Yo, Mr. Potassium here. I know, I know. I'm alive! It's really been a while. Four months. Unbelievable. The last time I published a chapter, Covid-19 wasn't an unknown disease. Now, it's a full-blown pandemic. Tragic.
I was not taking a hiatus. I did not contract coronavirus. I'm going to explain.
I don't want to be that guy making a bunch of excuses to cover his ass or whatever… and I won't be that guy. Initially, I was busy with school-related shit… but that was only for a month. I don't know if you guys are aware (probably not because I never told you), but I recently worked with someone who's basically like an editor. He's fantastic doing what he does, but he is very, very, very painfully slow. He wrote two entire scenes by himself, almost from scratch. While he was doing that, I was working on Chapter 30. And I'm practically finished with that 32k word-chapter.
I wanted to take responsibility, but my editor insists on getting the blame. He says he is the reason why this thing wasn't published by January. His pursuit in trying to write and perfect these two scenes drove this story to go on a four-month hiatus. This is what he has to say:
"Hello! I am User:Moon7055 (formerly Moon-5555), and I help edit "Infection of the Dead" by MrPotassiumK (or MrPk for short).
As MrPk has stated, the fanfic's been on a lengthy hiatus since late December 2018, and for that, I am truly, truly sorry! I'm sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long that it seemed as though the fanfic had died! I'm sorry you all had to endure the painful burden of living in quarantine without this well-written piece to help take your mind off things!
I insisted to MrPk that I personally alter a few select scenes from this chapter, particularly those featuring Jace Taylor, a favorite of mine, as I wished to further develop his character in preparation for what's to come (and also because I kinda resent MrPk for what he's done with characters such as Liam, Rocky, Clyde, the Yates…).
I've been working with MrPk since Ch23, and I can honestly say that I've never known an author who cares so much for his readers that he keeps himself on such a strict timetable. Which is I implore you to hold no ill feelings towards MrPk for how freakin long it's taken to finally upload 29! I take full responsibility, and will do what I can to prevent something like this from happening again!"
If it makes you guys feel better, Chapter 30 will be released in a week! Eight parts! Very long. Very good for passing time!
Crosshairs stared into a wide vision of the White House entrance. The scope then zoomed into the entrance door as it opened.
Jeffrey groaned as he dragged out a sack of de-icing salt. He grabbed a pair of scissors from his pockets and cut off the top left corner of the sack. He then placed the scissors on top of the base of a column and lifted up the heavy sack. With steady footsteps, he slowly walked down the stairs, pouring salt over the ice and snow on the steps. Then, something caught the side of his eyes.
He looked up. Members of the groups were running across the North Lawn, though it wasn't all of them. He looked closer. It was Carol, Lincoln, Ronnie Anne, Clyde, and Lana that were racing across the lawn. Clyde then slipped on the ice, which prompted Lincoln to quickly pick him up. No one laughed. No one groaned in pain.
"We got the supplies!" shouted Lincoln.
"Brother Lincoln. Where is everyone else?" asked Jeffrey.
"What?" panted Lincoln as the small group approached the stairs.
"The rest of the group. Are they okay?"
"Define 'okay'," said Clyde.
"Okay? Far from it," said Ronnie Anne.
"What? What do you mean?" asked Jeffrey, dropping the sack. "Did anything happen to Preston?"
"No. Nothing. Ronnie Anne's just playing around," said Lincoln. "They'll be back soon. I'd give them half an hour. An hour at most."
"But shouldn't they be here too?"
"They had to fix the water problems that were… umm… plaguing our home," said Carol. "They sent us here so we could continue working on the cure as fast as possible."
"But Lana is here."
"They don't need me," said Lana. "I'm only like 9. What do I know about filtration systems?"
"Umm…"
"We have to get inside," said Lincoln. "There's gonna be a squall soon."
"But I need to finish de-icing—"
"No time for that. Let's just all get inside and start decorating our house. Wouldn't that be fun?"
"If you insist."
Carol grabbed Jeffrey's hands and led him inside the White House, with Lincoln, Ronnie Anne, Clyde, and Lana right behind them.
The crosshairs aimed at the de-icing sack and the scissors left outside of the White House. An eye looked away from the scope. His tan face had thick eyebrows and a thick black beard. He smiled as he looked at his gold Rolex. He then grabbed his tiny radio and the microphone speaker.
