They stopped for the night at an old cathedral roofed barn. It appeared to be relatively safe with hay fields stretching off for miles in either direction. The barn looked ancient, its walls bare grey wood and its floor packed dirt sprinkled with straw and grain. The cedar shakes on the roof high above rattled and slapped in the wind.

Layne found the scene almost serene with its mellow smells and the yellow light that bled through the rolling clouds on the horizon. It felt reminiscent of long summer nights, first kisses at least expected moments, camping alongside the river and staying out late into the morning driving through the mud. All the things he counted off in his head were things that would be sorely missed. Everything stood stark and pallid in the flickering limelight of a thieving horror.

He and the others settled down in a far corner of the barn, bedding on straw amidst a stack of baled alfalfa. He tried to stay awake for the better part of the night, to watch, but soon he nodded off. I’m no mythical gunslinger, he thought. I’m not a rogue sweeping the land, always sleeping with one eye open or quick to draw in the blink of an eye. I’m just a man with one foot planted surely in his grave. A gunslinger, he was sure, would have both feet planted far enough from that dusty hole that it would be nearly out of sight of their keen eyes.

A terrific crack and bang ripped him from his sleep and he say up, mind reeling under a trickle of cool water. The air outside boomed again and he started in the bright flash of light. An afterimage burned into his eyes.

Nathan and Natasha were sitting bolt upright beside him. The sounds of thunder rolled overhead and Natasha wrapped a shivering but protective arm around her brother. Nathan appeared not to notice the constant bereaved grasps that he received from his sister. And Layne thought for a moment that she acted more motherly and nurturing than your typical sister would.

Again the sky quaked under a cascade of thunder and lightning. Don’t scream, Layne thought as he inched his way back. His back touched the wall of the barn and he settled. His hands clutched handfuls of straw and he made them let go and as soon as they did his hand trailed to the bulging pocket of his jeans where it caressed the ashtray that was tucked safely away.

“Scoot back.” Layne said quietly, urging the others to move.

He stared over a bail of alfalfa and out the open doors of the barn. He could smell a medley of shit and decay. First one and then two zombies shuffled into the barn. He reached out for Natasha as he caught her starting to stand from the corner of his eye.

“Slowly.” Layne said, much quieter this time.

He pushed her back as far as she could go and she pulled Nathan along with her. Another release of pent up static electricity from the atmosphere cracked and he heard a squealing groan. Somewhere outside a limb snapped clear from a tree. In another flash Layne caught a mind wrecking glimpse, more of the undead were pouring into the barn.

The trio of living pressed themselves to the splintered planks of the barn, trying to melt through the wall and out of existence itself. The barn shook and the roof above them caved in, a massive evergreen limb punched through high up in the darkness. It dove through the adjoining wall and a large part of it fell to the ground outside. The sky flashed through the ragged hole and a flurry of rain pelted down inside. The gore-caked abomination pressed further into the barn, but not so near to the group as Layne had feared.

Water pounded in freely as the wind shifted and drenched the living. The dead were spared this discomfort; they seemed to be fleeing the rain. Slowly the gaggle of zombies swayed to a halt just out of the reach of the weather. The afterimages had faded from Layne’s eyes and with his night vision temporarily restored he watched in awe as the zombies stood side to side and front to back. He thought of the emperor penguins of Antarctica and how they huddled together during the ferocious blizzards. The dead appeared to be adopting the same strategy, he realized with a sense of disgusted incredulity. How could they, he stammered in his mind, do they really have some sort of sociological structure? This new found species was astounding. For the last two days the only characteristic he could have given them, besides horrifying in all of its synonyms, would have been that they behaved like a flash flood. But then again, that would have been something with structure itself.

“Did they see us?” Nathan asked after a while, blinking hard to keep the rain out of his eyes.

“No.” Layne said. “Christ, they can’t be more than ten feet away. It looks like there’s about thirty of them in here with us. I don’t know if they tell us apart by sight or smell or whatever. If it is the smell then it isn’t very significant, they would have attacked already. Maybe it’s the rain covering our smell, or the fact that they don’t seem to like the water. Maybe both, but I didn’t see any of them look this way.”

