47

No one is staying here. Everyone's going. There's nothing to stay for."

After round one, as Uncle Lou calls it, the two of you sit and wait for more wandering dead to shamble by. In the distance overhead, carrion birds glide in circles, squawking and waiting for signs that their meals below are safe to consume. The mid-summer air is crisp and clean, though the scent of the dead provides subtle accents.

Uncle Lou lifts a canteen to his wide mouth and takes long sips, breathing out "AHHHHH" after each mouthful. Now is a good time to…