****

This was my first time in a big city.  My first time leaving more than 30 miles from my hometown as well.  Everything I was expecting I had heard from friends or seen on television.  At 17 years old, I didn’t know much, but I thought I knew the world like the back of my hand.

As we continued along the interstate and traffic started to slow and then eventually halt completely, I looked down from the overpass we were on and could see the miniature people strolling along the streets living their lives.  I wanted to be among them.  I wanted desperately to get my first taste of city life, to walk up and down the busy streets and enjoy the hustle and bustle of the steel jungle.

It was after about 15 minutes of still not moving that I began to observe my surroundings with a closer eye.  I noticed that the gas station I had so desperately wanted to visit for a cool refreshment was quite run down.  There were iron bars on the windows and doors.  By the look of the people entering and exiting, I wondered if they were trying to keep people in, or out.  A young man, muscular with dreadlocks hanging down his back, went into the store and I caught the gleam of something silver and shiny within the waistband of his pants.  I waited for something to happen; this was exactly the kind of thing I had witnessed on Cops countless times. I imagined the man pulling out his 9mm and shoving it into the face of the cashier.  The cashier would then begin to cry and empty the register.  The criminal would then leave, cash in hand, and the sound of sirens would soon begin to hum in the distance.  But none of that happened.  A few minutes passed and that same dreadlocked young man casually strolled out of the store, carrying a brown paper bag filled with bread and milk.  Someone stopped him for a second of conversation and then the young man sat the bag at his feet, lifted his shirt and gave the silver belt buckle in the shape of car rim a flick with his finger, the miniature rim whirled into a blur as the sun reflected off of the metal.

Feeling a bit ashamed of myself and losing interest now that the imaginary action had subsided, I began to investigate other occurrences across my limited spectrum of city life.  I was a kid with an ant farm and these people were my ants.  I couldn’t interact with them for my fear of getting bit, but I could watch them, not realizing that these ants were not like all the other ants, that I could only view them in the surroundings that were in front of me.  I had no idea what they were saying to each other, or what they would do when the lights went out.  All I knew was what I saw before my eyes, and my vision was limited to my own little ant farm.

I was beginning to get bored with city life, we had not moved an inch in 30 minutes, as I stared down on my ant farm while all of the ants carried on with their lives, oblivious to me.  It was then that I saw this woman.  I call her a woman because she wore a dress, but to look at her, she was more of a ghoul.  Her skin clung so tight to her bones that I was unable to comprehend how she could even stand.  There was no muscle covering her bones, her eyes were sunk in and her teeth were practically falling out of her mouth.  She seemed more dead than alive, like a phantom walking the streets, drifting in and out of people’s lives one moment at a time.  No one paid her any attention as she asked for a dollar from an old man, then a young woman. I could see the indentions of every bone in her arm; I could tell where her humerus attached to the radius and ulna.  I could see the blue and black of the track marks that covered her anticube.  Was this what the city did to people?  Did it take in lovely young girls who like to ride bicycles and play with dolls and turn them into these zombies that walked the streets, begging for a dollar to go get high?

This was my first experience with city life.  I spent 30 minutes on an overpass when I was 17.  I imagined a young man robbing a corner store and saw a strung out junkie walking the streets begging for money.  I didn’t know these people, and I didn’t want to; but those 30 minutes they made an impact on my life and they never even knew it.  They were the people in the backgrounds of your photographs.  The people who don’t matter to you, but they are there all the same.

It’s been 20 years since that day when I first came to this city.  I never would have thought that I would be living in the neighborhood where my mind raced and our car sat parked as we waited for a mysterious traffic jam to which the cause was never discovered.  The corner store is now a high rise apartment building and the streets are now filled with the wealthy sons and daughters of businessmen and lawyers; but I still remember the way it was before IKEA and Starbucks  made their nesting ground in the slums of this great city, before I knew was a city even was or what a city could be.

****

A collection of papers was recently discovered upon the desk of the missionary William Bradstreet after his death.  These papers offer extraordinary accounts of life in the early Americas.  Many of the papers were transcripts of interviews Bradstreet conducted with early settlers in the colonies; others were interviews with slaves and natives. Each interview offers invaluable insight into the lives of the men and women attempting to survive in the new world.  One such transcript was an interview with an unnamed native who witnessed the captivity of Captain John Smith of the Jamestown colony.  I cannot speak to the validity of the account, but only say that the papers were authentic.  The text has been unaltered from the original version.

*The following is an account of the capture of John Smith told to me nearly 10 years after the fact, upon a visit to Jamestown, Virginia.  The man telling the story was in his thirties, or so he seemed, you can never really tell with the natives.  His tale is as follows:

The first time I saw Captain John Smith I had just become a man.  I was now able to hunt and fish, and able to attack and defend my village in times of war.  Being young, I had learned English as a child spying on the white men, as we would often do, and was able to understand it better than I could speak at that time.

Word had traveled to the village that one of the white men’s giant canoes was traveling up the river.  King Powhatan told many of his warriors to go and observe, of which I was allowed to go.  Upon approaching the canoe, two men rose up and began firing their weapons toward us.  Our warriors shot arrows at them and we quickly overcame them.   We then heard a great noise from up the river; it was Captain John Smith, with one of our brethren bound on the wrist by rope, fleeing upstream.  He was running away from us, so we engaged in pursuit.  We began to fire upon him with arrows as he attempted to run up river.  He was saved by the luck that he tripped and fell, dragging our brother on top of his body, who died from the wounds of our arrows.  Captain John Smith was unhurt, except for a few scratches, but he was afraid.

Some of us wanted to kill him, for his part in the death of our brother; but an agreement was made to keep him as a prisoner.  After making this agreement, we took Captain John Smith to Opechancanough.  Opechancanough was Powhattan’s younger brother and in charge of Captain John Smith’s captivity.

After seeing Captain John Smith, Opechancanough walked up to him and began to examine him.  He tugged on Captain John Smith’s armor and his clothes, rubbed his skin and felt his hair.  Captain John Smith, being terribly afraid, pulled out what I now know to be a compass and showed it to Opechancanough.  Having never seen a compass, we were all amazed.  Captain John Smith then began to tell tales of the earth and the moon and the stars to which we were equally amazed.

