Hatcher nodded slowly, his eyes mere slits as he stared at the angry young man. “Gotcha.” He leaned back and covered his eyes with the back of his hand.
“Gotcha?” Buck stepped around the table and nudged him with his leg. “That’s all you have to say is ‘gotcha’?”
Hatcher groaned and sat back up. “What do you want me to say, kid? I’m sorry?”
“I want you to deal with whatever it is that’s burrowed into your head and sep up shop.” He thumped his chest. “I offered to but Candy thinks I’m too much of a kid.”
“You are a kid.”
“A kid that lived with the infected at ground zero for months and survived.”
“That’s not the same as dealing with humans.” Hatcher rubbed at his eyes. “If you can even call them humans.”
“Instead of sitting here on your ass, you should do what the Zulus do.” He glared at the older man, hoping he would catch on.
“And what would that be? Eat them?”
“HUNT them.” Buck pulled the chair over closer and sat back down, his eyes searching Hatcher. “Give me a couple of guys with military or hunting experience. I’ll bring you their heads.”
Hatcher’s eyes popped open and he glared at Buck. “I know you didn’t just offer to cut their heads off and bring them back as a prize.”
“It’s a figure of speech, dumbass. But if that’s what it takes, yes.”
Hatcher’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then stop acting like one.” Buck came to his feet and paced across the narrow living room. “You act like you’re the only one that’s lost something. You’re taking on everybody’s wellbeing like it’s some kind of burden to be avoided. If you don’t want the responsibility, fine. Stand down and let Candy take over. Or me. Or Roger or Cooper or somebody with a sack.” He glared at him then shook his head. “Somewhere along the way, you lost yours.”
“You’re pushing it, kid.” Hatcher pointed at him, hoping the kid would come to his senses.
“If that’s what it takes for you to snap out of this funk, then I’ll push. I’ll poke, I’ll prod, I’ll kick you in your old, wrinkled ass.” He bent low and lowered his voice. “We need the Hatcher that had balls back.”
“Or?”
“Or step out the way and let somebody else lead.”
Hatcher squared his shoulders and stared at him. “You’re so damned eager to go to war.” He shook his head. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“What’s to get? There’s a handful of them and we have an army.”
“And when they’re dealt with, then what? Kill another bunch?” Hatcher sat forward on the edge of the couch. “You do realize that that’s all there is now, right? Marauders and Zulus.” He shook his finger at him. “Infected people and people who want to rape, plunder and pillage.”
“Really?” Buck stopped pacing. “Which are we?”
Hatcher opened his mouth then closed it. “Cute. Let’s just lump everybody into this.”
“You just said that there’s only two types of people left. Bad and worse. I’m asking you which we are.”
Hatcher set his jaw. “We’re the ones that apparently want to hunt down humans and cut their heads off.” He turned a knowing look at Buck. “So I guess we’re the marauders, too.”
“It’s not the same and you know it.” He pointed toward the front gate. “They attacked us.”
“And so will the Zulus and anybody else that realizes we have more than they do; the less there is, the more it will happen.”
Buck nodded emphatically. “So, instead of trying to incorporate more survivors, we’re just going to slam the gates on them and wish them well. Is that it?”
Hatcher blew his breath out hard. “Kid, my head is throbbing right now. I don’t have time to play these games.”
“What else do you have to do? Mope around and make everybody else nervous? Perhaps you want to whine about how we’re sitting ducks? Or maybe you just want to crawl back into a bottle? That seemed to fit you well.”
Hatcher was on his feet, his face a mask of anger. “You have no fucking idea what…” He swooned and fell back onto the couch. “That was too soon.”
Buck snorted with derision. “Good thing nobody decided to attack us while you’re recovering from alcohol poisoning.” He marched to the door and reached for the handle. “You either need to pass the reins to somebody more capable or step up.” He pulled the door open and stood in the hallway. “Personally, I hope it’s the latter. I miss the man I met at Yellowstone.”
Broussard stepped aside as Carol poured Kevin a glass of water. “It beats the tap.”
Kevin sipped the water and made a face. “Not by much.” He worked his tongue around in his mouth. “I know I’ve been sick, but that tasted like something died in the glass first and somebody didn’t wash it good.”
“Sorry.” Carol quickly stood and went to the bathroom. She poured the water into the commode and flushed it. She quickly rinsed the small pitcher out and filled it with tap. “Let’s try this. Maybe tap IS better.”
She brought him another glass of water and he swallowed it eagerly. “Yeah. That’s better.” He sighed heavily as he leaned back on his mattress. “It’s funny. I was feeling better just a short while ago but then it was like I hit a wall. I’ve just felt so tired.”
She nodded knowingly. “It’s to be expected. You had a pretty nasty bug.” She glanced to Broussard who refused to meet her gaze. “Have you had any trouble going to the bathroom?”
Kevin eyed her curiously. “Not since I was three.”
Carol chuckled and shook her head. “I meant, with all of the sweating, is your urine a
