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easy on the machine gun. We heard one shot and should assume it was for a zombie,” he says.
    “Maybe it was a signal for everyone to meet at the Liberty Bell?” I suggest. “Terri, is there any more chatter from the survivors’ rally?” It still doesn’t feel right, but I want to maintain an optimistic attitude.
    “She’s out,” Cupcake calls back from the front.
    Our navigator and communications expert is passed out. Just great. I was worried that she was going to try and take over leadership of the group. Doesn’t seem like it’ll be a problem now.
    The Humvee turns left and slows. Out Todd’s window I see a few cars parked normally and an RV has been pulled up on the sidewalk. Switching over to Patrick’s side, I see no signs of life.
    “I wonder why the cars are here but all the bodies are on the other street?” Cupcake asks over his shoulder.
    This limited visibility is killing me. If the white whale in the front seat wanted to pass out, she could have crammed herself back here. It’s hard for me to take on a tone of leadership when I’m sitting cross-legged and whining, “lemme see.”
    One of my first clients gave me some advice about confidence. He said that no one gives you confidence—it’s something you have to collect on your own. The best time to harvest it is when others are searching for it as well.
    “Go around the block again,” I order Cupcake.
    No one in the truck argues.
    A few minutes later, the truck turns left and we roll in silence.
    Another left turn and Cupcake stops completely.
    “There’s a body in the street.”
    I can’t see it and I have to assume that since it’s being announced, it wasn’t there last time we drove up this street.
    “Pull up to it and stop,” I command.
    I have no idea what to do after we stop. The message said to rally at the Liberty Bell and we are here. We’re also alone, except for a mysterious gunman and several corpses.
    “Jaden, listen to me. When we get out of the truck, I want you to stay back here. Tucker is going to stay too, and Terri is napping in the front seat. Just sit quietly and everything will be okay. Do you understand?”
    The little boy nods at me. There is no fear on his face. I can’t believe that he doesn’t sense the fear that fills the cab. Our reality must not register with his little mind.
    When the Humvee stops, I still don’t have a plan or a sudden bout of confidence. Winging it is still the order of the day.
    “Was it a zombie?” My question breaks the silence.
    “I don’t know how to tell. Whoever took it out used a headshot, so my guess would be yes,” Cupcake answers.
    “No bite marks. All the blood looks like his own. I mean, nothing around the mouth or face like all the undead I’ve seen,” Todd says. Of course he’d add a conflicting perspective.
    Cupcake can hunt and fish and hotwire cars. I bet he wouldn’t consider growing food to be a big challenge. His forensic skills leave a little to be desired, though.
    Indecision takes over. If it was a zombie, then we should get out and run to the Liberty Bell because the survivors are watching over us. If it was a living person who was shot, we either need to solve the mystery or get the hell out of here.
    “Maybe he was just starting to turn and they had to deal with it,” Patrick says, offering a rational explanation.
    “I don’t like the idea of walking through a field of potential zombies,” Cupcake says. “There are a bunch of bodies out there and any one of them could get up and try to eat us.”
    He has a good point. We can’t be too careful around the seemingly dead.
    “I say we get the fuck out of here. This shit ain’t right,” Todd says, offering up his vote before anyone asks for it.
    He’s right, but he’s also wrong. Nothing has felt right since I woke up on Saturday afternoon. This feels as un-right as anything, which must mean it’s the new normal.
    If the guy in the street was alive, it was probably an accident. With guns