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“These are brand new; we just got them in. That’s a good gun. Just touch the trigger, the beam comes on and you put the red dot where you want the bullet to go. You can’t miss.”

                                Pawn Shop Clerk, The Terminator

                “Four extendable batons.” Slate said as we stand at the cashier’s station in the military surplus shop. “Two small, metal flashlights. Two large metal flashlights. One set of batteries for each. Two machetes with sheaths. Two small backpacks.” She laid down the ball of crumpled up cash in front of the man behind the counter. “And turn whatever’s left into MREs.”

                “MREs?” I ask, standing opposite her, watching the empty surplus store, my back leaning on the class counter.

                “Meals Ready to Eat.” She says with a whisper.

                “We ain’t got any MREs.” The man says with the handlebar mustache. “But there’s a grocery store around the corner here. They’ve got all sorts of protein bars and stuff. You can make yourself a pretty good meal just off them and a few granola bars, maybe some dried fruit too.”

                “How much for all the stuff?” She asks, looking at him earnestly.

                The man looks at us, then looks down at the bundle of money. He takes the whole wade and divides it. “Tell you what?” He says. “I’ll put together you guys some full-out gear. Nothing fancy, but it’ll fill in the gaps of whatever you need. You go over to that grocery store, you get yourselves all the food you can afford, come back here and I’ll have ‘em waiting for you. I’ll even throw in a set of BDUs and boots. On the house.”

                Slate smiles, which makes me feel really weird. It’s kind of like watching the Mona Lisa frown. It’s just not something you expect. “Deal.” She says.

                “Stick with these.” She says, dropping whole boxes of the protein bars into out shopping cart. “They have sugar so they don’t taste like ass.” She looks down at the bounty of packs of twelve, then looks at me. “Go to the produce section and get dried fruit. Whatever’s cheap and plentiful. Resealable bags would be helpful, but they’re not necessary.”

                “What about the granola bars?” I ask.

                “I’m going to get some.” She says, making sure there aren’t any more protein bars. She starts off, but I stand in her way. “What?” she says in her usual harsh tone.

                “Slate, we’ve got food, we’ve got equipment . . .” My voice trails off with my thoughts.

                “What?” She demands.

                My mind can’t think. So my mouth moves for me. “Are you sure about this?” I say. But she just glares at me, then shoves against me, pushing me out of the way. She leaves me in the isle while she storms off.

                I step out of the dressing room, dressed in a fresh change of clothes. I hold out my arms and turn around as the two cashiers applaud. “That’s our new Alpenflage.” The mustache man says with a big grin. “It’s from Sweden. It looks different from the regular camo because it uses red also.”

                “I like the way it feels.” I say, moving in it. Even the boots, Swiss as well, feel different. They feel sturdier.

                “Great.” Slate says with disinterest, turning back to the man. She pours the last of the divided food into our bags, then seals them up. She slings the backpack onto her back and tests the weight approvingly. She then picks up the equipment belt and slings it around her waist.

                “You know you guys are going to stick out, walking home with this stuff?” The other cashier says, his bald head and big stomach making him appear almost completely round. “Sure you don’t want bags?”

                “Thanks just the same.” Slate says with a forced smile. She turns back to me. “Grab your stuff and let’s go.” She storms towards the door.

                I stroll over to the cashier’s station and pick up the other bag. “Women.” I say, getting a laugh from the two men. I sling the belt around my waste and secure it, but when I look back to them, the guy holds out to me a pale white box. I take it, then look at him. “What is this?” I ask.

                “Motion sensor.” The guy says. “We’ve got a few of them, but they’re too expensive for anyone to ever actually buy. I figured you guys might need one. Given what it looks like you’re two into.”

                I look down at the device again, then back at him. “It’s real sensitive.” He says. “It’s got great range and can pickup anything.”

                “Thanks.” I say with a genuine smile. I slide the box into my chest pocket, then turn to head out.

