THREE

"I have always found it both fascinating and creepy to go through other people's things." Rick Castle tucked two magazines back into the large wooden display rack hanging on the wall in the home's breakfast nook. He then turned to the petite chest of drawers beneath it and began rummaging.

"Is that so?" his companion asked from where she was unloading the now worthless refrigerator of any bottled or caned drinks that might still be palatable.

"Mmhmm." He hummed in affirmation. "It's awesome."

On his third morning waking up in the tree house, Kate had announced she wanted to try and explore the neighboring cul-de-sac for supplies. As the surrounding area was quite wooded, they decided to take the streets, and it ended up taking them nearly twenty minutes to walk there from the treehouse. On their journey, they'd passed only two zombies, neither of which paid them very much attention, so they had left their brains intact for the time being.

They immediately began checking the doors and windows of the first house they came to and discovered to their fortune that one of the back patio doors was unlocked. This door led into the kitchen and breakfast nook area. With used glasses and bowls still sitting on the table, they could only presume the family of four had left in quite a hurry. Thus, there was hope that supplies remained, or so Kate thought.

While she'd gone directly to the kitchen and set to work, the writer saw no need to rush. Where else did they have to go? What else did they have to do? They, quite literally, had all the time in the world to explore, so why not take it?

"I love observing people." Rick continued as he pulled open the second drawer to find a mismatch of stickie note pads, pens, pencils, and a few markers. "It's part of my nature as a writer. I love to find out what makes people tick, what makes them do the things they do. In that respect, going through people's things is an excellent learning experience. Yet, at the same time, people could be doing the same to my apartment and that's creepy."

"Perhaps you should be doing less rummaging then." The detective suggested wisely.

Rick gazed over at her and shrugged. "Why? Even if I stop, they won't, so I might as well keep going."

"You're one of those people that look in other people's medicine cabinets, aren't you?"

He grinned. "When I feel so inclined, yes." Okay so he didn't look in every bathroom cabinet in strangers homes—generally only when the mood struck him. Or, if he was in the home of someone famous, which was why he was always annoyed that the bathroom he used in James Patterson's house had only had a pedestal sink. No cabinets! How disappointing!

She rolled her eyes at him and he continued, "But here you have to rummage—how else will you find food?"

"I'm going to go on a limb and say there's no food in those drawers."

"Probably not, but—ah!" He proclaimed upon opening the bottom drawer of the petite chest. "Success times two!" He proudly held up his treasures: a sleeve of both AA and AAA sized batteries. "See—these will be helpful."

She raised her hands defensively. "I stand corrected."

Rick placed his batteries on the counter beside the five cans of soda, four water bottles, and six pack of beer she'd extracted from the refrigerator. Resting his hand against the island counter, he observed the space with a wrinkled nose. This kitchen, which could easily be described as being decorated in a country chic type style, was not his taste at all. Firstly, he disliked the color tone of the oak cabinets. Secondly, the woman—at least, he assumed it was the woman—who owned the home had decorated with an excessive amount of barnyard animals. Roosters, cows and pigs seemed to be displayed on almost every surface. To him, it was bizarre.

Wandering past the counter with the stove, Castle found a closed door and pulled it open hoping it was a pantry. Much to his delight, he'd been right and proclaimed aloud, "Sweet! I found the food!"

"Yeah?" his partner called out. "Anything good?"

Rick's eyes glazed over the shelves to find bags of cereal, chips and pretzels sealed with clips. Given the stifling atmosphere of the home, he doubted the clips were doing much to keep the food fresh and imagined the contents might be quite stale. Unfortunately they were not exactly in a position to be terribly picky about food, assuming the food was reasonably edible and would not poison them.

On one of the middle shelves there were unopened boxes of cereal and potato chips, which would be great additions to their stockpile. One snack bag in particular caught Rick's eye and he waggled his eyebrows at it happily. He pulled the bag from the shelf and pulled it open without second thought. After stuffing two morsels into his mouth he said, "I found pork rinds. Want some?"

When Rick emerged from the pantry, he was met by a grimacing Kate. "I seriously hope my survival never comes down to me eating pork rinds or not."

