“You’re welcome,” Harry called back. Then he began whistling.

  Returning his focus back to the two sullen combatants, Trey blinked. “Will someone please help me out here? Can one of you tell me what was going on?” he asked.

  “She took all the hot water!”

  “She took the good shoes!”

  They both spoke simultaneously. It was hard to distinguish which party had levied which accusation. The hormone and hostility levels rose precipitously in an instant, and Trey felt it necessary to physically place himself between the two girls so they didn’t go right back to what they’d started. “Stop,” he said. He sighed. Wiping a hand over his face, Trey couldn’t help but think he’d rather be doing anything except refereeing a fight between pre-teen girls.

  “Sofia, please go in the bedroom,” Trey said, his voice strained.

  “I don’t want to. Why doesn’t she have to? This is insane,” Sofia said.

  “Honey, you’re not being punished. I just want to speak with each of you individually, okay? One of you needs to go in the bedroom, just for a few minutes. You just happened to be the first person I saw. Will you please go in the bedroom?” Trey asked, summoning what was perhaps the last bit of diplomacy left in his corrupted soul to try and avoid massacring the entire apartment. His first decent sleep in a while, and this was how he was woken up. He wasn’t happy. But expressing that displeasure was not going to get any meaningful results right then.

  As a father, he possessed an intrinsic understanding of that reality.

  “Fine,” Sofia said, getting up and stomping a foot on the floor. She jumped when the person from the apartment below them once again slammed something against their ceiling in protest. “Fine,” she repeated. “I’ll go. But it’s not because I want to,” she said. She marched the short distance to the bedroom. “You’re ruining my life,” Sofia screamed, slamming the door behind her.

  Harry took the moment to walk in and hand Trey a ceramic mug of steaming coffee. “It’s good joe,” he said, smiling. Standing in the wake left by that harsh gesture of adolescent protest, he could only shake his head. He chuckled as he returned to the kitchen.

  “Thanks, a lot, dad,” Trey said, frowning. When he turned, he saw Melody smiling from her place in the recliner. “Fuck. Not you, too,” he said. “I do NOT have the patience for this shit this morning,” Trey said. He went and sat down on the couch.

  Aware that Chloe stood, quietly glaring at him, Trey patted the cushion next to him. “Here, come sit down,” he said, trying to moderate his voice so that his tone wasn’t as angry as he felt inside.

  She waited for several seconds. Then she finally gave an exaggerated sigh and complied, though she made a show of doing so only under the most extreme duress. “What do you want?” she asked in a tiny voice. Chloe refused to look at him.

  Trey exchanged a glance with his wife. He took a deep breath. He knew he needed to get this right the first time. The only problem was, he wasn’t sure how to do that. Chloe wasn’t his daughter. He’d only met her under the extreme adverse circumstances imposed by the zombie apocalypse. He’d grown quite fond of the girl, of course, having witnessed firsthand her many good qualities. But, as he sat there, trying to figure what words to say to soothe her troubled soul, Trey realized that he didn’t know much about Chloe. Her interests, hobbies, goals, preferences…

  That made him sad.

  It reminded him of the tragic circumstances under which they’d met.

  “Where’d you grow up?” Trey asked, the words sort of just tumbling out. Having no script, he decided to just go with his gut. Honesty could easily become a forgotten virtue if people stopped practicing it. Since they might soon make up the remnants of a society that would begin the slow and grueling process of trying to rebuild new cultures from the ashes, Trey figured he might as well be as sincere as he could.

  “What?” Chloe asked, blinking. She turned and faced him, scrunching up her nose as she searched his face, trying to gauge if this were some sort of trick or ploy. “Seven Oaks,” she finally said.

  “Isn’t that in Bakersfield?” Trey asked. Chloe nodded. “I’m sorry,” Trey said.

  “I like Bakersfield,” Chloe said. She frowned. “But dad always said we didn’t really live in Bakersfield,” she said.

  “Can I ask you about your dad?” Trey asked, his voice soft.

  Sniffing, Chloe looked away. “Maybe some other time?” she asked, barely above a whisper.