The thunder rolled overhead for an hour longer and dissipated. The gusting winds that sent rivulets of water down on them left shortly after and soon even the rain had retreated. The night was over and dawn began to light the world in gloom. They watched as the zombies followed the departing rain out the door. They went to roam, or maybe they had some sort of internal compass that set their legs in motion.

None of them slept as the meek dawn turned into morning. They were soaked and shivering, bone chilled from the relentless downpour. Layne had fought ceaselessly for hour to keep from coughing or sneezing. They huddled in a pool of water and waited. Was it fear that kept them cornered in the barn so long? A similar thread of instinct they shared with the zombies, where they feared the storm? Were the dead waiting outside sunbathing, waiting for them to poke out their heads? Or had they simply gone away, possibly following a stray survivor over the fields of hay?

The last of the dead had filed out as the sun’s rays broached the horizon. Layne hadn’t known it at the time but those mingling corpses would be the last they’d see for the next two days. That luck wouldn’t account for much. As they reached Pat Wester’s ranch that afternoon they discovered the desiccated remains of the others that had fled from Beakman’s Diner.

They had all thrown up in the driveway, losing every morsel of food they had managed to cram down after leaving the barn. Layne shuddered at the shiver that rolled down his spine, his body shaking as if he were full of boiling water. He had lost his nerve a second time and began to dry-heave. He sank to the ground a single step back from his cooling splatter of vomit as his body wracked with another cramp, needing to purge every ounce of bile. Natasha rubbed his back soothingly and looked to the way they had come, away from the carnage.

The farmhouse was as destroyed and dilapidated as the diner had been after its assault. Layne imagined the survivors rushing around inside during the night, attempting to erect their haphazard barricades in a last ditch effort to keep the dead at bay. Obviously their struggle had failed and it had failed devastatingly. The back door of the place lay a dozen yards from the house entirely intact within its frame. Some of the windows on the second story were still boarded up and broken glass sparkled all the way across the dooryard. Jagged chunks of festering meat hung from the studs and nails where the windows on the first floor had been. The sheer volume of the dead had been enough to crack the house’s foundation and it now rested on a slant. That wouldn’t pass inspection, Layne thought hysterically. Score one for Auto-Chlor and give a zip to the unions.

After his lurching stomach had relaxed he stood up and looked at the billowing clouds as they shifted overhead. He wiped the sheen of dried vomit off of the back of his hand. Apparently this was a new world where the dead went on eating and the living went on puking their guys out.

“Should we go in and see if we can find their guns at least?” Nathan asked after he had regained his composure.

“No.” Layne said, breathing shallowly. “That could be why it got so bad here last night. I’m thinking that maybe the sound of gunfire was what had drawn them here in the first place. I’m not sure they can smell, being dead and all. You’ve gotta breath to smell.”

“You wouldn’t have to breathe if you were a snake or something.” Nathan said.

“My money is on that they can hear perfectly fine. If we expect to live longer than them it would be best to learn from real like examples, other’s misfortune. No amount of firepower will save us from the crowd that’s cruising around out here. Guns would be a temptation that we just can’t afford to harbor. There wouldn’t be enough between the three of us to do any good anyway. Besides, I’m not an expert marksman. Are either of you?”

Natasha shook her head in answer and tugged at Nathan as he began to protest. He wanted to urge Layne into seeing that if they had to make a stand then they should have guns, they would help. But Natasha gave him that elderly sister stare and he remained silent, grumbling choice expletives to himself. Natasha pretended not to notice.

“None of us are going into that house now, not in its current condition. It looks like it could fall in on itself at any time. And there could be some of them still lurking in there somewhere.”

Layne took a slow drink from a bottle of water and put it back in the remnants of the brown paper bag.

“What should we down now? This place was the plan.” Natasha asked seriously.

She took the bag from Layne and scrutinized what remained of their supplies.

“We’ll go look in the trucks and see if there’s any food left. We can take what we can carry and check the radio. Maybe they’ve got evacuation centers or shelters set up that we can go to.”