                I turn down the dark alleyway where Slate’s standing. She opens up the metal trash bin in front of her, leaping to shove the black plastic lid up. It hits the brick wall and stays, letting her bend over the metal side and grab up the two machine guns. She throws one at me, then turns down the alley. “Slate.” I call after her.

                “What?” She says, her voice somewhere between disinterested and angry.

                “What’s got you pissed off now?” I say, coming up behind her. I stay just a few steps behind her, making sure I can keep away from any punch she throws at me. I don’t know for certain, but I’m pretty sure violence is in my immediate future.

                Slate stops and looks at me, an honest annoyance in her eyes. “I guess it never occurred to you that this is it.” She says, puzzling me. She steps back and looks around the narrow, room-wide alleyway formed by the two gargantuan towers. “I mean, you seem to think this is some type of adventure that we solve. Or that this is a dream.” She steps close to me, moving even closer when I step back from her. “This is real life. This is real. And you are going to get yourself, and probably everyone around you, killed.”

                I stare at her as she looms before me for a moment. I want to scream at her, but something inside me stops the voice. Instead, I simply tilt my head. “What happened to you?” I ask. I’m as surprised by the question as she is. She steps back from me, confused. “What made you so angry, so . . .”

                “Having to stay alive.” She bites back hard. “Having to accept and deal with what no one else around me wanted to deal with. Having to face up to the pure and simple fact that there are vampires who control this city. And in that bio-dome just a few miles away or whatever, there are a bunch of flesh-eating zombies that are no doubt going to figure out how to get in here one way or another.”

                “No.” I say, my voice almost drowned out by the echo of traffic that ricochets off the brick walls and travels up the spiraling towers. “You’re mad because you’re alive and everyone else is dead.” I say. “You’re mad because you were better and they weren’t. You’re mad because . . . I don’t know. But it’s nothing to do with the zombies. It’s not about the vampires. It’s about you and the . . .”

                She punches me.

                As I splatter across myself onto the stained pavement of concrete, I feel my whole world go purple and brown. My vision wavers and threatens to go. I can’t really even hear straight. Everything becomes soft and mushy, especially my senses.

                “Sorry.” I hear as I feel my arm grabbed by an iron vice. Slate yanks me up to my feet and the altitude stuns me, but my vision starts to clear. My mouth tastes like blood and I can’t really hear out of my left side.

                I’m held up against the wall to keep me from falling over, but as my vision straightens out, Slate steps back from me. “I’m . . .” She looks down, but then shakes her head. She turns away from me and starts off.

                “Slate.” I say after her. She stops and turns to me. “We will get through this.” I say, trying to sound as confident and friendly as I can. “We will. You’ll see.” She looks at me for a moment longer, then turns away. She keeps on down the alley.

                It’s broken.

                It looks like a manhole cover, except the metal disc that should cover the sewer has a lock. And it looks like an impressive lock. And the more you stare at it, the more it looks like the cover will never move. It looks like it would define ‘secure’ in the dictionary.

                Except it’s broken.

                Along the right side of the cover, the metal frame is bent upward from the bottom side of the cover. It reveals the thick metal cylinder that the hole covered, as well as the complex depths the seal went to in order to stay covered.

                Except it’s broken.

                Slate breathes out and rubs her neck. She looks at me. “They’re here.” She says simply.

                I want to argue with her, but I have nothing to say. I look around us in the dead end alley. I see where a few homeless people probably sat. But the whole place is empty. I think back to the homeless guys that helped me find Slate. I imagine them succumbing to the zombies. Or worse, zombies themselves.

                I shutter.

                “Well,” Slate says, grabbing the edges of the disc. “Now or never.” She says, flexing her legs powerfully in order to lift up the cover. The thing flips over, slamming down like a bank vault’s door on the concrete. She looks at me as she takes out her handheld flashlight. She turns around and steps inside the darkness. “Here we go again.” She says, descending into the hole.

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