As far as months went, Sammie Rameau was pretty sure he’d had worse ones. The problem was, none sprang to mind.

He glanced out the window of the Executive Mansion again and watched as another naked man ran down the street. Closely trailing the naked guy was a police car with lights on and sirens blaring. While a scene like this was not an entirely uncommon occurrence in downtown Richmond, it was usually late at night during the summer when the crazies came out to play with the cops. Not in the middle of a cold and rainy April day.

Wiping his eyes tiredly, Sammie went back to work. While most of the mail that came into the governor’s mansion these days was prescreened and automatically sorted, there still needed to be someone on hand to deliver the mail throughout the building. Someone who could still do their job, and had been one of the few lucky vaccinated ones at the onset of the Pacific Flu, needed to be there. None of the other mail clerks had shown up to work in over a week. Which was why, despite the rioting going on in his neighborhood, the crazy naked men and women running the streets, his mother’s recent death from said flu, and the remains of the Richmond Police Department struggling to keep the city from exploding, he was at work today.

“Hey, kid,” a voice called out from behind. He turned and saw one of the few remaining security personnel standing in the doorway looking at him.

“Not a kid, Jerome,” Sammie said, their normal morning routine. Some things, at least, remained the same. “Sophomore at VCU. Means I’m an adult now, sir.”

“Until you can buy alcohol without that fake ID of yours, you’re still a kid to me,” the burly member of the governor’s Executive Protection Detail said with a grin. He motioned at the miniscule amount of mail in the room. “Mailroom’s kinda slow. Why don’t you head out?”

Sammie shook his head. “No thanks, sir. I need the money. After . . . you know. Home is . . . well, yeah. Thanks for the card, by the way.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your mom,” Jerome said. “She was a hell of a woman. To have raised you boys must have been one Herculean feat.”

“She did me good, whoopin’ my ass whenever I stepped out of line. My brother . . . not so much. I’m glad the flu got her, though. I’ve been hearing rumors about people . . . going crazy?”

“Well, truth be told, it’s why I’m down here talking to you,” Jerome said, his voice dropping low. “I know you can keep a secret, so . . . I need your help. Hell, we need everyone in the building’s help. We need to move the lieutenant governor to a safe location, but . . . I’m short on manpower. You’re vaccinated with both shots, right?”

“Yes sir?” He’d been the only one to show up that day for work during the initial vaccinations, and had been moved to the front of the queue because of it when the second doses arrived.

“I don’t know who thought it would be a good idea to have a lowly mail clerk fully vaccinated, but I’ll take it.”

“Sir?”

“You ever handle a gun before?” Jerome pressed. Sammie blinked. He had, but it was not something he wanted to admit to someone who was more or less a police officer. Sensing his hesitation, Jerome held up a hand. “I don’t care where or how, okay? But can you handle a firearm without shooting yourself or someone else unless told to?”

“You recommended I visit the range, sir. Back when I first got my internship. So I did. Took some lessons. Not a total waste of money, but . . . sir? What’s going on?”

“Richmond’s fallen,” the muscular man said in a quiet voice. “I need to get Lieutenant Governor Lenity-Jones out of town.”

“This is one of the safest buildings in the city, though,” Sammie protested. He pointed at the wrought iron fence just outside the bullet proof windows. “That’s why I’ve been coming in to work every day. It’s safer here than Oak Grove.”

“Shit, Fallujah’s safer than Oak Grove,” Jerome acknowledged. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the city is going to burn, and with everything up in the air right now, I need reliable people who’ve passed our security clearances to help me get the lieutenant governor out of the city asap. We have to head to Redoubt, but that’s not at the top of the agenda. Besides, she’s not going anywhere her husband and kids aren’t, which means Deer Creek first. I need a team.”

“But you have a team!” Sammie’s head was starting to spin. Redoubt, Deer Creek . . . they sounded like code words to him. Undeterred by Sammie’s hesitation, Jerome pressed on.

“Had a team. Most are sick or . . . noncommunicative. Can you help? Will you? What about your older brother? I know he’s in and out of jail, but . . . hell. We can bring him.”

“Back in jail. Last I heard it was on lockdown. No way to visit him, and they’re not letting anyone out. He hasn’t called since Mom died. No one else left for me here.”

“I don’t want to sound callous, but that suits what I need perfectly.”

“Sir . . . ”

“Sammie? I’m not going to sugarcoat this. If we’re still in this city when it gets dark, we’re going to die. You, me, the lieutenant governor . . . everyone. The clock is ticking, and we need to move now. So you with me? Or do you want to stay in here and eventually become zombie food?”

“Z-zombies?” Was Jerome messing with him?

“No shit, end of the world apocalypse stuff, kid. Those naked nutjobs out there? Fucking zombies.”

Jerome had never lied to him in the past, nor had he ever blown anything out of proportion. If the man said zombies, then he really meant it. Which also meant that Sammie needed to get out of Richmond, one way or the other. If the security detail was offering him a job in exchange for leaving certain death, he’d be a fool to ignore it. His mother would have agreed, and pushed him out the door before he could wrap his head around the absurdity of zombies.

“Okay. I guess I’m in, sir.”

Jerome’s broad face cracked a tiny smile. “Excellent. Swear to me you’ll obey orders and protect the lieutenant governor.”

“I . . . I will, sir. I’ll protect her with my life.”

“A bit much, but I’ll take it. Come with me.”

Jerome led Sammie into a room he hadn’t even known existed inside the executive mansion. Granted, his mail functions didn’t take him everywhere, but he’d been pretty convinced he knew all the rooms and offices inside.

A small group of men and women were gathered around a table. A map of Richmond had been laid down upon the table and spread out, and was covered with sticky notes. It only took Sammie a moment to figure out that they were seeking the best, safest way out of town. The problem? Richmond was in the midst of a renovation of sorts, with multiple construction projects going on in downtown and the surrounding areas. New skyscrapers were being built, and lots of construction detours had made a jumbled mess out of downtown.

The conversation, which had sounded heated when Sammie first walked into the room, died down when everyone seemed to realize newcomers had arrived. More than one hand dropped to their hip before recognition hit them. For the first time, Sammie began to wonder if this was such a hot idea after all.

“Jerome?” one of the men asked, looking at Sammie carefully. “Your kid?”

“Just a mail clerk,” Sammie corrected before Jerome could speak.

“Here?”

“Yes sir. Interned, then part time work.”

“What the hell are you doing, coming in to work on a day like this?” The man gave him a strange look. “You should be home, with your family. In times like these—”

“Sammie’s got no one left, Marcus. He’s vaccinated,” Jerome declared. “I’m bringing him on as part of my team. I vetted his security clearance already.”

