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sir.”
    Bueller pressed a button, Miller’s file appeared on the screen built into his desk. He clicked and displayed a picture from Miller’s daughter’s ID file. Long shapely legs, a good figure. Randy thought yes, I can find a great use for her . He took a look at Miller and regarded him with eyes as cold as steel and as black as a politician’s soul.
    “It’s your lucky day Mr. Miller. I’m willing to increase her rations at the expense of your own. Code Five boys. Take him away.”
    Miller tried to protest, but one of the guards pistol whipped him and Randy tutted as Ernest’s dragged feet left a dirty mark on his carpet. Code Five meant permanent relocation, ejection from the compound without the option to return. Miller wouldn’t realize it, of course, until they had him settled in the small room with the trapdoor that would throw him to the hard sidewalk like so much discarded trash in the back alley.
    Bueller fished a couple of codeine tablets from a sterling silver pill box in his desk drawer and washed them down with a glass of ice chilled water from his private cooler. Hopefully that was another headache sorted. He tapped away at his terminal and upped the level of Miss Yasmine Miller to Level Four. She would get more food at that level and he’d call her up to his office and console her on the strange disappearance of her old Dad. Doctor Mendez, he moved down a level with just a few keystrokes. That idiot had sown dissent with his comments and that just would not do. If he didn’t toe the line, he too would soon be zombie fodder.
    Outside the Chrysler Tower a full moon shone down upon a frightened wide eyed Miller, huddled and cowering in an alleyway as the nightly screams grew louder.
     
The Myth of Happiness
 
    How could something so massive, so monumental, feel so claustrophobic? Rick wondered that as he looked up at the empty buildings towering over him, blocking out the sky. The entire city used to be alive with so much excitement. Now it was only a graveyard strewn with rotting, walking corpses.
    It was his graveyard and he had to protect it. Rick, as Kid Bolt, swore an oath to defend his domain from Brooklyn to the Bronx and everything in between. People still lived here, if one could call it living, and they needed saving.
    Maybe Kid Bolt started as a joke. Maybe it was a way to protect himself from bullies in high school. The secret identity gave Rick an escape, an outlet for his frustration. When he put on his mask and blue jumpsuit, he could defend others from the torment he was helpless to endure. Rick’s first 50,000 volt taser put the power of lightning in his hands and then Kid Bolt became real. In his mind, he was a superhero. He would fight for justice and defend the weak.
    Something echoed down the block. It sounded like a stick tapping on concrete. The sound shook Rick from painful memories of juvenile torture. He looked to his sidekick, Star Cluster. The silver duct tape that made the randomly chosen Star of David danced across her black cape with the sick smelling breeze. Kid Bolt knew not to call her his sidekick. Powerfist had tried that once and it ended with a swift kick to the balls. Since that day, the whole team secretly referred to Star Cluster as Nut Buster.
    After that, Powerfist mysteriously left the team. Kid Bolt figured he must have really felt emasculated by the incident. It didn’t matter because they still had five members. At least, they had five until the outbreak. Dr. Sledgehammer was probably the lucky one, thought Kid Bolt. He fell in his sleep. His wife attacked him like they had seen on so many news reports. That left four members of the Vindicator Corp: Kid Bolt, Star Cluster, Slo -Fast and Miss Wondermazing . Except he was not supposed to count Wondermazing anymore.
    Star Cluster jumped down from the hood of the Camaro that had given her a vantage of the empty street. Not all of the Vindicators held Kid Bolt’s high ideals. He knew Star Cluster was in