attention away from the window.

“How long was I asleep?”

“I dunno, an hour, maybe.”

“How fast have you been going?”

“Fifty, sixty. I don’t like the way the bus moves when I’m going too fast.”

“So we’ve still got at least a five-hour drive before we get there?”

“Pretty much.”

“Is Ian still asleep?”

“I’m guessing. I haven’t heard him move or say anything.”

Lucky bastard.

Dakota stood and prepared to make his way toward the back of the bus, where Ian sat somewhere between the fifth and eighth row. However, when he gripped the bar above Steve’s head to support himself, he stopped to look at his friend. “You haven’t slept at all,” he asked, “have you?”

“No.”

“We can stop.”

“We’re dead weight if we pull over to rest. I’d feel better and much more comfortable if we kept going. I can sleep when we get there.”

“You have any ideas about where we’re going?”

“Not really. I’ll probably just pull into a gas station and see if we can find a parking garage unless you have any better ideas.”

“Not really.” Dakota readjusted his hold on the support bar, then leaned forward and gripped Steve’s shoulder. “If you want me to drive, I can. Just teach me how to run the controls and I’ll do it.”

“Thanks, bud.”

“No need to thank me.”

Turning, Dakota continued down the row of seats until he found Ian dozing in his seat. Face twisted in a mix of discomfort and content, he mumbled something in his sleep, then slid further down into the seat. Dakota grimaced when he thought of the plastic ties digging into his skin.

We’ll have to let him go eventually.

But when? When would it be safe for them to untie Ian and allow him to walk freely among them? When would it be safe to look him in the eyes and not have to worry about what lay on the other side, about the thoughts he could possibly be having or the motives that might be hidden beneath the surface?

When, Dakota thought, would it be safe for them to sit side-by-side without having second thoughts?

Probably never, he thought, thinking back to the man’s horrible confession. We’ll probably never feel completely comfortable around him.

It seemed hard to believe that a man such as Ian could ever be swayed into doing something he didn’t want to do. He was tall, at least over six feet; broad-shouldered, with muscles broadening his frame and cording his thick arms; and tattoos covered his shoulders and branched out from underneath his shirt. His cold eyes often seemed angry, like sparkling ice in the coldest place on Earth, and the scars on his hands spoke of a life rife with violence and the tendencies it followed. Of anyone Dakota had ever seen or met, Ian seemed the least likely to ever allow anyone to control him.

“Shit happens,” he sighed.

Ian’s left eye cracked open. “You say somethin’?” he mumbled.

“Just talking to myself,” Dakota smiled.

Ian snorted and went back to sleep.

Not sure what else to do, Dakota made his way back to the front of the bus and reseated himself next to Steve. It only took one look out the window to summon a thought in his head. “Steve, are there any towns out this way?”“Not that I recall, why?”

“Because I just got a bad feeling for no reason at all.”

Chaos stormed their lives as dawn cracked the shell of the horizon.

“LOOK OUT!” Dakota screamed.

A group of infected tore out of a gas station parking lot and hurled themselves in front of the bus. Forced to impact with the flailing, once-human creatures, the bus lunged forward, then back, sending Dakota flying up the middle of the bus and Ian into the seat in front of him.

“FUCKING HELL!” Ian screamed. “SOMEONE GET THESE CUFFS OFF ME!”

“NO!” Steve roared. “Nothing’s coming off of him until I fucking say so!”

An infected slammed into the side of the bus, screaming as it first wrapped its hands around the barbed wire only to be tossed aside as the metal sliced its hold away. Another group—this one larger, but just as troublesome—stumbled into the road and reached for the bus. A few of their arms were instantly destroyed upon impact with the vehicle barreling down the road.

Struggling to regain his composure, Dakota sank his fingers into the leather seat hard enough to tear holes in it, then grabbed hold of Steve’s chair. He pulled himself up just in time to be pushed into the man’s side as he rounded a corner.

“STEVE!” he screamed.

The tail end of the bus skirted the corner, struggling to follow its front half.

Ian flew into the seat opposite him.

Dakota slammed his head into the dash and nearly blacked out.

At that moment, Dakota thought the bus would tip onto its side and they would all be crushed under the unbearable weight of fifteen-hundred tons of metal.

Somehow, some way—through an act of God or a stroke of luck—Steve managed to correct the vehicle.

“DAKOTA!” Steve screamed.

Stars flashed over Dakota’s vision and what felt like blood was running down his forehead. “We have to do something.”

“I’m working on it! I’m working on it!”

“We have to untie Ian.”

“Don’t do you dare, Dakota.”

“He’s completely helpless! He just flew into the side of the bus!”

“You let him go and I swear I’ll—”

Dakota didn’t let Steve finish. He turned and barreled down the center aisle, desperate to find the ex-con.

Where are you? he thought, panicking, eyes darting over the seats and into the tight spaces along the floor. Goddammit! I just saw you! Where the hell are you?

A trembling figure wedged into a seat came into view.

“Ian! Ian! Listen to me!” Dakota said, falling to Ian’s side. “Snap out of it!”

“I’M FUCKING SCARED OUT OF MY MIND!” Ian screamed, tears coursing down his face.

“I know! I know! Here, stand up. I’m untying you.”

“What?”

“I’m fucking untying you!” Dakota cried. “Get up!”

Dakota leaned forward, grabbed the man’s undershirt, and pulled him out of his seat. It took little more than a few pulls and tugs to release Ian’s wrists from their bonds.

“You’re fucking kiddin’ me,” Ian said, staring Dakota straight in the eyes. “You have to be.”

“I’m not,” Dakota paused. Steve barreled over an infected and accelerated down the street. “I don’t know if I can trust you, Ian, but I’m fuckin’ hoping I can.”

“You can,” Ian said, “because I’m not going to do anything to either of you.”

“HOLD ON!” Steve screamed. “I SEE PEOPLE AHEAD!”

“PEOPLE?” Dakota cried.

Steve slammed his foot on the gas.

Dakota and Ian went flying forward.

*

“What the fuck?” Erik breathed.

“What’s going on?” Jamie stood up to get a better look.

“Look at all the zombies.”

A booming sound in the near distance stopped Erik from speaking. Unsure of what to say, Erik paused, frowned, then lifted the radio at his side. “Sergeant. Come in Sergeant Armstrong, over.”

“Sergeant Armstrong here. Over.”

“Corporal Marks and I just heard what sounded like a crash in the distance. It may be civilians. Over.”

“A crash? Over.”

“A crash, sir. I think you should send Kirn and Wills out here. Over.”

“They’re moving up the road,” Jamie said, raising his gun and setting the butt of the rifle against his shoulder. “It sounds like tires.”

“Tires?”

“Yeah. Something moving. Fast.”

“Corporal Marks reports the sound of a moving vehicle,” Erik said. “Over.”

“Who the hell could be moving out there?” Sergeant Armstrong asked. “Over.”

“I don’t know, sir, but I think we should—”

A bus barreled around the corner and began heading straight toward them.

“REQUEST TO OPEN PERIMITER GATES TO LET CIVILIANS IN!” Erik screamed. “OVER!”

“YOU ARE NOT OPENING THOSE GATES!” Sergeant Armstrong screamed back. “UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE!”

“THEY’RE GOING TO PLOW THROUGH THE FUCKING GATE IF WE DON’T LET THEM IN!” Jamie roared, swiping the remote from Erik before the sergeant could finish. “WE HAVE VISUALS OF A DOZEN INFECTED TRAILING BEHIND THEM—FRESH, RUNNING INFECTED. THEY ARE GOING TO PLOW INTO THE GATE IF WE DO NOT OPEN IT! I REPEAT, THEY ARE GOING TO PLOW INTO THE GATE! OVER!”

“Corporal, if you disobey my orders, I swear I’ll—”

Jamie pushed Erik aside, hurled his rifle over his shoulders and threw himself down the ladder as fast as he could.

The sergeant’s orders notwithstanding, they’d either open the gate and let the civilians in or they’d die. There was no question about it.

Running as fast as he could, dodging around hunks of loose metal and boxes of military supplies, Jamie pushed himself across the apartment building’s parking lot as fast as he could, desperate to outrun the barreling vehicle and open the gate. Behind him, Erik struggled to make his way down the ladder, but was hung up by his military fatigues in the process. With no time to wait, Jamie grabbed onto the gate, pulled apart the intermixing locks and chains, and hurled the gate to the side.

A moment later, the bus came barreling toward him.

He had just enough time to jump out of the way before the vehicle tore into the parking lot in a scream of rubber and metal.

CHAPTER 4

“Is everyone all right?” Steve gasped, looking back at them.

“I’m fine,” Ian breathed. “Dakota?”

Dakota nodded, reaching up to wipe a bead of blood off his face. He came back with the side of his wrist covered in red. “Yeah, I’m ok,” he managed, finally able to take a breath “My name is Private Erik Roberts,” a voice outside the bus said. A lean man in military fatigues stepped forward and knocked on the side of the bus. “I request that you remain inside your vehicle until we have more personnel present for your own protection.”

“Our own protection?” Ian asked. “What the hell are they talking about?”

“They’re military,” Steve said. “It’s standard procedure.”

“How do you know?”

“I used to be a marine.”

“Used to be?”

“It’s a long story.”

Dakota closed his eyes. Outside, the soldier who introduced himself as Private Roberts began calling to someone, only to be silenced a moment later by a screaming voice that came out of the building in front of them.

“Sounds like they’re in trouble,” Ian said.

“They probably didn’t have clearance to let us in,” Steve suggested. “Oh well, we’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

The three men that came out of the building immediately stepped toward the bus. One man—presumably the commanding officer—gestured the other two to the front, while Private Roberts stood at the side, waiting for further instruction. The man Dakota had seen open the gate came forward and stood at Private Roberts’ side, lips pursed and face devoid of expression.

You saved our lives, Dakota thought.

The commanding officer stepped forward and gestured the door open. “You boys have made quite the ruckus here,” the man said, stepping onto the bus. “I’ll have you aware that you’ll be strip-searched once you leave the bus.”

“Yes sir,” Steve said, standing. He pressed a hand to his forehead and saluted the officer. “Lance Corporal Steve Earnest at your service, sir.”

“A marine. Are you still active-duty?”

“No, sir. Haven’t been for three years.”

“Reason?”

“Injured on the battlefield.”

“I thank you for your service, Lance Corporal Earnest, though I don’t necessarily appreciate your sudden entry.” The man trained his eyes on Dakota and Ian. “Your friends?”

“Dakota Travis,” Dakota said.

“Ian Shaw,” Ian added.

“We came from up north,” Steve said. “We spent two days fortifying the bus to get us here.”

“Regardless, you brought a good amount of infected here with you. That I don’t appreciate. However…” the man paused, “since there’s no way I can safely remove you from this facility, I’ll allow you to stay. Please step off the bus and do as Private Roberts tells you to.”

“Yes sir,” Steve nodded.

Dakota stepped forward, careful not to brush against the officer, and made his way off the bus. Once outside, the lanky Private Roberts waited for Ian to remove himself from the vehicle before he instructed them to remove anything from their pockets, then to step forward and remove their clothing.

This is embarrassing. Dakota was already reminded of high school gym class the moment Steve stripped off his shirt. The ugly scar on his left arm stood out in stark contrast against his evenly-tanned skin, confirming his discharge from the marines with its presence alone. The man who’d stood next to Private Roberts the moment before now examined Steve’s body for bites or other wounds. Once he deemed Steve appropriate, he waved Dakota forward.

“One down without taking your shirt off,” the man chuckled, reaching forward to brush Dakota’s hair aside. “Blunt wound, sir.”

“I hit my head on the dashboard,” Dakota replied.

The military man smiled. Dakota stripped his shirt over his head, undid his belt, then let his pants fall to the ground. He stepped out of his underwear with a humble humility he would have never had in a similar situation.

“You’re good,” the man said, pressing a hand against Dakota’s shoulder. “My name’s Corporal Jamie Marks.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dakota said, surprised at the gentle squeeze the man offered. “I’m done then?”

“You are.” Jamie wagged a finger at Ian. His eyes immediately fell to the tattoos on his left arm. “How old’s the ink?”

“Couple of years. I had it touched up three or four months ago.”

“Nothing recent?”

“Nope.” Ian stripped his shirt off. His massive, muscled frame was nearly completely covered with tattoos on his left side.

“Anything we should know about you?”

“Other than that I was in a gang up until recently?” Ian asked. “No. Nothing at all.”

“Your pants and underwear, sir.”

Ian obliged. A swirling tribal tattoo adorned the skin on his right calf, but otherwise he had no tattoos on his lower body. Corporal Marks quickly scanned Ian’s body, taking careful note of the bruises on his side, then looked up at the bandage on his arm. “What is this?” the corporal asked.

“Gunshot wound. I got grazed yesterday.”

“May I see?”

“I’m not stopping you.”

Private Roberts came forward. He took a first-aid kit handed to him by another man in fatigues and opened it up, sliding the rubber gloves over his fingers. He made short work of the bandaging on Ian’s arm, then confirmed it to be a gunshot wound a moment later. “Just a glancing hit, like he said. It looks like the bullet only took off the top layer of skin.”

“He’s good then?” the leading officer asked.

“Yes sir. He is.”

He cleared his throat, then clasped his hands behind his back. “I want the three of you to know that this is a military operating base. My name is Sergeant Armstrong. You’ve already met Corporal Jamie Marks and Private Erik Roberts. These men here are deputies Derek Kirn and Donald Wills. You will obey any orders they give you, no questions asked.”

“Yes sir,” Steve said. Dakota and Ian offered the same reply.

“I’ll have you gentlemen know that you’ll each be given jobs based on your individual talents, which will be assigned by Corporal Marks when he finds fit. Until then, keep to yourselves and stay out of the first floor lobby, which is currently being used as our communications base. If you refuse to comply with any orders, you will be removed from the base—permanently. Understood?”

Dakota, Steve and Ian nodded. The sergeant, in turn, offered a curt nod, then turned and started for the entrance, leaving the three of them with the deputies and military men without another word.

“Everything will be fine,” Jamie said, clapping Steve, Ian and Dakota on the shoulder. “I’ll get the three of you into a room as soon as possible.”

“Thank you, sir,” Steve said. “That was a brave thing to do.”

“No need to thank me.” Jamie turned his gaze on the gate, where a group of infected stood clawing at the chain-link fence. “Go on in, get some rest. Dinner’s at eighteen-hundred tonight.”

Dakota stepped into line with Steve and Ian as they made their way toward the door.

Before he entered the apartment building, he took one last look at the man who’d saved their lives.

“Pretty heavy shit back there,” Steve sighed, collapsing onto a cot in one of the spare rooms.

“No kiddin’,” Ian grunted, seating himself on his own bed.

“Your arm ok?” Dakota asked.

“It just stings a little, that’s all.”

“You did good back there,” Steve said, propping himself up on both elbows.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. Let’s just say I have a little more respect for you after all the shit we went through.”

“How long do you think it’ll be until someone comes up here to talk to us?” Dakota asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Dunno,” Steve shrugged.

“You care if I confess something?”

“I don’t see why I would.”

“I don’t know.” Dakota paused. He looked from Steve, to Ian, then back again. It took him a moment to compose himself before spoke. “I get the feeling that we might not be wanted here.”

“It’s the military. We busted into a sanctioned facility without permission and dragged a shit-ton of infected with us. If I were them, I wouldn’t be happy with us either.”

“Besides,” Ian added. “It’s the same government bullshit as it always was.”

“What do you mean?” Dakota asked.

“Cops don’t like having to deal with stupid people, security guards don’t like having to deal with prisoners, the military doesn’t like having to protect civilians…you think they’re here because they want to be?”

“They’re probably not here because they want to be, in all actuality,” Steve said. He pushed himself forward and ran his hand through his hair.

“What about you, Steve?” Dakota asked. “I mean, what was it like in the marines? The atmosphere, having to work with people?”

“To tell you the truth,” Steve sighed, “I don’t blame them for being angry, especially the sergeant. Dealing with civilians, especially refugees, is never an easy thing, particularly when they’re so quick to act on impulse.”

“Like we did,” Dakota mumbled.

“Exactly.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ian said. “We’re here. We might as well forget about it.”

“We still have to watch our backs,” Steve sighed. “We’re under military order now. It’s their way or the highway as far as they’re concerned.”

“Which is bullshit, as far as I’m concerned.”

Dakota stepped forward, toward the sole, bar-covered window in the room. “What do you think this place used to be?”

“Huh?” Steve asked.

“This building. There’s bars across the windows.”

“Probably a nuthouse, from the looks of it,” Ian said.

“A nuthouse?”

“Yeah. You ain’t ever seen an asylum?”

“No, not really.”

“I think this place used to be called David’s Ward or something. I’m not sure. All I know is that it isn’t named what it used to be.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Dakota sighed, looking outside. “At least we’re safe.”

From his current perspective, he could see all the way across the opposite parking lot, toward what used to be a park.

In a distance, a lone zombie shambled on.

She alone showed him what the world had become.

A knock came at the door just as the sun was beginning to set.

Rising from his place on the cot, Dakota crossed the room and pressed his hand to the doorknob. A quick look out of the peephole showed Corporal Marks in full attire, cheeks wind-burnt and eyes looking tired as ever.

I wonder what they were doing? He frowned, looking back at his companions. Both were asleep. “Guys,” he said. “Wake up.”

Steve rose first. Curled on his side, he opened his eyes, then shook his head, rolling onto his back and running a hand through his hair. “What’s up?”

“Jamie’s here.”

“Who?”

“The corporal. Remember?”

“Him.” Steve sat up. “Ian, wake up.”

“I’m awake,” Ian groaned.

Dakota opened the door, offering the soldier the best smile he could. “Hello, sir.”

“Good evening,” Jamie said. “Can I come in?”

“We were just sleeping,” Steve said. “Go ahead.”

“Sorry I’m late. Private Roberts and I were working on getting the infected away from the area.”

“How’d you manage that?” Dakota asked.

“Sound displacement. A late comrade found that if you’re able to make noise in an area other than the one you’re currently in, the infected will run off.”

“So you were tricking them,” Steve chuckled.

The corporal smiled. “We spent the last few hours shooting dummies at the cars down the road with silencers.”

“Pretty clever, Corporal.”

“Yes, very.” Jamie looked about the room, lips pursing in thought when he saw Ian’s still form on his cot. “Sir? Are you feeling well?”

“I’m good,” Ian said, throwing his legs over the cot. “Didn’t mean to not answer you.”

“No need to apologize. Just making sure.”

“We had a rough two days,” Dakota sighed.

“I can imagine. How long did it take to fortify the bus?”

“A day, day-and-a-half,” Steve said. “What’s it to you?”

“No reason.” He paused. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll get on to business. The sergeant’s instructed me to assign jobs to the civilians based on any useful skills they might have. Can any of you do anything other than cook or fix cars?”

“I’m guessing you’re filled in those departments.”

“Yes.”

“Nothing I can think of,” Steve said.

“I used to be a plumber,” Ian said. “I don’t know if that’s any help.”

“It should be,” Jamie smiled. He turned his eyes on Dakota. “What about you, sir?”

“Me?” Dakota said.

“Yes, you.”

Dakota smiled at his stupidity. “I don’t know. I was still in school when this happened.”

“He can grow shit,” Steve said.

“You mean like vegetables?”

“He’d been growing tomatoes before we ran out of water.”

“I didn’t have the right stuff,” Dakota replied. “I was growing plants out of makeshift terrariums.”

“The sergeant would like to hear that,” Jamie said, reaching up to brush the hairs on his chin. “Mr. Shaw, sir. Private Roberts has asked me to tell you that he would like to take a look at your arm after dinner tonight.”

“He gonna fix me up?” Ian asked.

“Yup. He sure will.”

“My arm’s been killing me.”

“I can imagine. Getting shot isn’t much fun.”

“No,” Ian sighed. “It isn’t.”

A guilty twang of hurt strummed across Dakota’s heart. It hurt to think that they had been on opposite sides little more than two days ago.

Oh well. Not much we can do about it now.

“I guess that’ll be all,” Jamie said, stepping back toward the threshold. “Mr. Earnest, if you think of anything that might be useful, please, don’t hesitate to talk to me or the sergeant.”

“I’d prefer to talk to you,” Steve chuckled. “Your sergeant seems like a bit of a hardass.”

“He is, but it’s good for us, especially in times like these. Thank you for your time. Dinner will be at six, just out the door and to your left.” Jamie gave one last nod and closed the door behind him.

“Why did you mention that?” Dakota whispered.

“What?” Steve asked. “That you’ve got a green thumb? It’s fucking good, Dakota. We wanna get on their good side.”

“We don’t have to worry about him. He’s not going to do anything.”

“I wasn’t saying that.”

Dakota could barely hide the blush that crossed his cheeks. Steve raised an eyebrow, but quickly brushed it aside by standing and turning the doorknob. “Either of you want to take a look around?” he asked.

“Not me,” Ian said.

“Koda?”

“Gladly,” Dakota said.

He was more than willing to get out of the room.

Six o’clock arrived with a stream of rain and a flash of lightning. With the lights on and the curtains drawn, the place looked wholesome, even inviting in a strange, tragic sense. The smell of fresh food drifted down the hallway and the sound of voices echoed across the walls, welcoming Dakota, Steve and Ian as they made their way toward the lobby.

“I didn’t expect this,” Dakota said, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“Neither did I,” Steve replied. Ian grunted and raised his hands to cough. “You ok, big guy?”

“The rain’s a killer on my sinuses.”

“The pressure?”

“I have no fuckin’ idea.”

“Not much you can do about it.”

“Not really.”

Dakota looked up. Seated around the table were the two deputies, the sergeant, and two other men that looked to be civilians, one a near white-blonde and the other a brown-haired man with a thin beard and glasses. Neither Jamie nor Private Roberts were anywhere to be seen.

I hope they weren’t reprimanded for what they did.

Who was he kidding? Of course they’d be reprimanded—if not already, then soon, most possibly at dinner. Like Steve had said earlier, the sergeant struck Dakota not only as a mean person, but a vindictively manipulative one at that. This afternoon, when he tried to make them feel guilty for seeking shelter, then earlier, when he was yelling at someone at the top of his lungs—his voice spoke of needles, whips and lashes, of pain and cruelty reserved only for those he felt he could conquer with his presence alone.

I can barely stand to look at him.

“Dakota,” Steve whispered.

“What?”

“Stand ready.”

Dakota shook his head, nodding at the sergeant when they approached the table. “Gentlemen,” the sergeant said. “Please, seat yourselves. Dinner is being made as we speak.”

“You must be the new ones,” the white-blonde man said, stirring his companion’s eyes away from the deputies across from them. “My name’s Michael. This here is my friend Dustin.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dakota smiled. “I’m Dakota. This is Steve and Ian.”

“Pleasure.” Michael smiled, reaching out to shake their hands. “You gentlemen came from the highway, I assume?”

“Yeah,” Steve said. “The bus out front is ours.”

“It’s a nice piece of work,” the man named Dustin said. “Smart move substituting the metal meshing for the rubber one on the windshield.”

“I sure as hell didn’t want that to come through the window if something had happened,” Steve said, seating himself beside Michael.

“No one would.”

A gust of air and the sound of a door being slammed shut echoed up the stairs. Moments later, both Corporal Marks and Private Roberts came up the stairs, soaking wet and looking paler than ever.

He put them in the rain?

Dakota grimaced at the sight of the corporal’s bloodshot eyes. Jamie offered a smile when he caught Dakota’s wandering gaze. “Evening,” he said.

“Evening,” Dakota replied.

“Nice to see you,” the sergeant smiled. “Please, sit.”

“Sir,” Private Roberts said. “We’re wet.”

“I insist. Please, sit.”

Jamie and the private did as asked. Another dagger pierced the tension in the air.

“Dinner should be ready soon,” the sergeant said, leaning forward and lacing his fingers together. “Although before we start, I think it’s in our best interest to discuss the breach of protocol that occurred this afternoon.”

All conversation in the room stopped. Were it not for the lights and the warm draft of air coming from the kitchen, Dakota could have sworn the room had just chilled ten degrees.

“Sir?” Jamie said.

“Both you and Private Roberts were under strict orders to leave the gate shut no matter the circumstance. Now, don’t get me wrong—I do appreciate the fact that these men are alive, especially given the current circumstances, but you jeopardized our safety and put all of us at risk.”

“Excuse me, sir. Private Roberts had nothing to do with this. I was the one who opened the gate.”

“Your humility is perhaps the most disgusting thing about you, Marks.” No one spoke. Jamie remained composed, lips pursed and jaw set. “You’re under house arrest for one week.”

“Yes sir.”

“Go. Now.”

“But sir—”

“I said go Corporal Marks. Don’t make me tell you twice.”

Jamie stood, saluted the sergeant, then turned and made his way toward the stairs. Desmond came out carrying a pot of mashed potatoes and a tub of green beans a moment later. He looked around the table, took notice of the corporal’s departure, then frowned. “Sir?” he asked, looking to the sergeant.

“Don’t worry yourself over anything, son. Thank you for cooking again tonight.”

Dakota swallowed. Deep down, a lump began to form in his gut. No food for a whole night. That had to be a horrible feeling.

“You shouldn’t do it Dakota,” Steve whispered, taking hold of his arm. “Seriously. Don’t.”

“Steve’s right,” Ian said. “You get caught, you’re screwed. We’re all screwed.”

“I can’t let him go hungry, guys.”

“Whatever,” Steve sighed. “Just don’t get caught.”

“I won’t,” Dakota assured him.

He opened the door, looked out both ways, then took off into the darkness.

He listened for the fragile whispers behind closed doors. Kirn and Wills, cigarettes and porn; Michael and Dustin, a dead wife and a somber condition; Desmond in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner. The walls seemed alive, and if they could talk, they would tell everyone that they were too loud, that others could hear every word they were saying.

Pressed against the wall in the hopes that the shadows would aid him well, Dakota held the two rolls and the plastic cup full of cold, mashed potatoes against his abdomen, silently praying that no one would come out of their room and catch him. So far, he hadn’t found any indication as to where Jamie would be sleeping. The only thing he knew was that he was somewhere on the first floor, alone and hungry in a dark room.

Press your ear to the door, his inner voice whispered, you’ve always had good hearing.

“That’s not going to help me.”

The creak of a cot stopped him in place.

Hairs on end, Dakota prepared to run for the stairway and duck under the small spot beneath it.

A short moment later, a sigh escaped someone’s lips, followed by a low murmur under their breath.

Should I?

“Jamie?” Dakota whispered. “Is that you?”

The door opened. Dakota pushed his way inside before Jamie could say a word.

“What’re you doing here?” Jamie asked, closing and locking the door.

“I brought you food.”

“What?”

Dakota lifted his hands, revealing the rolls and mashed potatoes. “I didn’t want you to go hungry.”

“You shouldn’t have done this.”

“I did it for you.”

The sparkle that overwhelmed Jamie’s eyes lifted Dakota’s heart. The knife in his gut loosened and the tight pain in his stomach ceased to exist, now replaced by butterflies dancing about his chest like fanatic clowns at a carnival.

He’s straight, he thought. You know it.

The tension gone from the air, Jamie stepped forward and took both rolls and the cup of mashed potatoes from his hands. He ate ravenously, like a dog chained in a courtyard who’d just been given a bloody bone, then made his way into a small bathroom and ducked his head to drink from the faucet. The whole while, Dakota simply watched, mystified by Jamie’s behavior and unnerved at the sight of potato in his beard.

“Thanks,” Jamie said, lifting his head to look at Dakota in the mirror. “I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Dakota said. “I was happy to do it.”

“I haven’t had someone do something this nice for me since my mom threw me my twenty-fifth birthday party.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-six.”

Dakota couldn’t help when a tear slid down his face.

Please don’t let him have seen that.

“You ok, kid?”

“Don’t call me kid.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s…not you. Only Steve calls me kid.”

“I didn’t say anything wrong, did I?”

“No. You didn’t.”

“It was my mom, wasn’t it?”

“What?”

“That made you cry.”

“Yeah,” Dakota said. “It was.”

Jamie returned to the bedroom. He seated himself on his cot and patted the spot next to him, but Dakota shook his head, reaching up to brush away the stain on his face with his thumb. He couldn’t imagine the idea of not knowing what had happened to his family, especially the person who seemed to care about him so much. “I’m sorry,” he finally said.

“I have faith that she’s still alive. She was on base by the time the shit went down.”

“That’s good.”

“Are your parents ok?”

“No.” Dakota shook his head. “Mom…she died when I was eleven. Dad ran off on me.”

“I shouldn’t have asked.”

“You couldn’t have known. You shouldn’t feel guilty for the way I’m feeling.”

“I know. It just hurts to see someone cry.”

Dakota nodded. “I should go,” he said.

“Thank you for the food, Dakota.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dakota slid the chain off the door and left without saying goodbye.

The following morning, Dakota stood in the lobby looking over an array of plastic bottles, fertilizers and vegetable seeds. His heart still hurt from yesterday afternoon, he busied himself with his work in the hopes that giving life to something new would help relieve the ache in his chest. First he set the fertilizer inside a plastic bottle, the soil from which life would grow, then sowed the seed with a press of his thumb and a brush of his hand. Once the world was made, he made its Heaven and its Earth, the head of a bottle taped to the top. Then he gave it a sun by placing it in the bay window, and thus the universe was made by the hands of a creator.

Am I really though? he thought. Am I really?

He was not a practical God. Given the task of making life in such a bleak situation, he could easily fail. With so few seeds and so many people to feed, the odds seemed stacked against him. There was no Atlas to carry the world, no Iris to offer the rain, no Gaia to protect the innocent. There was nothing, he knew. He was all alone.

“Dakota?”

He turned his eyes up. Steve stood nearby, hands in his pockets and bare arms glorious in the white undershirt he wore. “Steve?”

“Everything ok?”

“Everything’s fine,” he said.

“You were gone a long time last night,” Steve said, stepping forward. “Did something happen?”

No, Dakota thought, but simply shook his head. “Like I said, everything’s fine.”

“Something happened last night, Koda. Don’t lie to me.”

“Not now, please.”

“No one’s going to hear us,” Steve said, stepping up to the window to examine the terrarium Dakota had just set up. “Neat.”

“You wanna help me?”

“What do I do?”

“Cut a plastic bottle in half, fill it with fertilizer, put seven or eight seeds in a few holes an inch apart, then tape the top half of the bottle to the bottom half.”

“Got it.”

Steve took place beside him. A box-cutter in hand, he excised a milk jug’s upper half and began to fill its guts, eyes complacent and hands steady. “So,” he said, poking the holes in the dirt. “Dish.”

“He told me no one’s ever done anything that nice for him since his mom threw him a surprise birthday last year.”

“Is his mom gone?”

“She was staying on a base. He thinks she’s still alive.”

“He asked about your parents, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

“And?”

“I told him the truth.”

“Nothing more than you can do than that.” Steve wrapped an arm around Dakota’s side. “It’s tough, bud.”

“I know.”

“I miss my mom and dad all the time. Then again, I had it a little differently than you. Late baby and all.”

“Are you glad that they didn’t have to go through this?”

“You have no idea.”

“When he first said it,” Dakota began, “I started thinking about how it might feel to not know if your mom was safe or if she’d been killed. I didn’t cry, but I did blink a tear out.”

“You’re a good man, Dakota. There’s not many people who have such a kind heart.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

“No problem. Try to cheer up. You can’t worry about what you don’t know.”

“I guess,” Dakota said.

He didn’t bother to mention how hard that actually was.

The day came and went as though it had never happened. One moment it was light, then it was dark. By the time dinner rolled around, Dakota’s nerves were on fire and the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.

“What’s your problem?” Steve whispered, seating himself at the table.

“N-nothing,” he managed. “Just cold.”

The excuse was not likely to work. Though the rain had continued through the night and partially into the morning, it hadn’t continued past midday, when the dark clouds had parted for the rays of golden sunlight. To say it was cold was an overstatement. If anything, it was only partially chilly.

And that’s not because of the weather, Dakota thought.

A lump appeared, then disappeared in his throat as he swallowed.

A door opened downstairs and a pair of footsteps echoed up into the hallway.

“Ah,” the sergeant said, nodding as Private Roberts, in military fatigues, and Corporal Marks, in civilian casual, appeared. “Pleasure to see you, gentlemen.”

“Yes sir,” they both responded.

Dakota wrapped a hand around a cup of water to still his trembling wrist.

You’re going to look like an idiot if you keep doing that.

“I have a cold, that’s what I’ll say.”

“Evening, Dakota,” Jamie said. He smiled, reached forward and wrapped his fingers around the brim of the fold-out chair beside him. “Care if I sit here?”

“No,” he managed, coughing out the word. “Go ahead.”

“Something up?” Steve asked as Jamie seated himself.

“No.”

“Just making sure.”

“Now that everyone’s here,” the sergeant said, standing, “I’d like to propose a brief moment of silence.”

“Sir?” Private Roberts said.

“A moment of silence, Private Roberts, for the men and women who have died in our country.” A chorus of agreement went up around the table. Armstrong raised his hands to silence the voices, then bowed his head and closed his eyes.

Every head at the table fell forward.

Dakota closed his eyes.

What do I do? he thought. Pray?

Whoever said one had to pray during a moment of silence?

Content with the logic behind his notion, he laced his fingers together and breathed in, then out. In the moments that followed, a stream of thoughts entered his mind and blossomed over his darkened vision. First came charity, for her grace of life and her sparkling-red flowers, then came justice with his blue robes and equal ways. White came next, with its pure form and its straight edges, but did little to brighten the stars shining amongst the sky. He felt Jamie breathing at his side and tried to push his anger at the sergeant aside, but couldn’t.

His hand fell. It landed on top of the corporal’s.

“Excuse me,” he whispered, pulling his hand aside.

Jamie tilted his hand up and laced their fingers together.

“Lord,” the sergeant began, “we thank you for the gifts that You have given us, for the lives that You have saved and the grace that You have offered. We offer You our prayers in these dark times and ask that you pity us for the mistakes that we may make. We are only mortal. Amen.”

“Amen,” Dakota said.

Dakota raised his eyes.

When his and Jamie’s gazes met, the man’s lips parted in a smile.

Their fingers broke apart just as Desmond approached with dinner.

“So,” Steve said, seating himself on his cot. “What was up with you tonight?”

“Honestly?” Dakota asked.

“Honestly,” Steve replied.

“I was nervous.”

“About what?”

“Dinner. It didn’t help when Jamie sat down beside me.”

“Why not?” Steve asked, leaning against the wall.

Dakota looked down at his hand. “I set my hand on top of Jamie’s and he laced our fingers together.”

“You a fag?” Ian asked from his corner. Both Steve and Dakota looked over at him.

“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t call me that,” Dakota replied. “But yeah, I am, if that’s what you mean.”

“I don’t care. And sorry. No harm intended.”

“None taken.”

“So you guys had a bromance going there,” Steve chuckled. “That’s something.”

“It wasn’t a bromance,” Dakota sighed. “It was…well…I don’t know. This is why I don’t tell you anything!”

“I’m not making fun of you, Dakota. If anything, I think it’s cool that the corporal’s not afraid to show a little affection. It takes a big man to do that.”

“I guess,” Dakota shrugged.

Steve raised an eyebrow. Dakota knew what was coming before it even came out of Steve’s mouth. “You like him,” his friend said, “don’t you?”

“What’s not to like?” he asked.

“Suit yourself, bud.”

“Might not be best to cuddle up to a military guy,” Ian said, stripping his shirt over his head. “Don’t want to get yourself any unwanted attention.”

“You don’t think anyone would do anything to him, do you?” Steve asked.

“I know guys like the deputies. Well, used to, anyway. Let me tell you, they were some mean motherfuckers.”

“You’ve never,” Dakota started, then stopped. “You know…uh…”

“What? Jumped someone for being gay? I’ve done some bad shit in my life, kid, but I ain’t never done that. Kirn and Wills though? They’ve got trigger fever as it is— you don’t want ‘em turning that aggression on you.”

“I doubt the sergeant would approve of that.”

“The sergeant’s buddy-buddy with them. Haven’t you noticed that?”

“No.”

“Well, can’t blame you for not. All I know is that I’ve seen him treat them better than the rest of the soldiers.”

“Ian’s got a point,” Steve said. “You might want to pick your battles here, Dakota.”

“I know,” Dakota sighed. “Besides, I don’t think he’s gay.”

“No?”

“No. I don’t.”

Steve frowned. Ian spread out along his cot and set an arm behind his head.

Pick your battles, the voice in his head said.

Pick them he would.

Voices stirred Dakota from sleep. Half-in, half-out of consciousness, he heard someone say they were ‘going out,’ then the sound of guns being loaded.

Shortly thereafter, he blacked out and fell back asleep.

Later that morning, he woke to the sound of a creaking mattress and opened his eyes just in time to see Steve pulling his pants up his legs. “Hey,” he said, snapping the button into place.

“Hey.”

“You awake?”

“Kinda,” Dakota said, rolling onto his back. “I heard them leave this morning.”

“Them?”

“The soldiers.”

“You hear what for?”

“Probably a supply run. I’m guessing Jamie’s still on house arrest.”

“You going to see him today?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Just wondering.” Steve stretched a shirt over his chest. “Armstrong never said none of us couldn’t go see him.”

“I guess.”

Do I really want to go see him though?

The reality was, he couldn’t allow his feelings to overwhelm his better rationale. On one hand, he could go see Jamie just to offer him company, to talk and to ease the burden of loneliness. On another, though, he could be going for a completely different reason, one that allowed the pleasures of the heart and the comfort of a compassionate human being.

No one’s going to make you go see him. You can decide later, after you’ve woken up.

“Koda?” Steve asked. “Want to see if we can bum a few rolls off Ian?”

“Sure,” he said. “I’d be more than happy to.”

Two knocks and a whisper later, he was standing in Jamie’s room with two rolls and a glass of apple juice in hand.

“They don’t bring you breakfast,” Dakota asked, “do they?”

“No,” Jamie said, tearing a piece out of the roll. “They haven’t been.”

“I would’ve brought you something if I had known.”

“You’re going to get in trouble if you get caught, you know?”

“I’m not going to get caught.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t.”

Jamie sipped the juice. His hunger seemingly-sated, he set the half-eaten roll and its complete companion down along with the juice and turned his attention on Dakota. “I really appreciate you doing this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious, Dakota.” He paused. The tone in his eyes changed so dramatically that a pang of confusion rumbled throughout Dakota’s chest. “About what happened the other day…I shouldn’t have dumped that on you.”

“I understand.”

“I hardly know anything about you and you seem to know my whole life story.”

“Not really.”

“Well, it basically goes something like this—I was born in 1986 in Rigby, Idaho. My dad died in the Gulf War when I was five, so, naturally, I was a bit lost growing up. In 2004, I turned eighteen, joined the army, and was immediately sent to Iraq. I was there right up until I came back home four months ago.”

“Eight years,” Dakota mumbled.

“I can’t say it was fun, but I was lost and didn’t know what else to do. I figured I owed it to my dad to serve the country he died for.”

“I can understand that.”

“What about you? Where’d you come from?”

“I was born up the road,” Dakota said. “Lived there until all of this happened. You know the rest of the story—mom died when I was eleven, dad ran off shortly after.”

“Who did you live with?”

“I lived in a foster home.”

“No relatives?”

“Dad’s lived overseas. Mom was the last in her family.”

“Oh,” Jamie said. “You care if I ask you something else while we’re at it?”

“Go ahead.”

“How come you seemed so nervous last night at dinner?”

“It’s not that.”

“You can be completely honest with me. I know some people have problems with soldiers.”

“It’s really not that,” Dakota sighed, sliding his hands into his pockets. “It’s just…I don’t know.”

“You can tell me if something’s wrong.”

“Can I tell you that I’m gay?”

Jamie didn’t respond. He simply sat there, indifferent.

Great.

“That’s why you were nervous?”

“You’re a good-looking guy, Jamie. I won’t lie when I say I have a crush on you.”

“That’s cool.”

“So…you’re not bothered by it?”

“No. Why would I be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just me.”

“Well I personally don’t give a shit, but I wouldn’t go broadcasting it if I were you.”

“You don’t think anything would happen, do you?”

“I’m not asking you to go back in the closet,” Jamie said, “but I don’t doubt that Kirn or Wills could get a stick up their ass and decide to fuck with you just because you’ve got a hole to fuck with.”

“In harsher terms than I expected.”

“I’m just saying watch your back. I’m sure you already know that though.”

“I do.”

“Good.” Jamie nodded. “I hate to kick you out, but it might be best if you leave before they get back.”

“Ok. Thank you, Jamie.”

“No, thank you .”

Dakota pressed his hand to the doorknob and opened the door.

A wave of relief washed over him the moment he stepped out of the room.

“Two times and you haven’t been caught,” Steve laughed, slapping Dakota’s arm. “You’re getting pretty lucky there, kid.”

“I guess,” Dakota said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“You seem down.”

“I’m not.”

“You know,” Steve said, placing his hands behind his head as they continued down the hallway, “that kind of thing ain’t good for ya.”

“What?”

“Hanging around people who depress you. It’s not good for your health.”

“What’re you talking about, Steve?”

“The last two times you’ve gone to see Jamie, you’ve come back all moody and shit.”

“It’s not like I can help it,” Dakota shrugged. “Besides, I’m not moody. Just indifferent.”

“About?”

“Our current situation.” Dakota stopped. Steve continued forward a few more places, but paused when he saw that Dakota wasn’t following him. A single rise of one of Steve’s inquisitive eyebrows made him frown even more. “Why do you always give me that look when you know I’m not telling you something?”

“Because I’m trying to teach you not to keep your mouth shut.”

“I told him.”

“Told him what?”

“That I’m gay.”

Steve frowned, then shrugged.

“What’s that look for?” Dakota asked.

“Was I supposed to say something else?” Steve reached up to scratch his chin. Stubble framed his chin, softening his appearance even further.

“I don’t know,” Dakota sighed, falling back against the wall and resigning himself to fate. “I knew I was only going to get disappointed going into this.”

“So this whole thing—bringing him food, sneaking out to talk to him, staying in his room for hours at a time—was all to see if he was gay?”

“Call me selfish. Go ahead.”

“I’m not saying you’re selfish, Dakota. God, buddy, that’s the last thing I’d ever think.”

“I know.” Dakota closed his eyes, then opened them when a flicker of guilt skittered across his ribcage.

“If anything,” Steve said, joining him against the wall, “you’re making a friend out of this.”

“I already have a friend. You.”

“Whoever said you could only have one friend?”

No one, Dakota thought, leaning into Steve’s side. That’s some stupid rule I imposed upon myself.

“You know,” Steve said, curling an arm around Dakota’s back, “maybe he’ll surprise you.”

“I doubt it.”

“Don’t they say that everyone’s bisexual to a degree?”

“That’s just a stereotype, Steve.”

“Guess I’m part of that statistic then—yannow, being bi and all.” Steve chuckled and pushed away from the wall. He started toward the window, but turned before he could make it there. “Just look at it this way, Dakota—you’re doing a good thing. Isn’t that good enough for the time being?”

“Yeah,” Dakota said. “It is.”

CHAPTER 5

A man put a gun to his head in the middle of the night and pulled the trigger just after he wrote his goodbyes.

None of his sleeping neighbors heard the noise.

Feathers flew about the room.

The sergeant was dead.

Roused from sleep by frantic fighting in the hallway, Dakota rose, pulled his pants up his legs and made his way out the door. Almost immediately, he found Kirn, Wills and the civilian named Michael arguing with one another.

“You have to calm down,” Michael said, tightening his hold around Kirn’s upper arms.

“CALM THE FUCK DOWN?” Kirn screamed. “HE’S DEAD!”

“Who’s dead?” Dakota asked.

“The sergeant,” Wills said, voice dull and with little emotion.

“You don’t know if he’s dead,” Michael said, pulling his hands away from Kirn tried to slap them away. “Private Roberts hasn’t gone in and seen him.”

“WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?” Kirn howled.

“I’m right here,” Roberts said, entering through an escape hatch on the second floor. “What’s going on?”

“HE’S DEAD! THE SERGEANT’S FUCKING DEAD!”

The color drained from the lanky man’s face. “What happened?”

“HE FUCKING SHOT HIMSELF IN THE HEAD GODDAMMIT!”

“We went to check on him because we didn’t hear him walking around,” Wills said, drawing all eyes toward him. “That’s when we found him.”

“Are you sure he’s dead?” Erik asked, heading toward the stairs.

“OF COURSE HE’S DEAD!” Kirn screamed.

Dakota pushed his way forward as the small group of men descended the stairs. Behind him, a door opened and Steve and Ian peered over the banister, but Dakota paid little attention. He only stopped in place when the door to Jamie’s room opened and Jamie stepped out.

“What’s going on?” Jamie asked.

“The sergeant’s dead,” Erik said.

“What?”

“Kirn and Wills found him this morning. I’m going to check now.”

Together, they pressed forward, toward a single door that stood at the end of the hallway.

Roberts pushed his hand forward. His fingers latched around the doorknob. A cloud of flies and the smell of death surged forward as the door was opened.

It took Private Roberts only one look at the body. “He’s dead,” he confirmed.

Kirn wailed.

A black hand crept over Dakota’s shoulder.

So, it said. It’s begun.

Jamie set a hand on his shoulder.

It’s all good, that touch said.

Dickinson said it once.

Because I could not stop for death, He kindly stopped for Me.