He plunged his hand back in the bag and said, "More for me then." Wandering back to the counter, he pulled one of the beers from the six-pack and popped the cap off using the edge of the counter. Pork rinds and Budweiser—it was almost as though the world hadn't ended. Well, except for the fact that he was eating them while standing in a complete stranger's kitchen. Plus, the beer was unpleasantly warm, but it was better than nothing.

Wandering back to the pantry, Rick began unloading what he could while continuing to drink and eat. He collected the box of Cheerios and Cap'n Crunch (thank god for homes with children!) plus the two chip bags and put them next to the drinks. Back in the pantry, he found more promising yet slightly less fun food items. "Got a few cans of fruit and a bag of rice. Those are much better than pork rinds, don't you think?"

Though he smiled at her, she pressed her lips together and her brow wrinkled, so he asked her what was wrong.

"Nothing, really—the rice is great. Perfect, actually, but just a reminder of how important water is and how we need to work on some really good ways to collect rainwater."

Rick nodded as he set his goods on the counter. In their new, post-apocalyptic existence, water truly was their most precious commodity. Not only did they need it to drink and for some cooking, but water was also needed for washing and cleaning—and not just any water would suffice. It had to be clean, safe water lest they risk making themselves ill. Sadly, not even the best rainwater collection system in the world would help them if there was no rain to collect. By Rick's estimate, it had been at least two weeks since the last precipitation fell from the sky, and even then it hadn't been much.

"Okay, then. When we're done here I'll do a rain dance."

"Not before we get the collections system into place!" She insisted, though she was smiling.

He laughed. "Right sorry."

For the next ten minutes, Rick and Kate worked together to sort the edible contents of the home by levels of usefulness. They separated ready to eat foods from canned goods from items like the rice and pasta that needed cooking before eating. Ultimately they decided to leave behind impractical items like Hamburger Helper and brownie mix. Rick did, however, talk Kate into keeping a bag of granulated sugar because, "you never know when it might come in handy."

Just as they were about to survey the other downstairs rooms for supplies, a crashing sound from the floor above made them both freeze in their tracks. Rick looked over to Kate, who looked back at him wide eyed. For twenty seconds, Rick held his breath and listened, but he could not decide it he heard more sounds from the floor above, or if they were simply coming from the breeze outside. Ultimately, he decided to ask quietly, "Someone upstairs?"

"Or something," came her whispered reply.

Rick estimated they had been in the house for at least half an hour, so he found it odd that a zombie had not responded to the noise they were making in all that time. Perhaps instead it was a human, hiding out in a bedroom or closet. Maybe it was even a child, too scared to reveal himself when the strangers had entered. "We should check it out."

Kate nodded and pulled her gun from the back of her army green Bermuda shorts. Placing both her hands on the gun's grip, she looked up at him. "Well. This seems like a good enough time for a lesson on how police clear rooms."

Despite the nerve-wracking potential unknown on the second floor, this prospect excited the writer. As he had almost exclusively traveled with group of people, he had not had much experience with securing spaces—er, "clearing" them. He'd huddled in garages and abandoned cars, both of which could be deemed safe or unsaved by a quick visual sweep. The two-story home, however, was a different beast entirely.

"Awesome; thanks!"

She gave him a half annoyed look. "Rick, we don't know what we could find up there. I need you to be serious."

He set his jaw and nodded in his best military-style impression. "I am serious. Deadly serious." When she tilted her head to the side and shot him a perturbed look, he almost laughed, but then figured that would earn him more scolding so he said quickly, "Sorry; kidding. I'm actually serious—I promise."

Holding her gun down by her side, Kate began to creep towards the stairs in the front of the home, quietly instructing Rick to follow closely behind her, but also to make sure he was looking behind him, just in case whatever it was ambushed them from the rear.

At the top of the steps, Kate paused and gazed left and right down the hallway. From his vantage point it was difficult to get a full picture, but Rick did not see anything particularly unique about the hall; it seemed quite typical: long and narrow with bedrooms and bathrooms branching off. Instead of progressing forward, Kate stomped her foot hard on the top wooden step, which caused a noise reverberation to echo around them. Rick initially wondered why she had done that, but then he heard the growling to their left and realized she'd been trying to get the undead to reveal his or her position.