"Sup, it's Giovanni here. A small group of kids and a young woman just went inside the White House. I counted five of 'em. There was also some guy who opened the door for 'em. Never seen him before."
"And there's no one else?" said Guillermo through the radio.
"I can't find anyone else."
"They're looking for us, then. Good. Keep us updated."
"Alright," said Giovanni, licking his lips.
He aimed back at the White House, zooming out his scope.
Chapter 29: Dying Breath
I - The Knight, The Rook, and The Bishop
-Day 1-
The morning sun lit up the town of Ann Arbor. Many streets were closed as yellow tapes were wrapped across streets and buildings. Sirens and lights lit up the abandoned roads.
A crowd of students were walking in and out of the campuses at the University of Michigan. School buses were parked in front of one of the college buildings. There was chattering and laughter among the campus sidewalks.
Becky panted softly as her back smacked against the brick wall, hidden from the main walkways in the campus areas. Tad leaned close to her face, looking at her in the eyes before pressing her lips against hers. They moaned softly as the students chattered in the distance. Becky then removed Tad's face away from hers.
"No. Stop," sighed Becky. "We gotta stop doing this."
"Why? I like this," said Tad as he leaned in for another kiss.
Becky placed her hand on Tad's lips and shook her head softly.
"No," said Becky. "I know. It's fun. But it's stupid. If we keep doing this, we're only gonna make it worse for ourselves."
"I-I don't understand," said Tad, moving his face away from Becky. "I thought we had something special between us. I thought—"
"You thought we were gonna get back together?"
Becky let out a small chuckle.
"I-I'm sorry, Tad. We're not getting back together."
Tad rubbed the back of his head as he looked around. He then faced Becky again.
"I don't get it. Why? Is it 'cause you're moving here? Is that it? 'Cause I could come here, you know. That's actually why I'm here. I wanted to check out this place."
"Tad…"
"This place's great. Just great. We could pick up where we left off."
Becky scoffed.
"You don't even know what I wanna major in, do you?"
Tad smiled nervously as he placed a finger on his lips.
"Umm. Let's see… you want to major in… medicine."
"Psychology," groaned Becky.
"Hey, close enough! I knew you wanted to be a doctor."
"You got rejected from this place. You're not going to make your family move here. And you certainly don't have the money to live on your own here. So how do you think we're going to make this work?"
"Long-distance relationships exist," said Tad. "We could be like Lobby. Or was it Bori?"
"Lori and Bobby have something special together."
"And we don't?"
Becky placed her hands on Tad's shoulders.
"I'm sorry for leading you on like this. I was so tempted… it was fun. You're a good kisser, Tad."
Tad flashed his teeth.
"Don't let that get to your head," said Becky. "But you need to move on. It was better when we were friends. We didn't have a single argument. But when we were together… we drove each other crazy."
"I can handle the craziness."
"That was me holding back. Trust me. You won't like me when I'm really crazy."
Tad frowned. Becky wrapped her arms around him.
"C'mon," said Becky. "You didn't really think you were gonna live the rest of your life with me, right? 'Cause I don't. At least… not as a couple."
"So I'm supposed to live the rest of my life as your friend?" asked Tad.
Becky shrugged. Dana then peeked into the alley that led to the hidden wall. She saw Tad's arm sticking out.
"Oh, there you are, guys," she said as she ran over to the wall. "I have to show you two something really important."
Dana took out her phone and flipped it horizontally. Becky and Tad looked into the phone as a video played. Screaming was heard. People were running. Policemen were shooting. Images of corpses were shown.
"Oh my god, that's… that's our school!" exclaimed Becky.
"What the—? Was there a school shooting? What happened?" exclaimed Tad.
"No. People are losing their mind in Royal Woods. Just like in that video Joey showed us earlier…"
Becky looked at the video. She gulped as she took out her own phone. She immediately went to her messages and began texting Lori. The sound of a text bubble was heard. Becky read her own message. It read: 'are u okay?'
Becky looked at her phone. She began to sweat as screaming continued to come from Dana's phone. She closed her eyes.