The man called Marcus looked at them both silently for a long moment before he shrugged. “Your responsibility then.”

“Of course.”

“So, we’ve got three vehicles,” Marcus said, turning his focus back to the table. He pointed at a spot not too far away from the location marked with a single pink sticky note. “We’ll do a traditional stacked formation. Lead, package, and pursuit. Designate vehicle Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie. Jerome, you’re driving pursuit, Charlie. Allen, lead, Alpha. I’ll handle the package, Bravo. My suggestion? We thunder run down Broad, hook up with I-95, and then circle back north and join I-64. We hit that and we’re home free.”

“Until Charlottesville,” someone opposite of Marcus muttered. “And Staunton. And Lexington.”

“I’d love to hear a better plan if you’ve got one, Allen.”

“Broad and 95 are going to be a mess,” Jerome interjected, stepping forward and tracing a finger along the largest street next to the pink sticky note. It took Sammie a second to figure out the sticky note was the Executive Mansion’s location. “On a good day, traffic is a mess at that juncture. And today is not a good day.”

“We could take Broad north, then turn onto Belvidere and get on 64 there,” Jerome suggested, his eyes locked on the map. “Only problem there is we’d still have to hit the 64/95 interchange at Bryan Park.”

Every other person at the table shuddered at those words. Richmond had been built before interstate highways were even a remote possibility, and the city had suffered painful growth following the bicentennial. Civil engineers and city planners had become alcoholics trying to determine how to build interstate interchanges around and throughout the sprawling mess of Richmond. In the end, nobody had been satisfied with the resulting designs, but at least the capitol of Virginia had somewhat-functioning interstate routes.

Sammie, however, was staring hard at the map. He had an inkling of an idea, but he wasn’t sure how well it would be taken. He was, after all, just a lowly mail clerk.

“Sir?” Sammie asked, raising a hand slowly. Marcus chuckled.

“You don’t have to raise your hand to speak.”

“Yes, sir. But what about Monument Drive?”

All eyes went back to the map. There were a few quiet mutterings as the group mulled it over. After a moment, Jerome started to shake his head.

“Narrow streets, but the center is passable, if needed. Takes us past those loonies at VCU, though,” he stated. He looked at Marcus. “They still proclaiming themselves the People’s Free Liberation for Democratic America?”

“I think they shortened it to the People’s Democratic America,” Marcus muttered. “Easier to acronym or something. Haven’t had a security briefing about them in a few days. Short-sighted of Captain Thomas, but no point in chastising the dead now. Everything within sight of the campus is a valid target to them, and VCU is not small. But . . . it’s not a bad idea. We thunder run it down Monument, then turn north at 195 and then hit 64. Could work.”

“Maybe. I don’t like it, though,” another man said, shaking his head. He had a thick beard and a beige hat—so very unlike the rest of the security detail. It took Sammie a moment to realize that this was one of the three security contractors who’d shown up the day before. “There’s no entrance to 195 off of Monument. We’d have to hit side streets. Massive chokepoints there.”

“Bit of a downer, aren’t you, Rafe?”

“Blow me, Jerome.”

“That’s a bad juncture, yes sir,” Sammie said, trying not to show his nerves. “The bridge on Monument over 195. Always traffic there. No, you have to stay on Monument until you can get to US-250. Henrico County, at least.”

“That’s . . . not a bad idea,” Rafe said as he tugged on his beard. “Need to turn off Monument, but it could work.”

“That means Broad Street eventually,” Jerome said, his eyes back on the map. “And that still takes us past VCU.”

“Wait. That’s actually an idea. We could stay on 250 and we can hook up with I-64 outside Charlottesville, avoid that mess as well,” Marcus stated. He began to slowly nod. “Then we just gotta deal with Staunton and Lexington. Not a bad plan at all. But first we have to deal with those idiots at VCU . . . Jerome? Go get the kid . . . Sammie? Yeah, go fit Sammie with some body armor from the armory. You range qual’d?”

“Qualified, sir.” Sammie informed him. “Can’t buy a firearm yet, though, so the range master let me qualify with his weapon. He also drilled me on firearm safety until I could recite it in my sleep . . . which I did, once. Freaked my mom out.”

“This guy gets better and better every time he opens his mouth.” Marcus grinned. “Good find. Get him suited up, Jerome. I want to be on the road before 1430. I’ll go tell the lieutenant governor that we have a plan.”

“C’mon, kid. Let’s get you suited up.”

#

They made it down to the armory without issue. Surprisingly, other than a locked gate, there was nobody else down there.

“Armorer’s sick,” Jerome explained as he first kitted Sammie out with a plate chest protector and high quality earbuds to dampen the sound of anything too loud without interfering with regular noises and conversations. He then started looking through various weaponry before finding something he clearly felt more comfortable with Sammie handling—a .40 Hi-Power Browning. After finding a suitable hip holster, Jerome grabbed one of the empty Virginia State Police duffel bags stuffed behind the armorer’s empty desk and started stuffing it with gun magazines from what seemed like complete random to Sammie. Jerome paused, looked back, and smiled. “Forty caliber, ten round mags. Larry had a certain way of organizing his armory. Weird, but it made sense to him.”

After a few minutes, all of the magazines were stuffed into the duffel bag. Jerome handed him the handgun and a magazine. Sammie instinctively cleared the chamber and inspected it before sliding the mag in. Everything locked back into place. The .40 caliber pistol looked different from the .45 he’d shot at the range, but all the important bits were in the right place. “I’m good.”

“I need to buy your range master a beer,” Jerome muttered, though it was clear he was pleased. “I know you said you were qualified, but I didn’t think you actually knew what you were doing. . . . ”

“‘No point in shooting a firearm if all you can do is point and click,’” Sammie quoted. He holstered the weapon at his side and practiced reaching for it. Satisfied, he adjusted the body armor so it wouldn’t obstruct his draw or push the weapon out of place. “Mr. Cochrane was a bit of an ass when he ran his range, but he knew his stuff, sir. And he made sure I left knowing how to handle a weapon safely.”

“Really need to buy that man a beer . . . ” Jerome sighed as he finished packing the bag. “I’ve got two dozen extra mags in here, all the same caliber as your weapon. This is your bag. You keep it near you at all times. You understand?”

“Yes sir.”

They headed back up, Sammie carrying the heavy bag without issue, and rejoined the group of men and women standing in the lobby. They all were looking outside, with more than a few muttering quietly amongst themselves.

“What’s going on?” Jerome asked, standing on his toes to see over the crowd.

“One of those . . . zombies attacked the security guard at the gate,” a woman’s voice replied. She sounded unsure about her own words to Sammie’s ear.

