"Can we at least take the truck to the Brantley's house? It would only make sense. Instead of walking back and forth for food," Nick explained. I sighed and nodded, he was right. I ran into the house to look for Pa's keys. I found them on the kitchen counter, next to one of his hunting watches. We got into Pa truck and I drove to the Brantley's house. Nick played with the radio. He hoped someone would come over one of the radio stations and say something, but I was sure no one would, not after the bombing we just witnessed. We heard nothing but static on every station he turned it to, until he turned it to 105.5.

"Fifty-one. Again. If anyone survived the bombing in San Antonio or in the surrounding area, we ask that you please meet us in Houston, Texas at Fire Station 51. We are leaving tomorrow afternoon for the safe houses in Montreal, Canada. We cannot stay in Houston any longer than tomorrow afternoon. We asked that you get here as quickly as possible so you can travel with us. Again if there are any survivors out there please meet us in Houston at Fire Station 51. We are headed to Canada."

Nick looked at me and grinned, as I drove up the Brantley's drive way. I parked behind Mr. Brantley's truck and took a deep breath. Jeremy grabbed my shoulder and I looked back at him.

"I think we should do it," he suggested with certainty. I thought about it. I was scared of leaving, scared of fighting those things, but Nick was right. There was no way we could survive here. The food was eventually going to run out again. Then I thought about other survivors. The more there were the better chance Jeremy and I had to survive.

"Alright, we'll take what we can from the Brantley's house, go home and pack. Then we'll head to Houston," I uttered.

Jeremy and Nick smiled at me. I wasn't sure about leaving, but I would definitely feel comfortable around more people, especially people who were competent. I thought about the survivors in Houston. We didn't see many of those monsters out here, but I'm sure they were all over Houston. If they survived this long they had to dependable. Nick pushed my shoulder and stared at me weirdly as I dazed off. I chuckled and opened the truck door. We got out the truck and walked to the Brantley's door, it reeked. Jeremy threw up and ran off the porch. I knew what the smell was, seven weeks was a long time to be dead on the floor.

"Stay out here Jeremy, we'll be finished in a minute," I said, as I patted his back. Nick and I walked through the front door, the smell worsened. Mr. Brantley was exactly where I left him. The only thing that was left were his bones and small bits of flesh on his body, which were slowly being eaten away by flies and maggots. As I walked toward the kitchen I saw Mrs. Brantley, she looked the same as Mr. Brantley. Maggots covered her flesh and her bones and her hair was on the floor lying next to her skull. We continued to walk to the kitchen stepping over Mr. Brantley's body. We looked through all the cabinets, the refrigerator, and freezer. They had food, but only enough to last one day. Nick and I carried what we could out the house, which wasn't much. I walked back into the house to Mr. Brantley's room to search for supplies and ammunition. The room was clean, just a few pictures knocked down from the after wind, from the bomb. I checked his bedroom closet and found a Mossberg shotgun in the corner with the barrel facing the ceiling. I grabbed it and looked for shotgun shells on the closet shelf.

"Click!"

"If you move, I'll blow your brains all over his closet."

My heart felt as if it was going to erupt in my chest. I heard its beat in my ear. It was a woman's voice, she didn't sound old, but she didn't sound like a child neither. I did as she asked, I didn't want to be shot in the back of the head. She knew I was nervous. My body shook from head to toe.

"Drop the gun and put your hands up," she commanded. I dropped the shotgun and put my hands up. I tried to think of a way out of this. I had never been in a situation like this before, I didn't know what to do. I wanted to say something, but I was scared I might say the wrong thing. I didn't know who this girl was behind me. She could've been a psychopath or someone just as scared as me. It didn't matter who I thought she was right now because she had my life in her hands.

"Good, now kneel down," she demanded. "Is there someone here with you?"

I didn't answer her, I just kneeled and prayed for a miracle. I knew Nick wasn't coming upstairs, he was probably in the car talking to Jeremy about Canada. I had to do something. It was either going to be me or her and it wasn't going to be me. She pushed the gun to the back of my head.

"Is there anyone with you?" she growled, as she took a step closer to me. "I'm not going to ask you again."

"Yeah, I'm with him. Now, how about you put your hands up and drop the gun," Nick said, pointing his rifle at her head. Instantly, I felt relieved.

