"Can you eat, smoke, and kill zombies at the same time?" I challenge.

"Like a real man." We both say at the same time and laugh. "You'll see," he promises.

Goosebumps cover Reece's skin, wearing only a vest and jeans with holes in the knees. I worry about famished not showing up, but Reece says it won't be a problem. They always show up. In the summertime it's easier to deal with and catch them. Since the base has been infiltrated, there are less famished than normal around the area. He guesses they horde close to the base. Who knows how many of the living are there now?

Getting the hang of the mag clips, I can hold both Bersas and release the clips at the same time. It's not a real big trick, but I think it's cool. Figuring out where to put the other mag clips so they can easily slip in and click, is the hard part.

By the time famished show up, I can put the butt of the guns in my back pockets and release the mag clips, letting my pockets catch and hold them while bringing the guns to my front pockets, slipping fresh clips in and clicking them on my thighs.

Reece looks impressed, and informs me I can get a shoulder holster that will hold my spare magazines, too. The famished, on the other hand, wail about, and we're a couple of buildings away from the community, so we get first dibs. Reece nods at me. Taking a stance, I cock the slide back with ease and point toward the rapidly moving targets. A wave of grief passes over me before my first shot brings a rush of adrenaline, quickly dissipating the grief. Unfortunately, the bullet strikes the ground in a spray of concrete.

"Hold it steady, and pretend the gun is the end of your finger, make like you're pointing at the famished and shoot," Reece coaches, his goatee swaying in the wind.

I breathe deep and do as he says, shooting a famished in the chest, slowing it down. Pulling the trigger a few more times, it finally flops to the ground. I turn to beam at Reece, only to catch a surprised look on his face.

I raise my brows with a smirk before turning back to target practice. "Yee haw! Suckers!" Finally Reece joins me and we both enjoy a good time shooting the undead. Several times I miss, but keep on I'll get better with practice.

"Get out the Smith & Wesson," Reece tells me, looking down as several famished try to climb the wall to get to us, but a few go in the direction of the courtyard. Shots sound out in the distance. Guido's men at work.

Taking the revolver, I open the barrel, knowing it's loaded, just to make sure. I spin the barrel back in place. When I fire this one, it jumps in my hands. "Whoa! You were right about the kick." Missing the zombie, I take aim again. After several shots, and a couple reloads, I get a handle on the kick, finally shooting a zombie on the right side of its head, but at least it thumps to the ground. "Took me long enough."

Several rounds of ammunition later, the group of famished are dead forever. A smack echoes our celebratory high five. Rolling my shoulders in relieved tension, I let out, "Whew! Wow."

Reece laughs, seeming to know the feeling. "Gun therapy," he says. I nod in agreement, and look at myself. The usual gore accompanying a triumph is absent. An excellent advantage. "Our work here's done. Unless you want to wait for more?" he asks politely. I want to, just to get in practice, but there's plenty of time for that I have to be up early to work in the greenhouse before taking a group of car stealing enthusiasts to a car lot. Got to make some money to start stocking up.

I mock pout, "But I didn't get to see you eat, smoke, and kill."

"Next time, Grasshopper."

After a couple shots of tequila per Reece, I go to the room and find the lingering scent of pot. Lying in bed with an arm over his eyes, Rudy doesn't move as I close the door.

"Are you okay, Rudy?"

"My ribs are bruised. Again. My muscles are sore from helping Stanley, but I'll be fine," he says, peeking from under his arm. "How was practice?"

I squat beside the bed and smile, "I guess I'm an okay shot. Which side?" After he gestures toward his left side, I gently run my fingers down his ribs, feeling for cracks or broken bones.

"Yeah, I figured you would be. I heard you 'yee hawing' all the way in the courtyard." He laughs but stops, wincing in discomfort. He's right, they are just bruised, but it makes me feel better to feel for myself. "Kan, I've been thinking."

"I hope it wasn't too difficult," I joke, uneasiness setting in my stomach.

