They nodded. I looked to Blaze, who gestured to the door. "We need a moment."

Arbuckle hadn't expected anything but a resounding 'Yes.' Blaze and I went just outside of the facility door.

"Do you know anything about the brand on her stomach?" she asked. "I don't remember seeing anything like it, but it wasn't as though we were stripping bodies and searching them."

"No, but the other brand is fresh." I didn't need to explain what that meant for us. "I'm inclined to agree with Valerie. The Brotherhood is cannibalistic. People are their currency, so it makes sense for them to start marking them as such."

"If they found the girl on the way to Brickston, what if the Brotherhood was headed to it? And she escaped, or was left behind."

It was possible. It also meant that the radio silence at Brickston was because they were dead, or they were overrun by cannibals or Zs. I stared up at the ceiling. Splotches of water damage spiraled outward from the ceiling tiles. There were always little things in even the nicest of Valtown's buildings that pointed to poor upkeep and tired people.

"What a fucking mess," I mumbled. "I feel like we're two steps behind in something bigger. We go from not seeing anything of the Brotherhood to two signs in a matter of days. It seems..."

"Intentional?"

I tilted my head down, catching Blaze's fiery gaze. She was amped up. The notion of the Brotherhood being active wasn't so much discouraging, but challenging. And certainly she cared less about the potential death of hundreds of Brickston citizens than I did. "Yeah, intentional. What do you want to do about it? Are we still breaking free from Arbuckle?"

Blaze's thumb stroked the handle of the axe on her hip as she thought. "Cyrus, I know what we came here to do. And up until a few minutes ago, I was ready to do it. But if there is something bigger happening, I want backup until I know what the situation is. We can do a lot, but the numbers could be against us."

There she was. A trace of the brilliant, quick, manipulative woman I knew. I grinned and nodded. "We'll see what there is to see in Brickston, let Arbuckle send some guys with us because you know he'll want to, then regroup from there?"

"Solid copy." She grinned, opening the door into the infirmary.

"Well? What's the problem?" Arbuckle asked as we came back into the room.

"We'll do it. No problem. Just thinking about logistics."

He frowned. Logistics was our phrase for 'what-will-you-give-us.'

After a deep sigh, his shoulders sagged and his wife patted him on the arm. "Whatever you want. And your payment for Dynan's is waiting outside."

As promised, two dollies were waiting in the office. For taking care of Dynan's problem and looking into the supply hoarder's house, we got three boxes of freeze dried food, seeds, water, and 500 rounds of .223. It was our average asking price as of late, and it would be a nice addition to our nest egg.

"Ten guys and no vehicles. We're fucking chopped liver these days." Blaze spat outside of the door as we wheeled our goods outside. A drizzle of rain had moved in while we were inside. We picked up the pace, avoiding the growing puddles. "You'd think he would be more proactive on finding out what was wrong in Brickston."

I didn't respond, knowing she was just letting off some steam. It took us a few minutes to wheel our goods to the shipping container we stored everything in.

It was the first of our amazing finds, years ago, that lifted Blaze's spirits. A semi-truck with a cargo container on the back of it, abandoned on the highway heading towards the mountains. The gas wasn't good any more, but she made it her project. On our off days, she went and worked on it, eventually getting some good fuel and driving it back to Valtown. We stored all our winnings in it. Blaze called it the nest egg. She was waiting for the day we'd leave Valtown, taking all our ammunition and supplies with us.

The nest egg was in a mechanic shop, fitting into it with no room to spare. It was sandwiched between a grocery store converted into a school and a post office converted into a rations distribution center.

We covered the windows with plastic and sheets, protecting it from prying eyes. We had chains and two padlocks on the door and garage door. The only souls who knew what we did with the space were Arbuckle and us. Maybe when we brought it in people wondered what it was about, but they had probably forgotten about it now.

We spent time organizing everything in it, meticulous and careful. This was our future outside of Valtown. It looked like we might be using it sooner than I thought.