“Is the gate still in place?” Jerome asked. “Is there a clear path to the Carriage House?”

“Path is clear,” Rafe responded.

“Okay, listen up!” Everyone instantly stilled as Marcus gave instructions. “Bravo on the package. Alpha, out the door first. Charlie, cover the rear. We move as one, and we move quickly and quietly. Once we’re in the Carriage House, find your assigned vehicle. We’ve rehearsed this a million times, people. Let’s do it right. Madame Lieutenant Governor? You know what to do?”

“I stay low, let you stay between me and danger, and try not to be a hero. I understand the plan,” a voice said from in the middle of the group. Sammie had seen the lieutenant governor once or twice, but he’d never really interacted with her. While she sounded nervous, there was a decided lack of fear there. Perhaps uncertainty. Maybe. It was hard to be sure. Her slight Caribbean accent lingered still, in spite of her years living in Virginia, and Sammie had never been good with associating an accent with emotion.

Marcus smiled. “Words I love to hear. If any of those zombies breach the gate, Alpha and Charlie will handle it. Bravo keeps moving to the Carriage House. Allen, on your call.”

The slender team lead looked around and checked the rooftops before nodding. “All clear. Moving.”

Sammie was one of the last to leave the Executive Mansion and move across the open area to the Carriage House. He stayed close to Jerome, unsure, though he knew better than to draw his weapon. The range master had been very strict about that, and Jerome had reiterated it as well on their way back up from the armory.

The door to the Carriage House was open. Inside there were three large, black SUVs waiting for them. Two members of the detail were climbing under them while another two were checking the interiors. It took Sammie a moment to realize they were sweeping the big SUVs for bombs.

“Okay, listen up!” Marcus barked to the gathered security detail. Sammie looked at them and saw, beneath a riot helmet and body armor, the lieutenant governor of Virginia in the middle of the packed group. The men and women surrounding her appeared as though they were not about to waste time with pleasant warnings. Sammie straightened his spine a little and tried to fit in. “Whatever your vehicle is, your fire zones are relative to the direction your SUV is pointing. In Alpha and Charlie we’ll have six per—driver, shotgun, mids, and rear. Bravo will have four. You have your team assignments already. If shit goes sideways, Bravo is the priority. If Bravo is disabled, Charlie is up next, then Alpha. You understand?”

“Means if Bravo gets shot up and can’t continue, we’re up to transport the package next, okay?” Jerome whispered to Sammie. Swallowing nervously, he nodded. Jerome pat him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ve got a good crew. Alejandro and Tom are solid, Zeke is one bastard in a firefight, and Vince is a nice meat shield. You’ll sit mid right, next to Vince. We’ll be fine.”

Sammie nodded. He didn’t feel fine. Meanwhile, Marcus continued to give instructions and reminders to the security detail.

“Roads are wet, so drive carefully. Assume that people will not get out of your way. Don’t assume that their intentions are benign if they block your path. Slow down, but try not to stop. Be insistent and nudge them out of the way.”

“Not worried about what the press might say?” Allen asked, a grin on his face.

“Fuck those parasites. Let them try to get in our way. I’ll tell Rafe to floor it.”

“Hooah,” Jerome said. This elicited a laugh from the entire security detail.

Sammie saw a small smile on the lieutenant governor’s face beneath the riot shield and recalled what the press had said about her during the election season. The Broken Token had been the kindest thing they’d said about Virginia’s first black lieutenant governor during the campaign and election. It’d only gotten worse from there, much to his mother’s consternation.

“Of course they hate her,” Sammie remembered her saying one evening after he’d returned home from work. Before the Pacific Flu, before everything had gone so terribly wrong. “She’s not willing to let them pigeonhole her into what they think a black woman should be.”

“Last thing,” Marcus’ sharp tone brought Sammie back to the now, away from the painful memories that would inevitably rise if he focused on his mother for too long. “Watch each other’s back. If one has to get out for some reason, unless they’re bitten by one of those . . . zombies. Damn it, I hate saying that. If your teammate is bit by a zombie, you either eliminate them or incapacitate them somehow. You’ve all had the primer vaccine at least, so you should be protected. But I can’t guarantee that. So make sure nobody gets bit. Understand?”

“Yes sir!” the detail chorused, Sammie along with them.

“All right.” Marcus paused and looked around at everyone. His eyes met Sammie’s for a brief instant before moving on. “Drivers, you know the route. Thunder run down Monument Avenue, then link up with 250 once we’re into Henrico County proper. Maintain comms discipline. Everybody and their mother has a scanner these days, so don’t give up too much info. If it’s important and needs detailed explanation, use your cells. Keep them charged as much as you can. If we lose cell service, then revert to radios, and keep them off emergency channels. Those are going to be a mess. Let’s do this. Alpha team, lead us out.”

Everyone knew their vehicle. Everyone but Sammie, at least. Uncertain, he decided his best course of action was to follow Jerome. Jerome glanced over at Sammie, grinned, and gave a subtle nod toward the third vehicle. Sammie nodded and climbed into his appointed SUV. Four other men besides Jerome filled up the rest of the large vehicle. While it was not as big as Bravo, there was still plenty of room for him to comfortably move around, even with the body armor.

“This is Zeke,” Jerome said once everyone was inside the SUV, slapping the other man in front on the shoulder. “If either of us give you an order, Sammie, you follow it, okay? Guy next to you is Vince. Don’t call him Vin. Tom and Alejandro are in back. I think you can figure out who is who. ”

The darker-skinned Alejandro gave him a curt nod while Tom, a blond-haired stick of a man who looked almost seven feet tall, ignored him. Palms sweaty, Sammie nodded back at Alejandro. Something in the front chirped, then Marcus’ voice came over the radio.

“Team, this is Lead. Execute.”

The lead SUV accelerated out of the parking space and passed through the open gate. Bravo quickly followed, then it was their turn. Sammie’s eyes immediately began scanning their surroundings as they exited the capitol grounds, leaving the safety of the iron fencing and sturdy buildings behind.

“Sammie, think of a clock. Dead ahead from the front of the SUV is twelve o’clock, understand? You watch from your two o’clock to your five,” Jerome told him as turned quickly left, then right, and they were soon cruising steadily down Main Street towards Monument Avenue. “Front is always twelve o’clock. Anything suspicious, call it out.”

“Contact, seven o’clock . . . zombies,” Tom called out as he leaned back into his seat. “Wish these MP-5s were suppressed. Gonna blow some eardrums if I shoot now.”

“Hold fire,” Jerome called back as the small horde of zombies fell quickly behind. “From the last reports I heard, we’ll run out of ammo before targets.”

