"Move," Azile said as she watched me guesstimating how I was gonna go about getting the truck in position. I figured I could make it in about a twelve or thirteen point turn.

"Thank you," I told her as I moved a reluctant John back to his seat, then crawled over Azile.

Surprisingly, the street poles broke away with not too much effort on the truck's part. The mail box, on the other hand, seemed to have twenty-foot-deep pylons set into the earth's mantle. Black smoke poured from the twin smoke stacks as the truck strained against the blue box. The truck thrummed and vibrated as the box failed to yield.

"f.u.c.k this," Azile said as she threw the truck in reverse.

"Seat belt, man," John said to me.

"Yeah good move," I said as I quickly strapped myself in.

Azile took out more than a few zombies as she backed up a good hundred feet or so. The real fun, however, began when the truck started to move forward. She was whipping through the gears, and I wouldn't doubt if we hit that box doing forty. I wouldn't know I was too busy holding on for dear life to give the odometer a second glance. Cable bills, vacation postcards, and birthday cards blew in the wind as Azile destroyed that box.

"Air mail!" John yelled.

"f.u.c.k me," I said as I quickly undid my belt and John's. Azile had the truck within five feet of the black metal fire escape. "Let's go," I told John as I leaned across him, first checking out his rearview mirror, then opening his door. We had a window of opportunity; Azile had cleared a decent sized path.

John started to get out of the truck by stepping down. I grabbed him and pointed up.

"Right," he told me as he stepped on his seat and onto the roof of the cab. "Nice view," he said to me as I joined him.

I didn't agree. I was looking back the way we had come. It looked like a casting call for Thriller coming down the roadway. There was a couple of feet separating the truck from the trailer and the trailer was maybe a foot and half taller than the truck itself. It was not that an imposing of a gap, so I was completely confused when John was looking at it like he was attempting to jump over the Grand Canyon on a moped.

This was the same guy that didn't mind tunnels much wider than a snake's a.s.shole and flew a helicopter that looked like it came out of a cereal box. "John, we've got to get moving. Just follow me okay?" I stepped up and over the gap, no harder than if I was going to stand on a chair, and not those stupid office chairs with wheels on the bottom of them either.

He missed, his right foot hovered in the air came forward, caught the lip of the trailer and began to slide down the front of it. I reached over and grabbed one of his flailing arms and manhandled him onto the trailer.

"Any chance you want to move this along?" Azile asked, poking her head out. She was seeing the same sight I was.

"Working on it," I told her. If John thought the gap to the trailer was the Grand Canyon, then the distance to the fire escape might as well have been the Valles Marineris trench on Mars. I don't know the exact dimensions; I just know it dwarves the Grand Canyon. Maybe it would have been better off if I had just used terrestrial examples, like from the truck to the trailer looked like Snake River Canyon and to the fire escape looked like the Grand Canyon, but would that make any more sense? Who really knows how big the d.a.m.n crossing is on the Snake River? Even Evel Kneivel couldn't do it in his stupid rocket motor cycle.

"John, you can do this?" I told him.

"Do what?" he asked, all wide eyed.

"You can do this, honey!" Stephanie said as she started rushing down the escape.

Ohmigosh! I thought, she was a big-boned woman. Not fat...not at all. Just maybe like as a child she had been separated from her Amazonian tribe and come to live in Philadelphia with us lesser human beings. I was under the impression she could have, and should have been a comic book super hero. For a moment, I saw exactly what John did in her. She was statuesque, almost a demi-G.o.d.

"Just remember your support group," she said as she was now standing on the escape directly across from us.

"Support group?" I asked her.

"He's afraid of heights," she informed me.

"What about that gyroscope he called a helicopter?"

"Small heights frighten him."

"Is there even such a thing?" I asked John.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Listen, John, you're going to need to get to the end of the trailer and get a running start, then curve over right about here," I said, pointing to where I was standing for just this reference. "Then you're going to need to jump like your life depends on it...because it does. You got all that."

He was nodding 'yes' as he was looking feverishly at his Stephanie.

"Mike, G.o.ddammit, hurry up," Azile said.

"Honey, we're running out of time," Stephanie urged.