The afternoon sun breathed through the leaves of the oak trees that surrounded the pine trees west of the highway. The waves of the ocean crashed against the rocky beach. Flies buzzed above the corpse of a dead deer. Seagulls stood atop a sign that read 'NOW LEAVING EASTPORT.' The seagulls stared at the road as a rumbling noise in the distance caught their attention. The noise got louder and louder. The seagulls squawked and flew away before a motorcycle roared past the sign.
Down in Eastport, three teens were hanging in front of the local convenience store. Atop the sidewalk curb stood Callie, wearing low-rise shorts, a cropped lime-green t-shirt that left her midriff bare, a velvet choker around her neck, and thin rectangular glasses, through which her eyes lazily scanned the empty street.
"They're fuckin'," she said, popping a large bubble with the gum she was chewing. "What good fucking flakers, makin' us wait like this."
Seated next to Callie on the sidewalk curb was Dean, dressed in a sleeveless denim vest, faded charcoal jeans with a pocket chain clipped to his belt, and weathered fingerless gloves over his calloused, sturdy hands, which were busily digging inside his pockets as a ray of sunlight briefly glinted off the piercing located above his left eyebrow.
Dean's expression furrowed in thought over Callie's quip before he took out a swiss army knife from his pocket, using the blade to scrape some mud off the sole of his sneaker. "Ain't Harper into girls?" he asked. "Even if she weren't a fag, she'd do it with a guy like Jace? Talk about low standards… No offense on Jace's part."
Behind them, leaning back against the store window was Mitchell, sporting a white short-sleeved jacket, a pair of red-tinted shades, a checkered wristband, and baggy grey cargo pants. As he listened to Callie and Dean discuss Harper's sexuality, Mitch reached into his jacket and procured a small comb, proceeding to further groom his greasy slicked-back hair.
"Y'all gotta relax," he said. "Harper's just got a habit of being late. Nothing new."
At that moment, the rumbling of a motorcycle approached the street. "Fuckin' finally," Callie murmured as she, Mitchell and Dean headed to meet with Jace.
After propping his vehicle next to the street, Jace took off his helmet and placed it on the handlebar, then casually dusted his shoulder. Seated behind him was Harper, dressed in a navy lace off-shoulder top, a pleated lilac short-skirt, and black capri leggings that reached her ankles. As she removed her helmet, her half-shaven wavy hair tumbled out over her right eye, prompting Harper to shake her head a little before dismounting Jace's motorcycle.
"How is it you're not sweating like crazy?" Dean asked Harper whilst exchanging a high-five with Jace.
"No idea," smiled Harper. "Besides, look at Jace! He's wearing a jacket!"
The two looked towards Jace, who was wearing a black leather jacket with the sleeves rolled back, a plaid purple shirt underneath, an open-knuckled biker's glove on one hand, and skinny dark-blue jeans.
Jace shrugged, saying "Windburn. Stings like a bitch. On the plus side, It makes for a good breeze."
"Lucky," snarked Mitchell. "Meanwhile, the rest of us had to walk here under that scorching sun."
"Come on, this is nothing compared to fuckin' New York," Harper said. "You guys were fine! Took you what, like, six minutes to get here?"
"Eight, actually," Dean said as everyone began heading back to the store.
"I think you look hot," Callie told Harper.
Harper smiled and giggled softly, taking some time to fix her skirt.
"Really? You think so?"
Callie nodded.
"Thank you!"
Mitchell held the door open to let the others inside. Callie, who was last, leaned in close towards Mitchell and whispered, whilst pointing at Harper, "Yup. She's a fag."
"Shut it Callie," Mitchell said.
The five made their way inside and found the storekeeper seated behind the counter, reading a book titled "The Girl With All The Gifts" while a news report played on the small TV next to him. Upon hearing the bell chime, the old man looked up from his book and scowled at what he saw.
"Mr. Hummel!" Mitchell greeted. "Glad to see you're back from the hospital! How's the leg?"
Mr. Hummel simply raised an eyebrow before gruffly asking "Don't you kids have school today?"
"Aw, come on Mr. Hummel, don't be like that!" said Jace. "School's practically out this time of year, nobody'll notice we're gone!"
"We're only here to pick up some munchies," Callie added. "We'll be on our way soon after."
Mr. Hummel remained seated, his expression unchanged. Eventually he sighed, then grunted "Just get what you came here for and scram, before I change my mind and call your folks."