Targets. Not humans, not zombies, but things to shoot. Sammie swallowed the sudden bile that threatened to rise out of his stomach and focused on watching his side of the SUV. For fifteen minutes it was absolute silence. Outside, other than the occasional swarm of naked infected, there was nobody to be seen. This part of the city was practically abandoned, with survivors either hiding in their barricaded homes or having already fled the city.

Or hiding out at VCU with those lunatics, Sammie thought.

“Bravo, Alpha. Road obstruction ahead,” Allen’s voice was crystal clear over the radio, interrupting the relative silence.

Jerome snorted softly. “So much for keeping radio discipline . . . ” he muttered.

“He was Navy,” Zeke said, chuckling nervously. “Contact! Two o’clock. More zombies. Looks like a few corpses getting eaten, too . . . Jesus Christ this is fucking disturbing.”

“Chill,” Jerome told him. “Eyes front. VCU is right there.

“Alpha, Bravo. Copy obstruction. Slow and steady. Go the other way?”

“Copy. Alpha moving.”

Jerome exhaled and gripped the steering wheel tightly. Ahead of them, Alpha turned right on Belvedere, away from Monroe Park and VCU. Sammie risked a glance up at Jerome and saw a bright sheen of sweat on the back of his neck.

“Here we go . . . ”

The road leading in front of West Hall at VCU was blocked by two burning vehicles, Sammie saw. Whether it had been a genuine accident or someone really didn’t want anyone going this way, he wasn’t certain. However, Main Street wasn’t where they wanted to go anyway. Franklin, he knew, would take them to Monument, and then it would be a straight run out of town—barring any unforeseen issues.

“Don’t tell no one, but I always wanted to do this,” Zeke said as they followed the two lead vehicles down Franklin. Surprisingly, there were no other cars along the road. Either those who could get out of town already had or nobody had thought to go the wrong way down a one way street to escape the city. “Drive the wrong way on a street, you know?”

“You ain’t driving,” Jerome muttered.

“Contact!” Sammie called out as he spotted someone running at their vehicle. A woman, he realized. It took him a moment to realize she was in uniform as well. And she was being chased. “Is that a state trooper?”

Behind her, a swarm of zombies were in hot pursuit. Jerome muttered something and began to slow down. Zeke immediately protested.

“Priority one is the package,” Zeke reminded him.

“I know, I know,” Jerome replied. “Sammie? Roll your window down and tell her to jump and hang on.”

“Hang on to what?” Sammie asked he quickly rolled down the window. The state trooper saw them and found an extra burst of speed to put a tiny bit of distance between herself and the zombies.

“Railing up top, running boards along the side.”

“This is an unmarked car! No railings up top!” Zeke protested loudly.

Sammie relayed the information anyways. She hollered something at him, the words lost in the loud engine of the SUV and the hunting screams of the zombies in hot pursuit.

“I think she heard,” Sammie called. “But those zombies are gonna be on us as soon as she is.”

“Alejandro? Cover fire. Time to earn that fat paycheck.”

“Fat paycheck my Latin ass . . . ” the rear shooter grumbled as the back door of the SUV swung open. Alejandro, his seat belt wrapped around his arm for safety and support, half-leaned out the door and aimed his rifle, resting the barrel shroud on the top of the open door. He began to fire in a slow but methodical manner, dropping a zombie with every shot. The gunshots were loud but not deafening, which surprised Sammie. He’d half-expected for his eardrums to be blown out.

“Guess these earbuds work,” he muttered under his breath.

The state trooper either hadn’t heard Sammie, or had mistaken the open back door as a sign that she needed to run there. Instead of jumping onto the running boards of the SUV, she twisted and tried to climb in the back. Alejandro tried to get out of her way but failed. Panicking, the woman accidentally knocked Alejandro into the seat just as the few remaining zombies reached them.

Inside the SUV, the gunfire was louder than anything Sammie had ever experienced before in his life. Zombies fell mere inches from the open back door, their clawed hands reaching futilely towards them. Two more slammed into Sammie’s door, their naked and filthy bodies leaving greasy smears on the metal. With his window half-down, Sammie stuck the handgun Jerome had given him out and squeezed off five shots. He wasn’t sure if all of them hit, but the two zombies did not get back up.

Sammie felt sick to his stomach as realization of what he’d just done crashed down on him. But he was still alive. That was all that mattered to him at that moment. Later, when the sun was gone and he could have more time to process, he would pray and ask his mother’s forgiveness. Until then, though, he needed to help them keep the lieutenant governor alive.

“What the fuck, puta?” Alejandro roared as she climbed over him in an effort to escape the zombies outside. “Bajar!”

“Pendejo!” the state trooper shouted back at him. She fell face-first into the middle seat, somehow twisting into the most awkward position possible without touching either Sammie or Vince. “Sorry! Sorry!”

“Charlie, this is Bravo. What’s going on, over?”

“Secure for now, Bravo. Be advised we picked up a state trooper.”

“Copy, Charlie. Vet her later. Bravo out.”

“Bravo, Alpha. Approaching Stuart Circle now.”

“This is where it’s going to get interesting,” Jerome said. “Trooper? There’s a shotgun on the floor at your feet. You do not touch it unless we have to unass, you get me? And you will be told when to unass.”

“Yes, sir.” There was a slight tremor in her voice, but Sammie could hear her happiness at being alive. Which was good. His own heart felt like it was stuck in his throat and he wasn’t sure what, precisely, to do next.

“Sammie,” he introduced himself, offering his free hand.

“Flores. Violet Flores.”

“That explains the Spanish,” Alejandro said from in back. “Sorry about the swearing.”

“Whatever. I have brothers. Had.”

More gunfire. It took Sammie a moment to realize that it wasn’t their vehicle doing the shooting. Craning his neck, he spotted Alpha’s driver’s side window exploding. Alpha began to slow down and drift to the median, narrowly dodging the heavy concrete base of the statue in the middle of Stuart Circle.

“Alpha’s under fire! Allen is down!” a voice cried out from the lead vehicle.

“Charlie! Move up to support!” Marcus’s voice was taut. Jerome clicked the radio twice and accelerated.

“Contact! Seven o’clock, high. Apartment building . . . shooters! Multiple shooters!” Tom called out as rounds began impacting on the SUV. The heavily modified vehicle was able to withstand the gunfire and Sammie, who’d wondered if they were as armored as Bravo, felt a little relieved. That quickly vanished as one of the bulletproof window shattered.

“Shit!” Vince cursed loudly. “I’ve got muzzle flashes on the fifth floor of that apartment building there. First, second, and third windows from the left.”

