'I know him,' Don whispered.
'What?' Smokey and Jim said in unison.
'I swear I'm not pulling your legs. I know that guy. He was homeless.
Used to stand outside my office every morning. We all called him Pigpen, because that's what he answered to. He was a fixture on Wall Street.'
'You've got to be kidding me,' Smokey exclaimed. 'Pigpen really is his name?'
'I guess,' Don said. 'Too weird. It's the same guy, though. Even back then, he was looking for his cat. Sometimes he had it with him-a mangy old calico with a chunk missing from its ear.'
'I feel sorry for the poor guy.' Jim watched Pigpen cut through the crowd.
'Don't,' Smokey said. 'He's safe inside here. Same can't be said for everyone else out there.'
'Unbelievable.' Don shook his head. 'A city the size of New York and the one person I know in this place, other than you guys, is the homeless person from where I worked.'
'What did you guys do before the Rising started?'
'I was in construction,' Jim answered.
'And I was a stockbroker,' Don said.
'Construction.' Smokey shuffled forward. 'They'll probably put you on a maintenance crew, doing repairs and what have you. Stockbroker? Don't know much about that. Never followed the stock market myself. But I'm sure we'll have something for you.'
'You think so?' Don asked.
'You can push a broom, can't you?' The old man laughed and then stuck his tray out. Three strips of bacon were placed on it, followed by a scoop of scrambled eggs.
'Morning, Etta,' he said to the large, hulking woman behind the counter.
'Got a little boy here that traveled all the way from New Jersey just to try your blueberry pancakes.' He introduced the three of them.
'Meetcha,' the woman coughed, scowling. 'Any fan of my pancakes is all right by me.'
'Push a broom,' Don muttered under his breath. 'Yeah, I can push a broom.'
'How about strip a weapon, reassemble it, and fire it with accuracy?' asked a low voice behind them.
Don and Jim both turned, while Danny thrust his tray out and salivated for the pancakes.
The speaker was impeccably dressed. A long, shiny black ponytail hung down his back, and several rings adorned his fingers. He was tall and lean and moved like a panther through the line. But it was his eyes that made them pause. There was something different about them. It took Jim a moment to realize what that was.
The man didn't blink.
'I'm Bates.' He stuck out his hand and Don took it. 'Head of security for Ramsey Towers.'
'Don De Santos.' The man's grip was firm. 'This is Jim Thurmond and his son, Danny.'
'You're the gentleman from West Virginia?' Bates asked.
Jim frowned. 'Yes I am. Word must travel fast in here.'
'It does. But yours is an incredible story, Mr. Thurmond, so it traveled even faster. After you've rested, we'd like to debrief you, if you don't mind. There's a lot you can probably tell us of what's going on in the rest of the world.'
Jim shrugged. 'I don't know how useful my information could be, Mr. Bates. All you've got to do is look out the window. It's pretty much that way everywhere.'
'Indeed. Still, I hope you'll help us fill in some blanks? It really could prove helpful to our continued survival.'
'Sure. Whatever I can do to help. I'd be happy to.'
'Excellent.' He turned back to Don. 'So, you asked Smokey what you could do. Can you shoot a weapon? I'm assuming so, if you've stayed alive out there for this long.'
Don's ears turned red. 'I shot my wife after she became one of those things. I guess I can do all right.'
'Then perhaps we can find a place for you on the security squad. I'll speak with you later, gentlemen. Welcome aboard.'
He glided away through the crowd, filled a plastic travel mug with black coffee, nodded and spoke politely to those around him, and then left, eyes affixed to a clipboard.
Jim stared after Bates, watching the crowd part before him like Moses and the Red Sea.
'What are you thinking?' Don asked.
Jim glanced at Smokey, who was talking to Etta again.
'I'm thinking that I don't trust Bates,' Jim whispered. 'He reminds me of another guy that Martin and Frankie and I ran across down in Gettysburg. Fella' named Colonel Schow.'
'And what happened to him?'
'A zombie named Ob shot him with a bazooka.'
The rest of the morning was spent in orientation. After devouring their breakfasts, Smokey gave the three of