I should have known how poorly this was going to go just by how closely John nearly walked right off the back of the trailer.

"He has spatial issues," Stephanie said to me after she took in a great gasp of air at his near blunder.

"What? Wait. John, hold on!" I said, but he was already barreling down the trailer. "f.u.c.k." He was making the turn and coming right towards me, then he missed, he flat out missed launching himself. My mind and my body were racing; John was hanging in the air like Wile E. Coyote in that moment before he plummets to the ground.

Luckily I had already been in movement as John was going by; I had one hand on his belt as one managed to get a grip of a fair amount of shirt material around his shoulder. I tossed him much like one would a midget down a bowling alley. (I mean if you're in to that kind of thing, I'm merely using it as a descriptor.) As he was arcing towards his wife, I was pin-wheeling my arms violently to keep my balance. I watched as John's outstretched hands failed to grasp onto the metal railing, Stephanie plucked him out of the air like a little girl chasing airborne dandelions. I had just regained my balance as Stephanie gave me a questioning look. I had snagged her husband and tossed him five feet with no more difficulty than if he had been baby-sized-not that I'm advocating throwing babies.

"Momentum," I lied to her.

She accepted my explanation. "Thank you so much," she said as she hugged her weeping husband tightly.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he told her. "I brought you something." He extracted himself from her and showed her a giant Rasta-joint that I had no idea where he could have had it on his body and kept it so pristine.

"Honey, you know I don't smoke," she said as she kissed him fiercely.

"More for me and Ponch then," he said turning back. "You coming, man?"

"This is where we part, my friend. It has been both an honor and a trip to have made your acquaintance," I told him, I was sure going to miss him.

Azile's horn blast negated nearly every part of John's response, but I caught something about meeting again. I hoped so as I quickly climbed back down the truck and in. Azile quickly pulled away. I stared out my window as I wiped an errant tear away from my eye.

"You alright?" Azile asked after we had left the bulk of the zombies behind.

"Yeah I just hate leaving friends behind," I told her.

"You'll see him again," she said really not even thinking about how her words were just placating plat.i.tudes.

I looked over at her.

"Sorry," she said. "Just seemed like the right thing to say."

"It's alright, you were just trying to make me feel better," I told her as I dragged my hand across my face. I rolled down my window and maneuvered my face so I could see it in the mirror; I was pleasantly surprised to see some facial hair making a comeback.

"You looked like you checked out there for a minute. Are you alright?" I asked her as I pulled my head back in.

"I...I've just never seen it that bad I guess. I was already on the road when the invasion hit. Hardly would have even known it happened on the open roadway. The real first clue I got was obviously the radio news reports, then the lack of them. And still I thought it might be some elaborate hoax until I noticed just how little traffic was on the highways. There was just no way that many people could be involved in something like that."

"Just count yourself lucky. It was no bargain on my end. I would have much rather preferred a newscast letting me know what was going on as opposed to living it."

She prodded me for more information, which I reluctantly gave out in bits and pieces. The vast majority of my recent memories were still sticky, pus-oozing sores, and I had no desire to peel back the scabs to see if they smelled of rot or not. After a few hours of the sanitized, abridged version, she realized she wasn't getting much more and let me stew in everything she had made me stir up again.

I was not sad to see the Pennsylvania state sign become a distant milestone as we cruised into the Garden State. It was a d.a.m.n shame that it took a zombie apocalypse to make the state not smell like a fermented garbage pail.

The beauty of youth, I thought concerning Azile. She'd been through a lot in the last few days-maybe as much as me-plus she was driving and looked like she could go at it for days. I was fading fast; the mile markers were putting me into a trance. I knew she carried a severe hatred for all things Eliza, but did it burn so bright inside of her that she couldn't rest?

"Are you sure about this, Azile? I know I asked before, but if you just helped me to find a new ride and turned this rig around there's a decent chance you could have some sort of life somewhere."

She didn't say anything for nearly a mile. "I had no life before, and I can't imagine finding one now. When Eliza killed my mother, the state awarded me to my uncle."

I told her I was sorry when I figured where this might be going.