  “Okay. Okay,” Trey said. He sighed. He rubbed a hand through his hair. “So, will you tell me what your… disagreement was about? With Sofia?” he asked.

  “ShesaidIwashoggingtheshowerandshetooktheonlygoodpairofshoesand…”

  “Whoa,” Trey held up a hand, laughing. He took a sip of coffee. It really was good. He did a double-take, looking down at the cup. “That IS good,” he said. Shaking his head, he returned his focus to the girl. He needed to get this resolved. They didn’t have time to waste on petty bickering. “Hey, will you try to slow down, please? I know this is emotional. Just try to say things so I can understand, okay?” Trey said. He took another slurp of the black beverage.

  “Sofia interrupted my shower. She barged in the bathroom while I was in there and demanded that I get out. When I did, I saw that she took the only good pair of shoes,” Chloe said. “She told me I could have them,” she added, pouting.

  “What’s this about the shoes?” Trey asked.

  “Ours are so bad,” Chloe said. “Mine were worse,” she added, shooting Trey an exaggerated look, all wide eyes and suffering. “There was one pair of girl’s shoes in the… room with all the boxes,” she said.

  “I told you…” Trey bit his lower lip. He clenched and unclenched a fist. “Okay. Well, it’s not like it’d be the first time you saw a dead body,” he said. “I’m done trying to shield you girls,” he said. He got up and began pacing. This whole thing was monopolizing his attention, and that was beginning to piss him off. There were zombies destroying the city around them. Did everyone think breakfast and who took the hot water was really more important?

  “Okay, so, here’s what I think. I love you. I love my daughter. We’re all a team. Okay?” Trey turned and purposely faced Chloe. He stared directly into her eyes. He waited until she reluctantly nodded. “Great. Okay. So, we’re all a team. That means we all need to work together. Now, I’m going to see what the size of these shoes are. Whoever they’ll fit better gets them.” He held up a hand to ward off her protests. “We’ll try to get more shoes,” he said.

  “Look, there are ZOMBIES out there. We still need to get to Arue and the military base to try to secure our way out of here,” Trey said. “I don’t really have time for this. I’m sorry. You girls might be young in years, but you’ve seen too much to be acting like this. I expect better,” he said. “If you’re going to defy me and go searching dead bodies, then you can grow the hell up and act better than this,” he said. He chuckled. “You should’ve done an armbar,” he said.

  “Trey,” Melody said.

  “What?” Chloe asked.

  “Want someone to stop arguing with you? You need to get the upper hand. You should’ve tried to break her arm,” Trey said.

  “That’s horrible,” Melody said.

  “Yeah, well… what if I die? Who’s going to tell them? You want them to get raped by hicks and forced to fellate a fuckin’ zombie?” Trey asked, whirling on his wife. “I love you, but, damn it, why in the FUCK are we arguing about hot water and shoes when everyone out there wants to murder us?” he asked, pointing a finger in a vicious gesture toward the door. “I didn’t want them to see that body in there. I told them not to go in there. Why? Because I wanted to try and protect them. To shield them from the harsh reality. But, you know what?” Trey turned and looked right at Chloe.

  “The harsh reality is that your dad is dead. I’m not your dad. At some point, the only person who is going to save us is us. If you want something in this world, you have to take it. Find your strength and use it,” Trey said.

  Of course, that sent Chloe crying into the bedroom.

  “Why do you have to be… such a dick?” Melody asked. She got up and stormed into the kitchen.

  Trey was left alone.

  He stood there, relishing the quiet for several seconds. The safety of being ensconced in a house, protected by four walls, offered a certain level of false confidence to his psyche that he hadn’t remembered enjoying in quite some time. That, coupled with the momentary silence, offered him the closest thing he could think of to Nirvana. Taking a breath, Trey resigned himself to the uncomfortable fact that he needed to go in and talk to his daughter.

  “Here we go,” he muttered under his breath. Trey wasn’t looking forward to dealing with Sofia’s reaction.

  When he walked into the room, Sofia looked up from the bed and smiled. Trey paused, blinking. Rather than storming toward him and poking his chest, confronting him with all sorts of puerile, rabid accusations, the girl seemed relatively calm. Sanguine. Trey wondered just what it was she was hiding. Reluctantly, he shut the door behind him as he made his way inside. He sniffed as he neared the bed. “Smells like cat piss,” he said. He sat down on the mattress, next to his daughter. They remained quiet for some time, each waiting for the other to speak.

