duffle and heads out the door. I lock the deadbolt and floor bar. KK says, This is the
safe
place you were talking about?
Far as I know, yeah.
With Casper tweaked out of his gourd? That’s your idea of safe?
Jared tells her to stop, to keep her voice down.
And I’m supposed to feel good about sleeping in the same filthy room with
him
? asks KK. May not eat me, but sure as shit won’t think twice before raping me. God, it’s
Deliverance
up here. Nice.
I don’t understand KK. I’m thinking this as I stare at her massive nose—I don’t understand one thing about you—becauseI not only saved your life, but that of your lover, and then I bring you away from the city, that is to say, away from large groupings of walking dead, to the fucking riverhead of the finest crystal in Minnesota, which we already determined was the one thing keeping us alive, and this is how you treat me? With disdain? With resentment? Like what the fuck?
You have a better idea? I ask.
Just stop, baby, Jared says.
I hate Jared because his arm’s around KK and she seems to be calming and because he has that power now. He’s me. He’s who I was, who I want to still be.
They sit on the couch. She makes a disgusted face examining the cushions. Typewriter stands by the single-burner stove. He’s drinking a longneck. I tell him to toss me one. It tastes amazing. I haven’t had shit to drink or eat for what seems like days. I offer the rest to KK. She takes the bottle and our fingers touch. I glance at Jared, who sees the whole thing.
So what’s the plan, yo? KK says.
I’m not sure who she’s talking to. It’s just more bitching.
She says, Stay up here in the woods and shoot Tina? Is that as far as we’ve gotten?
What the fuck is your problem? Typewriter says.
This takes us all by surprise. The lumbering giant has a voice.
Serious, man, like what do you want from him? He saved your life. Get it? Your fucking life. And yours. And mine. Fuck, Chase like a regular old Forrest Gump.
Jared laughs and KK’s giving daggers with her eyes andthen they soften and the smallest hint of a dimple grows on her cheek.
Fuck me, she says.
I’m about to agree but I catch myself.
Fucking Rambo over there, she says.
We laugh.
We pass two bottles of beer.
Jared says, Funny, if you think about it. I mean, how many times did you pray that this was what life was reduced to? A group of friends holed away, enough crystal to pass the time?
For real, Type says.
Am I right? Pretty much heaven, if you ask me.
With an entire species trying to kill you, KK says.
Well yeah, it’s not
ideal
, per se. But there’s a bright side.
No prison, Type says.
No having to get money, Jared says.
No AA, KK says.
Fuck AA, Type responds.
We grin and laugh and light cigarettes and maybe Jared isn’t a complete dick.
He says, In a way, it’s our chance to create the kind of world we want. From scratch. However we want it, we can sculpt it. Utopia, you know?
With the walking dead.
Half full, baby, always. We’ve talked about this.
I know this is a mistake on his part. KK does her snort-head-jerk-eye-roll thing. She says, Not hearing that shit right now.
Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Just trying to say we can make this work. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying.
He’s right, I say. It can work. Has to.
Straight up, Typewriter says.
I say, We have enough weapons to survive anything. Albino cooks like a motherfucker. We have shelter. Can make the grounds all strong and shit tomorrow, fortify them with fences. Set traps. You know Albino has canned goods to last months.
Exactly, Jared says.
And it will work.
Has to.
Has to what?
Has to work, KK says. She peels the paper label from the beer bottle. Has to work, she says again.
WEDNESDAY
4:41 AM
I’m not sure if any of us are really asleep. I’m curled into a fetus in the corner of what passes for the kitchen. The Albino is still out in his shack. Type tosses on the couch. I hear the deadbolt unhinge.
safe
place you were talking about?
Far as I know, yeah.
With Casper tweaked out of his gourd? That’s your idea of safe?
Jared tells her to stop, to keep her voice down.
And I’m supposed to feel good about sleeping in the same filthy room with
him
? asks KK. May not eat me, but sure as shit won’t think twice before raping me. God, it’s
Deliverance
up here. Nice.
I don’t understand KK. I’m thinking this as I stare at her massive nose—I don’t understand one thing about you—becauseI not only saved your life, but that of your lover, and then I bring you away from the city, that is to say, away from large groupings of walking dead, to the fucking riverhead of the finest crystal in Minnesota, which we already determined was the one thing keeping us alive, and this is how you treat me? With disdain? With resentment? Like what the fuck?
You have a better idea? I ask.
Just stop, baby, Jared says.
I hate Jared because his arm’s around KK and she seems to be calming and because he has that power now. He’s me. He’s who I was, who I want to still be.
They sit on the couch. She makes a disgusted face examining the cushions. Typewriter stands by the single-burner stove. He’s drinking a longneck. I tell him to toss me one. It tastes amazing. I haven’t had shit to drink or eat for what seems like days. I offer the rest to KK. She takes the bottle and our fingers touch. I glance at Jared, who sees the whole thing.
So what’s the plan, yo? KK says.
I’m not sure who she’s talking to. It’s just more bitching.
She says, Stay up here in the woods and shoot Tina? Is that as far as we’ve gotten?
What the fuck is your problem? Typewriter says.
This takes us all by surprise. The lumbering giant has a voice.
Serious, man, like what do you want from him? He saved your life. Get it? Your fucking life. And yours. And mine. Fuck, Chase like a regular old Forrest Gump.
Jared laughs and KK’s giving daggers with her eyes andthen they soften and the smallest hint of a dimple grows on her cheek.
Fuck me, she says.
I’m about to agree but I catch myself.
Fucking Rambo over there, she says.
We laugh.
We pass two bottles of beer.
Jared says, Funny, if you think about it. I mean, how many times did you pray that this was what life was reduced to? A group of friends holed away, enough crystal to pass the time?
For real, Type says.
Am I right? Pretty much heaven, if you ask me.
With an entire species trying to kill you, KK says.
Well yeah, it’s not
ideal
, per se. But there’s a bright side.
No prison, Type says.
No having to get money, Jared says.
No AA, KK says.
Fuck AA, Type responds.
We grin and laugh and light cigarettes and maybe Jared isn’t a complete dick.
He says, In a way, it’s our chance to create the kind of world we want. From scratch. However we want it, we can sculpt it. Utopia, you know?
With the walking dead.
Half full, baby, always. We’ve talked about this.
I know this is a mistake on his part. KK does her snort-head-jerk-eye-roll thing. She says, Not hearing that shit right now.
Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. Just trying to say we can make this work. That’s it. That’s all I’m saying.
He’s right, I say. It can work. Has to.
Straight up, Typewriter says.
I say, We have enough weapons to survive anything. Albino cooks like a motherfucker. We have shelter. Can make the grounds all strong and shit tomorrow, fortify them with fences. Set traps. You know Albino has canned goods to last months.
Exactly, Jared says.
And it will work.
Has to.
Has to what?
Has to work, KK says. She peels the paper label from the beer bottle. Has to work, she says again.
WEDNESDAY
4:41 AM
I’m not sure if any of us are really asleep. I’m curled into a fetus in the corner of what passes for the kitchen. The Albino is still out in his shack. Type tosses on the couch. I hear the deadbolt unhinge.
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