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  Purple and Orange hues filled the sky, sunset finally coming on. Dad was sitting on the tailgate of the old farm truck they had commandeered, sipping out of a stainless-steel water bottle. Lori, whom hadn't done much to help in the last week but make sure there wasn't an overabundance of anxiety medication, sat next to him.

  "You're thinking about leaving," she said, looking out over the newly tilled field with it's half-constructed D-Day fences.

  "Why do you say that?" he asked.

  "I can tell by the way you and Kern are bartering for things and sifting through the junk. I'm not stupid." She had a far away quality to her voice, something between sadness and medicated sanity.

  "Ever since the beginning we have liked to keep our own resources."

  "I know, but now you're stockpiling food. I went and saw Kern, and I saw the boxes with food in them. You didn't do that before, and now we're rationing." Then she turned and looked at him, kicking her legs innocently as she sat on the tailgate. "I want to go, too."

  "That's not possible," Dad said, then taking another sip of water. His brow was wet with sweat, and he could feel the temperature dropping as the sun set behind the trees.

  "I'm sure Kacie is going." Whatever Quinton had her on, she should have been on it since the beginning.

  "She might be," Dad said.

  "I love you." That was something Dad was not expecting. There was an awkward silence as he struggled in his mind for the right words to say.

  "You don't," he finally said. "You're overcome with guilt because you shot my son. You're grateful that I took your side during the trial. That's all."

  "That's not true. I do love you. And I am going with you." Dad's first thought was that there was not enough room for her, but he didn't want to betray the fact that they intended on getting a vehicle. Lori dashed that hope.

  "I know where there is an old Bronco. Just a few miles away from here. It was Yosniel's pet project. He has spent the last two years working on it, and it runs. There's also some treated gas."

  This was a path Dad did not want to go down. Even though he hadn't asked Quinton for a vehicle yet, he knew the answer would be a resounding no. The community was finally realizing the importance of and maximizing their resources. Stealing one of the vehicles was out of the question. These people had been too good to him.

  Still, Lori was a liability. She wasn't geared for this world. Before, she had been a stay-at-home mom, doing the whole PTA soccer mom thing. Dad had little doubt in his mind that her relationship with medication had started long before the dead began to rise. They needed that Bronco, but what if it wasn't there anymore?

  "Didn't Yosniel take it with him?" Lori shook her head.

  "They didn't go far, just about fifteen miles away. He had two other vehicles stashed around, and those are the ones they took. The Bronco is loud, bad on gas, and the worst choice out of the three."

  Lori hugged him tight, but he could tell that she was restraining herself, ever-careful to keep herself in the friend zone in the hopes something more could happen. She smelled sweet and sweaty, like perfume sprayed on just after a workout. It was very persuasive. Dad hoped he could keep up his resolve.

  "Please don't leave me," she said, then looked up at him with her broken, puppy-dog eyes. In the evening chill, her body was warm against him.

  Was the Bronco worth it, though?

  xxxxxxxxxx

  "Rule number one," Kern said as he began showing Kacie how to compress and pack her things to maximize the space. He had managed to find her a sturdy camping backpack, one he wished he had in the beginning. He stopped mid sentence, examining the near endless amount of pockets inside and out.

  "Rule number one," Kacie mocked, trying to pack the small fishing kit into the old lip balm container. "Pack as much random junk as you can into the smallest container possible." The sinkers and hooks weren't a problem, but she was having a fit trying to coil up the fishing line. Kern laughed.

  "Okay, so I don't really have them numbered, but the first thing is to pack light, and pack tight. This is hard to do sometimes, but we are lucky to have a lot to choose from here. Pack light so you don't get as tired and you're able to run. Pack tight so you can fit as much as you can."

  "Wow," she said sarcastically. "I don't think I could have ever figured that out." Kern just kept smiling and went on.

  "I separate my stuff into groups. Food and water are the most important. I try to keep a weeks worth of food, and three days worth of water. Food is easy, with so much processed junk still lying around everywhere. Water is heavier, and you need more per day. I prefer metal water containers. I've had too many well used plastic bottles bust. A spoon and your knife go in this category, too.

  "Next is clothes. Even in the summer, I try to keep three layers in there. If you find the right kinds of clothes, three layers will warm you up way more than a heavy jacket could. A beanie or neck warmer is also good, if it doesn't take up too much space. Socks are important. Sometimes you can go days without even taking your shoes off. Having a few pairs of extra socks keeps the blisters and athletes foot down.

  "Then we move on to weapons and perimeter. Weapons are always a balancing game. Good weapons are usually heavy. A good wooden bat, if you don't mind carrying it all day, is a good one. Things like crowbars and sledgehammers seem great at first, until you have to lug them all over the place. For guns, Dad likes to keep a .22 rifle. Ammo is common enough, and it's a light rifle. I like the small handguns. The way I see it, they are enough in case we meet some bad guys, and they are easier to maneuver. For the perimeter, you can see how we layer empty cans and use yarn and string."

  Kacie looked at him, almost in a dreamy kind of way. If Kern had fallen for her, then she had fallen for him. Hard.

