1. Chapter 1

**This is an idea I had in association with "Zombieland Rules 1-31". Columbus is called Austin here, as in "Austin, Texas"; this seemed like the best way to harmonize with the movie. I will be using this new story in part to develop a few ideas about different effects of the virus.**

**I'm adding a few song excerpts as I finish this, from "Growing Young" by Rich Mullins.
**

_I've gone so far from my home
I've seen the world and I have known
So many secrets
I wish now I did not know
'Cause they have crept into my heart
They have left it cold and dark_

_And bleeding,
Bleeding and falling apart _

_Week 6, Day 1._

_Location Tuscola. Solo again. Reports of outbreaks in New Mexico, Arizona, Utah. No news from Austin. No news from Ohio. Wireless service intermittent. Observed light armor units of the US Army, direction west. Course of action: Resume progress north, east._

Austin had no interest in a new partnership. Indeed, his last addition to the rules had been, _One is safer than one of two._ But he could not bring himself to move on when he heard the shots, and cries for help. He ran toward the motel. As he approached, he heard loud talking and shouts. Then more shots rang out, from three different weapons, including a shotgun and a submachine gun. It was clear that the shooters were firing at each other. He almost turned around, but then he heard a woman cry out, "We haven't hurt anyone!" He ran nearer, staying under what cover there was. There were two shotgun blasts, and an answering volley from the other two weapons. There was a strangled male cry, and an anguished woman's scream.

The vehicle in the parking lot was a marked police vehicle, a fact which meant very little in Zombieland. It gave him pause to see that the two men moving in had official insignias sewn onto their uniforms, but his course of action was settled in his mind. "Halt!" he shouted. One turned, but hesitated to shoot. Austin didn't. He dived behind a car as the man's partner opened up with an MP5. Then there was a shotgun blast. He peered over the car, and saw a woman coming out of the room, stepping over a dead man. Her profile could have been beautiful. He stood up and stepped toward her. "Stay back!" she shouted. As she spoke, she turned, and he saw the other side of her face- and the lesion on one cheek.

"Thank you," she said as he backed up. "Now go."

15 minutes later, with the hotel well behind him, he stopped to write:

_Rule 17: Don't be a hero._

	2. Chapter 2

**Another chapter with semi-autobiographical elements. I do have abilities and experiences on the lines of what I describe here, though I can't say I've ever put myself through this kind of test...**

_Week 6, day 2._

_Location outskirts of Abilene. Primary infestation in evidence. Course of action? Pro: As a fire cannot burn once fuel is used up, a disease cannot propagate w/o living hosts. By advancing through area of infestation, I can reach a place where most of the infected are already deceased. Con: Type I infections will still be prevalent. Pro: Resources within the city will still be intact. Some of the uninfected likely to be alive and offering effective resistance. Con: Longevity of the infected remains unknown. Ample evidence suggests early estimates were low. Pro: Longer times between infection and death a plausible result of mutation and selection. Variants of the virus that allow victims to live longer will have spread further. Those closer to source of outbreak will have died more quickly and in greater percentages. Conclusion: Proceed while avoiding city center._

Austin shot out the lock of the office building, and paused to catch his breath. He knew there would have to be a new rule: _Don't sprint unless you have a place to sprint to._ Outside, he heard the footfalls of the pursuing zombies.He wasn't unduly worried: The group was at most 12, large for a pack not in the class of a swarm. More importantly, it was daylight. While many zombies would hunt by day when given the opportunity, they were not nearly as aggressive or persistent. If they lost visual contact, then usually they would simply walk away. Even if these didn't, he had other options.

The greatest advantage of the "zombies" over the uninfected was their superior night vision. But Austin in particular was at least their equal: He could navigate a room by the light from some LED alarm clocks. It took time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the building after the light of the late afternoon sun, however. As he stood there, something hissed in the dark. Against the diffuse green light from an unseen "EXIT" sign, he saw a silhouette of deeper darkness moving forward. He cried out in pain at the sound and especially the flash of his own gun. The zombie inside fell, still gargling. One of the zombies outside growled and sniffed.

He knew it was most prudent to flee, but he also knew that it was never wise to leave one of the infected at his back if it could be avoided. And so, as the thrashing zombie began to rise, he made a mark of its gleaming teeth and brought the stock down once, twice, three times on its face. Then he ran, less from the zombies at the door than from the light that would pour in as they entered.

As his eyes adjusted, the office became a constellation of lights, from the distant EXIT to the blinking lights on computers to sunlight coming through closed blinds that, to his senses, seemed as pointless as a screen door on a submarine. He easily navigated past cubicles, around upended furniture, stepped over a dark, partially glistening shape that he did not care to inspect closely even in the dark. He smiled at the sound of his pursuers crashing after him. He paused to reload his gun by the garish reddish-orange glow of a coffee maker. Then he bolted for the inviting green glow of EXIT, directly across from where he stood. He halted with a stifled but audible cry. The cubicles, with walls just solid enough, stood between him and safety. Behind him, a zombie squalled and came faster.

