The Pack had a conditionally permanent home in the corpse of an outdoor shopping mall. It had been slightly high end and boasted a quite unusual layout. Open air courtyards were surrounded on all sides by retail stores and dead escalators gave way to a small second floor of balconies that looped around. Most shops had entrances facing the courtyards with big display windows. It was as close to a medieval castle as the New Land could get.

The Pack blocked off outside facing entrances with heavy layerings of sixteen wheelers and dump trucks. Any gaps in between were blocked with rubble filled trash cans and plywood hammered together. Together it formed a wall or outer perimeter that was up to ten feet high in some places.

Not only was the mall the best fortified base I’ve seen, it was also the best held. Watch shifts were a well oiled machine, everyone knowing their place and rough time estimates by the sun’s location in the sky. Everyone had a job, whether it be guarding, patrolling, or inside tasks to maintain quality of life. Even the many children (nearly a third of the group) had jobs as messengers passing word to guards and reminders.There was even children Grace’s age and I remember being blown away by how many lives they could protect. 

The usual rhythm of the base is thrown off by our arrival. Brian leads us to a lower part of the wall, which we could see little in the dying light. Just getting past the first two guards takes 20 minutes as everyone reunites and condolences are shared for Lily. A scrawny little boy bringing water swears loudly when he sees us and dashes off to spread the word.

“We really should get back to the wall,” one of the guards tells us. “Don’t forget to ask Rawls about the toys, okay, Nicky?”

“I will!”

“Oh, you can’t bring that dog in,” the other guard says. We all look down at the beagle, who’s beat all the odds and managed to stay alive this whole time. He’s stuck close to me in the streets, much to my chagrin.

“Is Rawls trying to de-flea again?” Jacob asks. The beagle looks dolefully at Savannah, who dispassionately regards him.

“Yeah. We’re not all as fortunate as the wolves.”

“You’re just going to kick him out?” Nils asks.

“I mean, no. He can stay behind the wall. But he can’t come in.” Nils and I share a look of concern. 

I brace myself for the worst but no excited swarm is there to greet us when we enter the main courtyard. Guard duty is treated seriously and most everyone else is busy. But there is a small group that makes Nils let lose a happy noise that sounds like an arf.

“Rawls!” he shouts, and jogs up to meet the man heading the welcome party. He’s a short, scruffy white guy with long brown hair. I can see the family resemblance between him, Nicole, and Savannah. He wraps Nils up in a huge hug and Nicole joins in, crying again. The two women with Rawls crowd around Grace and start cooing in delight. Savannah nudges past me and I start. She sniffs and looks around, and seeming satisfied, morphs into a human.

“Head count?” she asks Rawls in a hoarse voice.

“21,” he tells her from beneath a pile of hugs.

“Lily, and?”

“That Austin guy.”

“Kicked or dead?”

“Kicked,” Rawls says. “He was being an ass.” One of the women hands Savannah a shawl and she absentmindedly wraps it around her shoulders. “Who’s the new guy?” 

“Nils picked him up,” Savannah says.

“Oh god, there they are! Is this my niece or nephew, Nicky?!” Rawls is distracted by Grace and the conversation quickly moves on. Savannah drills Rawls on base specifics and inventory as Nicole tells him about the birth and the group’s subsequent adventures.

We’d actually done it.

We'd made it.

And just like that, it was back.

Before, my life was always moving forward. I was always striving to be the best academically. I’d never stopped long enough to hear my own thoughts. Maybe if I had before everything happened, I would’ve realized there wasn’t any to hear. But it was too late. My way of life had been cemented. After D-Day I kept moving the same way I always had. Always forward, always pushing, always fighting. Never feeling.

The last group I had been with ended in the worst possible way. A miniature civil war that drew the attention of a herd. You couldn't even tell who you were fighting in the worst of it, mud and blood mixing us all together, man and monster. I watched it all with a detached view. It dawned on me as I stabbed a shovel through someone's head as they clutched my shins that I didn't know even one of their names. They had told me. And I didn’t care. 

It was like my body was possessed, and it kept fighting, fighting, fighting. There was no difference between my mind in that battle and out of it. There was only one mode: Desperation. After it was over I started going back to the airport. It wasn't a decision, exactly. It was perhaps a warped sense of hope.

here I can stop

But then, of course, I was found. My autopilot quickly allied with this roving pack of survivors and I kept moving. But it was all over now, because they wouldn’t be moving anymore. They were home with their family. 

I slip back through a store that had been raided, leaving only worthless tchotchkes. I come out into a small back alley with a chain link fence between it and the wall, where I can see light from a couple of guards. The beagle is somehow there and he trots up to me, tail wagging. I lean against the graffitied wall and flick on my lighter.

My last cigarette. It’s a miracle its made it this far, same as me. I inhale and melt against the wall.

“I wouldn't have pegged you for a smoker.” I don’t turn to look at Nils.

“What are you doing out here?” I ask.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I don’t have family to greet.” Nils squats down next to me. I sneak a look and see him scratching the beagle behind its floppy ears. His face turns and we lock eyes. A chill runs down my spine as icy blue as his.

“Are you trying to leave?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know where you got that impression.” I try to look down at my cigarette but find I can’t tear my eyes away.

“Don’t try and get out of this. I can tell. I can tell you're trying to run away.”

“I’m not ‘trying’ to do anything,” I dryly chuckle. He looks away and it's like I’m let go, like I was hanging from a taunt rope.

“Why are you trying to leave? Do you still want to go back to the airport to die?”

“I don’t know.”

“But you’re trying to leave.”

“Yes.”

“Why?” I’m quiet, working on my cigarette. “Well?” he says impatiently.

“I don’t know,” I admit again. My cigarette is gone already, dead far too soon. My foot shakes as I stamp out the butt. “When…” He waits during my long pause. “When I’m still...everything gets too much.”

“Me too,” he whispers. I look at him, his chin resting on his hands over a knee. I’ve mirrored his position without realizing. “Can you stay? Our brains can be insufferable together.”

For the first time in my life the drive to push forward and the disconnection are joined by a third nameless thing. I don’t know what it is or when it got there.

I suspected it had something to do with the person in front of me, even though I didn’t understand what the nature of that feeling was at that moment.

“Okay,” I whisper, and both Nils and the beagle’s tails wag.