Day 86: July 3rd, Saturday

"President Howard will address the nation tomorrow at noon, along with his cabinet and the bipartisan support of both the House and the Senate, promising the greatest military campaign in American history to take back our home!" DJ Swayze declared on the radio over breakfast, though he sounded more like a child who was forced to eat broccoli during dinner. His hesitation and skepticism were palpable through the airwaves.

"Howard? Who the fuck is Howard?" Haskell squeaked.

"Didn't we just have that really old guy?" Yousef asked.

"The president's dead," Peter said, "I bet he's the replacement."

"I sure didn't vote for a Howard as our vice-president in the last election, nor have I ever heard of him. I follow politics sometimes," Alfie said.

Must be one of the generals, I assumed. Got to be. Or probably one of the senators, voted by the senate through some kind of emergency powers. The United States had never faced an enemy this devastating before, that it must have come as a shock to them how the country fell apart at the seams.

"He must be way down the chain-of-command then," Peter added, taking a sip of his coffee. "Anyway, all presidents are the same, just a bunch of blowhards and empty promises..."

"Really? I never imagine you to be an anarchist."

"Chaos is a ladder—or as the saying goes in that one show."

"But still...who the fuck is Howard?" Haskell asked again.

"Probably our soon-to-be-dead president," Peter answered. "Seems like it's been a revolving door lately, a free-for-all. Hell, maybe once the dust clears, I will become the new president." Peter sat back, amused.

Logan leaned close to my ear and whispered, "If that ever happens, I'm going to cross over the border to Canada and never look back."

I scoffed. "If that country still exists."

"Heh. If ours and theirs still exist."

"Guys, guys, listen. This is a good thing!" Alfie gestured for everyone to quiet down. "This means the government is still up and running. Suppose they're going to address the country. In that case, it means they're wholly confident there's still people to save, populated areas, refugee centers, hell, probably even several States that are still left standing without any cases."

"I don't know, man. I'm not gonna trust them," Miguel hissed. "They blew up New York, my home, and the people I know—knew. Who knows what they are up to. I agree with Logan that it's just going to be a bunch of empty promises and recycled bullshit, just like every decade." He let out a heavy sigh. "After everything that has happened to us, I don't think we can go back to what it used to be, maybe never again. Have you guys forgotten what had happened since then? People are killing each other! Roving gangs and vectors multiplying like flies! It'll overrun this country by the end of the year."

"Well, in our last report from Westpoint, the northeast is the heaviest hotspot in this pandemic, Miguel. It's probably isolated here, and the rest of the country hadn't been as devastated," Haskell said.

But Miguel refused to listen, shaking his head. "No offense, Haskell, but that was, what, three months ago? Who knows how far this virus has gone? We're too busy running and hunting for food just to survive."

"That's just you being pessimistic." Haskell threw his hands up.

"Is it? Look at it this way. Do you think choosing the Fourth of July as the day of the speech is not deliberate? Because it fucking is!" Miguel said. "This is all to string our patriotic spirit. Make it all flashy for the people who want to finish this. Like telling everyone to look at how competent our government is when it fucking isn't, then having an Independence Day speech to bolster the troops! Pick it up to their bootstraps, and yada-yada, and maybe they'll have A-List, celebrity appearances like Lady Gaga and Beyonce having a duet with the national anthem, or America the Beautiful, while the House of Congress and the White House gets overwhelmed by vectors behind the stage! Oh! Will there be fireworks too in the country's shape, and then light it up with the American Flag colors? Oh, please. Give me a break. That money can be used to rescuing and helping people than a televised lights show."

"Now, you're just imagining stuff. You believe what you want to believe." Haskell folded his arms, clearly done with arguing with Miguel about it.

"I'm not discounting Miguel's opinion, but maybe Alfie and Haskell are on to something. There could be dozens of cities turned into massive Safe Zones like Albany, maybe extending to the outlying regions, make them all infection-free," Yousef chimed in. "Last I heard from the refugees in Albany, the entire west coast barely had any cases after they grounded all the flights throughout North America and secured the Rockies. That's the talk in the camps, anyway. Everyone wanted to head west and cross the Rocky Mountains, perhaps go to Alaska, which has no reports of infection."

