SE Hinton owns the living and completely-dead Outsiders.

The idea here is to follow the basic structure and length of the book as closely as possible, and include all of the original characters. Obviously, I'm a fan of the Shepards, so they get more than their fair share of space. There are 12 chapters in the book (although they're long), but I'm going to attempt to stick to that.

Hell Is Other People

Two-

Dally was waiting for Johnny and me on the corner of Pickett and Sutton, and since it was still early and the sun was still high, Dally had a four of Them backed up in the shadows against a building. He was taunting Them, tossing cigarette butts at them and standing just out of their reach.

That's one of the funny things about Them that we haven't yet figured out. They can get around in the day time- they don't die like vampire- but they're slower and sometimes they seem to get stuck. It was the Shepards who noticed it first, being that they spend most of their time downtown where the tall buildings are. The zombies roam pretty freely around our neighborhood, but during the day sometimes a bunch of them will be wandering downtown and they'll just get stuck. They can still move and all, but it's like they're confused. They just mill around in an alley or up along the side of a building. They're aware of you if you walk by, and if you walk close enough for them to reach, they'll still grab at you. If you stay a couple of feet out from them, though, it's like they can't figure out what they're supposed to do with you. They just stand there and look and drool.

So, Dally had found of a group of them like this, standing in the alley between Emmett's Drug Store and Heidemann's Carpet Emporium. Johnny and I could hear him laughing, that bitter, sardonic laugh of his, as we approached. He was having as good a time as a guy like Dally can ever have. He was probably bordering on happy.

"Come on, fucker," we could hear him saying. "Come on out and get me…oh, what? What happened? Yeah, I'm right here…come on…you dumb reanimated son of a bitch."

"Dal, sky's getting dark," Johnny called to him.

Dally refused to give up just yet, but- I noticed- he didn't turn his back on Them when he answered Johnny either.

"It ain't time yet. It's got to get good and dark. Shepard told me. They've been timin' them. Him and his guys hid out all around here, watching different groups of the ones that got stuck. They all got unstuck just before 7:30, when it was good and dark, and starting to get cool. We got about a half an hour."

He turned then, flicked a match off of the zipper of my sweatshirt and lit a cigarette. Then he held the still-lit match out to the nearest zombie, who swiped at it like a cat after a moth. Dally tossed the match at it and shrugged.

"Huh, they ain't afraid of fire," he mumbled.

A post-apololyptic Tulsa overrun by zombies may just be the best thing to ever happen to Dallas Winston. For one thing, there's a seemingly never-ending supply of people to beat with sticks, bats, pipes, whatever and free reign to do it. The cops don't care. The ones that didn't give up have become zombies themselves in a lot of cases. You might think a guy like Dally, who once took such pleasure in derailing authority, would get bored fighting on the right side of civilization, but he hasn't yet. Instead, he's taken his love of taunting to an even higher, almost academic level. Dally knows more about the zombies than anyone- even Tim Shepard. Maybe that was why Darry was okay with me and Johnny hanging out with him on the street so near to dark.

"So what do you want to do?" I asked, eyeing the one closest to Dally. I couldn't take my eyes of her. She must have been pretty once, and well-bred. Maybe she was a Soc. Now, she was just dirty. They hardly ever go inside, we've noticed, so They tend to get pretty filthy. This one was wearing a plaid skirt and a clingy, soft little sweater. Her sweater was all smudged from the elements and from bumping into stuff. Her hair was matted. The drool coming from her mouth was caking on her chin, mixed with blood and dirt. There was nothing pretty about her now. It was her eyes that I was most interested in, though. The lids hung low, like she was barely awake. They look like that a lot during the day, especially when they're stuck. At night, though, watch out- those eyes fly wide open, just like they've been hit with an electrical jolt.

"Come on, Dal," I prodded him again, pulling my gaze away from the girl. "Let's go. What do you feel like doing?"

There was a time when Dallas Winston would have answered me, "Nothing legal, man," and I would have asked just to hear him say it. Nowadays, though, pretty much everything is legal because there's no one to catch you except Them, and they ain't interested in punishing or reforming you. They just want to choke you until your eyes pop out or bash your head against a wall. Some of Them bite, but not all of Them. If one bits you, though, you'll wish they had just done you in. If you get bit, you come back.