Creeping with her back pressed up against the wall, Kate took the ten steps towards the closed door emanating inhuman sounds. She held up an index finger indicating that he wait as she quickly swept the two other doors in that section of the house. One was open revealing a bathroom that Rick could tell from his position was clear of anything dangerous. The other, evidently a bedroom, was also clear.

"Get your knife out." Kate instructed him just loud enough for him to hear. He nodded and did as she asked. His heart slammed into his rib cage as he held the knife tightly in his right hand. Kate counted down quietly from three and when she was finished she kicked open the bedroom door, causing it to splinter on its hinges. Rick braced himself for a zombie to rush out, but none did. He waited for ten seconds, but nothing happened. Yet, moaning could still be heard.

Kate stepped into the doorway and nudged the door open a bit further with her foot. The further the door opened, they were both assailed with the unpleasant stench of urine, feces and rot. As the room was revealed inch by inch, it became obvious why. A shriveled, elderly woman was lying on the floor, reaching out her gnarled fingers and growling at them. It was clear she could not walk, but had fallen out of bed and was attempting to claw her way towards the door.

As Kate pulled out her knife to end the poor undead woman's misery, Rick's stomach flipped in his gut as he realized the story behind the scene. The family of four had left with haste but without their (presumed) grandmother. But why? In what possible scenario could that make sense?

After finishing the task at hand, the detective stood, returned her gun to the back of her shorts and the knife to its sheath on her belt. She turned to face the writer and her feelings on the event were plain; she appeared as nauseated as he did. Clearing her throat, she stepped out of the room and shut the door behind her. "We should check the other bedrooms."

"More zombies?" he asked tentatively.

She shrugged. "Maybe, but I doubt it. You never know if we'll find anything useful. First aid supplies are always welcome."

He agreed with a nod before turning and walking towards the opposite end of the hall, where he found the master bedroom. His hand rested on the handle of his knife as he stepped into the room, but after checking both the walk in closet and en suite bathroom, he found the room vacant. Hopeful that the homeowner might have pants that fit him better than the ones he'd previously found, he returned to the closet and flicked on the light switch. When, after a second nothing happened, he laughed to himself. That instinct was a hard one to get over.

Returning to the bed, he opened the nightstand drawer and found the flashlight he hoped would be stashed there. Twisting the head so it turned on, Rick returned to the closet and searched for men's pants. Sadly, the ones he found were several inches shorter than what he would need, but his trip into the closet hadn't been as disappointing as he'd originally thought. On the back of the closet door, he caught sight of objects hanging that made him call out. "Whoa-ho! Now things are getting interesting again! Kate!"

"What? What did you find?"

He could tell her voice was getting closer as she made her way to the back bedroom, so he called out in response, "Kinky sex toys."

"What!?"

He laughed at her scandalized sounding voice. When she joined him, Rick shined the light on the black leather collection while gazing at her face for her reaction. As it wasn't as interesting as he hoped, he baited her with, "Those are definitely not belts."

"No…no they are not. There are definitely a couple kids' bedrooms out there, too. Hope they knew not to come and look in mommy and daddy's closet." When she looked over at him, they both burst out laughing.

"Jeez, yeah." Rick continued. "You gotta keep this stuff in a less conspicuous place like one of those under the bed storage containers, but not the clear ones! You've got to make sure they're opaque."

When Kate folded her arms over her chest and gazed at him curiously, Rick felt his cheeks flush. The bedroom was already a hundred degrees, but suddenly it felt like a thousand when he realized how his statement sounded. "I mean people should do that. People. Not me. I mean, not that I have this many—I mean, not that I have any—not like this—these. They're um, a lot more…I…" He finally stopped talking as he realized his ramblings were only getting himself into more trouble.

Clearly fighting a laugh, she asked, "Are you done now?"

"Yep." Oh he was very, very done.