Kirn and Wills removed the body. Tossed into a bag and loaded into a jeep outside, the sergeant’s death seemed little more than elementary, a process previously repeated, but never truly accomplished. It would be taken into the park, Erik said, and buried near a memorial.

“We honor our dead,” Jamie had said.

And honor them they would.

Seated in a chair far away from the scene of the crime, Dakota watched as Jamie paced back and forth across the rooms. The windows were open, harbingers of the fresh and new, and the mattress stood bare, testament to a life cut short. Any blood and brain matter that had been on the wall was long since gone, though who removed it, Dakota didn’t know. It didn’t particularly matter when a man whose emotions were already in heartstrings was walking back and forth with a hurt look on his face.

Dakota had no idea how to console the man. In the last week, he’d gone against his better intuition and had continued to visit Jamie, partially for the company, but mostly to show that he cared. While he felt he’d grown closer to the soldier in that time, he didn’t think it allowed him any insight as to how to comfort him.

Hurt beyond words and unsure of what to do, he stood and did the only thing he could—stepped forward to offer his support.

“Will you be all right?” Dakota asked.

Jamie turned his head up. His sad, brown eyes looked like depthless pools of black water. “I’ll live,” he said.

“You can’t help what he did, Jamie.”

“No, but I should’ve known something was wrong.”

“How?”

Jamie pushed a note toward him. “Read it.”

Blood stained the legal pad’s intricate floral lining, but didn’t make the note any less readable.

My cancer is what’s forced me to do this.

Dakota stopped reading. He looked at Jamie to see if he could find any change in his demeanor, but quickly bowed his head when a tear slid down the man’s cheek.

He continued reading.

To those of you who may be reading this, or to those of you who will, I want to say one thing and one thing only: You are strong, quite possibly stronger than I was even in the prime of my life. I tried to keep my spirits high and my will thick since my treatment ended the day New York City was hit by the worst catastrophe of the human race, but as life foretells, most good things eventually come to an end.

By the time you read this, I will have killed myself after my remaining testicle fell off.

“Jamie,” Dakota started.

“Keep reading.”

Even though my pain was unbearable, and even though I felt as though my heart was crumbling, I had no right to terrorize the people I was supposed to be protecting, nor was there a purpose to the suffering I inflicted upon Corporal James Marks. If you read this, Corporal, know that my anger was not directed toward you, but at the thing that festered inside of me up until the moment I died.

To all of those who are reading this, will be reading this and will read this in the future, please take note—by the classification of the United States Military, order of duty will be assigned to the next highest ranking officer. That is Corporal Marks. He will lead you to victory. He will keep you safe.

I wish you luck in your quest. God may be dead, but we are not.

- Sergeant Adrian Armstrong, United States Military

“It’s a tough thing to handle,” Jamie said, accepting the pad back when Dakota passed it forward. “Knowing that he had so much faith in me, but wasn’t able to show it because of the pain he was going through.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Dakota said.

Jamie shook his head. Tears coursing down his face, he stepped forward, wrapped his arms around Dakota’s shoulders, and buried his face in his shirt. It took but a moment for the most horrible, heart-wrenching sound Dakota had ever heard in his life to tear its way from Jamie’s chest and echo throughout his ears. “God,” Jamie wailed, tightening his fingers in Dakota’s shirt. “Why me? Why me?”

“It’s ok,” Dakota said, setting his hands on the man’s ribcage. “Jamie…Jamie…listen to me, ok? It’s not your fault. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“I don’t think I can handle this, Dakota. I just can’t!”

“Why not!”

“I’m not strong enough!” the man cried, pulling his face away. “I can’t keep living my life the way I am! I can’t deal with not knowing whether or not I’m going to wake up in the morning, if I’m going to fuck up and kill someone, if I can’t do something right. I can’t…I can’t…”

Jamie tangled his hands in Dakota’s hair and forced their lips together.

Dakota froze. Shocked, frightened, and more afraid than he’d ever been in his life, he simply stood there, unsure of what to do.

A moment later, Jamie pulled away, more tears coursing down his face. “I fucked up again,” he whispered. “I can’t do anything right.”

“What are you talking about?” Dakota asked, face drenched in another man’s tears.

“I have feelings for you, Dakota.”

“I…I…”

I do.

“I do too,” he said. “I have feelings for you too.”

Jamie wrapped his arms around Dakota’s shoulders.

A light lit in Dakota’s heart.

Is this it? he thought. Is this what it feels like to be loved?

He chose not to answer. He simply leaned forward and pressed his face into the other man’s neck.

“Everything ok?” Steve asked.

“No,” Dakota said, collapsing onto his bed. “He kissed me.”

“What?”

“When we were in the sergeant’s room. He kissed me.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t gay?”

“I thought so too,” Dakota said, the army man’s tears still warm on his face.

“How’d it happen?”

“He broke down, said he couldn’t go on living the way he did, how he couldn’t worry about whether or not he would get somebody killed or do the job right. Then he grabbed me and forced his lips on mine.”

“Not the most subtle way of doing it,” Steve said, “but it works, I guess.”

“I don’t know what to do, Steve.”

“What?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He kissed me in a moment of passion. It…it might not even be the way he feels.”

“What’d he say?”

“He said…he said he had feelings for me.”

“Then he has feelings for you,” Steve said. “He can’t deny the way he feels.”

“It’s just, I don’t know…”

“Let me tell you something,” Steve said, stepping forward and setting his hands on Dakota’s shoulders. “No straight guy would ever kiss another man, especially not the way he kissed you.”

“I don’t…” Dakota sighed. “I guess I’ll just wait on it. I’m pretty upset too.”

“It’s hard to see someone cry. It’s even harder to have to share their emotions.”

“It wasn’t the right moment for that to happen.”

“Who’s to say there’s a right moment for anything?”

Dakota shrugged.

Shaking his head, he spread out along his cot and closed his eyes.

Heart hurt, brain swimming, he reached up to touch his face and realized the tears still hadn’t dried.

That moment was real.

“Knock knock,” Jamie said, tapping on the partially-opened door with the back of his fist. “Can I come in?”

Dakota looked up. Jamie stood in the doorway, watching him with unsure eyes from behind a messy strand of fringe. Though his demeanor seemed slightly better than it had before, he still showed the tell-tale signs of crying—his eyes were red and his cheeks more than twice their size, awkwardly-childlike on such an adult face. Even his nose, perhaps his most dignified feature other than his beautiful brown eyes, looked red and chafed.

He looks like a wreck.

Of course he did. Who in their right mind would expect someone not to cry when given the world to bear on their shoulders?

Just like Atlas.

A skull caved before his vision. Blood splattered his hand.

A jarring pain coursed up his wrist before he realized it was all just a vision, a memory creeping upon him at the most inappropriate time.

“Dakota?” Jamie asked, sniffling, reaching up to wipe his nose with the back of his hand.

“Come in.”

Jamie stepped forward, closed the door, and began to cross his room. Halfway between the door and Dakota’s bed, he stopped, seemed to consider his actions, then settled down on Steve’s bed. “What I did was inappropriate,” he said, turning his head up.

“Don’t worry about it, Jamie.”

“No, Dakota—I am, and I have been. I should have never put you in that situation.”

“It’s ok.”

“No it—”

“Just answer me something,” Dakota said, raising a hand to interrupt him. When he was sure Jamie wouldn’t speak, he let it fall to his knee, then took a breath. “I want you to be honest with me. Ok?”

“Ok.”

“Are you gay?”

“Of course I am. What other reason would I have to kiss you?”

“Moment of passion,” Dakota said.

“Like I said, it was inappropriate.”

“No it wasn’t. How was it any different from a kiss after a date?”

“Have you ever been kissed before?”

Dakota swallowed a lump in his throat. “No,” he said.

“See? I just robbed you of something special, something that you might not have been ready for.”

“Jamie…” Dakota sighed. Standing, he crossed the short distance and settled down beside the soldier on Steve’s bed. At first, he was unsure as to whether or not he should grab Jamie’s hand, but he eventually gave in and slid their palms together. “You didn’t rob me of anything.”

“Yes I did, Dakota.”

“How could you have robbed me of something if I wanted it all along?”

The cloud of doubt before Jamie’s sad eyes seemed to clear instantly. “What?”

“I’ve had a crush on you since the first day I got here. “

“You have?”

“I have.” He tightened his grip. Jamie squeezed his hand in response. “I’m eighteen years old, I’ve never been with another man, and it’s the end of the world. To be honest…if you hadn’t done that, I probably would have never worked up the urge to do it. You’re not like most other guys, Jamie.”

“I’m just like everyone else.”

“No you’re not. I’ve been around a lot of them, and I can tell you that I’d never been around a man that had such a calm presence until I met you. Hell, Steve’s been my best friend for years and I still get nervous around him sometimes.”

“He seems angry,” Jamie mused.

“He is,” Dakota sighed, “about a lot of things, but it doesn’t change how I feel. I love him like a brother. He’s one of the few things that kept me from going off the deep end after that first year in the foster home.”

“What happened that first day, Dakota? You know…when they came to your town.”

“The woman who ran the foster home had taken everyone else to the park. I said I didn’t want to go because I was still upset about being told that I would have to leave by the end of the week. I knew something was wrong, because I’d seen the reports of the rioting on the news, but she told me it was nonsense and to turn it off. It wasn’t long after she left with the rest of the kids that Steve came pounding on the door, screaming that the ‘zombies from New York’ were coming.”

“They weren’t even being called zombies at that time.”

“What were they being called before?”

“Infected,” Jamie said. Dakota shivered. Jamie squeezed his hand. “I wish I could be as strong as he is. I’m feeling pretty worthless right now.”

“Hey,” Dakota said, stepping away from the bed. He tilted Jamie’s head up so they could look each other straight in the eyes, unnerved at the feeling of the man’s beard under his fingers. “I’m gonna help you get through this. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“You’ll help me?” Jamie asked.

“Of course I will. You can count on it.”

“There’s a meeting at dinner tonight. I’m not sure how it’ll go.”

“I’ll be there for you.”

Jamie smiled.

The sight nearly broke Dakota’s heart.

Jamie rose from his place at the head of the table. “Listen up, everyone! I’ve got something to talk about.”

Chatter around the table stopped instantly.

Please let this be ok, Dakota thought, scooting his chair closer to Steve as he waited for Jamie to speak.

“I know we’ve all had a bad day,” Jamie continued. “It’s tough, losing someone that we admire and respect, and it’s especially hard to lose a man like Sergeant Armstrong. I’m sure you all know what’s coming. We need a leader, someone who can keep peace and order as we try to rebuild ourselves and the world we now live in. By chain of military command, and by orders from the sergeant himself, I will now assume command of the Saint David’s Ward Mental Institution Base.”

“Bullshit!” Kirn cried, slamming his hand on the table. “Fucking bullshit.”

“Is there a problem, Deputy Kirn?”

“The sergeant would never let a pussy like you take over the base.”

“It’s in the note,” Private Roberts said, raising his voice above its usual low pitch.

“He was out of his mind when he was writing it, you fucking piece of shit!”

“He’s been out of his mind since the day this started, Deputy. In case you happen to have forgotten, Derek, Sergeant Armstrong had stage three testicular cancer. The chemo was the only thing keeping him alive. No chemo, no prevention; no prevention, nothing to keep the cancer from spreading.”

“It was probably in his brain by the time he died,” Jamie concluded, setting both hands on the table. “For your information, Deputy Kirn, Private Roberts was studying with the army to be a nurse before we were called back to service. And if you give either of us any shit, I’ll have you removed from the base.”

“So this is how it is?” Wills spoke up, his big mouth once again notorious for coming in two steps too late. “The sergeant dies and we get reduced to chicken shit?”

“The sergeant’s gone. I’m in charge now. Besides,” Jamie added, “neither of you were above either of us to begin with. You were cops before this. We’re soldiers.”

Wills said nothing. Kirn’s mouth curled to one side in a snarl, but he somehow managed to contain himself, despite the crimson spreading across his face like blood on a tile floor.

In the lapse of silence that followed, Desmond stepped forward with the food and began to arrange it on the table.

“Thank you, Desmond,” Jamie said, clapping the young man’s shoulder. He did not seat himself. Instead, he remained standing, looking upon the eight men before him. He cleared his throat to return everyone’s attention to him. “I’m instating a few other rules and precautions while we’re at it.”

“Here we go,” Kirn groaned.

“To start,” Jamie said, “we need more than just four men guarding the front gates. Our shifts are too long and it isn’t fair when any of us have to sit out in the cold and rain for twelve hours straight. I am appointing Michael, Dustin, Steve, Ian and Dakota as tower guards until further assistance is provided to us.”

“CIVILIAN AUTHORITY?” Kirn roared.

Jamie slammed his fist on the table. “Listen here you motherfucker. I don’t want any more lip from you. If you have a problem with something, please, feel free to speak up, but don’t scream.”

“This is ridiculous,” Wills said. “They’re civilians!”

“Unless you would rather continue your twelve-hour shifts, I’d suggest you keep your mouth shut.”

Dakota grimaced. The hot throb in his chest intensified. Someone’s going to pull a gun if this keeps up.

“Here’s the thing,” Jamie continued, taking a breath before he continued. “Everyone I just assigned to guard duty knows how to shoot a gun. Right, guys?” Every appointed guard nodded. “Erik previously addressed his concerns to the sergeant about one of us getting sick from exposure to the elements. With nine guards in place, we can alternate eight a day, two-and-a-half hours at a time, with a spare taking the place of another to give them the day off. I’m doing this to give us a break, and I’m doing this because I know it’s hard as hell sitting out there all day watching the world crumble all around us.”

No one spoke. Such a harsh statement was likely to create the effect, a ripple of emotion across a room of nine men. Even Desmond, usually reserved to such political notions, frowned, despite the fact that he was in no way involved in the guard duty.

“The other civilians will keep their chores,” Jamie continued, “and their weapons will be returned to them to better protect themselves. Military and law personnel will assist them with the maintenance of the building. Saint David’s will no longer close its doors to those who may need help. We will continue making supply runs on a weekly basis. This is only the beginning. We’re in this for the long haul, guys. We don’t want to start ripping each other apart.”

Steve placed his hands together and clapped. Most everyone else followed suit.

In the back of his head, Dakota couldn’t help but feel nervous about their new situation.

“I don’t like sleeping behind an unlocked door,” Jamie said.

“Who would?” Erik asked, bracing himself as they settled the mattress over the bare bedspring in the sergeant’s old room. “Especially not after what happened tonight.”

“Wait a second,” Dakota said, drawing both men’s eyes toward him. “The doors aren’t locked?”

“They were still renovating this place. I don’t think they ever got around to putting lock-locks on the doors.”

“There’s chains,” Jamie said.

“But they won’t do shit if someone wants to break into your room,” Erik said, gesturing Jamie to lift his side of the mattress.

Dakota turned to look out the windows, then allowed his eyes to travel across the room, toward where an old oak desk and a push-button phone sat in the corner of the room. “What did this used to be?”

“I’m guessing a warden’s office,” Jamie said.

“You know where I am if you need to find me,” Erik said, clapping Jamie’s shoulder. “It’ll be ok, J. You can do this.”

“I know. Thanks, Erik.”

The two exchanged nods before Erik left the room. Sighing, Jamie stooped to gather a tangle of sheets and blankets off the floor, then sorted them over the footrest. Dakota stepped forward and took the opposite end of a sheet when Jamie lifted it from the row. “Sleep with me tonight?” he asked.

Dakota paused in place.

“Not like that,” Jamie continued, pursing his lips when Dakota leaned forward to stretch a sheet corner into place. “I would never ask something like that. I just don’t want to be alone.”

“It’s ok. I’ll sleep in here with you tonight. It’s no big deal.”

“Thank you, Dakota.”

“Don’t thank me.”

Night offered no solace for the restless. Shrouded by clouds and hidden by rain, no moon would shine tonight.

Dakota lay in bed, shivering in the dark. Eyes trained on the window in the hopes that even a sliver of light would pierce through the clouds and offer some form of comfort, he listened to the sound of Jamie’s breathing, surprised that no touch had come any time throughout the night.

I would never ask something like that, Jamie had said.

“He’d never ask,” Dakota muttered.

Especially not on a night like this.

Not once had Jamie moved since they’d lain down over an hour ago. Their backs opposite, their hearts nearly in the same place, Dakota longed to roll over, to press himself against Jamie’s back and wrap his arms around his chest—something, anything to comfort him, but neither his heart nor his mind would allow him to do such a thing, for it was the beast of envy that was said to rest at night, in two lovers’ bed, in one place where, despite everything, all things were supposed to be well, and it would prey on them as though it had all the time in the world, silently waiting but ready to strike.

The bed shifted.

Dakota breathed.

An arm snaked over his back and a hand reached for his fingers. “Are you awake?” Jamie whispered.

“I’m awake,” Dakota said, joining their fingers together.

Neither of them spoke for several long moments. Dakota sighed as Jamie pressed half his chest against his back and moved his head to join him on the second pillow. “Is this all right?”

“Yes.”

“Does this make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

It makes me feel better.

He didn’t speak his thought. Instead, he allowed his body to loosen under the taller man’s weight and resigned himself to his emotions. Already he felt warmer, though whether or not it was actual physical warmth he couldn’t be sure.

“Jamie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Jamie squeezed his hand.

A scream tore through the silence of the morning.

“What the fuck was that?” Jamie asked. They both sat up abruptly. Someone pounded on the door. “Get in the closet.”

“What?”

“I said get in the closet.”

“There’s a girl out here!” Steve called, pounding on the door. “Jamie! Jamie! There’s a girl!”

Jamie threw the door opened. Steve stumbled forward, jaw dropping when he took notice of Dakota still sitting upright in the bed. “What the—?”

“Not now,” Dakota said, scrambling out of the bed.

He pulled his shirt over his head and ran out the door.

“HELP!” the girl screamed.

She appeared to have fallen from the barbed wire fence. Palms shredded and face scrunched in anguish, she wrapped her fingers through the chain-link and looked on in horror as Steve, Jamie and Dakota ran to join Erik at the gate. Nearby, Kirn and Wills stood with their guns trained on the infected, fingers drumming against the curve of their triggers.

“Are you bit?” Jamie asked.

“No!” she cried.

“Don’t scream,” Dakota said. “What’s your name?”

“Alexis.”

“Alexis. My name’s Dakota.”

“I didn’t know anyone was here,” she said, sobbing, tears coursing down her face. “I tried to climb the fence and I…I thought I could get over the barbed wire, but then I fell and my baby…”

She sobbed. Dakota instinctively sought out the obvious swell in her stomach and felt a pang of guilt roll through his gut as he found it. “How did you fall?” he asked.

“On my back,” she said. “Thank God.”

“Are you hurt?”

“It’s just my hands,” the girl said. “I caught myself on the way down. I fell on my butt.”

“Goddammit,” Erik breathed, jamming a key into the padlock around the pull and push mechanism.

“What’s taking so long?” Jamie asked.

“I can’t get the fucking key to work!”

“They’re closing in,” Kirn warned.

“Don’t fire unless it’s absolutely necessary,” Jamie said.

A small group of about twenty infected shambled forward, their movements restricted both by the immense amount of decay plaguing some of their bodies and the vehicles situated against one side of the road. Alexis, still crying, looked over her shoulder, but quickly turned her head when she saw the corpses.

“It’s going to be ok,” Dakota said, wanting to reach forward, but not willing to get blood on his hands. “You’re safe now.”

“I can’t believe he left me,” the girl whispered.

“Who?”

“My boyfriend.”

A roar went up in the crowd.

Kirn fired a shot. “Runner,” he said.

“Were you with other people?” Jamie asked, pushing Erik aside to try and maneuver the key out of the padlock. “Was there anyone else with you?”

“N-no,” Alexis said. “There wasn’t.”

“How did you get here?”

“I jumped out my window and into our swimming pool. I’m not bit, I swear.”

“Just give us a sec, we’re gonna get you in here.”

“Hurry up with that gate!” Wills called.

“We’re working on it!” Erik cried.

Jamie twisted the key as hard as he could and the lock popped open.

“Shit,” Steve breathed.

Three infected came running out of the alley.

Alexis screamed.

Jamie and Erik ripped their fingers through the gate and began to pull it open as fast as they could. Above, Kirn and Wills opened fire upon the infected. The first went down as its kneecaps were blown out. The second and third managed to dodge the bullets or avoid fatal shots by taking blows in the chest and shoulders. One ran forward, tripped over the curb, then lashed out at the ground as it propelled itself toward Alexis.

Steve tore his gun out of its holster and fired.

Blood and brain matter exploded onto the third infected, stunning it just long enough to allow Kirn and Wills to deal the fatal, killing shots.

The gate rolled open.

Alexis ran in.

A choir of death began to sound in the streets as the zombies shambled out of the shadows.

“Someone has to check you,” Dakota said, leveling his eyes on the girl as they stepped into the locker room.

“I have to…strip naked?” she asked.

“It’s just a precaution. We want to check you for bites.”

“I didn’t get bit,” Alexis said. “I already told you.”

“I know.” Dakota sighed. He slid his fingers into his pockets and watched a few tears run down the girl’s face. “I’ll do it.”

“What?”

“I’ll do it. I don’t want anyone else to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m gay,” Dakota said. “I don’t know if it’s any help for you to know that.”

“You’re not saying that just to get me to undress, are you?”

“No. I’m not. They’re waiting just outside the door if you’re not sure.”

A sob escaped the girl’s chest. Pulling her shirt over her head, she tossed it into the corner and slid her pants down her legs, shivering as she stood before Dakota in only her underwear. He checked everywhere from her head to her toes, then sighed, gesturing for her to remove the rest. When she did, she stood there with her hands beneath her breasts, trembling in her nudity.

Dakota concluded his exam. “You’re ok.”

Alexis reached for a dry towel that sat on a nearby bench.

“Why don’t you go ahead and take a shower,” Dakota said. “The skinny guy with brown hair and glasses will take care of your hands after you get out.”

“She’s safe,” Dakota said.

A collective sigh of relief went up among the group.

“Good,” Jamie said, running a hand through his hair. “Now all we have to worry about is the infected.”

“We’ll get rid of them,” Erik said, adjusting his rifle across his back. “All we have to do is use the sound displacement technique.”

“That’s a load of horseshit,” Kirn said.

“Then you’ve got the job,” Jamie said, clapping Kirn on the shoulder. “You and Wills get to the roof and start working on it.”

“You asshole.”

“I may be an asshole, but I’m the asshole in charge.”

Kirn and Wills left, the former muttering something under his breath as they did.

“Everything else ok?” Erik asked, turning to look at Dakota.

“Her hands are messed up, but other than that, she seems ok. You might want to look at her back though. She said she fell while she was trying to climb the fence.”

“She’s also pregnant,” Erik said, reaching up to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “That puts us in a predicament.”

“We don’t even know how far along she is,” Jamie said.

“Are you kidding?” Erik laughed. “She’s at least five, if not six months in. We’ve got a real problem here, Jamie. We really do.

“I know.”

“We don’t have the medical equipment here to deliver a baby.”

“We’ll worry about that later.” Jamie shook his head. “For now, let’s just welcome the tenth member of our group.”

Alexis stood in the second floor lobby. Head craned forward, eyes reveling in the sight of the delicate strands of life beneath the plastic domes of the terrariums, she looked to be a child in awe of the world, innocent beyond her sixteen years and the baby growing inside her. Her lips parted into a smile and her hands started shaking, as though excited at the prospect of something great and wonderful. So captivated was she in her own little world that she barely heard Dakota approach.

“Hey,” he said, sliding up alongside her. “Erik take care of your hands?”

She lifted them in response. Fresh, if somewhat-dirtied bandages tipped her delicate fingers. “Who made these?” she asked, as if completely oblivious to Dakota’s previous question.

“I did.”

“You did?” she asked, looking up at him. The same twinkle remained in her eyes.

“Uh huh,” he said, leaning forward. “Oooh!”

“What?”

“I didn’t know they started to grow.”

“Yep,” Alexis said, leaning forward so her and Dakota’s head were level with one another. “They look nice.”

“Thanks.”

Alexis stood. She started to stretch her arms over her head, but stopped, grunting and dropping a hand to her stomach.

“Are you ok?” Dakota asked, alarmed.

“It’s the baby,” Alexis said. “Wanna feel?”

Dakota shook his head, not wanting to intrude on such a personal moment, but was forced to do so anyway. Alexis pressed his hand against her stomach, holding it steady while she took steady breaths in, then out.

A pressure kicked against his hand. “Feel?” she asked.

“I felt it,” he said, though wasn’t sure how to take such a thing emotionally. “How old is it?”

“Five-and-a-half months.”

“Do you know what it is?”

“I was going in to see the day this happened.”

Dakota pulled his hand away from her stomach, slid it back into his pocket and turned to look out the window, sighing as he saw the slowly-growing wave of zombies advancing upon the asylum.

“So many,” Alexis said. “What are they going to do?”

“Lure them away with dummy bullets,” Dakota said, looking up at the roof. He half-expected to hear the sound of the rifle being fired, then remembered they most likely had silencers attached to their guns. “At least, that’s what Jamie said.”

“Is he the one in charge?”

“He is now.”

“There was someone else?”

“Uh huh. The sergeant. He… uh…killed himself…yesterday morning.”

Alexis grimaced. “I’m sorry.”

“I guess it’s a good thing, in a way. His cancer was eating him alive.”

“My grandpa died from cancer,” Alexis said, stepping away from the window. “It doesn’t seem like a nice way to go.”

“No,” Dakota said. “It doesn’t.”

The two of them continued to make their way down the hall, occasionally stopping when Alexis took notice of something and wanted to examine it further. Most of these things were cracks in the walls or the occasional scar on a door, but one thing in particular Dakota took note of—a portrait, one of a man seated at a desk with a skull at his side.

“That’s creepy,” Alexis said.

I don’t know how she can find a picture creepy these days, Dakota thought. It seems useless to think that a picture’s creepy.

“Did Jamie assign you a room yet?” he decided to ask, wanting to steer them away from the picture.

“Not yet,” Alexis said. “Was he supposed to?”

“He will,” Dakota said. “Come on. Let’s go.”

By the time night came and dinner had passed, Dakota collapsed into bed, exhausted and almost unable to keep his eyes open. Nearby, Jamie stood rummaging through a wardrobe, combing through rows upon rows of shirts, suits and coats. At one point, it seemed as though he was going to start pulling them out to try them on, but he eventually pulled himself away and tore his shirt off his head.

“What were you looking for?” Dakota asked.

“A shirt,” Jamie said. “To wear to bed.”

“You don’t have to wear a shirt to bed, silly.”

“It gets cold here,” Jamie said, sliding into bed and under the covers. He leaned forward, braced a hand over the lantern, then blew it out, thrusting the room into darkness. “You ok with this?”

“I have to be now,” Dakota chuckled.

“I can relight it if you want.”

“No, it’s good, Jamie. Thank you though.”

Jamie resituated himself in the bed and wrapped an arm around Dakota’s waist, sighing as a chill blew into the room. “Damn old building,” he whispered. “Damn stupid ventilation.”

“It’s not as bad when we have each other,” Dakota said.

“No. It isn’t.”

Dakota smiled and closed his eyes.

“We’re going out tomorrow,” Jamie said.

“To do what?”

“A supply run. I want you to come with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Jamie whispered, nestling his head in Dakota’s neck. “I trust you more than anyone else here.”

Dakota wasn’t sure how to take that.

He didn’t bother to try.

Jamie adjusted the machinegun against his arm.

“I’m nervous,” Dakota said. He reached forward and brushed his hand against Jamie’s upper arm.

“I don’t blame you. I am too.”

Tightening his grip on his pistol, Dakota raised a hand to shield his eyes from the bright sun and scanned the area, looking for any stores they could possibly raid while also keeping an eye out for any zombies that may be around. What appeared to be a small supermarket lay in the distance, along with what was easily identifiable as a dentistry office, but he wasn’t sure it would be wise to raid the latter without Erik’s supervision.

“You see that?” Dakota asked, pointing.

“I see it.”

“I’m also talking about the dentist’s office.”

“I saw that too.”

“It’d probably be a good idea to bring Erik back here later.”

“I agree,” Jamie said, gesturing him along. “For now though, let’s just see if we can find anything useful. We’ll radio in Kirn and Wills if we find something.”

“You sure it was safe to leave them in charge of the jeep?” Dakota asked.

“I hope so,” Jamie sighed. “Otherwise we’re going to have a long walk back.”

An hour and three boxes of processed snacks, canned fruits and toiletries later, Dakota wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead and watched Jamie lift a portable radio from his belt and to his lips. “Kirn and Wills,” he said. “Kirn and Wills. Are you there? Over.”

“We’re here. Over,” Wills replied.

“Me and Dakota are at Patty’s Convenience Store on Barrel Street. We’ve got three boxes of food and toiletries here. Requesting pickup. Over.”

“We’re on our way,” Kirn said. “We haven’t heard in from the other two civilians, Corporal. Over.”

“Check in with them and get back to me.” Jamie set the radio down and smiled at Dakota, flashing his neat, pearly-white teeth. It didn’t take long for the radio to buzz. “Report, over.”

“They’re fine, but still looking. We dropped them off on Jenson Avenue. Over.”

“I don’t think there’s ever been much of anything over there,” Jamie shrugged, glancing at Dakota, who only shook his head in response. “Come on over here and pick us up, then we’ll go over to pick them up. Over and out.”

“Over and out,” Kirn replied.

“They did get back to them,” Dakota said, “right?”

“‘Course they did. Kirn and Wills are dumb, but they’re not stupid. They know not to mess with me.”

“This would be the perfect opportunity to do it if they did.”

“I know.” Jamie hooked the radio to his belt and stepped forward, setting both hands on Dakota’s hips. “Have I ever told you how hot you are?”

“I’m not hot,” Dakota chuckled, trying to slip out of Jamie’s grip.

“Yeah you are. Fuck, Dakota. You’ve got eyes to die for.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I never get tired of looking into them,” Jamie said, leaning forward to plant a kiss on the corner of Dakota’s mouth. “Or kissing you.”

“Stop it,” Dakota laughed. “You’re tickling me.”

“Tickling?” Jamie grinned. “Like this?”

Dakota laughed as Jamie assaulted the curve of his neck and underarms. He stumbled back into a table and fell onto it ass-first, but somehow managed to remain upright and not fall backward.

“We really shouldn’t be screwing around like this,” Dakota smiled. “We’ll just attract unnecessary attention to ourselves.”

“Good point.” Jamie offered a hand and helped Dakota off the table, but not before planting a gentle kiss to his cheek.

A gunshot went off in the distance.

“What was that?” Dakota asked.

The radio on Jamie’s belt beeped. “Report,” Jamie said. “Over.”

“Gunshots coming from Steve and Ian’s direction. Over.”

Dakota’s heart stopped beating.

Steve, he thought. Ian.

“Hurry over here,” Jamie said, the tone in his voice rising as more gunshots continued to go off. “We don’t want them to—”

Dakota never heard the rest of Jamie’s sentence. He bolted without a second thought.

“What the hell are we gonna do?” Steve asked, bracing himself as he fired another shot into the head of a nearby zombie. “There’s got to be twenty, maybe thirty of them.”

“We’ve got full clips,” Ian grunted. He popped two shots off, swearing as one of them missed. “For the most part.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“I never said it was!”

Steve turned his head to scan the road for anywhere they could possibly take shelter. He caught sight of a candy store and grabbed Ian’s arm. “Look.”

“What?”

“The candy store.”

“That’s the stupidest fucking idea I’ve ever heard!”

“You wanna try to break into one of these banks? Or how about the parking garage, huh?”

“Just shut the fuck up and go!” Ian cried.

Steve ran.

“NO!” Jamie cried, jabbing both of his arms under Dakota’s and forcing him back against his chest. “NO, DAKOTA!”

“LET GO OF ME!” Dakota screamed, kicking the air as he was momentarily lifted off the ground before being pressed against Jamie’s chest. “LET GO!”

“You’re not running off on me.”

“They’re my fucking friends!”

“I know they are,” Jamie said, tightening his grip. “It’s ok, Dakota. Kirn and Wills are going to make their way over here, then we’re going to go pick them up.”

Dakota slipped from Jamie’s arms and bolted away.

“GET BACK HERE!” Jamie screamed. “DAKOTA! NO!”

Three streets down, three streets down, three streets down.

Dakota pumped his legs as fast as he could. Sweat running into his eyes and hair sticking to his face, he slashed a hand at his brow and jumped over an upended fire hydrant, grimacing as he landed on the street instead of on the sidewalk he’d originally been running on. The gunshots continued to go off—each like the sound of a coffin slamming into the pavement—but eventually stopped.

If anything could be worse in this situation, it had to be the silence.

NO!

He was only two streets away.

“IT’S LOCKED!” Steve screamed.

Ian shoved him out of the way. He braced his hands against the walls, lifted his leg, then slammed his foot into the door not once, but twice. The wood on the side of the door splintered and Ian kicked a third and fourth time before relinquishing his hold on the wall. Then, in a pseudo-football manner, he crouched, reared his shoulder up, and went flying into the door, which shattered inward and sent him flying three feet into the room.

Looking back over his shoulder to find the zombies slowly approaching, Steve dove over the front counter, sighing when Ian joined him a moment later. “You play football in school?” he managed to ask, laughing at the absurdity of the question.

“Used to,” Ian grunted. “Ow.”

“You’re going to feel that in the morning.”

“If there is a morning.”

“There will be,” Steve said. He lifted the radio, about to click in and report on their situation, but stopped when he heard the sounds of two men fighting. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“DAKOTA FUCKING RAN!” Jamie screamed. “THAT LITTLE FUCKING BASTARD!”

Shit, Steve thought.

When Dakota rounded the corner, he half-expected there to be ten, maybe a dozen zombies. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was the throng of two or three-dozen, all in various states of decay.

Fucking hell.

He clicked the safety off his gun and fired.

The first corpse went down without any difficulty. Most of the zombies continued toward the candy store, now obviously their destination and where Steve and Ian had to have taken shelter, but a few turned and began to make their way forward. One in particular—an elderly man with half his face charred off and most of one arm reduced to bone—stumbled forward, then broke out into a full-on sprint.

“FUCK!” Dakota screamed.

He turned, ran to the opposite side of the street, and took cover behind a car. He wasted no time in raising his gun and shooting at the man’s legs, knowing full well that he was more likely to take the creature down if he was first able to incapacitate it. The first shot struck the man in the hip, which sent him stumbling to the side in a spray of bone and blood, while the second hit him in the groin. Dakota had but one brief moment to feel a pang of unease before his next two shots struck the man near the kneecap.

The corpse went down silently.

A jeep came tearing down the road. Dakota fired three more shots before the vehicle tore around the corner and the man in the passenger seat fired a spray of machinegun bullets into the crowd.

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT!” Jamie screamed, throwing himself from the vehicle and toward the car. “YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN YOURSELF KILLED!”

Dakota fired a shot into the head of the zombie he’d just taken down. “I distracted them.”

“YOU ONLY DISTRACTED SOME OF THEM! YOU COULD’VE GOTTEN YOURSELF KILLED!”

“Don’t yell at me,” Dakota mumbled.

“WHAT?”

“I SAID DON’T FUCKING YELL AT ME!”

The roar of gunfire ceased. Steve and Ian ducked out of the candy store and began to head for the jeep.

“Thank God,” Dakota said, running forward and jumping into Steve’s arms. “You’re alive.”

“We’re ok,” Steve said, brushing tears out of Dakota’s eyes. “Ian here played sumo and broke the door down.”

“I’m not big enough to be a sumo wrestler,” Ian protested.

Dakota didn’t care. He started bawling instead.

“You’re not going out anymore,” Jamie said.

“What?”

Jamie turned, narrowing his eyes at him. “You heard me.”

“You can’t keep me here,” Dakota said. “He’s my fucking friend.”

“You ran off when I explicitly told you not to. You could’ve gotten yourself killed.”

“You should’ve come with me then.”

“I was waiting for backup,” Jamie growled, tightening his hand into a fist. “You’re lucky Kirn was able to haul ass like he did. I thought I was going to see you get eaten.”

“I can shoot a gun.”

“That doesn’t mean you couldn’t have been overwhelmed!”

Dakota said nothing. Jamie shook his head, ran a hand through his hair, then turned to look at the window. “You’re not going out anymore. That’s final.”

“Jamie,” Dakota said. “I just—”

“THAT’S FINAL!” Jamie roared. “Leave if you’re going to argue with me!”

“Jamie, please, don’t—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!”

Dakota turned and left without another word.

“He fucking yelled at me!” Dakota cried, slamming his fist into the wall. “All I wanted to do was help you and Ian!”

“You can’t blame him for yelling at you,” Steve said, reaching forward to set a hand on his shoulder.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Ok! Ok!” Steve cried, lifting both hands in the air. “God, Dakota. It’s all right.”

“No it isn’t! I was scared out of my fucking mind and he yelled at me!”

“You scared the hell out of him. You scared all of us, Dakota. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.”

“Oh, so now you’re on his side?”

“No. I’m not.” Steve took a breath. He waited for Dakota to say something further, but nodded when he didn’t. “See? There. Take a breath, calm yourself down.”

“I am calm,” Dakota snapped.

“You’re anything but calm, bud. You look like a nuclear warhead that’s just about to explode.”

Sobbing, Dakota sat on his bed and tried as hard as he could to keep the tears from coming, but couldn’t restrain them. Between the realization that his best friend could have died and the harsh way that Jamie had spoken to him, he was surprised he wasn’t crying worse.

“It’s ok,” Steve said, wrapping his arms around Dakota.

“It’s not ok,” Dakota bawled, burying his face in Steve’s chest. “I fucked up, Steve! I fucked up!”

“Ok. So maybe you did. Let’s say you did, but that doesn’t change the fact that we all do it sometimes. You can’t beat yourself up over it.”

“I can’t help it!”

“Yes you can.” Steve pushed Dakota away from him. “Look at me, Koda. Look at me and tell me that you can’t stop crying.”

He couldn’t. Such a response stopped Dakota’s tears instantly.

“See?” Steve continued. “Me and Ian are fine.”

“I fucked up,” Dakota said, shaking his head. “Jamie’s mad at me.”

“He’ll get over it,” Steve said.

At that moment, Dakota felt guiltier than he had in his entire life.

Jamie barely looked at him at dinner. Between eating, addressing Kirn and Wills and just generally keeping to himself, his head hardly even turned in Dakota’s general direction throughout the meal. The few times their eyes happened to meet, Jamie averted his gaze almost instantly. Not only did it strike a dull pain in Dakota’s heart, it also kept him from seeing the true look in his eyes.

In his room, long after they had eaten and were preparing to go to bed, a knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Steve said. Erik opened the door. “Hey, Erik.”

“Hey,” Erik said, his eyes instantly seeking Dakota out on the opposite side of the room. “Dakota.”

“Hi,” Dakota said.

“You need to go talk to him.”

“Who?”

“Jamie.”

“He’s the one that yelled at me.”

“He was fucking scared out of his mind!” Erik cried, shutting the door behind him. “He thought something was going to happen to you.”

“That gave him no excuse to yell at me.”

“He loves you, Dakota. He fuckin’ loves you so much that he’s been bawling for the last two hours.”

“He…he loves me?” Dakota asked.

“Of course he does! What do you think?”

“I don’t…I didn’t know.”

“Fuck that. You can’t tell me you don’t know he loves you.”

“We’ve only known each other for a few days. How am I supposed to know?”

“It doesn’t take a fuckin’ genius to know when someone cares about you.”

“The guy’s right,” Ian said.

“I guess he told you then,” Dakota sighed.

“I don’t give a fuckin’ shit,” Erik said, leaning against the wall. “I’ve known Jamie was gay since he was fifteen. All I care about is whether or not he’s happy and right now, he’s scared out of his mind that he’s hurt you.”

“He did,” Dakota said. “I didn’t realize he was so upset.”

“Jamie doesn’t yell at people, Dakota. He rarely acts like that. Kirn was an exception—he was being a dumbass. He only yells at people when he’s upset with them.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Go talk to him. Please.”

Dakota nodded, pushed his way past Erik and made his way out the door.

“Jamie,” Dakota said, knocking on the door. “It’s me. Can I come in?”

The door opened. Sniffling, Jamie looked at him for one moment before stepping aside to allow him in.

“I’m sorry,” Dakota said, turning when he heard the door close behind him. “Jamie, I didn’t know you were so upset.”

“Of course I’m upset,” Jamie said, swiping tears from his eyes. “It’s pretty fucking bad when you think your boyfriend’s gonna die.”

“Your boyfriend?” Dakota asked.

“Yeah. My boyfriend, Dakota. You know, the guy who sleeps with you, the guy you kiss, the guy you care about more than anything else in the fucking world.”

“We’ve only been doing this for three days, Jamie. I’m not sure if you—”

“If I what? Feel the way I do about you?”

“I…I don’t…” Dakota stammered.

“Throw all that fundamentalist thinking out of the water, babe, because it’s the fuckin’ end of the world. Screw whatever anyone said about not being able to know if you’re in love in the first few days of knowing someone.”

“I’m new to this,” Dakota said. “You can’t expect me to know everything.”

“I don’t.” Jamie stepped forward. He wrapped his arms around Dakota’s shoulders and leaned into his body, bowing his face into his hair. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Tell me you love me, Dakota.”

“I do.”

“You do what?”

“Love you,” Dakota said. “I love you, Jamie.”

He reached up and brought the man’s face to his.

As they kissed, he shed a tear.

“Things go well?” Erik asked, adjusting his coat around his shoulders. “I assume everything did, since you didn’t come back last night.”

“You were waiting in the room?”

“I was.”

“To answer your question,” Dakota said, stepping forward to view the rainy scenery before them, “everything went well. We made up. Everything’s cool.”

“Anything else happen last night?”

“Uh…not really.”

“What’d you tell him after he told you he loved you?”

“That I loved him back,” Dakota said. He bowed his head and shrugged his hands into his pockets, content with the words he’d just spoken.

“You have to understand something, Dakota. Things are different now. I’m sure you already know that, but things like this, like with you and Jamie, they’re not going to play out like you’d expect them to.”

“I already figured that.”

“Back in World War II, people would meet over a weekend and be married the week after. You know why? Because everyone was so desperate to find love in a hopeless situation that they’d latch onto anything they could. To say it was rushed is an understatement.”

“Are you saying that’s what it is with us?”

“No,” Erik said, raising a hand to cut Dakota off before he could finish. “I’m not saying that what you and Jamie are going through is just a ‘latching onto anything you can’ thing. I know Jamie has feelings for you because I can tell he has feelings for you. A man doesn’t cry over a simple crush—I can tell you that much right now.”

“Did he…uh…”

“Did he what?”

“Have a boyfriend? Before, I mean?”

“That’s something I’m going to let the two of you discuss.” Erik pulled a cigarette from his pocket, followed by a lighter. He placed the butt between his lips, lit it, then inhaled the sweet nicotine before offering it to Dakota, who promptly shook his head. “I’ll tell you something right now, just so you won’t have to wonder about it—he didn’t screw around.”

“Thanks for telling me.”

“I’m not sure if the two of you’ve done it or not, but I’m just letting you know. Jamie’s a good, honest guy.”

“We haven’t,” Dakota admitted quietly. He felt a blush creeping into his cheeks shortly after he said it. “Should I be embarrassed for admitting that?”

“I don’t care. Besides, I figured Jamie wouldn’t have done it with you anyway. It takes ages for him to do anything, let alone have sex.”

“I appreciate what you did for us last night, Erik. I really mean that.”

Erik flicked the ashes from the cigarette over the side of the tower railing and cursed as the cigarette went out. “Stupid move on my part.”

“It’s just a cigarette,” Dakota smiled.

“We’re running low on them too. They won’t last forever.”

Dakota shrugged.

He took his seat in one of the two chairs in the first tower, set his hands in his lap, and closed his eyes.

He used to love the rain.

Hours later, after Dakota and Erik returned from their watch posts, a storm began to blow in. Hail buffeted the building and a sickly growl began in the distance. It first began as a low, throaty sound, echoing ever so softly like a cat when working up to a hiss, then eventually began to snarl like dogs in a courtyard. This snarl eventually turned into a chorus of banging hammers until, finally, the true noise came, the sound that shook the earth and threw Dakota slightly off balance.

“It’s a big one,” Dustin said, emerging from his room to look out the bay windows.

“Yeah,” Dakota agreed, “it is.”

Each clink-clink of the hail made him grimace. It sounded like glass slowly breaking under the immense pressure of an underwater laboratory.

And then the sharks will come.

He chuckled at the thought.

“Something funny?” Dustin asked.

“Not really,” Dakota smiled, content with the image inside his head. “Just thinking to myself.”

“Hopefully this doesn’t get any worse. We don’t want flooding.”

“Arcburrow doesn’t have a flooding problem.”

“Not when the sewer was maintained.”

Dakota swallowed a lump in his throat. It’d been bad enough during the first few weeks, when the sewer systems were slowly overfilling with waste in the absence of human attention. Thankfully, the rain had managed to wipe away most of the smell, but not without flooding smaller, suburban areas at the bottoms of hills.

Does Arcburrow’s sewer go up or down?

He didn’t know. Even if he wanted to, he probably wouldn’t pursue it. Just thinking about it made him want to gag.

A clap of thunder shook him out of his thoughts.

“I feel for whoever’s out there right now,” the older man murmured, running his fingers through the length of beard on his chin.

Dakota smirked. Apparently, Dustin had no idea that it was Kirn and Wills out in the towers freezing their asses off and getting pelted by hail and rain.

I shouldn’t be thinking like that.