Opechancanough quickly tired of Captain John Smith’s stories and took the compass and left.  The rest of us tied Captain John Smith to a tree and acted like we were too shoot him.  Seeing the fear in his eyes, Opechancanough returned and made us stop for the time being.  He appointed me as Captain John Smith’s personal guard, to watch over him for as long as he was with us.  We then took Captain John Smith to a neighboring village to feed him.

The first time we transported Captain John Smith, I could see the amazement in his eyes at how we behaved.  Once we arrived at the neighboring village, we performed a customary dance to give thanks before we ate.  Since you are probably not familiar, I will describe it for you as best I can.  All of our women and children were standing watch as our warriors would gather in a ring.  We would dance, sing, and chant; Captain John Smith had a look of both terror and amazement as he watched.  Every warrior was painted and oiled.  We were adorned with our arrows and our war club, with fox skins and otter skins wrapped around our arms. Our faces were painted red and in our hands we held the body of a bird, dried out with its wings spread wide.  Upon our head, we wore copper and shell, and a single long feather.  It was a show of power and might; Captain John Smith was astounded at what he saw.

After three dances, Captain John Smith was moved to a hut and was given food.  We gave him more meat and bread than he could possibly eat, but he barely ate anything.  What he didn’t eat, we tied in a basket over his head.  I came back later to offer him food again, and he kept looking like he wanted us to join him, but it is improper to eat with a prisoner.

The next morning we brought him fresh meat and bread, and by this point, I believe he was afraid we were going to fatten him up and eat him.  He still didn’t eat much and was beginning to get cold.  I did not care much that he was cold, for all of the damage he did to my brothers he deserved it, but one of the elders brought him a gown as repayment for beads and toys given to him by Captain John Smith upon his initial arrival at Jamestown.

The next few days passed without much incident.  Captain John Smith was still not eating much and but the gown seemed to help with his cold.  One evening, one of my brothers attempted to sneak into Captain John Smith’s hut and kill him.  He held Captain John Smith responsible for the death of his son.  Not many of us would have minded, except for the orders of our king to keep him alive.

It was around this time that Captain John Smith had finally got enough nerve to ask and go to Jamestown for supplies.  Not being gullible, we refused.  He then said that if we took a sheet of paper to Jamestown, they would give us supplies.  The king sent out a few men to Jamestown to see if it would work.  The first night the messengers went, they were wary to approach the village, but the next morning they went to the gate with paper in hand.  Not knowing what writing was, and having no written language of our own at the time, we were easily amazed at the power of the paper.

During the following days, we took Captain John Smith through various villages as we met with other leaders of the confederacy.  Not much of interest happened during this time, until our village priest decided to confront Captain John Smith.  It was an early morning when the priest came into Captain John Smith’s hut.  The chief priest was painted head to toe with coal; the coal mixed with oil gave him the appearance of a bear.  He was covered in weasel and snake skins which were tied to his body.  His head was covered in a band of feathers, with the skins of animals hanging down the back.  His face was partially covered by the skins and his voice was deep.  Captain John Smith was terrified at the look of him.  The priest began to dance as I watched from the door.  A giant fire was lit in the middle and the priest began to dance around it.  As he began to dance, three lesser priests came in and began to join him.  They were painted half black and half red, with their eyes painted white.  They continued to dance until three more came in.  These had eyes painted red and red slashes down their faces.  Soon after, they came to a stop.  They sat down in front of Captain John Smith.  The chief priest sat directly in front, with three men to each side.   A fire was between the priest and Captain John Smith.  The priest then began a series of rituals to determine if Captain John Smith meant us harm.  I cannot tell you how he came to his knowledge, but I will tell you of the process he used.  Each of the men began shaking rattles they had brought with them.  This led to a song that went on for a few minutes.  When it ended, the priest laid down five kernels of corn, which represented the sea.  He then flexed his arms so hard that he began to shake and sweat, leading to a short prayer.  When he finished, the other priest gave a moan and laid down three more kernels.  Then the song began again, then the prayer, then the kernels.  This continued until the fire was circled twice by the corn.  After this, they continued the ritual, this time using sticks, which represented Captain John Smith’s country, and placing them between the corn.  This went on for many hours until nightfall, without eating or drinking.  Then when night came, they feasted merrily.  This ceremony went on for three days.  After three days, a bag of gunpowder was brought to Captain John Smith.  The priest told him they would keep it until next spring and plant it, for in those days we believed it to be a seed.

Soon, Opitchapam, another of the King’s brothers, invited Captain John Smith to his hut to feast.  Captain John Smith ate a great deal that day, but no one ate with him.  The remainder was put in baskets and sent back with him to Opechancanough’s.  He stayed there for the night, for the next day, he was to meet the mighty king, Powhatan.

When we arrived with Captain John Smith, Powhatan was already waiting.  He had over two hundred men guarding him.  He was wearing a great robe made of raccoon skins, with their tails dragging the ground at the bottom.  He sat upon a seat with two women beside him.  Behind him sat two rows of men and as many women.  Each one was painted red and on their faces and shoulders, and covered in white feathers about the head, they also had great white necklaces hanging from their necks.

When Captain John Smith was put before the chief, everyone gave a loud shout.  One of the queens of the confederacy was appointed to bring Captain John Smith water to wash his hands, and another brought him feathers with which to dry them.  We all feasted well and then a meeting was held by our leaders to determine Captain John Smith’s fate.  In the end, it was decided that he would have his head smashed between two giant stones.  I don’t know if this was said to frighten him, or if it was the actual plan, but once his head was placed on the stone, Pocahontas, Powhatan’s daughter laid her own head upon Captain John Smith so that he would not be killed unless she was.  At that moment, it was decided to make Captain John Smith a slave and that he would make hatchets, bells, beads and copper for others in the village; but not for the king, for everything he owned, he made himself.

It was not long after that Powhatan discovered Captain John Smith was not as capable at making tools as the natives.  Having run out of uses for him, and not wanting to kill him in front of Pocahontas, Powhatan decided he would set him free.  One night, Powhatan dressed in his most fearsome furs and went into a hut where Captain John Smith was sleeping.  He, along with a few dozen dressed as he, looking more like devils than men, went into the hut screeching and yelling. After dreadfully frightening Captain John Smith, Powhatan told him that they were friends and that he would be sent home.  The next day he was returned to Jamestown.