"Well, uh, thanks for the entertainment. Would you mind checking the bathrooms up here for supplies? I'm going to go back down and see if I can find a box or something to carry our stuff in."

Rick cleared his throat and nodded in acceptance. "Sounds good."

It was only after she'd left that he fully relaxed his body. Way to make a fool out of yourself with the only woman you've spoken to in a month, Castle, he chastised himself. Then again, he thought with a sigh as he walked back to the en suite, what did it matter? His engagement with Kate was meant to be short lived and while it would certainly be enjoyable while it lasted, in a world like that one, once they parted they would surely never see each other again.

When Kate arrived back in the kitchen, she was still chuckling over Rick's bedroom find. That was precisely the reason that, unlike her companion, she did not find enjoyment in rummaging through other people's belongings; it made her feel endlessly uncomfortable. As she had spent the majority of her adult life training to be and the practicing as a law enforcement officer, the mere fact that she was breaking a half dozen laws with her actions certainly rubbed her the wrong way. True, given the circumstances there was probably not an active government in existence that would charge her, however, she still did not want to take the situation too lightly.

The legalities of their actions aside, Kate still hated the idea of being in someone else's home. She continually felt as though they would return and be irate at her presence. Of course she knew the odds of that taking place were astronomically low, but that didn't mean she had to loiter any longer than necessary or snoop through their belongings. Yes, Rick's discovery had been amusing, but she also would have been perfectly fine not knowing anything about the between-the-sheets activities of the homeowners.

After searching the laundry area for anything useful, Kate procured a plastic ten gallon bin housing spare hats, gloves and scarves. After dumping the contents into a pile on the floor by the washer, Kate began loading the bin with the food they'd discover. Reviewing it again as she packed, she was quite pleased with their discoveries. Evidently, once the area had emptied out, no one else had wandered through and picked at the supplies; that definitely boded well for what remained in the other four houses in that cul-de-sac. If they yielded a similar amount of edible items, she and Rick would be set for quite some time, and that was a very comforting notion.

"Got some bandages, antihistamines, and painkillers—the good prescription kind…though, actually, the prescription was written almost three years ago so we should probably just throw those out." Rick walked into the kitchen with an arm full of bottles. He skimmed through them, plucked one out and tossed it on the counter by the toaster, and then dumped the rest of his load into the storage bin.

"Oh," he paused to pull something out of his back pants pocket, "and I found weed."

"Rick!" Kate half laughed, half scolded the man.

He smirked. "What? You gonna arrest me for being in possession of an illegal substance, Officer?"

She snatched the plastic baggie from his hand and examined it. "It's detective and what good would that do me? I have no place to detain you." Flipping the baggie over in her hand she doubted there was much more than enough for one joint—not that she was particularly interested. She had been handed one the first weekend of her first semester at Stanford and had felt compelled to partake, but had never seen the appeal of continued use. "Where'd you find this?"

"Apparently mom and dad were into more than just tying each other up."

She chuckled and handed the baggie back to him. "Well, you can keep that if you want; I'm good."

"Really? That hell bent on following the law?"

She shook her head. "Definitely not that; I just have no desire to find out how being high impairs my zombie fighting skills."

He rolled his eyes. "Well obviously we wouldn't smoke it until we were safe in the treehouse."

"Whatever. Let's just get this stuff back, okay?" Kate didn't see the need to waste any more time arguing over marijuana when a hoard could pass by at any time. They were, unfortunately, more vulnerable when lugging a load of supplies—especially supplies they wished to keep safe and free from spilled zombie blood.

Rick nodded, moved to pick up the storage container and grunted. "Damn that's heavy. Maybe they have a wagon or something in the garage we can use."

Kate nodded; that wasn't a half bad idea and she hadn't thought to check the garage. She followed Rick down the hall and out through the garage, which was miraculously less stifling than the house. This, she presumed, was due to the lack of windows, which unfortunately did not help them see any better. Fortunately, Rick had retained the flashlight from the bedroom and shined it around until they found a wheelbarrow. "Better than nothing."

