Boxes filled the room. Stacked upon each other, they dominated the tiny space, dwarfing even Marshall. Going all the way to the ceiling, the rows and rows of brown cardboard offered an almost unrelenting view inside one man’s progressive dementia. Staring into that abyss, Trey almost began to feel lose his shit. He felt sorry for the poor soul. It seemed like this was the embodiment of the guy’s decline, where it had all started.

  “I’m guessing no one is going to miss this one,” Trey said, frowning as he looked down at the body. The poor guy wore slacks and a polo shirt. Blood stained the collar from where Marshall had shot the man. Trey shook his head. Hearing something, he looked up, tensing. Slowly, he walked to the door, peeking out into the hallway. “Hey,” he said in an urgent whisper. He made a sound so that Sofia heard him. “Hey, we’re over here,” he said. “Shut the door.”

  “What do you think is in them?” Trey asked. He faced Marshall. The deaf man shrugged. “Yeah, me neither,” he said.

  “So, what’s next, boss?” Marshall asked.

  “I say we chill out here for a while. I didn’t see any windows. I hope there is some way for us to get a glimpse of what’s going on outside,” he said. He returned to the living room. Noticing a small, bulky older-model television resting atop another cardboard box, Trey walked over and turned the dial. He blinked, smiling when it came to life. “Miracles never cease,” he muttered. Standing there, he swayed back and forth, watching the images as they flashed across the screen. What at first had seemed a pleasant surprise was quickly turning into another grim reminder of the times.

  “I can’t read it, but it sure looks bad,” Trey said.

  Harry laughed. He was watching, squinting with his arms crossed over his chest as he stood behind his son. “It says that the government has fallen,” he said.

  “Yeah, I guess I didn’t need to read it to understand that one,” Trey said. He couldn’t tear himself away from the screen. There were zombies meandering through the streets, massacring screaming, flailing civilians. Many of the dead or dying appeared to be tourists. Marauding raiders took to rooftops, throwing Molotov cocktails down into massive hordes. Fires raged, sending vicious plumes of black smoke into the air. All of this against a backdrop of green mountains and calm, idyllic waters.

  ‘Well, where does that leave us?” Trey asked. As he said that, something caught his eye. There, auspiciously, on a small glass coffee table rested what could only be a guidebook to the city and island. He plucked it up, rifling through the pages, his heart suddenly overjoyed. “Maps,” he said, the word a jubilant exclamation.

  “Hey, where did they say the military base is?” Trey asked.

  “Arue,” Sofia supplied.

  Snapping his fingers, Trey smiled. He leaned forward and thrust his hand out, giving his daughter a high-five for her smarts. “You always had such a good brain,” Trey said.

  “Hey, I’m hungry,” Chloe said.

  It was the first time she’d spoken in a while. Trey had at times been worried about the girl, as she’d increasingly become withdrawn from the group. He smiled and put the book down. Looking around, he saw the little kitchenette behind a wall. An old refrigerator full of vibrant, tacky magnets stood next to a row of dilapidated wooden cabinets. “Check in there,” Trey said, pointing.

  Slumping down into a large red leather couch, Trey stretched his legs. It felt amazing to rest on something that wasn’t hard ground. He fought the powerful urge to fall asleep right there and then. Recalling that there’d been a shower in the bathroom, Trey couldn’t help but indulge the dream that maybe, just maybe they’d be able to stay the night in the apartment.

  They could all use the rest. That was for sure.

  “You find anything?” Trey asked, his eyes closed. He was almost beginning to see how Marshall had acquired his unusual talent. He felt like he could just start stealing sleep whenever and wherever the opportunity presented itself. Shaking his head, he sat forward, forcing himself to focus. He smiled and looked toward the kitchen.

  He laughed when he saw that Chloe was already digging into a box of cereal. She chewed eagerly, crumbs falling down her face and onto her dirty shirt as she piled more of the sugary yellow breakfast stuff into her mouth. “Slow down,” Trey said. He shook his head. Crazy kid, he thought.