  “Did you tell her she could have the shoes?” Sofia asked, finally, her voice soft. She sat up and looked at her father.

  Staring vacantly at the wall, it took a moment for Trey’s mind to register the fact that a window sat in the wall just across from the bed. Getting up, he hastily went to it, careful to keep his head out of view, just in case some patient and opportunistic sniper were waiting, watching, ready to get their malevolent jollies off on the first face that appeared visible behind the pane. Peeking out, he saw the waterfront below. Most of the zombies he’d remembered seeing there the previous day had dispersed to more fruitful hunting grounds.

  “Dad, I’m talking to you,” Sofia said, frowning. She made sure her tone communicated her mild annoyance with Trey.

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry,” Trey said, reaching up and massaging his temple. He blinked. Crouching down almost instinctively, he walked back to the bed and sat down. He tried to focus, but the window had disrupted his train of thought. “What was I here for?” he asked, smiling impishly. He felt stupid, having to ask that question.

  “She can have the shoes, dad,” Sofia said. She jerked her head and looked away, her shoulders rigid.

  She obviously had been waiting to deliver that line, expecting some sort of praise for her noble sacrifice. Trey watched her for several seconds. But, for the life of him, he just couldn’t summon the desired response. He just didn’t care. They were in a purloined apartment. Someone had had to die so that they could enjoy hot showers and less-destroyed footwear. Zombies were increasing by the second, the government had fallen, and there were well-armed mobs robbing the major institutions of the land. Meanwhile, the two girls were arguing, Harry was off cooking, his wife thought he was a major douche, and Marshall…

  Marshall was probably sleeping.

  “That’s very nice of you,” Trey managed to finally say. He wanted to yell at her. To shake her. To make her see the urgency of their situation. But he didn’t. Because, underneath the hard, cynical crust that was forming on his scabby soul, Trey loved Sofia. He refused to believe that he’d even want to hurt anyone, much less his daughter. “Chloe will be very happy to hear that,” he said.

  “What’s wrong with you, dad?” Sofia asked. She cocked her head and stared at him, an inquisitive look in her eyes. “You’re… different.”

  Trey laughed. He couldn’t help it. Yeah, I’m different, he thought. How could he not be? He got up and went to the window again, peering out. He wondered what lay in store for them. “We need to leave today,” he said, partly to himself. A solitary zombie, the old Asian woman he’d seen beating the creatures with her cane, hobbled around the cobblestone square. He could almost hear the woman’s heavy orthotic shoes as they clattered along. Just above her, a French flag fluttered limply in the wind, alongside what could be, he presumed, the Tahitian flag.

  Turning, Trey smiled sadly. “I don’t know what happened to me,” he said. “I mean, I guess I do, honey. I killed an entire village. I got ambushed by zombies… how many times? I have to watch over you as we walk into another horde,” he said. He sat down. He took his daughter’s hand when she held it out to him. “Yes, I’ve changed. I don’t really like most of the changes. I doubt I’ll ever really be the same again,” he said. He sighed. “I don’t even know if the world will be the same. I kind of doubt it,” he said.

  “No more video games. No more hot showers. No more shoes, even… maybe. Things may really suck,” Trey said. “Are you ready for that?” he asked.

  Sofia gulped. Then she put on a stoic smile. “As long as you’re with me, dad,” she said.

  His heart nearly melted.

  But, there, alone with Sofia, Trey felt it necessary to be a dick. He needed to let his daughter know that at some point, she may be solely responsible for her own safety. There was no 9-1-1. There were no cops. There was no military. In a cruel and supreme game of survival of the fittest, no thought or mercy would be spared for anyone for any reason. If something happened to him…

  “But what if I’m not here? With you?” Trey asked. He stared at her, willing himself to be hard. “Sofia, you have to realize that we’re in the middle of some serious shit. I know it might seem like some bad fuckin’ dream, but it’s not. This is real,” he said. “I know you saw the body in the other room,” Trey said. “You realize that for us to even get one single night of decent rest, someone had to die?” he asked. He pointed. “Just yesterday, I saw that elderly woman who’s mindlessly walking around out there, right now… I saw her fighting off zombies with her cane. Sofia, I NEED YOU TO BETTER THAN THIS. I need you to grow up, real frickin’ quick, missy. Because I’m going to have to treat you like a grown-up. Okay?” he asked.