Dally smiles at us, and it puts me on my guard. I know that smile. It means it ain't going to be a gentile evening at the opera, and it means we probably ain't going to make it home before dark.

"I don't know. I'm hungry. You guys hungry?"

Of course we are. We're teenage boys and we've been living out of cans and abandoned backyard gardens for eight months. I nod, still suspicious.

Johnny says, "Yeah, man. I'm about ready to boil my shoes."

"That won't be necessary, Johnnycake," Dally says and cuffs him playfully upside the head. "Come on. Let's go have ourselves a real dinner. I know where."

I pause.

Dally rolls his eyes at me. "Come on, Pony. Ain't nothing to be afraid of. You got to keep your strength up if you're going to keep running for us, man."

Nothing to be afraid of…right. These days, everything is something to be afraid of. That cute little redhead I used to see at pep rallies is standing next to me ready to pounce on my jugular the second the sun drops out of sight. Still, I can't ignore the rumble in my stomach now that Dally has promised there will be food. I follow Johnny who is already following Dally as he swaggers towards the center of town into Shepard territory.

In desperate times like these, guys like Tim Shepard and his gang get elevated in status from dime-store hoods to something more like storybook pirates. It would be too simple to say that the bad guys became the good guys. Tim and his boys were never entirely bad to begin with, and they ain't exactly little angels now. It's just that everyone values a different set of skills now, and they're skills that guys like the Shepard gang and Dally, and- I suppose- my gang too always had. We're survivors. We know how to fix stuff because we've never had the money to buy anything new. We're inventive with materials and we're clever about getting by with next to nothing.

The difference, I guess, between guys like my gang and the Shepard gang is that our gang is more likely to share whatever we have. The Shepards are going to want to barter for whatever you got.

Funny thing…I guess not that funny, but it was the Socs who were hit the hardest when They started popping up. It was the structure of their neighborhoods, some of us figured: they didn't have the cheap chain-link fences, and there were lots of open spaces. More than that, though, the Socs just didn't know how to survive with an enemy they couldn't beat down or pay off. Darry says it was their sense of entitlement that took them down. They didn't believe anyone or anything could touch them until it was too late.

Once we all figured out the thing about Them not being able to hear or see us through metal, the Shepards moved their whole operation into a sheet metal warehouse by the river. I think most of them live there now. They come out with the sun, when it starts to get light enough and the zombies start moving more slowly. Tim sends them on missions- looting and breaking into the stores that weren't completely ravaged when the rest of the town first panicked.

The groceries and markets were pretty-well picked over by the time the Shepards took over the warehouse, so they had to settle for other sources of commodities: vending machines, root cellars and the canned goods from the abandoned houses. Dally says Tim has plans to break into the National Guard headquarters and take their surplus food. The National Guard armory is in River King territory though, and also hasn't been entirely vacated by the National Guard. Dally says Tim figures there ain't any more than 15 Guard soldiers left in there, but they have the kind of ammunition that the Kings and the Shepards are lacking. So far, no one has been able to breach the armory, but it remains a goal of Tim's.

The sun slips down behind the tallest of the former financial buildings just as the warehouse comes into view ahead of us. As soon as the light is gone, we can hear the shuffling start. They're coming unstuck, and they're coming after us.

"Goddamnit," Dally says, more irritated than alarmed. "I suppose…"

And without another word, we all break into a run. About a block away from the warehouse, something zings through the air from a building above. I hear Johnny suck in his breath hard and he falls to the ground.

I skid to a halt and run to him. He is conscious, but bleeding from a cut above his ear. He shakes his head, like a dog shaking off water, to regain his senses.

Dally shouts this time, "Goddamnit!" He looks up and around at the roof tops. "You sons of bitches! It's just me! It's me, and Johnny Cade, and Curtis!"

Footsteps clap against the pavement behind me. I look up to see three guys from the Shepard gang standing above us. They've jumped down from God-knows-where. The tallest one is rubbing the back of his neck and looking sheepish.

"Aw, shit, we didn't know it was you. Sorry, Cade. That was me that pegged you."

He looks down the street at the herd of Them heading in our direction. They're still a good block behind us, but they're waking up and gaining speed.

"Y'all make a run for it," one of Shepard's boys says. "We'll hold him off."

The first one says again, "Sorry, Johnny."