He runs a hand through his hair, but stops at his crown, grabbing fists full before letting go. "We might be here a little while longer. I was just thinking you might want your own room to give you more privacy. We can arrange it. I've already talked "

Abruptly, I stand, cutting him off. "I've already come up with something." Not really, but he doesn't have to know, or do anything stupid for more than one room, which is what he'll end up doing. Rudy obviously needs some space, or he wouldn't suggest it. After watching that man, Mike, get bit while trying to capture a zombie, some part of me would die, if that happens to Rudy.

Looking surprised he says, "Really? What, exactly, might that be?"

Turning, I gather a few of my scattered possessions. "Um, Mac offered to let me stay in his room." I hadn't planned to tell him that anymore than I plan to get bit by a zombie. There are many ways he can interpret that one stupid sentence.

"That's not what I meant," he says quickly, sounding angry. "You won't get any more privacy than " His words cut off just as quick. Silence and tension thicken the air in the room. The only other time I've heard this tone directed at me, my face was buried in dirt. Picking up my pack, I peek at him.

Staring at the floor, his gaze moves to me. My mouth opens to apologize and tell the truth, but relief shows clear on his face, completely contradicting his heated words. Blinking rapidly at the turn of events, I grab my crossbow and holster and smile like everything is okay. "See you tomorrow?"

His arm reaches out to the neck of his guitar, and he brings it to his lap. "Wouldn't miss it," he says, plucking a tune, enticing me to stay. A smile blooms on his face as if he can read my last thought. "See you tomorrow."

I return the smile before walking out the door. Standing there a few moments, I listen to the tune he's been perfecting over the past week. It stops, and I make out hurried muffled movement through the door and quickly take my leave. It's going to be a long, lonely, cold night in the vault of the truck.

The next day, as it turns out, Linnie doesn't want me harvesting anything. I pack preserve jars full of fruit and vegetables before they can spoil the smart thing to do, so nothing goes to waste. Good thing I have experience from preserving my own produce. Even though the work is tedious, I leave with a basket full of fresh food.

Now, I find myself riding with a group of people, most of them from our team, and Glinda, eating my very own self-earned peach and feeling good about it. Mac even wants to come along for the ride, not that I blame him. The vault seems crowded with Rudy driving and Bunyan keeping him company. I'm not charging Rudy, Mac, and Reece any fees for today's lesson, figuring I more than owe it to them. Rudy especially, because now I'm camping out in his truck. Of course, Glinda and I made a trade. I sigh. This isn't unlike my old life after all.

"Why can't we just go get the keys out of the office?" A guy named Doug asks his lanky hair falling into his face as the truck jolts us as Rudy hits a pot hole. It happens from time to time.

"You can since they are probably available, but this is to show you how. You know, in case you ever need a car on the go?"

He nods like this makes sense to him. I don't bother to tell him it's a dumb question. Mac doesn't have tact sometimes, and has no such qualms. "Stupid question," he states in his smart-ass tone, laced with irritation. I look at him. This might be a long day.

The car lot is full of used cars. Brush grows in strength between each car. Everyone stands in its tall length, paying rapt attention to me sitting in a car. "Newer cars are harder because of the hidden components. Try to look for older cars and gas-guzzlers. They are the easiest. There is also a risk of electrocuting yourself. I'll show you what to look out for in a minute. Also, beware of kill switches. I don't know which cars have these, but if it's engaged the car won't be able to get started even with the key. I believe it makes a buzzing noise. Buzz noise equals kill switch, equals find another car. This car was made before the mid-nineties so we might be able start it with a screwdriver. Always try it anyway. You never know which ones will start, if you can avoid messing with the wires, do it."

Pulling one out of my pack, I jam it into the ignition and twist. The car sputters but starts. Everyone nods their heads accordingly, paying extra attention for services rendered. "If it doesn't turn over, then you can do what I'm about to show you."