"Dammit," she mumbled, doing as Nick commanded. I took a deep breath, turned around and looked at her. She was a black girl. She was short, a few inches above five feet. Her black curly hair stopped just below her neck. Angrily, I peered into her slanted brown eyes and clinched my fist. The black girl, who had small brown freckles around her nose and cheeks looked at me nervously. I scanned her with my eyes and notice her blue jeans, brown tank top and black sneakers were clean. More than likely she stayed clear of the cannibles by sneaking around them. She looked at me fearfully as I stepped towared her. She was scared for her life and I didn't feel sorry for her one bit.

"How do you like the shoe on the other foot?" I asked angrily. She put her head down.

"Please don't hurt me. I wasn't going to hurt you," she begged, pleading for her life. "I was going to take the gun from you and send you on your way."

I looked her in her eyes, she looked back at me, with a sincere look in her eyes. I believed her. I picked up her silver revolver and placed it in my pocket.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I've been coming here to get food. I saw what was happening on the news so I stayed home, but I didn't have much food to begin with so I came over here to see if the Brantley's could help me," she said, sounding intimidated.

"How do you know the Brantley's?"

"They're my neighbors, I've been over here more than a few times. When I came over I notice they had been murdered by someone or they tried to murder someone. I called 911, but I kept receiving the same voicemail. So after hours of no help I decided to take the food and go home. Every time I'm out of food I come over here and get more. I'm too scared to go too far alone where those things are," she explained.

"Two thing wrong with your story. One, I've been the Brantley's neighbor all my life and I've never seen you before. Two, if you were getting food what the hell where you doing up here?" I muttered.

"My mom and I moved here six months ago. I didn't go the local school because I'm home schooled. Second," she said, with an attitude. "I ran up here because I heard your truck in the drive way. I didn't know who was coming. So I ran upstairs and hid under Mr. Brantley's bed."

I sighed, then turned around and grabbed the shotgun. I knew she wasn't lying. I remember Pa, talking about new black neighbors, said they seem like very private people. He also called her mother rude for not waving back at him when he waved.

"So what now?" Nick asked, moving his rifle barrel away from her head.

"We continue as planned. We pack and go to Houston."

"What's in Houston?" she asked, raising herself off the floor. "And can I get my gun back?"

"A group of survivors going to Canada, they're leaving tomorrow. We're trying to catch them before they go," Nick answered.

"I'm coming too," she demanded.

"That's not how this works. We don't even know you," I replied. "And I'll give you your gun when we leave. I don't want a bullet in my back as I'm walking away."

"I'm Tabitha and I have no plans on shooting you or anyone in the back. I just want to make it through this so I can see my mother again," she said, introducing herself. "So who are you guys?"

"I'm Nick and he's Justin," Nick answered. "Justin is just mad because you scared him. Pointing a gun at someone is very serious."

She looked at me with a sad facial expression and pouted her lips. I felt as if she was teasing me, it made me madder. "Justin, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I was only protecting myself from the big bag man."

Nick chuckled. "She's funny. I like her."

I frowned at Nick, then at Tabitha. "I don't like you Tabitha, but my conscious would bother if I left you stranded out here. Plus, you might be of some use to us. You can come, but if you piss me off again you're out of luck."

"Don't worry he's mad at you right now, he'll lighten up," Nick whispered. I stepped out of the Brantley's bedroom and Nick and Tabitha followed. We walked outside where Jeremy was waiting. I put the shotgun in the back of the truck and got into the driver seat. Tabitha sat in the back next to Jeremy and Nick sat in the front passenger seat. I started the truck and drove back to our home.

"Who are you?" Jeremy asked.

"I'm Tabitha. What's your name?" she said introducing herself.

"I'm Jeremy, I'm thirteen. how old are you?" he asked.

"Sixteen."

"How do you know Justin?" he asked.

"I don't. I was told you guys were going to Houston, so I decided to tag along since I don't have anywhere else to go."

"What about your parents?" he asked.

"I haven't talked to my mom in eight weeks. She went out of town for a few days and never came back. She told me something bad was about to happen and to stay home until she got here. But I'm sure she's not coming back," she answered sadly.

Tabitha turned away from Jeremy and faced the window, I started to feel bad for her. At least I knew where my parents were. I knew it had to suck to hear your mom say she's coming back and know she wasn't.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you cry," Jeremy replied.

"I'm not crying, I'm tough. I know I'll find her eventually," she cheerfully smiling at Jeremy. I stopped the truck in front of our porch, Jeremy and I got out the truck and walked inside. I told Jeremy to get his backpack and to pack only the items he would need including a change of clothes. Nick and Tabitha sat on the couch in the living room.