He limped slightly over the uneven ground of the dooryard being mindful of the glass. Casper’s refrigerator truck looked relatively unscathed save for the flecks of gore that had accumulated during their exodus from Beakman’s Diner. He picked up a four foot length of two-by-four and motioned for Nathan to open the refrigerator unit’s door. He readied to strike at an instant if bad news should present itself. Layne nodded and Nathan pulled the door open, stepping well clear and off to one side. A wave of relief passed through Layne as he propped the two-by-four against the side of the truck. It was still packed full of cans and boxes of food.

“Look.” Natasha said, motioning past the farmhouse and across a vast green lawn.

She pointed at a newer looking barn and a smaller bungalow style cottage set off to one side.

“That’s the bunkhouse.” She said. “It’s where Alan and the seasonal cowpunchers live. There should be clothes and camping stuff in there. Plus lots of other things we could use. I’ve been here a couple of times.”

Layne looked morosely down at his bare feet and wriggled his toes. His feet had never been so sore. He couldn’t remember having gone so long without wearing shoes. He agreed mentally, they could use some supplies. Perhaps they’d find a camping stove and increase their chances of survival drastically.

“I suppose we could use some things to carry all of this food around. Let’s check it out.” He said.

He picked up the tw0-by-four and relished walking on the cool green grass of the well kept lawn. A well maintained frontage, he thought and chuckled. Maybe they’ve got a lawn mower and some rope.

Again Layne spotted while Nathan threw open the door. And just like the last time they were gifted with the absence of danger.

“You two go ahead. I’m going to go grab us something to eat and I’ll be right back.” Nathan said.

The teenager trotted away before Natasha could rein him in.

“Sometimes he worries me. He’s mature for a kid but he still makes stupid kid decisions.” Natasha confided defensively. “And I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve been a wallflower. I don’t know what would have happened if it weren’t for you.”

A wallflower in a ballet of survival, Layne thought. He shook his head and looked into her green eyes. They really were like emeralds, green eyes, in the stark light of day. He moved his mind away from poetry, if this were a book everyone would be putting it down at this point. How could he tell her that they were all basically still kids, that they would make all of the worst mistakes in this new world? They’d probably wind up getting themselves killed. He wouldn’t say this aloud.

“Let him act like a kid while you’ve got the opportunity. It’ll take longer for this world to take that innocence away from him. And don’t mention the help, please. I’m not being modest in saying that we are all in this together. I’m no survival expert and if I didn’t have you two keeping company there’s no telling where I’d be right now. The hand is playing out so far, don’t try stacking the deck. I know that much anyway. Let’s see if we can rustle up some boots or something.”

The bunkhouse was clean and filled with the cloying aromas of cedar, lemon Pledge and tobacco smoke. It felt very cozy inside with its rustic decorations and utilitarian layout. Clearly a woman had been around to adorn and maintain the interior, it felt like a real home. The house was small, no more than a short living area bordered by doors leading to two narrow rooms lined with bunks and another larger room with a full sized bed. A utility closet stood to the side of the mudroom just inside the front door and Layne wasn’t surprised that the house hadn’t been built with a kitchen. This was a place for hard working men who spent long days under the sun and short nights and shorter morning filling the small rooms with rustic life. The extended time the men spent away from their work would have consisted of frequenting the local honky-tonk or amidst the woods outside of town. Layne liked the place and felt an instant attraction. It felt more like home than his home ever had.

Natasha looked after her brother for a moment then followed Layne inside. They checked in the closet and found tents and sleeping bags. There was a camp stove and small wooden crate with flashlights. The closet was packed full of essentially everything they would need if they were struck out on the road for a long time. Layne wouldn’t take this good fortune for granted.

Checking the individual bunk rooms he discovered that only one had been occupied at the time of, of what, he wondered you’d call the event that spread out before them. Would he call it the zombie apocalypse? Why not? It was concise. Straight and to the point, he liked the sound of it. And it went hand in hand with the joke where you said that if the zombies ever came you’d trip your closest friend and leave them to be eaten as you made your escape to safety. It wasn’t so fucking funny now, he almost said aloud.

“It looks like one of the farmhands had a little farm girl to keep his bed warm at night.” He said.