We move to a newer vehicle, and after trying the screwdriver technique to show it won't start, I pull a big chunk of plastic from the steering column and locate the wires to hold up for them to see.

"Okay, you see these two red wires? We have to strip them." After explaining how to tell a starter wire from a battery wire, I strip the battery wires with my teeth, and twist them together. "Sometimes there is one starter wire, sometimes there are two. This car, as you can see, has two." Everyone leans over me, trying to see. I wait patiently for them to get a look. "These are live wires, so you don't want to touch them with your fingers. At all." I carefully strip them with my teeth, avoiding an encounter with the live wire. "Now all you have to do is touch the wires together." I touch a couple of times until it sputter starts. "If you only had one wire, you would touch it to the battery wires."

Still holding the wires, I say, "The bad thing is you have to drive avoiding the brown wires. It would be good to have tape, so you can tape them up to avoid it. To turn off the car, just pull the red wires apart." I demonstrate. "Now find a car and try it yourself.

"There is also a way to start it under the hood, if anyone would like me to show you." A few consider, but walk away to find a car of their own.

Mac hobbles to the nearest one. I have to give him credit, he's trying but I'm afraid that he will start bleeding. "Hey Mac," I whisper, coming up close. "Let me see down your pants."

A gleam appears in his eye. "Right now? We can get in the back of the car," he whispers back, looking into the back seat. I elbow him lightly.

"Not that. I want to make sure you're not bleeding."

"Thanks for getting my hopes up, Sunshine." With his back to me, he unbuckles his pants. Looking at his bandage, I'm relieved there's no blood spot. "I told you, I make no poopie, mommy!" he says in mock, toddler voice.

"You're good," I say, laughing. A car starts. At least someone gets it.

"Hey Suga!" I look over to see that Glinda has a car started. A surge of pride forms for my newest gal pal. Her arms are waving at me, blonde curls bouncing around her shoulders. But when I approach her, she looks distressed. Confusion heavy on her features, she slaps the steering wheel. "This wheel is stuck." Her lip plops out in a glossy, pink pout.

"Oh yeah, we can fix that. Over here, everyone," I shout across the lot. Once they all stand in place, Mac waddles up, and I immediately feel bad. I could show him at a different time. "Glinda ran into a problem easily fixed. It's another security thing you might come across." I show them how to break the locking pin in the steering column. After my demonstration, the wheel moves freely, Glinda whoops.

Thomas crosses his arms with a scowl. If I didn't know any better, I'd say his face's permanently stuck that way. "Any other security problems?" he asks, with sarcastic emphasis.

"No. All cars are different, and can be tricky to hotwire. Newer cars have different colored wires, but most of the time you can look in the manual in the glove compartment to see which wires are where and what color. Newer cars also put them in different places, which is why knowing how to start it under the hood would come in handy. Sometimes it takes special tools, like drills to do it. That's why I said to stick with old cars and gas-guzzlers. I'm not showing you how to do this so you can take a joyride in a Lamborghini." I glare at him, "I apologize for not clarifying."

A snort causes me to glance around, coming to Rudy as he squeezes lips together. I purse my own, for some reason, my anger amuses him. His hair falls loose today; a rare event, and the black eye isn't as swollen. "Will you show us how to start it from under the hood?" he asks, eyebrows rising in mock innocence.

After much discussion of coil wires and solenoids, I start the car in a thick cloud of smoke. Fumes permeate the air with burnt oil as I finish up my instructional directions.

I glance at everyone, and clap my hands. "Let's see what you got. Glinda, you can try under the hood if you want." Everyone disperses.

Rudy winks as he goes back to his car. I walk around for a while, helping where needed. Joking with Ty, who starts a car a few over from me, laughing at how his gold teeth could be an extra conduit for electricity, I briefly glance at Glinda, stretched under a hood, before tripping over something on the ground. Landing with a yelp in the thick brush, it's so tall, it's over my head. The strands of grass swipe my face as I push it to the ground. A small, dry groan cuts through the small space between cars, and a chill sweeps up my spine. I freeze, looking back to the putrid on the ground with no lower body, only one arm, and a stringy hair or two. Its yellow, rotten mouth bites down on my ankle.

