The bedroom evidently belonged to a young person. Probably a teenager, Joey judged from the black-light posters and the drum set in one corner. A gun rack mounted on the wall held two bats, one wood and one metal. A skateboard and a BMX bike occupied space near the head of the bed.
Joey didn’t recognize the room. He glanced at the pictures on the wall. Most of them were of a redheaded kid with a gap-toothed grin.
He looked maybe fourteen or fifteen, but Joey had never seen the kid in his life.
Shaking his head and regretting the movement instantly when renewed pain slammed against the inside of his skull, Joey moved toward the doorway and down the hall toward the voices and the sounds of cars crashing and guns blasting. They were video-game noises, much different than the real thing.
During the last three days since storming out of his house in anger, Joey had learned a lot about real car crashes and real guns blasting. Columbus was filled with violence. Most of that was controlled during the daylight hours, but at night the city became a hunting ground for predators and looters and people determined to survive even if that survival meant others suffered.
At least, that was what it seemed like. Joey had stopped living in the daylight hours and roamed the city with his newfound friends at night.
Joey paused at the doorway of the living room. Six people sat in the large room in front of the home entertainment system. On the big-screen television, a character ran forward and blasted three aliens with a shotgun. The aliens exploded in violent bursts of orange blood. The animated figure ran between them and picked up a medpack that boosted his health level nearly back up to full.
“Dude!” one of the guys yelled. “That was so cool! I just knew you weren’t going to make it past those guys! You were, like, in the last minute of your life!”
“You just gotta have the eye,” the game player smirked. He paused the game and took a drag on the cigarette hanging from his lips. “The eye … and the nerve.” The cigarette tip flared orange, lifting his stark features out of the room’s darkness. His face was all bone and angles and tight flesh. “I got ‘em both. Not gonna leave anything but a bunch of dead aliens behind me in this game.”
The game player was lanky and tall. He sat in the middle of the floor wearing only a pair of black-and-white, zebra-striped pants. Tattoos covered his arms, chest, and back. The black ink stood out starkly against his pallid skin. His shaved skull gleamed blue from the television glow. Joey didn’t know the guy’s real name. All he knew him by was Zero.
“Hey, Joey,” Derrick Hanson called from the couch.
Joey glanced at him. Derrick was the only one of the group that he really knew. The other five were either friends of Derrick’s, or friends of friends of Derrick’s.
They’d fallen in together three days ago at Cosmic Quest, an arcade-and-game store in downtown Columbus. The store had been closed then, and Joey guessed it was probably still closed. Some of the businesses in Columbus had reopened, primarily supermarkets and supply stores that were encouraged to do so by city, state, and federal agencies. National Guard units worked security at those businesses, protecting the stock and making sure everyone had a chance to buy what was needed.
A lot of small places didn’t reopen because they didn’t have protection. Despite presidential and FEMA spokesperson reassurances, panic—and looters—still filled the streets. Protesters gathered every day and every night, demanding to know what was truly going on.
Derrick was from Fort Benning, too. His father was a lieutenant currently stationed in Germany. His mom had worked at the hospital. She’d been one of those who had disappeared. If Derrick missed her—or even thought of her—he’d never mentioned it.
Squat and broad from power lifting in the gym, Derrick looked like a bulldog. He was broad shouldered and narrow hipped, but had short legs. Normally his hair was brown, but tonight it was green and bright orange, colored by special-effects, temporary dye.
“Hey,” Joey replied. He didn’t advance into the room. Even after three days with them, he still didn’t feel like he belonged. They were crass and vulgar. He didn’t have a problem with that, but he remained a little uncomfortable with their behavior.
Still, after leaving the post, he hadn’t had many choices. He didn’t want to go back to his mom. Not yet. Part of it was because Jenny might be there and he’d feel embarrassed about how that whole deal had turned out. Part of it was because he didn’t feel like listening to his mom, or being grounded when the whole world seemed like it teetered on the edge of extinction.
And a big part of it was that Joey didn’t want to see all those strangers in Chris’s room, sleeping in Chris’s bed. Not when Chris was supposed to be there. Not when he couldn’t help thinking that if he’d been home on time that night instead of out breaking curfew, he might have gotten to see his little brother one last time.
The sadness and guilt that suddenly coiled in Joey’s stomach made him sick. He put a hand to his mouth.
“Dude,” one of the guys said, “don’t do that in here.”
“If he blows,” another one said, “I’m not cleaning it up.”
Joey got control of himself with difficulty. He swallowed the sour gorge of bile at the back of his throat. “No sweat,”