"As I said, that was three months ago!" Miguel groaned, but no one listened.

I perked my head up. I had heard the same thing from General Clemons, but back then, he didn't sound confident that they would be able to handle the smaller outbreaks, expecting them all to grow out of control like what had happened in the northeast. If Yousef was right, that meant Portland probably went through this pandemic unscathed. And that means my parents are still alive, I hoped. Everyone here wished the virus had never reached their towns yet, especially Yousef since Fort Wayne—his hometown—was only four hundred miles west of Pittsburgh. If given a chance, I had a sneaking suspicion that Yousef would risk the journey, maybe on his own once we reach Pittsburgh, though he'd be dead before he could get ten miles. Prayers can only push you so far until they can no longer save you, except to give you comfort. However, killers and monsters rarely provide such merciful things.

"Let's get out of here," Logan whispered to me.

"And go where? Join Peter and Haskell to hunt for those batteries?" I asked.

"Nah. They'll argue about this until dinner. I'm sick of it already, and I don't want to hear it during the ride. What's the point, anyway? We're stuck behind the red zone with a bunch of assholes trying to kill us. We have to focus on getting as far away as possible and not...whatever this is going. Watching TV? Really?"

I shrugged. "We're stuck here, so everyone just wanted to believe in something, find some distraction. This is one of them."

"Well, count me out of it. The only thing I need to believe in is you, this group, and that RV back there. Those are enough for me to last us until Pittsburgh."

"Your confidence in me is scary sometimes," I said sarcastically.

Logan grinned. "Have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately? You've got us this far. Hell, if I stick longer with you, I might make it back home!"

"See? You gotta be careful. You might have spoken too soon, then we'll both end up dead."

"Fine. You know, I just wished you could have killed more of those Alphas, more chance of us not meeting any of those weirdos in the future. Shoot them all in the head for good measure."

I froze, not knowing what to say, shifted uncomfortably on my seat.

Logan noticed, both his eyes bulged in surprise, quickly shook his head. "Forget I said that."

"No...no..." How long should I keep this up?

"I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay, Logan. I...I know they're still out there." Must I keep on going like this? "I know they're organized. I haven't forgotten that."

Silence between us. The others continued arguing about the oncoming presidential address at the periphery. I took the last gulp of my cooling coffee, emptied the mug, and put it under my chair. I didn't know what to think of how nonchalant Logan was of killing other people or that the entire group seemed to think it was all okay. I guessed it was easier to compartmentalize in your brain who were the bad guys and who were the good guys—with us being in the latter. Perhaps I'm beginning to see it that way, too, only catching up to everyone, albeit late. Or maybe, they were just as good at hiding their trauma as easy as putting up a smile.

For all I know, they looked to me as an example, reckoned I had the handle of the pie and eating it to boot, that nothing went over my head without earning a shiver, which makes it easier for them to forget that the other side were also humans. As if to say, if Bren can come out of the ordeal unscathed, why can't I? I saw it in their eyes, the way they looked at me, knew that I could not say a word that would change their mind. It was a lose-lose situation. If they saw me break down, the group would fall apart. I couldn't let that happen, not when we're so close to getting out of here.

Just another four hundred miles...almost there. Or is that just another bullshit rhetoric?

Perhaps I am like any politician, like this new president, who became good at spouting half-truths and pulling up a front for others, hiding the pain, the nightmares. That doesn't make me brave, however.

It only makes me a coward.

I rubbed the palm of my hands over the hem of my shirt and stood up. "I like your idea. Let's go somewhere and clear our heads."

Logan blinked at me, let out a breath, then smiled. "Okay."

"You have any suggestions?"

"I thought you could pick where you want to go."

"Don't ask me. You invited me, remember?"

Logan paused for a moment—an idea struck. "Well...there is one place."

——

"On the way here, when you said we're going somewhere, I expected something nice, something with a view. I didn't think it's going to be, well, Walmart, of all places," I said.

"Bah, you'll love it," Logan said.

