January 11, early morning

"We're going on a trip!" The words rushed out of Harlan's mouth like it was a flaming movie theater. "That's it, we're taking a vacation from here to Riverside like Mami wanted."

"Will Uncle Tony be there?" Junior asked as Harlan shoved clothes and cans and bottles into a duffel bag.

He paused.

"Yeah. Sure. He'll be there." He packed some spaghetti bolognese and mumbled, "Maybe Patrick Swayze, too."

"Who's that?" Junior was right beside him.

"He's uh," People magazine's 'Sexiest Man Alive' 1991, "he's an actor."

"Like Hollywood?" Junior's eyes lit up.

"Yeah, yeah, Hollywood." Harlan looked around the drab quarters they've called home for so long. "Listen, go get your bag from school and come back here, but don't tell anyone why. It's a surprise trip!"

Junior felt uneasy as he nodded and ran out the door.

His sneakers carried him to the refurbished toy store-turned-school in record time, where he spotted his orange Spiffo backpack.

But Miss Laureen was waiting.

"Hello there littl'un. Where's the fire?"

"Uh, there's a fire?"

"Is there? You're in an awful hurry." She sat on a chair and motioned for him to sit next to her. He grabbed his bag and plopped down by her side. "Did Uncle Harley say something?"

He replied with a long, drawn out "Noooo."

"I know you're lying to me, Harley." She was one of the few people to use his name, and not his nickname. "Whatcha got in that bag?"

"Nothing." He clutched it tighter.

"Can I see?" He hesitantly let her search it, finding little more than pencils and paper. "Is something the matter?"

"No, I just want my bag please."

"You know you can tell me anything, Harley."

He thought for a moment.

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything."

"Promise not to tell?"

"I promise." Laureen drew a cross over her heart. Junior leaned in.

"Tio and I are taking a vacation!"

"Oh really?" She was taken aback for a moment. "To where?"

"Riverside. Or Hollywood. I'm not sure. He said Uncle Tony and his friend Patrick were there."

"That sounds exciting!" She exclaimed, before hushing herself. "But I won't tell anyone. You run along now and tell your uncle I say hi."

"Okay, but don't tell anyone!" With that, Junior sped off.

Laureen wasn't far behind, making her way to the Governor's office.

Later that day, Harlan was out on patrol. The vehicle rumbled as it followed the familiar route to West Point. IT was him and two burly gents he hadn't gone out with before, putting him on edge. He had seen them around, one of them was known as Rocko, the other's name began with an O, or an A, or some kind of vowel.

Harlan knew the Governor didn't like him, but he had to play it cool until that night when he and Junior could run.

The car carried them past the train tracks and into town. The Giga Mart was still swamped with the dead, Harlan clutched his TEC-9. They sped through downtown and pulled into the suburbs.

Some houses were marked with red X's, meaning they had been hit already. Others were splattered with blood, windows broken, doors torn off of hinges. The car swerved around the burnt wreck of a Chevalier Nyala, clipping a zombie's hip and sending it to the ground.

They came to a stop in a ritzier neighborhood when Vowel Man pointed to a beige two-story home with boarded windows and a blocked door.

"That's the one."

"Is it? What does the map say?" Rocko asked.

"Says right here, gun nut." He tapped the map with a dirty finger for emphasis. "Found this at the gas station, I trust it."

"You're too trusting, Felix."

Felix? Harlan wasn't even close.

"But you're positive this is the place?" Harlan asked. The two glared at him like he interrupted a quiet dinner date.

"Positive." Rocko said.

"Wanna take point, Chatty Cathy?" Felix joked.

Harlan sighed, "Alright," and hopped out of the car.

He walked up the driveway and made it to the front door, which was blocked with a bench. Rocko stepped up and pulled it out of the way. In one swift motion, Felix opened the door and pushed Harlan in, slamming it behind him and sealing him in near pitch blackness.

"What the fuck guys?!"

He heard them laugh through the door. Harlan tried to open the door but it wouldn't budge.

"Ask the Governor." Rocko yelled as be banged his fists on the door before leaving with Felix.

Harlan threw his hands up in defeat when he heard footsteps behind him. He swung his TEC-9 around and shouted "WHO'S THERE?"

Growling.

Lots of growling.

Without a thought, he fired his gun, lighting up the room. Dead eyes stared back at him from all angles. Dead eyes sunken into familiar faces.

He fired again, and again, using the light from each shot to line up the next. Each zombie was someone he saw at the mall. Jerry was still in his uniform. Carl has chunks taken out of his face. Others he had passed by in the mall without much thought were coming for him.

At the far end of the room a door burst open and a sprinter shoved through the crowd towards Harlan. He ducked at the last moment, and the undead creature slammed against the wall.

He kept the gunfire up, spraying bullets into torsos to light his way around the crowd and up the stairs.

He aimed up the stairs and took a shot, nothing.

Another, a hand.

Another, a rotten face.

And again, the face was blown away.

He sped up the rest of the stairs and found a light at the end of the tunnel in the form of a glowing doorway. He dashed inside and slammed the door behind him. A heartbeat went by before the undead began banging on the door. He was in a bathroom, the window was boarded up. With little choice, cornered and scared, he pulled out his axe and began swinging at the window.

A board fell down, letting in more light. Behind him, the door broke and an undead arm swung through. He swung again, and again, and again, taking down the final plank as the door finally gave way.

With his axe in both hands, Harlan held it parallel to the floor and ran into the horde, bouncing off of them to burst through the window.

He hit the ground hard, landing his ass on dead grass which did very little to cushion the fall.

Above him, the sprinter half-hung out the window and swiped at him some more. He put his thumb to his nose and wiggled his fingers.

But outside wasn't much safer.

He got to his feet and circled the house, no sign of Rocko and that other guy. But down the way they came he spotted a mass of the dead on their way, attracted by the gunfire. He bolted south, cutting through yards and over lawns before coming to a rest at a long-abandoned store.

He pushed through the unlocked door and looked around. Empty shelves, empty fridges, his bag was back in the car with those goons.

He crawled behind the counter and sat on the ground, thinking about his lot in life.

Harlan was as good as dead, Anthony was assuredly dead, Junior might be next if he ever asks what happened to his uncles. He felt tears well around his eyes, but he was spent. He couldn't cry, so he just breathed in and out. Every so often his breath would hitch, he'd brace for waterworks, but they never came.

He froze when he heard the door open.

The sound of even, steady footsteps filled the small commercial space and he clutched his TEC-9. Before he could raise it, a barrel was in his face.

"Holy hell." The voice was familiar.

"You got me, just end it already."

"Harley." The person knelt next to him and laid an arm on his shoulder. He turned to see Carr's withered face staring back.