After that, I saw Captain John Smith a few times about the country, but as you know, relations between the whites and us natives have not been good.

*I cannot say for certain if the tale of this native is true or false, as they are known to lie for fun, but if it is indeed true, it paints a very different portrait from the heroic Captain John Smith we are used to.

****

“Dude, all I’m saying is that if I see someone hanging on a cross and left to die, and then 3 days later he is walking around town, my first thought is not that he arose from the dead.”

“What other possible explanation could there be?”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously.”

“Where do I begin?  The most logical explanation is that my eyes were playing tricks on me.  You know they probably saw some guy decked out in Jesus old robes.  It’s not like he could use them anyways.  I mean, how many guys with long hair and a beard do you think were roaming around the city in those days?  Or maybe he didn’t die to begin with, maybe he got taken down when no one was looking? The soldiers didn’t break any of his bones after all, right?  Just a man on a cross with a bunch of flesh wounds.”

“Really, is that the best you have? I expected a little more from you.”

“Whatever, dude.  Go pray to your zombie savior.”

“Zombie?  Jesus is nothing like a zombie.”

“I beg to differ.  According to your tale, he died, and then he came back to life a few days later.  I’m pretty sure that constitutes being a zombie.  Not to mention that he just aimlessly roams around the city for a few days, not needing to eat or drink.  Come on, if that’s not a zombie, I don’t know what is.”

“Jesus was not a zombie; God brought him back to life.  Why is that so hard to believe? He was crucified on the cross to die for our sins and on the third day he was raised from the dead.”

“That seems illogical to me.  Why would you wait 3 days to bring someone back to life?  Especially if you have all of the power of heaven and earth at your disposal.  However, if he was slowly becoming a zombie, then it could take up to 3 days for him to turn.”

“There is no point in arguing with you.”

“Whatever, man.  Go hunt some eggs.”

****

The first time Serena Vanderbilt ever shot a gun, she was 8 years old.

“I think she is too young to be shooting guns,” says her mother.

“It’s perfectly safe.  We’ll be at the range and I’ll be watching her,” says her father.

“James, you know how I feel about the subject.” She puts her hand on the counter of the large island in their kitchen.  The room is spacious and shiny.  The sheen from the stainless steel appliances reflects the openness of the room, making the two figures seem like pawns on a chessboard.  “And my mind is not going to change anytime soon.  I have a hard enough time dealing with what you do.  This opens the gates so that she can follow in your footsteps. Don’t we want more than that from our little girl?”

James walks over to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.  He opens it, takes a sip and looks at his wife.  “I just want to see if she has the gift.  I’ll take her this one time, see how she shoots, and if she never wants to go back, then that will be the end of it.” He unscrews the bottle of water and takes another drink.  “You know the suspense is killing me, Carolyn.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one.  When we first found out I was pregnant, all you talked about was teaching your son to shoot.  I thought all of that talk was finished when we knew we were having a daughter.” She looks down at her hand, still gripping the counter. “Fine.  You take her this one time.  And then I don’t want to hear another word about it.”

“Yes!”  screams a little girl as she comes running out of the hallway and into her mother’s arms. I can’t wait to shoot daddy’s gun.”

“Have you been in the hall the whole time, Serena?” asks James.

“Yes father, and I am most happy at the decision you have made.”

“Are you now?” asks her father.  He gives her a wink.

“You know it’s only one time, right?” asks her mother.

“Yes, mother.”  She runs over to her father, her long blonde hair trailing behind her, and he lifts her onto his shoulders.  James is well built, his green polo shirt pulled tight across his chest.  His hair is blonde, cut short and parted to the side.  He is a tall man, towering over his daughter and a head above his wife.

“Why don’t you run upstairs and get dressed.  I’ll get everything together and put it in the car.”  Serena takes off down the hall.  Her footsteps can be heard as she runs up the stairs. James looks at his wife, “sure you don’t want to come?”

“Not in a million years.”  She gives him a kiss on the cheek and then walks out of the kitchen.

James caps his water bottle and then exits the kitchen, he walks down the hall and opens a door to the garage.  It’s a three car garage that holds two vehicles.  A new, black BMW and a silver Porsche SUV.  Around the garage are various tools and toolboxes, a kids bicycle, a few toys scattered around.  At the back of the garage is a door.  He walks up and pulls out his keys.  He inserts a plain, silver key into the doorknob and opens it.

Inside is a room with dark grey walls and a white marble floor.  Weapons hang upon all four walls.  Handguns, shotguns, assault rifles, knives, enough to arm a small rebellion.  In the back right corner is a box marked rope. There is a desk to one side covered with various papers.  To the other side are several  filing cabinets.  He goes over to the desk and grabs a small duffle bag lying next to it.  He then goes over to the back wall and picks up two handguns and puts them in the bag.  One reads Desert Eagle .50 down the barrel; the other says Pietro Beretta 9mm.  He then goes to a shelf and picks up two cases of ammo and stuffs them in the bag.  The lights go off automatically as he leaves the room.

“I’m ready, Daddy.” Serena is waiting by the car when he walks out of the room.

“Did you say goodbye to your mother?”

“Yes sir.”

“Ok, hop in the backseat and we’ll be on our way.”  Selena climbs in to the backseat and fastens her seatbelt.  James tosses the duffle bag to the passenger’s seat and then starts the BMW.  He hits the button to open the garage door that hangs from the passenger’s visor.  The door opens and he backs down the driveway.

James is nervous when they arrive at the shooting range.  He doesn’t know what to expect, and wonders what he should expect.  He looks over at Serena as she gets out of the car.  Her green and red plaid skirt and brown beret make him smile.  “You ready to learn to shoot?”

“I can’t wait,” she says as she runs up beside her father.  They walk pass the sign that says Madison’s Firing Range and in through a door on the side of the building.

“Good morning, James.” Says a man at the counter.  He is an older man, wearing a white button up with tobacco stains up the middle.  His black suspenders stand out against the white.  “And who is this young lady?”

