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mother. She was already dead. He forced it into his own mind that he was releasing her, letting her actually die so that her soul could go to Heaven—if there was such a place. Charlie didn’t know, but his mom believed it, so that was what he clung to as he threw the piece of crap knife across the room and grabbed his dad’s spear.
    The two men reacted as if they were going to stop him, but once he had the weapon in hand, all that they could do was back off as the boy pointed the spear at each man in turn. He lingered on his father for a little longer but knew that his mother, the zombie, was too close to take too long.
    He brought the spear back and plunged it into the eye of his mother, his love and self-loathing flowing through the staff and into her brain as he directed her corpse to the floor.
    Yeah, he now stared at his dad with hate and loathing, but there was something else there as well. It came when they went to the club to find a place to spend the night. The main room was filled with zombies, but they could hear cries from the living somewhere in the back, behind the stage.
    Pushing Charlie and Lester behind a counter, his dad took over. He un-sheathed Shaaka and, with the heavy wooden buckler in his left hand and the spear in his right, he began to clear the room of infected. It was a physical display of the like that neither he nor Lester had seen before. If it wasn’t for the blood and death that it wrought, it would have been beautiful.
    So yeah, he hated his dad and loathed every minute he had to spend with him simply because he was such a fucking asshole. But there was also awe.
    He was overwhelmed with the sense of awe at what his father was capable of, both emotionally and physically, and he realized that if any of them were to survive, it was going to be due to this asshat and the capabilities that he possessed. Fucker.
    ***
    Dean Solomon thought back to the events that brought him here. It was a sad day when he forced a sniveling wuss of a child to do the unspeakable so that he might survive this new world. The change that came over the boy was remarkable and turned him into a warrior twice his age, but was it right? Did he care if it was right or wrong? Should he care? Now Charlie was one of the first to step up and face the infected, and he seemed to be all right—for the most part. What could he expect from a fourteen-year-old kid? Charlie seemed all right to everyone except Solomon. He rarely spoke to his own dad, and the old man had even caught him glaring hatefully at him when he thought he wasn’t being watched.
    He should care that it changed his son; he just didn’t know how or why. These dilemmas were much more intricate than he was ever cut out to deal with. He just figured that Charlie would come around. He knew his son hated him; every son hates his dad at some point or another. They grow out of it and bury their resentment until it dissipates or comes to fruition just like he did with his dad.
    Charlie would come around; but understanding and forgiveness are two separate things.
    They tried to hole up at the club, thinking that the lack of windows, because of the nude dancing, would make it a safe place to hang out with a stuffed larder and maybe some entertainment. It didn’t last but a day, and after several mad dashes, each one of which lost people and gained others, they found themselves behind the fenced-in area of the truck yard where he worked. The dispatcher was with him as well as his neighbor, Lester Johnson, and Charlie, of course, but many others had been killed—either turned or eaten. They had to find a place that they could secure, but those places in Benton were limited. There were no big chain stores or very many sporting goods stores where weapons were sold. They were in a void between two cities where everything would have been available. Someday, they could go to those cities and maybe find what they needed, but they had to survive until they got that