"Yesss!" Jace exclaimed. "Thanks Mr. Hummel, you're awesome!"
Mr. Hummel merely scoffed and murmured something like "youth these days..." as he returned to his book.
Dean headed to the back of the store to grab some drinks. Callie walked to the counter to ask Mr. Hummel about the book he was reading. Harper opted to view the news report playing on the TV. Meanwhile, Jace picked out a bag of Lays before finding himself being approached by Mitchell.
"Yo, Jace."
"Sup, Mitch."
The two exchanged a fist bump before moving to someplace more quiet.
"How's Alex?" Mitchell asked. "Anything new with hi- her?"
"Eh, same old, same old." Jace replied. "How about Harp? Anybody been bothering her?"
"Nah. Luckily, people don't know yet. Though Callie and Dean seem to be catching on."
"Rrgh, this sucks…" Jace said. "Harp should feel she can trust 'em! Weshould be able to trust 'em! They're our friends, right…?"
Mitchell gave it some thought, then shook his head. "We can't risk it. Life's hard enough for her here as is. Let's just wait 'til she moves to New York, you know that she loves it there."
Jace cleared his throat as Dean walked past them, two bottles of soda in each hand. Dean continued over to the counter, where Callie was eyeing some packs of gum. Whilst purchasing the drinks, Dean joined Harper in viewing what was on TV.
"...The President is expected to declare martial law after receiving numerous reports indicating the outbreak has begun rising to catastrophic levels, as the virus continues to spread nationwide. National Guard have deployed in Portland to mount a defensive perimeter against those infected, and local reports show military personnel evacuating civilians from Houlton per order of US general Quentin Black. In other news—"
Harper and Dean's eyes widened in surprise as the screen unexpectedly changed to the rainbow-patterned color bars indicating technical difficulties.
"Yikes," Harper said. "Houlton and Portland aren't too far from here. What if we catch this- what even is this, some kind of Ebola strain?"
"Mixed with AIDS? Could be," said Dean. "Relax, we'll be fine. Nothing ever happens in here in Eastpo-"
Right then, everybody inside the store heard a scream from outside, accompanied by a metallic thud. A bewildered silence filled the air, before Jace exclaimed "The hell was that?"
"Stay here," Everyone turned to see Mr. Hummel steadily getting to his feet, using the elbow crutch issued from the hospital to help him walk. "I'll go check it out."
Jace and Callie shared an uncertain glance as they watched Mr. Hummel make his way to the door with difficulty. Callie then stepped forward and began to say "M-Mr. Hummel, I think one of us should go with yo-"
"NO." Mr. Hummel said in a firm, strict tone that took the teens by surprise. "I know what you're thinking. I can handle myself, I'm not helpless." As Mr. Hummel put his hand on the door, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then said "If anything happens to me, lock the door and hide in the back. I've already called the police, they should be here soon. No matter what, keep the door shut."
And with that, Mr. Hummel stepped outside, closing the door behind him. He looked to his right and found, next to a parked car several feet away, a man on all fours, seemingly vomiting. The old storeowner walked over, calling to the man, "Sir…? Sir, are you alright?". Getting closer, he spotted a notable dent in the car door adjacent to the vomiting man, with some traces of blood. "Sir? Sir, are you in pain? Do you need me to call an ambula-"
Mr. Hummel froze, for he could now see the man wasn't vomiting, but messily mauling a woman whose head had been slammed against the parked car when she screamed earlier. As the man tore into the woman's jugular, Mr. Hummel stood there in shock, then yelled "Hey! HEY, what are you doing to that-?!"
Suddenly, the man turned and faced the old storeowner, revealing its golden eyes and decayed teeth as it snarled. Mr. Hummel was horrified by what he saw. The man's skin was deathly pale and rotting, its dark eyelids drooped over its golden eyes, and saliva and blood dribbled from its mouth.
"What in God's name-?!" Mr. Hummel sputtered before the infected man tackled him onto the sidewalk, sending his elbow crutch landing a few feet away. Mr. Hummel yelled as the roamer took some bites at his face, his arms barely keeping the roamer at bay. Just as the roamer reared back its head to take another bite, the metallic shaft of an elbow crutch made contact with the side of its head, sending it off Mr. Hummel and onto the sidewalk.