“Yeah, Alan did. That was Shayna. I guess her clothes will fit me. Actually there’s probably some of mine in dresser that she borrowed from me. When I was telling you before that I had been here it was to visit with Shayna. She wasn’t a great friend but we got along alright I suppose. It’s slim pickings out here in the sticks and a lot less drama than other places.”

Tears welled up in Natasha’s eyes and began to spill down her dirty face, leaving streaks. She sat down on the bed and sobbed openly. Layne crouched down before her and placed a reassuring hand on her knee.

“It’s alright. Things will work out for us, you’ll see.” He said, not letting the compassion he felt tinge his voice.

“For us they will maybe.” She said through her tears. “But I just know that when we walk out of here that we’ll both be wearing the clothes of two dead lovers. Alan was a dumb hick but she loved him anyway, only God knows why. It all feels like a ruse. What the hell is going on?”

Layne stayed quiet for a minute, still on his haunches. He waited for her reservoir of pity to dry up. Finally the sobbing abated and she pushed the remaining tears from her eyes with her palms.

“Better?”

She nodded.

“I know this is hard. We’ve got to keep on being strong for those who we still have left.” He said, sounding silly to himself.

She took a deep breath and looked shyly at Layne as if seeing him for the first time. He imagined her saying, weren’t you going to kiss me? He leaned in an inch but drew back quickly. Where was this coming from? Sure she was pretty and intellectually attractive. But they hadn’t had any romantic inclinations in the past while working at the diner. Why would this all flare up now? Was it the primal ape genes in their DNA, that central bit of prehistoric jelly that separated them from the dinosaurs? Maybe a deep seated and hidden function like the fight or flight instinct the boiled over in common man into anxiety. Was it pheromones of unconscious relief that spilled into the air or the base need, in all this devastation to breed and rebuild the world? Layne tried to chalk it up to human companionship and a lack of external stimulation. He wasn’t distracted right now, he was here with her. But what would that lead to, he asked himself and felt a tinge of fear of loss.

He tried to gauge her thoughts by the void expression on her face and faltered. Maybe she was thinking the same things he was, or maybe not.

“Get some clothes together.” He said. “I saw in the bathroom that the water has a propane heater. So we’ve got hot water as long as the gas holds out. I really should go check on Nathan, he’s taking too long.”

“Thank you again.” She said, pulling a muddy foot from its shoe.

“No.” He said. “Thank you for taking me seriously.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

This is all totally unnecessary, he told himself. There’s no time for your own pity party. The past doesn’t matter anymore. He relented.

“Well, no one has ever taken me seriously, or followed me for that matter. It makes me feel better about everything. I’ve always been sort of a letdown most of my life.”

“You’re doing fine. Better than fine even, you’re doing great. You probably never found anything you were really good at. I know that sounds horrible but maybe you were born for this. You’re the way you are because some cosmic power decided to give you the tools to make it through this thing, but not much else. You’ve got what it takes for this place and time. You’re keeping us alive and that is in no way disappointing.”

Layne beamed, feeling startling confident. It was almost an alien emotion. He smiled at Natasha.

“Thank you for that. Speaking of my mythical powers, they’re telling me to go check on your brother.”

“Yeah, you better.” She said, dropping the other shoe to the floor.

She watched the point in space that he had just occupied for a long time after he left.

Layne found Nathan lying across the bench seat of Casper’s truck. He was rummaging under the seat.

“Is there anything on the radio?” Layne asked.

Nathan jumped at the sound of his voice and rolled over. He sat up. After his heart slowed down he shook his head and hung his feet out the door.

“It only plays static. I think that it’s broken.” Nathan said.

“Damn.”

Layne’s eyes dropped to the mass of fast food wrappers and other trash scattered across the floorboard.

“Find anything down there?” He asked skeptically.

“Nah, I was just thinking that maybe there would be a tire iron or something stashed underneath. You know, like in Night of the Living Dead?” Nathan asked.

Layne nodded, he knew what the teen was getting at.

“Let’s get back to the bunkhouse and out of sight. Natasha is probably in the shower by now but you’re up next.”