Still, he reveled in what Kirn and Wills’ arrogance had gotten them. They were, after all, the only two who’d complained about the shortened schedules. Let them sit out in the cold and rain—he didn’t care.

“Hey,” Jamie said, offering a slight wave as he came up the stairs. “Quite a storm we’ve got here.”

“I’d say,” Dustin said. “How are you, sir?”

“Better, thanks.”

“Glad to hear it.” The man yawned and stretched his arms over his head. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I should probably get going. I’d like to catch up on some sleep before I have to go out in that hellacious weather.”

“Sleep well,” Jamie smiled. Dustin nodded and disappeared into his and Michael’s room. When he was sure that no one was around, Jamie stepped forward and gently pressed his lips to Dakota’s forehead. “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Dakota smiled. “We probably shouldn’t be doing this in public.”

“What?”

“PDA.”

Jamie blushed and ran his fingers through his hair.

“I’m not worried about me,” Dakota said. “I’m worried about you.”

“Honestly, I couldn’t give a fuck about what anyone thinks right about now.”

“Me neither, but I don’t think it’ll reflect kindly on you if we’re caught together.”

“Who’s going to bitch? Kirn and Wills?” Dakota shrugged. Jamie laughed and slapped his arm in response. “Seriously, Dakota, I could give a flying fuck about their opinion. All they’ve been doing is giving me shit since…well, you know.”

“I’d say you can’t really blame them, but you kind of have to.”

“I just wish they’d cooperate with me, that’s all.”

“I know.” Dakota frowned when the rain began to lessen. He sighed shortly after. “I don’t know what to tell you. You’ll figure something out.”

“You’re not disappointed in me, are you?”

“No. I understand your situation.”

“But you’re not happy with it, are you?”

“I’d be lying if I said I was.”

“DADT really fucked me up,” Jamie said, leaning back against the banister. He took a look behind his shoulder—most likely to look for prying ears, but also to check if he might fall—then turned his attention back on Dakota. “I’ve always been pretty good about hiding who I am. I guess you could even go so far as to say I’m ‘straight acting,’ if you want to call it that, though I never really denied who I was. I just didn’t talk about it much. When I joined the army though, I had to play by their rules. Their way or the highway, you know?”

“I understand.”

“I’m on the fence. Right now, I’m pretty much at the point where I’m ready to just say fuck it and not hide anymore, because it’s the end of the world and I’m not about to let some dickwad dictate who I can and can’t sleep with. I understand where you’re coming from. It’s the only thing keeping me from doing just that.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about it,” Dakota said.

“You’re not out to anyone, are you?”

“Other than you, Steve, Erik and Ian? No. I told Alexis, but that was only because I didn’t want her to freak out when I was looking her over.”

“Which she probably did anyway,” Jamie laughed. “Most girls don’t think you’re gay if you’re trying to get them naked.”

Laughing, Dakota leaned against the wall and tried to gain his composure, hoping that the sound wouldn’t echo off the walls and attract any unwanted attention. It took him a few minutes to stop—and it took him even longer to recover from a coughing fit he endured whilst trying to do so—but he finally managed to get a hold of himself and looked Jamie straight in the eyes. “Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s always a good thing to laugh.”

Dakota couldn’t agree more.

He started worrying about his current situation the night Steve knocked on his door. Alone, dressed-down for the night and unsure who might be knocking at this ungodly hour, Dakota rose from his place on the bed and crossed the room, sighing when he saw it was only his friend coming to check on him.

“Hey,” Steve said, pushing his way into the room. As always, Dakota closed the door behind him. “Where’s Jamie?”

“On guard duty.”

“So you’re here alone then?”

“Of course,” Dakota chuckled. “Who else would be in here?”

Steve shook his head. He cast a glance at the candle lantern burning on the bedside table, then crossed the room to the windows, where he looked out at the park in the distance. Contrary to his initial entrance, he didn’t move from his spot once he settled himself in place.

“Steve?” Dakota asked. “What’s going on?”

“They’ve been sneaking around, Dakota.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?”

It didn’t take much thought. “Kirn and Wills?”

“Who else would be sneaking around the place at night for absolutely no reason at all?”

“There’s bathrooms on this floor,” Dakota offered. “Are you sure it’s them, Steve, because there’s a lot of us here.”

“It’s them. Alexis tipped me off.”

“She did?”

“Uh huh. Told me she heard them talking about ‘something suspicious’ in the corporal’s room.”

“Shit,” Dakota sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Shit is right, Dakota. I told you this would happen.”

“That was before the sergeant died.”

“I get it. No need to tell me.”

“Me and Jamie talked about this this morning.”

“And?”

“He said that he understands why it’s not a good idea for us to reveal our relationship to anyone.”

“Most everyone here already knows,” Steve said. “Other than Michael, Dustin, Desmond and the two deputies. It’s bound to get out eventually.”

“Jamie’s trying to do damage control.”

“He’s going to do more damage than actual control if he doesn’t come out already.”

Sighing, Dakota sat down on the bed and set his hands on his knees, watching his friend pace back and forth between the row of windows against the wall. He wanted Steve to say something—anything—to help ease his troubled conscience, but already knew he wouldn’t unless absolutely necessary.

So…do I ask?

He didn’t see any harm in doing so.

Dakota pushed himself off the bed, made his way to his friend’s side, and put a hand on his arm. “What do you think I should do?”

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged. “Ultimately, it’s up to you to decide how honest you want to be about who you are. I can tell you’re not ashamed of it—because when you came out to me two years ago, you did it in a very straightforward way—but I can understand why you wouldn’t want to.”

“It’s crosshairs on his back if I do.”

“I know.” Steve paused, then rubbed his chin. His brow furrowed a moment after. “You said you already talked to him about it, right?”

“Yep.”

“And he’s on the fence about it because he doesn’t want to cause problems, right?”

“Right.”

“But Kirn and Wills seem to be the only problem. Why doesn’t he just can them if they start causing problems?”

“I hate to say it, but I think he needs them.”

“Probably.” Steve clapped a hand across Dakota’s shoulder. “I know you’re worried about this, but it’s not going to do either of you any good if you butt heads over this. Let him come around—it’ll be easier than forcing him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“Yeah,” Dakota sighed. “I already found that out.”

Two hours later, long after the lantern had been blown out and the clock struck midnight, Jamie slid into bed. First startled, thinking that someone had snuck into the room, Dakota lashed out and struck him in the chest, then stumbled back and out of the bed in a tangle of blankets.

“Shit,” the older man said, voice tinged with humor. “I didn’t know you were so jumpy.”

“Neither did I,” Dakota said, grimacing. He tore himself free of the bedding and stood. “I thought I would hear you come in.”

“The door’s not very quiet.”

“That’s my point.”

Shrugging, Jamie reached forward and began to help Dakota remake the bed. In almost-pure darkness, it was hard to tell what exactly they were doing, but they managed to get the bed made in a somewhat-organized state before they both collapsed onto it.

“How was your watch?” Dakota asked, sighing when Jamie settled the blankets over both of them.

“It was ok.”

“Is it still raining?”

“Drizzling, if that counts.” Jamie set an arm over his side. “Sorry I scared you.”

“I don’t care.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“You know you can.”

Dakota sat up. Though Jamie remained on his side, Dakota could tell he was being watched. He could feel the man’s eyes boring into his soul like a cat clinging to his arm. It didn’t hurt, because the cat’s claws weren’t out and its teeth weren’t sinking into his wrist, but the added pressure was enough to make him feel uncomfortable.

Let him come around—it’ll be easier than forcing him to do something he doesn’t want to do.

Good old Steve, always knowing the right thing to say.

“Do you remember what we talked about this morning?” he asked. “Did you think about anything I said?”

“I did,” Jamie said.

“And?”

“I still don’t think we should say anything about it yet.”

Dakota nodded. He settled back down beside Jamie and drew up close to his side.

“You’re not disappointed in me, are you?”

“No,” Dakota whispered. “Of course I’m not.”

He reached down, laced their fingers together, and took the breath he’d so desperately been wanting to take.

He’ll come around, Steve had said.

He sure hoped so.

“They’re getting closer,” Dakota mumbled.

The mob had begun to accumulate in front of the asylum over the past few days. Driven from Arcburrow’s vacant market district most likely by sleet and rain, they’d first shambled down the stretch of road that led to the interstate, then detoured onto the path that led to Saint David’s Ward and the other few measly stores that dared to propagate in the face of insanity. It seemed pointless for them to travel in this general direction, given the lack of human activity, but for whatever reason, they stepped foot onto the road and didn’t stop walking.

Upon entering the jagged, indirect path, they’d quickly become trapped by the manmade roadblock constructed by cars and other debris. Unable to move forward, they’d simply remained in place. As such, they hadn’t left.

They won’t leave, Dakota thought. There’s no reason for them to.

Standing amidst the tattered display of death and destruction, Dakota slid his hands into his pockets and watched Jamie light a cigarette. His hand up, then over, the click of a zippo sounded in his ears before the scent of smoke drifted into his nose.

In the parking lot below, a zombie dressed as Santa Clause looked up.

“It heard you,” Dakota whispered, gesturing Jamie to settle down in one of two chairs in the eastern watch tower.

“I noticed,” Jamie chuckled, then, in a sing-songy voice, added, “He knows when you are sleeping, he knows when you’re awake.”

“More like he knows where you are breathing,” Dakota said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Heh. I guess it’d be funnier if we didn’t have to worry about them breaking in.”

“They’re not gonna break in, Dakota. We’ll lure them off just like we always do.”

“There’s getting to be too many, Jamie. You can’t expect our tricks to work forever.”

“They’ve worked up until now.”

Dakota shook his head. Frowning, Jamie took another drag off his cigarette, then pushed it over. At that moment, Dakota thought it was the exact thing he needed. The first breath of nicotine that spiked his brain instantly calmed him. “This the reason you smoke?” he chuckled.

“I guess. I picked it up in the army.”

“Helps your nerves?”

“It does.”

It’s sure helping mine.

Taking another drag, Dakota passed the cigarette back to his boyfriend, then stood and made his way to the railing. The zombie Santa had apparently lost interest in the click of the zippo and had wandered to the other side of the street, toward the photography store he’d heard they’d initially rescued Desmond from.

“Nothing to worry about,” Jamie said, pressing a hand against his lower back. “I’ll have someone get on the roof and start luring them away again.”

“Again,” Dakota said.

“Huh?”

“You said again. We’ve had to do this twice in the past three days.”

“I can’t help what they do.”

“I know. That’s what scares me so much.”

Jamie stood, set the cigarette between his lips, then wrapped his arms around Dakota’s waist.

“Jamie?” he whispered.

“Huh?”

“What’ll happen if no one comes for us?”

“I don’t like to think about that. It’s better to think someone will come than to think no one ever will.”

Dakota tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Was it really better to be ignorant and hope that someone would come for them?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t think he wanted to.

Jamie raised his voice to draw the group’s attention. “Listen up, everyone! I’ve got something I want to talk to you about.”

“Is this about the zombies?” Dustin asked.

“Somewhat,” Jamie replied, waiting for the last of the voices to die down. “As you all are aware, we’ve been having a bit of difficulty keeping the zombies away from the asylum. This is in part due to the barrier we’ve constructed on the west side of the road. This means the only way the zombies can leave is to the east, up the snake road that leads to the main highway.”

“So what you’re saying,” Ian spoke up, “is that they’re basically trapped.”

“Exactly,” Jamie said. “This concerns me mostly because they’ve been hanging around the road. The only thing separating us from them is a chain-link fence.”

“Simple solution,” Kirn said. “We shoot the bastards.”

“Shooting is only going to draw more of them,” Erik said. He glanced up from his food to look Kirn straight in the eye. “You know, a loud noise plus zombies equals a swarm.”

“I know that, dumbass. We should just build a gate to keep the fuckers out.”

“Then we’re isolating ourselves away from the road,” Jamie said. “It’s a good idea, but if we need to get out of here fast, we don’t want to have to mess with a gate.”

“Point taken.”

“That wasn’t the only thing I wanted to talk about,” Jamie said. “I wanted to talk about something else.”

The hairs on Dakota’s arms went up.

He isn’t…

“I’m sure all of you are aware that I’ve been sneaking around at night,” Jamie began, instantly silencing the table with the thought of accusation alone. “Now, before I continue, let me just say that I haven’t been up to anything that’s going to hurt the group, at least not physically.”

“You been sneaking around on us, captain?” Wills asked.

“In a way, yes, Wills, I have.” Jamie swallowed. “I wanted to come clean about something before I lost the balls to do it.”

He’s not going to say it.

“I’m gay, and I’m in love with someone who means very much to me.”

Almost instantly, all eyes turned on Dakota.

Great. Now I’m the lamb in the lion’s den.

“You’re a fag?” Kirn asked, turning his eyes on Jamie after he gave Dakota the worst glare he could possibly summon.

“Yeah, but I’d prefer you not use that word around me.”

“I’m not listening to some fag.”

“What the fuck does it matter?” Erik asked.

“He’s a fuckin’ fag, Erik.”

“I know, you fucking dumbass. I’ve been his best friend for years.”

“And you don’t have a problem with him taking it up the ass, huh?”

“Do you have a problem with it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Seems like the only person that would have a problem with it is someone who doesn’t want anyone to know he might like it,” Michael muttered.

Several people around the table chuckled, including Alexis. Her heightened pitch instantly singled her out to Kirn and Wills’ stares. “Hey, bitch,” Wills said. “What’s so funny?”

“You are,” Alexis shot back. “You sure are making a big deal out of something so stupid, aren’t you, guys? Something tells me you might have something to hide.”

“Fuck you whore,” Kirn growled. “At least I’m not going around sleeping with—”

“That’s enough,” Jamie said.

“Fuck you, faggot. Go let your boyfriend give it to you up the ass.”

“Would you like to leave, Kirn?”

“What?”

“I said, would you like to leave? Because if you don’t shut your fucking mouth, both of you are free to go.”

“I’m not listening to some fag.”

“Then you can leave. The front door’s right there, complete with a four-or-five-dozen zombies.”

Neither man said a word in response. Dakota grimaced as a fire started coursing through his chest, quickening his heartbeat and shortening his breaths. Steve set a hand across his back and squeezed his shoulder. It’s all right, his friend mouthed.

Dakota reached down to grip Steve’s other hand in response.

“Fine,” Kirn finally said. “Come on, Wills. We’ll leave then.”

“I don’t want any more of this bullshit,” Jamie said, raising his voice as the two men took their trays and began to walk back toward their room. “I mean it, Kirn, Wills. Keep causing trouble and you’ll be out of here before you can say the word bullshit!”

The door to their room slammed shut.

The air now free of animosity, Jamie turned his attention on Dakota. His features softened the moment he lay eyes on him. “I love you, babe.”

“Why did you do this, Jamie?”

“Because I couldn’t hide the way I feel anymore.”

Erik raised both hands and clapped. Dustin and Michael followed suit, quickly followed by the rest of the table. Jamie’s lips parted in a smile as the sound began to die down.

“You didn’t have to do this for me, Jamie.”

“I know,” Jamie said. “I did it for myself.”

Dakota smiled. “Thank you,” he said, blinking out a single tear.

“You don’t have to thank me for the way I feel.”

Standing, Steve pulled his chair aside and gestured Jamie to come sit in it. “You probably want to sit here,” he said.

Jamie stepped out and made his way around the table. “I do,” he said.

When Jamie settled down in the chair next to him, Dakota smiled.

Maybe this was it.

Maybe things really would be fine after all.

CHAPTER 6

Screams and gunfire shattered his world and tore his heart to pieces.

Forced from a dream of the absolute greatest things in the world, Dakota threw himself forward, breathless and not sure what exactly was happening. “What’s going on?” he asked, looking at Jamie, who seemed just as startled.

“I don’t know,” Jamie said, throwing himself from bed and pulling a pair of pants up his legs. “Stay here.”

“Fuck that!” Dakota cried, jumping out of bed.

“Do as I say, Dakota!”

A scream, then a round of gunfire drowned out the sound of Jamie’s voice.

Shortly thereafter, a groan of collapsing metal echoed across the building.

Dakota’s heart stopped beating in his chest.

It’s happened, he thought. It’s happened!

Jamie shoved a gun into Dakota’s hand. “We’re leaving,” he said, strapping his rifle across his shoulders.

“But you said—”

“Doesn’t matter!” Jamie cried. “Go! GO!”

Dakota threw the door open and ran through the main corridor and into the front lobby. He stopped immediately upon seeing a group of zombies pounding against the revolving glass doors.

They’re gonna get in.

“WHERE IS EVERYBODY?” Dakota screamed.

“I DON’T KNOW!” Jamie cried.

Steve, Ian and Erik bounded around the corner.

The front doors collapsed inward as the zombies surged forward.

“STEVE!” Dakota screamed.

“GO! GO!” Steve cried, waving his hand forward as the three fell back against a side entrance to Dakota’s right. “RUN DAKOTA! RUN!”

“STEVE!”

Ian reached back, grabbed the doorknob, and twisted the door open. All three men fell back and out the door just as the zombies began to swarm into the base.

“NO!” Dakota screamed, throwing himself forward. “STEVE!”

“THEY’LL BE FINE!” Jamie cried. “Let’s go!”

“JAMIE!” Desmond called, waving his arms at the top of the stairs. “Up here! Hurry!”

He wasted no time. Jamie hurled Dakota’s sobbing form over his shoulder and threw himself toward the staircase, bounding up the steps as though nothing could keep him from his destination. Dakota could do little other than keep a hold of his boyfriend’s belt as he was jostled to and fro, watching the crowd of zombies part ways toward both the stairs and the side entrance his friends had just run out of.

Steve, he thought, tears cresting his cheeks. Ian, Erik.

He was thrown forward and into the middle of the of the second-floor hallway.

“Where is everyone?” Jamie asked, shaking Desmond’s shoulders. “WHERE ARE THEY, BOY?”

“THEY’RE GONE!” Desmond sobbed.

“Who’s gone? Tell me!”

“Dustin, Michael and Alexis! They went out the fire escape on this floor!”

They’re alive, Dakota thought, trembling, head ready to explode at the deafening sound of the zombies in the lobby.

“What about Kirn, Wills? What happened to them?”

“They were on guard duty,” Desmond said. “Wills slipped on something and went over. Kirn opened the gates and they swarmed.”

“GODDAMMIT!” Jamie screamed. “GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!”

A running zombie howled and threw itself toward the stairway.

From his place over Jamie’s shoulder, Dakota raised his gun and fired a shot into its chest. It flew back off the stairs and into a smaller group desperately trying to maneuver their way up the stairs, instantly knocking them off balance and onto the floor.

“We gotta go,” Dakota said, eerily calm for no reason at all. “We can’t stay here.”

“Where are we going?” Desmond sobbed.

“There’s a truck depot on the corner,” Jamie said, placing Dakota to the ground and grabbing both of their shoulders before throwing them down the hallway. “Go! Run!”

Dakota took off running. Desmond at his side, Jamie close behind, he rounded the table to his left while Desmond took the opposite side. Jamie jumped up onto the table and used the forward momentum of its resounding pendulum affect to throw himself in line with the two of them just as a group of runners breached the second floor.

“GO!” Jamie screamed.

A spray of automatic rifle fire lit up the hallway.

Dakota grabbed Desmond’s shirt and threw him toward the partially-open fire escape.

“GO!” Dakota said, drawing his gun and firing a few shots to cover Jamie as he ran in their direction. One of the infected’s legs went out under its body as Dakota shot it in the hip, sending it sideways into another. The sickly scream of rage that followed forced him to fire three shots in rapid succession, all but destroying the zombie against the wall and sending the other one to the floor.

When Jamie caught pace, he turned and sprayed a few rounds into the two remaining infected. The blood that splattered from the first one’s chest painted the windows red, casting the room in a morbid shade of death.

“Go! Go!” Jamie shouted.

Dakota slid his gun into his pants and ran out the fire escape.

Jamie had just enough time to slam the fire escape door shut before the shambling zombies made their way to it.

“Where are we going?” Desmond asked, grimacing as he saw the wave of zombies surging into the building.

“There,” Jamie said, jabbing his finger at the truck dealership on the corner of the road.

“How are we gonna get there?” Dakota asked. “It’s too far for us to run.”

“One of us is going to have to go.”

“ALONE?”

“Alone,” Jamie said. “Who runs the fastest?”

“I do,” Desmond said.

“How do you know?”

“I ran track in high school. I was the best on my team.”

“Desmond, you—”

“You have to let him go!” Dakota cried. “He’s got the best chance of making it there, Jamie.”

“I’m going,” Desmond said, taking hold of the single ladder that led to the ground.

Jamie reached down to grip the boy’s shoulder as he began to descend the stairs. “The keys will be in the manager’s office.”

“What if I can’t find them?”

“You will,” Jamie assured him. “Now go. Me and Dakota will cover you.”

The boy took one last look up at them, then made his way down the ladder. Once on the ground, he bounded across the parking lot and jumped over the freshly-downed fence, careful to make his way around any of the zombies in his way.

“Look at him,” Jamie said, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the sun.

“He’s fast,” Dakota said, sighing when he saw Desmond make his way to the front of the dealership. The boy wrapped his hand around the doorknob and tried to pull it open, but couldn’t. “Shit.”

“Shit is right,” Jamie said. He raised his gun and took aim. “DESMOND!” he called. “DUCK!”

The moment the boy threw himself to the ground, Jamie opened fire.

The row of glass windows blanketing the side of the building collapsed inward in a rain of glass.

Startled, Desmond looked at them, then to the broken remnants of the windows before ducking into the building.

“Fuck,” Dakota whispered, looking down at the mob of zombies below them.

“It’s the lesser of two evils,” Jamie said, looking out at the parking lot in front of them. The sound of a vehicle starting in the distance made Jamie frown. “Steve.”

“Steve?”

“That was them.”

“How do you know?”

“They went in that general direction,” Jamie sighed, leaning against the railing. He tried not to look down at the undead below them, but couldn’t help himself.

“Can we catch them?” Dakota asked.

Jamie shook his head. “No. We can’t.”

“Then what do we do?”

“I always told Erik that if something ever happened, we’d go home,” Jamie said, looking up at Dakota. “He’ll stick to that plan.”

“Where’s home?”

“I’ve already told you. Idaho.”

“I thought you said Iowa,” Dakota laughed, frowning when Jamie shook his head. He burst into tears soon after. “You mean…you mean they’ll have to go all that way?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to them,” Jamie said. “I promise.”

“What about Dustin, Michael and Alexis?”

“They’re on their own from here.” Jamie closed his eyes. “We can’t do anything for them.”

The sound of an engine revving up drew both of their eyes toward the truck dealership. “Is that Desmond?”

A huge red truck barreled out of the building and toward the asylum.

“Get ready,” Jamie said, slugging his gun out from over his shoulder. “I’m going first, you come second.”

Dakota drew his gun and allowed himself a moment as Jamie slid down the ladder. When he thought that none of the infected would turn around and pursue Jamie, he started down the ladder, praying that nothing bad would happen in the next few minutes.

This is it.

Desmond honked the horn.

Jamie, Dakota, and the zombies looked up.

“COME AND GET SOME OF THIS!” Desmond screamed out the open window.

The boy slammed his foot on the gas.

The truck lurched forward and swallowed a group of zombies under its massive tires.

“You ready?” Jamie asked. “On my mark. One… two…”

This isn’t going to go well.

“THREE!”

They both took off at the exact same time. A group of zombies took notice and stumbled toward them. Jamie slammed his elbow into one of their chests and sprayed the biggest group to their right with machinegun fire. Dakota, meanwhile, fired a shot into the face of a woman who appeared to be nothing more than normal. The thought of her being freshly turned briefly occurred to him after she went down, but he couldn’t bother to dwell on it for long. The truck was no more than a few dozen feet in front of them, and he had to remain focused.

Focused, he thought, raising his gun and firing another shot. Focused.

Jamie jammed his hand back behind him. Dakota took it and allowed him to pull them closer together.

“DESMOND!” Jamie cried. “Reverse and slam into them!”

The boy gunned the truck into reverse, taking out a few of the zombies loitering around the vehicle in the process, then slammed it forward again, side-sweeping a crowd and blocking off the majority pooling out of the front doors.

The boy leaned into the passenger seat and threw the door open.

“COME ON!” he screamed.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Jamie lifted Dakota into his arms and hurled him into the vehicle.

Dakota’s head collided with the center console.

A flash of white-hot light exploded over his vision, stabbing needles into the center of his head. The white fog cleared long enough for him to fire off a shot just as Jamie was climbing into the car.

The corpse fell back, allowing Jamie to slam the door shut.

Desmond clicked the locks shut, grabbed the shift, pushed it into gear, then tore out of the parking lot as fast as he could.

Dakota’s vision began to spin.

“Dakota?” Jamie asked, his voice fading.

“I’m…ok,” Dakota said. “I just hit my head.”

He blacked out a moment later.

The last thing he saw was Jamie screaming at Desmond.

Dakota woke what seemed like days later. Head throbbing and mouth so parched he could barely move it, he opened his eyes to find himself lying in the backseat, face-up and head propped on top of a towel.

Where am I?

It took him but a moment to remember their frantic flight from Saint David’s. It took him an even shorter amount of time to start crying once he thought of Steve, Ian and Erik all by themselves.

“It’ll be ok,” he whispered, trying hard to convince himself but grimacing as more needles stabbed into his brain. They’ll be just fine. Erik’ll take care of them.

He pushed himself into a sitting position and looked into the front seat, expecting to find Desmond and Jamie dozing or at least sitting there in silence. When he didn’t, however, his eyes immediately fell to the front window, where he found the truck to be sitting on the side of the road next to what appeared to be a bed and breakfast.

How far out are we?

He looked at the clock. Though the display read 11:35, that gave him no indication as to how long he had been passed out.

Head throbbing, eyes still raw from crying, he looked to his right just in time to see Jamie and Desmond coming out of the building.

Thank God.

He opened the door. “Hey,” Jamie said.

“Hey,” Dakota replied, shielding his eyes from the glaring light. “How long was I out?”

“Three hours,” Desmond said. He gestured Dakota to slide over so he could sit one of the boxes on the floor. “You hungry?”

“What’s in there?”

“Chips.”

Dakota helped himself. Jamie leaned into the vehicle, set his box on the floor beside Desmond’s, then pushed himself further inside to plant a kiss on Dakota’s lips. “How you feeling?”

“My head hurts like hell, but I’ll live.”

“We’ll stop at a gas station and see if we can find any painkillers. Sorry I had to throw you in.”

“That’s ok.” Dakota chuckled. “Just as long as we’re safe.”

“We are. Desmond did a helluva job driving.”

“I tried,” the boy said, sliding into the passenger seat.

“You did good,” Dakota nodded. “You run fast too.”

“I tried.”

“You did more than try,” Jamie said. “You saved our lives, bud. You should be proud.”

Desmond merely frowned. Jamie closed both doors before circling around the vehicle to crawl into the driver’s seat.

“Which way are we headed?” Dakota questioned.

“I couldn’t get on the other side of the road. We’re heading toward Minnesota.”

“Minnesota?”

“We’re gonna keep heading this way, then take the interstate down to Indianapolis before taking I-80 through Nebraska and Wyoming.”

“I know you’ll get us there,” Dakota said.

“Definitely.” Jamie started the truck. “It’ll take us a few hours to get to Minnesota. I’m not sure how the two of you feel, but I’d rather keep driving for as long as we can.”

“I can switch off with you again,” Desmond said. “I don’t think Dakota’s up for driving though.”

“No,” Dakota admitted, grimacing as Jamie maneuvered the truck onto the road. “Not now.”

“I don’t want him driving anyway,” Jamie said, “especially after he passed out.”

Jamie looked up into the rearview mirror and smiled reassuringly at Dakota. Dakota smiled back.

As they started forward, toward Minnesota and the next chapter in their lives, Dakota felt a pang of guilt for ever feeling safe at the asylum.

All good things eventually came to an end. He’d have to remember that.

They drove through the day and late into the night. The interstate was all but empty, an act marked not by cars or the undead—who, in low numbers, seemed to follow the roads as though driven by some clearer instinct. The weather clear, the sun was out, and little hindered them from their pursuit of safety up until evening. About that time, a light drizzle began, followed by what eventually turned into a full-blown thunderstorm.

“We can’t drive in this,” Desmond said, finger placidly tapping the glass as a flash of lightening momentarily lit up the hazy night sky.

“Yeah we can,” Jamie said. “It’s just a little rain.”

A crack of thunder sounded overheard.

The rain thickened and drowned out the fog in front of them.

Dakota swallowed a lump in his throat.

You can’t drive in this, he thought, watching the windshield wipers struggle even to push the rain to the side, let alone clear them of any water. You’d be crazy to think you could.

“You need to stop,” Desmond said, this time turning his head to look at Jamie.

When Jamie began to protest, Dakota cut him off. “Listen to him, Jamie. Please pull over.”

“There’s no point in driving if you can’t see where you’re going,” Desmond continued. “Let’s stop, Jamie. We’ll just look like another car on the side of the road.”

Jamie shook his head. His hands tightened around the wheel, bleaching his knuckles to a ghastly shade of white. For a moment, Dakota thought he would ignore them and keep driving, completely disregarding any sense of safety in favor of finding a more suitable location. Then he sighed and pulled over to the side of the road, disengaging the vehicle upon finding a stable place to park. “All right,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “We’ll stop.”

Dakota tightened his grip on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Jamie tensed under the pressure, but soon relaxed and let out a sigh. “See?” Dakota asked, stroking the muscles under his fingers. “You feel better already, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“It’s been a long day,” Desmond murmured. “We need some sleep.”

“It’s gonna get cold in here,” Jamie said. “I think it’ll be ok if we leave the heater on though. The storm shouldn’t last for long.”

“You’re not going to drive once it stops, are you?” Dakota asked.

“There’s no point in sitting out in the open.”

“If it stops in an hour,” Desmond began, “I’ll drive. I’ve had more sleep than you have.”

“You sure you’re ok navigating these roads?”

“I’m fine with them. I’m just not sure about getting down to Indianapolis.”

“I’ll be awake before we get anywhere near I-35,” Jamie said, reaching down to recline his seat. “You fine with my seat being above your head, babe?”

“That works for me,” Dakota said, spreading out along his side. He waited for both Jamie and Desmond to recline their seats before snaking an arm around to set his hand on his boyfriend’s arm. “You sure you’re ok?”

“I’m fine. It’s you I’ve been worried about.”

“I feel better than I did earlier.”

“I don’t like it when people black out.”

“Neither do I,” Dakota chuckled, “especially when it’s me.”

Jamie touched his hand, the tips of his fingers cresting the bridge of his knuckles. Dakota sighed contentedly.

The low purr of the heater did little to drown out the sounds of the raging storm.

Morning came early with the sound of rolling tires and rain. Brought to consciousness by the moving vehicle, Dakota opened his eyes, half-expecting to be just imagining the movement happening below him. However, when he tilted his head back and saw the hazy sky quickly swimming by, he knew he couldn’t be imagining things.

Unless I’m dreaming, he thought, shivering. It had been no more than a moment ago that he’d been startled awake by the image of a zombie lashing out at he and Jamie as they were running toward the truck, desperate to escape from the asylum they’d called home for a time.

“You awake?” Desmond asked.

Dakota nodded, pushing himself up.

Desmond looked into the rearview mirror to acknowledge Dakota’s presence before returning his eyes to the road. “We’re in Minnesota now.”

“We are?”

“Uh huh.”

Dakota leaned into the front seat to look at Jamie and smiled when he saw him still sleeping. He planted a brief kiss on Jamie’s stubbly cheek. “How long have you been driving?”

“Three or four hours.”

“The rain let up pretty quickly then.”

“Uh huh. I had a bad dream and told Jamie to switch with me when I saw that the rain had let up.”

“Only a drizzle now,” Dakota sighed, leaning back in his seat. He strapped the seatbelt across his waist and pushed his arms over his head. “You want me to drive?”

“Jamie said not to let you.”

“I’m feeling better.”

“Still…” Desmond paused, “I’d feel more comfortable if you didn’t.”

“Just offering.”

“I know. I’d let you, but I don’t want Jamie mad at me.”

“I doubt he’d be mad, but I can understand how you wouldn’t want to upset him.”

Especially after what happened the first time I did it.

Shaking his head, Dakota closed his eyes, only opening them when he felt a chill creep along his lower arms. “Is the heater on?” he asked.

“It should be.”

“It’s cold back here.”

“I think there’s a few vents back there. See if you can find them.”

Dakota did. He leaned forward and messed with a few settings on the dividing console and sighed when he felt welcoming warm air blowing out at him. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“You have any idea how long it’ll take to where we’re going?”

“Not sure,” Desmond sighed. “I tried messing with the GPS, but it doesn’t work. The satellites must have gone down.”

“So much for common luxury.”

“No kidding, huh?”

Dakota nodded. He was about to lean forward to say something else when he saw something glimmering in front of the road.

“What the…?” Desmond said.

Jamie stirred. “Wha?” he asked, eyes fluttering open.

“There’s something in the road,” Dakota said, pointing.

“Aww fuck,” Desmond groaned, slowing the truck to a stop.

Dead ahead of them, near a turn-off into the woods and directly in front of their path, a mass of cars and twisted heaps of metal lay like pigs long-dead and gutted in a butcher shop. Jamie, who’d been asleep until that moment, shot up to view the scene before them. It took but a moment for his face to twist into a snarl and his cheeks to brighten as though blood vessels had just exploded below their surfaces. “GODDAMMIT!” he cried, slamming his hand into the dash.

“Don’t do that,” Dakota said, snatching his boyfriend’s arm before he could slam his fist down again.

“Don’t do that? Dakota, you’re fuckin’ crazy! What the hell are we supposed to do now?”

“Well,” Desmond said, trailing his voice off as though unsure to proceed. “There is one thing we can do.”

“What?” Jamie asked. The boy pointed at the turn-off. Jamie’s face brightened even further. “You can’t be serious.”

“What else can we do?”

“Can we jump the divider?” Dakota asked, looking to his right. “I mean, there aren’t any cars on that side.”

“There’s no way this truck can jump that,” Desmond said. “Even if we could find something to use as a ramp, it’d be no use. The truck’s too heavy. We’d just get stuck on it.”

Jamie let out a long, hard exhale and brought a hand to his forehead, rubbing his temples as though he’d suddenly been struck by a migraine. It sure appeared that way, given the flush in his skin and the tremble in his wrist.

“Jamie?” Dakota asked.

“Go,” Jamie said.

“What?” Desmond asked.

“I said go,” Jamie repeated, lifting his head. “Go. Turn off. Do something. I can’t stand sitting here.”

“If you don’t want me to turn off, I don’t have to.”

“There’s no point in just sitting here, Desmond. If we can’t get to where we’re going the short way, we’ll go the long way.”

“You sure you know where to go?” Desmond asked, switching gears and making the brief turn that would take them off the interstate.

“That’s what maps are for,” Jamie sighed.

No one said a word as Desmond broke through the treeline.

Illusion took precedence over reality. What appeared to be one road was actually another. One house looked the same as the next. Trees extended for miles on end without any sign of difference between one crop or the other. They went in circles, Dakota knew, even though they were only taking the occasional turn, and by the time night fell, all three of them were at their wits’ end.

“This is ridiculous,” Jamie sighed, defeated, collapsing back into his seat as Desmond pulled over to look at the map in the center console. “We’ve been going at this for hours.”

“You can’t even read the map,” the boy said. He, too, was angry, despite his usually-calm and reserved demeanor. His voice carved daggers in the air and drew fresh blood from microscopic particles. “What the hell are we supposed to do?”

“Keep going?” Dakota offered.

“There’s no point in that,” Jamie sighed. A growl rose in his throat when he saw that the sun was beginning to set behind a hill and the sky was dampening to a dull hue of grey. “I don’t know what to do.”

“There’s not much we can do,” Desmond said. “Maybe we should just stop for the night, see if we can get into someone’s house.”

“For what?”

“Food, maybe a map.”

“We’ve got food in here, buddy.”

“I want to get out of the truck.”

“I do too, but there’s no point in drawing attention to ourselves.”

Dakota leaned back. While Jamie and Desmond argued in the front seat, their tempers finally getting the best of them, he looked outside and frowned at how fast the sky seemed to darken. Maybe it was just a Minnesota thing, but regardless, it set his nerves on edge, especially with the commotion going on in the seats in front of him.

They’ll stop, he told himself, trying not to keep track of the time in front of him. Really. They will.

They kept fighting, on and off, for the next half-hour. By the time they stopped, it was full dark.

“Let’s just stay here for the night,” Jamie said, reaching over to disengage the vehicle. “We’re obviously too tired and angry to think about anything rationally.”

Desmond said, “Whatever.”

Dakota caught the beginnings of a snarl on Jamie’s face. He shook his head slightly, just enough for his boyfriend to catch the point. “Either of you want to sleep in the back tonight?”

No one answered.

A light blinked on in the distance.

Am I seeing things? Dakota thought.“Did you guys see that?” he asked.

“See what?” Jamie asked.

“That light.”

“What light?”

“There.” Dakota pointed. “Look.”

Jamie waited. When the glimmer didn’t shine, he sighed and tilted his head slightly. “Really, Dakota, I’m not in the mood for—”

The flicker cut Jamie off midsentence.

“I saw it,” Desmond said. “You had to have.”

“I did,” Jamie said. “Start the truck.”

“What if it’s trouble?” Dakota asked. He thought of all those weeks ago in Steve’s apartment, when the gang had first showed up and their lights had lit up the night sky.

Steve.

He managed to hold back a tremble of emotion when Jamie pushed himself up in his seat and set his jaw. For a moment, he simply sat there, watching the distant light swing back and forth, then he knocked his knuckles on his window and shook his head. “If it’s trouble, we’ll handle it. Right now, I just want to figure out where the hell we’re supposed to go.”

Desmond flicked the key in the ignition and flashed the lights twice in response. The light in the distance stopped swaying, went out, then blinked back at them two times. “They see us.”

“Go,” Jamie said.

Dakota found himself wanting to cross his fingers as Desmond put the truck in gear and maneuvered back onto the road, toward the hill where the beacon of hope continued to glimmer in absolute darkness. He contained himself though, preferring reality to deal its dues than to wish for good with false superstition of childhood belief.

The pressure of Jamie’s hand falling over his knocked him from his thoughts. “We’re cool,” he said. “We’ve got guns.”

“And a truck,” Desmond added.

Dakota smiled.

The truck lurched up the hill as Desmond switched gears, then a tall wooden fence and a breathtaking pasture flashed into view.

“Like their own little Eden,” Jamie muttered, leaning forward as the beacon’s light tilted into the air and began to wave at them from the side of their road.

“What do I do?” Desmond asked, pushing his foot on the brake.

“Pull over when you get close enough,” Jamie said. “Roll my window down. If something goes bad, floor it.”

“Got it.”

Desmond switched to the lowest gear and pulled up to the side of the road.

His hand fell to the stick and put it into neutral.

Like a will-o-wisp slowly drifting across the horizon, the light moved forward until, finally, a Native American man with long white hair came into view. Jamie pushed his finger onto the passenger armrest and rolled the window down.

“Good evening,” the Native said.

“Evening,” Jamie said. “We’re kind of lost.”

“I can see that, sir. Not many people come back here. Not many people around to come back here either, if you think about it.”

“Can you help us? We’re trying to get the interstate.”

“I can help you,” the man said. He looked up the road, toward a hooded figure that stood near a gate with a lantern in his hand. “Go tell your father we have visitors.”

“Yes sir,” the figure said, turning to disappear up the road.

“Welcome to our home,” lantern-bearer said. “My name is Eagle. This is the Partridge Family farm.”

CHAPTER 7

“School’s in session,” Erik smirked, slamming the last curtain into the windowsill of Romero’s Charity High School’s teachers’ lounge.

“Never thought I’d be back so soon,” Steve chuckled, settling down into an armchair.

“Me neither,” Ian said. He took a moment to examine their surroundings before collapsing onto a couch. “Where we goin’ from here?”

“Idaho,” Erik said. “That’s been the plan all along.”

“You think Jamie will really be there?” Steve frowned. “I mean, I get the reason behind going, but it’s kind of a longshot to assume that’s where they’ll go.”

“He’ll be there. Jamie and I always told each other that if shit went down, we’d meet up back home. That’s Idaho.”

“I trust you.”

The venom in his chest still hadn’t died down. Nearly three days after being abruptly separated from the rest of their group, Steve still couldn’t quell the feeling of helplessness in his chest. He wanted so desperately for them to be together, for them to be safe and away from all the wrong in the world. Most importantly, though, he wanted to know that Dakota was safe.

“It’ll be good,” Erik said.

Steve sighed. “I miss him.”

“Who?”

“The kid.”

“I miss him too,” Ian said.

“He’ll be fine,” Erik said, slapping Steve’s shoulder. “Jamie’ll make sure he stays safe.”

“I don’t doubt that. He is the kid’s boyfriend, after all.”

“So,” Ian said. “Who all made it?”

“Other than us, Dakota and Jamie?” Erik asked. “I don’t know. Probably no one.”

“I heard Desmond yelling from the second floor,” Steve said. “That’s where Jamie took off with Dakota, so I’m sure he’s safe.”

“So that just leaves Dustin, Michael and Alexis,” Ian said. “Anyone know what happened to them?”

Both Steve and Erik shook their heads. “Wish I did,” Steve said.

“I’m sure they’re better off than we are,” Erik said. “If not, we can’t worry about it. I hate to say it, but I hardly knew any of them anyway.”

“No harm in the way you feel.”

“I feel the same way,” Ian confessed.

Steve sighed. He tilted his head back to look at the ceiling. At that moment, all he wanted to do was sleep.

We’ve been going for three days, he thought. You can’t expect yourself to be any better off than you are now.

“Our first priority after we leave is to get a vehicle,” Erik said, drawing both Steve and Ian’s attention toward him. “I say after we get some rest, we go down to the office and see if we can score a set of keys off a secretary’s desk.”

“You really think there’d be some there?” Ian said.

“There were cars in the parking lot, right?”

“That doesn’t mean someone left their keys.”

“With all the commotion that had to have been going on, I’d be surprised if there weren’t any.”

“This school wasn’t on the safe list,” Steve said, his words more a statement than anything. “I heard it on the radio.”

“That’s good to know. At least there won’t be a bunch of zombies.”

“Kid zombies,” Ian shivered. “Ugh.”

“Not a good thing to think about,” Erik agreed. His eyes sought out a single wardrobe in the corner of the room. “Let’s just lay down and get some sleep. We’ll think more about what we’re going to do in the morning.”

Night seemed to pass quickly. A moment, a second, a brief inhale and a strong exhale—you could live your whole life and no one would even begin to notice, let alone care what had just happened after you stopped breathing at twelve AM. Time is measured in math, not moments, and those few moments worth measuring are often reduced to numbers and lost in the back bins of some old closet.

Were someone to measure the moment three men woke in a high school teacher’s longue and prepared to make the flight of their life, they would have calculated their number, their age, and the statistics for how likely they were to survive the next three weeks. When they finished crunching the numbers, they would find that their chances of survival were little to none. Regardless, numbers had never stopped miracles, nor had there ever been a shortage of miracles in this world. Miracles didn’t need statistics. They just happened.

“This is what we’re going to do,” Erik said, pressing a finger to a fire escape diagram on the wall. “One of us is going to go up this long, center hallway and make a left once we find the janitor’s closet, then make our way down this corridor until we hit the front office. If we can’t find anything there, we’re going to start hitting classrooms one by one until we find something.”

“And if we don’t?” Ian frowned.

“Like he said,” Steve smiled, “there was too much commotion for anyone to be in their right mind. Someone had to have left their keys here.”

“I’m just sayin’, don’t get your hopes up. We might not find anything at all.”

“No point in having a pessimistic attitude,” Erik said, cocking his revolver and passing it over to Steve. “Who wants to go?”

“I will,” Steve offered. He took a moment to acquaint himself with the weapon before him—a classy, bronze-colored and red-handled gentleman’s revolver—before looking back up at the two of them. “What’re you guys going to do?”

“Ian and I are going this way.” Erik traced a loop near the bottom of the map. “There’s a cafeteria here. We should be able to find some supplies.”

“How do you plan on getting it out to the parking lot?”

“Other than carrying it? They should have a pulley, I suppose.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ian said.

Steve shrugged. “I guess we’ll go then.”

He leaned forward, opened the door, and slipped out without another word.

Pale light seeped through frosted glass windows, casting the hallway in faint shades of grey and yellow. As Steve made his way down the hall, his heart in a less-than-stellar place and his mind in a heightened state of alert, he sighed when he found a classroom and couldn’t look in. It seemed ironic to think that such frosted glass was once used to keep someone from looking in at the people inside. Now with nothing to look in at, he wondered why anyone would ever feel uncomfortable knowing that someone was always watching out for them, especially at a school.

That’s the way the world used to work, he thought, letting his gun hang at his side. But not anymore.

Shaking his head, he readjusted his grip on the revolver and continued down the hallway, already well aware that his journey was much shorter than he had initially anticipated, though whether it was from the warped sense of distance on the teacher lounge map or the brief span of the hallways, he couldn’t tell.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said to himself. “Makes it easier for me to make it back if something goes wrong.”

A shadow flickered in the corner of the room.

He paused, raising his gun.

The light flickered once more and revealed a child’s poster dangling off the wall.

Thank God, he thought, sighing, reaching up to wipe the single bead of sweat off his forehead. Just a poster. A goddamn poster.