  "You guys have put a lot of thought into this whole survival thing," she said. "The people here just worry about food, water, fences, and electricity."

  "You won't have fences and electricity out there. Even if you did, fences fall or bad people get inside of them." He hadn't told her about Fireside. "Everyone needs food and water. When you're out there, though, you have to think about things like calorie intake, carbs, and protein.

  "Another important thing is that you are always hiding. You don't want to be found. We were lucky you guys didn't just kill us and take our stuff. Even the decent people are trying to work some kind of angle, trying to figure out how they can screw you to better your position. Electricity and fires are beacons, but fires are necessary. It depends on the circumstance."

  "That's not too much to take in," Kacie said. She had been humoring him, letting him talk. She finally got the fishing line coiled and packed away the kit. "So, what are we going to do when we get to Canton? What do you know about it?"

  "I don't know. I just know we can't sit around and keep trying to live off scavenging. Eventually everything will spoil and run out. What you have here in Kings Mill is great, but you saw what happened. To really make something like this work, you have to have the numbers. I just had to do something, and Canton seems like as good of a chance as any."

  "I like it here," Kacie said, taking his hand in her's. Kern flushed, still not used to it. "I really do, but I don't think it will be safe here anymore. Even if it is, everyone will be paranoid. And I want to go with you. I've never felt this way about a boy like I do you." Kern bristled a little bit at being called a boy after all he had been through, but he smiled.

  "Now you're getting all mushy," Kern said. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, then sprawled out, laying her head in his lap.

  "That's what we are supposed to do. If things hadn't gotten so bad, we would probably be in my car making out right now."

  "What does a car have to do with anything?" Kacie looked up at him and stretched.

  "I thought you would never ask," she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

  xxxxxxxxxx

  "Where's the key?" Dad asked, looking inside the old Bronco. It had once been a hunting truck, with the bac
k bench taken out. The plastic floor was totally utilitarian, made for washing it out with a water hose. The exterior was black, with a few patches of rust. The tires were as new as tires could be now. It smelled of tobacco and alcohol, just like a lot of the fixer-uppers he remembered from his childhood, when his uncle would work on his project cars.

  "Uh-uh," Lori said playfully. "You don't get that until we all leave together. And it better be soon, before someone else decides they want this old rust bucket."

  "Lori, you know it's not a good idea for you to go." Suddenly, her demeanor changed to something bordering hysteria and fury. Tears welled up in her eyes. That had been happening a lot lately, to everyone.

  "Why? Because you don't think I can handle it out there? Because I closed the door and hid?" Dad gripped both of her arms, and even as she tried to struggle out of them, she buried her head in his chest. It almost felt natural. Almost. "Or is it because I shot your son? Because he hates me?"

  "I won't lie," Dad said. "You aren't Kern's favorite person. You weren't mine either, but I don't think it's something that will happen again. You never had a proper time to grieve over Julie, and seeing us just made all those memories come back. You aren't well mentally, just like most of us aren't after everything we have been through."

  "Please, let me come with you," she pleaded. "I can't stay here. Everyone knows what happened now. I can tell by the way they look at me. I went to get my food yesterday, and no one said a word. Alice just threw it all into the bag and sat it on the table."

  "It's better to live here as a pariah than to die out there with us." She pulled away from him and hit him in the chest.

  "You're hell bent on getting away from me, aren't you? Why am I so bad? I have been nothing but nice to you and Kern since all that happened. I've even showed you a vehicle you can use to get you to where ever it is that you want to go." Dad had enough. All of this wasn't worth the Bronco, even if it meant they had to travel on foot.

  "Because I can't risk you having an episode when we really need to depend on you. I have to worry about my son. First and foremost. We made it just fine by ourselves long before we made it here."

  "Oh really? Just the two of you? I guess that's why his little girlfriend has been gathering all sorts of stuff? I'm not dumb. I guess she gets a pass because Kern likes her."

  "I never said she was coming with us."

  "I don't think you have a choice." Dad's shoulders sagged, as if to say what do you want me to do?

  "What happens with Kacie isn't any of your concern," Dad said. Lori pursed her lips.

  "It will be when I tell Quinton that you are planning on leaving."

  "It won't matter."

  "What if he tries to take your stuff? And kick you out with nothing but the clothes on your back?"

  "I'm done," Dad said, walking back to the two dirt bikes they had used to get there.

  Lori was still yelling after him when he kicked the bike to life and pulled away. In his mind he had tore away from her in dramatic fashion, covering her with dust and gravel. In reality, he had pulled away slowly by any bike rider's standards and seemed, if anything, overly cautious.

  The countryside was beautiful up this way, on one of the utility roads that had become mostly overgrown. Where Kings Mill and the area around it still looked like mess, there it was like the dead were still just a monster in the night, an apparition from some child's imagination. Pines, oaks, and spruce trees stretched up on either side of him as the dirt trail, broken every so often by tufts of grass, weaved through the hills.

  Even over the roar of the engine, Dad could tell that this was the sort of tranquil place that most people in the world could dream of. It was a place totally untouched by the dead, where life went on as it had for years, maybe even decades, before the dead began to rise. Forgotten. That's what it had been before. Everyone clustered to their cities and suburbs, leaving vast tracts of land in the United States behind. If it couldn't sustain a housing development or a strip mall, it didn't matter.