When she understood the origins of my apology she spoke. "No, no it's nothing like that. It's just that he was twenty-four and had absolutely no desire to take care of a kid. He was always decent to me, never did anything inappropriate. No...probably my biggest complaint was that he just didn't know what to do. There I was this emotional wreck, crying all the time, looking for comfort, and he would leave me alone. He just didn't know how to handle it." She looked over at me to gauge my reaction.

"Raising kids is hard when you're planning for it. Being thrown into the mix without a clue has got to be brutal," I told her.

"He tried. He bought me more stuffed animals than he could afford, and that was another thing, he worked at a video store and was barely paying his bills before I got there. He had a one bedroom apartment and he gave me the bedroom when I moved in. He tried, he really did, but we both knew I was a burden. He didn't bring dates home or go out with his friends that much either. He was always afraid to leave me by myself which was kind of funny, because he always left me alone in his room while he sat on the couch." She finished with a faraway look in her eyes.

"Where is he now?" I asked.

"Bonneview Memorial Cemetery. The night I turned eighteen he went out and celebrated with his friends. He wrapped his twelve-year-old Honda around a tree six houses down from his apartment. Funny thing is...I heard it. I was laying in bed thinking about my mother and how much I missed her when the explosion of metal and gla.s.s crashing into oak shook my window. I didn't know it was him, but I did. Does that make sense?"

I nodded.

"On some level I knew it was my uncle, he had finally won his freedom I guess."

"Do you blame yourself for it?" I asked.

"I did...for a while, but it didn't make sense to. Everything traced back to Eliza. She killed my mother, my father, and my uncle and she should have killed me. In a way, I guess she did. There are parts of me that will never function properly, starved of nurturing as they were. Is that too dramatic?"

"Not at all, if that's what you feel."

"So back to your original question, Eliza's death is the only reason I hold on to this life. Until I kill her, I don't think I can find peace. So yeah, I'm sure I want to come with you."

"Fair enough. Most people I have this discussion with don't normally have as much insider knowledge about Eliza as you do. I'm glad you're coming if only so I don't have to drive this thing."

"I think it was your driving more than anything that got me out of my stupor."

"Great, another smart a.s.s, just what the world needs."

She stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth at me.

"What's your family like?" She sounded genuinely curious, or she might have just wanted to while away the time as she drove. It wasn't like she could turn the radio on and listen to America's Top Forty.

That side thought hurt a little more than I wanted it to; I'd loved music since I was a kid and my parents had bought me a Realistic transistor radio. I think the first song I ever listened to on it was While My Guitar Gently Weeps, the Beatles version. I knew I was hooked from that moment. Music had been a constant component of my life, from the hundred or so concerts I'd attended, to listening to it while I worked-my desk job and my construction one-during the commutes to and from work or errands. It would be safe to say that I listened to more music on average per day than I watched television. And now my life had another little void in it where music once filled it.

"Mike?"

"Sorry I have a tendency to lose focus every once in a while."

"Your family?" she asked again after waiting a polite amount of time for me to continue.

"Yup, sorry, completely s.p.a.ced it. Well let's start with my dad, Tony. He's a World War Two vet, saw a lot of action. Sometimes he's as tough as nails, and at other times you can see he's on the edge. Wait...not the edge...that sounds wrong. I don't mean of breaking down or anything like that. If you look long and hard at him when he's quiet, you can see what his stint in the war did to him. It fundamentally changed him, and at times I think it's a daily vigilance for him to have it not affect him. My mom pa.s.sed a couple of years ago. I miss her, but she was far from the easiest person to love. She had great difficulty expressing concern for anything that did not revolve around her.

"Then there's my oldest brother Ron. He's all that a big brother should be, always looking out for his siblings-sometimes more than we would care for, but always appreciated. I know he's kind of grooming himself to become patriarch of the family as our dad pa.s.ses the torch, but I'm not sure if he's relishing it right now. The stress of keeping your family safe weighs heavy. He's married to Nancy, great lady, she can make a can of beets into a souffle. Don't ask me how, it's like f.u.c.king magic."

Azile snorted.

