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turns to me, his eyes glittering in excitement.
    “Okay,” I shrug, and he hands me several boxes of ammo and some spare magazine clips to carry. The boxes aren’t that big, but they’re heavier than I expect.
    Silas fills the pockets of his coat with a few more boxes and then grabs both the AR-15 and a camo-green tri-pod with three long metal legs.
    I follow him up onto the roof, glad that the rain has cleared. The wind is blowing a bit, but the sun is out, drying up all but the largest puddles left in the parking lot. The stinky reek of zombie hits me before we even get close enough to look over the edge.
    I had almost forgotten their terrible smell. The mall smells of new everything; it’s almost easy to pretend the world hasn’t gone to hell out here.
    I watch Silas as he carefully sets up the AR-15 on its tripod. He shows me how to load the magazine and then slap my palm against the bolt catch to chamber a round. I humor him, but I have no interest in firing this monstrous thing. I’m barely comfortable with my tiny pistol!
    Silas sets the carbine square to his shoulder and aims it down at the zombies that are teeming below. “Hey you dirty bastards!” he yells, causing them to jostle against each other in excitement as they try to figure out where their next meal will come from.
    My stomach starts to do panicky flips when Silas starts stirring them up. I know we’re pretty safe up here on the roof, but purposely antagonizing a huge group of flesh-eating zombies just seems like such a bad idea.
    He looks at me and grins, but it isn’t the droll grin from an hour ago in the camping store, this grin is hard and promises a little payback.
    “You can reload the ammunition,” Silas appoints as he picks up the first magazine and demonstrates how to press the cartridges into the magazine. Since I don’t want to actually fire the gun, I don’t complain even though inside I rebel a little at being told what to do.
    It’s pretty easy to catch on, and I have the hang of it by the time Silas is done with the first magazine. “Just fill them all up,” he says as he thrusts the full magazine into the bottom of the AR-15 and slaps the bolt catch.
    I pause in my task for a moment as I watch him take careful aim at one of the zombies below. “I’m aiming for that redhead,” he points out to me, and I lean over a bit further to see if he actually makes the shot.
    Silas squeezes the trigger one time and an empty round is ejected from the gun, almost hitting me in the cheek. I jump out of the way and watch as he misses the ghastly creature’s head. The shot lodges into the shoulder instead, making the red-haired zombie stumble.
    “Damn,” Silas mutters as he readjusts and aims again. This time I’m ready for the ejection of the casing, and I’m not standing in the splash zone. The red-haired zombie goes down and stays down.
    Silas looks at me with a smile. He looks like a kid with his first bicycle– only scarier.
    He lets loose a series of rapid shots that puts a noticeable dent in the crowd. He fires dry and looks at me expectantly as he ejects the spent magazine and sets it down.
    “Ready?” he asks, holding out his hand for the magazine I was supposed to be loading, and I flush. I’d been so wrapped up watching him rain a little payback down on the zombies that I’d totally forgotten about the task at hand. I’m half done at best, but it only takes me another minute to finish loading the magazine with the .223 cartridges.
    I hand it to Silas, who snaps it into the gun and doesn’t waste much time burning through the thirty-round magazine.
    I’m nearly finished loading another magazine when he stops. “You’re going too fast,” I complain, about ready to tell him to start loading his own bullets.
    “Do you want a turn?” Silas offers, ignoring my complaint, and I shake my head.
    “I think I’ll stick with my handgun for a while,” I say, hoping he won’t make a big deal about it. The gun looks