His relief was short-lived, however, when a thought struck him.

How could there be a draft if there was nothing for the air to come in through?

It’s a vent, Steve—get a hold of yourself. You know it’s a fucking vent.

He didn’t bother to dwell on his thought. He simply turned left and made his way down the hall.

She jumped him just as he pulled a key from the very back drawer in a secretary’s desk. Nails jagged and screams harsh, she grabbed his arm and spun him around, giving Steve just enough time to kick her away from him before he collapsed back onto the table.

“FUCK!” he cried, raising his gun.

A single swipe from her bony hand sent the revolver flying into the office windows.

The gun went off.

“Got it,” Ian said, loading the box up onto the pulley.

“Thank God,” Erik sighed, shaking his head.

“At least now we won’t go hungry.”

“Right about that.”

A gunshot went off.

Both men froze in place.

“You think Steve ran into trouble?” Ian asked quickly.

They both started running.

“Fucking BITCH!” Steve screamed, kicking her in the face as she came in for another attack. She flew back into another desk and went soaring over it, the momentum of such strike and impact sending her first onto the table, then back over it. This pause in activity gave Steve just enough time to throw himself from the desk and onto the floor.

Where the fuck is my gun?

The bronze metal glinted in the pale light.

He lunged.

A hand wrapped around his leg and began dragging him backward.

Kicking out with his opposite leg, Steve struck the corpse in the ankle, then brought his other foot into her crotch. She screamed—not in pain, but frustration—and tried to jump, but he braced his ankle against her leg and slammed his foot into her knee.

Bones cracked under pressure.

Both opponents screamed.

Her leg bowed back and sent her tumbling to the ground.

Steve rolled into the threshold, grabbed his gun, and fired three shots into her head.

“STEVE!” someone called. “STEVE!”

“I’m ok,” Steve gasped, heart thundering in his chest. “I’m ok, I’m ok.”

“What happened?” Erik asked, falling to his knees.

“She jumped me,” he said.

“You’re bleeding.”

Steve looked down. Fresh blood slicked through his fingers and onto the floor. He uncurled his fingers to find the key still in his grasp, the jagged tip embedded into his palm. “Fuck,” he laughed. “I still fucking have it.”

Ian hoisted Steve to his feet. “Can you get it out?”

Steve pulled the metal object out with a simple tug. He grimaced as a fresh bolt of pain bloomed in his hand.

Erik clapped Steve’s back. “We’ve got some stuff. Let’s go get it and get the fuck out here.”

Minutes later, they were loading the contents of the pulley into the back of an SUV when Ian gave a cautious glance back at the school.

“What?” Erik asked.

“I thought I heard something,” the big man said, muscles tensing in his upper arms.

“Was that the only one in there, Steve?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, grimacing. His hand was still bleeding, despite the makeshift bandage Erik had made out of a piece of his torn shirt. “If there were more, I didn’t see them.”

“I don’t like this,” Ian said, heaving the last box into the back of the vehicle. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

“Agreed,” Erik said.

Steve gave the pulley one mighty shove and watched it roll off into the deeper part of the parking lot, then as it curved along the incline in the hill and stopped, only for it to begin to slowly turn.

Its front wheels shifted. The pulley reoriented itself, then began to slide down the hill, toward where a group of brand new cars sat parked in front of the school.

“Oh fuck,” Steve said.

“What?” Erik asked.

The pulley slammed into the back of a car.

The alarm went off.

A zombie long-rotten from the effects of the sun peeked over the back seat and screamed.

“FUCK!” Ian screamed. “FUCK!”

A chorus of screams went up into the air.

“Shit shit shit!” Erik said, running around the side of the car. “GET IN! GET IN!”

Steve threw himself into the backseat. Ian slammed the passenger door shut.

A group of infected came around the corner and threw themselves at the screaming vehicle.

“Shit,” Steve said, breathless at the sight before them.

“They didn’t see us,” Ian laughed. “The fuckers didn’t see us.”

“They’re gonna see us in a minute,” Erik said, sliding the bloodied key into the ignition. “We have to get out of here before more of them come.”

A second car alarm went off, followed by a third. Steve caught sight of the infected bouncing into the cars in their struggle to attack the first one, only further adding to the chain of events that drew dozens upon dozens of infected. A zombie would try to attack one car, get pushed back by the horde, then fall back into another, triggering its alarm before one of its brethren would repeat the same process.

In the front seat, Erik twisted the key in the ignition and the truck fired up.

Almost all of the infected in the lot raised their heads to look at them.

“Shit,” Erik breathed.

The mob roared as one.

Erik changed gears and slammed on the gas.

The first wave of infected bounced off the vehicle. The second lurched around the rear and started clawing at the bumper and back windows, while the third threw themselves behind the second and lurched the vehicle forward. Erik barely had time to switch gears and slammed into drive before two more waves tried to hurl themselves at the vehicle.

The SUV sped forward.

Both opposing waves of undead slammed together, knocking each other to and fro.

The vehicle slid forward, skidded, and slammed into another car, triggering its alarm before Erik tore out of the parking lot and onto the road.

“Shit!” Ian cried. “Those stupid motherfuckers!”

“No kidding,” Erik breathed, face pale as a sheet.

“You ok?” Steve asked.

“Y-yeah. I’m good.”

They sped past town and toward the interstate.

A sign reading I-90 winked back at them.

CHAPTER 8

Dakota, Jamie and Desmond rolled their vehicle into a parking space outside a massive log cabin and exited the vehicle with a sigh of relief. Behind them, the Native American who’d introduced himself as Eagle slowly made his way up the road, occasionally pausing to look behind him and back down at the wooden gate that marked the property line.

“We got lucky,” Jamie said.

“Very lucky,” Desmond agreed.

Dakota swallowed a lump in his throat. He couldn’t remember ever being in a place so dark.

Don’t let this get to you. You’ve gone through too much hell to be scared of the dark.

A hand fell on his shoulder. He jumped in response.

Dakota laughed to hide his nerves. “I’m fine,” he said, anticipating the question before it would be asked.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Eagle stepped forward. Dakota wouldn’t have even known he was there were it not for the pale beam of light piercing the darkness at waist-level. “Just makin’ sure nothing followed you here.”

“Have you had problems before?” Jamie asked.

“No. We’re too far out from the city to have anything just stumble upon us. I do worry about them following people though.”

“They wouldn’t have followed us here. I mean, I don’t see how they could have—we were making too many turns for anyone paying attention to keep track.”

“It’s easy to lose yourself out in these woods,” the Native agreed. “I’m surprised you made it here.”

“It was an accident,” Desmond said. “We saw your light.”

“As did I, but I thought my eyes were deceiving me.” Eagle reached up to finger a spread of grey stubble on his chin. “It’s bad luck to conjure such things upon yourself.”

“Sorry?” Jamie asked.

Eagle shook his head. He gestured them to follow him up the slight path that led to the front porch. “Don’t worry yourself over it. Come, let’s get out of this weather. It’s too cold and miserable for us to remain here any longer.”

Taking place alongside Jamie, Dakota mounted the steps and followed Eagle to the front door. He turned the knob, pushed it open, then leaned into the cabin to speak with someone in a hushed tone before stepping inside and beckoning them in.

“Gentlemen,” Eagle said. “This is Mr. Kevin Partridge. He’s the one who owns this farm.”

“Welcome,” Kevin Partridge said, offering his hand.

“Jamie,” Jamie smiled, accepting the bony man’s grip. “This is Dakota and Desmond.”

“Where did you come from?”

“South Dakota. We’re trying to make our way to Idaho. The interstate’s blocked off.”

“As we noticed,” Kevin said. He looked over his shoulder at three boys sitting in the living room, who each watched the newcomers with wary eyes. “These are my boys. The oldest there is Jessiah. You’ve probably already seen him though. He went out to check on Eagle when he didn’t return.” Jessiah nodded in response. “This one,” Kevin said, pointing to a red-haired boy, “is Arnold. Mark’s my youngest.”

“Hi,” the boy said. He couldn’t have been any older than thirteen, if not eleven or twelve.

“Hi,” Dakota replied. The boy turned his eyes down almost immediately. The oldest of the children—Jessiah, who looked to be around his own age—sought his eyes out and considered him for a moment, but turned his eyes toward the fire when Dakota’s gaze lingered for too long. “Sir,” he said, looking up at Kevin. “We don’t mean to intrude on your family.”

“You’re not intruding at all,” Kevin replied. “Eagle said you were lost.”

“Our map was wrong,” Jamie said. “We couldn’t find any of the roads that were marked on it.”

“You wouldn’t know the map was wrong unless you lived here,” Kevin said. He brushed up along Jamie to lock, bolt and chain the door, then to draw the curtains over the windows. “I’d hate to send you on your way in the dark.”

“We don’t have to bother you. We’re trying to catch up with friends.”

“It’s nice to know that people still care about each other in this day and age,” Kevin smiled. “Did you get separated?”

“Yes, back in South Dakota. We told each other that if anything ever happened, we’d meet up back home.”

“There’s no place like home,” Kevin smiled.

A tremble of unease snaked up Dakota’s spine.

We’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

The oldest boy coughed. He reached for what appeared to be a pack of cigarettes sitting on an end table, but Eagle slapped his hand away and set a cup of tea before him. “Here.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Drink it anyway. You’re not going to get any better until you do.”

“I’m craving ‘em.”

“You can have a cigarette after you drink your tea,” Kevin said, accepting the carton as Eagle passed it over. “I don’t want you getting any sicker than you already are.”

Jessiah grumbled under his breath. Kevin stepped forward, then seemed to reconsider himself for a moment before turning to face the group again. “Would you like something to eat?”

“We have food,” Jamie said.

“We have extra. Right, Eagle?”

“We do,” Eagle agreed.

“We don’t want to take any of yours,” Dakota said.

“We can trade then. Not now though.” Kevin trained his eyes on his children. “Boys, could you make some room for our guests?”

The two younger children moved to the loveseat the oldest was seated upon. Jessiah raised his hand to cough into it as the group settled down on the expansive cough before the fireplace.

“Dinner will be ready in about a half-hour,” Kevin said. “Make yourselves comfortable. If you need something, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Kevin disappeared into the kitchen.

Dakota couldn’t help but feel nervous about the man’s generosity.

Are people supposed to be this kind, especially in situations like these?

He didn’t know. He couldn’t bother to question it though—not now, not in such a vulnerable state.

Taking his cue to relax, he leaned back into the sofa and closed his eyes.

He caught himself before he reached out to lace his and Jamie’s fingers together.

“Where are you guys from?” Jamie asked.

“Here, in a manner of speaking,” Kevin replied, slapping cans of freshly-warmed beans and peaches in front of them. “We left Minneapolis right as the shit was starting to hit the fan.”

“Before they started closing the city off,” Jessiah added. He raised his hand to cough, nodding thanks to his father as he passed the bowl over.

“They were still trying to quarantine cities?” Jamie frowned. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Why?”

“Because they declared New York a dead zone. That’s the whole reason they nuked it.”

A black cloud of doubt shadowed the room the moment Jamie stopped speaking. Dakota watched his boyfriend’s facial expression change from alert to concerned, then frowned when Jamie bowed his head to push his food around his bowl.

What? They what?

“Bombed it?” Kevin asked.

“No one told you?” Jamie asked.

“No.”

“They claimed it was an accident,” Dakota said, glancing around the table just in time to see each and every person’s expression change. “They said it was a nuclear reactor that destroyed the city.”

“You’re from the military,” Kevin said. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Jamie said. “I was.”

“Was?”

“I no longer consider myself a member of the United States Military. That title died after we left South Dakota.”

“So you know about this,” Kevin said, hand tightening around the chair he was clutching. “You know what’s been going on.”

“I only know some things, sir.”

“Tell us. I think we deserve to know.”

The boys mumbled amongst themselves. Eagle remained silent, while Desmond concentrated on the food before him in order to avoid wandering eyes. Dakota simply watched as the firestorm exploded across the room and began to make its course. Some of its victims were immediately affected, burned to a crisp in the face of reality, while others maintained third-degree burns that kept them from doing anything, their limbs melted together and their eyes sewn open. The few choice individuals that managed to suffer only the residual side effects watched from afar, safe in the iron reality of their current situation.

Flames couldn’t burn those submerged in water. Only those ignorant and slicked with oil could catch fire.

“They bombed the city on September thirty-first,” Jamie said, “in an attempt to quarantine the virus and to destroy what the FDA was calling ‘the infected.’ Beforehand, we—the military, National Guard and local police force—were instructed to maintain the border around the greater Manhattan area and terminate any infected host that tried to breach the perimeter. This involved pouring concrete over the tunnels leading out of the city, creating road blocks from debris caused by accidents in the roads, and keeping an active duty of twenty-plus soldiers wherever strategists deemed necessary.”

“So the military locked down the city,” Kevin said.

“Not the military—the health administration. We were initially instructed to evacuate citizens and to hold our fire unless absolute necessary. This was before we realized that it was spread by bites and direct contact with the infected.”

“You didn’t know what was going on?”

“How could we?” Jamie asked. “We were told that these people were suffering a violent form of psychosis and to treat them as mental patients. That’s why hospitals became a death trap—we were shuttling all those people for medical treatment. I can’t tell you how many we lost in my unit doing that kind of shit.”

“What happened after you were told to open fire?”

“We did. Then we fell back, sealed the tunnels, barricaded the roads and established the perimeter. We tried to organize search and rescue missions, and we did, for the most part, with helicopters, but we were eventually told that New York had become a no-man’s zone and that it was too dangerous to go in and try to rescue people.”

“So they bombed it,” Dakota said.

“Yeah,” Jamie said, draping an arm across his back. “In an attempt to contain the infection. I thought you guys knew that.”

“I wasn’t allowed to watch TV,” Dakota said. “I only heard New York and nuclear explosion before I was caught by my foster mother and told to turn the TV off.”

“I saw the same broadcast,” Kevin said. “It never said anything about a bomb being dropped.”

“What was it like?” the second-oldest boy, Arnold, asked.

“What was what like?” Jamie replied.

“Watching the bomb go off.”

“I can’t describe it. It was like…like I was seeing a star falling. Then the sky turned white and a mushroom cloud bloomed in the air.”

Once again, silence overwhelmed the room.

The firestorm began to die down.

Kevin turned his eyes on his children. “That’s enough of this for tonight. Our food’s getting cold.”

Most everyone agreed.

Dakota looked over at Jamie. His sad eyes instantly struck him.

What’s it like, to see the end of the world?

He couldn’t think about it.

If he did, he knew he wouldn’t sleep that night.

“We’ll just keep it to ourselves,” Jamie said, settling a blanket over the two of them on the bottom bunk in the youngest boys’ bedroom.

It hadn’t taken much to come to the agreement that they keep their relationship under cover for the time being. While Kevin didn’t seem like a prejudiced man, he didn’t seem like one who could be easily trusted. He asked too many questions, Jamie said. He’s nervous by nature.

Nervous people were never able to maintain their composure, especially not during the end of the world.

“Jamie?” Dakota said. “Why did you tell them that?”

“Because they deserve to know. And because they deserve to be told the truth.”

“Aren’t you worried that they’ll think of you differently because they know you’re a soldier?”

“Was,” Jamie corrected. “I’m not anymore.”

Shrugging, Dakota settled his head against Jamie’s shoulder and sighed when he felt the man’s arm curl around his back and his hand settle against his ribcage.

“You ok up there?” Jamie asked, tapping on the support beam that held the top bunk in place.

“Yep,” Desmond said.

“Just making sure, bud. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jamie, Dakota.”

“Night,” Dakota said, closing his eyes.

He hoped tomorrow would be better, if only in scope.

A knock at the door woke him from sleep.

“Dakota,” a voice whispered. “You awake?”

Dakota blinked. He almost didn’t realize where he was at first.

Are one of the kids talking to me?

“Shh!” another voice whispered. “Don’t wake ‘em all up!”

“I’m not!”

“Yes you are!”

Careful not to wake Jamie, Dakota slid out of his boyfriend’s grasp and walked to the door. He made sure to press his finger to the lock before he turned the doorknob so it wouldn’t click out of place.

Arnold and Mark stood in the doorway, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Hey,” Dakota smiled. “Is something the matter, guys?”

“Jessiah was wondering if you wanted to come walk around the property,” the youngest boy said, eyes wide with wonder.

“I guess,” Dakota said. He cast a glance over his shoulder to find Jamie and Desmond still asleep.

“Does Desmond want to come too?” Mark asked.

“He’s still asleep,” Dakota said. Arnold smacked the back of his brother’s head when he opened his mouth to say something else. “I’ll meet you guys downstairs in a minute.”

“We’ll be waiting,” Mark said. He scampered down the hallway and stampeded down the stairs, much to his brother’s distress. Arnold rolled his eyes, shrugged, then offered Dakota one last smile before disappearing down the hall.

What reason would the older one have to talk to me? he thought, pushing back into the room to find his socks and shoes.

He couldn’t think of any particular reason. He’d hardly paid the boy any attention last night, let alone spoke two words to him.

Doesn’t matter. Might as well give them my time while we’re here.

Dakota bowed, picked up his shoes and socks, then made his way into the hall, careful to lock and slide the door into place before making his way down the stairs. “Hey,” he said, nodding when he caught the boys’ eyes. “Sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s ok,” Arnold said.

Dakota seated himself in the recliner and pulled his socks and shoes onto his feet, all the while aware of the children’s rampant stares.

Are they keeping something from their father? Is that what they want to show me?

“How come your brother wanted me to come with you guys?” Dakota asked, standing.

“He wanted both of you to come,” Mark said.

“Probably just to get to know you better,” Arnold said. “We could hardly talk with Dad and Jamie going back and forth.”

“Who’s Eagle?” Dakota asked. “And what’s his story?

“An Indian,” Mark said. The response promptly received a smack on the head from his older brother. “Hey!”

“He came from the reservation down the road,” Arnold said, giving his brother an eye as they led Dakota toward the front door. “He’s been here for the past month.”

“And you guys have been here since they started evacuating, right?”

Mark nodded. He opened the door and ushered them outside before closing the door behind him.

“Where’s your brother?”

“He said he’d meet us out by the wood pile,” Arnold said.

“How come you guys are still burning wood?”

“To keep the house warm,” Mark said.

“Isn’t your dad worried about the zombies finding you?”

“Eagle said the house is too hard to find.” A smirk crested the boy’s lips. “He was obviously right if you guys had to get lost to find it.”

Mark chuckled and ran out in front of them, his laugh increasing in pitch as he ran around the curve of the house. Dakota caught sight of a barn in the distance, but thought nothing of it as they came around the back of the cabin. Jessiah came into view, poised atop a log with a cigarette between his lips. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Dakota replied.

“Your friend not awake?”

“Nope. He and Jamie were doing most of the driving. They wouldn’t let me because I hit my head.”

“You all right?”

“I’m fine now, yes.”

Jessiah hopped off the log and gestured Dakota and his brothers to follow him. “Sorry I didn’t say much last night. My bronchitis has been getting worse.”

“Which is why you should listen to Dad when he says not to smoke,” Arnold said.

“I’ve cut back. You know I have.” Jessiah raised his hand to cough. Arnold frowned. Mark ran out in front of them and did a little spin as he jumped off a slight bump in the hill. “Careful. You know the hill’s steep in spots.”

“I know!” Mark called back.

Jessiah smiled. He set the cigarette back to his lips and took another drag. “You guys are trying to get to Idaho?”

“Jamie said that he and his friend Erik told each other they would meet back up there if something happened.”

“I’m guessing something did then?”

Dakota sighed. “We were staying in a converted building when the zombies broke into it. We got split into three different groups. My best friend is with Erik and Ian.”

“What about the other group?”

“I don’t know where they are. I’ll probably never see them again.”

The younger man frowned. He dropped his cigarette, stamped it out under his shoe, then shoved his hands into his pockets. Dakota took place beside him as Arnold ran out ahead of them to join his younger brother.

“You feeling ok?” Dakota asked.

“I’ll be fine,” Jessiah said. “It just sucks, being so sick.”

A drop of rain fell from the sky.

“Rain’s coming,” Jessiah said. He looked up to where his brothers were running along the fence. “Come on, guys! Let’s go in before we get soaked!”

“Coming!” they both called.

Dakota smiled.

Lightning flashed in the sky and they ran back toward the cabin.

“Hey,” Dakota said, leaning over Jamie’s sleeping form. “Wake up, sleepy-head.”

“What time is it?” Jamie asked, setting an arm over his eyes.

“Ten, I think.”

“Shit. I slept in today.”

“You sure did,” Dakota laughed, pressing a kiss to the man’s lips.

“What’re you doin’ up?”

“The kids woke me up earlier. The older boy wanted me to walk around the property with them.”

“How come?”

“I dunno. Just for something to do, I guess.”

Jamie threw his legs over the side of the bed, grabbed his shirt and tossed his head back, a yawn escaping the expanse of his chest as he pushed his arms into the air. He smiled when he caught Dakota’s gaze. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dakota laughed. “Just watching you.”

“I can tell.” Jamie stood, knocking Dakota’s shoulder with his own. “We supposed to go downstairs?”

“I guess. I thought I heard someone moving around down there. That must be where Kevin and Eagle are sleeping.”

Jamie tapped on the support beam. “Hey, kid, wake up. We’re goin’ downstairs.”

“For what?” Desmond yawned.

“To eat, most likely.”

Desmond shimmied down the ladder and started to get dressed.

“You feel comfortable here?” Jamie asked.

Dakota smiled. “I do.”

“Gonna rain again today,” Eagle said, parting the curtains in the living room’s bay window to watch a flash of lightning crest the sky. “No cigarettes until tonight, Jessiah.”

“But… Eagle, it’s only one.”

“Listen to him,” Kevin said, pressing a hand against his oldest son’s back. “I don’t want you getting any sicker than you are.”

“Dad—”

“I’ll take your cigarettes away if you don’t listen to me.”

Jessiah said nothing. He bowed his head, reached into his pants pocket and pulled out the carton of cigarettes. “It’s more tempting if I have them on me,” he said, passing them into his father’s hand.

Kevin offered a nod and a pat on his back before looking up at Jamie, Dakota and Desmond. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Morning,” Jamie smiled. “Still raining?”

“Sadly,” Eagle said, pulling the curtains back into place. “You don’t want to send them off in this, Kevin. It’s going to get worse.”

“I didn’t plan on sending them away,” Kevin replied. “They can leave when they’re ready to.”

“We won’t keep you,” Jamie said. “We know you have a family to take care of. Your hospitality is much appreciated.”

“I feel at ease with more people around us, Jamie. Don’t ever feel as though I think otherwise.”

“You’re welcome to come with us when we leave.”

Kevin sighed. “I appreciate it, but it’s not right for us to leave. Not now, not when my family’s safe here.”

Jamie seated himself at the dining room table and kept silent as Kevin went about his business, gathering the morning’s breakfast and making his way to and from the kitchen. Dakota watched his frantic scurrying for a brief moment before settling into the chair to Jamie’s right, allowing him a perfect view of the curtained-off windows and the occasional flash of lightning that managed to pierce through them.

“How you doing?” Jamie asked.

“Huh?” Dakota asked.

“You look pale,” Desmond added. He took his place in the chair opposite Dakota and set an elbow on the table.

“I do?”

“Yes, you do,” Jamie said. “You sure you’re ok?”

“Might just be the lighting.”

“Could be the weather too, I guess.” Jamie set his hands over his head, turning his attention toward Jessiah. “Where’re your brothers?”

“Who knows?” Jessiah said. “I told them to come in, but they never listen to me.”

“That’s brothers for you.”

The door burst open. A gust of air tore through the house before it slammed shut and the boys came tearing into the house.

“Shh!” Jessiah hissed, jabbing a finger to his lips. “You guys gotta be quiet.”

“We are being quiet,” Mark said.

“That’s not quiet enough.” Jessiah raised his hand and started to cough. When the fit didn’t end for a good three minutes, Eagle stepped into the room with a glass of tea and pressed his hand to the boy’s upper back.

“There,” Eagle said, kneading the bones at the base of Jessiah’s spine.

Jessiah coughed three more times. He slipped the glass off the bowl in Eagle’s hand and downed a few swallows of the contents within. “Thank,” he coughed, “you.”

“Drink. Slowly. Then suck on this.” The Indian set a cube of caramel before him. “It’ll help your throat.”

Nodding, Jessiah bowed his head and took a moment to regain his composure. When he tilted his head up, Dakota caught tears rolling down the sides of his face and lines crossing the surface of his eyes. Blood trailed down one side of his lip.

“Jessiah?” Dakota frowned.

“I’m fine,” Jessiah said. He reached up to brush the blood away from his lip. “Really. I am.”

Dakota cast a wary glance in Jamie’s direction, receiving a shrug in response.

“Breakfast will be ready in a few minutes!” Kevin called out.

“Thank you,” Dakota called back.

He caught sight of Jessiah’s bloodshot eyes as he rose and made his way out of the room.

“You don’t think he’s got it, do you?”

“Got what?”

“It.”

Jamie paused in midstride. He laced his fingers behind his head, turned, then gave Dakota an uneasy look that could have easily broken a mirror into three pieces. “You think he got bit, don’t you?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you.”

“If he got bit, he’d have died a long time ago.”

“Maybe he only got nicked.”

“What?”

“You know, nicked. Only just barely bitten or scratched.”

“Where the hell did you get that from?”

“I heard it on the radio back when me and Steve were still in his apartment.”

“It’s an infection, Dakota. It doesn’t matter if you get only a little nick or scratch. It works all the same.”

“I don’t know,” Dakota sighed, seating himself on the bottom bunk. “Goddammit. Now I’m worried about this.”

“It’s a good thing to be concerned about.”

“But these people opened their home to us.”

“It’s not like we’re staying forever.” Jamie fell to his knees in front of Dakota. He braced his hands against the younger man’s thighs and leaned forward to look at him. “It’s gonna be ok. I swear.”

“You’ve never let anything happen to us.”

“And I never will.” Jamie paused. “Look, if something goes wrong, we’ll just leave, simple as that.”

“Maybe you should get the map from Kevin tonight.”

“I will.”

“Just in case we have to make a quick exit.”

“I get the impression that Kevin’s not a bad man. Concerned for his family, yes, but not bad.”

“I didn’t think he was bad either. I’m just worried about Jessiah.”

“We’re behind a locked door every night while we sleep. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“I know,” Dakota sighed. “I just…I just don’t want anything to happen.”

Jamie wrapped his arms around Dakota and pulled him close. “I know,” he whispered. “Neither do I.”

A single knock at the door woke him from sleep.

“Dakota,” Jessiah whispered. “Dakota.”

Dakota rolled out of bed and opened the door.

“I want you to come with me,” Jessiah said, before Dakota could even speak. “I need to show you something.”

“Show me what?” Dakota asked, taking a moment to examine the boy’s red eyes and his hollow cheeks. “You don’t look good at all.”

“I feel like shit. Come on.”

“Give me a minute.”

Closing the door, Dakota made his way over to the bed, grabbed his shoes and pulled them onto his feet. He took a moment to look at Jamie and reconsider his actions before he left the room and started down the stairs, following close behind the younger boy’s heels.

Should I go alone with him?

Though he could easily understand the younger boys’ childish excitement of having new and possibly-exciting people in the house, he couldn’t fathom why Jessiah, a boy only one year younger than him, would want the attention.

Maybe he’s lonely.

Regardless, his unease at the young man’s quickly-deteriorating condition didn’t put him in any heightened frame of mind. If anything, it made him all the more uncomfortable being around him.

Maybe you’re just overthinking this, he thought as Jessiah opened the front door. Maybe he really does have bronchitis, like he said he did.

Jessiah coughed. Dakota froze. “You coming?” the younger man asked.

Dakota stepped out of the doorway as Jessiah shut the door behind them “Where are we going?” Dakota asked.

“Out to the barn.”

“What do you want to show me?”

“You’ll see.”

The hairs on Dakota’s neck stood on end. It was like something had just taken its finger and drawn it slightly over the skin, just high enough to where he could barely feel the sensation of being touched. He took a moment to consider the fact that it could have been the wind or just his imagination playing tricks on him, but after a moment, he stopped in place and refused to move any further.

He just wants to show you something. He watched the boy continue to make his way across his field. He’s sick and probably losing his mind from not having anyone his own age to talk to.

Jessiah stopped moving.

Dakota swallowed a lump in his throat.

“Are you coming?” the younger boy asked.

“How do I know you’re not going to hurt me?”

“You think I could hurt you?” Jessiah laughed, turning, the effects of sickness more than clear on his face in the paling light. “You’re joking, right?”

“Why won’t you tell me what we’re going to see?”

“Why won’t you tell me about you and Jamie?”

It’s always obvious, something said, when you’re trying to hide the thing that can hurt you the most.

“What?” Dakota asked, a laugh escaping his chest.

“Just because Dad’s too stupid to see it doesn’t mean I can’t.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I know what’s going on, Dakota. I know you and Jamie are more than friends.”

The same finger that had graced his neck moments before returned, this time complete with its fellows. Five individual fingers waltzed up his neck and slid into his hair before encapsulating the base of his scalp within their palm. The tips of each finger stroked his head as though they were his mother and he were her child, a bad boy sulking after he’d just been punished for doing something wrong.

“I don’t understand,” Dakota said. “What do you mean?”

“You reach to hold each other’s hands, then stop before you do it; you look at each other differently than how two normal guy friends would; you’re almost always too close for comfort.”

“What are you getting at?” Dakota asked. “What’s the big deal?”

“That’s what the people who came here before you asked, when they tried to steal a few cans of food before they left. ‘What’s the big deal if we take a few cans of food? It’s only a few.’ That’s what she said. Dad shot the bitch in the face when her boyfriend pulled a knife and pointed it at my little brother.”

With nothing to say in response, Dakota let the breath he’d been holding escape his chest and allowed his hands to ball into fists at his side. It took more strength than he imagined to keep himself from shaking.

“You still coming?” Jessiah asked, turning to start toward the barn.

“What if I don’t?”

“I’ll tell Dad. He probably won’t shoot you, but he’ll sure as hell kick you out. He doesn’t like it when people keep secrets from them, especially when those secrets can turn out to be bigger things.”

Dakota said nothing. He simply started forward and continued on toward the barn.

“I need you to listen to me before I do this,” Jessiah said, turning to look Dakota straight in the eye.

“Ok.”

“Whatever you do, don’t make any loud, sudden noises. Keep your hands away from the stall and don’t get any closer than you have to. She may be blind, but she can still hear your footsteps.”

She?

Jessiah narrowed his eyes, waiting for a response. Nodding in acknowledgement, Dakota steadied his posture and allowed himself a deep breath before the younger man stepped forward and undid the two latches that made up the top half of the stall door.

“Quiet,” Jessiah warned.

The young man pulled the door open.

Dakota braced himself for what he might see.

Does Death hide in dark places, or is He all around us?

Darkness shrouded the inside of the stall.

“Diana,” Jessiah whispered. “Come out.”

A flicker of movement shifted inside the hollow, dark place.

When the thing known as Diana stepped forward, revealing herself to the world in brutal, ugly detail, Dakota felt as though the last shroud of innocence had faded from the world like a moth slowly dying once caught in a candle’s flame.

“What is she?” Dakota asked.

“My horse.”

Her face had lost most of its beauty during the undetermined amount of time she’d been locked in her stall. She would have been beautiful during her life, glorious in the face of creation and remarkable in the aspect of pride. Sterling, they would have said, a creature marked for her soft white fur and her gorgeous black locks. Death had not treated her kindly, though he had spared her mercy. Her eyes were no longer existent, long-since gone into the back of her head, and her nostrils had dried out and resembled nothing more than cracked paint on a dirty wall. Perhaps the most ominous of her features, however, were her lips. Bloated, drawn away from her teeth to reveal porcelain-white bone tipped with flecks of grey, she appeared to be a fly poised at the funeral of her feast, her lips puckering and retracting in the shadows of her glorious night.

While looking at her, heart trembling and eyes slowly beginning to weep, Dakota felt sorrowful. Just the sight of such a beautiful creature ravaged in undeath was enough to force tears from his eyes. “What happened?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Jessiah said. “I thought she was sick, so I brought her into the stall the first day we came up here and tried to get her to go inside. She wouldn’t cooperate with me, so I thought something was wrong. I’ve had her since I was thirteen and thought I knew everything about her. It turns out that I didn’t know she’d died and come back to life sometime before we got here.”

“She bit you, didn’t she?”

Jessiah popped the first few buttons on his flannel shirt and parted its collar, revealing a slowly-blackening bite on his shoulder.

“Does your dad know about this?”

“Dad doesn’t know anything,” Jessiah said.

“You’re putting your family in danger.”

“She bit me nearly two months ago. She doesn’t have what they have.”

“What are you saying?”

“It’s…it’s not whatever makes them come back.”

“You’re saying this is something different?”

“It has to be. It doesn’t affect animals. Nothing has brought the animals back to life. I should be dead by now.”

“Is this the reason you’re so sick?”

“I don’t know. I thought it was healing, Dakota. I’ve been treating it since I got bit and it looked like it was getting better. Then the skin started to turn black and I got this weird chest cough…my god. It hurts so fucking much.”

“It’s ok,” Dakota said, stepping forward. “You’re gonna get better.”

“Don’t touch me!” Jessiah cried, pushing Dakota back when he came too close. “Don’t touch me, Dakota. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I don’t want to die!”

“You’re not gonna die,” Dakota said. “Don’t think that.”

“It’s kind of hard to believe when you look that,” Jessiah said, pointing. Dakota turned his head. Diana’s nostrils flared at the sound of his breath passing from his lips. “You better go, Dakota. Someone’s gonna get suspicious if we’re both gone.”

“What about you?”

“They’ll just think I’m out smoking. Besides, I need a moment alone.”

Unsure what else to say or how else to comfort the younger man, Dakota turned and made his way out of the barn, but not without taking one last look back at Jessiah and the dead creature that had once brought the young man happiness.

Upon returning to the cabin, Dakota crept through the front door, took his shoes off, and made his way up the stairs, all the while cursing the wood beneath him and its seemingly-endless protest against him. It was as though they were alive and trying to scream the secret that so desperately wanted to be told, but couldn’t because it was trapped beneath the floorboards.

For a brief moment, Dakota entertained the notion that it was ghosts underneath the stairs making all the racket.

Help us, they said. We want them to know the truth.

When the image became too powerful in his brain, he shook his head and pushed open the door to the spare bedroom. It took less than a minute for him to crawl into bed and curl up alongside Jamie.

“Hmm?” Jamie murmured.

“Nothing,” Dakota whispered, turning his head up to look at the man. “Go back to sleep.”

Jamie’s featured softened almost immediately.

He didn’t hear me come back in.

Then again, there was always the distinct possibility that Jamie could have heard him leave earlier. Dakota didn’t dwell on it though. His thoughts kept returning to the barn, to that cold, dark place festering within the slowly-rotting structure and the morbid creature inside it.

She may be blind, but she can still hear your footsteps.

Could the dead understand that you were there? Could they, when physically materialized but emotionally gone, sense your feelings, your doubts, your fears? They said that ghosts lingered in places strong in power, but could they truly inhabit the dead once spiritually gone from the world?

“Do they?” he whispered into the room. “Do they even…?”

Though he didn’t finish his sentence in the hopes that the thought would not occur to him, it came anyway, drawn to his doubt like blind insects on a dark, lonely night.

Do they even have souls?

Shivering, unnerved at the prospect that the dead were nothing more than dry husks, he drew up against Jamie’s side and tried to block his mind from any further assaulting thoughts, but was almost immediately targeted by his own aggressive emotions. The next thought to occur to him shook him even more, forcing him back to a childhood unguided and full of wandering doubt.

Forcing his eyes shut, he gave in to the thought that threatened to send him into hysterics if he did not let it speak.

Do we have souls?

The dagger slid into his heart.

A startled sob escaped his frame.

He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on that question.

Madness begins in such small ways. When breath is allowed, life begins.

Dakota stayed in bed for most of the morning. When Jamie woke and tried to rouse him from sleep, he complained of a stomachache and said to leave him alone. He didn’t bother to mention that he hadn’t slept for most of the night, nor did he say anything about the shadows that flickered in the corner of the room, casting doubt over his eyes like black tape sewn over his eyes with knitting needles. He kept expecting Diana to appear from the darkness and to look at him with her hollow, dead eyes, to judge him in ways only the dead could.

If she can even see.

Though Jessiah said she had no such ability, he knew better.

Earlier, in that cold, dark barn, he had felt something looking at him.

The blind couldn’t see. He would have felt no such thing had Diana lost her vision.

Curling into a ball in the hopes that he could steal the last traces of Jamie’s warmth, he wrapped the blanket around his body and sunk back against the wall, willing himself to close his eyes and to force light over his darkened frame of mind.

Force it, he thought. Force the light to come.

He squeezed his eyes together as hard as he could.

Pain blossomed in the corners of his vision.

A faint light winked in the distance.

There. You did it—it’s coming! It’s—

Two black eyes burst into view.

Frozen, Dakota could only watch as Diana’s lips curled back over her teeth. A wisp of air escaped her cracked nostrils like steam hissing from pipes. Her mouth opened.

The most horrible sound Dakota had ever heard echoed forth and yanked him from sleep.

Unable to sleep any longer and with fresh tears in his eyes, he pushed himself out of bed and ran toward the door.

If he could not fight the wolves, he would face the sheep.

“Hey,” Jamie said, looking up as Dakota entered the room.

“Hey,” Dakota replied, collapsing in the seat next to Jamie.

Leaning forward, Dakota pulled his socks up his feet and laced his shoes, sighing when he turned his head up to face the stares that greeted him. Most turned their eyes immediately, like the younger boys, who feigned interest in something else, while Desmond and Kevin looked on with wary, unsure eyes. Jessiah, meanwhile, watched him like a hawk, gaze indifferent as Dakota locked eyes with him.

You know, he wanted to say, but kept his words to himself.

“Your stomach better?” Jamie asked.

“It’s better,” Dakota nodded. “Did you ever get the map?”

“We got it sorted out,” Kevin said, leaning over the couch to set a half-empty can of apples in Dakota’s hand. “They’re fresh. Well, mostly…we canned them a few months back.”

“Thank you, sir.” He accepted the spoon Kevin offered and glanced back at Jessiah. The young man offered a smile Dakota wasn’t able to return. “What were we doing wrong when we drove in here?” he asked, using the question to defer Jessiah’s gaze and allow him to glance back without being suspicious.

“Driving around in a circle. I pointed it out to Jamie so he wouldn’t repeat the mistake, but there’s a road that’s almost always hidden by a pair of shrubs some jackasses decided to plant on opposite sides of the road. I gave Jamie a hatchet so you can cut them down before you leave.”

“It’s already in the truck,” Jamie said. “We were just waiting for you.”

“You mean we’re leaving? Today?”

“Well,” Jamie shrugged, “that was the plan. Unless you’re not feeling well.”

“You’re welcome to stay until you’re better,” Kevin offered. “We enjoy your company. Don’t we, boys?”

The younger children nodded. Jessiah bowed his head and began to cough into his hands.

“I appreciate it,” Dakota said, “but I have to be honest, we’re wasting time. We’ve been here for two days when we should’ve only been here for one night. Steve, Erik and Ian might already be in Idaho.”

“We can make it there by tonight,” Jamie said. “It’s not going to be that hard with the roads this empty.”

“And what if we run into another roadblock? What then?”

“Then we’ll figure it out if it comes to that,” Jamie said, stretching his back as he stood. “Well, Kevin, I guess this is where we part ways. You’re still more than welcome to join us if you’d like.”

“I appreciate the offer, Jamie, but we’ll stay here for now, especially since my son’s so sick.” Kevin accepted Jamie’s outstretched hand, then did the same for Desmond when he stood and stepped up to Jamie’s side. “Good luck out there, you guys.”

“Thanks,” Dakota said, accepting the man’s hand. “It was nice meeting all of you.”

“Be safe,” Arnold said.

“We will,” Jamie smiled. “Don’t worry.”

“Bye,” Mark said, eyes sad and unsure.

“Bye,” Dakota replied.

Jessiah locked eyes with him.

You’ll figure it out, he thought. I know you will.

He raised his hand. Jessiah raised his in response.

“Goodbye, Eagle,” Dakota said, nodding as he stepped into the room. “Thank you for your help.”

“There’s no need to thank me, son,” Eagle replied. “Be careful out there, and listen to what Kevin said about the roads. Take the path into town, then up to Minneapolis, but try to steer clear of the city if you can.”

“Will do,” Jamie nodded.

They stepped toward the door, looked back at the small family, and offered their final goodbyes before stepping out and into the cold air.

Almost immediately, Dakota felt a weight lift off his chest.

Though he felt sad for the young man and the unbearable pain he had to be enduring, he could not suffer someone else’s emotions.

“Jamie,” Dakota said. He leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

“There is,” Dakota sighed, “but nothing that has to be discussed now.”

Jamie shrugged and slung an arm over Dakota’s shoulder.

Just before they climbed in the car, Dakota thought he heard Diana whinnying.

CHAPTER 9

A gust of wind brought with it a colossal amount of rain as they crested the tip of Wyoming and pulled into what appeared to be a ghost town. Unsure of their current situation and unable to drive any further in the driving rain, they pulled in next to a furniture store and piled out of the car, shivering as the cold air bit into their skin and slicked their hair with fresh moisture.

“Fuck,” Steve breathed, rubbing his arms. “Who doesn’t have a fuckin’ heater in their car?”

“I don’t know,” Ian said, teeth chattering together. “Can you get the door open, Erik?”

“Trying,” the medic said. He pulled a pocket knife from his belt and flipped the blade out, frowning as he stared at the single wooden door in front of him. “I’m gonna try to tease this thing open.”

“How?”

“You learn a lot of shit in the army,” Erik said.

While Erik pushed the door in and tried to relieve the pressure on the lock, swearing under his breath in the process, Steve looked out into the parking lot and grimaced at the amount of rain coming down around them. It looked like a living, breathing thing, gelatinous in appearance and forceful in nature, pounding upon them as though it were some angry god seeking retribution for the crimes they’d committed. Once, Steve thought he could see the flicker of something moving within the rain—a bird, possibly, maybe even a floating eye or something else—but he didn’t dwell on it for long. Just as his fantasies began to entertain themselves, the lock clicked and Erik pulled the door open.

“Thank God,” Ian breathed, pushing himself into the building.

“Stay sharp!” Erik called after him. “Hey, Steve?”

“Huh?”

“What were you looking at?”

“I thought I saw something in the rain.”

“Like what?”

“I dunno. A bird…a giant eye.”

“At this rate, I wouldn’t be surprised if you did,” Erik snorted, gesturing Steve inside with a wave of his hand. “Come on. We’re gonna freeze to death if we stay out here.”

Steve turned and made his way into the building. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching him just before Erik turned and locked the door behind them.

“The perfect place to spend the night,” Ian laughed, stripping down to his underwear and wrapping a quilt around his frame.

“I guess,” Steve frowned. He pulled a blanket around his naked torso and looked toward the massive glass panes that made up the front of the store, sighing when he saw that not only had the rain worsened, but that hail now fell with it.

“There’s no way we’ll be seen this far back,” Erik said.

“Especially not without any lights,” Ian added. “We’re practically invisible in here.”

“We have a car sitting out front, guys. I don’t see how you can think we’re invisible.”

“Do you want to go move the car?” Erik asked.

“I…” Steve sighed. “No.”

“Trust me, Steve. We’re out in the middle of nowhere. No one’s going see us.”

“And if there are zombies,” Ian said, “they’re not gonna notice a car that wasn’t there before.”

“Whatever.”

Steve settled down on the bed next to Ian and leaned against the headboard, closing his eyes in the hopes that his weary body would eventually drown out the sounds of the rain and allow him to sleep.

You know it won’t, he thought.

Who was he kidding? They’d been going for two straight days and had only managed to make it to the tip of Wyoming. His nerves were shattered at their lack of progress. He couldn’t really blame them though. They’d spent much of day one recovering from the flight from the school and gathering whatever else they could from one of the vacant gas stations on I-90. Yesterday they’d been on the road, navigating dead traffic and the occasional corpse. Now here they sat in near safety, quilts about their shoulders and warmth within their hearts.

It’s ok. You’re fine, Erik’s fine, Ian’s fine—everyone’s fine. You know Dakota’s fine too.

Biting his lip, Steve forced his eyes together and tried not to think about what could have happened to his best friend.

They got away. You know they did. Dakota’s damn smart and he can run faster than any stupid zombie. And he’s got his boyfriend with him. Desmond too. Jamie wouldn’t let anything happen to them. They—

All thought stopped.

After nearly three days of unbearable agony, he let out a long wail and sobbed. “I can’t stand it!” Steve cried. “I don’t even know if they’re alive!”

“Keep it down,” Ian hissed. “You’re making too much noise.”

“Fuck you, Ian.”

“That’s enough,” Erik said. “Come on, Steve.”

“Come on and what?” Steve sobbed.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that they’re not alive.”

“I—”

“Look in my eyes,” Erik growled, “and tell me they’re not alive!”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, forcing himself to look into Erik’s bullet-hard eyes. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Think about. Jamie’s a soldier. Dakota’s survived just as long as you have, and so has Desmond. You can’t honestly think that something happened just because they’re not with us.”

“I don’t know what to think, Erik.”

“Erik’s right,” Ian said.

“Besides,” Erik continued, setting a hand on Steve’s arm, “none of us are about to lay down and die just because we got separated, right?”