He stepped in front of the oncoming figure and closed his eyes as he fired into its face. Even through his eyelids, the muzzle flash made spots swim before his eyes. Still, he had no trouble seeing the rest of the zombies- at least three, but not the whole of the original pack- orient themselves on his position. He reached for the coffee maker, and finding the pot hot and satisfactorily heavy, he threw it at the zombies. There was a crash, a splash and a hiss of spilling hot water, and a scream of pain, followed by scuffling and snarling as zombies ran into each other. He sprinted once again, easily rounding a corner, but as he turned he slipped on something unspeakable and managed to skid and lose his balance at the same time.

Austin rolled over in time to fire his gun at the first zombie to round the corner. The blast with its high upward angle literally lifted the zombie from its feet, to smash through the glass front of an office and land with a crunch of breaking wood and bone. His rule of double-tapping notwithstanding, he was sure it was not getting back up. He loaded his backup shells, one of which was still in his mouth and the other of which he could feel underneath him, and as he rose fired at three more as they rounded the corner. One dropped with buckshot in the heart, another staggered and fell badly wounded, and a third came straight for him. He darted into an alcove where a copier's counter glowed, the zombie right behind. There was a slam and a crackle followed by a bright light and a scream as he xeroxed the zombie's head. Then, as the blinded zombie groped after him, there was a heavy thunk from a paper cutter. The zombie screamed and fell, in too much pain for even a creature of instinctive hate to bear, and writhed where it lay until the stock of the shotgun caved its nose in.

Another zombie rounded the corner, and the wounded one got to its feet. Together, they ran after Austin, while he ran toward an inviting green glow even nearer and brighter than the sign that was his goal. But he could not seem to build up speed. He almost tripped several times, and there was an unaccountable flapping sound as he ran. Then he rounded another corner, and found that the green glow was not an EXIT sign but a "Sprite" vending machine. A zombie grabbed him by the arm, and he lunged into the closest thing to shelter at hand: the space between the machine and the wall of the alcove in which it rested. The two zombies pounded and pushed the vending machine, until Austin gave a push of his own. The machine fell forward, squarely on top of a zombie. The illuminated front caved in, adding electric sparks and cutting shards to the crushing weight of the machine. The dying zombie managed only a single gargle. The other, which was already wounded, grabbed at him over the machine. It tripped and fell, but on landing on the back of the machine pushed itself forward. He met it with two blows to the back of its head.

He ran for the exit, still hounded by poor balance and a strange flapping sound. Just as he reached the door, a final zombie came running at him from the other direction. He bodychecked the door with his forearm over his face, and the zombie screamed and staggered at the sudden sunlight. Half-blinded himself, he shoved the zombie, felt it brush past him and heard it hit its head first on a railing and then on the concrete. His own eyes watered as he looked down at the creature laying at the bottom of a short flight of stairs, thrashing, twitching and trying to cover its eyes. "I feel for you," he said. Then he kicked it in the head, and as he did he realized the source of his problems: The sole of his right shoe had come halfway off, and as his kick drove home the self-destruction of his shoe became complete.

As he limped away, having done the best he could to repair the shoe with duct tape, he wrote yet another rule: _Look for __quality__ footwear._

**A couple more things: I have received a comment on the alternate name I give for Columbus. I didn't intend it to be his "real" name, and I have already indicated an alternate explanation, but on consideration I can accept this as a point of ambiguity.**

**Finally, a true story: Perhaps a year ago, I bought a second-hand alarm clock/CD player, which I got rid of for a simple reason: The LED display kept me awake at night!**

**Thanks for reading! Reviews/comments VERY welcome! More to come, though I think I'll do some more material for "Fear and Loafing" and "The Rookie" first.**

	3. Chapter 3

_Week 6, day 3. _

_Zombie encounters have dropped off as I move further into the city. Was city evacuated? Were most of the zombies killed? If the latter is true, what happened to the bodies? Approaching mall in southwest Abilene. Hope to acquire new shoes and transportation by noon._

The figures before Austin were clearly not zombies- after all, two of the three had guns- but he could not bring himself to consider them human. Not when what he could see of their faces were covered in lesions. These were lepers- the unknown fraction of a percentile of the infected who did not become violent, nonverbal psychotics. "Let me pass," he said. "I don't have anything you want."

"But perhaps we have what you need," said the central figure, who was clearly a woman. A dust mask hid most of her face. It was clear enough that she was blind.

"I don't need any help," he said. "Please, leave me alone."

"We were told you saved a sister, Austin," said the woman. He had not volunteered his name, real or assumed, to her or the woman he had saved, but he was not surprised. The lepers were notorious for crude but well-executed "mind-reading" tricks, which they used to convince others of the common delusion that their survival had conferred psychic or spiritual gifts upon them.

"Yes, well, I didn't do it for any favors," he said. "I don't know if I should have done it at all."

"Your reasons do not matter to us," the woman said. "We know a good deal about you. You have great courage, but you think yourself a coward because you also have great fears. You have great knowledge, but less wisdom. You have known great sorrow and little love. Long before the Pestilence, you already knew what it is to live as a pariah and a fugitive. You remember the hands that were turned against you, but never saw the hands that have reached out to help..."

