Now, for some drama...

Life in the United States of Zombieland was defined by the the tension between settling down or staying on the move. On the road, there was reasonable safety, but looming uncertainty: Just over the horizon could be food, gas, goods and shelter, or zombies, outlaws and even worse perils. But making a place of shelter a home could carry a steep price. Staying in one place all but invited the infected, not to mention raiders that roamed the roads. It also reintroduced the problems of sanitation, as one once again had to dispose of things that the mobile could simply leave by the road. Perhaps worst of all, it reintroduced the sense of ownership, which led to gathering more than one could carry, and familiarity, which evolved naturally into sentimentality, so that some day, any day, one might face the need to flee, but be unable or unwilling to leave.

Trailers and mobile homes offered some measure of balance between the two, and some took it to curious extremes. Few were more curious than Il Deuce. The vehicle had begun life as a GMC Scenicruiser Greyhound intercity bus. While not technically a double-decker, the split-level bus looked close enough to fool casual eyes. On retirement, the bus had been converted into a luxurious tour bus, then, in the wake of the apocalypse, had been partially restored to a passenger vehicle. The result was seating for 20 passengers, plus living quarters for the crew and select guests and a very generous cargo hold, and when necessary a serviceable elevated position against zombies and raiders. Il Deuce roamed a path through southern Nevada, Utah and northern Arizona, carrying people and goods between known settlements, and sometimes forging into unknown territories. Over time, a modest, semi-organized fleet of vehicles had accreted around the bus. Once or twice a month, Il Deuce and its companion vehicles stopped either in Henderson or Vegas.

While Columbus examined fresh fruit and milk from a refrigerated semi, Wichita talked to new arrivals as they got off Il Deuce and two buses accompanying it. She found herself immediately drawn to a blonde woman that climbed down from a short Chevy school bus on "Bigfoot" wheels. The woman looked no older than herself, but carried a girl of three or even four in her arms. "Hi," she said. "I'd offer to shake, but it looks like you have your hands full."

The woman smiled, her haggard features brightening. "Yeah. Looks like we caught the same bug." Wichita returned the smile, smoothing her front. "You can call me Chacha. This little lady is Bell. And you are-?"

"Call me Wichita."

"So- I guess you're from Kansas," Chacha said. "I was born in Benton- Arkansas, I mean- but I moved to Kansas City when I was nine. I guess I'll always think of there as my home."

"So... You have any family?"

Chacha's eyes darkened. "I had a little sister. I lost her. Before the Pandemic, I mean. There were... problems at home. CPS found out about it, and they took us away, put us in separate foster homes."

"Yeah, don't get me started on foster care," Wichita said. "I made it through with my sister... foster sister, actually... Guess sometimes they do something good. We made it here together. But she went out of town a few weeks ago..."

"I'm sure she'll be back," Chacha said.

Columbus gazed after his wife, and also at her companion, as they walked away. He discretely took out something he had convinced his wife was destroyed: A photo, torn to pieces and taped back together, of two girls, one of about eight, the other 15, or then again maybe just 14, with a young man. He looked again at the new arrival. There was no way to be sure... but he was sure enough.

The younger girl in the photo was his sister-in-law. The young man had abused her, until the authorities put her in foster care. The older girl was Little Rock's biological sister, who had looked the other way...

And the woman walking with his wife was the same person.