“There’s a shower in there!” Nathan exclaimed, pushing out of the truck’s cab.

Layne couldn’t recall ever having seen a teenage boy so excited about the prospect of taking a shower. He watched as Nathan ran across the lawn and disappeared into the bunkhouse. When he was out of sight Layne looked suspiciously under the seat to see if the boy had been at something that he didn’t want seen. He didn’t find evidence of anything, besides the stale smell of old food wrappers. Quietly he closed the door and went around to the back of the truck to collect the food that Nathan had gathered but forgotten to take.

The water ran hot and constant the entire time Layne was in the shower. He silently thanked whoever had decided to equip the bunkhouse with a propane heater instead of the small electric hot water tank you’d expect to find in a place like this. Still, he couldn’t manage to stay in the shower as long as Natasha or Nathan had, no after his experience with the dishwasher. He felt jaded and it left the proverbial bitter taste in his mouth. He was beginning to drowse on his feet and turned the water off.

He got dressed in Alan’s, dead Alan, clothes. A blue chambray work shirt and jeans were laid out for him across the toilet seat. He was still towel drying his hair when he found that the siblings were drowsing in separate room. This felt a bit curious to him in light of the way they had clung to one another since leaving the diner.

Layne decided that he’d let them sleep and was a little bit annoyed to find that the exhaustion he had felt in the shower had phased away. He stooped down to the mini fridge in the corner of the living room and found it halfway full of Redbull, the other half was stacks of horse de-wormer.

He lifted the small tab of the can and cracked it open wide. He drank half of the can in two swallows and felt almost light headed as the carbonation expanded in his stomach. He finished off the contents of the can and set about collecting the supplies they would need. He put them in a pile off to one side of the closet. He was disheartened when he realized that they would never be able to carry everything. He would have loved it if they could have taken it all.

It took him about fifteen minutes to empty the contents of the closet onto the floor of the mudroom. He sorted things into three piles and returned what was left to the closet. He considered the space and weight that they would accumulated as they added clothing, food and water to their gear.

He found a well worn and oiled black leather coat. He was fairly certain that if he had to sustain a bite that the leather would protect him marginally. There would probably be a terrible bruise instead of a gaping hole of missing flesh. He transferred the chipped ashtray from his dirty jeans to the coat and put it on. It fit nicely, almost as if it were tailored to him.

He added a pair of brown cowboy boots, the only footwear in the entire world it seemed. The boots were dusty and careworn but they fit comfortably when he added a second layer of socks to his feet. Pulling his pants legs down over the boots he stood and started working his way through another can of Redbull.

“Your power nap is over sunshine.” Layne said.

He nudged Nathan in the arm with a cold can of Redbull and the boy looked at him through slitted eyes. He groaned and tried to roll away but Layne persisted. He set the can on the mattress and stood up.

“Come on.” Layne said. “Drink that and let’s get something to eat before we pack up. I want to be gone before it starts raining and those undead fuckers decide to shack up here for the night.”

It was supposed to be a joke but even as it rolled off his tongue Layne realized that it wasn’t the least bit amusing. Nathan sat up grudgingly and kneaded the sleep from his eyes.

“Do we really have to go? We’ve got a ton of food and even hot water. Those things have already left this place behind.”

“If they’ve been through here once then they could come through here again. I don’t know how far they went after last night but it feels like we’re pushing out luck.”

Nathan nodded and set the energy drink on the floor next to the bed.

When Layne went to wake Natasha she opened her eyes before he could say a word.

“You do know that I need my beauty sleep don’t you?”

“No, I didn’t know that. I’m actually worried that if we sleep too long that we’ll have nightmares.”

Her hair was backlit from the small window and it burned like the coals of a fire. He felt a curious, but not unwelcome, stirring in his chest and shrugged inwardly. Gingers eh Layne? I never knew you had a thing for redheads. He mocked himself because no one was there to do it for him.

“You look beautiful for now, sleep later.” He blurted.

“You think so?” She asked, lifting herself on an elbow.

“Come on, don’t mess with me. There are better things to do. I already got all of the supplies situated. There’s a pack for each of us and I’ve broken up the supplies as close to evenly as I could. Come check it out.”

