“That ought to buy us some time,” said Tyrel. Back with the rest of the squad, he said, “Rojas, I want you to take Hicks and move straight down the hillside.” He pointed due east from where we sat, directly toward the development. “Radio when you’re close enough to make an assessment.”

Rojas stood up. “Will do. Come on, new guy. Class is in session.”

I got to my feet and began following him down the hill. Behind me, Tyrel said, “Head on a swivel, Caleb. Got it?”

“Got it.”

*****

Rojas put his back to the wrought-iron fence and laced his fingers at groin level. “Up you go.”

I stepped into his hands, gripped the cold black fence poles, and levered myself up until I could put a boot on his shoulder. Once there, I stepped up, grabbed the support crossbar ten inches below the spear-shaped tips of the fence, and pushed until I was lying halfway over. The thick material of my MOLLE vest kept me from being skewered.

Throwing my legs over, I planted my boots against the fence and slid down. “Okay,” I said to Rojas. “Your turn.”

Leaning against the poles, I reached my hands through and laced my fingers as Rojas had done for me. He climbed up nimbly, pushed off my shoulder, and threw himself over the spikes.

I said, “Looks like you’ve done this before.”

He looked smug. “Once or twice.”

As I turned toward the street leading into the neighborhood, Rojas hissed for me to stop. He dropped his pack, unlashed the bundled cylinder, and carefully rolled it out onto the dead brown grass. When he stood up, he was holding a three-and-a-half foot double-edged sword.

“Hicks, meet Penelope.”

I stared. The sword looked nothing like what I had seen in books and museums. Its blade was wide and thick like a Roman Gladius, but much longer. I could have called the leather-wrapped hilt two-handed, except it was far more than that—four-handed, maybe. The crossguard was a simple rounded rectangle of aluminum, just wide enough to keep the wielder’s hands from slipping up onto the sharpened edge. The blade’s color was a dark reddish-black, like something forged from the leaf springs of a large truck. I had a feeling that was probably not far from the truth.

“Jesus Christ,” I said.

A grin. “Ain’t she a beauty?”

“I don’t know which is more worrisome. The fact that you named it, or that you think it’s a girl.”

He laughed. “She’s named after the first girl that ever gave me a blow job and swallowed. We take good care of each other.”

“What a beautiful story.”

“Don’t be jealous.”

“The hell did you find that thing?”

“Had it custom made. Cost a small fortune, but it was worth it.”

I thought about the rubber-tipped spears my father had trained me to wield, and asked, “Who made it for you?”

“I’ll introduce you to him when we get back to town. For right now, we got work to do. Let’s go, new guy.”

We crossed a hundred yards or so of grassy downslope leading to pavement. The asphalt was dark black, free of potholes, the center and shoulder lines vivid yellow and white as though recently painted, the kind of road a wealthy HOA had once paid good money to maintain. I wondered how long it would be before it cracked and crumbled and gave way to trees.

The neighborhood was laid out in a cloverleaf pattern consisting of four concentric circles, each circle lined with houses that grew larger as they wound toward the center. The one we approached was on the southwest portion of the development where the flat valley began sloping up into the mountains. Ahead of us, we saw infected milling about in the yards between houses, slowed down by dry grass nearly knee deep. As we drew closer, the ground began to level out until it was flat and even and the outer row of houses loomed ahead. We stopped at the intersection and dropped to one knee.

“Okay professor,” I said, scanning ahead with my scope. “What’s the plan?”

Rojas pointed to a three-story beast directly across from us. “There. We’ll go in through the back door and clear the place. See if there’s a way onto the roof.”

“Think the infected have seen us yet?”

“Doubt it. They can’t see for shit, but they’ll hear us soon enough. Mark my words.”

We covered the distance at a jog, slowing down as we drew closer to stifle our footsteps. I stopped twice to fire at infected I knew would detect us long before we reached the house. When we reached the back yard, a trio of walkers rounded the corner, snapped their faces toward us, and opened their mouths. I would have shot them, but Rojas took off in their direction, sword raised. I cursed and followed.

The first one began to croak as Rojas swept his massive blade from right to left, sending the top half of the walker’s head spinning into the grass. Without missing a step, he pivoted on one foot and brought his sword down in an overhead chop at the second ghoul, splitting its skull down the middle. Now that he was out of the way, I had a clear shot at the third infected. I took it.

Rojas jerked his weapon free and looked over his shoulder, irritated. I nodded toward the house as if to say, let’s go. Rojas mouthed, Asshole, then joined me by the door. I reached out and turned it slowly. Locked. Rojas rolled his eyes. “Fuck’s sake.”

I held up a finger, took my lock picks from a vest pocket, and went to work. Ten seconds later, the lock turned and I opened the door.

“After you,” I whispered.

Rojas nodded appreciatively and went inside.

FIFTY-TWO

We swept the house. Empty.

Kitchen: untouched. Lots of canned food and non-perishables. Bedrooms: mostly guest rooms, one master with a full wardrobe that had not been disturbed in a while. Garage: a Cadillac Escalade with a full tank, a live battery, and keys hanging from a hook on the kitchen wall. Standard stuff in the living room.

The bathrooms turned out to be a gold mine, lots of toilet paper. Rojas said we could split the TP fifty/fifty. I asked if LaGrange would have a problem with that, being that I was only a probationary militiaman and only entitled to a half-share of the profits. Rojas said it was the reward we got for going out on point. First pick of the spoils, even for newbies. The only rule was whatever we took had to fit in a trash bag.

It is amazing how much one can fit in a trash bag when properly motivated.

There was a locked door in the kitchen. I picked and opened it to find a set of wooden stairs leading down into darkness. Rojas clicked the button on an LED tactical light and shined it around. The walls were concrete, a single bulb dangled from the ceiling, and a heavy-looking steel door stared at us forbiddingly from the bottom.

“What do you think?” Rojas asked.

“We’ve come this far. Might as well.”

He put his sword down on the kitchen counter and drew a Sig Sauer pistol from his belt. “Let’s go.”

As expected, the door at the bottom was locked. I borrowed Rojas’ flashlight, stared at the lock a few seconds, and selected a couple of tools from my set of picks. It took me a while to line up the tumblers—this lock was much more robust than the one at the entrance—but finally, they clicked into place. I turned the knob.

“Take it easy, now,” Rojas said. “Sometimes we find booby traps.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, man. Lost a guy about a month ago. We were raiding this trailer park, right, and the guy, Simmons was his name, opens a door with a shotgun wired to it. Blew a hole in his guts the size of a grapefruit. Bled out before we could get help.”

I let the knob ease back. “Jesus.”

“No shit. So take your time, homes. No rush.”

Using the flashlight, I checked the door the way my father had trained me to, first going around the edges and looking for anything out of the ordinary like wires or electrical contacts. Just because the power was out did not mean there couldn’t be some kind of backup.