  For a moment, he could almost believe the delectable delusion that they were home. That there wasn’t a zombie horde encroaching on downtown or that opportunistic thugs had just minutes earlier been robbing the city blind, drawing the few remaining first responders right into the path of a growing horde. But, just as he closed his eyes, contented by the vision of Chloe satiating her hunger, he heard another explosion.

  This one rocked the entire building.

  He jumped up, heart racing, head moving from side to side. Putting his hand on his chest, Trey smiled, sighing. “Whew,” he said. He exchanged glances with Marshall, the black man nodding in agreement.

  “My sentiments exactly, boss,” he said.

  “So, what does everyone think? Should we stay the night here? It doesn’t sound safe, and we did just kind of get dumped in the city,” Trey said. He sat back down. His stiff muscles didn’t know how to react to the sudden comfort. Or the hasty deprivation of such. Trey’s body just wanted him to make up his damn mind, already. He sighed.

  Thinking back, Trey reflected on how they’d come to get here. After leaving the remote island where they’d been marooned after their cruise ship had gone and crashed itself into a reef, they’d finally managed to somehow wind up at their intended destination, which was another, slightly more populated but not any less remote island. Called Hothrea, the tiny atoll was barely a blip on any map, and the population there preferred their carefully cultivated solitude.

  Suspicious and hostile from the very beginning, the locals hadn’t bought their story, generated from a febrile statement made by Harry, that John and the others had remained on Sapphira Island to take care of his sick wife. But they’d calmed down when they were bribed with the two Tahitian Monarchs and some other goodies. A few more greased palms and one of the older men had reluctantly agreed to smuggle them to the main island of Tahiti, departing in the depths of the night to avoid the ire and violent rebuke of his friends and family.

  The agreement, however, had extended only so far as dumping the small party on the very outskirts of the city. Taj, their guide, had been quite adamant about not taking them any farther than that. The most he would do was tell them that one of the main French military bases was in Arue.

  “Taj was right to not want to come into the city,” Trey idly said, weary of the quiet. He opened one eye and looked at his daughter. She was sitting on the floor, staring off into space. “How you doing, kiddo?” he asked.

  “I really wanted to bring the birds,” she said.

  Trey sighed. He closed his eyes. That again, he thought. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. There was no sense in getting angry. Especially when immersed in the plump cushions of a nice leather couch. Plus, if he were honest, during the harrowing journey across the sea, he’d grown fond of the little avian creatures. Their songs played in his mind as he remembered the many times they’d stared death in the face while floating out on the open water. “I kind of liked ‘em,” Trey said.

  “Yeah, well, you just gave them away,” Sofia said.

  “Honey, that was the only thing those islanders on Hothrea really wanted,” Trey said. Then he chuckled. He actually felt sad, but the only thing he knew how to do under tragic circumstances these days was laugh. They’d been surrounded by so much death, the only reaction he could muster that wouldn’t plunge him into a paralyzing, cataclysmic depression that consumed his soul was laughter. “They’re going to crucify poor Taj if he ever goes back,” he said.

  “He’s not going back,” Harry said, interjecting. He walked around toward the kitchenette, where Chloe was still mowing down, having found a can of something or other. “That’s why he demanded a king’s ransom,” he said.

  Trey nodded. He could only hope. The poor old man had certainly understood the risks and perils of acquiescence. The other villagers had sent an envoy back out to Sapphira Island, and when they’d discovered that they’d not only been duped, but that everyone on said isle was dead from distinctly un-natural causes…

  “Well, if no one else has anything to say, I vote we stay here for the night. Get some sleep. Eat some stuff. Take a shower. Watch zombie movies,” he said, laughing at his own sick joke.

  “You’re not funny, dad,” Sofia said, shooting a nasty look at him.

  “Hey, you don’t think they’ll be out of here by tomorrow, do you?” Trey asked. By they, he meant the French military. From what he’d gathered from talking with Taj, the French had most of their naval assets in a place called New Caledonia, which wasn’t exactly close by.

  “I don’t know. It’s hard to say. I was sick, so I wasn’t always able to exactly keep great track of time,” Harry said. Something clicked. Harry made a sound of triumph. “Hey-y. That’s cool,” he said. He turned around, a goofy smile plastered onto his ugly old mug. “Stove works,” he said.