I got out of the Honda Civic, peering ahead, checking to see the corners if there were vectors or survivors nearby, listened in for running footsteps, maybe a moan or a shriek. There were none. I closed the door, but I still had my hand on Betty holstered close to my hips. I opened the backseat door and took out my backpack; put it on.

The enormous, warehouse-like building stood imposingly, storefront doors and windows had already blown and shattered inward, banners of 'SOS' and 'ALIVE' plastered over the roof, abandoned cars and tents littered across the parking lot, but thankfully, not a vector in our sight.

"But Walmart?"

Logan kept on grinning. "Aw. Are you disappointed?"

"No... I'm more intrigued. I mean, this is a dump. We were here two weeks ago, and we already know that it had been stripped clean of supplies. Why are we back here?"

"Because we're not here for food, dummy. There are other things that got left behind last time I saw."

"Uh, like what?"

"That's why they call it a surprise, Bren. You're not supposed to know."

I glared at him. "I hate surprises."

"Eh. I don't care."

Logan took out his rifle from the back seat and put it on around his shoulders. Then, he grabbed Bean's crossbow, which he had been practicing with for the past few weeks, taking dummy targets that Jun had placed around the shipping containers. Jun also had to teach him how to make his own arrows since they ran out faster than you could blink. Lastly, Logan grabbed the quiver and placed it around his hips—eight arrows in total, one already set in the track. Though I am not good with handling those, in my opinion, Logan was actually pretty good at it.

I looked at the crossbow slung around his shoulder. "You gotta let me borrow that once in a while."

"But it's mine..."

"Sharing is caring."

"What? Are we in freaking kindergarten again?" Logan jeered sarcastically.

"No. Only you. It seems like you never left the classroom."

Logan picked up a loose plastic fork on the road and threw it at me, hitting me on the shoulder. "Asshole. Fine. I'll let you have it when we get back."

I laughed. "No worries. Jun offered to teach me how to use a bow a while back, but I haven't gone to do it yet. Maybe once we're on the road, I might take him on his offer."

"You should. Then, you can be Kaptrees Evergreen."

"Katniss Everdeen."

"Huh? That's what I said."

I shook my head, grumbling. "Er, just show me what you want to show me."

He grinned again. "Ha! You won't regret it."

We walked up to the entrance, which was already wide open. All I could see inside was the darkness, damp and cold compared to the summer air outside.

I drew my flashlight out of my backpack, clicked it on, and pointed into the gloom. "As creepy as I remembered it."

Logan made a comically shocked face, mouth hanging open, felt like he was going to swallow a watermelon. "What? Bren? Scared? I can't believe it! Who are you?"

I rolled my eyes. "Shut up. Just do your thing, would you?"

Logan chuckled, then gestured an exaggerated salute. "Yes, boss. Copy, boss."

Logan grabbed a piece of wood that came off the barricaded windows, tapped it repeatedly against the metal grating hanging for dear life on the header. The faint echo went across the parking lot, but inside, the rattling of wood and metal reverberated thunderously. It didn't take long for the vectors to answer the call. We waited, listening.

"I hear...three? Yup. Three," Logan said.

"I heard it, too."

"Ready?" He took off the crossbow, aimed it into the gloom.

I took out the hatchet, thought it better not to use the gun, else drew more attention to us. We can handle three, I thought. "Here they come."

A shadow passed behind the shelves, now found its way between the aisles, shrieking, hair matted over her face, but her eyes gleamed with deadly intent as she passed between the sunlight peeking out from the roof's broken skylight. She ran over piles of clothes, the half-opened food products left rotting, and the debris, clattering once her feet hit and sent them flying everywhere. Another figure darted after her. Then another. And another, taller than the rest, probably more than six-foot-tall.

"I was wrong. There's four. Right there."

"I see him. A quiet one, eh? That's new."

"Looks like it."

"Well, we kill 'em just like all the others." I stepped up beside the doorframe, took the piece of wood from Logan's hand. I put the hatchet back on my hip, sheathe loose.

