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was seeking me out, contriving ways for our paths to cross.
    Even when faced with almost daily fights for survival, people still found time to gossip, and our newest residents caused quite a stir. I’d heard shortly after their arrival that the men had all served time in the Luther Luckett Correctional Complex in La Grange before the outbreak, which had only cemented my opinion of the tattooed hulk. Yes, he’d saved me from being zombie chow, but I couldn’t get past his powerful, frightening appearance.
    While helping clear brush from a public space near the center of the neighborhood in preparation for a vegetable garden, I overheard a conversation between Liz and Lexie, whose job was to help monitor radio and intermittent cell communications for the Compound.
    Liz’s voice was soft but clear as she pulled a stubborn vine out of the ground. I didn’t catch the start of what she said, but she finished with, “…because of the halfway house.”
    I glanced over and saw Lexie nod. “That was it. I told Marcus when he said we didn’t need their kind that he was being short-sighted.” She brushed short, chestnut hair off her sweaty forehead. “They did their time at Luckett and were at the halfway house. High-risk prisoners don’t go there. I told the council that house was for guys with a vocation, ones who would transition back into society without much trouble, so long as they got a little help.”
    “Josh didn’t take much convincing after he heard that,” Liz said, attacking some dead brush with her rake. “They were up front about it, rather than taking the easy way and making up where they were from. We’d never have known any different.”
    “Marcus was still suspicious at first, but he’s spent a good bit of time with them in the motor pool, and he’s convinced they mean to be assets and stick around for the long haul.”
    Liz made murmurs of approval, and the two women moved a little distance to see if they could dislodge a stubborn rock from the planned garden. I didn’t catch all of what they said after they started digging around the obstruction, but did pick up a few more details.
    It turned out the ex-cons brought some useful skills to the table. Mr. Evil, whose name I learned was Quinn, had worked as a diesel mechanic when he wasn’t incarcerated, one was a welder, and two others had solid backgrounds in construction. It was decided they could stay, as long as they proved to be hard workers and abided by the rules the council had established.
    To avoid encounters with Quinn, I spent more and more time working on the library project with Liz. This had the added benefit of spending time with her two dogs. I could pet them for hours, taking comfort in their unconditional affection, though I ached every day wondering what had happened to Skip. I put the word out to those who ventured outside the Compound working patrols or scavenging for supplies, asking them to keep an eye out, but nobody had seen him.
    One day, Liz needed to check on some aspect of the ever-increasing garden plots, and I’d promised to stay at the house and sort through some automotive manuals a scavenging team had found at a technical college.
    “I’ll probably only be a couple of hours,” Liz said, reassuring me with her warm, brown gaze. It was the first time she’d left me alone while working in her house. “I told Josh to ask around and see if he could find someone to come by and tell us which of the books are most useful, or if any of them are too outdated.”
    I hoped the person Josh asked was a woman. The idea of being alone in the house with a man—any man—set my stomach churning, but I nodded.
    Shortly after she left, there was a knock at the door.
    Of course, it was Quinn.
    He wasn’t as tall as I remembered from when he was swinging a machete at my head, but he was broad, seeming to take up more space than the laws of physics would dictate. The sleeves of his chambray shirt were rolled above the elbows,