“This is my daughter.  She’s going to learn to shoot today.”

“Well, well.  Let’s see if you’re as good as your father, miss….”

“Her names Serena.”

“Serena, that’s a lovely name.  Do you want your usual lane?” asks the old man.

“That’ll be just fine, Otis.” James grabs his daughter by the hand and they start walking down the alleyway.

Otis yells after them, “Sorry James, I just realized, someone is already at your lane.  Just go down to 14 instead.”

“No problem.” Says James.

James and Serena walk down the alley to lane 14.  They pass a few men along the way.  They nod to James as he passes.  As they walk pass lane 13, James’ usual firing lane, there is a man firing an assault rifle.  The paper target in the back is barely hanging on. After a few more seconds, it falls to the floor.  The man shooting takes off his ear protection and then turns around to James.  He lifts up his gun and says, “she’s a beauty, want to give it a shot?”  The man has salt and pepper hair, cut short.  An eye patch covers his left eye. His good eye never leaves James.

“No thanks, I’m taking my daughter shooting today.”

“Maybe some other time then?”  He looks down at Serena.

“Maybe,” says James, then he and Serena go to their lane.

“Ok, Serena, I want you to watch very carefully what I do,” says her father.  He picks up a target from the shelf beside their lane.  He clips it to the small rope pulley that travels the length of their lane, then pulls the rope so that the target begins moving away from him.  After it reaches the far end, he turns to Serena. “The bullets are already loaded, all you have to do is put the mag into the gun.”  He picks up the larger gun and shows her.  “It clicks once it is in.”

He reaches into the bag and pulls out the other gun, handing it to Serena.  She grabs it and then looks at it.  He hands her the magazine and she does exactly as she was shown.

“Now, put on your earmuffs.” James says as he hands her the ear protection.  She puts them over her ears and watches her father.  He shows her how to take off the safety and then turns towards the target.  He fires.  The first shot goes straight through the bulls eye of the paper man’s head.  He fires again, this one goes slightly to the left. Another goes a little higher, still in the bulls eye.

“Ok, sweetie, now it’s your turn.”  James begins reeling in the target and replaces it with a new one.  Once it at the other end, he motions for Serena to get in position.  She faces the target and removes her safety, just like her father.  She squeezes the trigger and the bullet barrels down the lane completely missing the target.   Her father sighs and looks at the ground.  He begins to grab Serena by the shoulder to tell her to leave when she fires another bullet.  Perfect bulls eye.  He steps away as she fires another in the exact same spot, then another, then another, then another, until the mag is empty.  There is only one hole on the target when James pulls it in, barely a centimeter in diameter. Damn, he thinks to himself, what the hell do I do now?

“That was fun, daddy.  Can we do it again sometime?” She asks.

“I don’t know, we’ll see.”  James suddenly feels eyes upon his back and turns around to see the man with the eye-patch intently watching Serena.  “Can I help you?” he asks the man.

“Hell of a shot.” The man replies, “I’ll see you around.”  He turns and heads for the door.

“Just give it a minute,” says Derick, “your eyes will adjust.”

All four of them slowly walk into the house, waiting for their eyes to adjust to the darkness.  After a few minutes, Derick directs them to the kitchen.  Jaime opens the fridge first, it’s still cool inside even without power.

“The family couldn’t have left more than a few days ago.” Says Jamie, “all the fruits and vegetables are wilted, but you can probably still eat them.”

Paula opens a cabinet above the sink. “Ooh, chips and crackers anyone?”

“I’ll take that bag of Doritos,” says Jake.

Derick walks over to the fridge.  He reaches in and grabs a carton of milk and takes a sniff. “Ugh, putrid.”  He takes a juice instead.

“There’s a lot of baby food in these cabinets.  You would think they would have taken all of it they could,” says Paula.

After finally finding something for each of them to eat, they sit at the dining room table and replenish their energy. They eat in silence, and eventually they hear the rhythmic beating coming from upstairs.

“That is hella creepy,” says Jaime. “Maybe we shouldn’t go up there.”

“I say we sleep downstairs.” Says Derick. “But there are beds upstairs.”

“How many?” asks Jake.

“One in each room.  A queen and a full” he replies.

“After what we’ve been through,” says Paula, “A good night’s sleep would be amazing.”  Everyone looks to Derick to see what he says next.

They sit in silence for a moment. “I guess if we take shifts watching the door, then we should be able to.” Says Derick, “I’ll take first watch, Jake can take second, Paula next and then Jaime can finish up.”  He looks at everyone. “First sign of light, we start searching the other houses.”

“Ok,” says Jake, “I guess we should head upstairs.  Derick, do you want to take the lead?”

“Sure,” he says and then begins walking to the living room.  They cross the room and head up the stairs.  The beating has stopped for a while.   They walk up the stairs and Derick points out the door that is closed.  He motions with his finger over his lips for everyone to keep quiet.  They walk into the master bedroom.

“Paula and Jaime can sleep in here. Me and Jake will take the other room,” he whispers.  “Whoever is on watch will wait in the hallway. Understood?”  They all nod in agreement. “Now get some sleep, we’ve got a long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

As everyone goes to sleep, Derick sits in the hall and watches the door.  The beating continues, and then stops, continues and then stops.  For the roughly three hours he watches, it continues.  He wakes Jake and the same thing happens.  As each member takes watch, they stare at the door, pistol in hand, waiting for the moment the big ugly will show it’s head.  It never does, though, and dawn comes sooner than anyone would like.

As the sun begins to peek its head over the horizon, bringing hope for a new day, Jaime goes in to the master bedroom and wakes Paula.  She is slow to rise, but gets up and wakes Derick and Jake who lie, backs touching, on the full size bed that barely holds them both.

“Rise and shine, cupcakes,” says Paula. “Time to get going.”

Jaime hands Derick the nine millimeter and they begin to head down the stairs.

“Wait,” says Derick. “I’ve got to know what’s in there.”

“No way, man,” says Jake. “Bad idea.”

“I know, but I’ve got to know.”

“Listen to Jake, Derick.  It’s a bad idea.”  Says Jaime.