Kate remained in the garage with the flashlight while Rick returned to the house to get their supplies. In shining it around, she saw the family actually had a second refrigerator there. It was old and had a rusted handle, but seeing as it was still plugged in, she assumed they had used it. Opening it she nearly gasped with delight; it was certainly their best find of the day.

"Rick look," she said when he returned lugging the storage container.

"What?"

"The spare fridge—it has almost a case and a half of water."

"Sweet!" he proclaimed. "Load it up."

Fifteen minutes later, Kate and Rick awkwardly navigated their way back down the streets with a fully loaded wheelbarrow. Kate ended up having to carry the smaller case of water due to the space limitations of the wheeled transport. Though it was certainly better than nothing as without it they probably would have needed to make two trips, the weight was making pushing the cart quite awkward. Rick had nearly lost the load twice due to its top heaviness.

"We're, uh," he grunted when the wheel of the cart bumped along an uneven portion of the sidewalk, "going to stop and see the girls on the way back, right? I think Hannah is really starting to warm up to me."

Kate rolled her eyes as she adjusted the grip on the water bottles. "The girls" as he called them were the trio of chickens she was keeping. She had taken Rick to see them the very first day they spent together, and had been shocked at how taken he had been with them. He spoke to each of them as though they were a small child and not white feathered fowl.

"I cannot believe you named the chickens." She commented. She had not bothered to ask where the names Hannah, Clara, and Shelby came from, nor had she asked how he was able to tell the nearly identical birds apart enough to correctly name them; the entire situation seemed ridiculous to her.

Rick glanced over his shoulder at her. "I can't believe you didn't name the chickens."

"They're chickens," she said in a tone that made it seem as though her reasoning should be obvious.

"So? You named Tux."

"He's a cat; it's different." It was what you did; you named cats and dogs. Sure, she'd heard of people having pet parakeets and naming them, but chickens? It was as though you could teach the chicken its name and have it respond. At least Tux could do that. Plus, she knew he understood simple concepts like "food", "no," and "stop yelling, I'm trying to sleep."

The writer clicked his tongue with annoyance. "Ah, I see how it is now—you're a birdist."

Kate almost stopped walking as she proclaimed, "A what!?"

"A birdist. Lake racist, but for birds."

"Wha-" Kate began a rebuttal, but then realized there was no point in arguing. She had never heard anything so ridiculous. She had absolutely nothing against the chickens. In fact, she very much appreciated their eggs. In that respect, she was not racist against the birds. Yet, she did not feel the name to chase them around the yard and attempt to pick them up like he had. "You're insane."

"Says the birdist." He retorted. "You know I bet if you would talk to them and pet them they'd give you more eggs."

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but then thought better of it; there really was no point.

When they arrived at the home with the chickens, they left their wheelbarrow of goods in the driveway, as it would be too difficult to take it across the uneven grass. She retrieved the chicken feed from the home's garage and passed it over to Rick, who was all too eager to visit his three new friends. "You go talk to the birds; I'm going to make sure the wind last night didn't damage their fence."

With a mocking expression he took the feed and said, "I'll tell them you said hello," before walking off towards the area fenced around their coup.

As she watched him go, calling out the names of the hens as he went, Kate snagged her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. Rick may have been insane, but he did make her laugh and smile more than she had since leaving Manhattan, which, given their situation, was no small feat. When Kate first invited the writer to say, she had been a bit concerned about how well they would mesh together, but so far their interactions were exceeding her expectations. True, it had only been a few days, but as it stood then she did not see a need to hurry him out the door.

The way Kate saw it, the time for making long term plans had long since passed. They were living day to day—hour by hour, really. They had enough food and water for the time being, but who knew when the next big herd of zombies would pass through. Worse yet, a heard of angry, unhappy, weapon-wielding people could show up at any minute. On top of all that was their largest and most unpredictable enemy: the weather.

Given the varied adversaries, Kate had no idea if she would make it one more year, one more month, or even one more week. That was, unfortunately, the new reality she needed to accept. In that respect, when it came to Rick, a companion whom she did not mind in the least—if anything, she appreciated his presence—as far as she was concerned he could stay with her for the foreseeable future.