  He paused to take a breath. “Honey, I love you more than I could possibly love anything in this world. I hate having to be like this. But…” Trey gulped. He looked away, fighting tears. “Chloe is with us because I watched her father get turned. He was murdered right in front of her. Melody… Melody was gang-raped…” Trey couldn’t help it. He began sobbing. He collapsed onto the floor. Vulgar images preyed on his mind.

  The corsairs of unwanted thoughts sailed in and stole the booty of his mind.

  He wept.

  Thinking the impossible, imaging his only child stripped bare and hurt by the vagrants prowling the city… it did something to him. It hurt him in a way nothing else could. But from that hurt rose an incredible rage. One which would only help to fortify him in the perilous days ahead. It was an all-encompassing anger that could dull all but the most extreme forms of pain. Feeling as he did right then, Trey knew he could walk directly into a hail of gunfire and still manage to snap the necks of the first ten men he came upon before finally succumbing to his wounds.

  Wiping his face, Trey gradually gathered himself. “Speaking of hot showers,” he said, sniffling. Standing, he bent down and kissed his daughter’s head without a word and then left.

  “Food’s ready,” Harry called.

  Trey waved a hand and grunted. When Harry saw the red eyes and puffy face, he bit his tongue and let his son retreat into the bathroom.

  “I’ll save a plate for you,” Harry muttered.

  Turning on the shower, Trey stood back, leaning against the sink as he waited for steam to fill the tiny room. He reflected on all that had happened and all that would occur. Trey felt the burdens of life amidst a collapsing civilization pressing against his chest. It didn’t feel good. He knew that he needed to step up his game. Things weren’t going to be as easy as they had been.

  He might not be able to get away with being a bad shot.

  As he stepped under the harsh, hissing spray, the scalding water burning his skin, Trey winced but accepted the pain. He embraced it. It was only after several minutes that rational thought corrupted the purity that was thoughtless acceptance of hurt. Trey recalled how, one of the last times he’d taken a shower, he’d come out to a druggie on the floor.

  At that point, he hadn’t even come to put things together. Trey remained ignorant then, and he’d thought the unconscious form on the floor of their suite had been some drug addict. That had been his first-ever encounter with violence, and things had only progressed since then. If he’d known at that point how he’d deteriorate into a depraved madman with an almost perverse preoccupation with taking lives, Trey figured he might have done something differently.

  Midway through his disturbing reminiscences, Trey had an epiphany.

  Hopping out of the shower, Trey rushed into the cramped living room, ignoring the stares of his crew. He walked, naked and dripping wet, to the door, where he plucked a set of dull metal keys off of the wall. “Bingo,” he said. He smiled, holding them up and looking at them with an almost reverent expression. Clutching them in his palm, he returned to the bathroom, where he deposited the keys on the small tray in the shower and finished cleansing himself.

  He stood just behind the door after he’d dried off, staring at the keys. Trey for some reason felt like they were something bigger than just access to a vehicle. They represented freedom. The ability to move. Offering the crew an opportunity to move beyond the unfortunate circumstances that had been imposed upon them, they provided control.

  Trey realized as he stood there that those car keys made them less vulnerable to the vulgar vagaries of external circumstances.

  “Now we just need to take a look at this car,” he said.

  Then he had a thought: no, we need to find it, first.

  Chapter 4

  Harry wanted to take a detour.

  He was being stubborn about it, too.

  Trey took a bite of his limp bacon, trying not to show his frustration. He chewed angrily, staring at the map laid out in front of him. “Why?” he finally asked. He didn’t want to be having that conversation. Trey wanted to get moving. Every moment they delayed their departure agonized him. It felt like invisible hands were wringing his heart, trying to squeeze every last drop of civility and sanity from his being.

 

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