It was spacious, its walls made of ribbed metal slats. The floors were wide, metallic and crusted with ice. Thin specters of cool air glided across the doorway, swirled across the glare of his headlamp and dissipated into thin air.

  A network of thin metal shelves ran along the walls, stocked with white cardboard boxes emblazoned with the company logo across the front. Large brown bags of French fries, appetizers (cheese sticks, stuffed jalapeno poppers and the like) and frozen vegetables sat on the far left. A second metal door stood along the right-side wall, crusted with scabs of ice that glinted like broken glass.

  Colin took a tentative step across the semi-dark threshold and swept his headlamp across the shelf when something caught the corner of his left eye. He glanced over, drew a sharp intake of air deep into his lungs and leaped back from the doorway. He tightened his hand around the Colt’s checkered black grip and, his body bristling with cold fear, pinned himself against the door.

  The light caught the wire-mesh light fixture above and threw it back. He swept the head lamp down the left shelf when something popped out of the gloom. He flinched and stepped back, raising the Colt in his right fist; he gave a low audible gasp that was more like a sigh.

  He pressed his left hand across his heaving chest, and waited for the fear to dissipate. When he gained control of himself, he closed his eyes and sighed. He leaned away from the open door and, his tee-shirt hugging his spine and hips, stepped back inside.

  A young rail-thin girl was curled up into a fetal position across the frigid metal floor. Her head sat slumped over, her left jaw resting against the crown of her left shoulder. Strands of long black hair fell over her panic-stricken face and clung to the icy cold floor.

  She wore a thigh-high skirt the color of a horse’s saddle, brown leather boots and a bright red work shirt like the one he’d seen on the blonde girl he killed earlier ago. A black bolo tie with a tiny white plastic cow skull dangled across her chest; the bone-white nametag fixed to the left front pocket of her shirt said her name was EMILY.

  Her skin had the bluish-white tint that came from frostbite. Although she hadn’t been attacked, her death was still tragic. In a state of panic, some people had grabbed whatever they could to fight the good fight; some won and some...

  Instead, she chose to seek shelter from the chaos when all it did was kill her. Had she been one of the lucky ones who weren’t food for the walking dead? Could anyone call it luck to have been spared the same painful demise as the others?

  If she’d been closed up inside, he thought, how the hell was she able to lock herself in? The answer to his otherwise oblivious question increased his sadness.

  Colin shuffled across the floor, past the girl’s stiff blue corpse and approached the shelves. He found a flat white cardboard box sitting on the second shelf from the top with a large plain white sticker plastered to the left side. He slipped a hand into his right pocket and, his body flooding with hope, retrieved his Leatherman.

  He sliced the strip of tape across the top of the box and tore the flaps apart. He peered inside, his face twisted with joy and jerked his head back. He groaned, winced through loosely clenched teeth and shook his head in disgust.

  He peered back inside the box, detected the noxious scent permeating across the freezer and felt his heart sinking toward his feet. A nest of tiny-white maggots and silver-winged flies crawled between stacks of soft-pink hamburger patties. He cursed under his breath, folded his Leatherman back into place and slapped the box with the knuckles of his left hand.

  He peered over the dead girl’s body on his way out, sighed and slammed the door shut. He hurried across the kitchen, beads of sweat trickling down his brows, and thought he’d smelled the stench of decay clinging to his clothes. He kicked the batwing doors, stepped out of the kitchen and strode across the dining room.

  When he joined up with them, Jason and Stacey were huddled around the booth at the end of the middle aisle. Jason glanced at him, spread a wide hopeful smile across his face, and leaped out of the booth. Stacey was standing on the other end of the booth, spouting baby talk at Rosie while changing her diaper.

  He didn’t want to disappoint the little guy but it wasn’t like he had a choice. He shook his head and watched the same sense of defeat that washed over him a few seconds ago now wash over Jason.