“Those wannabe revolutionaries,” Jerome practically spat. “What I wouldn’t give for an RPG right now . . . ”

Sammie watched as Alpha rolled to a stop, with Bravo turning to the right to avoid rearending it. For a second he thought the second, larger SUV was going to pass it before he spotted another roadblock obstructing Monument Avenue. This one looked to consist of multiple pallets, couches, chairs, and some sort of black metal railing or something. While it didn’t appear too sturdy, he wouldn’t have wanted to try and drive through it. The other side of the road was blocked in a similar manner.

Whoever had built these roadblocks hadn’t wanted anyone to journey down Monument, and instead were trying to direct everything to the front of VCU, Sammie guessed.

“Road block,” he announced.

“I see 'em,” Jerome growled as he, too, slowed down. “Damn. Bravo turned the wrong way.”

Sammie looked around. Stuart Circle wasn’t the oddest designed roundabout ever, but it was fairly close. Instead of going to wrong way as they had been, here was the official starting point of Monument Avenue for any westbound traffic. For years city officials have said the roundabout was confusing and that the citizens of Richmond did not understand how it handled traffic. So far as he could tell, the only idiots who hadn’t been able to figure out how the circle worked were the city officials themselves.

“Charlie, Bravo,” Marcus’ voice crackled over the comms. “Under heavy fire. Move that roadblock!”

“Copy Bravo,” Jerome said as he clicked the mic. He turned and looked at the vehicle’s occupants. “Time to earn that paycheck, boys and girls.”

“W-what?” Violet asked, abject fear evident in her tone.

“Alejandro, you pop first and move to Bravo,” Jerome ordered as he shifted the SUV into Park. He did not turn it off, however, Sammie noted. “You’re a better shooter and you’ll have more cover. Secure their situation, then move to Alpha. Tell them to get their asses through the barricade. Sammie, Vince, with me. We’re cover fire. Zeke, Tom, Violet . . . cover us and watch for zombies. You’re on overwatch. Stay in contact with Bravo. If it looks like you’re going to be swarmed, call it out, lock the doors, and push Bravo forward if you have to. We’ll rendezvous with you at the Lee Memorial. Zeke, take lead. On three we go. One, two, three!”

Sammie grabbed his duffel bag, popped his door open and exited the SUV faster than he had ever moved in his life, yet he was still slower than Jerome and Vince. The two men were out of the vehicle and sprinting for the statue in the center of the roundabout before his feet had even set foot on the wet pavement.

Brick streets, he mentally corrected as he followed Jerome and Vince to the large monument in the center of Stuart Circle. Behind him, he could hear Alejandro swearing in Spanish as he sprinted over to Bravo. Something wet and heavy smacked into the brick at his feet. It took him a moment to realize that he was under fire once more.

“Get your stupid ass over here!” Jerome barked from the protective base of the statue. It was clearly wide enough to protect all three of them from the gunfire—provided it was only coming from the apartment building across the street. If anyone else decided to shoot at them, their crappy day was only going to get worse.

Sammie sprinted across the open area and slid with all the grace of a drunkard on the slick street into Vince, who practically threw him against the stone pedestal of the massive statue. The larger man ducked down next to him as Jerome pointed at the church across the street.

“Keep an eye on that area, Vince,” Jerome ordered.

“What’s down there?” Sammie whispered, terrified. His hands were wet from sweat and rain, but he kept a firm grip on the pistol.

“Do you hear that?” Jerome asked.

Sammie cocked his head and listened. There was nothing but the rhythmic poppoppop of constant gunfire from above. He shot a glance back at Jerome, confused. The older man tapped his ear and pointed his right. Sammie looked down the narrow street—nothing more than a small parking garage, some broken down cars blocking the road, and other buildings beyond that. Then he heard it.

Wailing.

Not just any wailing, though. It was unearthly, a scream full of pure primal rage. Pain and anguish, inhuman. The very edge of the keening wail set his teeth on edge and caused every hair on the back of his neck to stand up. Fear gripped his bowels like nothing else ever had in his life. The sound echoed off the walls of the nearby buildings as it drew closer, ever closer.

The zombies were coming.

Inside the SUV, the zombies hunting cries had sounded different. They’d been muffled, separated from the reality inside the large vehicle and the outside hell which seemed intent on swallowing Richmond whole. Out here, it was real. Too real. His bowels clenched and he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to pee.

“Focus,” he whispered to himself, partly to regain control but mostly to take his mind off the howls of the zombies. Sammie checked their surroundings again. No zombies could be seen, but he knew they were close. Glancing around the base of the statue, there still were no signs of them. The piercing, unearthly howls, though, were growing louder with every second. The infected were coming, and Sammie and the others were out in the open and exposed.

Still, the only gunfire appeared to be coming from the apartment complex behind them. Sammie knew they had to get back to the vehicle and get away, but Alpha stopped at the one clear point they might have been able to push through. Bravo wasn’t doing anything to help. Not that he blamed them, really. They were supposed to secure the lieutenant governor. Jerome had said that it was their job to protect Bravo—even if it meant doing something stupid like this.

They were a little fortunate, though. Nobody at VCU had tried to take over the church across the street. The two bell towers would have made the current situation even worse. They were excellent spots to rain gunfire down on their position.

“Moving,” Vince said and sprinted towards the apartment building where the gunfire was coming from. Either those inside hadn’t expected him to pull such a stupid stunt, or they simply lacked the time to respond. Either way, Vince was able to make it to the base of the apartment building without being shot. He pointed up, drew a line across his throat, and made a peculiar motion with his head that caused Jerome to sigh. Vince then gave them both a jaunty salute and slipped inside the apartment.

“What?” Sammie asked. “What’s he doing?”

“I count three shooters,” Jerome said, ignoring the question. He poked his head around the base of the monument. He was rewarded with a fusillade of return fire, forcing him to duck back and press himself against the heavy marble base. The large man looked up, seemed to have a moment of stark realization, and guffawed. He slapped the base of the statue with an open palm, the noise a wet thwack in the midst of the raging gunfire above and behind them.

“Bet ol’ Jeb never thought he’d one day get to save my black ass, eh?”

“Huh?” Sammie'd known roughly where they were but without the iron railing around the statue of General J.E.B. Stuart and in the steady rain, he hadn’t really recognized it. “Oh. I guess so.”

“Wasn’t much a student of history, but still . . . this is pretty damn funny.”

“We’re being shot at by people I probably have classes with who think that terrorists are awesome and assassinations are totally cool and a necessary thing in society, with zombies running around eating people, and you think this is funny?” Sammie called out as a round smacked into the wet pavement near his feet. He brought them in tighter and pressed his back against the base of the statue. “I don’t think it’s funny at all. I think we’re pretty fucked, sir.”

