"What's wrong with that? That's a good dream."
"Yeah, well, it's also an impossible dream. I don't see a lot of ladies my age, and truth be told, I never really wanted to go through with the steps that would lead to grandchildren. I don't want to raise a kid. Don't want to feed 'em. Don't want to punish 'em. Don't want to worry about 'em. As a sergeant, I've done enough of that."
Amanda asked, "Do you see these men as your children?"
His first instinct was to deny it. He even began to shake his head. "No, I mean, I know I'm not. But I feel all the things a parent would feel for 'em. The worry, the laying awake at night and wondering what's going to become of them if I'm not around. I know I'm not their dad, and they don't see me like that."
"I think you'd be surprised," Amanda said.
He waved her off. "Bah, I'm just an old man in the dumps, talking about shit that don't even matter."
"If all you talk about is the things that matter, then does anything truly matter at all?"
"I don't follow."
"Think about it. If you don't spend any time on unimportant things, and you only focus on the important things, then everything has the same level of importance, the same significance, which is to say none."
"Did you get all them brains from college?"
"Nope," Amanda smiled. "I always had 'em."
"Well, you're talking circles around me. But I think I'm picking up what you're putting down."
"Good."
Just then, Brown and Whiteside came around the corner. Brown was wiping off the blade of his hatchet with a towel he had found somewhere.
Quickly and conspiratorially, Tejada leaned towards Amanda and said, "Don't tell anyone what we talked about. It's hard enough to control these guys without them knowing how I feel about them."
Amanda whispered, "What makes you think they don't already know?"
Tejada's face took on a shocked look, and Amanda just smiled at him and patted him on the shoulder.
"What's going on?" Whiteside asked, sensing something out of the ordinary.
"Nothing. Gimme a report," Tejada said.
"We cleared our floor," Brown said. "There was a lot of old people in their bedrooms. No real issues, but man, do I feel like shit clubbing down all those old people."
"Ahhh, they're not even people anymore," Whiteside said.
"You don't know that, man." Brown looked sick to his stomach. "We don't know anything. Those were people's grandmas and grandpas, man. How do we know they're not still in there somewhere?"
Whiteside shook his head. "Look, man, all I'm sayin' is that if they were in there, it don't make a damn lick of difference, cuz they were comin' after us, and if someone comes after me, I don't care if it's your momma; it's me over them."
Brown snapped at the mention of his mother. He grabbed Whiteside by the front of his shirt and pulled him close, his fist cocked back.
Before he could get the punch off, Tejada piped up with a "Hey, hey, hey!"
Brown let Whiteside go, and Whiteside straightened the front of his shirt self-consciously. Brown said, "Just don't be talkin' about my mom. You ever talk about my mom again, and I will beat the white off you. Then you'll have to change your name from Whiteside to just Side."
"Fuck you, Brown."
"Hey, knock that shit off," Tejada said.
Just then, Allen and Epps came back. "What's going on?" they asked, sensing the tension in the room.
"These two knuckleheads were about to bust each other open because Whiteside said something about Epps' momma. So basically, a bunch of bullshit."
Epps and Allen shrugged and gave their report. They were quickly followed by the return of Walt and Day, and Rudy, Masterson, and Gregg. They all reported the same thing, a lot of elderly dead people and an empty building going to rot.
When they had all finished their reporting, Tejada asked, "Did anyone see a place for all of us to hole up? Preferably some place without windows."
"Found a conference room in our hallway," Walt said. "It'll be a tight fit, but it ought to do."
"Alright. For now, I think it's best that we keep together. Let's get our gear and get to that conference room. We need to breathe a bit, get some rest, and sort out our kits."
They all moved to follow Walt back to the conference room. Except for Tejada. When he stood, the pain shot through him, and he tumbled to the ground. Amanda was there immediately, struggling to pull him to his feet.
By the time he got to his feet and recovered from the pain, Masterson was returning, smiling a fool's grin. "I got you something, sir."
Tejada looked at the wheelchair like it had spit on his only son. Only he didn't have a son, so he couldn't complain. A fucking wheelchair. He was only forty-one, and now he was being wheeled around in a wheelchair. The pain was too great, or else he would have limped to the conference room on his own, even if it took all night.
He plopped into the chair, only slightly pissed off at having to let his men see him like that. Masterson wheeled him to the conference room, and Tejada pointedly made himself refrain from ordering everyone to wipe the smug little smiles off their faces. He just had to grin and bear it. That's