Regaining his bearings, Mr. Hummel looked to see Dean holding his now-bloodstained elbow crutch like a bat, shakily panting over what he just did. With Dean was Jace, who went over to check on Mr. Hummel. As Jace helped the old man back to the store, the roamer got up and tried to follow them, only for Dean to hit it again with Mr. Hummel's elbow crutch, sending the roamer flying sideways into the parked car, where it stayed down for good.
Back at the store, Mitchell, Callie and Harper anxiously waited for Jace and Dean to return. Callie paced around while on her phone. Harper heard her murmur "pick up Cullen, pick up…"
"Worried about your little brother?" she asked.
Callie looked at her and nodded. "The rents are out of town, which means I have the key to the house. But I don't know if I'll be home in time, so I gotta let him know there's a spare key under the porch steps. 'Cept I can't get a fucking signal! I don't know why!"
Just then, Jace and Dean came in with Mr. Hummel in tow. Callie went to check on them while Harper locked the door, with Mitchell placing a small barricade for good measure. "Are you guys okay? What happened out there?" Callie exclaimed, concern in her voice.
"It-… It's hard to explain" Dean said, still shaken by what had happened, and on the verge of a breakdown. "T-there was this crazy person attacking us, and I… I-!"
"Dean! Dean, chill!" Jace said. "It's okay. You did what you had to..." After making sure Dean had calmed down, Jace turned to Mr. Hummel, who had seated himself atop some boxes. "Mr. Hummel, are you alright?"
"Y-yes. Yes, I'm fine. Just a little shook is all…"
With Harper doing her best to aid Callie with her dilemma, whereas Mitchell and Dean were busily discussing the best course of action, Jace's attention was elsewhere, as he and Mr. Hummel took notice of the small bite mark on the old storeowner's left wrist. Mr. Hummel looked up at Jace and gave a solemn glance, before pulling down his sleeve over the bite mark while pressing a finger to his lips.
The evening sun peered through the horizon as horns honked and sirens blared across the traffic jam on the highway. There were cars going ahead in the left lane and there were cars going back in the right lane. George looked at the time above the car radio and exhaled deeply. He turned the white car to the right and drove into the parking lot of a motel. After parking his car, he reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. Just enough money, he thought.
"Sixty fucking dollars?" exclaimed a man wearing a Cubs cap.
"Yes," said the motel owner. "Sixty. Fucking. Dollars. If ya don't got the money, then exit's that way.
"I only have a fifty and a five."
"See that exit sign?"
"I don't have anywhere to go."
"Out."
"You don't have any other cheaper rooms?"
"Cheapest is sixty a night."
"You can kick me out before morning."
"I'm kicking ya out now. Ya can sleep in ya car. But not in my parking lot. Else, I'll have ya car towed."
The man groaned in frustration. He closed his wallet and began to walk out. George, who was standing behind him, placed his hands on the man's shoulder and stopped him.
"Wait," George said. "I'll pay for the rest. What did you say you have?"
"Uh, fifty-five. One fifty. And a five," replied the man, taking out his wallet.
"Save that five," said George.
He placed down a ten-dollar bill on the counter. He then rang the bell on the table.
"Get this guy a goddamn room."
George then took out three twenties and placed him on the table.
"Get me a room too."
The motel owner grumbled as he took the money. The man with the cap smiled and nodded his head.
"Thank you. It looks like you don't got a lot of money yourself. Why help?"
"Money ain't going to be worth a damn thing soon," said George.
"Why keep the five then?"
"Get yourself some snacks quickly."
George unlocked his room with a key, numbered 6. He untied his shirt and unbuttoned his collar. He tossed his tie into the bed and entered the bathroom. The faucet turned on as he splashed water over his face, his relieved sigh following the sound of the faucet being turned off.
George placed his arms on the rails on the balcony outside his room, staring at the traffic jam that went onwards to the night sky horizon. Horns blared and dogs barked.
Then, he heard gunshots in the distance. He removed his arms from the rails as he heard screams. Then, he saw it with his own eyes.
The undead were walking down the highway. A few cars crashed in the distance. A driver ran out his car, before being grabbed by a roamer. A couple roamers entered the car of a mother and her child. They screamed as George reached for his pocket. His gun wasn't there.