Layne was in the mini fridge hauling out an armload of Redbull when she came out of the room stretching. He made sure that he had collected every last can and set to the task of organizing his pack.

They could only carry two of the number ten cans a piece and while Layne was still trying to solve this logistical dilemma Natasha came out of the bunkhouse with a box of gallon sized zipper bags. She opened a can of corned beef hash from both ends and showed the other two how to pack the food double bagged and with a strip of duct tape to prevent the bags from opening. Layne had sighed in mock relief and they spent the next hour opening cans and portioning food.

The food, once extracted from the hermetically sealed cans, wouldn’t last long without refrigeration. But Layne was confident that if they cooked the hell out of it they would be fine for a while. Besides, he told himself, the food won’t last for long because we really can’t carry very much. It’ll be gone before it spoils.

So they filled their packs the rest of the way with food. Nathan insisted on taking two bags full of spicy nacho cheese sauce. Layne decided to let him have his comfort food regardless of whether or not it gave him the shits. Layne snickered and did his best in talking the kid into bringing only one of the bags of cheese.

Layne searched the barn and the bunkhouse in vain for a quarter of an hour trying to find a plastic or Styrofoam cooler. He would have happily dragged it behind himself for three days if he could have filled it with steaks, pork chops and chicken breasts. But he settled on stuffing four vacuumed packed choice cut rib eye steaks into the side pockets of his new leather coat, after having moved the lucky chipped ashtray to a safe place deep within his pack.

They ended up leaving a dozen packaged bags of food and twice as many open industrial sized cans of food behind. Layne shut and closed the refrigerator door and locked it with a padlock confiscated from the barn. He pocketed the key and thought that it couldn’t hurt to have a stash of food somewhere, even if everything inside that wasn’t tinned or dried would spoil in a few days. He never would end up coming back to the truck and its cache of food. Perhaps he’d had off the key to another group of survivors that planned to hazard this part of the wastelands.

“Do we have everything we need?” Layne asked, more to himself than to either of the two standing before him.

Natasha shrugged and Nathan fidgeted with the chest claps on his pack. Layne snapped his fingers and rolled his eyes feigning forgetfulness.

“Ass-wipes.” Layne said.

He leaned his pack against the truck’s tire and trotted back into the bunkhouse. He returned momentarily with a cellophane wrapped package of toilet paper.

“What are you, some kind of Boy Scout?” Natasha asked, grinning wholeheartedly.

“I was actually. Never made it to Eagle Scout but I paid attention and earned a few merit badges.”

He crushed six of the rolls of ‘ass-wipes’ flat and crammed them into three of the remaining zipper bags. He handed the bundles out and they were forced to find space in their already bulging packs. Layne pulled the chipped ashtray from his pack and examined it. He brushed the remaining layer of ash away with a thumb.

“We will ration the TP for now and whoever goes through it the fastest will get to carry the supply permanently from then on when we resupply.” Layne said, winking mischievously at Natasha.

“Sexist pig, is that what they taught you in scouts?” She grinned sardonically and tried not to give the Layne the impression that she’d allow him to get in anymore feminine jabs. Grunting, she shouldered her pack and hopped up and down, testing the weight distribution.

“No, that was an all male environment; I’m just winging it right now. For instance, I think we should stay off of the main roads. It’s not so bad out here because we’re in the sticks. At least that’s what I’ve been thinking. But it could get heavy any time, you guys know that. So if you see something, say something. We’ll head east for now. If there’s any place out there that’s safe it’d be Fort Lewis. So until we’ve get a better plan or more information we’ll head there on foot.” Layne said.

He held out the ashtray so they could see it. It was smoky grey, with a large chip missing from one corner where he had brained a zombie outside his house. And in the bottom was a decal. Fort Lewis it said, Founded 1917 and an image of the base’s Garrison logo.

“This ashtray is fate. It’s saved me more than once already. We’ll follow where it takes us.” He said, tucking it in the inside breast pocket of his coat.

He opened a can of Redbull and pushed through the gate next to the barn. He checked the sun over his left shoulder and stepped out through the fragrant waving timothy.