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interrupting Silas and his creepy gun crush.
    “Jane, you have no idea what these guns are do you?” Silas asks, and I shake my head.
    “I know they will kill zombies, and that’s all I care about,” I tell him, and he takes a deep breath like I’m trying the patience of a saint–hardly. Silas rattles the heavy metal door that’s keeping him from his dream come true and frowns.
    “Locked,” he mutters.
    “Should we shoot the lock off?” I ask hopefully, having seen it done a lot in movies.
    Silas turns on me with a scandalized look. “And risk shooting the guns? I don’t think so, Blondie!” I’m a little annoyed, but I ignore him—reminding myself that’s just how Silas is.
    “What about the key?” I suggest, though I’m about done trying to come up with solutions.
    Silas shakes his head again. “That idea is better, but a place like this wouldn’t just leave the keys sitting out. They’re either at home with the owner, or locked up in a safe we can’t open.”
    I blow out a breath. “What’s your idea then?” I ask, sure that he has one.
    “Bolt cutters,” he instantly replies.
    “Do you have some?” I ask, sure he’s gonna pull a pair out of his backpack, but he surprises me by shaking his head.
    “I don’t, but the hardware store should.” He looks at me like he’s debating asking me to go and get him some, but then he changes his mind and gives his head a small shake. “I’ll go and grab them and be right back,” he says, not even pausing to see if I object.
    I nod even though he’s already disappeared. He probably thinks I don’t know what a pair of bolt cutters look like—I don’t—but he doesn’t have to know that.
    I stare blankly at the guns. There are all sorts of different sizes and one in particular that looks like some sort of military assault rifle. For the first time in a couple days, I miss my phone. I would have loved to be able to google a couple of these guns and impress Silas with a bit of random knowledge.
    Silas returns at a run with a pair of heavy red bolt cutters in his hand. I watch his chest rising up and down rapidly, and I know he ran the whole way. He’s as excited as a kid at Christmas.
    “Is that an AK-47?” I ask when he pulls an enormous looking machine gun from the locker, ignoring all the other guns.
    Silas shakes his head. “It’s better. This is an AR-15.” He runs his hand along the smooth, black barrel as he talks, and I roll my eyes.
    “Do you want me to leave you two alone?” I ask, only half joking.
    Silas grunts in true Silas fashion and sets the gun down on the countertop that he didn’t smash. Then he goes back and digs a few more things out of the case.
    “So,” I say, making Silas look up at me. “Why is this gun better than an AK-47?”
    Silas looks impressed that I want to learn. “AK-47’s are a thing of the past, the AR is the future. These are the guns that our military uses—which should make it easier to find ammo.”
    I don’t correct Silas that our military is a thing of the past too thanks to the flesh eating monsters moaning outside the mall.
    “The AR can fire six hundred yards, which is two hundred more yards than the AK. It’s lighter, and it can fire way more rounds per minute.”
    I raise my eyebrow. I’m impressed that Silas knows so much about these things.
    “Do you want to know my favorite thing about it though?” he asks, and I nod. I’m actually curious to see what makes Silas tick.
    “The price,” he says, and I blink.
    “What?”
    “This is a thirteen hundred and fifty dollar rifle,” he says, pointing out the expensive price tag. “I could never have afforded it before.” He opens a box, removes a silencer, and screws it on the muzzle, making the already impressive-looking gun look longer and meaner. “This place has all the stuff to trick it out,” he says, and I’m not sure if he’s talking to me or mumbling to himself. “Let’s go and test it out,” he says finally as he