“He’s my best friend,” Steve said, reaching up to wipe tears from his eyes. “I’d die if anything were to happen to him.”

“Jamie’s my best friend too, Steve. I feel the exact same way, but we can’t act like this, not right now. Until we know for certain, we can’t start thinking that any of our friends are dead.”

“How do you do that?”

“You just have faith,” Erik sighed, bowing his head. “That’s all you can do in a time like this.”

Steve closed his eyes. He’d never known himself to have faith, but at that moment, he knew he could have it in one thing. If he couldn’t, he didn’t know how he’d make it through the night.

He stood in a parka in the middle of the rain, hood drawn up to protect his face from the icy sheets that barreled down from the heavens like comets falling from the highest parts of the atmosphere. It felt like at any moment he would simply turn to ice, frozen amongst the dead cars and the long-forgotten businesses, but that wouldn’t stop him.

Cheeks burning and teeth clattering, he crossed the parking lot and made his way toward a run-down convenience store that looked to have been on its last legs even before the world went to shit.

Just get in, get out, he thought, shivering, stabbing his hands into his pockets. If there’s something that might be useful, bring it to the front. If there isn’t, just leave it.

“Can’t have yourself getting hurt by being stupid,” he muttered, drawing the revolver out of his pocket.

As he expected, the door hadn’t been locked before the initial owners and employees had abandoned it. Inside, masked in darkness and veiled in a thin layer of dust, remnants from the normal world lay toppled like statues. Glass from broken jars lay scattered across the floor, display stands hung from their last threads and change twinkled on the counter—it looked nothing like it should have, despite its ramshackle condition. What sent a tremble of unease through Steve’s chest, however, wasn’t the state of the store—it was the smear of blood on the checkout counter.

You don’t have to go in there.

“We’ve got nothing but cans. We need something.”

Stepping forward, he maneuvered around the shattered glass in front of the door and picked up a shopping basket, adjusting his grip on its twin handles before he continued into the darkened building. Eyes wary, heart beating hard in his chest, he crossed the narrow space that led to the cart section, then took a right and headed toward the far wall, where he saw racks perfectly suitable for housing chips and other bagged goods.

“You’re doin’ good,” he said, coaxing himself forward, despite the shadows that harshened with each and every step. “Keep goin’.”

At one point, he couldn’t even see where he was going. However, when he caught a glimpse of light piercing through part of a display, he stepped forward and let out a breath of relief when he saw a shelf full of chips, pretzels and other goods.

Thank God.

“Hey, Ian,” Erik said. “Where’s Steve?”

“Dunno,” Ian said, squeezing water out of his shirt. “I think he went across the street.”

“By himself?”

“Well…yeah. Neither of us are with him.”

Erik shook his head. He set two fingers to his temple and rubbed the bridge of his nose, sighing when a bolt of pain lit the center of his face and began to expand across his vision.

“I’m getting a migraine,” Erik said, easing himself onto the floor with the help of his other hand.

“Shit, man.”

“It’s genetic. My dad used to get them all my time. So did my grandpa.”

“How could you stand being in the army if you get headaches?”

“I only get them occasionally. Besides, I usually have enough painkillers around to get rid of them.”

“I think I just saw Steve on the other side of the lot.”

“Good. I want to get the hell out of here.”

“Is he ok?” Steve asked, frowning as he took notice of Erik sitting near the door.

“He’s got a headache,” Ian said, unlocking the car and tossing the spoils of Steve’s trip into the backseat. “That means one of us is gonna have to drive.”

“I’m ok with that. I didn’t feel comfortable with him driving the whole time anyway.”

“Neither did I, but he’s a bullheaded bastard.”

“I heard that!” Erik called out. A groan followed shortly thereafter.

“Guess that means we’ve gotta be quiet, huh?”

“He’s gonna hate sitting in the car then,” Steve sighed, slamming the door shut. “Are we taking anything with us?”

“Like what?”

“Blankets, for one. We’re gonna freeze if the rain keeps up like it has been.”

“It doesn’t seem to be letting up any,” Ian agreed. He turned to face the building and shouted, “Hey Erik! You fine with us staying for a little while longer so we can gather some stuff up?”

Erik nodded. He bowed his head and covered his eyes with his hands.

“You didn’t happen to pick up any Excedrin,” Ian said, “did you?”

“It was near the front counter,” Steve said, “so I just shoved the last few bottles into the cart.”

“Good. His headache’s killing him.”

“I can tell,” Steve mused. He reached into the backseat, pulled the pills and a bottle of water out, then tapped the door shut with his foot, gesturing Ian back toward the building. “Anything else happen while I was gone?”

“No. Erik was worried about you going by yourself, but it’s not like we could’ve done anything. You’d already left and he couldn’t have been any use with his head. And it’s not like I could leave him alone like this.”

“I get you.” Steve pulled the door open, frowning when Erik barely tilted his head up before immediately dropping it again. “I’ve got painkillers.”

“What kind?”

“Excedrin.”

Erik held his hand out. Steve pushed the bottle into his hand and set the water at his side. “We ready to go?”

“In a few minutes,” Ian nodded. “Steve said we should bring some blankets along.”

“Don’t blame him,” Erik replied. “You care if I go get in the car?”

“No,” Steve said. When Erik started to stand, Steve pulled his parka off his shoulders and wrapped it around his friend’s body, taking care to pull the hood up and over his head in the process. “So you don’t get wet.”

Erik mumbled his thanks, pulled the door open, then stepped out into the weather. He took extra care to pace himself toward the car.

“Not much we can do about it,” Ian said, returning with an armload of quilts, blankets and sheets. “I figured we could put the sheets up over the windows and rig them up in the backseat so we can block the light out.”

“Has he mentioned anything about it being too bright?”

“No, but if it’s anything like the migraines my mom used to have, it’ll hurt to look at anything too bright.”

Great, Steve thought, unable to resist the urge to turn his head to look back at Erik. Now one of us is sick. What the hell are we supposed to do if something goes wrong?

“Get some more quilts,” Steve said, looking down at the impressive load already before him. “We need to fix that backseat up. He’s going to be miserable without it.”

“He asleep?” Steve asked.

“I dunno,” Ian said. “I’d move the curtain to check on him, but I don’t think that’s the best idea.”

Steve reached up, adjusted the blanket across his shoulders and accelerated his pace, taking care not to clip any cars that happened to line the road. He didn’t think a fender-bender would do much to the SUV, much less keep them from moving, but he didn’t want to risk hitting anything with Erik lying unbuckled in the backseat.

“You ok?” Ian asked.

“Sure. Why?”

“You looked like you were thinking pretty hard about something.”

“I was thinking about not hitting the cars in front of us,” Steve replied. “It won’t do much to the truck, but Erik isn’t buckled in.”

“Best not to hit anything if you can help it,” Ian agreed. “Relax. You’re doing a good job. Better job than I probably could.”

Steve maneuvered the vehicle around a pileup of cars and continued down the road toward where he knew the road split into a Y that led to the interstate they’d just left last night. This particular passage didn’t put him at ease. Though he knew they would soon be safe, he dreaded the amount of metal they’d have to drive over. The rain had shifted most of it off the road, but some of it remained strewn across the path, metal snakes and barbed cone shells just waiting to be run over.

You can do this, he thought. You can.

Something stumbled out from behind a broken car, and Steve rolled to a stop.

“Just hit it,” Ian said. “It’s a fuckin’ zombie.”

“No,” Steve said. “Look at it. This one is…different.”

The black-skinned entity before them lifted its head and acknowledged them with a simple tilt of the head. Seemingly gauging them, it straightened itself into an upright position, then tilted its head in the opposite direction, like a child trying to see something from every possible angle. Throughout this entire process, it remained standing in the road, content with the distance between them.

“See?” Steve asked.

“What the fuck’s it doing?”

“What’s what doing?” Erik groaned from the back seat.

“There’s something in the road in front of us,” Steve said. “It’s not a zombie.”

“Then what the fuck is it?”

“Look for yourself.”

A hand stabbed through the curtains and parted them. Erik’s head appeared soon after, face contorting in pain at the light that stabbed through the window. “I can’t see anything.”

“Give your eyes a second to adjust.”

Erik blinked. “What the hell?”

“That’s what I was saying,” Ian said. “You think it’s a person?”

“No. If it were a person, it’d already be down the road and by the truck by now.”

The creature tilted its head back into its regular position. It took one look to its right, then its left, then back over its shoulder before it began to make its way down the road. Stumbling, but not completely awkward in its movements, it coasted the wreckage in the street and regarded the metal on the road. Once, it even bent forward to remove it from its path, holding the piece of metal like a delicate artifact before tossing it into the bushes.

“What the hell is going on?” Erik whispered.

“I don’t know,” Steve said. “What am I supposed to do?”

“It’s heading right for us,” Ian said. “It’s not taking its time either.”

At the rate the creature was moving, it would be upon them within minutes. That realization forced sweat from Steve’s face and made the hairs on his arms stand on end.

It’s not a zombie, he thought, coaxing himself to remain calm. It didn’t come straight for us when it heard us in the road.

“Here it comes,” Ian said.

Now no more than a few feet away from the vehicle, Steve could make out its features in gross detail. Its skin wrinkled like a raisin and darkened as though as though it had spent one too many hours in a tanning bed, it appeared to not be dead, but something completely unlike it. Steve would go so far as to say it was alive, but didn’t as its hand touched the hood of the vehicle and directed his attention toward its head. Its eyes—the original color now indeterminable—shined like black onyx under an intense fixture of light. They didn’t glow, but their boldness alone forced him to keep direct eye contact with it.

“It’s coming toward the window,” Erik said.

“I know,” Steve replied.

When the creature was directly at Steve’s side, it reached forward.

Steve swallowed a lump in his throat.

What’s it going to do?

It didn’t touch the window. Instead, it stopped, regarded him with a tilt of its head, then extended one single finger and tapped the glass with a long, purplish fingernail.

“Fuck,” Ian said, shocked. “It knows what’s it’s doing.”

“That’s obvious,” Erik said, “but what does it want?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said slowly. The creature tilted its head again. Its mouth seemed to replicate the action, as though disappointed, before it tapped the glass again, three times instead of just once. “I think it wants me to roll the window down.”

“Crack it,” Erik said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Reaching forward, Steve set his finger to the dash and pressed his finger to the button.

The window rolled down a crack. A gust of rain and the smell of fruit blew into the SUV.

Fruit?

“S-sir?” he managed, waiting for the thing to respond.

The thing brought its hand back and let it dangle at its side. It tilted its head again, this time obviously acknowledging Steve for the fact that he wasn’t an inanimate object, then shifted its lips. A purple tongue, still very much wet and free of rot, slicked its lips.

“Sir?” he asked again.

“Ruhh,” it gasped.

“What the fuck?” Erik said.

“It’s talking!” Ian gasped.

“What are you trying to say, sir?” Steve asked, heart firing in his chest.

“Ruh…ruh…run.”

“It’s telling us to fuckin’ run!” Erik yelled, clawing at Steve’s shoulder. “What the fuck are you waiting for?”

“They…ur…here.” It pointed.

A horde of zombies stumbled out from inside a building and turned their eyes on them.

“GO!” Erik cried. “GO!”

Steve slammed his foot on the ignition.

The SUV went soaring up the road.

In his haste to leave, he barely noticed that the thing had stopped to remove all of the metal on the road.

CHAPTER 10

They pulled into southeastern Idaho around three-thirty, despite the rain that followed them throughout the lower parts of Denver and Utah. A breath of fresh air at the tail end of October, they each breathed a sigh of relief as the air warmed and the sun came out to celebrate their joyous victory.

By the time evening began to crest the horizon, they pulled into the neighborhood Jamie had once called home.

“This is it,” Jamie said, coming to a stop outside a row of three houses.

Dakota looked on in awe at the sight of the three two-story, perfectly-restored country homes before him. Flanked by a long-dry field on one side and a road on another, each house looked toward the south, where an expanse of neighboring houses lay a few hundred feet in the distance. Here, poised almost at the tip of the range, he could just begin to make out snow forming on the jagged peaks of one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

“Jamie?” Desmond asked, drawing Dakota from his thoughts.

Turning, Dakota frowned when he saw that Jamie had bowed his head, hands tightened around the steering wheel and face obscured by his arm. His first reaction was to ask what was wrong, then he looked at the houses before him and sighed when the realization hit him.

Oh, he thought. Home.

To see your past before you when the rest of your life had failed, to realize that the people you loved would never be home again, to understand that your happiest moments were only memories and there would never be any more of them—how did it feel to come home after so many years, after so much had happened and after the world had ended? Was it a stab in the heart, a punch in the gut, or was it something worse—evisceration by a rotting hand or decapitation by a wrongful step? Either way, it didn’t much matter, because when Jamie let out a startled sob, Dakota leaned forward and wrapped his arms around him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, bowing his head into the man’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jamie.”

“It’s ok,” Jamie said. “Just…give me a moment.”

They waited.

Jamie began to cry.

Dakota and Desmond eventually left the car by Jamie’s instruction. Told to walk to the front door and take the key from under the flowerpot, they entered the house and seated themselves within the living room, atop the vanilla-white furniture in front of a stonework fireplace. The whole while they sat there, the silence more than total and the tension extremely thick, Dakota tried not to look back out the window and at the truck parked in the driveway.

He’s gonna be ok. He turned his head down and away from the window. Everything’ll be just fine.

“It’s a nice house,” Desmond said, “isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” Dakota said, looking up at the living room before them. “Really nice.”

“Have you looked at anything?”

“Not really.”

“Just wondering. I’m kinda surprised you haven’t, considering this is where your boyfriend grew up.”

“I will eventually.”

“Maybe you should go talk to him.”

“He wants to be left alone.”

“You’re his boyfriend. I really doubt he’d push you away.”

Knowing Jamie? Dakota thought. I highly doubt that.

“I don’t know,” Dakota sighed, preparing to rise, but not sure if he should. “I think I need to let him have his moment alone. He is coming home, after all.”

“I guess it’s hard,” Desmond said.

“Desmond, can I ask you something about your past?”

“I lived with my parents,” Desmond said. “Yes, they loved me. I loved them. I have pretty much given up on the idea of ever seeing them again though.”

“Are you ok with that?”

“No, but I’ve accepted it.”

The door opened. Jamie stepped in, eyes red and cheeks puffy. “I just needed a moment to myself.”

Dakota stood and crossed the short distance between them. He wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s side and leaned into his chest. “I love you, Jamie.”

“I love you too, babe. And I love you, Desmond.”

“Thanks,” Desmond replied. “And thank you for getting us here safely.”

“We had a few bumps, but it’s ok. We’re…we’re home now. Right?”

“Yeah,” Dakota smiled. “We are.”

The rest of the morning passed in silence. Desmond lounged in the living room, Jamie sat in the kitchen poring over documents and scratching things down on paper, and Dakota wandered the house and tried to distract himself from the eerie calm, despite the fact that he knew they were safe. He examined family pictures, peeked into bedrooms, slid his fingers over the neat, colored tile in individual bathrooms and pressed his hands into the fabric of beds, all in an attempt to familiarize himself with a time and place he knew he would not be familiar with had the end of the world not occurred.

Eventually, his search led him to a portrait of Jamie that had been taken years before. Dressed in fatigues and clean shaven, he looked younger than Dakota could have ever imagined him.

He looks, he thought, then paused, reaching forward to embrace the frame with his right hand. “So young,” he said aloud.

How long ago had this been taken? It couldn’t have been less than five years, because the lines around Jamie’s mouth hadn’t deepened and his cheeks didn’t have that much fat in them, and it couldn’t have been only five because he looked younger than the twenty-one he would’ve been.

This was taken years ago, Dakota thought. When he was my age.

The sight of the young man before him forced a shiver through his body. His chin still softened and the fat around it still dense enough to hide the hard square; his cheeks fuller, plump with youth; his skin lighter beyond compare—he looked Nordic, compared to how dark his skin was now, like he’d been living in a frozen wasteland complete with narwhales and penguins.

A hand touched his shoulder. Dakota jumped.

“Hey,” Jamie said, wrapping an arm around his waist from behind. “Looks like you found my enlistment picture.”

“This was taken when you were my age, wasn’t it?”

“Yup. I’ve sure changed a lot, haven’t I?”

“No kidding,” Dakota said, pulling his hand back from the picture.

“I can hardly remember being that ignorant little boy who knew nothing about the world.”

“What were you doing in the kitchen?”

“Going through my mother’s stuff, trying to figure out what we’re going to do about the house. I’d rather not board it up if I don’t have to.”

Dakota nodded. Drawn by a second picture just slightly above Jamie’s own, he looked up when he saw another man staring up at him, face hard and jaw set. The glimpse of a smile could be seen on the corner of his mouth, despite the desert behind him.

“Jamie,” he said, “is that your dad?”

Jamie reached out to touch the picture. “That’s pop,” he said.

“You look just like him.”

Jamie tightened his hold around Dakota’s waist.

A tear dropped down onto his shoulder.

Dakota reached down and set his hand over Jamie’s.

“You want to do what?” Dakota asked.

“Build a wall,” Jamie said, setting his hand over a large piece of poster paper before him. “See the perimeter around the property? We’re gonna dig a trench, build a wall and fill it in with concrete. Call me vain, but I don’t want anything happening to the houses, especially not the one next door.”

“How come?”

“Erik grew up there.”

“Really?” Dakota said.

“I remember that now that you mention it,” Desmond said, looking down at the table of figures off to the side. “What’s this?”

“The amount of wood and concrete we’ll need.”

“Those are some pretty heavy numbers,” Dakota said. “How do you expect to get all of those supplies, much less get them back here?”

“Simple; we wait for Ian, Erik and Steve to get here, scrounge up an extra car or two, then make our way to the nearest U-Haul. I doubt they’d care if we borrowed a truck, considering the circumstances and all.”

“You didn’t answer my question though. How do you expect to get all those supplies?”

“We’re only going to dig the trench a certain number of feet,” Jamie said, tapping the empty section of the rectangle around the three properties. “Once we set the foundation, we’re going to fill it up with concrete, then install support beams along the inside of the property.”

“You seem to have it figured out,” Dakota sighed, looking up at Desmond. “What do you think about all of this?”

“I think it’ll work,” the boy said. “What about the ice though? I’ve heard something about concrete breaking apart if moisture gets into any cracks and freezes.”

“We’ll cross that barrier when that time comes,” Jamie said. He looked down at the figures, reconsidered the detailed sketch before him, then looked back up at Dakota and Desmond. “Guess you guys know what comes next.”

Dakota reached forward and grabbed his gun.

They went into the other two houses one-by-one. Guns drawn and clips full, they scoured each room on every floor, searching for anything or anyone that might have managed to stumble into the building and lock the door behind them. Several times, Dakota thought he heard something groan, then turned with his pistol at eye level only to find nothing behind him. It scared him, thinking that a house could possibly speak and reveal all of its secrets, but he didn’t think about it for long after Jamie mentioned every house he’d stayed at in Idaho did such a thing.

It’s like they’re talking, he’d said, echoing Dakota’s previous sentiments. Like they’re waiting for someone to stop and listen.

By the time noon turned to dusk, they returned to Jamie’s childhood home, sweat staining their shirts and hair plastered to their foreheads.

“You think we could take a bath?” Desmond asked, stripping his soaked shirt off his skinny frame. “I haven’t showered in days.”

“I could probably get the generator out back working,” Jamie said, casting a glance toward the door sitting at the very end of the hall. “But I don’t think now would be a good idea to try.”

“Best not to do it now,” Dakota said, frowning when Desmond sighed. “I’m sure we can figure something else out.”

“We can,” Jamie said. “Even if we have to use some of the bottled water, we can always get more.”

“And we can purify it now that we’re here,” Dakota added, reaching out to set a hand on Desmond’s sweaty shoulder.

“I just don’t want to use anything we don’t have to,” the boy said.

“You want a shower, you got a shower,” Jamie smiled, heading toward the door. “Dakota, care to help me bring some stuff in?”

“It’d be my pleasure.”

“It’s nice to have a little alone time,” Jamie said, “isn’t it?”

Dakota nodded. Tilting his head back, Dakota smiled at Jamie and took a moment to readjust himself on the bed Jamie had slept in for most of his life before allowing his eyes to continue their endless pursuit of the room. Most of the walls were bare, evidence of a room long uninhabited, but a few things sprinkled their surfaces, giving birth to personality found solely in a patriotic young man. An American flag blanketed a corner, while a miniature display of what appeared to be the Civil War covered a shelf just above a writing desk, upon which a photo of Jamie’s father sat—post Gulf War, a chest-up shot with the man flashing pearly whites.

“Jamie,” Dakota said, “do you remember anything about your father?”

“Sure.”

“Like what?”

“The way he used to throw me into the air and catch me in his arms. Scared my mom half to death whenever he did it.”

“What else?”

“Him taking me for ice cream, going to church on Sundays, playing baseball in the park.”

“It sounds like a dream come true.”

“Did your dad not do anything like that with you?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember. It seems like everything was going just fine up until everything went to hell near the very end.”

“We both had pretty fucked up childhoods.”

“Guess that’s why we go together so well,” Dakota laughed, bowing his head into Jamie’s chest.

“I used to resent the fact that my friends all had dads when I didn’t. It’s taken me a long time to get over that, but now that I have, I realize that I’d never wish anything I went through on anyone else. It’s hard growing up without your dad.”

“I wish I could say the same thing.”

“You have any idea what happened? I mean, with their relationship?”

“I don’t know,” Dakota sighed. “Even if I could know, I don’t think I’d want to. Whatever happened, or was happening, it was bad. That’s all I know.”

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” Jamie said.

“I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Don’t ever be sorry for anything, Dakota. There’s no point in regretting asking something that gets you closer to someone.”

He could live with that logic.

The night once more bestowed them with a healthy dose of rain. Come morning, after it had fallen all night and slicked the dying ground with fresh dew, Dakota slipped from the realms of sleep and into the reality of consciousness, head light and eyes heavy in the chill that lingered in the air.

Where am I? he thought, then reconsidered this when he felt Jamie moving next to him.

Idaho. He remembered now. They’d arrived yesterday morning after a near-three-day flight from South Dakota. It seemed nearly impossible to think that they’d just traveled halfway across the country only to end up in an old farmhouse his boyfriend had spent the first eighteen years of his life in, but he tried not to think about it. His mind cloudy and his body numb from sleep, he squirmed back against Jamie and drew the blanket tighter around him.

It’s so cold.

He opened his eyes and looked toward the window, noticing the frost that covered it.

Snow?

No, it couldn’t be. Frost didn’t necessarily mean snow, nor did it foreshadow it in any shape or form.

Dakota pushed himself into a sitting position and dangled his feet over the side of the bed, bowing his head to shield his eyes from the light stabbing into the room. Once he realized that it might be bothering Jamie as well, he stood, crossed the room and pulled the curtains over the window, sighing when the cold bit his skin and nipped at his ankles.

No use in going back to bed now.

After gathering up his clothes and dressing, he stepped out of the room and into the hallway, taking extra care to close the door as quietly as possible before making his way into the living room. There, in the nearly-white light of the early morning, he found Desmond sitting in the recliner, reading a massive hardcover book that he had balanced on his knees.

“Morning,” Dakota said.

“Morning,” Desmond said, frowning when he looked up at Dakota.

“What?”

“Your cheeks are red as hell.”

Dakota reached up to touch his face and realized it hurt to the touch.

“Maybe it was just the weather,” Desmond shrugged, sliding a piece of paper into the book and slamming it shut. Its echo traveled across the house, instantly forcing Dakota to grimace.

“It’s nothing to worry yourself over. Jamie’s not waking up anytime soon anyway.”

“How come?”

“I don’t think he got to sleep until late this morning,” Dakota said. He pushed his fingers into his armpits and looked out the window. Just as he expected, frost tipped the yellowing blades of grass like false hats atop a jester’s head. “You want to go get some stuff out of the truck?”

“In this weather?”

“We’re going to have to do it later anyway.”

“Where’re the coats?”

By the time they finished bringing everything into the house, Jamie had awakened. Dressed in sweatpants and little else, he shivered as Dakota packed the last box into the house and pushed the door shut behind him.

“It’s freezing,” Jamie said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I noticed,” Dakota chuckled. He carried the box in the kitchen and set it down next to the others, smiling as Jamie came up behind him and took in the sight. “You sleep all right?”

“Yup. Why?”

“You look a bit…disgruntled.” Desmond chuckled in the background. Jamie smirked and reached up to scratch the stubble sprinkling his cheeks and upper lip.

“I always look like this in the morning. I’m fine though. I might put Desmond in a headlock for being a little shit, but everything’s good.”

“Hey!” Desmond cried, laughing as he jumped over a box to disappear into the side hall. “I’m an innocent bystander here!”

“Like hell you are,” Jamie chuckled, sprinting after the boy.

Laughing, Dakota slipped his coat off his shoulders and set it onto the rack, leaning into the kitchen to see if he could catch a glimpse of Jamie in his mad pursuit. A secondary hall he hadn’t seen before opened just outside of the south threshold and led into what appeared to be dead end. Dakota burst out laughing when he heard a squeal emit from the other room.

“Got ‘im,” Jamie said, carrying the boy out upside-down with his arm pressed against Desmond’s abdomen.

“Just don’t drop me,” Desmond laughed.

“You should’ve known you can’t outrun me in my own house.”

“I figured as much.”

After giving Desmond a slight shake, Jamie tossed the boy onto the couch and settled down next to him, taking a moment to compose himself before looking up at Dakota. His smile widened the moment their eyes met. “Want me to catch you next?”

“You’ll do that eventually, believe me.”

“I sure will,” Jamie purred.

“Eww,” Desmond groaned, laughing shortly thereafter.

“Don’t subject him to your lewd ways,” Dakota chuckled, smacking Jamie back into the couch before crawling on top of him.

“He’s probably heard worse,” Jamie smirked.

“Don’t you know it,” the boy laughed. He peeked his head up over the couch and tilted his head to the side. “Is that…?”

“What?”

“That SUV.”

Dakota looked out the window.

He saw Steve in the front seat and bolted.

“Fucking hell!” Steve laughed, stumbling back as Dakota threw himself into his arms. “You guys are here!”

“Thank God,” Dakota cried, grabbing his friend’s face and planting a kiss on his lips. “Thank God you’re all right.”

“Your mouth tastes like shit, Koda.”

“Fuck you!” Dakota laughed, pushing Steve back a few steps. He walked around the car only to be immediately enveloped in Ian’s arms.

“Great to see you, kid.”

“You too,” Dakota said, looking into the car and at the makeshift curtains that separated the front and the back seats. “Where’s Erik?”

“In the back. He’s had a migraine for the past day,” Steve replied, looking up as Jamie and Desmond stepped out of the house. He waved a hand in greeting. “Hey, guys!”

“Where’s Erik?” Jamie cried out, quickening his pace across the lawn.

“In the back. He’s got a headache.”

The relief in Jamie’s face was more than obvious.

“I’m good,” Erik said, climbing out from the backseat. “My head’s just killing me.”

“It’s great to see you again,” Dakota said, setting an arm across the man’s back.

“You too,” Erik lifted his head to look at Jamie as he approached. “Hey.”

“Hey buddy,” Jamie said, wrapping his friend into a hug. “Everything go ok?”

“Some weird shit happened back in Wyoming,” Ian said.

“Like what?”

“He’ll tell you inside,” Erik said. “It’s freezing out here.”

“It wasn’t a zombie?” Jamie frowned.

“No,” Steve said. “It wasn’t.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“What makes sense anymore?” Dakota asked, looking up at Steve. “You said it talked to you?”

“It said ‘go’ and ‘run.’ Then it pointed toward a group of zombies that had just walked out of a store.”

“So it’s not a zombie,” Jamie said, “but it isn’t human either.”

“It smelled like fruit,” Ian said. “That wasn’t just me, was it?”

“No,” Steve said. “I smelled it.”

“I did too,” Erik said, bowing his face into his hand. “I thought I was smelling things because my head was hurting so bad.”

“You should go lay down,” Jamie said.

“I don’t need to lay down.”

“No, seriously—go. Even if you don’t want to go to sleep, just get on the couch. I don’t want you stressing yourself out just because you think you need to be awake.”

“I’ll go close the curtains,” Desmond said, making his way into the living room.

“I’ll go,” Erik sighed.

“Feel better,” Steve said.

Erik gave them a nod before disappearing into the living room.

“Have you told them the plan?” Dakota asked.

“We plan on putting a wall around the three houses,” Jamie said, offering a small smile when he received two uneasy looks. “It’s the safest course of action if we want to stay here.”

“Why the three?” Steve asked.

“The house next door is Erik’s. I’m surprised he didn’t mention it.”

“I’m not sure he cares about much of anything right now,” Ian said. “Poor guy. We couldn’t do much to help him, but we fixed up the back of the SUV the best we could.”

“He’ll get over it,” Jamie sighed. He looked up at Dakota. “What do you say, babe?”

“Huh?”

“Tomorrow morning, me, you and Steve.”

“To get the U-Haul, you mean.”

“Wait, what?” Steve asked.

“It’s gonna take a lot of shit to get this done,” Jamie said. “I want it done right.”

Jamie strapped his machine gun across his back and eased a clip of ammo into his holster. “You guys know the plan, right?”

“Yeah,” Dakota said, sliding into the truck’s back seat. “Get to the U-Haul, get the truck, then get over to the home department store.”

“Then get the fuck out of there after we have everything we need,” Steve said, closing the passenger door.

“Exactly.” Jamie crawled into the truck. “Ready, guys?”

Both of them nodded.

Jamie pushed the key into the ignition and started the vehicle.

It took them less than thirty minutes to get from the house to the U-Haul place. Once there, they broke the glass to the front entrance, then spent the next fifteen minutes combing through keys to try and find the biggest truck possible. By the time they found it, they’d been gone for an hour and the sky showed no signs of brightening.

“Hopefully it doesn’t snow,” Jamie said, adjusting his place in the truck. He grimaced as they rounded a corner, the muscles in his arms bulging as he tightening his grip on the steering wheel. “Shit.”

“What?” Steve asked.

“Just not used to driving something so big.”

“Just watch out for the bridges,” Dakota said.

“That’d be our luck—we’d go under a bridge and get our heads chopped off by falling debris.”

“Just make sure it doesn’t happen,” Steve laughed.

Nodding, Jamie narrowed his eyes and pushed his foot onto the brake as they crested a rise in the road. Once at the top, the vehicle lurched forward, stopped, then began to roll forward, but Jamie applied more pressure and pointed toward something to their right. “See that?” he asked.

“I do,” Steve said.

“That’s the first one we’re gonna hit. It’s been a while since I’ve been there, but from what I remember, it’s always been pretty small. We can raid the whole thing pretty quickly.”

“How are we gonna do this?” Dakota said. “We’re not gonna have to pack all of it, are we?”

“The plywood, maybe. The concrete mix? I highly doubt it.”

“Whatever it takes,” Steve said. “Lead the way, captain.”

Steve pointed his gun and waited for Jamie to open the front door.

“Like I said,” Jamie spoke up, easing his hand toward the handlebar. “If you see something moving around in there, shoot it.”

“Got it,” Steve replied.

Dakota raised his gun. A glimmer of light bounced off the end of the barrel and reflected back at him from the display window.

Three, he thought, the silent code of conduct slowly beginning to tick down. Two… one…

Jamie thrust the door open.

Nothing but darkness greeted them.

“Told you you were jumpy,” Steve shrugged, letting his gun fall to his side.

“Good reason to be jumpy though.” Jamie kicked his foot around the door and held it in place, gesturing both Steve and Dakota forward. “There’s a little bit of light in here, but I don’t want any of us to go too far in unless we have to. Concrete mix should be up front, plywood a ways back.”

Dakota stepped forward. “You ready, Steve?”

“Whenever you are, kid.”

Dakota stepped into the store, gun raised and eyes scanning the darkness.

It’s gonna be ok. He made his way across the light-covered area until shadow began to flood his vision. It’s just a little dark. You can still see.

“Even if I can’t see everything,” he mumbled, grimacing as Steve bumped into him. “Careful.”

“I am,” Steve grunted. “I thought you’d keep going.”

“It’s right there,” Dakota said, pointing to the sheets of plywood in front of them. “You said you only needed sheets, right, Jamie?”

“To start,” Jamie said, “but if there’s extra panels of anything, grab that too. It won’t hurt to have extra.”

Sliding his gun into his holster, Dakota stepped forward and wrapped his hand around a piece of plywood. First testing its weight, then sliding a finger over the side to check for splinters, he bent forward and took the piece in his hands, grunting when he found it was heavier than he’d initially thought. “Heavy,” he managed when Steve gave him a funny look.

“You’re skin and bones. You’ve got no muscle on you.”

“I’m not some Greek gym god like you are,” Dakota chuckled, easing the piece toward the front door. “Jamie, open it for me.”

“Workin’ on it,” Jamie said, making his way out the door to hold it open for him. “If you can’t lift it, don’t sweat it. Try lifting the packs of concrete instead.”

“They look heavy.”

“I’m guessing they’re not as heavy as the plywood is.”

Dakota set the piece against the truck. He sighed, then looked up at Jamie, who had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. “What?”

“You.”

“What about me?”

“You’re just so good-natured and funny.”

“I’m gonna be good-natured and funny all over you if you don’t quit grinning at me like that.”

“Try the concrete bags,” Jamie laughed, opening the door wider when Steve stepped out. “Seriously, Dakota, don’t kill yourself trying to carry the plywood.”

“Let us handle it,” Steve said. “Besides, I know you can lift that concrete. It’s all light weight.”

“So you say,” Dakota grumbled, making his way back into the store.

He laughed out loud when he heard Steve and Jamie start joking back and forth to each other.

Most of the afternoon was spent moving concrete mix and plywood out to the truck. Once they had a full load—complete with nails, nail guns, staples and anything else that could be of use—they headed deeper into the heart of town, where Jamie said most of the businesses were located. It took little to realize how much the small town had been affected in the last two months. Buildings were destroyed, display ribbons in tatters, glass lay scattered along the sidewalks and cars were charbroiled like burnt meat at a shitty restaurant. It looked like a bomb had gone off, but had failed to destroy everything it was supposed to.

It didn’t end the world, Dakota thought. Only inhibited it.

Upon arriving at the town center, Jamie sighed, closed his eyes, then stopped in the middle of the road.

Steve started to speak.

Dakota pressed a hand to his side.

No, that touch said, as though silencing the world with one push of a button.

Once sure his friend would not speak, Dakota looked up.

Directly across from them, poised in the center of a ring of wrought-iron fence, was the city hall. Half of its roof had caved in and most of its grand architecture bore cracks or another scars. A sick memory from a lick of flame snaked down one side, then slithered across the parking lot until it came to a car depot. Here, it appeared, one car had been set on fire, only to explode and set its fellow machines ablaze. Twisted hunks of metal lay dozens of feet away, while the fence that had once kept people in now lay flat on the ground, useless.

“I didn’t expect it to be this bad,” Jamie said, raising his head after several long moments of silence. “It’s just a small town.”

“So was ours,” Steve said, reaching across Dakota’s shoulders to grip Jamie’s arm.

“We shouldn’t stay here,” Dakota said. “It’s getting dark.”

Jamie shifted the truck in gear and braced his hand against the wheel. “Let’s get what we need and get back home.”

Dakota took one last look at the remnants of city hall before Jamie turned and drove away from the broken heart of the small city.

“How’d it go?” Desmond asked, opening the door for them as they walked up the driveway.

“Went fine,” Jamie said, looking back at Steve. “Everything go ok for you?”

“I can drive that,” Steve laughed, looking back at the red truck behind them. “That big rig, on the other hand, not so much.”

“It’s not the easiest thing to drive, that’s for sure.” Jamie stepped inside the house. “I was talking about the trip back more than anything though.”

“Oh. That? It went fine.”

“Just making sure.”

Dakota caught sight of Erik lying on the couch, a rag pressed to his head, and threw a cautionary glance at Jamie before he stepped forward. “Hey, Erik,” he said, kneeling down beside the couch. “You feeling any better?”

“A little,” Erik said, cracking an eye open despite the faint light coming off the electric lantern on the end table.

“Really? You’ve been laying here for the past day.”

“It’s just a headache, Dakota, that’s all.”

“You need to sleep in our room tonight, Erik.”

“I’ll go fix it up right now,” Jamie said, heading toward the hallway. “Besides, me and Dakota can sleep in the master room.”

“Yours parents’ room?”

“Yes.”

Jamie didn’t bother to elaborate any further. He simply disappeared down the hall and into the bedroom.

“I didn’t want to say anything,” Erik said.

Dakota set a hand on the man’s arm. “You need to sleep somewhere dark anyway.”

“I’ll take the couch,” Ian said, speaking up for the first time since they’d returned. “Jamie and Dakota can stay in the master room, you can sleep in Jamie’s room and the kid and Steve can sleep in the guest room. It’s no big deal.”

“I just didn’t want to bring up any bad memories.”

“He’ll have to face them eventually,” Dakota whispered, patting Erik’s arm. “Besides, I’ll talk him down if anything happens.”

“I know you will, Dakota.”

Dakota stood and made his way toward Jamie’s old room. He didn’t know what he’d say if anything happened tonight, but regardless, he would still be there for him.

“I haven’t been in here for years,” Jamie said, settling down on the bed before them. He pressed his hand into the foam mattress and smiled as the imprint remained for a moment afterward. “I remember when Dad got this bed for Mom after her back started acting up.”

“Your mom had a bad back?”

“I think it was mostly because of all the stress she was going through. Dad was active military and all. She used to get stress spots on the back of her head. I could barely touch her shoulder without the muscles tensing up.”

“That’s a lot for a five-year-old to deal with,” Dakota said, setting the picture of Jamie’s mother and father back on the cabinet before them. He looked at their smiling faces for a moment longer before turning back to look at his boyfriend. “Are you ok with sleeping here?”

“I’ll have to deal with it eventually. Why not now?”

“I dunno. I just thought…” Dakota paused.

“You thought what, babe?”

“That you might not be ready.”

“I’ll never be ready to accept my parents’ deaths,” Jamie sighed, leaning back against the pillows arranged before the headrest. “I don’t think anyone ever really is.”

“So you think your mom is—“

“Gone? Somewhat, yes. I hope not, but I’ve accepted the fact that she’s never going to be in my life again.”

“I’ve kind of accepted it. It’s not the same though.”

“What? You accepting your family’s passing?”

“No. I…I don’t know how to explain it. My family was gone before this happened. I guess that makes it easier and takes less of the pain away.”

“Dakota, do you ever wonder what happened to your dad?”

“Sometimes, but I don’t really care. He killed my mother. I can never forgive him for that.”

Jamie nodded. He gestured Dakota forward and took his hand when he was only an arm’s length away. “I have a lot of respect for what you’ve gone through. I hope you know that.”

“I know.”

“And I hope you know that there’s no one else I’d rather go through this with than you.”

“Thank you.”

“Come on, let’s get some shut eye. We’ve had a long day.”

After stripping out of his clothes, Dakota crawled into bed, closed his eyes, and sank back against Jamie.

Beneath the covers of a past that should have been doubtful, Dakota felt nothing but warmth.

CHAPTER 11

“He’s dying,” Eagle said.

“I know,” Kevin replied.

Back against the wall and knees drawn to his chest, Kevin pressed his hand against his face and tried not to look at the Native American man before him. His heart felt like a thousand-pound weight and his head felt like it would explode at any moment, a bomb set to go off.

He bowed his head and closed his eyes.

This couldn’t be happening. It just couldn’t.

In the short moments that followed, during which he felt as though small and poised before the greatest hurdle his life would ever really throw at him, Kevin sought out Eagle’s eyes in the light seeping from the candle in the corner. He found them in near darkness, where he would not have expected them to be—directly in the corner of the room, seated in an old, wooden chair.

He’s not some Shaman sage wonder-maker. You already know that.

Still, that didn’t stop him from giving in to clichéd superstition and imaging that Eagle was something more than he really was. He’d never been prone to racist ideals, to imagining men of different colors and backgrounds as things they obviously were not, but at that moment, the Native man in front of him looked like a diamond in the night, a glimmering moment of hope in his worst night of darkness.

“Eagle?” he whispered.

“Yes, Kevin?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“I don’t believe any man should know what to do in times like these.”

“That doesn’t help me any.”

“I know.” Eagle rose. The wooden chair creaked as it rocked forward, then again when it bounced back against the wall. It took a moment for Kevin to realize that the man was walking toward him. When he did, Eagle was already at his side, seating himself atop the bed they shared and staring at him with dark eyes. “May I say something, Kevin?”

“Please.”

“Only you can decide what’s best for your son. No one else.”

But what if you can’t decide? he thought. What if you don’t know what to do? What if you’re afraid of knowing what to?

With no answers to the thoughts running amok in his head, he sighed, stood, and pushed himself toward the door, but stopped short before he could wrap his hand around the doorknob.

He isn’t going to get better.

The reality of the situation froze him in place. At first he thought he would start shaking, as his hand trembled in front of him as though frail and without stability, then his eyes began to burn. Somehow, though, he managed to retain his composure, despite the stark realization that ran through his head.

“Kevin?” Eagle asked.

“He isn’t going to get better,” Kevin said, dropping his hand at his side. “His fever’s been at 103 degrees for the past three days. I don’t know what to do.”

“Kevin…”

“Is there anything you can do?” he asked, turning to face the man. “Anything at all ?”

“I’ve tried everything, Kevin.”

“He’s fuckin’ suffering!”

“Quiet!” Eagle growled, slapping his hand over his Kevin’s mouth. “Don’t wake your children! They don’t deserve to go through this.”

“Neither do I!” Kevin wailed.

“It’s up to you to decide what to do. Your son is dying. Every waking moment is wrought with pain and agony. I’ve barely been able to keep him asleep. At this rate, he’ll just waste away if we keep him in the state he’s in.”

“What do we do?”

Eagle pressed a finger to his lips.

“Your. Son. Is. Suffering. Would you want to suffer the pain he does?”

“No.”

“Would you want someone to keep you in that pain if you had any choice?”

“Of course not,” Kevin said.

Rethink your answer. Repeat his question.

The breath went out of Kevin’s lungs.

His heart stopped in his chest.

Every memory that he could have possibly had swam to the front of his vision and pushed at the base of his skull. Them at the park, eating dinner, laughing at something on TV, going to the first day of school, taking him to the hospital after he broke his ankle, running amongst autumn leaves so red and yellow that they looked as though they would crumble at any moment, having ‘the talk’ when he turned thirteen, meeting the first girlfriend, going to the first day at high school, encountering the first heartbreak of teenage love and talks of college—everything came forward, all at once, together, as one.

Tears broke from his eyes.

His heart throbbed one hard, painful time.

He fell against Eagle in tears.

“I can’t do it,” Kevin whispered. “I can’t, Eagle.”

“He won’t feel a thing,” Eagle said, bracing his hands against Kevin’s back. “I have something that will just make him go to sleep.”

“What is it?”

“Peyote.”

Tears running down his face, Kevin reached up to wipe them away, only to find that the look he’d initially seen in Eagle’s eyes was not mistaken. “You’re kidding,” he said.

“No. I’m not.”

“You want to drug him to death?”

“It’s the simplest way.”

“I’m not gonna do that.”

“Would you rather put a gun against his head?”

“I—no.”

“As I said,” Eagle continued, “he won’t feel a thing.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s been used before. Mercy is perhaps the greatest thing you could ever offer to anyone suffering the pain he is.”

Kevin stilled the quiver in his lower lip by digging his teeth into it. “How would you do it?”

“In a soup. I’d just mix it in.”

“He won’t know?”

“Won’t feel a thing,” Eagle said. He reached down to touch Kevin’s now-trembling hand. “It’s up to you whether or not you want to do this. He is your son, after all.”

“I just want what’s best for him.”

“I know. I do too.”

Kevin bowed his head.

This is it, he thought. This is where you have to decide what to do.

Only one thought occurred to him when he lifted his head and looked into Eagle’s eyes.

How would his children feel?

“Boys,” Kevin said. “I need to talk to you about something.”

Both children looked up. Though Mark’s eyes were wide and innocent, Arnold’s eyes showed an awareness that nearly pushed Kevin to tears. His second-eldest who, until recently, had exhibited complete resilience to anything going on in the household, seemed startled, shaken by the tone in his father’s voice and the sense of finality in the air.

Can they feel it? Kevin thought. Do they know it’s the end?

“It’s about Jessiah,” Arnold said. “Isn’t it?”

Kevin nodded. “Yes,” he sighed. “It is.”

Mark’s eyes softened. Arnold simply continued to stare, eyes darkening by the second. It took Kevin a moment to consider his choice of words before he seated himself on the couch and gestured his sons up beside him.

It’ll be all right, he thought, swallowing a lump in his throat. You can do this.

How many times in a man’s life did he have to consider the possibility that, one day, he would have to tell his children that their sibling was going to die? Did this man see an infant dying in a nursery and think about his child, his Julia with her silk-blonde hair and her big blue eyes, or did he disregard it in a way that all people do when they see tragedy and suffering? It’s not every day that you see a car crash in the middle of the road, the driver’s head cut off and lying three feet away, but it never hurts you the way it should because that driver is just a stranger and a stranger he or she will always be, but what about when a man sees a child starving in Haiti, on the shores of destruction with his mother dead nearby? Does he think about his child—his Fernando, with his chocolate-brown eyes and his raven-black hair—or does he simply turn away, flip the channel so he doesn’t have to see them suffer? It’s not as though they will ever have an earthquake, a tsunami that will come to wash them away, so what good is it to think that his child could be on that shore, lying in that sand with the blood on his hands? With so many thoughts running through his head, Kevin found it hard to imagine just what he should say, what he should do, how he should present himself and his case. It seemed impossible to think of just what he would say, so when he looked into his children’s eyes—when he saw both their Julia and his Fernando looking at him—he felt his heart sink and his mind turn to dust.