"Got it." Logan took a step back as the woman came into view, aimed the crossbow, and fired. The arrow flew, whistled, struck her on the right cheek of her face. She went down immediately, thrashing on the floor, trying to pry the arrow off her face. Logan put the tip of the crossbow down, placed his foot on the stirrup as he loaded another arrow.

The second figure, a man in a bloodied turtleneck, came charging, but the woman was on his way, tripped, found himself tumbling on the floor, sprawled there like a fish out of water. The third figure, another woman, was lucky, avoiding the stampede by running around them. She ran toward Logan just as he was in the process of pulling strings back to the spring.

I tightened my grip on the wood, held it high like a baseball bat. The woman came into view, rushing out of the door, eyes too focused on Logan. Deep breath, swung, felt the wood connected to her head, found myself driving it forward as hard as I could. She went down with hands over her bleeding head. Hatchet on my hand again, I rammed it on her skull, pulled her up by the collar of her shirt for another blow, but she lay limp, dead.

"Bren! Get down!" Logan screamed.

Footsteps ahead, heavy, charging, knew what was coming. I curled my body, kept my head down, felt something pass over me, followed by a body falling on the ground, skidding to a stop a foot away. The second vector had an arrow stuck on his neck. Logan dashed to his side, pulled out his knife, and plunged it deep into the vector's right eye. He, too, went limp. Logan took back the arrow from the man's throat, rushing to put it back into the barrel. I strode toward the woman who went down first, still thrashing on the floor as she almost pried the arrow out of her cheek. One blow to the head with my hatchet ended all that.

"Piece of cake," Logan said.

"Like breathing," I said.

After Logan finished loading the arrow back into his crossbow, he leaned over the dead bodies, trying to remember their faces. "They weren't here before, and they looked recently infected. Recognized any of them?"

I looked at the three faces before me, shook my head. "Probably from the mall, or they could be one of the prisoners, or maybe they're new in town, went looking for supplies and ended up here. Doesn't matter now. Dead is dead."

"Dead is dead," Logan repeated, almost a whisper.

"One more to go, though."

Logan looked around, frowned. "Uh...Bren? Where the fuck did it go?"

I froze. Huh. Did he go into hiding? There was no sight of him anywhere, not even a sound in the darkness deep into the store. I aimed my flashlight there, wishing I'd see a shape, but I found nothing. "Keep your eyes open. Might be a honcho." I hoped not.

Logan scoffed, whispered, "I've never met a ten-year-old who is six-foot-tall before."

"Nor a vector that hides..."

"Maybe this isn't a good idea anymore."

"Just keep your eyes open. It saw us, and I don't want to risk it following us back to camp. Since we're here, might as well finish this and empty the nest."

"Good point. What should we do?"

"We hunt this thing down."

Logan sighed. "For once, I'd like a nice little stay-cation, far from doing things like this."

"Sorry. We don't get to pick and choose, you know."

"Bah. Circle of life. Tell me something I don't know. Let's get this bastard." Logan rattled the metal grating once again; the sound reverberated across the store, only this time, no one answered.

Nothing moved.

I frowned. "Shy little fellow."

"He's smart. He's not gonna fall for this shit."

"He saw what happened to his friends, I guess."

"You think he's watching us?"

The thought made my spine crawl out of my body, made me feel like making a run for the car. But if he can hide...can he chase us? Can he strategize an attack? How far does his mental capacity reach? Can it follow us back to the warehouse? Can it even track? Every picture that came into my mind only unnerved me more. Fuck. This is not how I imagined this day to go.

I nodded slowly. "He's watching, alright." Surely he must be itching to attack us by now? Vectors constantly attacked once they sensed their prey at the slightest hint, so his instincts must be screaming at him to go. Why are you holding back? Unless...

"He's waiting," I said.

"Waiting?"

"Yeah. Like us. We're waiting for an opportunity to attack him. He's doing the same thing."

"A stand-off, then. Never thought I'd wish for a vector to attack me."

"Nor did I."

A pause. "I have an idea. A stupid one, but one that might work."

"What is it?" I asked, never leaving my eyes from the store's dark corners, expecting the vector to pop out of there.

"One of us can be the bait and lure him out?"