“Fine, you guys go wait outside then.  But I’m opening this door.”  At that moment, the beating starts again.

“Paula, take Jaime and go outside.  I’ve got a sword, so I’m gonna watch Derick’s back, as fucking ignorant as it might be.”  They walk down the stairs and wait outside the front door. “Jesus, man.  Did they not teach you better than this in the army?”

“Marines, I was a marine.  And I’m not leaving this stone unturned.” Says Derick.

“Well, why didn’t you unturn this stone yesterday when you came here alone?” asks Jake.

“Because I hadn’t spent three hours staring at the door wondering what was inside.  Are you ready?”

“Fuck no, I’m not ready.” Says Jake and Derick kicks on the door.  At that moment, the banging against the door goes into a frenzy.  “Shit man, you’ve made it angry.”  He grips his sword, ready to strike.

Derick kicks it again and this time the door breaks off the hinges.  The force of the kick sends what was standing behind the door flying against the wall.  In seconds, it’s crawling fast towards them.

“Oh my god,” says Jake, “It’s a fucking baby!”  As it races across the floor towards Derick, black goo runs down its eyes and mouth covering the bib tied around its neck.  Its eyes are solid white and its skin is yellowish-green.  It moves haphazardly, but with great speed towards the hall. Derick shoots a round into its head and it falls to the floor.

The room is baby blue.  Clouds are painted on the walls and a mobile with farm animals hangs from the ceiling.  It looks peaceful.  On the floor, it is a different story.  The black substance is smudged across the floor and up about three feet on the walls.  A stuffed bear is ripped apart and other toys are demolished across the room, the crib is broken.  It looks like a tornado came through.  In the corner are the bloody remains of a family pet.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit SHIT!” says Jake. He punches a whole through the drywall.

“Calm down, it’s over,” says Derick.

“Calm down?” ask Jake.  “You just shot a fucking zombie baby in the head.  Why the fuck did you have to open the door?  That was somebody’s kid.  And you killed it.”

“It was already dead, Jake.  I put it out of its misery.” He says.

“Why did the parents leave it in there?  How could somebody be so cruel?” Asks Jake.

“I don’t know.  Maybe they couldn’t kill their own child.  So they just left.  It’s a tough choice; you and I both know that.” He pats Jake on the shoulder.  “We better get downstairs before the girls freak.  Come on.”

Downstairs Paula and Jamie are waiting with questioning looks on their faces.  “So what was it?” asks Jamie.

Jake looks to the floor.  Derick replies, “You don’t want to know, kid.  Trust me, you don’t want to know.”

Nothing else was said on the matter.

********

“Take that, you fucking cunt!” says Sam as she bashes in its head with a baseball bat.  The nails driven through the end of the bat suction as she pulls it back and forth attempting to release it.   Finally, a piece of skull breaks off and the bat is hers again.  “So, how many is that this week?  13 ,14?” she asks.

Dexter reaches into his pocket, pulls out a small notepad, and responds, “15 counting the two this morning.”

“They were just midgets though, so they should only count as one, right?”

“They’re not midgets Sam, they’re kids.”  He says with a sigh.

“Since when do you remember kids trying to rip out your fucking throat?”  She looks at the end of the bat and then begins picking out little specks of grey matter.  “A Z is a Z is a Z, remember? Blah, blah, blah, they’re not human anymore.  All of that bullshit.”

“Fine, call them what you want, it’s still a kill a piece.”   He begins cutting off the head of the lifeless corpse.  “This should get us enough gas to power the generator for at least 2 days.”

“Damnit, I got brains on my dress again.”  Sam is clad in a purple prom dress from 1985.  It’s ripped off around her knees as not to trip her or get hung up in a fight.  Her biker boots come up to where the dress ends.  Her hair is messy and loose, the brunette strands hanging down her back.  She doesn’t wear any makeup anymore, it always runs when she sweats and she figures what’s the point anyway.

Dexter is small, about 5’5” and wearing a black button up with a white skinny tie.  Traces of blood cover the tie.  He wears jeans with biker boots tucked under and has black rimmed glasses that draw attention to his beady eyes.  He is over confident for his size and Sam often compares him to Napolean.

“Ok, Sam” he says, “let’s get moving.  You know these fuckers feast at night.”

As they begin to walk down the alleyway to a street full of abandoned taxi’s they see a body come around the corner.  The light is behind it so only a silhouette is visible.  It walks with a limp as it slowly comes towards them.  Dexter pulls out his sword and Sam lifts her bat, ready for a fight.  Finally it speaks, “ho, friendly.” And they lower their weapons.

“What’s up with you?” asks Sam.

“Fell down some stairs,” he replies. He looks down at his leg and then back at Sam.

“Let me take a look” Say Dexter and as he bends over to look at the leg the man pulls out a pistol and hits him over the head.  He falls to the floor unconscious.

“What the fuck did you do that for,” asks Sam, holding her bat, ready to swing.

He points the gun at her head then speaks, “Now, now doll, you don’t want to do that.  All I want is that bag of heads your buddy is carrying around.  Hand them over and nobody, well, nobody else gets hurt.”

“Come on, there are plenty of Zs out there for everyone to kill.  You don’t have to take ours.”

“But you see, if I take yours, then I don’t have to go fight them myself.  Now be a good girl and hand them over.”

“Fine, take them.”

“That’s a good girl” He reaches down to grab the bag when suddenly—CRACK—Sam hits him in the side of the head with her bat.  Blood oozes out of his eyes, nose and mouth as his lifeless body falls to the ground.  She jerks the nail-studded bat out of the side of his face then bends down to Dexter.  “Hey, dickweed, wake up!”  She pushes him on the shoulder as he slowly comes to.

He groans. “Uhhgh, what happened?”  He rubs his head.

“You got pistol whipped. How’s your head feel?” she asks.

“Like I just got pistol whipped.  Jesus!  What the fuck was he thinking.”  Dexter finally notices the body lying in front of him. “Shit!  What the hell Sam?  Is he dead?”

“No, he’s on vacation in hell.  Come on Dex, does he look alive to you?”  She pushes at the lifeless head with the tip of her bat.  It rises and falls with each push.  “He attacked us; he put a gun in my face.   He got what he deserved.  Now come on, we need to get home, quick.”