I unlocked the cargo container and climbed in. It smelled faintly of dusty cardboard and metal. Blaze passed me boxes, which I added to the sorting area. A box of seed packets rattled as she tossed it up. I set it with the rest. We had seeds for virtually everything you could grow in Washington, and even the supplies to build hoop houses and water catchment systems.

Even while living at Frank's cabin, my growing skills were subpar. Most plants died under my hand. I lived off canned and freeze dried food, supplementing my diet with whatever managed to stay alive outside. Over the years spent in Valtown, we gained experience on year round harvesting and growing. Once Blaze and I saw the benefits of it, we included seeds and farming supplies on our bill.

After we stored the new goods, Blaze and I outfitted ourselves for the trip. Medium sized packs with some freeze dried food (relatively tasty and stored better than anything else) and water. We both opted for our AR-15s, even though the ammo was sparse, because we might be fighting the living. If it was only zombies we were worrying about-which wasn't usually the case these days-.22 would suffice.

I lost track of how many blades Blaze took after five. I brought two myself, my usual knives. Anything else seemed excessive and was unnecessary weight.

Blaze wore a small smile as we walked through the middle of town to meet the men Arbuckle assigned to us.

"What's the grin about?" I asked, my eyes roaming over everything the makeshift marketplace had to offer. Food items, found items, handcrafted items. Nothing too interesting.

She paused at a stand, looking at some carved figures on a table, her back to me. I waited, surprised she'd find anything of use at the market. This was a place for people to socialize and develop community, but not for people like us. When she turned around, she handed me a tiny, white piece of wood.

"Feels like old times, doesn't it? Like the summer when we first met. We had nothing to lose and a whole lot of firepower."

It was a crudely carved animal. A ferret. The creator even took the time to paint little dots of red for eyes.

I closed my hand around the tiny ferret, dropping it into my front jacket pocket. "It feels good," I agreed. "It feels amazing."

Chapter 8.

The cold bit against my cheeks and forehead where the scarf didn't cover. My own breath was hot as it met the damp cloth, then bitterly cold as I inhaled. The sensation and process of breathing was all I could focus on as we trudged to Brickston on foot.

Things like this were always fun at first. The prospect of the open air, honing your vision and hearing as you traversed forests and abandoned towns, hoping to see a zombie so you'd have a chance to kill an easy target. It reminded me of the good old days, when cities still gave you what you needed and the second you were off your guard you died.

On day one of the apocalypse, if you told me I'd miss zombies someday, I would've called you crazy. But now a zombie was fun. I always figured most of the population was killed or turned undead soon after the dead rose. Whatever made them what they were, it didn't magically preserve their bodies too far beyond normal decomposition. Their herd mentality generated massive hordes. Ones that would stay together or wander minimally, unless something caught their attention. After a year, their ligaments couldn't hold them up any more. Flesh rotted and slid off brittle bones and eventually they collapsed into themselves, like the ash skeleton of burnt paper crumbling at your touch.

The first time Blaze and I happened upon the phenomenon was in a big city we risked venturing into for supplies. Inside a Costco, hundreds of bodies littered the floor, their skin nothing more than black tissue resting on bones. Peppered throughout the tomb, a few Zs still stood, on the verge of final death themselves.

Upon sight of us, all it took was a step for them to snap. They fell onto the ground with their comrades, corpses sending dust upwards as their skulls cracked against the ground and disintegrated. Cities were ghost towns, nothing more than undead ruins.

And there you had it. The initial wave of zombies were dying. But there were still millions of survivors who could turn into zombies themselves. Humans were repopulating, bringing our numbers back up, almost forgetting what could happen.

Yet despite the fun, zombies were tricky. We stopped looking out for them as much as we used to, making them extremely hazardous if one popped up. Now we worried most about crazies-an enemy capable of thought, deceit, and tactic.

That's why I missed the Zs. I missed the time when threat number one was the undead, and crazies were only an additional, minor threat. I missed that and a million other things, but hell if I would waste a breath complaining out loud.