In the next few minutes, he would have to say the four most horrible words he would ever say in his life.

Your brother is dying.

“Dad?” Arnold asked. “Jessiah’s not going to get better, is he?”

“No,” Kevin said. “He isn’t.”

Mark positioned his hands on the floor and crawled forward like an infant until he sat at his brother’s side. There, he watched his father as though their world would end, burned asunder by the flames of judgment.

Kevin set his hands on his knees. “You both know that your brother has been really sick for the past few days. Now, before either of you ask, I don’t know what’s wrong with him. Neither does Eagle. The only thing we know is that he has a bite on his shoulder that hasn’t been healing.”

“A bite?” Arnold asked, puzzled.

“Why isn’t he a zombie?” Mark questioned.

“Jessiah told Eagle that he wasn’t bitten by a zombie before we started giving him sleeping pills,” Kevin sighed, already regretting the lie that laced his lips. “He’s not getting any better, guys…and we can’t do anything to help him.”

The children simply stared.

This is it. This is where I’m going to start crying.

The first tear slicked down his face.

Kevin blinked.

The second and third followed.

“Dad,” Arnold said.

“What, buddy?”

“Jessiah’s going to die, isn’t he?”

Mark let out a sob. “Yes, Arnold,” Kevin said. “He’s gonna die.”

When both of his children started crying, Kevin could only bow his head.

He’d failed. And there was nothing he could do about it.

“You did the right thing,” Eagle said, pressing his hand to Kevin’s back as he entered the room.

“I hope so.”

Kevin closed his eyes.

Tomorrow, he thought.

When he looked back at Eagle he saw the glimmer in his eyes that seemed to understand his each and every thought, and a part of his soul that yearned to be set free finally curled up and died.

“This is it,” Kevin said, falling to his knees in front of his two youngest children. “Eagle said he’s not gonna make it much longer.”

“Is he awake?” Arnold asked.

“Yes.”

“Daddy, isn’t there anything you can do?” Mark begged, eyes gleaming with tears.

“We’ve tried everything, Mark. There’s nothing more we can do for him.”

The youngest boy nodded. Reaching up, he wiped the tears from his eyes and hardened his face as much as he could, locking his eyes in a way that surprised Kevin. In that moment, he saw a whisper of the boy’s future self in his eyes, on his lips. He saw a man with hollow cheekbones not from frailty, but life, and he saw a strength that rivaled that of the Native American man standing nearby, sadness in his eyes and a frown on his face.

“You can tell him anything you want to,” Kevin said, taking both of his son’s hands, “but I want you to tell him you love him above anything else.”

“Dad,” Arnold started.

Kevin cut him off. “I know you would’ve said that even if I hadn’t have told you, Arnold, Mark. I know that you love your brother more than anything else in the world, but I want you to tell him how much he means to you, that you care about him. He knows this. He knows you love him, but I want him to hear it. He’s not going to live for much longer.”

Standing, Kevin squeezed Arnold and Mark’s hands and looked to Eagle, who set a hand on each of the boys’ shoulders. “When you go in,” the Native said, “you need to be as quiet as you can. Lean down and whisper in his ear, squeeze his hand to let him know you’re there. He might not be able to talk to you, but he can still hear you.”

“Yes sir,” Arnold said.

Kevin opened the door and both of the boys went inside.

As the two stood beside the bed, talking to the brother they would soon not have, an unbearable guilt began to overwhelm Kevin’s mind as he looked at his oldest son. In the pale light that pierced through the curtains—dancing across the room and slicing it in two—the boy’s skin seemed ashen and grey, darkened at the joints and hollows and gleaming like stone long since lost to the earth’s darkest places. Some would have thought he looked like a gem, an unnatural rock formation crafted in the ugliest shades of grey, but to Kevin, he could see nothing but his son, a human being slowly succumbing to a disease that seemed worse than death.

A hand pressed against his back.

Kevin tensed.

Eagle sighed.

Faintly, almost hidden in the shadows of the room, Kevin saw his oldest son reaching out to his brothers.

The hand that greeted him was not that of a seventeen-year-old boy.

No.

No boy’s hand was wracked with age, bent in two like a claw extending to grasp its prey, nor did his joints buckle under the immense pressure of death and swell in the absence of blood. No. No boy looked the way Jessiah did, with his eyes closed and his pupils long gone, and no boy ever would, could, should, as for that to be the case would be to determine that all men are created equal—that age, as long-lasting as it happened to be, was not without distinction, and that life, in its bitter progress, was not rife with challenge.

“Kevin?” Eagle said.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Are you ready?”

Kevin looked down. Eagle held a bowl of soup in his hand.

Is anyone ever really ready?

He whispered, “I am.”

Kevin knocked on the door. “Guys,” he said, “we need to let Jessiah get some rest now.”

“All right,” Arnold said. He looked down at his older brother, took his hand in his, then leaned down to whisper in his ear before pressing a kiss to his cheek. Mark did the same.

Both times, Kevin noticed, he heard three faint words before his sons stepped away from Jessiah’s bed.

I love you.

It broke Kevin’s heart to watch his boys leave the room.

“Jessiah,” he said, stepping up to the bed. “Buddy?”

“It hurts,” the boy whispered.

“I know, baby. I know.” He linked his hand into his son’s and wiped his thinning hair away from his face. “Eagle’s gonna help you eat something, ok?”

“My stomach hurts too, Dad.”

“I’m so sorry, Jessiah.”

“It’s…not…your fault.” Jessiah squeezed Kevin’s hand. The effort felt like nothing more than a child on his first day born. “Dad?” he asked.

“I’m here,” Kevin replied.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kevin said. “More than anything else in the world.”

In the final moments spent at his son’s side, Kevin leaned forward and pressed his lips to the boy’s brow.

I love you, Jessiah.

Eagle stepped forward. “I’m going to help you eat,” he said, pulling up a chair to the bed’s side. “Whenever you’re ready, Jessiah.”

Kevin squeezed his son’s hand one last time.

As he left the room, a scream fighting its way of his chest, he realized that he couldn’t even say goodbye.

An hour later, Eagle came downstairs and stepped into the room. The grim look on his face froze Kevin’s heart, but confirmed what he already knew. “He stopped breathing ten minutes ago,” Eagle said. “He’s gone.”

Mark wailed.

Kevin bowed his head. It’s over.

He tried to contain himself as his sons cried beside him. “It’s ok, guys. He’s not suffering anymore. He’s…he’s in a better place.”

At this, Kevin cried as well.

Is he really? he thought. Is he really in a better place?

He couldn’t possibly know. All he knew was that, in his mind, he’d done the right thing. He’d let his son go, eased his suffering.

Leaning forward, Kevin pushed himself to his feet and looked out the window, toward the sole maple tree that stood at the top of their hill.

“Come on,” he said, looking back at his two sons.

“Where, Dad?” Arnold said through his tears.

“We need to go dig the hole, guys. Before it gets dark.”

Neither boy said a word.

In the brief moment that followed, Kevin thought they hadn’t heard him, or were too paralyzed by their grief to move. Then they both stood and followed him out the door.

In the fading light of the cold afternoon, Kevin thrust the blade of his spade into the ground and tried not to think that it was his son’s grave he was now digging. Brow furrowed and eyes halfway shut due to the glare that hovered over the trees, he slammed his foot onto the flat edge of the blade and grimaced when he met resistance, but quickly shook it off when he threw the rock into the pile. Nearby, bent double and shivering, his two sons repeated the process, first thrusting, then tugging, then depositing the soil into the slowly-growing pile of dirt.

It seemed completely unlike them, to be digging a hole for a person. People weren’t buried by people—they were buried by machines, mechanical gods created only to serve those who created them. People were supposed to sit back and watch as the events of death unfolded before them, as first the viewing was presented, then the funeral. Afterward, when they stood at the foot of death, that of which Kevin and his sons were now digging, they were supposed to pay their final respects, to say goodbye in the presence of wake to the person they would not see again until they themselves died.

Will we though? Kevin thought. Will we?

Unnerved by his doubt, he straightened his posture and traced the cross over his heart, desperately wishing for the crystal beads his father had passed down to him at his thirteenth birthday. They would be in his bedroom, he knew, locked away in a little wooden box inscribed with everything he would ever need to know.

In that very moment of weakness, where he thought his legs would give out and he would scream, he caught Eagle tracing the crown of the hill, waving a stick of incense and muttering something under his breath.

A prayer?

The smell of lavender and bark drifted on the wind as the air shifted and a slight breeze crested the curve of the hilltop.

“Dad?” Arnold asked.

“What?” he asked.

“That smell…”

“It’s Eagle,” Kevin explained, looking down at the hole before them. Though not deep enough, they couldn’t keep going. The maple’s old roots had already stopped them once before. “I think we’re done, guys. It’s not deep, but it’ll work.” Kevin raised his hand and waved at Eagle, beckoning him.

Eagle stepped forward just as the last of the incense began to burn down. “I need you to help me get him,” he said. “I don’t want the boys to have to do this.”

“Nor do I,” Eagle said, turning his eyes on the boys. “Arnold, Mark, would you go to the edge of the woods and gather any bark and stones you can find?”

“Yes sir,” Arnold said. “But bark?”

“We’re going to use it to cover your brother. It’s an old tradition.”

“Ok,” the boy said. “Come on, Mark.”

“Daddy?”

“Go with your brother,” Kevin said. “Be careful. Don’t go into the woods.”

Before Mark could speak any further, Arnold grabbed his arm and began to lead him down the hill.

“Your boys are stronger than I thought they would be,” Eagle said, turning to start toward the house with Kevin.

“They’re stronger than I am,” Kevin sighed, reaching up to brush tears away. “Thank you, Eagle.”

“For what?”

“Incensing the hill.”

“It’s not something my people did, but I know it’s important to you.”

“I haven’t practiced for years.”

“Don’t fault yourself. He is with us no matter what anyone says.”

Kevin pushed the door open and waited for Eagle to enter before starting up the stairs. As they ascended, Kevin stared at the photos that lined the walls. Before, when they were still together, his wife used to say that for every year of their children’s lives, they would place a photo slightly higher on the wall, to commemorate their lives, to mark for the world and family and friends to see their triumphs through adolescence and their conquest for the future. It seemed funny that his wife had wanted to do such a thing—to adorn the walls with images of the past. In hindsight, however, Jack found each and every image a cruel contrast to his horrific suffering.

When they came to the final stair, Kevin looked at the picture of Jessiah on his seventeenth birthday and broke down into sobs.

Eagle pressed his hand against Kevin’s lower back. “Come. We don’t want to keep him waiting.”

Taking a moment to console himself, Kevin closed his eyes, stepped off the final stair, then made his way into the room in which Jessiah had spent the last week of his life. It took him a moment to compose himself, to prepare for what he might see, but when he looked up at the bed, he felt a startling sense of peace at the sight that lay before him.

Eagle was right; Jessiah had simply gone to sleep.

“We’ll wrap him in the blankets,” Eagle said, stepping forward to pull the sheets free from the mattress. “You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.”

“I do,” Kevin said, stepping around the other side of the bed. He looked down at his son and pressed a hand to his face, tracing his cheekbone with the curve of his thumb. When he came to the boy’s ear, where his hairline began to recede to his sideburn, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the boy’s cheek.

I love you, he thought, more at peace than he could have possibly been. I’m sorry it had to end this way.

No father deserved to outlive his son.

With that knowledge in mind, Kevin bent down, freed the sheets, then pulled them over his son’s body.

When Eagle tied the sheets together, Kevin lifted his son into his arms and pressed Jessiah’s head against his shoulder.

He turned, walked toward the door, and made his way down the stairs.

By the time they stepped up to the tree, Arnold and Mark had returned with the rocks and bark.

“This is it,” Kevin said, looking up at his boys. “This is where we say goodbye to your brother.”

Mark sniffled, tears coursing down his face. Arnold reached down and took his little brother’s hand in his own.

Stepping forward, Kevin lifted his leg, then pressed his foot into the bottom of the hole before maneuvering himself down into it. Once inside, he gently laid his son’s body into the natural part in the roots, all the while taking extra care to ensure that his head would not fall to the dirt.

“Goodbye, son,” he whispered.

After crawling out of the hole, Eagle bent down, took a piece of bark, then began to set it over Jessiah’s body.

“Dear God,” Kevin said, taking his own piece of bark and setting it over his boy as his sons and Eagle continued to do the same. “Please, hear my plea. Please take my son into your arms and take care of him until we meet again. I could not save him in life, but I know you can in death. Please, watch over both him and my family and guide us to the path you think is right. Amen.”

“I need you to help me with one last thing,” Kevin said.

“Anything,” Eagle replied.

“The barn. She’s still there.”

“Who?”

“Diana.”

He stood in the darkened space within the barn. Trembling, the gun in his hand, he stared at the single enclosed stall and tried to imagine the horror that stood behind the stable door. He knew, in essence, what was there—with its perfect hooves and its bashful eyes, it had once been nothing more than a horse, a beautiful creature Jessiah had fallen in love with when he was only thirteen years old. She’d been a foal then, still awkward on her too-long legs and her too-heavy body, but she had been beautiful, so beautiful, in fact, that she had captured his son’s heart with a single look and made it her own. Maybe it was that beauty that had ended his son’s life. Maybe it was her eyes that had sealed his fate.

“I don’t know what’s in here,” he said, looking up at Eagle, who stood in the open entryway. “If something happens, I want you to take the kids and go.”

“Where?”

“Idaho. It’s on the map. I marked it down.”

“I understand.”

“She killed him,” Kevin said. “She killed my son, Eagle, and I’ll be damned if I let her get away with it.”

Reaching forward, Kevin lifted the nail out of place and watched as the wooden plank swung out of view.

A snout appeared from the darkness, then her eyes.

Is this it? he thought. Is this really her?

The creature inside Diana’s stall opened her mouth.

When the sound came out of her throat—when it entered Kevin’s ears and killed every ounce of happiness that could have ever possibly existed within his heart—he knew that the thing that stood before him, no matter how changed or decayed, was Diana.

Kevin raised his gun.

And fired.

CHAPTER 12

A week later, after a complicated series of supply runs and waiting for the rain to bestow them with a necessary supply of water, the first part of the wall was up. Situated behind the three houses on the ground that separated the farm from the yards, it stood an astounding fifteen feet tall and looked exactly the way Jamie had initially envisioned it—sloped toward the ground and capped with an impressive display of miniaturized stakes which stood like sentinels to guard their eternal wasteland.

Standing at the foot of the wall and trying desperately not to breathe in the concrete dust, Dakota watched as Jamie nailed the final corner in place.

He did it. He really fuckin’ did it.

“Hey!” Jamie called down, waving the hammer in his hand. “Look at it!”

“It looks awesome!” Dakota laughed. “I can’t believe it worked.”

“‘Course it did! Why wouldn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Dakota chuckled, smiling as Jamie descended the ladder. “What about the other walls?”

“All they need is concrete and they’ll be done too.”

“How much longer will it take?”

“We could probably be done today if we’re lucky,” Jamie said. He slipped the hammer into his tool belt and ran a hand through his sweaty hair, turning his head to look toward where Steve and Ian continued to mix concrete. “I just wish we had some kind of pulley system. It sucks having to do it by hand.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dakota offered.

“Not particularly. I mean, if we had more than one ladder, sure, you could help pour the shit. Right now though, there’s not much anyone can do. I’ve already got Steve and Ian mixing and passing the stuff up to me. Nothing much anyone can do other than watch.”

“Yeah,” Dakota sighed. “I know.”

“Can you do me a favor, if you don’t mind? Get me a bottle of water and check on Erik. I think he’s getting another headache.”

“Again?”

Jamie sighed. “It fucking sucks, especially since he can’t really treat himself in the state he’s in.”

“I’ll check on him,” Dakota nodded, pressing a hand against Jamie’s upper arm. “Don’t overwork yourself, ‘k? Let Steve and Ian pour the stuff if they offer.”

“I will,” Jamie said.

Inside, Dakota poured some pretzels into a small bowl, retrieved a bottle of water from one of the lower cupboards and rummaged through the medicine cabinet until he found the migraine medicine. Once sure he had everything Erik could possibly need, he made his way out into the living room, then down the hall, toward Jamie’s old room where Erik was now staying.

At the door, Dakota knocked, leaned forward, then asked, “Erik? You awake?”

The bedspring creaked and Erik mumbled something under his breath. A brief moment later the door opened to reveal Erik, naked, save for his boxer shorts and a look of complete misery.

“Hey,” Dakota smiled, hoping to push past the initial discomfort of Erik’s appearance. “How are you feeling?”

“I still feel like shit,” Erik said.

“Jamie wanted me to check on you. Can I come in?”

Erik pulled the door open all the way and started back for the bed. Dakota took the action as a welcoming one and stepped into the room. “I brought you a snack,” he said, setting the bowl on the end table. “And some pills.”

“Already took some,” Erik grumbled.

“Did you drink any water?”

“No.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

“Not really.”

“That’s probably why you’re sick,” Dakota sighed, pulling the sheet up over Erik’s waist. He grabbed the bowl and held it before the man. “Eat something.”

“I don’t want to.”

“It’s food. I got for you.”

“I’m not hungry, Dakota. My head’s ready to explode and I feel like I’m gonna throw up.”

“You’re probably dehydrated,” Dakota sighed, substituting the bowl of pretzels in his hand for the bottle of water. “At least take a drink. A little water’s not going to hurt you.”

“Can you just leave me alone, please?”

“Drink the water.”

“Whatever,” Erik growled, snatching the bottle away. “I’ll drink the fuckin’ water. Now will you please leave me alone?”

Dakota took a few steps back, taking extra care to make sure that Erik would drink the water. “If you need something, just call.”

“Whatever,” Erik grumbled.

When Dakota closed the door, he thought he caught the older man mumbling something under his breath before he left.

“How’s Erik?” Ian asked.

“Cranky as hell,” Dakota said, shutting the front door behind him.

“Nothing new I guess.”

“That’s not really funny,” Steve said, chuckling as Ian slugged his shoulder. “He was the same way coming here.”

“Cranky as hell,” Ian said, “couldn’t say something without him biting your head off.”

“He’s just sick,” Dakota said. “He can’t help it.”

“I know,” Steve said. “The least he could do is try to be a little more pleasant.”

When Jamie came up and offered him a look, Dakota simply shrugged. Jamie chuckled in response. “I guess you know what’s going on then,” Dakota said.

“He’s been my best friend for years. I know how stubborn he is.”

“He wouldn’t even take a drink of water until I practically forced him to.”

“That’s Erik for you. He’ll do whatever he wants if he isn’t going to get in trouble for it.”

“But he’s sick.”

“It doesn’t help that he’s a nurse. Or was , I should say. He went through enough training for it.”

“Doesn’t really matter,” Dakota said, looking back at the house. “Someone should probably go in and check on him later though. I don’t think it’s the best idea if I do it.”

“You don’t think his headaches will get any worse,” Ian began, “do you?”

“I don’t know.” Jamie ran a hand over his forehead, looked between the three men before him, then turned his eyes back at the house, toward the furthest window on the left. “I’ve never had a migraine. All I know is what Erik’s told me, but from what he’s said, they usually don’t last more than a day or so. I’m guessing this is just from stress.”

“What could he be stressing out about?” Steve frowned. “We’re already here.”

“Erik’s got a lot of history you don’t know about, Steve. I just hope that backstory isn’t creeping up again.”

Two walls stood by the time night arrived.

Marked by the day’s progress, Jamie, Steve and Ian entered the house just as the last bits of light faded from the sky and collapsed on the couch, breathing heavily and stripping out of their clothes with the pained groans of men with stiff joints.

“God,” Jamie gasped, looking down at his hands. “Shit.”

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ian said. “You got concrete burns.”

“I thought I was wiping it off,” Jamie said, grimacing as he curled and uncurled his fingers. “Damn.”

“You ok?” Dakota asked.

“It hurts like a mother, but I’ll live.”

“What are we supposed to do for it?”

“Soak it in water, I guess.”

Dakota turned and started into the kitchen. While Jamie called out, saying not to waste the water on his hands, he crouched down, rummaged through the cupboards, then pulled out a few bottles of water and a small pot before considering the gas-powered stove before him. “Does the stove work?” he asked.

“It should,” Jamie said. “Dakota, don’t waste water on my hands.”

“Your hands are gonna fry if you don’t do something,” Ian said. “Using a little water isn’t going to hurt us any.”

“Right,” Dakota said, jumping as Ian stepped up beside him. “You scared me.”

Ian reached forward and opened a top cupboard. “You know where the vinegar is?”

“No.”

“It’s here somewhere,” Ian grunted. He balanced the weight on the tips of his toes and pushed a few boxes out of his way, then settled his weight back onto his feet when he found what he was looking for. “Pour some of this in here.”

“What does vinegar do?”

“Neutralize the chemical in the concrete.”

“Something tells me you’ve done this before,” Dakota said, upending the bottle and pouring the vinegar into the pot.

“I used to work construction before…well… I got more involved in other activities.”

“You don’t have to talk about it.”

“I mean, I’m cool with talking about it,” he said, pausing as Dakota started a burner, “but it’s not something I’m proud of.”

“We all have moments like that, Ian.” Dakota dipped a finger into the water, then a second when he couldn’t tell an initial difference. He waited a moment before dipping another in, dividing his attention between Ian and the timer above the stove. Once he deemed the water warm enough, he turned off the burner, removed it from the stove and dumped it into a separate bowl, complete with the extra vinegar. “Thanks for helping me with this, Ian.”

“Don’t mention it.”

“Now we just have to get someone to use it,” Dakota laughed, raising his voice so Jamie could hear him.

“I will,” Jamie chuckled, nodding as Dakota set the bowl before him. “I’m not going to waste water.”

“You better not.”

“Thanks, babe.” Jamie grimaced as he eased his hands into the water. “We’ll have to see if we can find some gloves in one of the other houses.”

“Did either of you get burns?” Dakota asked, turning his attention to Steve and Ian.

“Nope,” Steve said.

“I’m fine,” Ian said, raising his hands for emphasis. “We used brooms. Jamie got the brunt of it.”

“Which I still feel bad for,” Steve said, slapping an arm around Jamie’s shoulders.

“Don’t worry about it. It beats getting shot.”

“That it does.”

At that moment, Dakota couldn’t help but notice the scar on Steve’s arm.

It beats getting shot, he thought, but at least it’s a temporary pain.

Not sure what else to do, he seated himself beside Jamie and set a hand on his lower back.

His and Steve’s fingers touched.

“Did something happen down there?” Jamie asked, easing himself into bed.

“What do you mean?”

“With Steve. He got all quiet after I mentioned getting shot.”

“It’s…” Dakota sighed. “I guess you never talked to Steve about the Marines, have you?”

“No. He’s only ever mentioned getting discharged after being wounded in battle.”

“That scar on his arm? That’s the reason he was discharged. A bomb went off in front of him after he pushed another Marine away from it.”

“How’d he know it was there?”

“Someone saw the trip device in the back of the car. It was a decoy. The guy Steve pulled away from the car had just started to pull the door open before it exploded.”

“How’d he live?”

“He’s supposed to be dead,” Dakota sighed. “Everyone who’s met him said it’s a miracle he survived. His arm was broken—it nearly had to be amputated—but his doctor was a miracle worker, I guess.”

“Sounds like it,” Jamie said. “I wouldn’t have said what I did if I’d known.”

“I know. It’s a touchy subject. Steve came back and couldn’t tell me what happened for a month. He’s still not over it.”

“Not something you get over easily. Did he ever go to therapy?”

“Therapy?”

“For PTSD.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I know it doesn’t get rid of it completely, but at least it would’ve helped.”

“Steve’s bullheaded. It’s not in his character to ask someone else for help. He’s the helper, not the victim.”

“Oh well,” Jamie said. “Not much I can do about it now. Guess I’ll just apologize in the morning. I don’t want bad blood between us.”

“There wouldn’t be bad blood.”

“I know, but still. If you fucked up and can fix it, there’s no point not to.”

Sliding into bed, Dakota pulled the covers up over his shoulders and settled down onto the pillow.

Before he closed his eyes, he looked out the window and smiled at the wall that greeted him.

For the first time since everything began, he could finally call someplace home.

Dakota woke the following morning to the sound of cries and yells. Panicked, he jumped out of bed and tore the window open, desperately clawing at the safety locks and scrambling to push the curtains aside. One of the panels fell, followed by another, then a third, all of which knocked him aside or tore scratches across his face. Just when he thought that he wouldn’t be able to get through, he pushed his upper body forward and out the window.

He expected to see carnage—blood, destruction, the remaining two walls in ruins and his friends strewn across the front lawn. What he found, however, was a celebration.

“We did it!” Jamie cried, waving up at the window.

“You did what?” Dakota called back.

“We nearly finished the walls! We—” Jamie stopped. “What the fuck happened to your face?”

“The curtain panels,” he said. “I thought something bad was happening.”

Jamie reached up to run a hand over his face, then looked back at Ian and Steve, whose smiles simply widened as their shoulders rose, then fell. “You’re ok though,” Jamie said, “right?”

“Just a few scratches, that’s all.”

“Come on down here. We need to rig up a gate, but that’s pretty much all we need to do.”

“Give me a few minutes to get dressed,” Dakota smiled. “Good job, guys.”

“Thanks!” Steve called up.

“We’ve been at it since before dawn!” Ian added.

They’re crazy, Dakota thought, drawing back into the bedroom. Fucking crazy.

After dressing and checking to make sure that his face hadn’t been too horribly cut, Dakota left the room, made his way down the stairs, then out through the front door. He took notice of the gap on the south wall almost immediately. “I thought you said you were finished?”

“We are,” Jamie said, setting a hand on Dakota’s shoulder before he could continue any further. “The only problem we have now is devising a way to rig a gate up.”

“Can’t you just use hinges?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, there’s not many hinges that can hold a gate this big.”

“We were thinking about taking the hinges off the storage shed up the road,” Steve said, stepping forward to stand beside Jamie. “This way, we don’t have to risk going back into town yet.”

“We’ll have to go back into town anyway, Steve. We need supplies.”

“But we want to do it when we’re better coordinated, not when we’re dead-tired from working on our defenses.”

“If we can get the hinges off a shed, I don’t see why not,” Dakota said. He turned his eyes toward Jamie a moment later. “I thought you had this all planned out?”

“I did.”

“Then why do we need hinges?”

“I grabbed the wrong size.”

“What?”

“He grabbed the wrong hinges,” Steve chuckled. “It was an easy mistake.”

Jamie sighed. “Sometimes shit like this happens.”

“We can’t do much about it,” Dakota said.

“Other than get the hinges, no.”

Steve stared intently at a spot in the distance. He raised his hand to his eyes for a moment, shading the sun, then pointed. “Hey, someone’s coming.”

Dakota looked. Jamie’s fingers tightened around his shoulder as the vehicle came into view.

“It’s Kevin,” Jamie said.

“Who?” Steve asked.

Dakota’s heart sank as the vehicle crested the first turn at the tip of the road and continued forward.

“So,” Dakota mumbled. “They decided to come after all.”

“Eagle’s dead,” Kevin informed them. “And so is my Jessiah.”

They were in the living room, sharing a snack of soda and biscuits. The boys and Kevin were on one couch, Ian, Desmond and Steve on another. Dakota and Jamie remained standing with their hands in their pockets or at their sides, watching the man and his remaining two sons with eyes wary, yet concerned. It seemed unlikely that a father who’d once been so determined to remain at home with his children would travel hundreds of miles through zombie-infested territory to meet up with them, but if what he said was true, they’d suffered a terrible tragedy, one that had almost completely stripped away the former self of the man Dakota, Jamie and Desmond had met little more than a week before.

He’s so thin, Dakota thought, and his kids…they’re…

Sad? Angry? Dead? What word did you use to describe the sight of children so pale and white that they appeared nothing more than corpses freshly-pulled from the ground? With their raccoon eyes and their fleshy-pink lips, they appeared to be nothing more than animals, creatures taken from another world to show the current one how sad things could really be.

“What happened?” Jamie finally asked, as though unable to bear the silence any longer.

“Jessiah died in his sleep four-and-a-half days ago,” Kevin said, turning his head up to look directly at Jamie. “As for Eagle, we’d just left Minnesota and were staying in a World War Two memorabilia barn when we got jumped. One of them grabbed Arnold. Eagle pulled it off of him so he could get in the truck when he…” Kevin bowed his head, “when he got bit.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done,” Jamie said, reaching forward to set a hand on the man’s shoulder. “He died protecting your son.”

“He didn’t deserve it,” Arnold mumbled.

“No one deserves to die, Arnold. No one.”

Jamie stepped back. He cast a glance back at Steve, Ian and Desmond, but didn’t say anything to them. Instead, he gestured Kevin and his boys to stand before leading them to the door. “It’s not much,” he said, “but you can have the house on the far end.”

“What?” Kevin asked.

“The third house, the one with the coral roof. It’s yours.”

“I can’t accept that.”

“You opened your home to us.We’re offering the same. I’m not turning you away, especially not with your children. There isn’t enough room here and the second house doesn’t belong to me, it belongs to Erik.”

“Where is he?”

“Lying down. He’s been sick for the past week. Migraine headaches.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. Give him my best.”

“I will.” Jamie smiled. “The key’s under the rock by the door. And we’ve already searched it. It’s safe.”

“Thank you, Jamie. Such kindness means a lot to me.”

Jamie reached forward, took the man’s hand in his, then brought him forward into a brief embrace. Kevin gave one final nod before exiting out the door with his sons.

“That’s the guy you stayed with while you were in Minnesota?” Ian asked.

“Yeah,” Desmond said. “His oldest son was my age.”

“He got bit by his horse,” Dakota sighed.

“His horse?” Steve frowned.

“Horses don’t carry it,” Ian added.

“They don’t carry it,” Dakota said. “They carry something.”

“What are you talkin’ about, kid?”

“The way he explained it to me was that his horse had been acting strange. They’d been away from the cabin for a while, so he was worried that the neighbor who came to check on his horse wouldn’t be around. When they got there, the horse was swaying and acting…well, sick. When he tried to put her in the barn, she bit him. He didn’t think it was anything serious until the skin started to turn black.”

“He never told his dad?”

“No. He wasn’t bit by a zombie, so he didn’t think it was that serious. For all he knew, it could’ve been bruising.”

“Still not the best way to go about it,” Steve pointed out, kicking his foot up on the coffee table.

“No,” Dakota sighed, “it wasn’t. Jessiah got really sick near the end. I asked Jamie if we could leave because I wasn’t comfortable being around someone so ill.”

“Which isn’t your fault,” Jamie said, closing the front door. “When you told me about it, I didn’t feel comfortable being there either.”

“So we can trust them?” a voice from the hall asked. Dakota found Erik standing in the threshold, jeans hanging from his skinny waist and a cigarette from his lips. “Can I smoke in here, Jamie?”

“I don’t care,” Jamie said, “but to answer your question, yes, we can trust him.”

“Jessiah said he killed a man and his girlfriend who tried to steal food from them,” Dakota said, “but that was because the guy drew a knife on one of his sons.”

“Which is completely understandable given the circumstance. I know I’d shoot someone if they pulled a knife on my kid.”

“I only heard a little of it,” Erik said, “but he seems…disoriented.”

“He just lost his kid and his friend, Erik. Of course he’s going to be disoriented.”

“Just watch him, ok? And lock the door at night. He may be a friend to you, but he’s still a stranger to us.”

“He’s not gonna do anything,” Jamie sighed. “Especially not with two kids.”

“People act reckless nowadays. You know that.” Erik stepped into the room, took a drag off his cigarette, then settled into one of the reclining armchairs and leaned back into it. All eyes settled on him. “What?” Erik laughed.

“You’re feeling better,” Jamie smiled.

“I feel better, yes.”

“Is your headache gone?”

“For the most part.”

“We’re gonna send someone up the road to take the door off Mr. Barnsby’s old woodshed. We need the hinges for the gate.”

“I’ll go.”

“Me and Dakota are going,” Steve said. “Right, Dakota?”

“Right,” Dakota said, deciding it would be best to go along with the plan rather than question it.

“I’ll go too,” Erik said. “I can help.”

“You need your rest,” Jamie said. “I don’t want you trying to do something only to end up back in bed with another headache.”

“Quit stressing over what I’m going through, Jamie. See? Look.” Erik stood and spun in a slow circle, spreading his arms and strumming his fingers. “I wouldn’t be able to spin if I still had a headache.”

“But it’s not as bright in here as it is out there.”

“I’m not staying trapped in this house.”

“You don’t have to be trapped. I just don’t want you going with them.”

Erik stopped strumming his fingers, his arms fell at his side and his eyes narrowed. At that moment, Dakota thought he could’ve been a snake, a wicked viper with its fangs extended and venom coursing through its veins.

Uh oh.

“It’s nothing personal, Erik. I just don’t want you getting hurt.”

“Fuck you, Jamie. Seriously—fuck you.”

Erik turned, made his way into the hall, and slammed the door to Jamie’s old room behind him.

“Someone’s in a mood,” Steve chuckled.

“He’s still sick,” Jamie sighed. “Give him a day or two. He’ll come around.”

Dakota sure hoped so.

They made their way down the road with their guns drawn and their eyes set ahead. Spaced five feet apart, both to afford themselves two distinct viewpoints and to protect each other from any possible threats, Dakota raised his hand to suppress a sneeze, then pointed at a house near the very end of the road.

“See that?” he asked.

“I see it,” Steve said, fingering the safety on his gun. “Why do you ask?”

“I have a weird feeling.”

“Bad, or just weird?”

“Just weird…for now.”

Great, now I’m getting the heebie-jeebies. Get a hold of yourself, Dakota thought, shaking his head and steeling his nerves. Now look what you’ve done—you’ve freaked yourself out.

“Not my fault,” he mumbled aloud.

“What did you say?” Steve asked.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

About the molehill that’s just become a mountain.

Choosing not to reply, Dakota stepped up onto the sidewalk and continued to make his way toward the house that held the storage shed, taking extra care not to linger too close to the houses or the picket fences that separated them. To think that you would ever have to worry about getting too close to a harmless picket fence was impossible, comparable to a queen crossing the road in only her hosiery and sneakers. But the blood that tipped the perfect little spikes of the fences spelled fear like jagged nails on a chalkboard.

Blood used to be nothing more than a driving source that fueled the human body. In this day and age, touching it meant a fate worse than death.

His morbid thoughts having entertained him for the last ten minutes, Dakota barely realized they had crossed the street until Steve reached out and grabbed the back of his shirt. When he did, Dakota took a moment to shake his nerves off before looking up at the shed before them.

“This is where we’ll run into trouble,” Steve said.

“How come?”

“There’s blood on the door. See?”

The rusty smear needed little explanation, much less to be pointed out. “You think whoever did that is still here?” Dakota asked.

“Yep. Probably in the shed,” Steve nodded. “There’s fingerprints on the edge.”

“What do we do then?”

“It wouldn’t be locked from the inside…unless someone rigged it up, but I highly doubt that.”

“Why?”

“If something were chasing him, you’d think there’d be more blood on the door.”

“Unless the blood on the zombies was dry.”

Steve reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin before grabbing the door handle. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are,” Dakota said, raising his gun.

The door opened.

A wave of sawdust pooled out.

“Fuck,” Steve gasped, waving the air before him in a fit of coughs. “I didn’t—”

He stopped. Something moved inside the shed.

Dakota kicked his foot out toward the door just in time to trap the corpse between the shed and its door.

“Motherfucker!” Steve gasped, driving the butt of his pistol onto its head. He hit the creature again, slammed his foot into the base of its spine, then lowered his gun to its head, preparing to fire before Dakota lashed out and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t!”

“Dakota!”

“If there’s more, they’ll hear us.”

Nodding, Steve slid his revolver into its holster and gestured Dakota forward, applying extra weight to the corpse’s back in order to keep it from moving. Though decayed nearly to the point of being skin over bones, Steve obviously knew better than to relinquish his hold on it, as it continued to flail and hiss beneath him.

Dakota took a shovel from the corner of the shed and passed it to his friend.

“Batter up,” Steve said.

He drove the blade into the creature’s neck.

“You said you got it?” Erik asked over the CB.

“We’ve got it,” Steve said, glancing up at Dakota. “We had to deal with a corpse, but we got her taken care of.”

“Is the street clear?”

“It’s clear.”

“Good. I’ll send Ian up in the truck to help you load it up. Can you take the hinges out from there?”

“There’s no ladder.”

“I’ll have him load that up too. Hold tight. Over and out.”

“Guess that solves our problem,” Steve said, handing the radio over to Dakota.

“I’m just glad I kicked the door in time.”

“I shouldn’t have let my guard down. Stupid mistake on my part.”

“It could’ve gotten you killed.”

“I know. Which was why I said it was stupid.”

Dakota stepped forward, pressed a hand to Steve’s arm, then leaned into the shed, clucking at the lack of useful equipment inside. “Pretty shitty storage shed if you ask me.”

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing, really. Grain, hose, tools…probably nothing we could use.”

“We can always come back if we need it. Jamie’ll probably want it anyway. Always good to have extra stuff on hand, even if you don’t think you’ll need it.”

“You’ve got a point there.”

“Don’t I always?”

Dakota slapped Steve’s arm when he received a stupid grin in response. Down the road, the truck started up, slid out from between the gap in the wall, then started toward them, its progress slow and with hardly any sound. “At least Ian knows how to keep the truck quiet.”

“You’d think people would be smart enough not to make noise.”

“Good old machismo,” Dakota snorted, at which Steve chuckled.

They leaned back against the shed and waited for Ian to make his way up the road.

“Knock knock,” Jamie said.

“Go away,” Erik grumbled.

“You’re in my room, you know?”

“Fuck you.”

“What if I need to get something?”

“Get it later.”

“Let me in, Erik.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll kick the door down.”

With a flurry of swears, the bedsprings creaked and the chain on the door clicked and slid out of place. Shortly thereafter, the door opened, revealing Erik in all his pissed-off glory. “Hurry up.”

“Why are you in such a bad mood?” Jamie asked, pushing into the room without waiting for Erik to move.

“Maybe because you’re treating me like a kid. You ever think of that?”

“You’re sick, Erik. This is the first time you’ve been out of bed the whole week.”

“And now you’re treating me like a dick. Thanks, Jamie, it’s much appreciated.”

“Erik,” Jamie sighed. “Please don’t.”

“Don’t what? Argue? Fight? Act like an asshole?”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t, but you were thinking it. I can tell.”

“And how is that?”

“Because every time you talk to me like this, it’s because I’m—”

“Being an asshole?”

Erik’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t speak. Jamie smirked at his friend’s lack of a comeback. “Look,” he said, crossing the short distance to the desk, “I’m just worried about you. You haven’t had problems with your headaches since Iraq.”

“That was stress, Jamie.”

“And this isn’t?”

“I…” Erik shook his head. “It’s not the same thing.”

“What’s going on, Erik? There’s more to the story than you’re letting on.”

“No there isn’t.”

“Yes there is. I can tell. You never have a short fuse.”

“Says who?”

“Says the guy who’s been your best friend for the past fifteen years.”

Again, Erik chose not to reply. Instead, he settled down on the bed, closed his eyes and dropped his face into his hands, kneading the globes of bone on the sides of his head with his thumbs.

Come on, Jamie thought. Don’t do this to me.

“You can tell me if something’s wrong, Erik.”

“I know.”

“What reason do you have to keep things from me?”

“Because I’m losing my head, Jamie. I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

Jamie slid his fingers around his father’s portrait. Thumb gracing the corner of the frame, he looked over at Erik just in time to see a tear slip between his friend’s fingers.

“I don’t want to lose it again,” Erik said. “Iraq was bad enough. That dark room, that cell…God, Jamie, I don’t think I can take it.”

“You’re not gonna lose it,” Jamie said, crossing the room just in time for Erik to burst into tears. “It’s ok, Erik.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes it is. Erik, listen to me,” Jamie grabbed his friend’s face and tilted his eyes up. “See? It’s ok. Nothing wrong. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

“I failed one little test and they put in a black room.”

“You were stressed, just like you are now, and they were working you to the bone by expecting you to perform miracles.”

“All those little kids, Jamie. That bomb…”

“Don’t think about it right now. You did all you could.”

Erik managed a shake of his head, but didn’t even bother to fight as Jamie pushed him back onto the bed. “I know. I did.”

“You did.” Jamie clasped his friend’s shoulder. “Get some rest, buddy.”

Taking a few steps back, Jamie waited for Erik to respond, to crack a joke or hurl a friendly insult.

When he didn’t, Jamie sighed and closed the door.

This wasn’t just a temporary thing. That he already knew.

One little test, he thought, and they throw you in a dark room.

“Motherfucker,” Ian breathed, bracing himself on top of the ladder as he reached up to wrap his other hand around the screwdriver. “This thing won’t fuckin’ budge!”

“Try it again,” Steve said.

“I’ve been tryin’, Steve.”

“Then let me do it.”

“You fuckin’ kiddin’?” Ian howled. “If I can’t do it, you think you can?”

“Maybe you’ll have loosened it enough for me.”

“Wait! I…I got it!”

“What!”

“I got it!” Ian cried, tearing the screw out of place and nearly flinging himself from the ladder in the process. He lashed out with his free hand to steady himself on the shed’s gate while the ladder finished shivering below him. “One of you, catch.”

Dakota held his hand out. The screw plopped into his hand almost perfectly.

“Nice catch, Dakota.”

“Thanks,” Dakota said, sliding the object into his pocket. “How many more are in the top one?”

“Just one, but there’s four hinges.”

“This’ll take a while,” Steve said, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Hey!” Ian laughed. “At least we know I can get these out, right?”

“Unless you kill yourself before you finish,” Dakota chuckled.

“I’ll be fine. Trust me, I’ve worked on a few ladders in my time.”

“It sure looks like it,” Steve chuckled.

Dakota laughed. Ian raised his middle finger before driving the screwdriver into place.

“How is Erik?” Desmond asked.

“Erik is…will be fine,” Jamie said, gesturing Desmond out of the hall and into the living room. “We just talked.”

“I heard you guys fighting and wasn’t sure if I should say anything.”

“When it comes to Erik, you’re better off not saying anything unless absolutely necessary.”

Desmond sighed. “You probably don’t want to hear a sob story after what you’ve just went through.”

“What’s up?”

“It’s nothing important really.”

“The phrase ‘sob story’ and ‘nothing important’ don’t go well together, bud. I thought you already knew that?”

“I guess.” Desmond shrugged.

“Tell me what’s up,” Jamie said, seating himself beside the boy.

“It’s just…I don’t know. I’ve felt a bit useless since we got here.”

“How do you mean?”

“You guys put the wall up, Dakota and Steve went out to get the gate. I shouldn’t be complaining, considering I haven’t had to do any of the hard work, but I don’t feel like I’m contributing enough.”

“To be completely honest, there’s not a whole lot you could’ve done to help with the wall,” Jamie said, leaning back in his seat. “I mean, if we had another ladder, you could’ve helped mix the concrete, but even then that’s usually a one-man job. As to the gate, well, Steve volunteered them to go, what with Erik and all.”

“I know.”

“Tell you what, bud, you’re good at cooking, a hell of a lot better than anyone else probably is around here. Why don’t you make all of us dinner tonight?”

“All of us?”

“All of us, including Kevin and his kids. See if you can make something special, and try not to worry about the supplies. I think we deserve a little break, considering everything we’ve gone through.”

“You sure?”

“Let’s live a little.”

“We’re feeding nine people.”

“I know. We’ll have to go back into town to get supplies. I already know that. For now though, I don’t want to worry about it. We’re already strung out as it is.”

“Erik hasn’t just been dealing with headaches, has he, Jamie?”

“No,” Jamie admitted. “He hasn’t.”

“I heard something while you guys were talking…something about him getting locked up.”

“He had a nervous breakdown while we were in Iraq, but keep it between the two of us. I don’t want Erik to know that I told anyone.”

“I won’t. You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know.” Jamie slung an arm across the boy’s shoulders. “You’re a good kid.”

“I try to be.”

“Considering what’s happened,” Jamie said, “you’re doing one hell of a job.”

“You guys got it,” Jamie said, laughing as Ian eased the truck in through the gap in the wall.

“We sure did,” Dakota said.

“Bitch trying to get it in though,” Steve said, jumping out of the truck.

“Careful!” Ian cried. “I’ll run your fuckin’ foot over if you jump out like that.”

Steve took a few steps back.

Dakota sat still as Ian continued to push the truck into the enclosed space. With the gate balanced against the back of the cab, it was almost impossible to see anything behind them, but somehow Ian managed. With a grunt and a twist of the steering wheel, he applied a bit of pressure onto the accelerator, then stopped directly in front of Jamie’s front porch.

Dakota leaned forward and gripped the man’s shoulder. “Good job,” he said.

“Thanks,” Ian said, reaching up to wipe sweat from his hairline. “For a minute there, I thought I was going to hit something.”

“You did good,” Jamie smiled.

“I appreciate it, boss.”

“Now all we have to do is put it up,” Steve said, hooking his thumb into his waistband. “We doing this now or later?”

“Now would probably be best,” Jamie said.