“Yeah, let’s get moving.  The last thing we want is to travel these streets at night.”  He picks up the bag of severed heads and starts walking towards the street.

They walk out into the abandoned highway.  About a mile down the road, they see a group of people gathered in the road, but their apartment is the other way, so they don’t investigate.  They navigate between abandoned taxis and bicycles that litter the road and after about 20 minutes, make it to the steps of an apartment complex just as the sun begins to set.

“Just in time,” says Dexter.  He twists the doorknob to the lobby; it’s locked; He pulls a key out of his pocket, opens the door and walks in.  Sam follows and they walk through the lobby, past the elevators and to the stairs.  Along the way Sam pulls out a lighter and lights a few candles hanging on the wall.  At the end of the hallways is a door marked stairs. Dexter looks towards the bottom of the door and sees a flashlight.  He picks it up, turns it on and opens the door.  Everything is black except for the light of the flashlight.  Dust particles fall in the empty silence.

“I miss elevators,” says Sam.

“You say that every time we do this,” says Dexter.

“That’s because I really miss them.”

“We only live on the 3^rd floor, it’s not that big of a deal,” says Dexter.

“It seems to me like 2 people living in an 8 story apartment is a waste of our resources. Maybe we should think about moving.” Says Sam.

They begin walking up the stairs, Dexter in the lead. “I don’t know.  We have everything we need here.”

“Yeah, but we’re using the generator to light up 8 studio apartments.  We could easily fix up an abandoned shop or something and waste a lot less gas.  We might even find a convenient store that has iceboxes or a cooler.”

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”  They arrive at the third floor. “Let’s do our night duties and then grab some shut eye.  We can go trade these heads in the morning.”

They walk down the hall to the first room.  It has many cords coming out of the door.  Sam goes in and walks out to the balcony; light from the moon fills the room.  Outside on the balcony is a generator.  She checks the gas level and then cranks it up.  A loud whirr fills the area and lights come on down the hall.  They walk past three doors to the room at the other end.  A small light is on; a refrigerator and oven are near the corner.

“What shall we eat tonight?” asks Dexter.

“I’ll probably just eat a pbj sandwich,” replies Sam.

“Suit yourself, I scavenged some beef yesterday and I plan on finishing it off,” says Dexter.

“Ok, well, I’m going to the workout room and then I’m headed to bed.”

“Alright, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then,” says Dexter.  Sam leaves and then Dexter walks over to the fridge.  He opens the door, looks around and then finds a slab of steak wrapped in paper towels.  He throws it in a frying pan and turns on the stove.

Down the hall, Sam, is doing her daily workout.  She lifts weights, jumps rope, stretches and then goes down the back to the kitchen-apartment to make a sandwich.  Dexter has already left but the smell of his steak still fills the air.  She opens the fridge, pulls out the bread and jelly and then grabs the peanut butter off the top of the fridge.  She eats her sandwich and then heads to her room.  She can see light flashing from under the door of Dexter’s room, white then pink then brown.  “He must be watching porn again,” she says to herself. “It’s a fucking zombie apocalypse and he still wanks one off before going to bed.”

She opens the door to her room and walks inside.  It is dimly lit with an antique desk light.  Against the far wall is a twin size bed and a small hallway to the toilet and shower.  To the left is a desk that holds the lamp as well as old comic books and magazines.  To the right is a bookshelf filled with books.  A poster hangs over the bed.  It says REEL BIG FISH and has a picture of a green octopus on a blue background.  She undresses and walks through the hallway to the bathroom to shower off the day’s blood and sweat.  The water is cold since the generator doesn’t power the water heater.  She quickly rinses off and hops into bed, determined to go to sleep.  It’s been a long day and she needs rest. As she lies in bed, she can hear through the cracked window beside her poster, a howling that fills the night.  A hungry, soulless howling that echoes through the abandoned steel jungle.

“Wake up, sleepyhead,” say Dexter as he bangs on her door. “Time to do work.”

“But I was sleeping so good.  Peaceful, for once,” says Sam.

“If you want power for the lights and fridge and music you always listen to, then we better get going.  Our gas is running low.”

“Fiiiiine,” say Sam, carefully drawing out the word for all it’s worth. “Let’s go do our civic duty for the remnants of our once industrious government.”

After the infestation hit the United States, the federal government soon collapsed.  All power now rests in the hands of state and local governments.  Some states dried up all together and all that is left are bands of gangs, pillaging neighboring communities whenever they wish.  At least here, there is some order.

The government decided that since they really have no way to enforce anything on the people anymore that they would gather up as much of the stockpiles around the city and use them as rewards for those who kill zombies.  Since most people could still find food and entertainment in many of the supermarkets and malls left around the city, the government doesn’t bother with that.  What they do specialize in is gas, firearms and medication.  For one Z head, someone can purchase 2 gallons of gas, a knife, a dozen bullets or a 2-week supply of various medications.  Two heads can get one a handgun, three can buy a rifle or shotgun.  It’s an efficient system, one that the government believes will eventually take down most of the zombies.  What they fear, however, is how they will take the city back from a group of people armed to the teeth after the crisis is over.

Sam gets dressed, shuts off the generator and walks with Dexter down to the government depot.  It takes them about 45 minutes to walk out to the fortified super-gas station where all of the government’s supplies are kept.  There are about a dozen guards who walk the perimeter in full swat gear.  Sam and Dexter walk up to the gate and show the guard the three heads they have.   He tells them that they are going to have to leave their weapons outside.  They put them in the bin marked 2 and take the accompanying tag so that they can take them back afterwards  and walk in.

Once inside, there are three counters ahead of them. One for fuel, one for weapons and one for medication.  They approach the first and throw the bag of heads on the counter.

“Nicely done, are you wanting six gallons of fuel?” asks the man at the counter.

“Yep,” replies Dexter. “Do you have any new weapons?”

“Not at the moment, but I hear we are going to get in a new shipment next week.  Military grade explosives.”  Says the man as he hands over three 2-gallon jugs.

“Dammit,” says Sam.  “We should have brought the wheelbarrow.  I really don’t want to carry this all the way back to our apartment.”