  Dad was pondering this when Lori blew past him, getting close enough that he felt her hair flick against his face. It could have wrecked him, if their foot pegs had touched or she had inadvertently slammed into him. Maybe that was her plan. Dad jetted the throttle for a moment, then slowed. It wasn't worth getting hurt over, but this was the exact reason that she couldn't come with them. That, and he had too much to worry about to ever think about being a thing with her.

  The gates at Kings Mill were locked now, always. The paranoia had taken hold, and people were worried about everything. Now there were dead hordes just over the hill, roving bandits just down the road, and deranged killers behind every tree. Of course this madness didn't grasp everyone, but enough that extra precautions had been taken.

  After entering the gate and locking it back, he turned and saw Lori's tracks. They were erratic with deep ruts in a few places on the hill. Ruth was planting some corn and a few hopeful tomato seeds and looked up at him, with a smirk on her face. A lovers' quarrel, that's what everyone thought it was. Lori had done a good job of giving off the impression that they were somewhere in between good friends and lovers. Dad hadn't done anything to dispel that notion. Before the siege it wasn't an issue. Once Kern was better, they would be on their way. Now he didn't think the community, much less himself, could handle one of her outbursts. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that she would do something stupid or extreme, either.

  After putting the bike back in the shed, he went down to see Pete. He hadn't been seen much since they had gotten back. Dad had asked Quinton the imperative question these days, and he had assured him that Pete hadn't been bitten. Dad had seen him once, out on his porch when Portia had brought him some food. When the waitress-turned-rationer stepped off the porch, Dad had yelled for him, and Pete forced a smile and went back inside.

  His porch was still a mess, even though Ruth had done a quick clean-up. She was one of the few who kept their minds occupied by working. She had taken it upon herself to keep at least the outward appearance of Kings Mill decent.

  Dad knocked on the door, and heard some movement, then nothing. He waited a moment and then knocked louder. Finally he heard some shuffling, and the door opened.

  "Hello, Aaron," Pete said. Under his bloodshot eyes, heavy bags had settled in. His clothes were stained with sweat and grime. The sickly-sweet smell of old alcohol came from his pores. At least his breath didn't reek. It smelled like the mints he had popped before opening the door.

  "Hey Pete. Can I come in for a minute?" Pete eyed him warily.

  "I'm not really in the mood for company."

  "Come on, Pete. I'm worried about you." The old man sighed, knowing what Aaron's angle was. He stepped back and walked over to the old wicker chair he treasured ( it had come from the porch of his old house ). He plopped down in it so hard that Dad thought it might break.

  Pete's house was one of the first ones built, and it was built well. Before the siege, it had been a quaint fisherman's bachelor pad. Now beer bottles and cans littered the floor along with empty food cans and paper plates from the food that had been brought to him. Dad pushed the bundled covers to one side of the couch and sat down.

  "I thought I had given this up for good, you know?" Pete said, taking a half drank bottle from the table and downing it. His mouth twisted. It was warm, having been setting out since he passed out the night before.

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Gave it up when I was forty-four, I did. Lisa didn't mind it when we were young, but as we got older, she got to where she was a little more proper. I hadn't thought much of it, I don't guess. There's a quite good brewing operation here, and of course there's the shine and even homemade wine, but I never even thought about it. When we were trapped, though, when I didn't know whether or not I was going to be ripped to shreds..."

  And with that, Pete began to sob. It was low, barely audible, but the way his body shook told Dad all he needed to know. Here was a man who had lived an entire l
ife. He had faced a recession, near-starvation, losing his wife, and probably his children and grandchildren for all he knew. He had come through all of this without a scar, at least physically.

  When the dead began to rise, it had been a distant thing to the people of Kings Mill. Something that happened on the television, or something that people traveling from the cities told them. When the first of the dead finally showed up, an elderly woman who had died in her sleep, it had been handled deftly by the local law enforcement. During the evacuation, very few people passed through the sleepy little town, and Pete was among those who decided to stay. When the dead were encountered after that, the humans had the numbers, and they had safety. The only thing is that safety is relative.

  Once it had been ripped from him and most of the others, they had finally been subjected to what Dad and countless others had. The terror. The loss. The hopelessness. It had finally hit home for Pete, and it was more than he could bare.

  "Hey," Dad said. "Hey, hey, hey. It's alright, Pete. I've been there, too. You're still taking it all in."

  "We're doomed," Pete said. "Those things will just keep increasing in numbers, and this time we were lucky. They didn't find us, and by sheer luck we were able to lure most of them away. But what happens next time? What if there are more? People are leaving. Will they just overrun us? Bash through our fences and walls? Or will they just wander around outside, waiting for us to make another mad dash or starve?"

  "You don't know that we're doomed, Pete. There's still hope. We don't know what's going on everywhere else." Pete snorted.

  "You mean Canton. If there was really anything going on there, don't you think they would have reached out? It's been two years, and we haven't seen a helicopter or airplane in a year and a half. If there was anything to it, we would have soldiers here by now."