Taking his cue, Dakota jumped out of the truck and made his way around the back of the vehicle, careful not to bump into the tailgate for fear that the disassembled door would fall on top of him. He cast a glance at Jamie, who simply smiled before he came forward and gripped the side of the gate.

“You want some help?” Dakota asked.

“We’re good for now. Ian, help me get this out.”

“Sure thing,” Ian said, taking the opposite side of the gate.

Once sure they each had a secure grip, Jamie and Ian lifted the gate out of the truck and carried it to the opening. There, they leaned it against the wall, took a few deep breaths, then turned their attention to Dakota, who quickly retrieved the screws from his pocket and set them in Jamie’s hands.

“This won’t take too much longer,” Jamie said, counting the screws and then the number of holes in each hinge. “All we need now is an electric screwdriver.”

“Which is here,” Erik said from the porch. He set the tool down on the railing and looked out at them.

“Hey,” Dakota smiled. “You feeling better?”

“Better,” Erik nodded. “But still not one-hundred-percent. I’m usually not such an asshole.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Steve grinned.

“Besides,” Ian added. “You don’t have to apologize for something you already are.”

Erik flipped him off. Ian laughed and saluted the gesture right back. “It sucks being sick,” Erik said, the hint of a smile appearing on the corner of his lips. “I feel like a dick for having been such a bitch to you guys on the way up here, but there’s not much I can do except apologize.”

“Like Steve said, don’t sweat it.”

“I’m not.” Erik handed the electric screwdriver down to Jamie. “Better hurry up with that gate. Desmond’s making cake and a whole bunch of other shit.”

“Cake?” Dakota asked.

“How the hell’s he making cake without milk and eggs?” Steve laughed.

“The kid’s a magician,” Jamie chuckled. “Didn’t you know?”

“I do now.”

“We better hurry then,” Ian said. “I want some of that cake, whatever the hell it’s made from.”

They cleared the dining room of all its unnecessary contents and added three more chairs. Seating rearranged, a china cabinet pushed and arranged into the living room, an American flag removed from its golden poles, but never allowed to touch the ground—it was this process that struck a chord in Dakota’s chest and played Mozart across his heart as he watched Jamie fold the flag into a triangle and place it into its embossed-wood display case. The name Carter Marks briefly winked back at him, but didn’t remain in view as Jamie wrapped his arms around it and pressed it against his chest.

His father’s, he thought, watching his boyfriend leave the room with a sense of guilt in his heart.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done this here,” Steve sighed.

“He’s ok,” Erik said, gripping Steve’s shoulder. “It’s not easy to take a flag down, especially when it’s for someone you loved.”

“Have you had to do it?” Dakota asked.

“Once. For my uncle. That was different though…he died here, at home. Not at war.”

Dakota pushed the conversation into a different direction by commenting on how large the dining room was and how it would be nice to have everyone sit down for dinner just in time for Jamie to return to the room. While Steve and Erik continued to talk—Erik retelling a story from his and Jamie’s childhood, Steve nodding and commenting as needed—Jamie sought Dakota’s eyes from the threshold and smiled when their gazes met.

“Sorry about that,” Jamie said, drawing all eyes in the room toward him. “I forgot it was in here.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Ian said.

“We know it’s tough,” Steve said.

“Thanks, guys, I appreciate it.”

“Desmond says dinner’ll be ready in ten,” Ian said, sticking his head into the room. “One of us needs to go get Kevin and his kids.”

“I’ll do it,” Dakota said, stepping toward the threshold. He stopped in midstride to run his hand along Jamie’s arm and lace their fingers together. “You gonna be ok?”

“I’ll be fine,” Jamie said, kissing his hair. “Go get ‘em. I’ll be here when you get back.”

Dakota squeezed Jamie’s hand one last time before heading for the door.

The cold, early-November air snaked along his body and curled around the base of his neck as he made his way across the front lawns and toward the third house. The wall now freshly-raised, the barricade from the outside world in place, Dakota felt peace as first his foot fell onto a stepping stone, then landed on the grass. Like an Olympic runner pulled from the track and placed in the woods, each stepped seemed foreign, strange and alien in a world that shouldn’t seem to exist. It felt odd to feel safe after months of feeling as though his life trembled on trapeze wire.

Pausing to consider himself, Dakota climbed up the three brief stairs before he raised a hand to knock.

A flicker of movement stirred the curtains in the window near his side. The deadbolt on the other side of the door snapped out of place and the door opened. “Hey,” Kevin said, bracing his upper arm against the doorjamb. “Something wrong?”

“We haven’t seen you around,” Dakota smiled. “Are you guys all right?”

“We’re good,” Kevin said, glancing back into the house. “I didn’t know what to expect, but…this wasn’t it.”

“I’m glad you like it.” Dakota paused. He thought he saw another flicker of movement behind the curtain—this time complete with two pairs of eyes—but returned his attention to Kevin. “I’m don’t mean to bother you, sir, but Jamie asked me to come over and invite you all to dinner. Desmond’s making something special to celebrate the wall.”

“The wall?” Kevin asked, peering over Dakota’s shoulder.

“They finished putting up the gate.”

“I only just woke up, so I wasn’t sure what you were talking about.”

“We finished it about an hour ago.”

“That’s great,” Kevin smiled, reaching out to set a hand on Dakota’s shoulder. “As to your invitation, are you sure that would be acceptable?”

“He invited you,” Dakota said. “You’re one of us.”

“Thank you, son. And give your boyfriend my thanks as well. Me, Mark, Arnold and Jeh…I mean…we will be over in a few.”

“Take your time. We’ll wait for you.”

Dakota waited for Kevin to close the door.

When he turned, stepped off the porch and started to make his way back home, he sighed.

Kevin had known about him and Jamie.

And he still can’t remember that Jessiah isn’t alive anymore.

However sobering the thought, he couldn’t let it get to him.

Regardless of another’s circumstance, despite someone else’s troubles, he had his whole life ahead of him. He might as well start enjoying it now.

“They comin’?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah,” Dakota said, shrugging his coat off his shoulders. “Smells good in here.”

“I know.”

“He just pulled the cake out of the oven,” Ian laughed, sticking his head out for a brief moment before carrying a pan of something into the dining room.

“How much did he make?” Dakota inquired.

“From the looks of it, enough to feed an army,” Jamie said. “Hey, is something wrong?”

“Huh?”

“You look bummed.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, leaning up against Jamie.

“Ok,” the older man said, setting his arms over Dakota’s shoulders. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“It’s nothing we need to talk about. Just something I realized when I was over at Kevin’s.”

A knock came at the door.

“Come in,” Jamie called.

The door opened. Kevin and his two children stood in the doorway, dressed from head to toe in winter gear.

“Good to see you,” Jamie said, gesturing them into the house. “Come in, come in.”

“Thank you for inviting us,” Kevin said, reaching out to accept Jamie’s hand over Dakota’s shoulder.

Dakota shrugged out of Jamie’s grasp so he could stand at his side. “How are you guys?”

“Doing better. Thank you for inviting us, Jamie.”

“You’re one of us now,” Jamie smiled. “Friends gotta stick together, right?”

“They sure do,” Kevin nodded.

“Get in here!” Steve called. “Dinner’s ready!”

“I just finished the cake!” Desmond added.

“Cake?” Mark said excitedly.

“How’d he make cake?” his older brother questioned, equally excited.

“I don’t know,” Kevin laughed, gesturing his children into the kitchen, “but I know I want some.”

When the father and his sons had fully disappeared from view, Dakota turned to face Jamie.

“Everything fine now?” Jamie asked.

“I’m fine,” Dakota smiled, reaching down to take Jamie’s hands. “Just thankful.”

“For what?”

“You…us…life.”

“I think we all are,” Jamie said, sliding an arm across Dakota’s shoulders before leading him toward the kitchen. “Trust me. I know we are.”

CHAPTER 13

The first touch of snow began to fall in the middle of November.

“Beautiful,” Jamie whispered. “Just beautiful.”

“You act like you’ve never seen snow before,” Ian taunted, throwing himself onto one of the couches.

“Not since we got back from Iraq,” Erik said, stepping up to join Jamie beside the window.

“After being there for a week,” Jamie said, “you wish it would snow.”

“Like Canada.”

“Or Europe.”

“You were in Europe?” Dakota asked.

“We stopped off over there for a fuel run,” Jamie said. “Right, Erik? Or was that somewhere else?”

“I think that was the Netherlands,” Erik frowned. “I can’t remember. I was so jet-lagged that I could hardly keep my eyes open.”

“I remember now,” Jamie chuckled. “You had the same problem on the way back.”

“I threw up.”

“On me, no less.”

Dakota raised a hand to hide his chuckle. Erik offered the same look regardless. “I don’t do well with planes. Seriously.”

“You don’t do well with anything,” Jamie howled, slapping his thigh before falling back from the window. “You got sick in the jeeps, in the tanks. Hell, you even got sick in the cars over there.”

“It’s a fucking desert you prick! What did you expect?”

“He’s always had a problem with moving beyond the speed of foot,” Jamie said, nudging Dakota’s side and leaning in as though he were about to reveal a secret. “He can’t even sit in a swing without hurling.”

“Fuck you,” Erik laughed, lifting his middle finger.

“What’s going on?” Desmond asked, stepping out of the hallway in boxers and an undershirt.

“Nothing,” Jamie said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I heard yelling and wasn’t sure,” the boy said.

“Weren’t sure about what?” Erik asked, narrowing his eyes.

“It reminded me of the way my parents used to fight.”

No one spoke as the boy made his way to the couch beneath the expansive southern window and seated himself on it. The laughter now gone from the air, Dakota cast a glance first at Jamie, whose expression seemed to be chipping away by the second, then at Erik, whose mouth simply melted from its frown into a neutral position. Ian, meanwhile, appeared troubled, as his usually cold eyes seemed lighter than they normally did.

“Sorry,” Erik mumbled, breaking the silence everyone else seemed afraid to. “You never told us about that.”

“It’s not your fault,” Desmond said.

“I feel your pain, bud,” Ian said, stepping forward to join Desmond on the couch. “My parents used to fight all the time.”

“About what?”

“About my father for not being home more often, about my grades, about my friends and how I was running with the wrong crowd.”

“They were probably worried about you getting into a gang,” Erik said. “Guess it doesn’t matter anyway.”

“I got dragged into it because I was a pussy, not because I’m Mexican.”

“I wasn’t insinuating that.”

Ian settled back onto the couch. “That’s a touchy subject.”

“I should’ve worded that more carefully.”

“It’s ok. Besides, I shouldn’t have snapped at you anyway. I just took a lot of shit back home and I’m still bothered about it.”

“You never mentioned where you came from,” Dakota said, sitting down on the edge of the couch.

“I was born in the States, but spent half of my life in Mexico. Thirteen years. Thirteen fucking years.”

“How come your family didn’t stay there?” Desmond asked.

“Gangbangers kept jumping my dad,” Ian said. “Funny…we left Mexico to get away from that and we go right back into it when we got here.”

“That’s when you moved to the MRS,” Dakota said.

“The what?” Desmond frowned.

“The MRS—Mount Rushmore State. It’s a South Dakota thing.”

“Anyhow,” Ian said, “like I was saying, we moved to South Dakota when I was thirteen and I got the same kind of shit I got in Mexico. I’d get picked on for being half Mexican, get ridiculed for not being ‘a real Mexican,’ and asked if I was in a gang or if I planned on being in one from everyone, including teachers, which is why I snapped at you.”

“It’s understandable,” Erik said.

“You wouldn’t believe the names I’d get called.”

“I can only imagine,” Dakota said.

“Beaner, poncho, greaser, wetback. Hell, they even called me a guero because of my skin, which pissed me off because it was always used in a negative way. So, to get back to my point—whenever I wasn’t getting harassed for being a Mexican, not being enough of one or being asked if I was in a gang, I’d sit at home and listen to my parents fight.”

“What’d they fight about?” Desmond asked.

“Like I said earlier—my dad being gone, money, my grades. That kind of shit.”

“Did your parents split?” Dakota asked.

“Happened when I was fifteen. Mom caught Dad with some bimbo bitch with fake tits and kicked him out. They divorced almost immediately.”

“That had to be hard,” Jamie commiserated. “It sucks growing up without a dad.”

“I could care less about that asshole,” Ian growled, eyes once again chilling. “What pissed me off was what the assholes started doing to my mom.”

“What assholes?”

“The fucking white guys who chased my mom because she was Mexican. They’d start hanging around the house after my dad left and would do one of two things—try to get with her because she was now ‘free real estate’ or call her a whore.”

“I’m guessing this didn’t end well,” Erik said.

“I beat one of the fuckers up when he got all touchy-feely on her when I was walking home from school, said he’d kill me if he ever saw me again. I got so fucking fed up with all of it that I just wanted to leave her alone.”

“Did you,” Dakota paused. “I mean, is this when you joined the gang?”

“No. This was after I started beating up the guys who jerked my mom around and after I got jumped for protecting her.”

No one said anything. Even Desmond, whose problem had since transgressed into Ian’s own revelation, remained silent, his issues long placed behind him in order to let Ian speak.

“I got beat up one night coming home from a friend’s,” Ian said, leaning forward to brace his hands between his knees. “Four or five guys. One of them came at me with a switchblade, slashed my arm, then stabbed me in the leg. I ended up fighting two of them off before these two big guys came up, wrestled them off of me, then bashed the one’s face in with his brass knuckles. They ran off like a bunch of pussies.”

“Are those the guys you were running with?” Dakota asked.

“The guys who shot at you and Steve. Yup. That was them.” Ian tilted his head up to look at Dakota, then turned his attention toward the mantle and big screen TV ahead of him. “I’ll admit it, they were good guys, guys I considered friends. Hell, they saved my life, but they’re better off dead, especially when they started killing people that didn’t deserve it.”

“No rest for the wicked,” Jamie said.

“None at all,” Ian nodded. “Anyhow, the rest of my story is pretty simple, no ‘Ian quests to fight the dragon’ Disney shit. The guys offered me a place with them, they initiated me, then they got rid of anyone who gave me or my family shit, starting with the assholes who fucked with my mom. Needless to say, word got around. Fast.”

“The words on your shoulder,” Desmond said. “The K.R.D. What is that?”

Desmond reached up to rub the raised black ink on his shoulder. “My gang.”

“What does it stand for.”

“Kill…” Ian sighed. “Rape. Destroy.”

Again, everyone was silent.

“In the end,” Ian continued, looking up at everyone in the room, “shit worked out. I ran with them, I got caught in a stint, I went to jail and they watched my mom’s back the whole time I was there. That stuff doesn’t much matter, and to be perfectly honest, it’s not something I want to share with anyone, but when I got out and the world ended, they stuck with me until the very end. Few people do that.”

“True,” Dakota said.

“That’s some tough shit,” Jamie concluded.

“Anyway,” Ian said, pushing himself to his feet. “Erik was saying something about helping him out with the stuff in his place, something about me and Steve rooming up there to give you and Dakota some space.”

“We don’t mind you being here.”

“We don’t,” Dakota said.

“I know,” Erik said, “but I gotta do it eventually. Better start before the blizzards get too bad.”

“Guess we’re off then,” Ian said, starting for the door.

“Ian?” Desmond said, standing.

“Yeah, kid?”

“Thanks. I mean, for talking about that. It means a lot that you trusted us.”

“Don’t mention it, kid. Anytime, anywhere, just hit me up.”

Ian and Erik left without another word.

“You think Desmond’s ok?” Dakota asked.

“Why do you ask?” Jamie said.

“I’m not sure.”

They stood on the balcony that extended from the master bedroom. Poised at the tail of the house like perfectly arched brows on the surface of a porcelain face, it allowed a near-excellent view of the neighboring farm and the expanse of nothing that lay beyond it. As the snow fell—cascading first from the heavens, then flipping through the air like Christmas fairies gone amok—Dakota tried not to shiver in the breeze that drifted toward him. It wasn’t cold, not by a longshot. He shouldn’t be shivering on a day like this.

It’s just a breeze.

Was it, though? A gust of air didn’t summon the image of a young man tormented by his life, by the parents that existed for the sole purpose of taking care of him, nor did a flake of snow speak of tears shed from sitting in a room all alone, crying because they wished they had someone to talk to. The wind was nothing—not a memory, an emotion, or anything similar to false hope in a hopeless situation.

The wind is nothing.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

“You say something?” Jamie asked.

“Huh?”

“You’re mumbling.”

Dakota shook his head to free the flakes that had accumulated on his eyelashes. He grimaced as the frosty imps bit his cheeks with their soft and fleshy teeth.

“You only mumble when something’s on your mind.”

“I know.”

“There’s not much we can do for Desmond if he’s thinking about his past. We’re not doctors.”

“We don’t have to be doctors to help someone.”

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Jamie said, leaning forward. He reached up to run a finger through the hairs on his chin and stopped in midstride. Frowning, his hand slipped from the air and fell to the railing before him, where his fingers spread and began to make their own little angels in the snow below them.

Now he’s starting.

Dakota slipped a hand in the older man’s pocket.

“It was a stupid thing to say,” Jamie said.

“No it wasn’t. Is there something you want to tell me, J?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“They used to give us downers if something was bothering us.”

“Who did?”

“The army.”

“Is that legal?”

“I don’t know, but that’s what our commanding officer did.”

“I thought Armstrong was your commanding officer?”

“Armstrong wasn’t our CO. He was someone we tagged along with after New York… well, during it, I should say. Me and Erik ran into him when we were running from the hospital.”

“The one where they were keeping people with bites?”

“That’s the one.”

“Did you ever take any?”

“No. Tried to, sometimes, but couldn’t do it. Seeing how bad they fucked Erik up as a kid turned me off to them. That’s the whole reason I don’t even take Tylenol.”

“I just thought you were stubborn.”

“Well, I am,” Jamie chuckled, “but that’s not why I don’t take Tylenol.”

Laughing, Dakota leaned against Jamie’s side and looked out at the field. A flicker of movement silenced him. “Did you see that?” he asked.

“What?” Jamie said.

A gun went off.

*

She raised her club and hit it in the head. First once, then twice, then a third time, she beat its skull to a pulp, then lashed out with her foot. Its ankle broke upon impact, brittle with age and decay, before it fell, twitching, fingers flailing like a dying dove’s wings.

Raising her head, the woman allowed herself one throaty laugh before she raised the bat over her head and brought it down one last time.

Old, rustic, and used far more than it should have been, her faithful weapon’s last killing hit snapped it in half.

“Fuck,” she breathed. She cast the weapon aside, looked down at the empty pistol in her hand, then cursed herself for using a bullet in such an open area. She should know better. Using a gun was the last resort, but it had snuck up on her, had walked from the alley and touched her back before she even heard it.

It’s dead, she thought, trembling. It’s fucking dead.

Reeling back, she hocked a glob of spit in her mouth and shot it directly into the zombie’s face.

Somewhere nearby, a door opened, then closed.

Someone’s alive?

No, it couldn’t be! No one could be alive, not here of all places. It was too quiet, too lonely. No one could possibly be left.

“You heard that?” a man said. “Didn’t you?”

“I heard it,” another man replied.

No. It can’t be! No one’s alive! I’ve walked across this whole country and not a single person has ever revealed themselves.

“You think we should go look?” the man with the deeper voice asked.

“You’re sure it was a gunshot?”

“It had to have been. Nothing around here makes that kind of noise.”

Rose screamed.

*

The noise in his ears was like nails clattering across a hardwood floor. Shrill, harsh, brutal in its rawest of forms and tormented beyond belief, the scream tore through Dakota’s head and triggered a wave of panic that not even the strongest of prescription drugs could have quelled. At first he thought he was hearing things, then Jamie pulled the pistol from his belt and trained it on the field below them.

“That wasn’t it,” Dakota said.

“What?”

“In the field. Whatever’s there isn’t it.”

“Then where?”

“Beyond us. Out front.”

“In the street?”

A hail of footfalls echoed up the stairs, through the open door and out onto the balcony. “Someone’s out front!” Erik called, bursting into the room.

“What?” Jamie asked.

“A woman. She shot the gun.”

“What?”

“There’s someone out front!” Desmond cried. “Hurry! Hurry!”

They ran.

*

Rattlesnakes might have made similar noises had they been alive. Dry, snarling, like cats with parched throats, the faint hiss that emanated from the corpse’s throat pulled Rose’s head out of the gutter completely free of any shit it had previously been covered in. Her first thought drove her to the bat in the road—splintered, but still useable—but the voices started yelling and the corpse turned its head toward the noise.

Taking her chance, Rose lunged forward with her palm flat-out and struck the corpse in the chest. It stumbled back and fell to the ground, completely helpless as she screamed and jumped onto its chest. With her thick boots and its emaciated frame, what was left of its torso caved in with little resistance. Even the bones snapped like twigs as she brought her foot down and crushed its face in.

Think logically. Go. Go!

Could they be trusted? Worchester was her lesson, the error quotient in her trial. Mary had died because she hadn’t been paying attention to the man her friend so desperately claimed was her one true love. He’d shot her dead on sight before she even had the chance to knock the gun out of his hand.

They’re not all like him. They’re not…

Something groaned.

In the near distance, a portion of a giant wall began to move.

*

“She’s armed,” Jamie said, “and possibly unstable.”

“How do you know that?”

“No one uses a gun, Dakota. No one’s stupid enough to.”

“Unless they’re desperate,” Erik said, sliding a clip into the rifle in his hand.

“Either way, we need to be careful.”

“She’s screamed twice now,” Ian said, grunting as he lifted the gate out of place and began to pull it backward. “What if she’s bit?”

“We’ll deal with it then,” Steve said, taking place beside Ian.

“What do I do?” Desmond asked.

“You stay here,” Jamie said, looking up at Erik and Dakota. “Desmond,” he continued, reaching down to his belt and the holster at his side, “you take my pistol and hold the front gate. The three of us will go.”

“What about us?” Steve gasped.

“You two need to shut the gate if something goes wrong.”

“But what about you?”

“Just do as I say!”

“Yes sir!” Steve said, snapping his wrist to his brow in a salute.

Smirking, Jamie slid a cartridge into his rifle and cocked his gun.

“Let’s go,” he said.

*

The broken, bloodied bat in her hand, Rose started down the road with her arm slack and her insides tense with anticipation. Her knuckles felt like they would explode out of their joints from the weight of her grip on the bat, but with her gun gone and new, possibly-dangerous men approaching, there was no shortage of nerves coursing through her veins.

They could kill me, she thought, and I’m walking right into a trap.

Would it be so bad though to have it end after so long? Sure, she could be killed, and sure, she could be raped and tortured, but would that really be such a bad thing? At least if she were captured, she would have some security, some safety behind the wall.

“They’re not doing anything,” she whispered to herself. “I’ll fucking kill them if they even try.”

Raising her bat, she locked her other fist around its bloodied handle and braced it in front of her like a sword, ready for whatever was to come.

You are strong, she thought. You are brave.

“You have survived,” she said.

The tip of a military-grade rifle came into view.

Rose braced herself.

“Come out!” she cried. “I’m not afraid of you!”

*

“She thinks we’re going to do something,” Dakota said. “She thinks we’re going to kill her.”

“No reason for her not to,” Erik said, lowering the tip of his machinegun. “Jamie.”

“We’re not going to hurt you!” Jamie called out, raising a hand before snapping the head of his rifle toward the ground. “My name’s Jamie Marks! I was a corporal in the United States military before—”

A gunshot rang out.

Dakota blinked as smoke drifted before his eyes. He coughed, ears ringing as though his head had just been struck by a church bell.

He caught sight of the smoking barrel of Erik’s machinegun.

“What the fuck are you doing !” Jamie cried.

“Zombie,” Erik replied.

“Where?”

He pointed. A twitching corpse, now relieved of both its legs, lay in the brief space between a house and a garage directly in front of the woman. “It would’ve walked right into her,” Erik said.

“Fucking hell!” the woman cried out.

“She’s English?” Dakota exclaimed.

“What the bloody hell are you doing?” she screamed.

“You’re drawing attention to yourself!” Jamie called back.

“And us!” Erik added, taking a few steps forward. “Listen up because I’m only going to say it once. If you want in, you better come now, otherwise we’re going to close the gate.”

“Erik—”

“Shut up, Jamie. Don’t play hero on me.”

“But—”

“Did you hear me?” Erik called, ignoring Jamie.

“I heard you!” the woman said, turning her head to spit. In that brief moment she turned her head, Dakota took notice of a jagged cut running from her hairline to her jaw, fresh with blood and more than likely harboring infection.

There’s no blood on her face other than there.

Save for the blood on her hands and the slight spatter on her shirt, she seemed perfectly clean, albeit covered in dirt.

“I’m not going to say it again!” Erik cried. “Come now or else.”

The woman let the bat fall at her side.

For a brief moment, Dakota thought she wouldn’t do anything. Then she ran forward as though her life depended on it.

“My name’s Rose,” the woman said, raising her head as Erik began to wipe the blood and dirt from her brow. “I’m from England.”

“England?” Desmond frowned. “How did you get here?”

“By boat.” The woman seemed to consider her words before she burst into laughter. It took her a moment to compose herself, but when she finally did and Erik continued to clean her face, she smiled. “Can you believe that? I came by fucking boat.”

“How?” Jamie asked. “I mean, did you pilot it?”

“I didn’t pilot it, Corporal; it drifted.”

“What?”

“It drifted?” Dakota asked. “How?”

“I have no fucking idea,” Rose said, raising a hand to stop Erik from messing with her face. “All I know is that after everybody died, I was all by myself.”

“How long were you out there?” Erik asked, lowering the dirtied medical gauze.

“In the boat, or out there?” she gestured outside the window.

“The boat.”

“I have no idea. You tell me.”

“It’s been two months since everything happened,” Jamie said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Two months seems about right,” Rose said, standing. She stripped her torn, bloodied T-shirt over her head and started toward the sink, but stopped before she could make it there. “What’s with the stares? You boys ain’t seen a girl with her shirt off?”

“No,” Jamie said. “It’s not that.”

“Pray tell, officer.”

“Corporal,” Jamie corrected. “And I don’t consider myself to be part of the army anymore.”

“Why’d you introduce yourself as such then?”

“Because I wanted to seem important,” he said. “Because I wanted you to feel safe.”

“I haven’t felt safe since the day Mary’s boyfriend came in and shot her in the face,” Rose said, lifting a bottle of water from the counter. “I’ll get you another one to replace this.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not.” Chuckling, she uncapped the bottle and poured a few drops in her palms before she began to scrub the dirt off her hands. “You got any disinfectant?”

“Soap will work,” Erik said.

“You a doctor?”

“Nurse. Medic.”

“Ah. Another Army boy.”

“You said you didn’t know how long you were at sea,” Jamie said, stepping aside as Erik started into the kitchen. “How long have you been here?”

“I washed up into Long Island, New York a week or so ago.”

“It wouldn’t have been New York.”

“Why not?”

“They blew it up.”

“That’s why they cut the broadcasts from the States,” Rose laughed. “Anyhow, as to how long I’ve been here: a week, I guess. I found a car with the keys inside and took it. There was some sort of broadcast saying there was a safe zone in Rigby, but I couldn’t find it.”

“That must have been the city hall,” Jamie sighed, closing his eyes. “You have any trouble getting here?”

“Your roads are long and covered with junk, the cities are filled with the dead, the convenience stores have no food in them—sure, I can say I had a little trouble.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

Desmond jumped from his place on the couch and scurried into the kitchen. Dakota fell into place at Jamie’s side just as the boy handed the Englishwoman a plate with the scarce remnants of last night’s cake.

“Cake,” she smirked.

“I made it last night,” Desmond said, offering her a spoon.

“Thank you.” She parted the cake’s luscious, vanilla folds with the blade of the utensil and slid it into her mouth, tilting her head back the moment the spoon left her lips. “God,” she moaned. “Who’d have ever known it would taste so good?”

“Guess you take things for granted,” Jamie said. “You’re all right then?”

“Doctor boy fixed me up here.” Rose dropped the spoon onto the plate. “I’m tired and sore as hell though.”

“Can I ask what happened to your car?”

“It broke down up the road. I was just about to break into one of the houses for the night before one of the deadfucks snuck up on me.”

“I’m glad to hear you’re safe, ma’am.”

“Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me sound like an old bitch.”

Dakota chuckled. Jamie elbowed him in the side, but that only made it worse, as he only laughed louder than he initially had.

“It’s nice,” she said. “To hear someone laughing, I mean.”

“You’ve been alone for a long time,” Jamie sighed. “Haven’t you?”

“Yes,” Rose said, closing her eyes. “I have.”

“Where’s the girl?” Steve asked.

“In the guest bedroom upstairs,” Jamie said, offering Dakota a smile when their eyes met.

“It’s not very often you hear about someone drifting at sea for months on end, especially not all the way from England to the States,” Dakota commented.

“She’s lucky she’s alive,” Steve said, seating himself beside Dakota.

“Why were you asking where she was?” Jamie asked.

“Just wondering. We’re starting to get our own little colony here.”

“The founding fathers!” Jamie cried, raising a fist in the air. “This is our country, gentlemen! The greatest country on Earth!”

Dakota exhaled and leaned into his boyfriend’s side. “I’m glad she came with us willingly.”

“I highly doubt we could have forced her here, babe.”

“I know. I mean, Erik could have scared her off.”

“He has a short fuse, and is apt to act irrationally.”

“I was going to say he’s a bit reckless, but that too.”

“He’s been going through some shit. He’ll snap out of it thought.”

“His headaches acting up again?” Steve sighed. “I feel bad that we’re not doing anything more for him.”

“There isn’t much we can do, Steve. Erik’s been dealing with these headaches his whole life. It’s not a problem that pills can fix.”

“I figured as much.” Steve leaned forward to look out the living room window at the snow that continued to fall, now returning from its brief absence. “Was she wearing shoes?”

“I think so,” Dakota replied.

“I didn’t see her take any off,” Jamie said. “Then again, I wasn’t paying attention to her feet. I don’t think anyone was.”

“I wasn’t.”.

“All I know is that it’d suck to be walking around in the cold without shoes.” Steve drew his feet up onto the couch and tucking them beneath his thighs. “Not much we can do about it though. At least she’s safe.”

“And that’s all that matters,” Dakota said, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling, imagining how the snow would taste.

His mother used to tell him it was full of dirt.

But it falls from the sky.

Even now, looking at the ceiling, he wondered how freshly fallen snow wouldn’t be clean.

It was so perfect.

“I want to go with you,” Rose said.

“What?” Steve asked.

“I said,” she repeated, “I want to go with you. On the supply run.”

“You’ve only been here for a day,” Jamie said. “Are you sure you’re fit to go?”

“I’ve been fit to go since I got off that boat. I’ve got my land legs now.”

“Who all is going, Jamie?” Dakota asked. “If it’s me, you, Kevin and Rose—”

“That makes four of us,” Rose finished, sliding a hand into her fresh pair of jeans. She reached up to swipe a hand across her mouth before continuing. “There’s, what? Us, which makes three, then Steve and that kid, which makes five, then the guys in the other house, seven.”

“And Kevin and his two kids,” Dakota said. “Ten.”

“Four people leaving isn’t going to hurt anything. I say we go now before the snow starts up again.”

“She’s got a point,” Steve said. “You guys don’t want to get caught out in a snowstorm.”

“We also need something to heat the house with,” Rose said, stretching her arms over her head and starting toward the threshold. “That is, unless you plan on wearing long sleeves all winter.”

“What’s wrong with shirt sleeves?”

Steve’s stupid grin inspired a smile of Rose’s own. She stopped in midstride to turn and face him. “Nothing,” she said, her smile not dimming in the least, “but I’m sure you know they only go so far.”

“Trust me. I know.”

“Corpor—I mean, Jamie. When do we leave?”

“As soon as Kevin’s ready,” Jamie said, looking down at the map before them.

Dakota leaned forward to see it better. Circled in bold red ink were six individual stores, including what had once been one of the United States’ most famous superstores.

“You think it’s a good idea to go there?” Dakota asked.

“They’ll have seeds,” Jamie said, “and a gardening department.”

“Which means fresh veggies for us!” Steve laughed.

Dakota sighed.

Something in his gut gave him a bad feeling.

They sat in the red pickup in silence. Rose, Steve and Kevin sat in the back; he and Jamie in the front. Dakota looked out the window and watched the scenery roll by, depressed by the gloomy atmosphere of the once-suburban neighborhood. Though not touched by man in any way, physical contact need not be necessary to transform something beautiful into complete and utter chaos.

We’ve learned that lesson.

Nature was the one who always won in the end. Man never prevailed. This lesson had been taught several times over, when Mother Nature killed the dinosaurs and blew Pompeii to dust, and the scene before them showed such lessons. Already, after only two months without humans, plants were starting to creep outside their forced borders. Once-trim lawns grew in total disarray, waist-high grass shifted in the breeze, waving yellowing tips and curtsying to the living who passed, and shrubs bearing the former semblance of animals stretched toward the sky as though beckoning to the heavens, snow gracing their limbs, their needles crusted with ice. Cracks lined the road, unfilled or treated by trucks. Sewer systems made fjords in places low and curved, opening to rivers near the end of the road.

This place, this suburban neighborhood, would soon be gone.

In the end, nature always won.

“How long do you think it’ll take for all of this to be gone?” Dakota asked, tearing his eyes from the road.

“For what to be gone?” Jamie asked, glancing away from the road at Dakota.

“This. The world.”

“I don’t like to think about that,” Jamie said. “No point in it.”

Jamie pulled to a stop at the end of the road, then made a move to flip his turn signal on, but stopped before doing so. A smile touched his lips, and he turned to look at Dakota, then said, “To answer your question though, I don’t know. I’m still holding out hope that someone will get a handle on this whole mess.”

“You really think that’ll happen?” Rose asked. “Especially with the UK gone and all?”

“I don’t know,” Jamie said. “A man can have hope, right?”

Dakota nodded his agreement. A man could have all the hope in the world.

Sadly, he knew that sometimes, even the greatest amount of hope couldn’t move the strongest of walls.

“Steve?” Desmond asked. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“‘Course you can,” Steve said, drawing his attention away from the wall to look at the boy. “What’s up?”

“I’m…not sure how to begin,” the boy said nervously. Sighing, he opened his lips to speak, but stopped before saying a word. His face scrunched with confusion and his eyes were dampening by the second. Steve watched the boy struggle with whatever inner demon was festering inside him, each moment ticking by like a knife slowly sinking into his flesh.

Whatever it is, he thought, seating himself, it isn’t easy.

Then again, what did he expect? He’d never taken Desmond as someone to talk about whatever was bothering him. Always hanging off to the side, avoiding direct gazes, speaking only when necessary and commenting only when the mood was light and absent of tension—he exhibited the very definition of nervous, though whether that was because of whatever he wanted to talk about, Steve couldn’t be sure.

He kicked a leg up and set his calf against his knee, waiting for Desmond to speak.

The boy looked up. Steve forced a smile in response. “Take your time, Desmond,” he said. “I can wait.”

“It’s not that I want to.”

“I know. Some shit you just have to let come out.”

“I’ve been lying about what happened leading up to the day Jamie rescued me, Steve.”

“What?”

“You wouldn’t know,” Desmond said. “At least, I don’t think you would.”

“You were holed up in a photography store,” Steve said. “I remember.”

“I used to work there. Developing photos, fixing cameras, changing light bulbs, processing film, all that.”

“You ever work in a redroom?”

“That was where most of my time was spent, actually.” Desmond smiled. He reached up and ran a hand through his hair, though his expression changed the moment his fingers crested the curve of his neck. It was almost as though he were tracing a button on a sensitive console and trying not to push it. With two fingers poised and stiffened, he messaged the nodule of bone just above his spine, directly where the cord would have split off into the stem, and waited. “Steve?” he finally said.

“Yeah, buddy?”

“If I tell you something, will you keep it between us?”

“You know I will.”

“I’m gay.”

Steve blinked. Desmond’s expression would have made him laugh had the situation not been as severe. “Buddy,” he said, not able to contain the tinge of humor in his voice as he leaned forward. “You do know I’m bi, right?”

“What?”

“I swing both ways, as they say.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Dakota didn’t either the first time I told him,” Steve laughed, leaning back into his seat. “He swore I was screwing with him.”

“Have you ever…you know…?”

“Been with a guy? Sure as hell have.”

“Were you and Dakota ever…”

“No. No matter how much I love the little fucker, I could never see him as anything more than just my best friend. Guess that’s what you get for befriending someone at such a young age.”

“I guess,” Desmond sighed, shaking his head. “I feel stupid for even bringing this up. It shouldn’t even matter anymore.”

“What shouldn’t?”

“The fact that Peter ran off on me.”

At this, Steve frowned and sunk even further back into his seat. Even more unsure of what to say than he had been the moment before, he watched the boy’s eyes for any indication as to what he should say next. Even a slight flicker across his pupils or a bat of an eyelash would have given him something to go on, at the very least.

What the hell am I supposed to say something like that?

Could you say something to that? ‘I’m sorry’ immediately came to mind, but would that even help? Simple pity didn’t seem appropriate in this situation, especially not with the current state in their world, so that was out of the question. He couldn’t grease the bearings with compassion or turn the wheels with any forward momentum, so just what could he do?

After what seemed like an eternity, a tear began to slide down Desmond’s face.

Steve paused, waiting.

Finally, Desmond raised his head and looked Steve directly in the eyes. That action alone was enough to tell Steve to move over to the other couch.

“Peter was my boyfriend,” Desmond said, scooting over when Steve settled in beside him. “The day everything started happening, I was in the redroom when I heard a crash and my boss screaming my name. That day, Peter had tagged along to see what I did at work because he’d only ever heard me talking about it, so when we heard Mr. Barnes calling out to me, I wasn’t sure what to say. He started for the door, but I told him to stop because I didn’t want the pictures to get overexposed.”

“That costs money,” Steve said.

Desmond wiped a tear from his cheek. “At that point, I didn’t think it was anything more serious than him just wanting to talk to me or to have me clean something he’d knocked over, so I started covering the pictures in preparation for whatever it was he wanted me to do. Then it got worse. He wasn’t just yelling anymore, he was screaming. Peter thought he might’ve gotten hurt and was freaking out. He kept trying to open the door, but that only frustrated me even more and I started yelling at him because I didn’t want the film to get destroyed.”

“What happened after that?”

“Me and Peter started yelling at each other. I got frustrated, and accidentally knocked a lamp over, spilling a bunch of developing fluid. It didn’t matter though. My panic over destroying company property was over when Mr. Barnes came bursting through the door with a woman chasing after him.”

“Was she one of them?”

“She was.”

“What happened when your boss got into the redroom?”

“He screamed for me and Peter to stay back while he tried to fight the woman off. She was stuck between the door and the wall, pinned there by Mr. Barnes, so he kept trying to kick her out of the room. We didn’t know what was going on, so me and Peter just stood there and watched, not sure what else to do. That’s when more of them started to rush into the store. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for them to hear the struggle and rush forward.”

“How’d you guys fight them off?”

“Peter finally got a hold of himself and grabbed a camera I’d been trying to fix. I think his point was to try and stun her with the flash, but that didn’t work because the wiring leading up to the bulb was fucked. I’d told him not to mess with that camera because I knew it was dangerous, but at that moment, I couldn’t do much about it. When he clicked the trigger, the wiring shorted out and the bulb exploded. The broken pieces when flying into the woman’s eyes and gave Barnes just enough time to push her away and lock the door.”

Desmond bowed his head, chest rising and falling with what seemed like physical exhaustion. Steve set an arm across the young man’s shoulder and pulled him close.

“Sorry this is taking so long,” Desmond said.

“Just let it out.”

“I’ll just cut to the chase. The zombies eventually got distracted by something outside the store and ran off. We stayed holed up in the redroom for two days, and we didn’t know what was going on. Mr. Barnes opened the door to see if the coast was clear then, and it didn’t take long for us to notice something was wrong when there were three or four bodies stripped to the bone lying in the road, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered after that point, because when Barnes went out to try and get food, he got ambushed. They came out of the convenience store right next to us and ripped him apart. Peter…when he saw that, when we saw that, he couldn’t take it. Something inside him snapped. He ran.”

“What’d you do?”

“I tried to go after him, but the zombies saw me and rushed the store. There was no way I could’ve outrun them that early on, because they were still fresh and running, so my only choice was to lock the front door and run back into the redroom.” A tremble started at his very core and began to spread throughout his body. Arms shaking, chest heaving and lip quivering, Desmond shook his head like a dog tearing a piece of meat from its kill and splashed hot tears across Steve’s face and arms. “I didn’t know what to do,” he said, tears coursing down his face. “I couldn’t follow him, Steve. The zombies were already on me by the time I ran back into the store and locked the front door. They tried to fight me for it. The only reason I was able to lock it was because they’d pulled it back into place. I couldn’t. I tried. The zombies split off and Peter—”

“It’s ok,” Steve said, bringing Desmond into his arms just in time for the boy to lose it. “There wasn’t anything you could do, Desmond. You were trapped. You couldn’t have helped him.”

“I should’ve tried!” the boy screamed. “I should’ve fucking tried, but the bastard ran away from me! WE could’ve stayed in the store and waited for help! Armstrong came two days later, two motherfucking days later!”

“You can’t help what he did.”

“I could’ve tried!”

“And what would you have done?” Steve asked, pushing the boy away to look in his face. “How would you have gotten back to the store?”

“We could’ve holed up somewhere else.”

“What if you couldn’t have caught him? What if they came out of a side alley and got both of you, huh? What if they got him and you couldn’t find anywhere else to stay? What if you had been trapped out in the street and couldn’t do anything else but run?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Desmond cried, throwing himself from the couch. “That’s just it! I DON’T FUCKING KNOW!”

“You can’t blame yourself for something someone else did, Desmond,” Steve said, standing. He reached forward to try and grab the boy’s arm, to still his quaking body and to comfort his aching heart, but stopped when the younger man lashed out.

Steve raised his arms to cover his face.

Fists ablaze, Desmond struck him in the chest not once or twice, but three times. Steve had it in him to take the onslaught of punches for as long as he could so long as his face was covered, but when the boy struck him in the ribs hard enough to knock the air from his lungs, he stumbled back and raised his hands above his head. “Desmond,” he gasped, air shooting from his lungs even as he tried to recapture it. “I’m not your enemy, Desmond! Stop!”

“You don’t know,” the boy said, tears streaming down his face. “You don’t know!”

“Of course I don’t know! I haven’t really lost anything!”

“What?”

“My parents were dead long before this happened,” Steve explained. He braced himself for Desmond to rush forward and hit him again, then slowly lowered his hands when the boy didn’t move. “The day they came, the day everything changed, when I realized what was happening, I ran across the street and pulled Dakota into my apartment because I had absolutely no one else to go to. That day, I pulled my best friend from his foster home and dragged him across the street, into my apartment and boarded the door up with as much shit as I could. I’ve lost absolutely nothing, because the one and only person I care about was right there with me when the world went to hell. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been going through.”

“I…I just…I just don’t understand. Why couldn’t he have just stayed with me? Why, Steve? WHY? He said we would run away together and find our own life the day I turned eighteen. He promised me! He promised me that everything would be all right and that he would give me everything I never had today!”

“You…today is your birthday?” Steve asked.

“YES!” Desmond screamed. “YES!”

“Why didn’t you tell us before, Desmond? Why have you been keeping this inside you for so long?”

“Because I was scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of facing it,” the boy said. “Of finally, truly knowing that Peter’s dead and I can’t do anything about it.”

“You don’t know that for sure.”

“What does it matter even if he’s alive?” Desmond asked, swiping his nose with his hand. “Even if he is alive, we’re hundreds of miles away now, there’s zombies everywhere, and winter’s coming. There’s probably three feet of snow up there right now. If he hasn’t frozen to death already, he’s been eaten by zombies, starved to death or killed himself. He’s dead, Steve. And even if he is alive, I don’t want to know. I can’t imagine him living a life of hell.”

Steve stepped forward. Trembling, hurt and very near tears himself, he brought the boy into his arms and locked his hands at his back, digging his fingers into his shirt and forcing the two of them together.

“Cry on me,” Steve whispered.

“What?”

“I said cry on me. Do it, you little fucker, because if you don’t do it, I’m going to do it for you.”

The moment Desmond’s face fell against his chest, Steve began to cry.

I’ve lost nothing, he thought, stroking Desmond’s hair, yet he’s lost everything he could have ever had. How can he be so strong?

Bowing his head, Steve closed his eyes and let the tears run free.

*

“So,” Rose said, heaving a box of canned goods off a shelf and turning her eyes on Kevin. “Now that you’ve heard my story, what’s yours?”

“Sorry?”

“Your story,” she said, crouching down to wipe dust from the box’s surface. “You know, where you came from, how old you are, your family.”

“Minnesota,” Kevin said, “grew up in the Walker area. Thirty-nine. Wife wanted to get the family started early, so we had our first kid when I was only twenty-one.”

“How many children do you have?”

“Thruh…um…two.”

Kevin reached up to wipe something off his forehead, then turned as though taking note of the aisle they were in.

Rose pushed herself to her feet and grabbed another box of goods. Though she hadn’t been around the man for more than thirty minutes, she could already tell that he had more than a few loose bolts in the overall machine. The fact that he’d started to say something about his children, then stopped made her reconsider the question she’d just asked, so much so that she stopped reaching for the third box near the back of the shelf.

Did he lose one of his children?

