Dead Sea

    "I'm ignorant?"

    "That's what it means."

    He stomped his foot. "I'm not ignorant."

    "I didn't say you were. But when you use that word, that's what you're calling other people-and yourself."

    Malik frowned in concentration.

    I turned to Tasha. "You got any other weapons in the apartment? Anything you kids could use against the zombies?"

    "No. But I think Malik is right. You should load the shotgun now. Might not have a chance later."

    "Okay." I sighed. "I'll load it."

    I pulled the shotgun shells out of my pocket. Then I fumbled with the weapon, wondering how they went in. There was a slot on the side, about the same size as the ammunition, but I wasn't sure which way the shells were supposed to face. The kids watched me in bewilderment.

    Malik smirked. "You don't know how to load it, do you?"

    "No," I admitted. "I don't know much about guns."

    "And you calling me ignorant? Here, let me show you."

    He took the gun from me and quickly inserted the shells with his little fingers. Then, with a smug, satisfied grin, he handed it back to me.

    "Thanks."

    "Mr. Washington taught me how."

    "What happened to him?"

    "He got eaten." The boy clammed up then, and stared at the floor. It was obvious that he was reluctant to say any more.

    I checked outside again. The creatures were still coming. The pounding had grown louder and more insistent. We heard a cracking sound, like wood splintering. Tasha and Malik suddenly looked as scared as I felt.

    "Okay," I whispered, "is there another way out of the building?"

    Tasha nodded. "The laundry room, down in the basement. It's got a pair of storm doors that lead up into the alley. And there's the fire escape. But it's broke. Don't extend all the way to the ground."

    "Could we drop to the ground from it?"

    "No, it's too high up."

    "Which side of the building is the alley on?"

    "The right."

    "Do any of your windows face it?"

    She pointed to a side room. "In there. That was Momma's bedroom."

    "Stay here."

    Their mother's room was still full of her presence. It smelled like perfume, lavender, baby powder, and vanilla body lotion. The scents were faint but lingering. It made me sad-in a few more weeks it would probably fade forever. The feeling surprised me. I thought of my own mother, and then pushed those emotions aside. No sense getting maudlin. Not while we were still in danger. The bedroom was dark, but the glow of the fires outside provided light. The bed was made up with a white, lacy comforter and light-green flannel sheets, two pillows, and a ratty old stuffed animal. Dust-covered picture frames and cheap knickknacks lined the top of the dresser. The kids were smiling in all the photos. There were a few books, mostly paperbacks by Toni Morrison, Chesya Burke, and some cheesy African-American romance titles, along with a well-worn copy of the Holy Bible.

    I moved to the window and stared down at the alley-a narrow slice of pavement running between the apartment buildings. An empty paper bag fluttered by, but there was no other movement. So far, the alley was free of zombies. They'd stupidly clustered their forces at the front. It occurred to me that maybe I was giving them too much credit. They didn't know tactics or planning. The only knew hunger. Need. They'd seen their prey go in the front door, so that was where they'd gathered. In a way, it was kind of pathetic.

    So the alley was clear. The question was if it would stay that way in the time it took us to get down to the laundry room. And even then, what was waiting for us down in the streets?

    One step at a time, I thought. Just get down to the laundry room first.

    I walked back into the living room. The kids stared at me expectantly.

    "You guys still have water?"

    "Yeah."

    Tasha took me into the kitchen, where they'd lined up plastic buckets and jugs full of rainwater. Mosquito larvae squirmed in some of them. She explained that they'd been putting the buckets out on the roof. I had the kids wet down their clothes and I did the same again with mine. I also grabbed three more washcloths and soaked them down. I explained how they would help with the smoke if the fires got too close. Then we were ready. The kids still looked frightened, but they didn't argue or give me any lip.

    "Okay," I said. "Stick close, but stay behind me. Breathe through your washcloths and duck down as much as possible. Smoke rises, and the air will be better lower to the ground. Try to keep quiet. You ready?"

    They nodded. Tasha crossed her arms over her chest and shivered.

    "You scared?" 1 asked her.

    "No. Well, yeah. 'Course I'm scared. But that's not why I'm shivering. I'm cold. My clothes are wet."

    "Sorry about that," I apologized. "We'll find you some dry clothes when we get to safety."

    "Where are we going?" Malik asked.

    I paused, not sure how to answer him.

    "I don't know. Somewhere else. Somewhere other than here."

    "Someplace where there's no zombies?"