“I knew we forgot something,” says Dexter. “Can we just get the two jugs and some bullets?”

“No problem, let me run and grab those for you.”  The man takes back one of the jugs and runs over to the next counter, asking its operator for bullets.  He runs back and hands them to Dexter. “Here you go, sir.  Keep up the good work.”

“Hey, I killed two of those.  Where are my supportive words, asshole?” Says Sam.

“I’m sorry miss; you keep up the good work as well.”

Sam and Dexter pick up a jug a piece and head for the exit.  Dexter puts the bullets in his back pocket.  At the exit, they hand over their tag and pick up their weapons.  Sam grabs her baseball bat and knife.  Dexter, his sword and 45.

“I don’t understand why you carry that thing around, you never use it,” says Sam.

“I prefer to feel the blade as it engages the Z.  It also frees up money for gas since I never have to buy bullets.  And besides, I don’t see how that bat is going to help you if we ever run into more than three Zs at a time.” He says.

“We’ve never seen more than three together in the entire time we’ve been doing this.” She says.

“That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be prepared,” he says.

“Whatever, let’s head home.”

“Ok, let’s take the route down by the river.  I want to see some different scenery today.”

They leave the depot and take off walking down the road to the right.  After about 30 minutes, they come upon the river.  “Want to go chill on the pier for a bit?” asks Dexter.

“Sure, it’s a lovely day out.” Says Sam.  They walk down to the end of the pier and look over at the water.

“You know, sometimes, most times really, I look at the situation we’re in and I think about how fucked up this world is.  I think about how one day you can know someone and then the next day they might end up trying to eat your fucking brains out.  The world has gone to shit, Sam, and I don’t know if it’ll ever be right again.  But then I come to a place like this, and the air is clean, the sun is shining bright and the water is so peaceful;  at times like these I think things might be ok one day.”

“Well, aren’t you a sappy mother fucker?” she says.

“Oh, fuck you, Sam!” he takes off his shirt and jumps into the river.

“What the fuck are you doing, Dex!?” she screams.

“The water is nice, jump in.”

“You are out of you mind,” she says.  Then she takes off her boots and dress and jumps in. “wow, this is nice.  I can’t remember the last time I went swimming.”

They spend several hours swimming in the river and talking about life before the infected showed up.  For those brief few hours, life feels almost normal again.   Eventually, they dry off, knowing it is time to go home.

“That was fun,” says Sam. “We should do it again some time.”

“I’d like that,” says Dexter.  He kisses her on the cheek.  “Let’s head out.”

They pick up all of their supplies and start walking down the street.  After a few minutes, they notice that it is starting to get dark.  “How long were we down there?  I swear it was only a few hours.” Says Sam.

“Me too, I guess we must have lost track of time.  We better hurry, then.” He says. They start walking faster than normal, but then they hear a howl behind them.  “Oh shit, look at them!”

Behind them, about a half mile down the road is a group of Zs, about 20, running towards Sam and Dexter.  Their howling fills the air.

“Let’s just drop the gas, we can get it tomorrow, and run.” Says Sam.

“I don’t understand why there are so many of them.  Let’s take this alley up here.” He says.   They turn the corner and once they are about halfway down it, they hear howling coming from the other end.  Then they see a group of Zs coming around the corner up ahead.  They turn to go back but they are surrounded.  Sam notices a ladder hanging from a fire escape up ahead.

“We can make that,” she says. And they take off running.  The Zs are closing in on them.  Sam is the first to reach the ladder.  She drops her bat and begins climbing.  Dexter pulls out his gun and starts firing at the Zs while she climbs. “Come on Dex, grab hold.”

He grabs on to the bottom bar and starts pulling himself up.  As he is climbing, one of the Zs grabs his foot.  He pulls out his gun and shoots it in the head.  The grip releases, but then another grabs him, and another and another.  He fires rapidly into the cluster of Zs, but to no avail.  His grip lessens and he falls into the hungry mob, quickly ripped apart.  All the while Sam watches on in silence.  After they have ravaged Dexter’s body, they look up towards Sam and begin howling.  Her blood runs cold at what she has just seen, but she climbs the ladder.  She eventually reaches the roof.  Leaning  against the wall, tears begin streaming down her face.  Once again, she is all alone.

“Yeah, I don’t know why I said that.” His cheeks blush lightly. “Anyways, how’s the arm?”

“It’s alright; as good as it can be at the moment at least.”
Derick is almost to the front door of the house. There are no lights on inside. The house is two stories with a garage to the side. A typical suburban house. Tan siding. Cement driveway. Fence in the back. There are no steps that lead to the door, just a small walkway. He twists the door handle, it’s unlocked. He walks inside and flips the nearest light switch.
“Great, no power,” He says. His eyes are adjusted to the dark so he can make out the outline of furniture in the living room. A sofa here, a chair there. He goes over a window and tears down the curtains. “That should give me a little light from the moon.”
Now, he thinks to himself, where would I keep my gun if I were a civilian? The Closet. He begins heading for the stairs when he notices a katana sheathed above the mantle on the fireplace. “Fuckin’ A!” He grabs the sword and heads for the stairs. He slowly creeps up the stairs. As he moves, he begins to hear a soft thump. The farther he goes, the louder it gets. Not quite rhythmically, the pounding gets louder and louder, though not loud enough to be heard outside. He reaches the top of the stairs, barely able to see. He can make out three rooms; the door is closed to one. Behind it the thumping continues.
He walks into what appears to be the master bedroom and rips the curtains off the windows. Moonlight fills the room. He walks over to the closet. It’s not empty, but he can tell someone recently left. Above the clothes is a shelf. “This is where every civilian father in America keeps his gun.” As he feels across the back of the shelf, he finds a box. “Bingo!” Inside of it is a 9mm handgun and a case of bullets. “This will do nicely.” He puts the pistol beneath his waistband on the back of his pants and proceeds to walk down the stairs, careful to avoid the thumping door. Outside, the group is waiting.
“So, what did you find?” asks Paula.
“Nothing special, but I did grab this katana,” Says Derick. “Oh, and this nice 9 milli, bullets and all.”
“Man, that is awesome,” Says Jake. “Can I have the sword?”
“Sure thing, Rambo” He hands Jake the sword. “I heard something upstairs. I don’t know what is was and I didn’t stop to find out, but it was beating on the doors to one of the rooms.” He looks at the house and then back at Jake. “I say we hit up another house or two, and if we find one that seems safe we make camp for the night. Daytime is our best bet for traveling from now on.”
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” says Paula. “But since you’ve already been in this house, why don’t we just stay there. And then check the others in the daylight. I mean, you got that gun. I’m sure you could stop whatever is inside that room if need be. Besides, we all need something to eat and a little rest; and I’m sure there has got to be something to eat in there.”
“What do the rest of you think?” asks Derick.
“I don’t know, Derick, It seems like an unnecessary risk to me,” says Jake.
“I’m pretty sure this whole fucking area is an unnecessary risk at the moment,” say Jaime. “And besides, I’m starving”
“Fine,” says Jake. He looks down at his sword, “Let’s do this.”