He reaches down and picks up the rock he threw to hit Johnny. He squints at the crowd of Them and then hurls the rock. He clocks one right in the forehead.

"Nice," Johnny says with a grin. "Glad that wasn't me."

The blow to the head only serves to slow the zombie down. Dally and I hoist Johnny to his feet. He's still dizzy. We all start to run for the warehouse again, Dally and I keeping Johnny between us. Behind us, the boys from the Shepard gang are lighting Molotov cocktails made out of beer bottles and hurling them at the zombies. Just as Dally had observed, the zombies don't recoil from fire. It doesn't scare them off, to their misfortune. Dally's lit match hadn't done any damage, but They'll walk right through a larger fire, and if they catch fire, they'll just keep walking until they burn.

I don't look back, but I can only guess that that's what is happening now. I can hear one of the boys behind us start to whistle, like he's herding cattle.

One of the others cries out, "damn, look at that fucker go up! Awww, that's gross!"

We reach the warehouse and Dally has to take a few deep breathes before he can whistle the signal that will allow us to enter. I remember hearing that signal earlier today, and I almost expect to see Curly when the door slides open, but it's his brother, Tim, instead. No sign of Curly.

"Nice welcome committee, asshole," Dally says as he breezes by Tim.

Tim says nothing. He nods to Johnny and me, and I guess that he can't remember our names. He puts his weight into the door and slides it shut again.

Dally walks out into the middle of the warehouse space. The openness of it seems to make him nervous. I don't blame him. We're all a little nervous about open spaces these days, even the ones contained within walls of sheet metal. It's just the feeling of it.

"So, what's for dinner, Shepard?"

Tim walks passed Dally shaking his head.

"Ask the butcher."

The butcher to whom Tim is referring is a guy whose last name actually is Butcher. His first name is Luke, but it sounds cooler to call him The Butcher. It might have been more appropriate to call him The Chef. We don't know where he learned to cook like he did, but if you kill it and bring it to him, he can make you a meal out of it.

"What's up, Luke?" Dally yells.

I find Luke in the crowd of Shepard gang members milling around a barrel fire at the other end of the warehouse. Luke has fashioned a rudimentary spit over the fire and it turning it slowing, his hands protected by oven mitts.

"Barbeque, fool," Luke shouts back.

"Barbequed what?" Dally asks. Even in the most desperate of times, Dally is picky. Johnny and I could hardly care, as long as it ain't one of those rabid dogs.

Luke jerks his head towards the spit and we move closer to take a look. The animal in question has been skinned and beheaded, but I can tell by it's shape that it's a possum. It's long, rat-like tail is the giveaway.

Dally makes a face.

"Well, why don't you just head on down to the Pines then, dick?" Luke tells him.

We all know the Pines was looted until it was nothing but a wood frame, and then that wood frame was burned to the ground.

Luke looks at Johnny and me. "You all don't look like you're too picky. Get on over here and eat, why don't you?"

Just as I'm stepping forward to claim my share of The Butcher's barbeque, I remember how nothing is every entirely free with the Shepard gang. Johnny seems to have the same thought at the same time. We stop and look at one another.

"Curtis," Tim says to me, and I jump. "You and I need to have a little talk. There's something I got to ask you."

Dally intervenes, and it only serves to make me more nervous. "Unless you're going to ask if he wants fries with that possum, you'd better shut your trap, Shepard. You got no deals to make with him."

"Relax," Tim says to Dally, which makes me even more nervous yet. "I just got a favor I need to ask him. He's welcome to say no."

When has anyone ever felt welcome saying "no" to Tim Shepard? It was a ploy to bring me here, and- despite his protests now- I'm not entirely sure that Dally isn't part of it. Dally had to have known that Tim wouldn't just randomly invite him over for barbequed possum and tell him to invite me along for the fun of it. Dally must have suspected something.

He seems genuinely annoyed with Tim now, though: "No. You ain't asking him for any favors. He's just a kid. You want something, you talk to his big brothers."

I'm increasingly uncertain. Dally has to know that by saying that, he's going to raise my dander, that I'm going to jump in and say I don't have to ask anybody's permission to do a favor for Tim. Is he acting a part? Are they both just reeling me in? Or is it just Tim who's up to something and Dally is sincerely trying to protect me? I haven't a clue.