  “Is it gas? Because, if it’s gas, we shouldn’t use it,” Trey said. He wanted to close his eyes again and relax, but allowing himself to wind down was hard to do when there were zombies all around. There was still a lot to do and very little time to do it.

  “It’s electric, Debbie Downer,” Harry said. He opened the fridge and began rifling through it. “This guy is pretty well stocked for an old bachelor. I bet he’s got a wife or something,” Harry said.

  “Let’s hope not,” Trey said. He glanced toward the door. “Hey, Sofia, will you got deadbolt that please,” he said.

  Sofia looked at him. She didn’t move. She refused to say anything. She just stared. Then she very slowly and deliberately shook her head. “No,” she said.

  Trey’s eyes widened. He sat forward, tensing. “EXCUSE ME,” he said. He almost couldn’t believe what was happening. “Excuse me?” he asked, lowering his voice.

  “She said no, Trey,” Melody said, stomping over and slamming the deadbolt.

  “That’s not the,” Trey winced when someone underneath them hit the roof of their apartment. “That’s not the point, Melody,” Trey said. He focused his eyes on his daughter. “I am not going to tolerate that from you, missy,” he said.

  “What are you going to do, dad? Send me to my room?” Sofia asked. She got up and rushed into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. The force of the gesture sent the framed picture reeling onto the floor.

  “God,” Trey said, wiping a hand over his face. “Did I ever miss that?” he asked.

  Melody came over and plopped down beside him. “Ooh, this is nice,” she said. She smiled, closing her eyes and stretching. She put her hands behind her head. “You picked the right spot, babe,” she said.

  “Don’t contradict me like that,” Trey said, frowning. He pushed her leg off of him. Ignoring the scathing look she gave him, he stared off into space. Something about the picture that had fallen off during his daughter’s tirade bothered him. Trey stood up abruptly and marched over to it, grabbing it and turning it over.

  “Honey,”

  “Don’t honey me,” Trey said, holding up a hand. He began pacing. “I do love you. But that is my daughter, and I am not going to tolerate that sort of… insolence,” he said.

  “She’s just a kid, Trey,” Melody said, her voice soft. She gazed at him with a pleading look in her eyes.

  “Right. Which is why she needs guidance. And discipline,” Trey said.

  “I CAN HEAR YOU,” Sofia yelled from the bathroom.

  Trey whipped his head in the direction of the sound, going purple. He clenched and unclenched a fist. Taking several deep breaths, he successfully avoided the powerful urge to stomp over there and drag the insouciant little brat out of the bathroom.

  He heard the shower start and actually smiled, despite himself. “She’s got the right idea,” he said, grudgingly. Trey returned to his seat on the couch. Glancing at the television, he saw a fuzzy screen. “Signal get lost?” he asked. Seeing the guidebook on the table, he got up briefly to retrieve it. He flipped through it while Melody looked over his shoulder.

  Harry walked in and stood over Trey until he finally paused long enough to acknowledge his dad’s presence. Harry raised an eyebrow. “I brought you some PB&J. It’s actually really good bread,” he said, thrusting a sandwich forward into Trey’s face. “Jam’s a little weird. Mango. But, other than that, it’s pretty good,” he said.

  Reluctantly, Trey snatched the proffered sandwich out of his father’s hands. He nibbled at the moist edge. The delicate, vaguely exotic flavor of the mango offered a noticeable contrast to the bold, savory taste of the crunchy peanut butter, which was much more oily than he remembered it back in California. “Interesting,” he said. He held it out to his wife. “Here, babe. Want a bite?” he asked.

  Returning his focus to the guidebook, he studied the maps. He finally found Arue, though that didn’t provide much help without the necessary context. “Where the Hell are we?” he asked aloud. He placed one finger on the map, trying to trace lines from the waterfront, which he remembered seeing on the other end of the alley, where they’d observed the food carts and zombies. Trey paused, allowing the tip of his digit to linger just above an area that looked promising. “Hey, dad, come ‘ere,” he said.

  Harry came over, his brow furrowed. He leaned in, offering an inquisitive grunt as he peered at the map. “What’s it?” he asked. “I see a Mormon Temple,” he said. “That’s kind of weird,” he added.