The roamers began to leak into the parking lot as the motel owner grabbed his shotgun. He aimed at the roamers and shot at them, with some of his pellets striking their chests. The man with the cap ran to his car door. George then ran around the motel owner to his car as more roamers began to stumble towards the parking lot.
"Help me if ya wanna stay!" yelled the motel owner. "If not… then don't think about comin' back!"
George grabbed his Glock 19 and aimed it at the roamers, firing it at their heads.
"Their heads!" yelled George. "Aim for their skull!"
"What the hell are you doing?" exclaimed the man with the cap.
"Helpin'," said George. "They're not people. Not anymore!"
"You're wasting ammo. Just go!"
The man turned towards the motel owner.
"Get inside!" he yelled.
"I'm not letting these assholes drive my customers away!"
The man grabbed his pistol, a Browning Hi-Power and pointed it at the motel owner, quickly shooting him in the leg and chest. The roamers then began to devour him as he yelled. George backed up against his car in shock as he turned towards the man.
"No one left to help. You're free to go now. Thank you for helping me out. Now, go!"
George went inside his car. He took one last look at the man as he began to run inside the motel. He sighed as he grabbed his handcuffs. Then, a couple roamers bumped against his car. They growled at George, who drove the car out of the parking lot. He was now in a different road. Headed away from Buffalo.
-Day 936-
PRESENT DAY
"C'mon, stay with me," whispered Calvin. "Stay with me."
George slowly swirled his head around. Calvin placed the flat blade against his chin and lifted his head up.
"Where are you people from?" muttered Guillermo.
Becky groaned as wet fists punched against her face. She spat out blood and panted.
"Did you even care…?" seethed Timothy. "Fifteen... He was fifteen!"
Jace struggled to speak as he took multiple blows to the stomach. He gagged out blood and saliva while begging the cannibals to stop.
"You're spacing out again," said Calvin. "What's going on in that head of yours… Agent Cane? Come on. Stay with me. Stay… with…"
-Day 870-
A gunshot went off. Then another one.
Jace grumbled in frustration as he looked ahead, noticing the empty cans haven't fallen from the cars. He looked ahead at the Potomac River and Arlington Memorial Bridge before turning to his right. He looked up at the many stairs that led to the Lincoln Memorial. He then looked back at his Px4 and released the magazine from his pistol. He then slid another one in and began to walk towards the cans in the car, firing his pistol.
He took a step forward and shot. He missed the cans. He took another step and fired. He missed.
"Damn it!" yelled Jace.
"Hey, greaser!" shouted a voice from the distance.
Jace turned around and scoffed. The morning sunrise beamed behind Luna as she walked towards him.
"Moonrock! Where's your girlfriend?"
"Still catchin' some Z's. What you doin' out here by yourself?"
"Doing some training. Didn't wanna wake you guys up, so… I walked all the way over here. The fences and barricades go really far, you know. No roamers here."
"What you just did… you call that training?"
"How long were you— you were following me."
"Yeah."
"So, you saw."
"I shuddered at your shots," said Luna.
"So I can't shoot from 50 meters," said Jace. "You followed me all this way to make fun of my aim?"
"Someone's cranky."
"No, it's just… sorry. I'm having trouble shooting from afar. I don't get it. When I'm real close, I'm a deadshot. But move me a dozen meters back, I'm a stormtrooper."
Luna looked at the cans in the distance. She then grabbed Jace's arms.
"Try this."
She raised them up and adjusted his shoulders. His eyes were lined up with the iron sights.
"I know how to aim," said Jace. "Try actually teaching me something new."
"You really shoulda' gotten something to eat before all this," said Luna. "Now stay like that. Breathe in."
Jace inhaled as he looked at the cans.
"Breathe out," whispered Luna.
Jace exhaled, keeping his eyes on the iron sights.
"Breathe in… breathe out… breathe in… breathe out. Good. Now, breathe in and hold your breath."
Jace inhaled and held his breath. He focused his pistol on one of the cans.
"Slowly move your sight at a can… and shoot."
Jace pressed the trigger. The bullet struck the can and went through, making a small splash in the Potomac River.
"Nice!" said Luna.
