CHAPTER 3: LIKE A PRAYER

July 28, 1993

Harlan's watch alarm went off, ripping him from a pleasant dream and back to his grim reality at 5 AM. He shook his head and rubbed the sand from his eyes before donning a leather jacket and jeans tucked into his boots. Anthony was splayed out on the couch, still soundly asleep. Harlan quietly let himself out the bathroom window and climbed down the sheet rope.

It was still dim outside, but he could get some work done disassembling the neighbor's fence. His plan was to erect a taller fence around the house and establish some kind of safe perimeter. With a hammer in hand, he began pulling boards apart.

It wasn't long before he drew the attention of the undead. Not too many, just enough to redouble his efforts to get this fence up as fast as possible. Both zombies fell to his axe.

Anthony opened a second story window and waved Harlan closer.

"Hey man, what the fuck are you doing making all that noise?" Harlan shrugged.

"We need to build a wall around the house or something. All this canned food will last us a while, but what happens after that?" Anthony looked at him incredulously.

"We start a fucking farm?" Harlan laughed.

"You got a better idea?" Anthony shook his head and closed the window. A while later he made his way down the sheet rope. Anthony had switched out of his torn office attire, instead sporting jeans and a sweater. He must've cleaned himself up in the bathroom too, Harlan couldn't help but notice Anthony was handsome, if he cleaned himself up.

"No," Anthony began, "I don't have a better idea." He stood before him with hands clasped behind his back. The two men sized each other up for a moment before Anthony asked, "What's up?"

"Right. Yeah. Look, I'm taking these fences apart so we can build something more substantial, something taller. Are you handy with any tools?"

"Eh," Anthony waved his hand so-so, "I'm better with a keyboard."

"No keyboards here, friend." Harlan handed Anthony his hammer, "Take this and start pulling apart the white fence. I'll grab my axe and get to work on those trees." Anthony laughed.

"Oh so you're a lumberjack now?"

"No, but I know my way around one of these." Harlan turned to the small copse of trees in the corner of the lot and began hacking away with his axe. Anthony sighed, looked at the hammer Harlan handed him, and started pulling planks apart. After several hours of hacking, chopping, prying, and pulling, the two men had a large pile of wood at their disposal.

Anthony, glistening with sweat, tapped Harlan's shoulder. He jumped.

"Ha! Someone's jumpy." Anthony laughed, "What's your plan for when we've disassembled half the goddamn town?" Harlan glared.

"We build a wall."

"Why not start now?" Anthony gestured to the open yard around them, "If we block off one side at least, then that's one less way the dead can get to us. We can focus on one side at a time." Harlan frowned, looked around the lot, and his frown turned into pursed lips.

"You know, that's not a bad idea," Harlan laid his axe against the pile of wood next to him, "I could use a break, too."

"I'll go grab us some water if you wanna plan our defenses." Anthony vanished up the sheet rope before coming back with a couple bottles. Harlan had already moved most of the planks to one side of the yard.

"This should be enough for the north wall, then we can focus on the eastern side."

"Alright, General Patton." Harlan rolled his eyes as Anthony handed him a drink.

"Leno better watch his back, Mister Comedian." Anthony smirked and pulled the water bottle out of Harlan's hands. "Cute," Harlan snatched it back, cracked it open, and gulped half of it down. The two men stood in silence for a moment before Harlan planted himself in a lawn chair.

"You know, you never told me how you got here, Harlan." Anthony sat on the grass next to him. Harlan took another sip of water and brushed a lock of hair behind his ear.

"Well, I'm originally from here. Grew up a few blocks that way," he gestured vaguely to the east, "Then I turned 18 and got the fuck outta dodge. Moved to New York for college, graduated, couldn't find a job, somehow fell into firefighting." Harlan finished his water bottle.

"I came back to visit an old friend of mine, Jenny's family always hosted a huge Fourth of July barbecue and… I didn't have any other plans that weekend." He laughed, "Talk about fucking happenstance I come home the same week the world ends, and it starts right here." He laughed some more.

"Wow," Anthony began, "that is truly the shittiest luck I've ever heard of. Second to mine, of course."

"Yeah, but at least you don't know who you're killing down here." Harlan sighed. "I had to kill her, Jenny. She was my best friend all through school." Harlan kept his eyes on the grass in front of him.

"Oh, geez I'm sorry Harlan. I didn't mean it like that."

"It's alright, the fact is that most of the folks in this town were awful people. Now I can feel magnanimous putting them down like this."

"What did you go to college for?"

"English, I wanted to write. I'll admit I slacked off here and there but I took it seriously. I felt like it was either making that work, or coming back home, and that wasn't an option for me. So." Harlan shrugged.

"Really? Where?"

"Columbia, worked my ass off to pay my way through." Harlan chuckled as he sat back and looked into the sky, "God, that was a fun time."

"That's funny, I went to NYU, what year were you?"

Before Harlan could respond, a figure emerged from around the corner of the house.

"JESUS FUCK!" Harlan shouted as he bolted out of his chair. The shambling corpse approached the two men with one arm stretched out, the other was missing. Anthony grabbed his hammer from his belt and held it high.

"C'mon bitch, c'mon!" He waved his hand to beckon the undead woman his way, and she followed. His hammer came down on her skull once, twice, three times, before she fell. Anthony crouched over her and kept bashing until she stopped moving.

"Fucking hell," Anthony grunted, "Can't get a moment of peace here, can we?" He turned to see Harlan on the ground, a hand over his mouth. Anthony stood up and approached him, "hey, you alright?" Harlan's hand fell from his face.

"That's Mrs. Pray. That's…" he paused, "that was Jenny's mom." Anthony looked back at the undead woman on the ground, then his bloodied hand, and back to Harlan. He looked like he was about to throw up. Anthony was speechless.

[A/N: Hello! This story is me getting my feet wet once again with writing, so any critiques or tips are greatly appreciated. I was a more prolific writer about a decade ago when I was in high school with little else to act as a creative outlet. Now, post-grad with an adult job and the whole rigmarole, I'm taking another stab at things.]