  As she slid the onesie back onto Rosie, Stacey raised her brows and waited for Colin’s answer. When he gave her the same look he’d given Jason, she shook her head and sighed. She cradled Rose in both arms, pivoted on her heels in a playful dance and slid her back inside of the carrier.

  “I guess we’ll have to wait until we get to Abilene.” Jason said.

  Her face was heavy with sadness.

  Rubbing his hands together, Colin said, “I’ve got a surplus bag on the boat. It’s not much but it’s something.”

  "When were you going to tell us?"

  He winked and led them out of the restaurant. He took them through the same way he’d came in from because he wasn’t sure if the front doors were even locked. He tugged the sliding glass doors open and led them safely across the gore-streaked veranda. They glanced at him with cold penetrating stares and stepped out of the café.

  At the top of the staircase, Stacey said, "I'm not going down that way. If I fall, I’ll land on top of her."

  The baby gave a throaty gurgle.

  "If you fall, you can land on top of me."

  "What if you fall?"

  "I won't." Colin said.

  He shook his head. Jason giggled.

  They took the stairs one at a time. Colin waited until they were halfway down before going down the hill and walking alongside of them. When they reached the bottom of the hill, he glanced at something out of the corner of his right eye.

  He glanced over to get a better look and threw his left arm across Stacey’s chest to keep her from going any further. She clutched his arm and opened her mouth to say something when Colin pressed a finger to his lips. Jason curled up beside of her and receded into her left thigh.

  Three men were walking around the ALICIA, scanning every inch of her like they were about to buy it. Colin wasn’t the least bit surprised because they weren’t the only people who tried to acquire it. He pivoted on the balls of his feet, pressed his finger to his lips again and jabbed his thumb at the forest.

  He pointed at them, pressed his left forefinger against his lips and then gestured toward the backdrop of trees standing alongside the stairwell. Stacey rolled her eyes in protest and did what Colin had asked.

  A tall skinny man paced back and forth along the gunwale, sliding his right hand across the sleek metallic railing; a small black pistol was nestled inside of his left hand. He had bowl-cut blond hair and a pale angular face with close-set brown eyes, a wide piggish nose and thin upturned lips. He wore a maroon football jersey with the number 5 on the front, dingy blue jeans under a long black oilskin duster and brown leather boots.

  The squat broad-shouldered man standing on the bow side of the boat held a large pistol-grip shotgun in one giant hand. He had short black hair and a round bearded face with heavy-lidded blue eyes, a broad nose and thick chapped lips. He wore the same black oilskin duster over dingy blue jeans, brown leather boots and a maize and blue football jersey with the number 7 stamped on the front.

  A skinnier version of the dark-haired brute stood to Colin’s left, eyeing the stern. His short dark hair sat on his head in an emo-style side fringe above a diamond-shaped face with a small narrow nose, upturned lips and almond-shaped blue eyes. Under his black duster, he also wore a maize and blue football jersey with the number 12 stamped on the front; his hand looked too big for his pistol-grip shotgun.

  "Can I help you?"

  The sound of his voice lured their attention away from the boat. He folded his hands together and rested them against his crotch like a teacher waiting for an answer.

  “We were just passing through.” The blonde said. “We wanted to see if you’d like to make a trade.”

  He said. "What are we trading for?"

  "Your life." number Twelve said.

  "We're state boat inspectors." Number Seven said. "And we were—"

  He flashed a sarcastic grin at Colin and sighed. The man wearing the number Twelve jersey grinned at his partner.

  "What do you want?"

  “We just wanted to look at your boat.”

  Colin scratched his head and arched his brows in a calm but skeptical manner. “Nobody looks at something like this unless you want to steal it.”

  After the guy with the number Seven jersey traded glances with his friend wearing the number Twelve jersey, he said, "I don't think he believes us, Eddie."

  "He probably doesn't even like us."

  "My friends Sam.” Eddie said. “and Kyle and I wondered if you could help us out.”

  He called the emo Sam and the bearded brute Kyle. Kyle gave an arrogant sneer from behind his tangled black beard and perched the barrel of his shotgun on the crown of his left shoulder. Colin braced his hands on his hips, unsnapped the button on his holster, stacked his arms across his chest and waited.

