"Yeah. Lucky." I don't know if I would trade these, but I take everything, the majority looted from neighboring houses.

Reece waits outside and gives us curious looks as I open the bunker door. It has been cleaned of the debris I made to escape. The calico brick and blocks are no longer the soothing presence they once were. The ceiling, the floor of the house, is darkened brown, obviously it came close to catching fire and collapsing. How did they put it out? When I left, I thought the fire was big enough to destroy the place. I sigh.

"You built this?" Mac asks, looking around in amazement.

"Yes, but my dad did the stairs." I smirk at his look, but quickly go to the bookshelf and start pulling out volumes. I point to a box, "Will you hand me that?" He dumps out the crap out of it, and hands it to me. I start throwing books in it. Mac flips through my album of barn photographs and drawings before sticking it in the box. I squat to reach the lower shelf.

Mac bends over and picks up a picture that fell from a book. I wince, knowing what it is, exactly. It was one of those booth photos, where you take pictures consecutively, and the machine prints them out. Malachi and I were waiting to see the newest horror movie, happy and care free. Two of the pictures are of us kissing.

"Is this the guy at the base?" Mac asks, looking down at me.

"What?" My voice cracks.

"This is Malachi?" he asks curiously. What? How did he know about Malachi? I've never uttered his name to anyone. I'm completely bewildered now.

I don't ask him how he knows. My jaw clenches. "Malachi has been dead for four years," I say solemnly, looking him in the eyes. "I know this because I shot him. With a gun. In the head." His eyes widen as my tone turns to cold steel with each word.

I'm interrupted from asking him questions when Reece says, "They're coming."

Grabbing the picture, I throw it and several more books in the box with shaking hands.

Cocking guns and grappling from outside makes me hurry. "Well, well, I'll bet the princess is in there." Harley laughs, "I knew she'd come back for those books. Come on out Kan, or I'll shoot your friend."

"He doesn't know I have guns, or you." I whisper to Mac.

"Don't worry, I'm a good shot. You focus on the ladies." He winks, trying to lighten my mood.

I stare at him callously. "Try not to kill him."

When I clear the top of the stairs, Mac's right behind me. His hand holding a gun comes into my peripheral vision, and he shoots Harley right between the eyes. Brain matter splatters Nadine. Reece rolls out of the way, grabbing his gun. I'm going to be sick.

Nadine screams, "You asshole!" It sounds like more of a sob, but she keeps it under control. Not wiping Harley's brains and blood off her face, she gives Mac a deadly stare, looking like Carrie at the prom about start throwing things with her mind. She's so focused on Mac that she doesn't see my gun train on Bridget. I don't like how she's looking at him. I keep my calm, even though Mac just killed a man. Again. I'll get to him later.

"Nadine, back away. Mac, will you get the box?" Mac goes under to retrieve it. Reece disarms them, throwing the shotgun a few feet away.

"He didn't have to kill him. He wasn't going to hurt your friend." Nadine's voice shakes with barely suppressed rage, looking down to Harley and his lack of a forehead. Now, she knows how I felt.

"Well, now you have dinner." She looks up at me and glares.

"That's two I owe you, bitch!" Bridget speaks up with her limited vocabulary. "Kale is still gone, and I know he went with you."

"Sorry, I don't know a Kale." Mac states as he leaves the bunker with the box. She just scoffs at him.

"Looks like you found another one." She snarls, as she looks Mac up and down.

"You know I can shoot you, right?" I ask sarcastically. This conversation's just weird. "Now, both of you in the bunker." I steer them under and close the bunker door. Reece and Mac help me load leftover cinderblocks onto it. They'll get out eventually, but we'll be long gone.

"That was interesting." Mac states as we bound down the highway, seeming subdued. He talked me into driving the van, to give me something to focus on, I guess. How would I feel if I found a picture of him kissing another girl? Not to mention, snapping at him about Malachi. I didn't mean to, it was just a shock.

"You killed him, after I told you to try not to," I emphasize.

He rolls his eyes at me from the passenger seat, "He was killing and eating people. He almost did that to you. He might as well be a zombie."

Harley didn't eat me though, and he was going to let me go. I don't say anything, because Mac could have killed Nadine and Bridget too, but he didn't. Mac moves a dread lock out of my face, but I don't turn to him. He gets out the album of barns to look at it.