“Maybe. Probably. Gotta clear that barricade before I decide on that,” Jerome said as two figures from Alpha popped out of the rear of the SUV and began lighting up the apartment complex. Unlike the people in the apartments, the shooters on the ground fired in short, controlled bursts with lethal efficiency. In moments the gunfire from the apartment waned, then ceased all together. Jerome’s smile widened. “This is why you train, kid. Remember that. Always train. All right. Let’s do something about that fucking barricade before the zombies get here.”

More gunfire erupted from the apartment. The two shooters from Alpha slumped to the ground as heavy rounds tore through their body armor. One, bleeding profusely from multiple holes in his legs, crawled back behind the SUV. He made it halfway before he stopped.

“Shit. That sounded like a Browning .30 cal. Where’d those fuckers get that?”

The back of Charlie popped open a second time and Tom slid out. He began firing at the window where the large gun was located. There was no return fire. He signaled clear and quickly moved around to where the two men from Alpha were lying on the ground. A quick check and shake of the head told Sammie all he needed to know.

“Moving to support,” Zeke called as he slid out of the passenger side front seat. He quickly scanned the area, waited a moment, then started to cross the open section between Charlie and Bravo to make it to Alpha. It was a bold, brave maneuver which was promptly rewarded with a single shot to the head. The security agent dropped to the ground without so much as a twitch.

“Zeke’s down.” Jerome’s tone was flat, dull.

Sammie stared at the body, shocked into silence by the view. The man, who less than five minutes before had been sitting in front of him, so full of life and energy, was just gone. There’d been no last words, no heroics. No evil laughter from a villainous enemy from the shadows. One second he was moving, the next . . . gone. It wasn’t like he’d ever seen in the movies.

“Zeke . . . ?” Sammie whispered. The detail from Alpha had been all but wiped out from the look of things, Vince had disappeared inside the building, and now Zeke was down. He had no idea what to do, or what was going on anymore. These men were pros, and they were getting cut down by college students.

Then there were the zombies, looming in the shadows, closing in on them . . . 

“This convoy’s gotta move.” Jerome poked his head out and waited for a moment before tucking back behind cover. Nobody fired at him. Gunshots were evident, but . . . they sounded as though they were coming from inside the apartments. Which Sammie found more than a little odd. Jerome grinned. “Sounds like Vince is finally taking care of our little apartment problem. Looks clear-ish.”

“We need to move Alpha,” Sammie reminded him, tearing his eyes away from Zeke’s still form. Focusing on the entire reason they’d gotten out of Charlie in the first place helped clear his mind, even if it was just for a moment. The lead SUV’s engine was still running but there wasn’t any indication that those still inside were alive—something he didn’t really want to dwell on. He could silently celebrate the fact that Vince was still alive, though. “The front tire’s flat.”

“Yep.” Jerome exhaled sharply. “Whatever they shot up the tire with didn’t punch through to the engine block, so that wasn’t the .30 cal. That means it should still drive, just with shitty handling. Do a quick eyeball check and see if anyone in there is alive. Tell Tom to get his ass back in Charlie, driver’s seat. I’ll swap out and take rear. If anybody in Alpha is alive but bleeding out, leave ‘em. Callous, but we got a job to do. Priority one is the package, remember? Use the mass of Alpha and pushed through the barricade.”

“Use the mass?”

“Put it into gear and fucking floor it.”

“Oh, okay.” Sammie nodded. He looked back up at the apartment. There were shadows moving inside, barely visible in the rain, but there. Nobody was shooting at them anymore, though. Was he going to die the same way Zeke had? The thought was a tiny, cold ball of uncertainty in his gut. “What are you gonna do?”

“Me? I’m going to make sure your skinny ass doesn’t get shot or eaten while you go be the hero.”

Sammie gave him an incredulous look. “The fuck?”

“Yeah. Being a hero ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, Sammie. On three, break for Alpha. One, two, move your ass!”

Duffel bag in hand, Sammie sprinted across the open traffic circle to the idling Alpha, which was pressed firmly against the makeshift roadblock. As he drew near, it was obvious that Allen was not going to be the one to drive the SUV through the obstruction. Or anyone else, for that matter.

The door was unlocked, thankfully, so he yanked it open and grabbed Allen by his shirt, all the while ignoring the bloody smears across the dashboard. Muttering his apologies, he pulled the dead security officer out of the vehicle. Allen was a thick, broad man and landed heavily on the wet street with a splash. Sammie apologized again before climbing inside. His hand felt something warm and wet. He did his best to ignore it and looked at the others in the rear.

He really wished he hadn’t.

Shifting the SUV into reverse, he carefully backed away from the barrier until he was about ten feet away and parallel to Bravo. Glancing over, he saw Marcus frantically waving at him. Sammie nodded. He had to clear a path, no matter what. Shifting the large vehicle back into drive, Sammie stomped on the gas and floored it.

The barrier wasn’t much, but it was enough to give a regular vehicle pause. The big 8.1-liter engine and heavy weight of the Suburban made short work of the barrier. Something heavy within the obstruction, though, caused the engine to make a hideous grinding noise. In moment there was white smoke coming from beneath the hood. Sammie, uncertain what to do, kept driving before turning left and jumping onto the grassy center median beyond. Behind him, he heard Bravo and Charlie both roar past and move on, leaving them behind.

It was at that moment the SUV’s engine quit and died.

“Damn it!” he shouted and climbed out. Jerome came running over to him, smiling.

“Good work, kid!”

“Out truck is dead and they left us!” Sammie protested. Jerome smirked and shook his head.

“They’re meeting us at the rendezvous point. We need to boogie.”

“They were all dead inside,” Sammie told him. “Two of them looked . . . eaten.”

He looked Sammie in the eye. “Don’t let that shit happen to me, you understand?”

“Sir?”

“Don’t you dare let me turn into some mindless howling monster, you get me?”

“Yes, sir!”

“I promise I’ll do the same for you. Now . . . time to skedaddle.”

The howls of the zombies were growing louder, ever closer. A shot of icy cold fear raced through his veins as they began to not-quite power-walk down Monument Avenue, Jerome with his MP-5 up and ready while Sammie stumbled along.

“What about Vince?” Sammie asked, panting, as he checked his handgun to ensure he hadn’t shot it yet. In the mad rush, he couldn’t quite remember if he’d fired it or not. He slung the duffel bag under his arm so he could carry it but still fire from the two-hand stance he’d been taught. The zombies were nearby and he was starting to grow more nervous by the second.

“If he’s alive, he’ll catch up.”

“And if he’s not?”

“Then we drink to him and celebrate him as a fucking badass when we get to Deer Creek, and remember him like everyone else who’s fallen on this last convoy outta River City.”