"They have four kids, Melanie, Meredith, Melissa and Mark. Melanie hasn't been heard from since after the first day of the invasion. Ron went and looked for her once, and so did Meredith-both times almost compounding the disaster. Then there's my brother Gary, he's a twin with my brother Glenn who again we haven't heard from since the start. I have my reasons to believe he's since pa.s.sed. Gary is the free spirit of the group. Of all the people I've ever met in my life, he's easily the most comfortable in his own skin and some of that pa.s.ses off to you when you're around him. There's my sister Lyndsey. She could easily make cheerleading an occupation. She's not that crazy bubbly 'rah! Rah!' c.r.a.p. She just genuinely enjoys life and lets everyone know about it. She's married to Steve, kind of a reserved man, almost as quiet as my sister is talkative. They have a son Jesse, good kid, always willing to lend a hand.

"Then there's my wife Tracy, the love of my life," I said with what I imagine was a faraway stare. "I cannot wait to hold her in my arms. This time I will never let go. She is my strength and the reason I continue on when all seems lost."

"She sounds very special. You're lucky."

"She is and I am, and she lets me know it at every opportunity."

"That's funny, do you have kids?" she asked.

I let out an involuntary gasp of air, just thinking of my kids knocked the air out of my solar plexus. Why the f.u.c.k did I risk my life on this journey when I should have been with them?

"I do," I continued when I thought I had composed myself enough. "My oldest, Nicole, is pregnant. Her fiance Brendan died saving my stupid a.s.s from another of my hair-brained ideas. I guess that's not entirely fair, he had been bitten before he came...long story that I have no desire to revisit. My daughter reminds me so much of my wife. I hope that someday she's able to raise a family with a man that is deserving of her. My middle son Justin is a good kid, h.e.l.l of a shot, he would do anything for anybody, he's had a tough go during this whole thing."

"How so?"

"He was scratched by a zombie."

"He lived? I'm sorry was that callous?"

"That's alright, and yes, he's alive. It was touch and go for a while, and a lot of the time he had to battle constantly to hold onto himself. Eliza invaded his thoughts and sometimes he didn't even know which team he was playing for. Then my youngest, Travis, it's hard for me to see him any older than the seven-year-old boy that he was when we would build Lego castles together. But that boy has got me out of more sc.r.a.pes than I care to count. Sometimes I'm afraid this world is going to harden him to a brittle sh.e.l.l of himself and at other times the scared boy shows through. Well that's the condensed version of my family," I told her as I wrapped up. I really didn't want to dwell on it anymore. I still had to contend with telling my father that I had no idea where Gary was. Last I had seen him he was alive, and that was at the point in which I was going to stop pondering his fate. There was no way BT would let anything happen to him.

My thoughts turned sour instantly as I began to think of the loss of my lifelong friend Paul. I had always considered him my fourth brother and his death was a tangible hurt. I could touch it, it had so much presence. How I was going to walk in that house and tell his wife Erin was beyond me, the tears cascading down my face would be all she needed to know as I hugged her. There would never be a reason why I would tell her how he had met his fate. And what of Cindy and Perla? They would always hold me responsible for what happened to their significant others; no matter that I had nearly begged them not to come with me. Much like I had asked Azile, maybe I should just kick her out of the truck, or better yet, maybe I should just hop out. No, that wouldn't work. She knew where the convoy was going.

I was still thinking as the uncaring sun began its descent on the horizon. It had shined when the earth was nothing more than a caustic stew of magma. It had shined down for hundreds of millions of years as dinosaurs ruled. It had heralded in the dawn of man and it would once again rise on our plunge into extinction. Zombies would be the dominant predator for a while, but if the tree huggers thought the average man was an earth destroyer, they would change that tune after the stripping of life the zombies incurred. As horrible a beast as they were, why they weren't cannibals was beyond me. Did they have that modic.u.m of a moral compa.s.s? I sat up quickly when that thought came to my head.

"What?" Azile asked. It looked like I had taken her out of a state of road hypnosis.

"You look half asleep."

"I'm fine," she replied while also stifling a yawn.

"It's not going to do us any good if you crash. Find a good spot. I'll take the first shift while you get some sleep."

She looked like she was going to protest, but that was right before her next yawn. "Sounds good. We're going to need some diesel soon, too."

"I hate gas stations."

"We'll worry about it in the morning."