"Woah…"
"Now, let's try this. Breathe, but with your stomach, not with your chest."
Jace inhaled. Luna cleared her throat.
"You failed. Your shoulders and chest should barely move upwards. Try again. The stomach."
Jace inhaled with his stomach, feeling a fresh batch of air enter his lungs.
"Good. Now fire two cans before releasing your breath."
Jace aimed his pistol slowly at a can and fired. The can toppled over the car. He moved on to the next can and fired, though he missed. He fired again. He missed.
He released his breath.
"Damn…"
"It's alright," said Luna. "You're really good at this. I mean it. Remember the dudes and dudettes I trained back in… Houlton? They didn't learn this fast. Even Dana struggled in her first couple days. But you— you're a natural. You got potential. I just gotta… hone your skills!"
"Nice. If you're trying to make me feel better, then I gotta say— it worked."
Luna let out a small chuckle as she grabbed Jace's hand. She began walking up the steps to the Lincoln Memorial.
"What I just told you— David told me. Somewhere along the lines of—"
Luna deepened her voice.
"'You remind me of meh when I was a wee lad. Though, back in the days, we used muskets and flintlocks. Now get my canned peaches, lassie. Grr. Grr.'"
Jace laughed.
"Ha! You sound just like him. I mean, seriously! What's with him and his canned peaches?"
"I don't know. Maybe he heard it stops you from aging?"
"He musta' heard wrong. But then again— all old people do."
Luna giggled. They continued climbing up the stairs as the sun seemed to get higher and higher.
"You know, David couldn't get me to hold in my breath properly. I knew how to, I just thought it was mad boring. So you know what I do? And only Sam knows this."
"Tell me."
"I hum along to my favorite rock bands. The music plays in my head. Makes it a lot easier to focus."
"Really? Does David know?"
"Yeah. That's why he stopped training me. He said I got good enough. But really, I think he just couldn't stand it."
"I'd love to hear you hum."
Luna smiled.
"You say that now…"
Jace and Luna arrived at the top of the memorial.
"If we're not training in the White House, this is where we'll practice."
"Woah, training?" asked Jace.
"Yeah. I'm gonna teach you and hone your skills. You got marksmanship, Jace. But I mean, only if you want to."
"I'd love to get some training."
Jace looked out over the Reflecting Pool and at the Washington Monument.
"Something tells me we're not just going to stick to pistols, right?"
"David, Sam, Lynn, and Kotaro can all snipe well," said Luna. "I want you to surpass them. When you get really good, you'll start saving lives. You might even save your own cheeks at times. Trust me."
Jace nodded. He went back to looking over the capital with Luna.
The sun rose higher. Pigeons sitting on the Promenade squawked before flying off into the sky, flying as a flock. The red, orange, and yellow leaves moved around the lawns.
Becky looked at the reflection of her left arm in the mirror. A drawing of a bird with its wings spread out was on her arm. She smiled and placed the Sharpie inside her pocket. She looked at her empty bed and frowned before walking out the door.
Carol sat on a recliner, wearing sweatpants and socks, reading Sunrise Tomorrow by Elizabeth B. Brown next to a lamp, surrounded by bookshelves. She looked up as the wooden door opened. Becky walked in with a two glasses on one hand and a bottle of red wine on the other.
"I thought I'd find you here," said Becky. "Library's pretty quiet, right?"
"It was," said Carol. "What's that on your arm?"
Becky smiled.
"A new tattoo. Of a bald eagle. Represents how free I am. 'Cause what's more American than that?"
"Why is it so bald? Looks like a vulture."
"'Cause… bald eagle!"
Carol kept her eyes on the book.
"Bald eagles aren't actually bald," she said.
"Ugh, I know. I don't know how to draw the hair… or it's feathers and shit."
Becky placed down the glass cups on the table and opened up the bottle of wine.
"I don't know…" whispered Carol.
"Come on. Have you tasted red wine? This place's got a lot of it. It's real gourmet shit. And I know you haven't tasted wine in a while."
"Had no reason to," said Carol. "Not even in New Years. Because you know… I was… gonna have her…"
Becky poured the red wine into the glasses.
"I wanted to get your mind off of that," she said. "Have a little alone time between us. No boys. No Lori. Just two girls having a relaxin' time."