"You have a knack for capturing Tennessee," he says.

"How do you know I drew them?" I ask accusingly. How does he know anything? I'd ask him, but I don't want to get into it. A little part of me is scared of the answer.

"Hmm...maybe because your name is in the bottom right hand corners?" He grins trying to cheer me up.

"I love barns. I painted them," I confess.

"You're really something." I don't think so. The picture of Malachi floats through my head.

We drive in silence the rest of the way.

Chapter 27.

When we get back, it's around noon. I'm exhausted and want to take a nap before Glinda gets a hold on me. I don't get to because Glinda's waiting on us, pouncing when she spots her prey. Me.

I quickly find out she wants to comb out my dreads, and color the bottom half of my hair blue. The coloring doesn't scare me, it's the combing out my locks that terrifies me.

"You can't comb them out! I'll be bald!" I argue, sitting on her bed piled with an assortment of clothing.

"Don be stupid, Suga! Yew didn't tease 'em! And anyway, yew been washin' 'em with shampoo. Yew ain't suppose to wash dreads with shampoo that leaves residue that grow mold and otha funky shit. Yers hadn't. Dey not real dreads."

Slightly offended, I don't bother to tell her I don't wash them all the time. I reluctantly agree when she says I can sleep while she does it.

After a shower to get rid of zombie crud, I lather my locks with a thick, oily conditioner. She told me not to rinse it, so I don't.

I lay on her bed before she sets about her tedious task. After a few minutes, I realize they are long enough to where I don't feel the pull, just a lulling sound of combing.

"Least yew didn't tease these. Yew'd have to shave yer head to git 'em out," she says.

I shrug. "I just stopped brushing it and it matted and wove together into locks. I never had to tease them. They were au natural." Her lips purse like this is the dumbest thing a girl can do.

It takes hours of combing and when she wakes me, it's early evening. She finishes toward my scalp. We wash it, condition it, and comb it again with products I didn't know existed before the outbreak, let alone now. All the loose hair that comes out of them can make several wigs. My hair seems six inches longer, too.

She trims my hair even at the middle of my back before she parts my hair horizontal, bleaches and colors the hair on the bottom half of my scalp. She keeps it down, but puts soft waves in it. Running my hair between my fingers feels foreign. I automatically grieve and wonder if she'll tease them back in, but she scoffs at my request, shoving me toward a mirror.

My eyes widen, not recognizing myself, but I do. A wave of melancholy over takes me as my pretty face frowns back at me. I don't look like me, but who I was in the old life. Turning my head, peeks of blue poke out, bringing out natural highlights. My light hazel eyes pop, looking bigger.

Glinda enhances my eyes even more when she uses eyeliner and mascara. Painting my face with soft brushes, the make-up feels caked-on. When I peer into the mirror, everything dusted on highlights my natural beauty.

Several clothing changes later, Glinda is finally satisfied with a frayed denim mini skirt and a brown and turquoise print top with splashes of purple. The top hugs my curves, and is almost as long as the skirt, giving the appearance of a tight dress with denim fringes. Although, different from my normal T-shirt and jeans, and feeling my bare legs in open air, I like it. Glinda says my boots will look great with it, and I'm excited she lets me wear them.

"I don't look like a hooker," I say, still gazing at myself in the mirror, having strange memories of vanity and fashion. I don't tell Glinda this she'd only scorn me for giving it up.

"I have taste, yew know?" She rolls her eyes, "I've been wantin' to do this since I saw yew. I was a hairdresser before, yew know? I know fashion."

"That's how you know so much about dread locks. You're really good at it." I smile at her through the mirror, and her eyes glint.

"Thank yew. Can I ask yew sumthin?" I nod to her. "Wut yew think about Reece? Yew two seem close." She shrugs nonchalantly.

Reece? "Um...he's a good guy. We've become good friends, and partners in crime." She smiles. Good for her.

"I think I might dance wit that man!" We laugh.

Now that she said something, she doesn't look like she normally does either. Well, she hasn't really in the last few days. I noticed, but I didn't think she had a romantic interest in anyone, let alone Reece. It makes sense they have both been hanging out with me, talking and getting to know each other.