"Shit!" I automatically grab for its head, but my hand goes through like thick, soggy mud the skull crumples in like hard potato chips. The smell turns my stomach, and my throat burns from stomach acid. From the impact of my hand, the thing stops moving. Kicking and crawling, violent tremors wrack my body by the time I make it around the car. Rudy's boots come into my line of vision as I puke out everything in my stomach, plus some. A gooey substance covers my hand, and an inspection of it brings me back over, spewing again.

A strong hand grabs my chin, making me look at him. Rudy's calm, but alert when he asks, "What happened?"

My harsh breathing causes my voice to be unsteady. "Putrid...between the cars...bit me." His own breathing stops before coming out making his chest rise and fall quickly as his eyes rapidly scan my body, finally landing on my ankle. Glancing down at my pants leg, it has putrid goo all over it. My shaking hands try to lift my jeans to peer at it, but my vision swims.

I gasp for breath as my heart booms in my chest my new reality dawns on me. I'm going to die. Maybe I should ask someone to go ahead and shoot me, to make it quick. No way I want to be a zombie, trapped in my decomposing body with an uncontrollable urge to eat people. Maybe I should save them all the grief and shoot myself. I can finally be with Malachi again. This thought makes me start dry-heaving. A cacophony of voices drift to me as I pick out someone saying, "Panic attack." With my heartbeat pulsing in my ears, I try to take a deep breath.

Lying flat, I will myself to focus on a blade of grass. It's green, one of the colors in Rudy's eyes. Being long and going straight up to a point, it's a blade of grass that you can make whistling sounds with if you put it between your hands.

"Kan! Are you okay?" It sounds far away, turning to see who it is, I realize people watch me in horror. My boots are jerked off, and then my pants go with them. My pants? Looking down, Rudy studies my bare legs. My stomach churns as I put my back in the grass, willing myself to calm down.

Clammy hands touch my face as Mac comes into view. His lips move, "Kan! Can you hear me?" He looks worried, and I take a deep breath. I can breathe through the passing anxiety.

"Yeah, I panicked," I manage, but my voice stills sounds distant.

"Kan, there's no bite, Darlin'," Rudy says, rubbing my ankles. I sit up, looking my ankles over myself. Nothing.

"What the hell? It bit me, I know it did! I saw it," I exclaim as Mac hobbles between the cars, and bends over to lift the corpse head. The scalp slides off making the head plunk down, and Mac jumps away from it, throwing the rotten scalp away. A mirthless laugh escapes him before he peers closely at the putrid's face.

Mac shakes his head and walks back to us. Letting out a breath he says, "Kan, there aren't any teeth." He squats next to me, and takes my face in both hands. "You're okay, I promise. No coming back from the dead for you." His eyes show relief, and he kisses me on the mouth quickly. The public display surprises me, but I give him a small smile anyway.

After I feel well enough to stand, I put my boots back on. I leave my jeans. I don't want them anymore. Seeing the zombie bite my leg sets many things into perspective for me. Everyone seems relieved the episode is over, no one more so than me, though.

A hand falls on my shoulder. Reece smiles, "I'm glad I don't have to shoot you." I take his statement for the compliment it is, which says he likes me as a person enough not to let me turn. Glinda frets over me needlessly, and helps me back to the truck after warning everyone else to be careful.

I find one of Rudy's hoodies in the vault after sitting on the bench with no pants on for an hour. It's larger than mine and covers my tush. By this time, everyone gets ready to leave. We ride back in silence. Mac doesn't say much to me. It turns out the activity wasn't good for him, because his wounded bum is bleeding. Rudy gets us back to the community quickly.