Becky handed Carol her glass of wine. She grabbed it and placed down her book as Becky sat on one of the arm rests.
"I'm actually happy for Lori. It's just… I'm scared for her. When she loses Bobby— and no offense to Bobby, but she will— I know how she'll feel. You know what. You're right. I need to forget about it."
Carol sipped the wine from the cup and gulped it until she emptied the cup. She placed it down and sighed in relief.
"Wow," mouthed Becky as she poured more wine into Carol's cup.
"You know, Hana can give you a tattoo. She says she's given it to other people."
"So she says. Never seen any tattoos on her. 'Sides, where can I get a tattoo? We don't have that kind of ink around here."
"We do. In the cosmetology room."
"There's a cosmetology room?"
"We can check it out right now. But first… let me see if I can draw a better vulture than you."
"It's supposed to be an eagle," chuckled Becky as she handed Carol a sharpie.
"Now these are hard to find."
"I know. All I could find are pens. But I mean, I get it. It's not like a President was gonna use a Sharpie to draw and sign shit."
Carol smiled. She continued drawing on Becky's right arm. She then moved her long hair back and exhaled a sigh of relief.
"Now, that's a vulture."
"I-I must've read the history books wrong. You see, where I'm from, bald eagles is the national bird."
"Ha, shut up. We may be free like eagles… but we scavenge for shit like vultures. Plus, I don't know how to draw the feathers on its head either."
"Drunk you can draw better than sober me."
Carol giggled.
"There's a sober you?"
"Oh… ha!"
Becky and Carol laughed as both girls stood up. They opened the wooden door to the library. Then, they closed it.
The evening sun peered through the windows in the White House. The leaves rustled along the Rose Garden as the weeds and overgrown shrubs rocked side to side along the building. A tree with bark marked by arrows was struck by another arrow.
George walked out of the Palm Room
and outside along the West Colonnade, a walkway along the building. He stepped out of the Colonnade and into the Rose Garden, watching Vonda shoot her arrows into a tree across the garden while wearing her blue vest.
"Vee! We weren't done talking!"
Vonda groaned and rolled her eyes. She kept her eyes on the tree.
"You mean, you're not done talking. 'Cause I am," she said.
"Then, listen! You can't be sneaking out like that! Especially at night!"
"How do you even know that? Huh? Were you watchin' me the entire time?"
"You giggle louder than you think. And your footsteps aren't as quiet as Lynn's. You two woke me up. You probably woke others up, but you know, I just had that feeling."
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah. A feeling that you were gonna do some shit that would piss me off."
"Then, I gotta start waking you up more often when I sneak out."
"You think this is a joke?" scoffed George.
"Well, I just laughed, so what does that tell you?"
"You gotta learn how to respect people. And you have to stop sneaking out!"
Vonda tossed her bow to the ground and faced George.
"Why? You're not my father! You don't tell me what to do!"
"I'm your guardian. I take care of you. Someone's gonna have to since your parents ain't around."
"And whose fault is that?"
George squinted his eyes. Vonda gulped.
"Don't do that," said George. "Don't do that to yourself."
"Why do you even care so much?"
"You're my little girl, and I can't let anything happen to you. Sneaking out is dangerous."
"Oh, now I get it. I'm a replacement. That's why you don't give two shits about Lynn sneaking out, but want to pin all the blame on me. I'm sorry that I can't act like the daughter you had, George. I'm sorry that this isn't the daughter you like, George."
"Is this what this is about?" sighed George. "You think I want you to be like Emma?"
"I know it," said Vonda. "I don't think you'll ever get over her. So, that's when I come in. You wanna pretend I'm like Emma. But I'm not!"
George shook his head softly.
"You'll never be like Emma. I may see some of her in you, but you'll never be her."
Vonda's eyes fluttered as she turned away from George.
"You'll always be your own person. You're my daughter. Maybe not by blood. But by choice. And I love you just as much as I love Emma."
Vonda turned towards George before quickly hugging him.
"I'm still not calling you dad," she said.
George chuckled.
"It's okay. You had a really good father. I can never be like him."
"No. You're your own person. And you're the best at being you."
"Ah, so you listened!" smiled George.
Vonda looked up at him and giggled as she continued hugging him. The arrows on the tree moved softly with the wind as the sunset in.