Blonde curls drape her covered cleavage, leaving something to the imagination. The dark blue blouse fit her perfect, enhancing her blonde hair and blue eyes. Her slim black skirt stops five inches above the knees with black suede boots that end just below the kneecap. She usually wears skirts no more than five inches below her ass cheeks. Her make-up is soft and natural looking.

"You look amazing, Glinda. Reece will be proud to dance with you."

She lets out a relieved breath, "Good Suga, I'm hopin' so." I nod, feeling funny to be talking this way after so long.

Opening my mouth for more girl talk, she grabs my arm. "Suga! Let's go party till tha sun comes up!"

We make it to the Clap Trap. It's hopping with walking monsters and an assortment of other costumes roaming around like Halloween. I glance at Glinda, confused, and she laughs her tinkering laugh. "For tha costume contest, Suga!"

"Kansas." I turn toward my name, and Rudy stands, staring at me.

Feeling silly as his eyes roam my body, I ask, "Hey, what's up, Rudy?"

Rubbing his freshly shaved chin, all signs of fighting are missing from his face. "Nothing much," he pauses. "I almost didn't recognize you. Good thing I'd know you anywhere."

I smile, "I'm having mixed feelings about it."

"If it makes you feel better, you don't look like a prostitute." The white bandana holds back his hair and his eyes sparkle. Reaching out to me, he twirls a streak of my blue hair around his finger. I think he just wants to touch to see if it is real. I watch the ends span out, and his gaze travels the length of it. "You look great. Enjoy it. You don't ever get to do this, and with us leaving soon..." He drops the strand of hair. On impulse, I grab his hand and put his fingers into my hair. His neck colors, pleasing me, and he runs his fingers through it before dropping his hand back down to his side.

"Thanks, Rudy," I stand on tiptoe, and he leans down for me to kiss him on the cheek.

His face gets serious, but then he smiles, making my day. "Save me a dance, later?"

I nod as he turns toward the bar. For some reason, Malachi's face flashes through my mind, and a wave of fresh grief sits heavy. I haven't felt this sad in a while. Maybe Rudy triggered it. Maybe being at my old home did. It makes me think of what Mac said about Malachi. Right then, I know I'll get drunk.

When I make my way to the bar, Glinda's laughing with Sam. Goofy Sam with a bobbing fohawk in individual spikes with a spiked dog collar, animatedly talks to her. She's huddled next to Reece, who talks to Rudy. Reece seems happy to have Glinda there with him. I laugh at Reece's T-shirt a tuxedo print, but the funny part is he wears his leather vest. I imagine he would wear it over a real tux given the chance.

Everyone gushes over the job Glinda did with my hair. She eats up the drama of combing out my locks, exaggerating, well not really. It was hard work, and she deserves the credit.

I order a drink and realize it's an open bar night. Guido goes all out. Speaking of Guido, he's here in all of his Guido pimpin' glory, complete with a sparkly top hat, fur cape, and cane. I shake my head as the DJ spins his own remix of Monster Mash, and everyone goes crazy on the dance floor. Lucy, the new famished, writhes in a cage. Someone dressed her in a shimmering evening gown with her boobs propped up with a push-up bra. I don't envy the person who dressed her. Dark hair flows down her back. People feed her live meat, probably mice. It's disgusting as she tears into it, blood dripping down her chest and gown. My eyes narrow at the sight, and I slam my shot of tequila.

"Is that you, Sunshine?" I turn and smile at Mac. He shaved, and wears a pristine white T-shirt that emphasizes his upper body nicely, and I'm surprised to see jeans instead of green or camouflage canvas pants. Curls, still damp from the shower, but drying softly, hang loose on his forehead.

I meet the wicked gleam in his eyes. "Like what you see?" he asks.

"Do you?" I retort.

"Love it. Always." Kissing me, his arm wraps around my waist, and leads me to the dance floor.

Dancing with Mac is always a dangerous thing, and a thrill I enjoy immensely. Music beats from the speakers, vibrating the floor below our feet. Moving against my hips and pulling me closer, he smells like fresh soap. The room swirls color and people as he spins me around, putting my back to his chest. He holds me in place with a hand on my lower abdomen. My insides clench, the small touch sends goose bumps up my spine and down my arms. Burying his face in my hair, his breath on my neck becomes almost unbearable. His lips pull into a smile on my skin, and I look back at him. The look in his eye tells me he knows what he's doing.