  “Don’t start with your religious talk, dad,” Trey said.

  “What? I just said it’s weird,” he said. Then he shook his head. “If ever there were a time to discuss religion, son, this would be it. You really do need to open your Bible,” Harry said.

  Melody sighed and got up, walking into the kitchenette.

  “Did I offend her?” Harry asked.

  Trey smiled. “Of course you did, dad. She’s an atheist,” Trey said. “Anyway, that’s not what I was pointing to. Here,” he said, moving his finger to help his dad catch what he was trying to show him. “See that bank? The alley?” he asked.

  “Hmmm…” Harry said, rubbing his chin with two fingers. “Very astute observation,” he finally said. “I think we have a winner.” He held up a hand for a high-five. “Good job, son.”

  Trey beamed. It wasn’t often that he received praise from his father. He’d spent much of his life working himself nearly to death, trying to get even the slightest hint of recognition or a compliment. Now that it didn’t matter nearly as much, Trey almost thought it was too late.

  But he ate it up nonetheless. “Thanks, dad,” he said.

  Sofia walked out of the bathroom, a dingy, ratty-looking brown towel wrapped around her body. Beads of moisture rolled down her skin. Her wet hair was all hanging on one shoulder. She shot her dad a look. “Is there a closet or anything?” she asked.

  “Was there more than one soap in there?” Harry asked. Then he shuffled forward. “Hey, was there decent TP? I haven’t had a good crap in weeks,” he said. “It gets important when you’re older,” he paused to say, making eye contact with his son.

  Trey just nodded and offered an uncomfortable smile. Then he shook his head. “Uh, go…” Trey stopped himself. He remembered the body in the room with all the boxes. He stood up. “Here, let me go show you,” he said.

  “I already know you killed someone,” she said.

  Glancing toward Marshall, he snitched on the man, throwing him under the bus. “Actually, it was him,” he said, his voice low despite the fact that the guy couldn’t hear them.

  “Whatever, dad. You think you still need to shelter me,” Sofia said. “And I don’t like it,” she said. She stopped. “I deserve to be treated more like an adult,” she said.

  There it is, Trey thought. He smiled tersely and rolled his eyes. He widened his stance and placed his hands on his hips, biting his lower lip and looking at the ceiling. “Do we really have to do this right now?” he asked.

  “When did you want to do it, dad? Next time we get attacked by zombies? When some other asshole with his kid kicks this door down?” Sofia asked.

  “My God… how old are you?” he asked, a slight hint of admiration in his tone. Trey reached out and tousled the girl’s hair. “Sweetie, you’re right. Of course, I need to treat you like you’re more mature. Go on back and try to find some clothes, okay?” Trey said. “I need to close my eyes for a second, anyway,” he said.

  “You need to eat something, too,” Sofia said, a concerned expression on her young face.

  “I had a peanut butter sandwich,” Trey said, smirking.

  Chapter 3

  He woke up to fighting.

  Chloe and Sofia growled as they wrestled half-naked on the floor.

  “Hey. Hey!” Trey got up, wiping his eyes as he did so. Rushing forward, he grabbed the first girl he could get his hands on, pulling her up and off the other. Staring down, his mind blank, his mouth crusty from the effects of sleep, Trey tried to figure out just what the heck was going on. “Weren’t you guys getting along just fine last…” night, Trey had wanted to say. He scratched his chin, smiling awkwardly. “Is it tomorrow already?” he asked.

  Depositing Chloe on the floor, he held out a restraining hand to make sure the girl didn’t rush right back into the fray. Trey stared down at his daughter, who returned the glare with equal ferocity. “What’s going on?” he asked. Slowly but surely, his mind was beginning to wake up. He smelled coffee brewing in the next room. Harry peeked his head around.

  “Everything okay?” he asked.

  Trey raised an incredulous eyebrow. He smiled tersely. “Where the Hell were you?” he asked.

  “I was in here, making breakfast,” Harry said. He disappeared back around the corner without offering any more information or aid.

  “Thanks for the help, dad,” Trey said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

 

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