Beside me, Blaze trudged along, half her face covered by a scarf. While she scanned ahead, I could tell her mind was elsewhere. I wondered if she was thinking the same things as me.

My boots mashed damp leaves together, leaving the rough shape of footprints behind. It made me remember when I thought it would be fun to let Pickle have outdoor time. She'd burrowed into leaves and gotten lost, giving me the panic attack of a lifetime. I cleared my throat. The memory of my deceased pet dredged up sadness that never seemed to get better.

"Mr. Sinclair?"

"What is it?" I looked up, my mouth and nose free from the scarf and bare to the cold.

Arbuckle sent ten men with us for the trip. They could all defend themselves, but at the end of the day the majority of them were in their mid-twenties at best, spending most of their adult life in the confines of the settlements. The one speaking to me was one I could barely tolerate. I thought of him as Fuzz Face, because he always looked like he was trying to grow a beard. His attempts were unsuccessful.

When we were lucky, Arbuckle sent the former military guys with us. They only spoke to Blaze-excuse me, Wright-and were a hell of a lot better than the babies I had. This time, Arbuckle kept them, wanting them by his side in case someone attacked Valtown.

"We're at the rest point. Do you want to keep going through the night?"

Another jackass move from Arbuckle. He didn't let us take any cars in case they had to evacuate back home. Sure, they might be able to save an extra twenty people. But it took us two days to walk to Brickston, and in this weather, it was fucking miserable.

"We'll stop for the night," I said. Blaze huffed. She'd keep going any day of the week. "If something is wrong at Brickston, we need to be rested and ready."

The rest point wasn't much. Our route to Brickston took us mostly through highway and forest, passing a tiny town halfway. It had three houses, a gas station, bar, and convenience store. Protocol was to separate the group into two of the houses. If one of them was attacked, at least the other could survive.

As we approached, they wandered off to their separate accommodations. The town was silent, growing dark in the early setting fall sun. Our footsteps were loud, emphasizing the emptiness of the place. Paint peeled off the exteriors of the buildings, and most of the glass had broken. In the single intersection, there was a permanent scorch mark where Arbuckle burned the undead inhabitants years ago.

Some towns felt eerie. You wondered what secrets and horrors were entombed inside buildings, or where the people went and if they made it. Not this one. It was too small and I knew it too well. It was just a blip. Almost inconsequential.

Although we didn't often do the foot route to Brickston, Blaze and I never stayed with the group in either of the houses. It was a point of contention. They thought of us as the snobbish couple who got to do whatever they wanted. Really we just hated everyone. We made our way to the tiny bar, where we stayed in a small living space above it.

It smelled like dust. All the alcohol had been ransacked long ago, leaving the shelves barren. I was startled by my reflection in the giant mirror behind the bar every time I entered, forgetting it was there. All the furniture was gone, too, creating space in the room that made our footsteps echo as we crossed the wooden floor. In faded neon green spray paint, someone scrawled 'Britt wuz here' across the wall to our right.

I stumbled up the fifth stair into the loft, despite consciously reminding myself not to. Blaze, as she always did, snickered. Once upstairs, we checked the room and adjacent store room. There were four sleeping pads and bags stored underneath the floorboards and some basic rations. The rations had been chewed through by rats. Only crumbs of food remained.

We settled in, bodies close together to generate warmth. With the empty forest surrounding us for miles around, a familiar sensation settled in. Like I was floating in the middle of the ocean, waiting for the behemoth to swallow me up once and for all.

I turned my head towards the window as I steadied my breath. Through the panes I saw a clear night sky, stars shining bright in the blackness.

In the middle of the night, the first scream woke me from my sleep. The gunshot had me out of my sleeping bag and reaching for my gun. Blaze slid from the nylon bag a second after me, her gun scraping against the floor as she lifted it.

Rat-tat-tat-tat Automatic gunfire. Fuzz Face. He had a prized AK he'd been toting around for the past year, waiting for the day he could use it.

