"Who, out of the four of us, would die first in a zombie apocalypse?" asked Sam.
I reeled in my first anchovy of this Spring while I thought... and realized that Sam may not have liked my answer.
"Who do you think would?" I asked.
"Me?" Sam replied. "...Abigail, I think. I don't know how much fighting experience she has."
"True," I nodded, casting my line. "Though I think she'd know a lot about zombies, at the least, and what surviving that situation would look like, at the very least."
"Fair enough," said Sam. "I still think it would be her, though. What do you think?"
Well... here goes.
"...I don't think you're going to like my answer," I told him.
"Wait... you think it would be me?" Sam replied, sounding offended in a joking way. "No way! Show me a zombie, and I'll take it down in three seconds flat!"
"What weapons do you have?" I asked.
"A skateboard's more than enough to blow a zombie's head off, right?" he asked. "They're all rotted and stuff, anyway. It wouldn't take much."
"Doesn't take much for a zombie to infect you, either," I said. "Even a scratch could spell the end for you."
"...True," Sam agreed.
"And how much do you know about apocalypse survival?" I asked. "Like I said, I feel like Abigail would be more prepared for that than any of us. She'd be our survival hub. She told me Sebastian has a mace, and then I've got a sword, and Sebastian and I go down to the mines on a semi-regular basis-"
"Alright, alright, you got me," Sam conceded. "...I wouldn't go down immediately, though. Do you take me as someone who would go down without a fight?"
"No, I don't, I will give you that," I said.
"Good," he said. "Because I wouldn't. I'm not getting eaten by no zombie."
"I'd hope not," I said.
That seemed to be where the conversation ended. We were silent as I reeled in another anchovy.
As I unhooked and put it away, though, Sam started the next conversation. On a sudden note.
"Can you come to the Flower Dance with me again?" he asked. "My mom still doesn't want me to quit doing it."
"I'd be happy to," I responded. I'd have to wash that dress, but it'd be no trouble.
"Sweet," said Sam. "Thanks."
"No problem," I said, casting my line again.
Simple as that. Something about that simplicity was seriously comforting.