Stomping through the courtyard in only the hoodie, panties, and boots, I get a few catcalls from the rooftops, as if I'm walking the walk of shame. I display both my naughty fingers the whole way. This only seems to make it worse, and I can't help laughing, more for joyous relief than in jest. I'm alive.

The first thing I do after helping Mac with his wound is take a long shower a shower that consists of crying, laughing, and several revelations. Laughing, as I get to live my life at least until the next day. Crying because anything can happen at any time. Crying some more because I've gotten careless. If I wasn't joking around, it wouldn't have happened. Laughing and reveling because I don't regret it, and I wouldn't change it even if that fucking zombie had bitten me.

Rudy waits in the corridor for me. Feeling better now that I'm clean and have on fairly clean clothes (I still haven't found time to wash any), he stands up from his crouching position on the wall to meet me.

"You had a panic attack?" he asks simply.

I nod, "First one in a while. I didn't even realize I was having one." I bite my lip, and start walking past him.

He grabs my wrist, "That really scared me. I've seen it plenty, everyone has, but thinking you were bit..."

"It's okay, Rudy. I'd feel the same about you," I meet his gaze.

"I know... You and Mac..." he prompts.

I just shrug, because I don't know. Pulling me in for a brief hug, he smells good, like worn leather, with a fresh citrusy scent, and motor oil.

After he steps away, he smiles, giving me a rare glimpse of those dimples. "Mac is a good guy, Kan."

"I know."

"No more getting bit by zombies. With or without teeth." I glance up at him, and his eyes laugh at me.

My small laugh echoes through the hallway. "I'll try. See you around."

I walk down the corridor hating how our easy friendship is no longer simple. That happens when you hold things back. Rudy's easy acceptance of it boils my blood, knowing I'll always have a soft spot for him. After everything he's done for me, at least I know he'll always have a soft spot for me, too.

I'm almost out of the building when I spot Glinda in a doorway fighting with Candy. Big surprise. "Wut yew lookin' at bitch?" Candy asks me. Wait a minute. I've never spoken two words to this woman.

"Yew just shut tha fuk up," Glinda snarls, shoving Candy in the door. Candy falls backward because of the shoes she wears, and Glinda slams the door shut. "Don't worry 'bout that, Suga. Fukkin slut!" she yells toward the door so Candy can hear. She puts her hands on my shoulders and looks into my face. "Just be happy, Suga. Today should make yew see. Even though Mac an asshole." Her lips purse.

I get that impression by the way he interacts with other people. "He's not to me."

She looks back to where Rudy and I have just been, and I guess she overheard our conversation. "But he's got jarhead, jerk-face-fuk written all over 'im." She looks down. "I know he ain't to yew, so like I said, be happy and live, Suga," she says in a softer tone and leaves me in the corridor.

I open the door to the courtyard, realizing I don't have anywhere to go. Fuck me sideways.

Chapter 25.

The next few weeks pass in a blur, teaching people to hotwire, helping Mac with his booth, playing Texas Hold'em for extra cash, side looting jobs with Reece, and long nights in the vault. Mac helped me with techniques to maim someone with my bare hands. I secretly hope I don't have to use them not confidant enough in my skills. We help Guido with the famished, which are plentiful in the growing cold.

Mac moves around better, and practices bow shooting with me whenever he gets the chance. He's learned about my love of running, so we do that too, having to make adjustments to accommodate his slower pace. Sometimes Rudy and Glinda join us. Glinda obsesses over taking care of her body and enjoys having workout partners. I also found out about the workout room in an office just under Guido's loft, where Sam spends most of his time, hence his huge upper body.

The teams start getting restless and want action, but Reece insists on waiting until we're able to make a successful bomb. I don't mind, since I use the time to practice. The situation could get dangerous if we told the team about the bombs without knowing how they will turn out. The team thinks we're waiting, per Guido's request, for the weather to get colder. If it's cold and we break up thousands of zombies at the base, then they would possibly migrate here in search of food exactly what Guido wants.