  "There's no need for that." Eddie said. "We don't want any trouble."

  Eddie wagged his finger at him and jabbed his thumb over his left shoulder toward two bushels of bottled water, three bags of sugar, a can of coffee and two two-liter bottles of soda sitting in the far left corner of the boat.

  "We've got a long drive ahead of us and we could use some supplies."

  "I'd like to help you but those are mine.”

  His brows furrowed with confusion.

  The world is full of so many questions, he thought, and yet no one bothers to ask the most important ones.

  The breeze sighed through the treetops like spectators watching a fourth-quarter comeback. Colin felt a thick cloud of unease permeating between them, raising the hairs along the back of his neck and forearms. He slid his hand across the butt of his pistol and tapped the forefinger of his left hand against the side to show that he wasn’t as rusty as he might’ve looked.

  They reeked of the kind of egotism that was both nauseous and suffocating. They came off as the kind of kids who shook others for their lunch money; the pledge master who relished in the tradition of “initiation.”

  Eddie rubbed the bridge of his nose between the thumb and forefinger on his right hand and sighed. Colin knew the little prick didn’t want it to get out of control, didn’t want to have to resort to extreme measures but there it was.

  “You could just make this easier for us,” Eddie said. “if you could just give hand it over.”

  "You could just save me the trouble and get the hell away from my boat.”

  “It isn’t nice to talk to—"

  Eddie ceased talking and stepped back, his face creased by a wide mischievous grin. Kyle flipped the shotgun off of his shoulder, caught it by the barrel and swung it in a whistling arc. Colin crouched down on one knee, waited for Kyle to lose his balance and drove a left hook into his chin.

  The impact snapped Kyle’s head back, rattling his teeth and jarring his senses. The shotgun fell from his grasp and clambered out of sight. Sam dropped his shotgun, gave a loud animalistic grunt and ran across the shore.

  Colin rose back upon his feet when something slammed into his left hip. He gave a loud painful grunt as he crashed to the ground. His body stiff with a mixture of fear and surprise, the pain squeezed the air out of his lungs.

  The sound of broken bones resonating in his ears, his skull bounced off the grass. His teeth clacked together, jarring his senses. Tiny pinpricks of light snapped across his eyes as hot lucid tears slide down his cheeks, blurring his vision.

  He blinked back the tears and glanced to see Sam looming over top of him, pinning him to the ground. His teeth clenched together, Sam gave a loud animalistic grunt. His eyes widen with anger, his cheeks reddened with irritation.

  Colin rammed his left knee into Sam’s hip again and again but Sam refused to let go. He cupped his hands together, bit down on his lower lip and raised his fists. A shadow bled across the grass like an odd eclipse and gave off an angry frustrated grunt.

  Before Colin could strike back, Eddie approached him on his left, cast an arrogant grin. He raised the pistol sideways, clenched his teeth together and brought it down hard against the crown of Colin’s forehead.

  Pain burst across Colin’s cheeks and plunged him into an empty black abyss.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  COLIN opened his eyes and found himself floating inside of an opaque black void. Globs of black gel wobbled and drifted all around him as if he were trapped inside of a lava lamp. He reached out, grasping at the darkness for a handhold only to feel tiny pockets of gel oozing between his fingers.

  It felt cold and soft. His skin prickled.

  He glanced around, first to his left and to his right when a strange chorus of voices called out to him. He scanned his surroundings, his body flooding with panic, and searched blindly for its source. Tiny creases of confusion etched across his face, he brushed away a thin wall of viscous black orbs and peered into the abysmal blackness beyond.

  "Where are you, baby?"

  "I can't find you, honey. I'm so scared."

  "DID YOU FUCK HER?”

  It couldn't be her. She was dead like all the others.

  "I'm coming, honey. I'll find you and—"

  “WAS SHE GOOD?"