Of course he had. It was ignorant to think that he hadn’t, but then again, she’d been with people who had sworn left and right they hadn’t lost a single thing. Sure, they’d said, I lost my million dollar home and my farm in the hills, but I didn’t lose anything important.

What was important in this day and age? Friends, family, children?

I know what’s important, she thought, tearing the box from the back of the shelf. I damn well better if I’m staying with them.

“You mind if I ask you something, Kevin?”

“What?” Kevin asked.

“You stuttered when I asked how many children you had.”

He sighed. “That.”

“May I ask what happened?”

“It’s hard to explain,” the older man said, looking down at the boxes before them. He craned his neck back to look in the aisle behind them, gestured her forward, then started forward himself, his long legs allowing him a much wider range of movement than Rose’s shorter ones. “You got a minute?”

“We’ve got all the time in the world as far as I’m concerned.”

“After I left Minneapolis with my boys, we went to the old family cabin up near Walker. It was far enough out of town and deep enough in the woods that I figured we’d be safe there, that we’d have our own happy little life at the end of the world. Little did I know that would be the exact opposite.”

“What happened?”

“Sometime between the time we got up there and the time a Native American man named Eagle stumbled across my property, Jessiah was bitten by his horse. I didn’t even know she was still alive up until the end, when he confessed on his deathbed that he was just worried and wanted to help her.”

“Wait,” Rose said, grabbing Kevin’s arm and tightening her hold on his wrist to get him to stop. “Did I just hear you right?”

“Pardon?”

“You said he was bitten by his horse. I heard that correctly then?”

“You heard it plain as day, ma’am.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that whatever happened to that horse was happening to my son,” Kevin sighed. He bowed his head and kicked a dented can down the aisle. “I know what you’re thinking, Rose, but let me tell you, I thought the exact same thing. I thought that it was impossible for the virus—germ, parasite, whatever the fuck it is—to jump species, but I was wrong; so wrong, in fact, that I watched my son’s skin pale to the color of a fresh pearl and his eyes sink into the back of his head until all I could see was darkness.”

“What happened to your son, Kevin?”

“Can you promise me something?”

“What?”

“If I tell what happened, will you keep it between us? I don’t want anyone else to know what happened, especially not my children. They’re too young and full of life to know what happened to Jessiah the night before he died.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Rose said. “I swear it.”

“Swear it like you mean it.”

“I swear on my best friend’s grave that I will never tell anyone.”

“The night Jessiah died, he was in so much pain that he could barely move, let alone speak. I knew from the moment I sat next to him that I couldn’t let my son continue living the way he was. He’d been in bed for a week before I even decided it was best to end his life. He could barely eat anything. When Eagle was still alive, he’d been mashing food to pulp or liquefying everything because Jessiah couldn’t keep anything down.” Kevin paused. “That night, Rose, he said his stomach hurt, then he reached up to hold my hand. His joints…goddammit! They were so swollen that he could barely even move his fingers. My son—my seventeen-year-old son—couldn’t even hold my hand without being in pain.”

“It’s not your fault,” Rose said, stepping forward. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

“Which is the most painful thing about it,” Kevin said, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Eagle mixed a fatal dose of herbs in with his chicken broth so I wouldn’t have to watch him suffer anymore. Oh God, Rose…I couldn’t even bear to watch him die. I sat in the living room with my two healthy children for ten minutes while Jessiah drank his broth, fell asleep, and died.”

At his story’s final climax, Kevin fell to his knees and sobbed.

With nothing more to do than stand and watch an old man suffer, Rose crouched down, kneeled before Kevin and took his hands in hers.

Each hot tear that fell on her skin only served to remind her how much she had lost.

All my friends, she thought. My horrible, ugly mother, my brothers…

They, too, were gone.

As Kevin’s sobs began to quicken and echo across the canned foods aisle, Rose too began to cry.

*

“You guys all right?” Erik asked, setting a bag of animal crackers before the two children.

“We’re fine,” the youngest boy said.

“We don’t need a babysitter,” the eldest, Arnold, said.

“You do when your dad says you need one,” Erik replied, seating himself on the couch across from the boys. “Don’t take it out on me.”

“We’re not.”

“To me, it feels like you are.”

“Our brother just died, asshole. What do you expect?”

I can’t believe I’m letting a fourteen-year-old boy get away with calling me an asshole.

Though he was capable of and more than willing to call the boy out on his language and for disrespecting someone, he chose not to. Instead, he watched Arnold’s face for any slight change—a curl of the lip, an irregular bat of an eye, a twitch in his cheek. When he didn’t find any, he sighed, leaned back and closed his eyes.

Almost immediately, his mind flew almost three-quarters of a way across the Pacific Ocean to an island he hadn’t been to for years.

Guam.

Beautiful, tropical, with shores of diamond-white sand and sunsets you could die for: it was, in essence, one of the most beautiful places on Earth, at least in his mind. He and Jamie had gone there for training years ago and had never wanted to leave, despite the burdens of war and everything else that was going on. It was a home away from home, a land of marvelous wonder, and each and every time he thought about it he smiled.

Guam.

As he sat there, pupils dilating and eyes flickering beneath their lids, memories so clear and vivid he could nearly touch them began to flood over his vision. Running across the shore in only his sandals and board shorts, boys his age and even younger chasing after him; lizards slinking in the weeds; birds cawing from the canopies of palm trees and monkeys screaming from their homes—all of this and more continued to bombard him, filling him with a sense of happiness he hadn’t felt since the day he was told his unit would be stationed there for a year and a half.

Gentlemen, the commanding officer had said. Welcome to your new home.

“Hello?” a voice asked.

“What?” he replied.

“I thought you were supposed to be babysitting us.”

Erik opened his eyes. Arnold stood before him, his stern but harrowing gaze looking down at him. He leaned forward as the boy took a few steps back. “I fell asleep.”

“No use in you being here if you can’t stay awake,” the boy snapped.

“Look,” Erik sighed. He set his hands on his knees and leaned forward, taking extra care to soften his gaze so he wouldn’t upset the younger of the two boys. “I’m sorry I’m such a hardass, guys, but I know what you’re going through.”

“No you don’t,” Arnold replied. “You have no fucking idea.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because you didn’t lose your brother.”

“Think again, kid, because I lost my brother when I was the same age as you.”

Arnold’s eyes widened. Jason, who had succumbed to his nerves a few minutes before, stopped rocking on his heels. He, too, watched Erik with a sense of awe and understanding that the older man found hard to take.

All it takes is a good slap in the face to show you just how much someone can be like you.

“You…lost your brother?” Arnold echoed. “When you were my age?”

“Yeah,” Erik replied. “My brother was only seven when he died from Leukemia.”

“That’s cancer,” Mark said. “Right?”

“Right, Mark, Leukemia: a bone marrow cancer. I watched my little brother die right before my eyes, which is probably the exact same thing you two saw when your brother died. You know what I did? Huh?”

“What?” Arnold asked, voice low and without its previous animosity.

“I started doing drugs. I found any prescription pill I could in the house and started sneaking them. Not too many at a time, but just enough so I wouldn’t get caught. And before you even begin to think about it, don’t think what I did helped me in any way. Drugs are never the answer.”

“Why did you take them then?”

“Because I had no one else to go to,” Erik said. “Because I had no one who understood my pain.”

“Erik?” Mark asked. “When does it stop?”

“What?”

“The hurting.”

“Never,” Erik sighed, a tear slipping out the corner of his eye. “It never stops hurting, buddy. You know why? Because there’s no cure for someone dying on you.”

Neither child said a word.

Erik set his eyes on the far wall and sighed when a picture of the family, all four whole, looked back at him.

These poor kids.

They would never lead normal lives. Never would they return to school to kick the ball or jump the rope, climb the ladder or lift the weights, nor would they likely ever find someone to make their complete part even fuller. They would never graduate from school, attend college or flip burgers to pay off student loans, and not once would they have to worry about paying rent or mortgage. Most of all, they would never have the chance to be free, like birds outside their nests when their mothers first taught them to fly.

In the end, they would probably never fully recover from their brother’s death.

Hopefully—hopefully—it wouldn’t tear them apart.

*

Dakota lifted a packet of watermelon seeds and examined them in the pale yellow light streaming through the dirty greenhouse windows. “Where do you plan on putting these once we get back?”

“In the windows,” Jamie replied.

“You plan on putting watermelon seeds in the windows?”

“Not in them, below them.”

“You said in the windows.”

“Don’t get all technical on me, babe. We’ll have to start growing our own food sooner or later. The canned shit isn’t going to last forever.”

“I know,” Dakota said. “It just doesn’t seem worth it.”

“What doesn’t?”

“Trying to grow something new from something old.”

“New things can always come out of the old,” Jamie said, crossing the room. He set a hand in the small of Dakota’s back and leaned forward to look at the pack of watermelon seeds. “See these seeds, babe?”

“They’re in my hand, Jamie. Of course I see them.”

“I know, but do you really see them?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The vine, Dakota. The plant. The fruit. Do you see it?”

“I…Jamie, what are you talking about?”

“I see it, Dakota. I see it growing in our front yard and feeding us after a long, hot day of work. You might not be able to see it right in front of your eyes, but I see it.”

A twig snapped somewhere behind them.

Jamie and Dakota spun, guns drawn and poised.

A black-skinned humanoid with dark eyes stood outside in the orchard, arm stretched toward an apple tree shadowing the path leading out of the greenhouse.

“What…the…fuck?” Jamie breathed, lowering his gun.

The creature tilted its head, blinked, then reached for the single apple hanging from the end of a branch. Like a child set upon the forbidden prizes of its parents’ closet, it grasped the fruit with its thin, bony fingers. A simple tug was all it took to free the grail from its holy perch.

When the apple hit the ground with an audible thump, the creature groaned.

Dakota stepped forward, lowering his gun to his side.

“Dakota,” Jamie warned, “don’t.”

Not bothering to heed his boyfriend’s request, Dakota walked toward the tree, crouched down before the creature and extended his fingers to grab the apple. Once firmly in his hand, he stood, jumping when he realized how close he’d come to the humanoid.

Don’t be afraid, he thought, slightly mystified as the creature’s fruity breath entered his nose. If it were a zombie, it would’ve already hurt you.

Then again, how was he to know whether or not this thing—this zombie—was actually docile? It was clearly no tiger bent on ripping his throat out, or it would already have done so, but that didn’t necessarily make it a lamb either.

“Hello,” he managed.

The creature blinked.

Dakota lifted his arm and extended the apple toward it. “You dropped it,” he said. “Go on, take it. It’s yours.”

“Uh,” the thing grunted.

It took the apple from Dakota’s hand just in time for Kevin and Rose to enter the greenhouse from the corridor branching into the gardening center behind Jamie.

“What the hell?” Rose breathed.

Kevin merely stared.

Not sure what to think at the sudden appearance of two new people, the black-skinned humanoid took a few steps back and situated itself beneath the dipping branches of the apple tree. It stood there, watching them with eyes that could no longer be seen, before lifting its hand and taking one large, meaty bite out of the apple.

“What is this thing?” Rose asked, drawing a gun from her side.

“It’s what Steve, Erik and Ian saw on the way up here,” Jamie said, lowering his gun, but not stowing it from view. “At least, I think that’s what it is.”

“What else could it be?” Dakota asked. “It’s obviously not a zombie.”

“Tell it to that thing,” Rose said.

“It hasn’t attacked us yet.”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Dakota’s right,” Kevin said. “It means us no harm.”

Rose opened her mouth to speak, but stopped abruptly. At first Dakota wasn’t sure what for, but a moment later, he understood. Kevin’s skin had gone completely pale—some strange, pearlescent shade across his sun-weathered face—while his eyes had lightened to an odd shade of yellow. His fingers trembled and his teeth began to chatter as he stared at the creature as if the devil had come to Earth.

“Kevin?” Jamie asked.

“I’m…ok,” the older man said.

The humanoid tilted its head.

Light from the far window illuminated its eyes just enough to make the twin coals sparkle.

A short moment later, Kevin burst into tears.

“No!” he wailed, taking a few steps back. “It’s not…it can’t…NO! NO NO NO!”

“What the hell is wrong with you!” Dakota cried.

“Get him out of here!” Jamie called. “Someone get him the fuck out of here!”

Dakota grabbed Kevin’s arm and tore him out of the room.

When he looked back to see what was going on, the humanoid was gone.

“What the fuck was that about?” Rose asked as Jamie secured the last box of canned goods into the back of the truck.

“I don’t know,” Dakota replied, wiping a drop of snow from his forehead. “He wouldn’t stop ranting. I couldn’t make out what he was saying.” Dakota sighed, waiting for Jamie to walk around the truck to join them. When he did, Dakota offered a slight smile. “Everything tucked in?”

“Everything’s tucked in,” Jamie nodded. “I’m not sure if we should keep going though, at least not today.”

“Why?”

“Because of Kevin.”

“Fuck him,” Rose said. “I had my moment with him earlier too, but at least I didn’t break down and start screaming.”

“Wait,” Jamie said, raising a hand. “Moment?”

“He started crying. I wouldn’t call it hysterically, but it was close enough. At least he wasn’t wailing like he did back there.”

“What do you propose we do then? Keep going and leave him in the truck?”

“That’s exactly what I’m proposing, Jamie. We can’t let one person jeopardize everyone else.”

“She’s right,” Dakota said. “As much as I hate to admit it, we’re running low on food. We’re feeding ten people, J. We have to keep going.”

Jamie sighed. “We’ll keep going then,” he said.

The day progressed with a flush of cold and a light snowfall. By the time they returned home, darkness had fallen and the snowfall had turned into an all-out blizzard.

“Get in!” Jamie called, frantically gesturing Rose and Dakota into the house. “Go! Go!”

“What about the food?” Dakota called back.

“It’ll be fine! Just go!”

Dakota and Rose burst into the house.

Steve lifted his head from the couch and stared in alarm at their sudden appearance. “Everything all right?” he asked.

“Blizzard,” Rose shivered, stepping aside as Jamie came through the door.

“Were you asleep?” Dakota asked.

“Yeah,” Steve said.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Erik’s at Kevin’s place watching the kids. Ian’s over at Erik’s. I don’t know where Desmond is. Probably in the house somewhere.”

“I’m right here,” the boy said, stepping out of the far hallway.

Dakota waved in acknowledgement, stripped out of his coat and hung it on the rack, then crossed into the living room and settled down into the recliner. “It’s cold in here.”

“Tell me about it,” Steve said.

“Do we have anything to light a fire with?”

Jamie snorted. “Not unless you want to break down a desk and use it for wood, which I prefer you wouldn’t.”

“Maybe we should get everyone together in one house. You know, to keep everyone warm.”

“I think we’ll well enough,” Rose said, rubbing her arms together. “I’m not keen on walking through the snow to get back to Kevin’s place though. You mind if I bunk up here?”

“Feel free,” Jamie said.

“Desmond can sleep with me tonight,” Steve said. “You ok with that, bud?”

“I’m fine with it.”

“It’s been a rough day,” Jamie said. “All I know is that I’m cold and ready for bed.”

“Me too,” Dakota sighed.

Outside, the storm raged on.

It sounded like nails across a chalkboard. Sometimes the sound would be faint and without any clear definition, then it would rise to a shrieking pitch and tear its way through the house. Several times, it sounded as though something exploded in the distance, as the sound would echo throughout the woodwork like a colossal giant’s groan.

Snug between an extra blanket and Jamie, Dakota opened his eyes and tried not to look at the snow outside.

“Moon really makes it glow,” Jamie whispered. “Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Dakota said.

He didn’t add an afterthought to his reply. Instead, he closed his eyes and scooted back against Jamie, sighing when he felt the man’s arm loop around his stomach.

“You think this is the end?” Dakota asked.

“Of what?” Jamie replied.

“Them. The undead.”

“I don’t know, Dakota. I don’t know.”

She was a queen of ice, of thorns and sickles and frost. Early the next morning, Dakota rose with Jamie and walked out on the balcony to find her making her way across the side of the house, toward the road that lay slicked with ice and a fresh coat of snow. Some might have described her as Christ-like, given the ornament of frost across her head and the way her curls had captured the ice, but others would have simply described her as sad, an automatous work of biology fueled only by its need to eat. One foot forward, one foot over, she continued along her way as though nothing would stop her, content in her search for salvation.

“Look at it,” Dakota said, shivering in the breeze that stirred the flakes at their feet. “She’s still going.”

Jamie said, “Why wouldn’t she be?”

“I don’t know,” he frowned. “I thought…”

What, though? Just what had he thought? That the snow would take them away, turn them into icicles that would explode with any slight disturbance, freeze them in place and destroy whatever was inside them entirely?

I should’ve known better.

“Thought what?” Jamie asked.

“I thought this would end them. The snow.”

“You know what?” Jamie said, “I did too. Some little part of me hoped that the cold weather and all the snow would stop them from moving, maybe even get into their bones and break them when the moisture expanded as it turned to ice.”

Dakota sighed. He stepped back into the master bedroom and waited until Jamie was inside before closing the twin glass doors behind them. “Are we awake for the day?”

“We might as well be,” Jamie said, reaching for a pair of jeans at the end of the bed. “Did you want to go back to bed?”

“No point,” Dakota said.

Because I’ll just have nightmares about the new Christ if I do.

What they thought would be a short burst of snow soon turned into a steady flurry of ice and sleet. Like a mountain lion just roused from sleep, the wind hissed and roared across the hills and reverberated throughout the wooden frames of the houses, rattling the sleepy occupants. At times the wind would be so strong that the houses would shake, quivering in the shadows of the mountains before them, while at other it would be so soft and subtle that it would sound like nothing more than a lone kitten’s hiss.

Seated in the living room with a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a cup of warm tea in his hands, Dakota raised his eyes just in time to see a blast of snow cover the window.

Great, he thought. Now I can’t see anything.

Not that there was much to see anyway. The lawn was bare, and with the new wall now firmly in place, anything beyond its scope was out of reach, shadowed just like the window now was.

“Oh well,” he sighed. “Not much I can do about it.” He looked over at Rose. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m well,” she said. “A bit cold though.”

“You want this blanket?”

“That’s nice of you, but no thank you, I’m used to the cold.”

“What part of England did you come from?”

“Wales. It isn’t in England though; it’s just part of Britain. Most people are of the opinion it’s part of England anyway. To answer the question you were probably about to ask, it’s usually cold, but we get more rain than we do snow.”

“So you’re used to the weather then?”

“A little, but not like this.”

Dakota cast a glance down at his cup of tea and sighed, wishing that he could be a microbe or something similar swimming about its surface.

At least it’d be warm.

“Is Jamie going to do something about our food supply?” Rose asked.

“I’m not sure,” Dakota said. “I know that Desmond offered to keep track, but I’m not sure if he’s done it or if he’s even added the new stuff to his list.”

“If the weather keeps up, we’re not going to be able to make supply runs.”

“I know.”

“And if we can’t make supply runs, we’re going to have to eat as little as possible.”

“At least now we can use the snow as water. I think we have a distiller.”

“Can’t be drinking dirty water.” Rose stood. She stretched her arms over her head and crossed the living room, toward the window that he’d just been looking out. She pressed a hand to the glass and held it there for several moments before she pulled it back. Her bony armature reminded him of the inner workings of a clock and mechanical engineering.

How long did she go without food?

She said she’d been stranded at sea for weeks, then had spent the days leading up to her arrival at their place driving across the country, but what did that say? It didn’t lead to any conclusion that she’d eaten anything, albeit something that would keep her going longer than a few hours.

She’s safe. That’s all she has to worry about.

“Where is your boyfriend anyway?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know. Why?”

“I wanted to talk to him about something.”

“He’s probably upstairs going through his parents’ closets.”

“Maybe we’ll get some extra blankets then,” Rose said. Halfway through stretching her arms out again, she looked over at Dakota and frowned, her features visibly softening.

“Something wrong, Rose?”

“Does it bother you that Kevin flipped out over…whatever it was we saw yesterday?”

“A little.”

“I’m worried about his children.”

“He’s a good dad. Remember, he just lost his oldest son and the only friend he had.”

“I know, but he’s unstable. I don’t think we should bring him with us anymore.”

“She has a point,” Jamie said, making his way down the stairs with an armful of clothes. “These are for you, Rose. They were my mother’s, but they look about your size.”

“Thank you, Jamie.”

“No problem,” Jamie said, passing the clothes off to Rose. “But yeah, Dakota, I completely agree with her. Kevin shouldn’t go on supply runs with us anymore.”

“Especially since he was making so much fucking noise,” Rose sighed. “I was afraid we were going to have to deal with a bunch of zombies.”

“I did too, guys, but…” Dakota shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Every party has their nuts with the bolts, Dakota. You should know that.”

“I know.”

“And I’m not saying that to be rude. I know Kevin’s a good guy, I could tell when we had our heart-to-heart, but you can’t dwell in the past, especially when you’re out in the field.”

Dakota watched Rose sift through the clothing Jamie had brought down, then retrieve a pink hand-sewn sweater. She pushed her arms through it, but left it unbuttoned. She gave Jamie her approval with a curt nod. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I know we haven’t had much time to get my living arrangements settled, but I’d prefer if I weren’t around Kevin, if at all possible. He doesn’t make me completely uncomfortable, but I don’t think my presence around his children would be for the best right now.”

“Does anyone know what happened to his wife?” Dakota asked.

“He mentioned something about her yesterday,” Rose said, “but he started talking about his oldest boy and it was lost in the wash.”

“There’s not much we can do to help him,” Jamie frowned. “Unless we take Erik with us on another supply run and have him pick out some meds from the pharmacy, but I don’t think he’s qualified or trained to deal with psych patients. I guess the best thing we can do for Kevin is be his friend. Right now, that’s what everyone needs.”

No kidding, Dakota thought.

Without friends, this world would swallow you whole.

*

“Dad,” Arnold said. “Can I talk to you?”

Kevin raised his eyes from their place on the floor. Taking a moment to consider both himself and the fourteen-year-old boy that now stood before him, he allowed himself a deep breath, then nodded, gesturing his son forward with a wave of the hand. “How’re you doing?”

“Fine,” Arnold said. “It’s just…I need to ask you something.”

“What is it, son?”

“Does God exist?”

As out of the left field as the question was, Kevin had expected it. Somehow, he’d known this very question would arise in the weeks after his oldest son’s death. It wasn’t hard for children to wonder just what happened after someone died, especially to someone they loved so much.

I should have done better, he thought, setting a hand on his son’s back. I should have taken them to church more.

Back then, before the world had ended, he never worried about taking his sons to church. Each Sunday that passed on the calendar was just another day, a day that could be repeated in the week coming and the week after that. He never worried about the church, his sons or their place in the world. It’ll come again, he’d told himself. There will always be other Sundays. Now, though, he couldn’t be so sure.

With the weight of the world against his shoulders, bearing down on him like a thousand pounds weight, he felt incredible guilt over his recent lack of faith.

The boys… they’re not even saved.

Jessiah had been baptized at the age of seven. It had been one of the few things he and his wife had agreed on back then, before they split after Mark’s fifth birthday. He’d been so preoccupied with his work and being a single father the past few years that he hadn’t even stopped to consider that his other children had never been indoctrinated into the Catholic faith.

Jessiah’s there, he thought, looking up at the ceiling. In Heaven, with God.

He had no doubt about that. Even after laying eyes on the monstrosity within the convenience store, he knew that his son was Saved, that Jessiah was in Heaven with the Holy Creator. But now, after all this time, after all this lack of faith, here came his middle son bearing the shield of honor, the cracked plate of trust. What was he to say to a boy who knew nothing of God or what He was?

You can do this, Kevin. You can do this.

“Dad?” Arnold asked.

He inhaled sharply. It took him a painful moment to realize he’d stopped breathing regularly. “Just thinking…about a lot of things,” he said, gesturing the boy to sit on the arm of the couch. “You asked if God existed. Right?”

“Yes.”

“I want to tell you that He does,” Kevin said. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, Arnold, but certain things don’t seem as obvious as they should be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Eagle was a blessing, maybe even an angel for all I know.”

“But Dad, angels aren’t supposed to…”

“Die?” Kevin asked. Arnold nodded. His eyes dropped to his floor and his head followed with it. “They, too, are mortal, son. They may be heavenly, but they are flesh and blood just like us.”

“I thought that angels were beautiful, shining, with wings?”

“Arnold, you don’t have to have wings to be an angel. I’m sure you already know that.”

“Dad…Jessiah isn’t just…gone, is he?”

“No, son. He isn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because on the day we buried him, when I was at my weakest and I was ready to just give in, I asked God to take care of my son, your brother. All He asked was that I kill the demon within the barn.”

“Diana,” Arnold whispered.

“Yes, Diana, your brother’s beautiful mare. The Devil took hold of her and made her His construct.”

“But I thought the Devil didn’t exist?”

Kevin laughed. “Some say he doesn’t. Some say he does. All I know is that when I opened that stall and looked into her eyes, I saw him, Arnold. I saw the Devil.”

Arnold didn’t say anything. Instead, he raised his eyes and looked directly at Kevin, his face now bolder and more determined than it had been before.

“I don’t ask you to believe,” Kevin said. “All I ask is for you to know that He exists, at least for me.”

“I know, Dad,” Arnold said.

“Good,” Kevin smiled. “Go check on your brother for me, please.”

The boy stood. He was about to head for the stairs before he stopped and looked over his shoulders. “Dad?”

“Yes, son?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kevin smiled. “So much.”

*

“Quit hitting me!” Arnold cried.

“Then stop bossing me around!” Mark cried back, tossing a pillow in his brother’s direction.

Arnold ducked, the pillow missing him by inches, and said, “All I said was to be careful what you said to Dad.”

“Dad’s the grown-up! He should be the one taking care of us!”

Sighing, Arnold ran a hand over his quickly-lengthening hair and stared at his little brother. Being thrust into the position of the eldest sibling wasn’t easy.

If only Jessiah were here.

If Jessiah were here, he’d know what to say. He’d always known how to make Mark stop crying when something was wrong, when it seemed as though the world would crumble in around them and they would be covered in rock.

“I miss him too,” Arnold said, tears snaking their way down his face. “I’m trying, Mark. I’m trying!”

“Brother,” Mark said. A hint of his former, much-younger self appeared in that moment. With a twitch of his nose and a flare of his nostrils, Mark’s lip curled up and his eyes widened to their breaking point. His tears came back once more at the sight of his older brother in tears. “What’re we gonna do without him?”

“I don’t know,” Arnold said, collapsing onto the second bed. “I just don’t know, Jason.”

“What did Dad say when you asked?”

“That…that God does exist.”

“That’s not all he said.”

“Yes it was.”

“Arnold, you were down there too long for him to just say that.”

“Mark, please—”

“Tell me!”

“All right! All right!” Arnold cried, shaking his head and raising his hands. “Keep it down though, ok? I don’t want Dad knowing we’re upset.”

Mark started to speak, but Arnold silenced his brother with a glare. Sniffling, Mark reached up to wipe the snot from his lip, absently wiping it on the thigh of his jeans when he was finished. “He said,” Arnold began, “that when he went out into the barn to take care of Diana, he saw the Devil in her eyes.”

“The Devil?” Mark asked.

“The Devil,” Arnold agreed.

“But Dad never said anything about the Devil.”

“I know. That’s why I asked.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“No.”

Mark threw himself from the bed and into his brother’s arms. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, burying his head into his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to be so mean.”

Arnold set his hands on his brother’s back. “It’s ok, Mark. I’m not mad at you.”

“I’m sorry for throwing things at you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry for calling you names.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry for everything.”

“It’s ok,” Arnold said, closing his eyes.

As his younger brother cried in his arms, Arnold shamelessly shed a few more tears of his own.

If only Jessiah were here.

He’d know what to do.

*

Erik tapped on the door with the back of his knuckles. He pushed it open and peeked into the room, taking note of Ian’s shirtless form lying on the bed. “Ian? You doing ok?”

“Yes,” Ian said. “Something bothering you?”

“Not a lot, but a little.”

“What’s up?”

Erik stepped into the room. He took a moment to admire the floral décor hanging along and around the window before returning his attention to Ian. “You care for a little downer?”

“Like I said, what’s up?”

“Dakota and Jamie saw a zombie walking around earlier.”

“So?”

“She was covered in ice.”

“So what does that mean?”

“That they’re not going anywhere,” Erik sighed. “At least not for a while.”

“We’re on our own, aren’t we? No military help at all.”

“Not as far as I can tell. I’ve been messing with a radio here in the kitchen. It’s working, but I’m not picking anything up.”

“Nothing?”

“There’s some static, a few garbled words here and there, but nothing concrete. I think one of them might have been a relief broadcast, but whatever it is, I can’t hear it.”

“What makes you think it was?”

“Something about ‘all citizens’ and the like.” Erik said.

“Your headaches been better?”

“I guess. I haven’t had one for a few days.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“For asking.”

“We were all worried about you when we first got here. You know that, right?”

“I know.”

“Can I ask a favor, if it’s no big deal?”

“Shoot.”

“You know I’m bipolar. I mentioned it back at the base.”

Ah, Erik thought.

How could he have forgotten that frustrated moment when, while lying in his room, he’d heard a knock on the door only to find Ian—depressed, near tears and trembling, only able to say, I need my meds, Erik—I ran out.

Ian continued, indifferent to Erik’s epiphany. “I’ve been having a really rough time. I’ve been doing the best I can to control my temper, but I’m starting to go through some of the depressive cycles and I don’t want to get any worse than I already am. It’s hard enough having to be cooped up, but with almost nothing to do, I’m surprised I haven’t gone crazy.”

“You need meds,” Erik agreed. “Why haven’t you mentioned it before?”

“Because I didn’t want to bother you with it.”

“It doesn’t bother me. Fuck. I just wish we would’ve thought to grab them before we left.”

“We weren’t anywhere near the supply closet when we had to leave, Erik. It’s no one’s fault.”

“I know.” Erik said. “Ok. Cool. You need meds.”

“That’s all I’m asking for.”

“You know what kind?”

“Symbyax, but I can deal with other stuff too.”

“We can do that on our next supply run.”

“So you’ll talk to Jamie and whoever?”

“I will.”

“Hey, Erik? Just between us…before, when I was in prison…after I was forced to rape that girl for my initiation…I used to think that no one would ever accept me after what I’d done.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. When the other guys I was with died—when Dakota and Steve killed them just as they should have—and I was sitting there with the plastic cuffs around my wrist and my life dangling on the line, I thought that I would never get a second chance. You know what though?”

“What?”

“I got a second chance, Erik. You guys gave it to me.”

“They don’t come often,” Erik agreed, seating himself at the foot of the bed. “But in my opinion, Ian, you’ve proven yourself in my eyes. I don’t care what anyone says: know in your heart that I, Erik Roberts, former member of the United States military, think you have redeemed yourself for what you’ve done.”

“Thank you,” Ian said, a tear snaking down his face. “So much, Erik.”

“So we need medicine,” Rose said. “What’s the big deal?”

“What’s the big deal?” Jamie asked. “We’re in the middle of a fucking blizzard!”

“All I’m asking is to go to the drug store in town and see if we can find some of what Ian needs,” Erik said, raising his hands and slowly bringing them down. “Chill, Jamie.”

“Chill?”

“He’s got a point,” Dakota said, setting a hand on Jamie’s lower back. “Jamie, if the drugstore’s in town—”

“And only a ten-minute drive away,” Erik interrupted.

“Right. Why not at least try?”

“Because it’s blizzarding for Christ’s sake!”

“Easy big boy,” Steve said, pulling Jamie back a few steps. “I say three of us, including Erik, go out and get the drugs. Think about it, Jamie. We can hit this pharmacy and we’ll be set for the whole winter.”

“If it hasn’t already been raided,” Rose said. She bit her lower lip when all eyes turned on her. “Sorry for being a pessimist.”

“Nothing to be sorry about,” Erik said. “Who’s with me?”

“I am.”

“Count me in,” Steve said.

“Then it’s settled,” Erik nodded, looking to Jamie. “We’ll take the truck and that’ll be that. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

“You remember where the drug store is?” Jamie sighed.

“I do.”

*

“You can’t blame them for wanting to go,” Dakota said, draping a blanket over his boyfriend’s naked shoulders.

“I know,” Jamie sighed.

A knock came at the door just then, and shortly thereafter, it opened to reveal Ian, dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie much too small for his broad frame. “Hey,” he said, his deep voice dampened by the chill he’d obviously just walked through.

“Hey,” Jamie replied. Dakota smiled in response.

“I didn’t mean to send you out in the cold. I’ve been going without as long as I can.”

“You should’ve said something sooner,” Jamie said. “We were just getting Ibuprofen and stuff before.”

“I know. I already feel stupid enough about it.”

“Don’t worry,” Dakota smiled, reaching out to grip Ian’s hand. “I bet they’ll be back any moment.

*

Rose pulled the crowbar out of what remained of the zombie’s head. “Fuck.”

“Fuck is right,” Steve said, looking at his own corpse. “Talk about a surprise attack.”

“You ok in there, Erik?”

“Yep,” Erik said, looking out at them from behind the shatterproof-glass counter. “You guys should get in here.”

“We’re afraid we’ll mess something up,” Steve said. “Right, Rose?”

“Not exactly, but right,” Rose agreed. She dangled the weapon at her side and kicked the corpse over, grimacing when she saw the thing’s disengaged spinal cord. “It was on its last legs before I took care of it.”

“Pretty impressive stuff there,” Steve said. “You in the army or something?”

“No.”

“Just wondering.”

“Were you?”

“Was. See the scar here? Bomb. Broke all three bones. I was honorably discharged with a purple heart.”

“You saved someone’s life?”

“And nearly lost my own in the process.”

“That’s something to be admired,” Rose said. “Not many people are willing to put themselves in harm’s way for someone else.”

“Did you?”

“Yeah.”

“Who for?”

“My friend Therese. Mary’s crazy boyfriend broke into the apartment and shot her after he saw the bite. Thinking back on it, it was the best option, but we didn’t know what was going on and what the bites did. Jerard was just about to shoot Therese before I killed him with a candlestick.”

“Shit,” Steve said.

“I bashed his skull in while he screamed for me to stop.”

“Did she make it?”

“No. She sacrificed herself so the people on the boat could get away.”

“She’s her own purple heart in the sky,” Steve said, looking up at the ceiling.

Rose looked up as Erik knocked on the glass and pushed a dozen bottles of pills through the porthole. “They’re marked,” he said. “See those little pieces of paper inside them? That’s the name of the drug. There’s no issue about getting them mixed up.”

Steve passed the bag to Rose. “How much more is left?”

“We’ve basically hit a gold mine,” Erik said, continuing to comb through the shelves. “We’ve got everything from Xanax to Oxycontin to generic Morphine in here.”

“Are we going to get all of it?”

“We might as well. Better we get it before someone else does.”

“Pew,” Rose said, shooting Steve with her index finger.

“No kidding,” Steve sighed.

“It’ll be a little while longer,” Erik said. “I don’t want to worry them, but it’s better we get what we can while we can.”

Rose said, “Hey, Steve? About Mary, Therese and what happened while I was on the boat. I saw hell and back over the last two months. I’ve seen people die, kill themselves, get eaten alive or throw themselves into the ocean to get eaten by sharks. I’ve had to kill people I thought were my friends after they turned and even when they didn’t, all because of this…this thing that’s happening. But you know what?”

“What?”

“It’s given me a second chance.”

“At what?”

“Life.”

“How so?”

“If this hadn’t happened,” Rose answered, “and the world hadn’t gone to hell, I would’ve been on the streets, spreading my legs so I wouldn’t have to be homeless for the night.”

“Shit,” Steve said.

“Shit is right,” Rose replied. “But despite everything that’s happened, I don’t regret any of it, because it’s made me the woman I am today. And I’m pretty damn proud of that woman.”

*

“They’re fine,” Dakota said, hoping to God that Jamie would quit pacing back and forth.

“They probably just hit the jackpot,” Desmond said. “Seriously, Jamie, nothing has gone wrong.”

“They said an hour,” Jamie growled.

“Don’t be mad at them,” Ian said. “Be mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at anyone but that motherfucker Erik.”

“I’m the one who had them go out in the first place.”

Jamie shook his head in frustration. He stopped pacing and took the radio from the loop on his belt. “Jamie to Steve, Jamie to Steve. Come in?”

“Coming in crystal clear,” Steve said. “We’re almost back to base.”

“See?” Dakota asked. “Everything’s fine.”

“Peachy,” Jamie said, killing the radio before throwing a coat over his shoulders. “Come help me, Ian.”

*

It took all of them to pull the gate from its place in the ground. Slick with snow and nearly frozen to the ground, it first didn’t move, then groaned as though someone had just disturbed it from sleep. At one point, Jamie thought he would lose his grip on it, as Ian was even struggling to maintain his grip with his bare hands.

With beads of sweat rolling down their foreheads, Jamie and Ian gave one final tug.

The gate loosened and rolled back with hardly any further effort.

“You get it?” Dakota asked.

“We got it,” Erik said, throwing the backpack onto the floor. “You’ve got enough pills to last you through…well, through the winter, at least.”

“Thanks, Erik,” Ian smiled, bringing the lanky medic into a one-armed hug. “I really appreciate it.”

“My pleasure, Ian. Happy to do it.”

“You guys run into any trouble at there?” Jamie asked.

“Two zombies,” Steve said. “I killed one and Rose got the other.”

Rose yanked her hair out of her ponytail. “Stupid motherfuckers.”

“Neither of you are hurt, I assume?” Jamie asked. All three of them shook their heads. “All right, Erik. I guess you and Desmond need to work together to make a list of what all we have.”

“I have most of the regular medicine down,” Desmond said from his place on the couch. “I counted by pill, too.”

“Which is exactly what you need to do,” Erik said, clapping the boy’s shoulder. “We doing a big family dinner tonight again?”

“Might as well,” Jamie said. “The boys haven’t met Rose, so I think it’s time for an introduction.”

“As do I,” Rose nodded.

Dakota smiled.

Things were going just as planned.

*

He rolled the crystal beads around in his fingers and tried not to think about his own father. Cold, alone, fixed to a life-support machine and filled with the greatest amount of hate that could possibly ever be imagined—he’d once been a great person, a man filled with power and the greatest words of God. How he’d fallen from such a place had and would always be a mystery to Kevin, but he couldn’t dwell on it. The only thoughts on his mind were his children, of the two remaining people in this world who needed him.

These beads were supposed to be Jessiah’s.

Family tradition mandated that the winter crystal rosary was to be passed down to the eldest Catholic son of each generation, but with Jessiah gone and Arnold now up to the bat, was it even proper to pass this down?

Would they care? Would they really care?

He’d never known his grandfather to be a judging man—his father, sure, but never his grandfather. And he was sure if his grandfather’s father had been bad and without proper faith, he would have known, but this…this was different. This was giving an unbaptized son a religious family heirloom.

“Do I need a sign?” he said to himself, bringing the crystals to his chest. “Do I really, truly need a sign?”

Closing his eyes, he bowed his head and clasped his hands together, shivering as the beads between his hands seemed to sweat with guilt.

God, please, if there is something I must do or something I must say, please answer me. Give me the sign I need to know what I have to do.

A knock came at the door.

“Dad?” Arnold asked, cracking the door open. “Can I come in?”

“Y-yes, of course,” he managed, making the sign of the cross over his heart. “Come in, son.”

The door opened. Arnold closed it behind him and frowned when he saw his father sitting in the chair. “Is everything ok, Dad?”

“I’m glad you came. There’s something I wanted to talk to you about, Arnold.”

The boy seated himself in the sole office chair. “What is it?”

“See this?” Kevin asked, raising the ice-blue beads in front of him. Arnold nodded. “These beads have been passed down through our family for the past eighty years. Each generation, the holder gives the beads to his oldest son after he has been baptized under the Catholic faith. Son…I know this is hard for you to imagine, and I know the pain you’re going through because I feel it just as much. Now that Jessiah’s gone, you should be the one who holds the beads.”

“Dad—”

“Let me finish,” he said, waiting for his son to close his mouth before he continued. “I know I’ve neglected taking both you and your younger brother to church. That was my fault, and still is. You and your brother haven’t been baptized, and while I’m not of the opinion that you won’t go to Heaven just because of what I’ve done, I’m guilty of not teaching you what it is to believe in God.”

“It’s ok, Dad.”

“No it isn’t, Arnold. It isn’t at all.” Kevin reached forward. Beads entwined within his fingers, he took his son’s hands in his own and enclosed Arnold’s fists around the beads. “Pray with me?”

“Dear God,” Arnold said, bowing his head.

“Please hear my plea,” Kevin continued. “I have been wrong in not baptizing either of my children in Your holy light, in Your great water. Please, if You are listening, and I know You are, because You hear everything, please cast my sons in your light. Please, allow us sanctuary, and please, allow us truth. Amen.”

“Amen,” Arnold echoed.

Kevin slipped his fingers out of the beads. They fell neatly into his son’s hands.

“They’re yours, Arnold,” Kevin said, “along with this box and the Bible within it.”

“Are you sure, Dad?”

“I’m certain,” Kevin said. “Now go. Get your brother. We’re expected for dinner tonight at the Marks’.”

When Arnold left the room, Kevin closed his eyes.

Thank you, God. Thank you for giving me a sign.

*

They sat around the table with smiles on their faces and contentedly full. The dining room was aglow with lantern light and cast in shadow by the softly-falling snow outside, Dakota raised his eyes to look at the men and the one woman around him, smiling at each and every one of them as he caught their eyes and held them with his gaze. From Jamie at his right, to Rose directly across from him and to Steve at his left, and everyone in between, he felt warmth in his heart for each one.

This is it. Our own little family.

“Our own little us,” Dakota said quietly to himself.

“What’d you say, babe?” Jamie asked, setting an arm across his shoulders.

“Don’t mind him,” Steve laughed, setting his arm directly over Jamie’s. “He talks to himself. Huh, kid?”

“Sometimes,” Dakota smiled.

The boys snickered. Even Kevin, whom Dakota hadn’t seen show an ounce of happiness since he arrived, managed a slight smile.

He’s lost so much, he thought. We all have.

Friends, family, pets, jobs, communities, television, music, fast food, radio, the internet, the connection of one another in the very small but obviously-big world—through it all, they’d lost the normalcy of everything.

But this is it. This this is what it means to be alive.

“What’re you thinking about?” Jamie whispered, kissing his cheek.

“Us,” Dakota said.

“Us?” Erik asked.

“Yeah. Us. Together. As a family.”

“We sure are a family,” Rose said when she overheard Dakota. She raised her glass of water before her. “Shall we toast to ‘us,’ everyone?”

“To us,” Ian said, raising his glass. “To the people who helped me realize that there can be second chances in life.”

“To us,” Erik said, “to the people who help me get past the fear of the future and help me escape the pains of my past.”

“To us,” Kevin then said, “for helping me and my children realize that life does exist beyond today.”

“To us,” Steve agreed.

“To us,” Jamie said, locking his hand even tighter around Dakota’s shoulder.

“To us,” Dakota concluded.

Together, they clinked glasses in the cozy room as the snow continued to fall.

The following morning, Dakota rose from the deepest sleep he’d had since the zombie apocalypse had begun and walked to the sliding glass doors. Naked, save for the blanket around his shoulders and the undershorts hanging from his waist, he stepped out onto the balcony and looked out at the world.

So cold, he thought, yet so… so…

“What?” he whispered. “So…what?”

“Warm?” Jamie asked. Dakota jumped. Jamie laughed and wrapped his arms around Dakota’s waist. “Sorry babe.”

“Don’t be,” Dakota said. “I was just waiting for the sunrise.”

Jamie bowed his head into Dakota’s shoulders. “Is it coming?”

“Right now,” he said.

Jamie looked up.

Above the mountains, near where a jagged, snow-capped peak merged into a sea of black shrubbery, the sun began to rise. Like a newborn infant just entering the world, it took its time, first peeking its head over the mountaintop, then slowly pushing itself forward, toward the new world and heralding a new day.

Just like us, Dakota thought.

The sun thrust itself over the jagged peak and began to brighten the world with its radiant light, casting away any and all darkness and whatever it had to hide.

“Jamie,” Dakota murmured, closing his eyes as the sun’s warmth began to take him over.

“Yeah?”

“Are we gonna be ok?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean…us…the future…everyone here. Are we going to be all right?”

“I know we are,” Jamie said, tightening his grip on Dakota’s body. “You know what I think, Dakota?”

“What?”

“I think we’re going to be just fine.”

With that knowledge firmly implanted in his mind, Dakota opened his eyes.

Together, they watched the sun rise.

Conclusion

Throughout the inception, creation, mutation and reformation of this novel, there have been several individuals who have not only inspired, but supported me throughout this endeavor.

First and foremost, to Brian Keene—thank you for inspiring me to write this book. Sunrise wouldn’t be where it is today without you.

To Rhia and Corey—thank you for providing safe haven for me here in Texas, for believing in my art and the stories I want to tell, and for being two of the greatest friends I have.

To my mother—thank you for braving the three-day long bus trip to go to Pittsburgh, PA with me in order to debut this book. You know how much I love you, and I’m sure you know how much it meant for me to go there and actually see that I had all those friends, but thank you. There’s nothing I could do or say to ever compensate for that journey you took with me. I’m glad I did.

To my amazing friend and wonderful editor Felicia—there’s no amount of thanks I could give you to compensate for all of the love and effort you’ve put into this work. You whipped this book into shape and it’s a million, billion, zillion times better for it.

And last but not least, to Dr. Pus over at Twisted Library Press—thank you for believing in this novel enough to put it out. I hope we break numbers with this book, and if my gut feelings are right, I think we will.