Two can play that game. My arms slide behind our heads, and my fingers in his curls hold him in place. I sway my hips to the pumping beat with my body so close, we become one. Our breathing comes faster, and my hands follow his arms to his hands. I guide them down letting him feel my thighs, and bring them up tracing my waist and the curves of my breasts.

His breath hitches. "If you don't stop, we won't make it back to the room." The huskiness of his voice makes me want to just get it on, right here on the dance floor.

Spinning me back around, his mouth caresses mine before I can look at his face. Enticing me with his tongue and lips, his fingers play in my hair as his other hand slides inside my top to the skin on my lower back. I'm ready to take him up on his offer when we get jostled by another couple. Not unusual, but our heads crack together breaking the spell. Once the static clears from my eyes, I look over in time to see Mac's arm flash out, knocking the drunk guy to the floor.

"Watch where the fuck you're going!" he snaps at the couple. I know Mac hasn't had anything to drink because it wouldn't bother him otherwise. Mac can be a dick, but I want to push the guy down myself. We watch as the woman tries to pick up the drunk man, keeping a grip on his arm as he fails to get up from laughing and having a good time, unfazed by the punch.

Mac flashes me an apologetic smile, grabbing my hand. "Come on, I need a drink."

After several shots of different liquor, I get advances for dancing. Who wouldn't want to dance with me, after seeing me use Mac as a stripper pole? I begin to flow into that tunnel of drunkenness, where everything narrows to what only I'm doing, and the few people around me. I don't blink an eye when Guido asks me to dance. I ignore a comment he makes about me reminding him of whipped cream, and manage to keep it PG.

Glinda and I teach Rudy and Reece the Thriller dance as the DJ spins his very own remix that I love. Rudy's more suited to this type of choreographed dancing. After, Ty shows me how to shake my booty, so I don't dance like a white girl. He dances with a certain girl most of the night, one around our own age with mocha colored skin. Rudy informs me her name is Felicia, and she is indeed Ty's girlfriend.

After several more drinks, laughs, and dances, Rudy links his finger through mine to pull me deep on the dance floor. All the bodies press together in a mass wave of gyration, giving him the perfect excuse to hold me close. We move together as the music sets the pace. His hand across my back slides down splaying his fingers on the first outward curve of my butt. The moves sets my blood on fire, but I don't think he does it on purpose.

"Darlin'?"

"Hmm?"

A small laugh slips from him, "Your gun's in the way."

"So is yours." Ignoring my complaint, he removes my gun from the small of my back, and tucks it behind him. Bringing his hand back around, his fingers slide up my top to replace the gun, clinging to my naked skin, pressing me against him.

Sticking his face into my hair, he whispers in my ear, "That's not my gun."

I tense at his meaning I'm not sure if he's just teasing a blush out of me. A part of me doesn't want to know. Twining my arms around his neck, we dance. I don't notice any of his usual awkwardness at all. Being drunk and not thinking clearly, it seems he gives me his full attention while his other hand runs through my hair, tipping my head back, and then maneuvers around my waist and hips. A caress smoothes against the back of my thigh, and my skin breaks into goose bumps. I'm so stunned and turned on, I can smell his worn leather smell, and it's all I can do not to bury my face into him. I dance for all I'm worth, focusing on the music because maybe he's not teasing me after all. When the song is over, he dips me low. His arm tightens around my waist as he stares down at me. A finger grazes across my bottom lip so light I might be imagining it, and I suck in a short gasp. A smile breaks out across his face, beaming dimples before he kisses my forehead. Lifting me up, I'm unsteady on my feet, and he keeps a tight grip on my waist.

I glance up at him, "You're not as bad a dancer as I thought you were."

His eyes move to my lips. "It's all you, Darlin'." Lifting the back of my top slowly, the steel of the Bersa gets tucked into my skirt, already warm from his body.

I don't know how long we stand there, but he reluctantly lets me go, accepting another dance from someone else. I watch him for a minute, noticing his awkward dancing. My brain fuzzy from alcohol, I'm imagining things.