Sammie nodded, though he didn’t fully understand. “More zombies.”

Jerome snarled. “Service them fuckers with prejudice.”

The next ten minutes were nothing but a blur for Sammie. He would squeeze off ten shots into a newly-arrived horde of zombies, eject the spent magazine, slam home a fresh one, then rinse and repeat. Over and over again, every step drawing them closer to the Lee Memorial and their prospective rendezvous with the others.

His hands throbbed from the repeated recoil of the pistol. While he had spent some time at the range familiarizing himself with handguns, he hadn’t quite built up the muscles or calluses yet from constant and repeated practice with the weapon. His forearms were screaming from the repeated action, and his eyes were beginning to itch. Even the ear protectors Jerome had found for him down in the armory were starting to glitch out, thanks to the constant rain.

Around them, the tightly-packed brownstones were burning. Not all of them, not yet, but enough. A few people not infected were trying to put out the fires, but the rest were fleeing them. The flames cast long shadows across the streets while the rolling smoke polluted the sky above, which was already dark thanks to the cloud coverage. Rain continued to fall, but not heavy enough to dampen the heat coming from the burning buildings.

“Contact front! Friendly!” Jerome said. Sammie half-turned his head and blinked. Rafe, who’d been assigned to Bravo, was sprinting towards them, his boots splashing in the growing puddles with each step.

“Wassup!” Rafe shouted as he slipped into position next to Jerome, his MP-5 up and tracking.

“Wazzzzzup!” Jerome called back, sticking his tongue out.

“Hey!” Sammie called. Rafe looked at him and rolled his eyes.

“ . . . fucking kids these days . . . ” Sammie thought he heard the Ranger mutter as a massive blade appeared out of nowhere and removed the hand of a zombie who’d gotten too close. “No respect for the ancient ways.”

“Quit reminding me how old I am,” Jerome complained as he ejected another spent magazine. “Down to two mags left. Tell me you’re my favorite Ranger, Rafe.”

The other man handed him four fresh mags, then turned and squeezed off five rounds. Three zombies Sammie hadn’t seen rushing them from the left dropped instantly.

“I’ll always be your favorite Ranger,” Rafe announced. “C’mon. Marcus said this little convoy is leaving in five minutes, and I don’t think you want to miss it.”

“He sent you back to save us? I didn’t know he cared,” Jerome crooned and shot a zombie who’d gotten a little too close. The seemingly endless horde was tapering off, with quite a few fixated on the scant civilian survivors who were running down the street, away from the rolling gunfight and towards VCU.

“Yeah, he wants to have your babies,” Rafe scoffed. “Let’s go! Move your asses!”

Their measured and steady walk quickly turned into a run as more zombies began appearing behind them. Sammie, not used to wearing the body armor or running with a heavy duffel bag, quickly began falling behind. He could hear the now-familiar keening wail of the zombies drawing closer, ever closer. In his mind he could feel their fingers grasping at his shirt, his clothes, pulling him down. Fear lent him more energy, caused the aching pain in his legs to fade away. Nothing mattered more than staying alive. But he never dropped his duffel bag.

He pushed harder, faster, trying to open up some distance between the mindless beings chasing him and safety. He tore his eyes off the road, looked up, and he almost cried in relief. In front of him stood a sight he thought he’d never see again—the two remaining SUVs from the Executive Mansion. Behind them stood four men, each armed with a rifle, and pointed at him.

No, he quickly realized. They were aimed behind him.

Jerome and Rafe were already at the SUVs. But beyond . . . another wave of zombies was closing in on the group, and nobody was looking the right way.

“Behind!” He screamed and pointed as he ran, pouring every last ounce of energy into his cry of alarm. Rafe looked in the direction he pointed and his tanned features paled.

“Rear!” the Ranger shouted and opened fire just as the lead runners of the new wave of zombies hit their position.

The next few minutes were a chaotic mess. Sammie turned and began shooting as many zombies as he could. Even a blind man could hit a zombie in this mess, they were so densely packed together. It became machinelike to him: aim, squeeze, repeat, empty magazine, slap in a fresh one, continue on.

Every shot mattered, every round struck true. There were simply too many of them. Sammie continued to slowly give ground, one step at a time, until his back was against the side of Bravo. He risked a peek inside and saw the wide eyes of the lieutenant governor staring back out at him. They were worried, but he noticed there was a decided lack of fear in them.

For some reason this galvanized his resolve. She wasn’t afraid of dying, so why should he be? Here he would stand, no matter the cost. He’d promised to do his job, after all, even if he was supposed to be nothing more than a mail clerk.

More gunfire joined his. The horde began to peter out as the gunfire continued unabated for what felt like hours, though a small part of Sammie’s mind knew it was merely a few minutes.

With an abruptness that was shocking, it was over. The last of the zombies died bloodily at the hands of the security detail, with corpses of the infected stacked two high less than twenty feet from Bravo. Thanks to the quick response to those in Charlie, they managed to hold off the zombies that had ambushed them from the other side.

Darkness was coming quickly, with long shadows touching everything his eyes could see. But beyond the shadows, there was light, a sickly orange that confused Sammie for many moments as his mind struggled to comprehend what he’d just done, what the others had managed.

Something fell on his arm. It was more rain but thick, viscous. The sensation was more like mud than rain. He dabbed his fingers in the drop. It was gray. Mixed in with the rain was ash. Sammie’s gaze tracked upwards to the foreboding skyline, where the orange and yellows illuminated the backdrop, giving everything an unearthly feel. This was no normal sunset. It took him a second longer before he finally recognized the carnage for what it was.

Richmond was burning. River City had fallen and would never rise again. At least, not in his lifetime. His home, gone. Sometime between agreeing to help Jerome protect the lieutenant governor and now, the city had given a last, shuddering breath, striving against the dying light, before giving up the ghost. The zombies owned it now. Zombies, and the kingpins who worked the corners and streets, and the zealots who simply wanted to see the world burn, and then rule as despots upon a pile of ash and bone.

They got their wish, Sammie thought as he glanced over at Jerome. The burly man was sitting on the ground, his back against the front tire of the Bravo. He’d joined Sammie sometime during the mad rush, and had never left his side after.

“We’re good now, kid,” Jerome said, wincing as he rubbed his forearm, his MP-5 on the ground beside him. His hand came away covered in blood. He swore softly. “Home stretch . . . for you.”

“Did . . . did a zombie bite you?” Sammie asked, looking at the bloody wound.

“Yeah. Knew my luck would run out sooner or later. But hey . . . not going to be like one of those bitches on TV who hide it, you know?”