  Her voice sounded desperate and frantic one second, then spiteful and angry the next. A yin-yang of mixed emotions that no man-before or after the zombie apocalypse-would’ve ever grasped the concept of.

  A second chorus of voices intersected the miasma of hateful voices echoing around him. It wasn’t a fake chant of mixed emotions but a sincere mix of fear and desperation.

  "Caleb! Caleb!"

  "That's not his real name, Stacey.”

  “Come on, Cody. Wake up.”

  “Are you even doing it right?”

  “I’m doing my best. Wake up, Chris.”

  His eyes snapped open, pulling him out of that detestable black void and back into reality. He sat up, his body tightened with fear, and gave a loud wheeze. Stacey crouched down beside of him on his left, her face creasing with concern. Jason stood on his right, cradling Rosie in both arms.

  The sun’s harsh white glare stung his eyes, setting his retinas on fire. Pain flared inside of his skull, throbbing against his temples. He blinked, scanned his surroundings and wiped his hands across the hot lucid tears streaming down his grass-stained cheeks.

  "What–where—"

  "Take it easy, cowboy." She said. "They knocked the shit out of you."

  "Tell me something I don't know."

  He drew his knees up against his chest and buried his face in his hands. He took two deep breaths to calm his wildly beating heart and the spasmodic jangling in his nerves.

  "What did they want?"

  "They wanted my stuff."

  "Well they got it."

  "And they—"

  He raised his right hand in protest and cut her off. He sat down on the edge of the boat, peered over his shoulder, cursed under his breath and kicked the ground; a chunk of dirt and grass rolled across the shore, flinging tiny bits of dirt into the water. Rosie cooed, raised her chubby pink fists in a rebellious manner and buried her face into the front of Stacey’s blouse.

  The supplies he’d spent half of the night gathering were gone. He drew a cloud of pine-scented air deep into his lungs, his face blushing, and sighed.

  "What are we going to do?"

  "They're long gone by now."

  "Did they happen to say where they were going?"

  "No." She said. "They tossed your shit in the back of a dark blue pickup and drove away.

  She shrugged her shoulders. The treetops bowed in the soft breeze.

  “They threw your gun in the lake.” Stacey said. “The big guy wanted to blow your head off but they talked him out of it."

  "He'll wish he did."

  His voice teeming with excitement, Jason said, “Are you gonna track them down until you get your stuff back?”

  “Not really.”

  “Are we still going, then?”

  Colin glanced at him long enough for him to see the look of annoyance on his face. Jason and Stacey stared uncomfortably down at their feet, hiding the shame blushing across their cheeks. He rose up from the gunwale, grasped the railing with both hands and climbed aboard.

  He scurried over to the steering podium, his heavy footsteps booming across the boat and blotted his damp palms across his thighs. The boat shimmied under his weight, spreading more ripples across the river’s muddy-brown surface; tree shadows eclipsed the yellow grassy shore.

  He swept his left hand across his face, pinched the key between thumb and forefinger and turned. A tiny click. He tried the ignition again, another tiny click. He tapped his right forefinger repeatedly against the gas gauge, nodded and turned the key again.

  Still nothing.

  "I tried to tell you." Jason said. "They did something to your boat."

  "What did they do?”

  The look of concern on Colin’s face brought Jason’s excited demeanor to a standstill.

  Jason said, "Are you going to yell at me?”

  Colin stacked his arms across his chest and gave a depressed sigh. Stacey caught the puzzled look on his face and felt a cold lump sliding from his throat, down to the deep pit of his stomach. They were damned if they did and damned if they didn’t.

  “They opened a door and pulled something out."

  Jason pointed his finger toward the other side of the boat.

  "Did you see what it was?"

  "They threw it in the lake."

  "I'll take that as a 'no'." He said.

  "Don’t go off on him like that."

  He brushed her off with a dismissive wave of his hand and sighed. It was days like this when he hoped he was still asleep or in another part of this evil desolate wasteland that used to be The United States. But then, he remembered when the country was just as bad before today.