The house was full of empty cans and other refuse from whomever had last used it as a shelter. To Keats, it seemed like a waste to throw away anything that had any potential for reuse. Then again, perhaps that's what long-term shelter did to people: It brought back wastefulness, one aspect of humanity that he'd been glad to assume extinct.

A steward had delivered half a barrel of water, and now Keats used some to clean off the river mud on his skin. He soaked a cloth and ran it along his arms, which were thin and veiny.

He looked into the hazy bathroom mirror and cleaned his face. It was a long, bony and not particularly handsome face, especially with the wild beard he now sported. But he did have kind eyes, and a pang of sadness hit him as he thought about everything he'd lost, most especially the fiancee who fell in love with those eyes and had been gleefully waiting for him to finish school when the world ended.

She was in North Carolina; he was in Florida. The last message he got about her was from her father, who texted that she'd been bitten by some "drug addict" and had to be hospitalized as a precaution.

He tried to call his own parents and couldn't get through. He tried texting but it failed. He remembered a gigantic line outside the one pay phone still operating in town. He recalled the sound of helicopters, which were unnerving at first but then reassuring as the news brought reports of growing civil unrest.

Then the power went out. That's when he decided to leave for North Carolina. That was 13 years ago - or was it? Every group they ran into had a different take on how many years it had been.

A knock on the bathroom door startled Keats. He opened it and saw Hemingway.

"They're here," he said. "Think you should come down."

In the kitchen were Flak, Cochise and one other man, laughing and chatting with some of the same people that they'd held at gunpoint only a couple of hours prior. They had just set up the stew pot, and Katie and Duck were scooping small bowls of it for everyone.

Flak was talking to Jamie, leaning against the wall like he was at a frat party. The only thing missing was a red plastic cup in his hand.

Keats and Hemingway stood at the staircase like disapproving parents, but eventually Keats went to get some stew. He brought a bowl for Hemingway, who didn't want it, but Keats insisted.

After everyone had been served, Keats announced: "Thanks very much for this. I think we need to keep the house closed for tonight, though. We've got a lot we need to talk about."

"We're just trying to be friendly," said Cochise.

"I know that, and that's nice of you. But we've been on the road a long time. Half of us still got mud all over us. So socializing will have to wait until tomorrow, when we see Marco -"

"You think he's some kind of dictator?" said Cochise. "If we decide to mingle a little bit with you guys, he's OK with it." His pushed his brow so far forward that it partly covered his eyes. "As long as we don't hurt you."

Hemingway strode forward, the floorboards creaking as he did so. He stopped two inches from Cochise and stood eye-to-eye with him. "You got a boss, we got ours. And he wants you to go."

Cochise pressed against him like a boxer at a weigh-in. "When's the last time you fought someone that wasn't already dead?"

"You think we've lived this long playing pushover?" said Hemingway.

"Enough," said Flak, and Cochise relaxed a little. At the same time, Keats put his hand on Hemingway's shoulder and pulled him back.

"You want us to go, we'll go," said Flak.

The third man with them, whose name was Joseph, said, "Eat the rest of the stew. You need it, and there's no way to refrigerate it, anyway."

He turned to leave. Katie looked disappointed.

"Wait just a minute here," said Jamie. "Flak's going to stay a while." Her voice had the same lilt of constant sarcasm that was so popular among teenagers before the outbreak. Keats had once marveled at how such an accent could surive the apocalypse, especially since she'd come of age in a shelter.

"You gotta be joking," said Hemingway. "No way. We don't know this guy from Adam -"

"We? Who's we? Me and him were in the middle of a conversation. If you don't want him around, we'll go in one of the rooms and continue there."

"Hell no. We are not allowing you -"

"Allow?! You're not going to 'allow' me to talk to someone? My parents got eaten a long time ago, mister. I can do whatever the hell I want."

"She's right," said Keats.

Hemingway turned and looked at him with a confused expression.

"She's right," Keats said again. "Let her visit with him. They can take the side bedroom while the rest of us talk about our plans."