Before moving again I listened, my body tense as I stilled it and my breathing. Footsteps pounded against pavement, making my blood run as cold as the air around me. There had to be more than ten of them. Way more.

Behind me, Blaze moved closer, her shoulder brushing against mine as she passed me and went to the window. I followed and peered through.

The moon was directly overhead, hanging heavy in the clear sky, lighting the mass of runners and slows converging in the street and migrating towards the two houses. I stopped counting once I realized they were still pouring in from the road leading toward Brickston.

"Total clusterfuck," Blaze whispered, ducking down away from the window. "Shit, I don't remember the last time I saw a horde that big."

"Run, hide, or die?"

It was a morbid joke we used in times like this. A supply hoarder told us those were the sole options in life. I asked why fighting wasn't an option, but Blaze killed him before he answered.

But this was grim. Real fucking grim, and the joke only elicited a hint of reaction from Blaze.

"Arbuckle's men are dead."

"Agreed. Make a run for it?"

Blaze pursed her lips. "No. Most of them are runners and it'll be pitch black once we're in the forest."

The implication hung in the air. We'd die if we tried to run-there was endless unfamiliar forest on either side of us-but there was no way we could take on the horde ourselves. Gunfire grew more frantic on the other side of the street.

"Damn." I gripped my gun, hoping the metal would sooth my nerves. "Hide? We have to hide."

The last part was more of a reluctant question. My brain was going a mile a minute, yet it all became an unintelligible, reactive blur.

"We'll hide in the rafters," Blaze said, nodding upward. My eyes strained as I looked. "I'll boost you up, then you lift me."

Half of the rafters were exposed. The rest seemed to have plywood covering them, perhaps used for storing lightweight boxes.

I clenched my jaw, cogs grinding as I tried to think of an alternative. "This isn't a good idea."

"What's your idea, smartass?"

"I said we should run."

"That isn't a-"

A stray bullet from outside shattered the glass above us. A moment later, fists banged against the door below.

Blaze knelt, forming her fingers in a basket. "Go."

I stopped thinking, slung my rifle around my back, and placed my boot in her hand as she launched me upward. I grabbed the rafters, feeling my digits slip over the thick dust above, and hauled myself up. The wood groaned under my weight, but soon I was up on my belly, spreading my weight across the flimsy plywood and reaching down for Blaze.

Someone outside screamed for help. A chorus of howls from the runners answered him then overwhelmed him.

Blaze jumped. Both her hands caught mine. She was lighter than I anticipated, but I only had to pull her up far enough for her to get one hand on the rafter. Then she was able to pull herself up.

The wood creaked as though it would snap. She rolled away from me towards the other side of the space. I moved onto my back and made myself take up as much space as I could, distributing my weight evenly.

The wood is going to snap just when the Zs get in, I thought.

I calmed my breath, trying to tune out the sounds of chaos outside. I imagined the Zs would've entered the houses by now, having broken down a door or maybe even a window. The men would be afraid, perhaps taking one or two out before the snarling, drooling monsters overwhelmed them. The runners would tackle them to the ground, tearing into their hot flesh by the mouthful.

Who's fault was it? Was it the shout that woke me from my sleep? Someone saying, 'Look, Ma. Zombies!' then it escalated from there?

The sound of wood splitting carried from downstairs, and a moment later they were upstairs.

It was in a runner's nature to swarm, and the broken glass downstairs probably attracted them. I wanted to know how many there were, if all of them were runners or if some were slows, or if any of them looked like they were settlers, or crazies.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I listened to them bump up against each other and gnash their teeth. They beat down the door to the extra room. It felt like an eternity, but the whole process only took moments. Soon their thunderous footsteps went downstairs and out of the building, returning to the ruckus across the street.

But, even though it was faint, I heard soft shuffling below. One of them, maybe more, was still underneath us.

Runners weren't as solitary as the slows. Once it became apparent there wasn't anything else in the vicinity to kill and eat, they'd disperse in hopes of finding something else. The slows would stay. We could outrun them and dodge them. It was a matter of waiting and hoping. Two things I never cared for.