“We’re in a fucking desert, there is no way those things can survive out here,” Says one of the men.  He is tall, tan and well built.  His black hair blows gently in the wind. “It’s got to be too hot.” He looks at the other guy, “right?”

“I don’t know. I’m a first year med student, what the fuck am I supposed to know about zombies?”  He shakes his head in frustration and then turns to the small framed blonde.  “Let me take a look at your arm.”

She sheepishly walks over to him and lifts up her arm for inspection.  He takes her arm and looks it over it, casually but cautiously, as someone would examine fruit before purchase. “We’re gonna need to clean this up.” He reaches down into a satchel hanging by his side. “What exactly did you say happened again?”

“I…I was walking out of my apartment to go get food, when I saw one of them in the parking lot.” She pauses, brushes her hair behind her ears with her free hand, and then continues.  “I was already half way to my car when I saw it.  We were about the same distance from my car and I thought I could outrun it. It was stupid, I know.  I didn’t take into account that the door was locked.”  At this point, she breaks down to tears. The young med student puts his arm on her shoulder to calm her.

“Go on,” he says.

“As I was putting the keys in the door, it grabbed me.  It tried to bite me but I ducked and it bit into the roof of my car.  I kicked it off of me and crawled in.  As I was pulling the door shut, it clawed me on the arm.”

He looks over her arm one more time.  “Well, it doesn’t look like a bite mark.”  He reaches into his bag and pulls out a steel sponge and a bottle of disinfectant. “This is gonna hurt, but we’ve got to make sure it’s clean.  I havn’t heard about anyone turning from a scratch, but you can’t be too sure.”  He pours some disinfectant onto the wound and waits for a few seconds before putting the sponge to her skin.  As he scrapes it across her flesh, she lets out a loud wail.

“Shut that bitch up,” the other man says. “If they are out here, she’ll lead them right to us.”

The other woman attempts to comfort her, “calm down, babe, everything is gonna be just fine,” Her southern accent is thick as she speaks, but it has a certain easiness to it.  She is in her late 20s, but has an aura of experience and maternal comfort about her.  The young girl quiets down and takes to biting her free arm every time the steel moves back and forth against her torn skin.

“That looks clean enough.  I have a few bandages in here, but we’re gonna have to leave them on a little longer than you normally would.  We don’t know if the next town is safe and we need to make them last as long as possible.” He turns to the rest of the group and begins to speak, “I almost forgot.  In all of the excitement, we never even introduced ourselves.  I’m Jake. I am…was in med school to become a doctor. But, uh, who knows what’s in store now?”

“You said you were a first year student, but do you actually know anything about medicine or saving lives?” asks the other man.

“Yeah, plenty.  I’ve been studying to be a doctor pretty much all of my life.  I got my undergrad in biology and even though I was only in my first year of med school, you fly through material.  But anyways, what’s your story?”

“If you havn’t been able to tell, I’m a military man. Second generation marine.  I’ve served two tours overseas and was back home to see my family before shipping out next month.  I probably need to get in touch with my superiors to see what I can do to help deal with this situation, but my phone died this morning.  Since the blackout, I haven’t been able to charge it.”

“Same here” says Jake.

“The names Derick, by the way”

“My name is Paula,” says the brown-haired southern bell. “I was just passing through.  My hometown in South Carolina was ran over by zombies, and everyone said ‘go west,’ and ‘there’s places that havn’t been touched,’ and I believed it for a while.  Until every town I came to had the same stories and the same problems.  And here we are in the middle of the fucking desert and we’re hoping…against all hope that they can’t survive out here.  Well, I’m sure they can survive out here, too.  It’s not like they need water or anything.  They don’t really even need food. “She sighs and looks at the ground. A few moments pass before anyone speaks.

“You already know my story, but my name is Jamie.  I just want to go home.”  For a moment she looks like she’s going to cry, but then she smiles and looks at Jake.  “I guess we better get moving, huh?”

“We better get off the highway” says Derrick, “we don’t want to get killed by someone who thinks we have supplies.”

“But we do have supplies,” responds Jake.  “I have a whole bag of first aid equipment”

“Exactly,” says Derick. “And if someone finds out, how long do you think you’ll last.  They’ll kill you and take everything you’ve got.”

“Come on, man.  People aren’t that bad,” says Jake.

“How would you know?  I’ve been in cities when disasters hit.  I’ve seen the carnage left behind, where only the strong survive. Only because they are ruthless.” He pauses, “But that’s enough of that. How exactly did you happen to end up with so much?  Every store in the city was sold out after the news was reported.”

“The last day of classes, after the news broke, as everyone was leaving to go home I stopped by the supply room and filled my bag with anything I thought might be useful.”

“It’s a good thing you did,” Derick motions for everyone to move off of the highway and on to the outskirts of the desert.  “The most important thing we need right now, though, is a weapon”

“And where do you suppose we find one?” asked Paula.

“At some point, we’re going to come upon some houses.  And if these houses are anything like the ones where we just came from, half of them will be empty.  I fully intend to empty them even more.” Derick smirks as he looks back at Paula.

“Great,” say Paula. “I really fucking hope you know what you’re doing.”

“So,” says Jake, “how far until the next town?”