Hemingway started to say something else but relented. Cochise smirked and left. Joseph followed him after saying goodbye.

Jamie and Flak walked towards one of the bedrooms. Stuffed inside it were dishes, clothes, electronics, and other various crap that gets left behind after a quick exit. Jamie went to shut the door but Keats grabbed it.

"Leave it cracked," he said. Jamie rolled her eyes but relented.

Everyone else gathered in the living room and went over the last couple of hours' whirlwind of events. They spoke quietly, mindful of Marco's man being in the other room.

"I trust them," said Tommy. "You see what they're doing in this camp. Gardens, trying to clean things up. They wouldn't do that if they were bad people."

"What the hell makes you think that?" said Duck. He was a short, stocky man who was a mechanic in his former life. "Maybe they'll make us do the shit jobs and they'll be the kings."

"That's called earning your keep," said Tommy. "I'll work for stew and shelter. Better than running around the woods sleeping in trees."

"Agreed," said Katie. "What's the harm in staying a while?"

A white-light scream shook everyone from their seats. It had come from the bedroom.

Keats was the first one there. He gripped his bat halfway up as he rushed in through the door.

Flak stood there holding his nose. "Fucking bitch," he said.

"I told you to stop, asshole," said Jamie.

Keats stepped between them. Hemingway and Pike entered the room and looked ready to rip Flak in half.

Suddenly the front door flew open and Cochise stormed in with a rifle at his side. Some of Keats' group screamed or shouted No.

"What the hell is this," said Cochise.

"She was leading me on," said Flak, "but hey. It's OK. Just a little rough housing." He glanced at his hand and the small amount of blood that had come from his nose.

"I thought all you guys wanted to do was socialize," said Hemingway.

"Oh please," said Katie. "She dragged him in there. And you can see what kind of mouth she has on her."

"I think the best thing to do," said Keats, "is for everyone to just go home."

"We gotta teach him a lesson," said Hemingway.

"No, it's OK, please," said Jamie. She sniffled. "Just leave, OK? Just get out."

Flak began to leave. "Believe what you want," he said. "But I'm not a rapist. She's the one who freaked out." He paused like he was going to say more but instead walked out the front. Cochise followed him, walking backwards.

As soon as they left, Keats closed the door, locked it, and moved the ancient, mildewed sofa in front of it. Then he pushed a table in front of the back door and designated which windows everyone was to climb out of in case of an emergency.

Pike tried to talk to Jamie, but she refused. She slammed the door, and they let her keep that room to herself.

"That settles it for me," said Pike. "I think we need to leave - now. No telling what they're getting ready for."

"That's just what they expect," said Hemingway. "I think we should lure someone in here for hostage."

"Are you crazy?" said Tommy. "What happened there - Marco will handle that. He respects us. Why else would he feed us? We'll tell him our beef. We'll let Jamie say what happened, when she's ready."

"It's only fair to Flak, too," said Katie. Pike glared at her, but she stayed firm. "It's not like we know iher/i that well, either."

There was a knock on the back door. Everyone hushed nervously.

"Who is it," yelled Keats.

"Bart."

"Who?"

"Bart! You asked my name and I told you!" The voice sounded like it belonged to a 12-year-old boy.

Two of them moved the table away while everyone else prepared to fight. They opened the door and saw not a boy but a woman, early 20s, who stood about five feet tall and looked like an elf in her faded black hoodie. She had a smooth wooden plank piercing her nose and a homemade tattoo of a hammer and sickle on her upper cheek. She held a pillow case full of something in her hands.

"I heard there were some females here," she said. She placed the bag on the other side of the door. "That's some, uh, hygiene stuff. Also some toilet paper. That one's for the girls AND guys."

Pike chuckled. "Thanks. You had us worked up, though, banging on the back door like that."

"Sorry. There's sort of a curfew. Why'd the big man rush inside?"

"He forgot his chew toy," said Keats. "You wanna come inside?"

"No thanks. Gotta run!" She darted away like a cartoon.

"Wait," said Pike, who ran outside. "Can we trust these guys-?"

But she'd already disappeared into the night.