Sammie stared at the wound. It didn’t look too bad, only bloody. Maybe if they cut the wound . . . “We could cut the area out?”

“Too late. It’s already in the bloodstream. It’s only a matter of time now.” Jerome pulled out his .45 and handed it to Sammie. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“No,” Sammie said as the .45 was pressed into his hand. It was heavier than he expected. “I can’t. We might be able to—”

“Naw. It’s okay, kid,” Jerome said and leaned forward. The barrel of the .45 caliber was pressed firmly against his forehead. Sammie’s hand was steady, though his heart pounded heavily in his chest. “Just make it quick, before I turn.”

“I thought . . . you said you had both shots!” Sammie heard himself protest. In his jumbled mind, nothing made sense anymore.

“Only the primer, kid. Only the primer. C’mon, don’t make me suffer. Do it.”

“But—”

“Do it! Don’t let me turn. Kill me, please.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to!”

“But what if—”

“You gave me your word,” Jerome said. He exhaled slowly before he continued. “Make your word mean something. You’re going to have times in your life, kid, that what you stand for is tested. The easy way isn’t always the best. People renege on their word all the time. But the steadfast ones? The ones who earn the trust, respect, and love of those around them? They keep their word. To them, their oath means something. Those are the people who need to shape our future, our society. You swore to me you’d follow instructions, do as you’re told. Do you remember that?”

It'd only been an hour or so since this who craziness had started for him, and his entire life’s course had been abruptly changed. Of course he remembered. Sammie nodded before finding the ability to speak. “I do.”

“Then man up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Your mother was right about you,” Jerome breathed and closed his eyes. “You really aren’t like the other kids from the hood.”

“You knew my mom?” This revelation almost caused him to drop the handgun.

“How do you think a kid from the ghetto managed to score a sweet gig working at the governor’s mansion?” Jerome chuckled softly. “She was a friend from high school. When you started searching for internships, she didn’t want to use our friendship, but you weren’t having much luck getting in anywhere else. She also knew what I did and asked if I would write a letter of rec for your internship. Did some digging and found out about your brother, but that you were pretty much a good kid without any brushes with the law. But you getting hired to work in the mail room? That was all on you, busting your ass, never missing a day.”

“Yeah . . . but,” Sammie said and wiped his eyes. The falling ash was starting to make them water, making breathing difficult. His chest hurt. “No. Thank you. For everything. I mean it.”

“Now do me a favor and follow my last order. Kill me before I turn. Don’t let me be a zombie.”

A single, almost gentle squeeze of the handgun’s trigger and Sammie Rameau honored his word. His mother would have been proud.

“You good, mano?” Rafe asked after Sammie holstered the handgun. He didn’t answer for a moment, didn’t know if he could. He stared at the rapidly cooling body of a man he admired, not daring to speak until he had his warring emotions under control. When he was finally ready to open his mouth, it was not to lament the dead.

That could wait. He still had a job to do. Jerome would understand.

“Do we have enough people still?” Sammie asked instead of answering the question. Rafe looked at him for a moment before nodding.

“Barely, but yeah. My guys are steady, but . . . ” He shook his head. “You take the big SUV with the lieutenant governor. Have that Cadet Flores ride shotgun, and put . . . Mike in the back to watch your ass. You make sure Flores watches your surroundings. I’ll be in the chase vehicle with the others. If anything happens to me, you keep going. You keep driving until you reach Deer Creek. Listen to Grace’s directions, but you do not stop no matter what. You understand?”

“Yes, sir.” He understood all too well what could happen if they stopped again.

“Cells are still working for now, but service gets spotty between Lexington and our final destination. I-81 is a mess, but I-64 should be clear after Lexington. You know how to get to Lexington?”

“I-64 west, meet up with I-81 and head south, then back onto I-64 west at Lexington. Keep going until the lieutenant governor tells me which exit to take. If I hit West Virginia, I’ve gone too far.”

“Perfect. Stay safe. Keep your cell charged. I got your number programmed, and hers as well. Not sure how long coverage will last, but might as well milk it for all its worth.”

“Rafe?” Sammie paused, his hand on the driver’s side door. In the back of the black SUV, the swarthy little Italian climbed into the third row seat and closed the door. “Sir?”

“Yeah?”

“Who were they?” Sammie blinked. “Those guys who came out of the apartments? I thought they were guys I went to school with but they were . . . different, you know? Like . . . I don’t know, crazy but not crazy?”

“Not our problem anymore, thanks to those zombies.”

“And Vince,” he reminded the Ranger. Jerome had promised they would drink to his memory. Now, Sammie would drink to both of them when they arrived at their destination. “What did they want?”

“If I had to guess? Her.” The slender man shrugged. “There’s going to be people trying to . . . upset things. Chaos makes them happy, even if it’ll tear them apart in the end. They thrive in the anarchy. Scum, but predictable scum. But others also have grudges, deep grudges, and old hatreds. Those people? Those are the ones which concern me the most. They’re unpredictable and will do anything, and have goals we don’t know much about.”

Sammie nodded. He’d thought as much. “I swore to Jerome that I would protect her with my life.”

“I can tell. He knew that, too. That’s why you’re here. It’s a strange new world in which we live. Get a move on. I’ll be right behind.”

Sammie climbed into the driver’s seat and started the big SUV’s engine. It turned over with only a little reluctance. Violet silently climbed into the passenger’s seat, her hands trembling, the empty shotgun draped across her lap. She might have been in shock, but Sammie was comforted slightly by the fact the barrel was pointed away from him and towards the door. She didn’t speak, but her eyes were attentively watching their surroundings. He slammed his door and locked it. Behind him, the other SUV started up as well. They were ready to roll.

“Are you okay?” a gentle voice asked from the back. Sammie adjusted the rearview mirror and saw the concerned look the lieutenant governor was giving him.

“I’m fine, ma’am.” He had to be. Jerome was right. His words meant something. Otherwise, what was the point of ever promising anything? A solemn oath was more powerful than empty promises. He would remain true to his word. “We’ll get you to your family, and keep you safe. All of you safe. I gave my word, ma’am.”

Shifting the SUV into gear, Sammie led the convoy down Monument Avenue, their final destination somewhere in the mountains to the west.

Copyright © 2024 by Jason Cordova

A 2019 Dragon Award finalist and 2015 John W. Campbell Award finalist, Jason Cordova has traveled extensively throughout the U.S. and the world. The author of the Kin Wars Universe and over 40 novels and short stories, he is a U.S. Navy veteran, a former teacher, and avid videogamer. He currently resides in North Carolina. This story is set in John Ringo's Black Tide Rising universe. Watch for Cordvoa's Black Tide Rising novel Mountain of Fire coming in September!