Her sonorous proclamation had a kind of hypnotic quality. He broke the spell with a shout: "* me! What are you trying to do, make me listen to my own life story at gunpoint? Here's something you probably didn't know: Yesterday I killed eight zombies in the dark! I don't need anyone's help then, and I don't need it now." He strode between the lepers, flinching as he brushed against one of them. The lepers did not suffer the same effects of the virus, but could still spread it, and anyone they infected would become a zombie.

The woman laughed. "Do you value pride over your life? And do you know why there were only eight?" He froze, then kept walking.

	4. Chapter 4

**Fair warning: This has a good contender for THE most disgusting zombie kill ever.**

"Foot Locker, Foot Action, Finish Line... Shoe Depot," Austin said. He turned away from the mall directory and started toward the nearest entrance, pulling a large suitcase on wheels behind him. The mall was a single story, except for some of the anchor stores. This suited him well: He had learned to avoid being above the ground floor of a building, and had been meaning to add it to his rules. To his discomfort, the path to the entrance went right past a pizza place. Zombies predictably concentrated in restaurants and grocery stores, until the food ran out or spoiled beyond what even zombies could stomach He kept a close eye on the windows, and while nothing moved within, he froze at the sight of what was on the wall. There, like Jackson Pollack working with a spaghetti dinner, was a panorama of splatter, both stains and chunks, of red, black and even less wholesome hues. "Gushers," he muttered. He thought for a moment, then put on dishwashers' gloves and a dust mask and pulled up his hood.

He entered in front of a "Penney's" whose gates were wide open. He hurried away from it, the sound of the wheels coming loudly on the mall's hard floors. At his approach, a zombie in the uniform of a security guard lurched out of a restroom in front of him. It moved more slowly than any of the others he had encountered, and instead of growling, screaming and hissing, it gargled, coughed and choked. A red foam bubbled from its mouth. He ducked and stepped to one side, just before a semi-solid reddish-black mass the size of a golf ball ejected from the zombie's mouth.

While they were still alive and sane, medical authorities had identified three strains of the HPNE (Human Psychotic Necrotizing Encephalitis) virus. Strain 0 was a comparatively mild form of the virus, transmitted exclusively through contaminated beef, that had circulated through northern Mexico and the US border states a year before the Pandemic. At the time, the few hundred fatalities were misreported as drug-related crimes, misdiagnosed as rabies, or had simply gone unnoticed. It was suspected that those who became lepers had developed what immunity they had through exposure to Strain 0. Strain 1, transmitted by human blood and saliva, was responsible for the main outbreak in the US, as well as independent local outbreaks along the border. Strain 2, also known as Pneumonic Psychotic Necrotizing Encephalitis, was the deadliest of the three, and it was _airborne_.

The zombie hacked again and coughed out a more diffuse spray of crimson foam. Then it lunged for Austin. Rather than shooting, he balled his jacket sleeve around his fist and punched it in the ear, then kicked it in the shins as it staggered. It retched as it fell, to land face-down in a pool of its own vomit. Austin put his heel to the back of its neck and pinned it there. The slime bubbled as it struggled to breath. After about a minute, it lay still. He bent down and pulled a massive key ring from its belt.

The encounter explained much of what Austin had seen. Compared to Strain 1, Strain 2 was a clumsy and heavy-handed killer. Its effects manifested in half as much time, and included massive congestion and infection in the lungs, which precluded the occasional displays of speed and strength seen in Strain 1 zombies. Its legacy was scattered, localized but extraordinarily lethal outbreaks in urban areas on the Gulf and Atlantic coasts. Somehow, one of those outbreaks had occurred in Abilene, where its quick action paradoxically deflected the slow and steady spread of Strain 1 behind it.

Most of the other stores Austin passed had crowd control barricades down. He passed two stores with a lone zombie lying behind the barricade. Both looked thin, and even hungrier than might be expected. One snarled as he passed, the other merely tracked him listlessly. He could be assured that there were no more in there with them: Any zombie that starved would long since have turned on its own kind.

On the other hand, the pack of five zombies that followed the sound of little wheels out of the Penney's and down the corridor were well-fed and united in one purpose. Two more zombies fell in step as they passed the barred and silent storefront of Shoe Depot. The zombies slowed when the sound of the wheels ceased. Then they heard it again, from within a candy store across the corridor. The pack wandered inside, fanning out, and about half of them started eating candy. They all turned at the sound of flapping rubber, just in time to see Austin shut and lock the storefront.

	5. Chapter 5

**Shameless plug for Hi Tec! I wonder if they'd pay me.**

**v**

Austin shed his shoes as soon as he had closed the barricade in front of Shoe Depot, a medium-sized store on the corner of the L-shaped corridor. He glanced at the inside of the shoes, only to confirm that the size numbers had long since worn beyond visibility. He looked around for one of the ubiquitous metal devices for checking shoe size, but none was in sight, and he did not care to check in the back, from which there came a very strong stench. Instead, he grabbed several shoes that looked close and began testing by trial and error, after he wrote down a new rule.

_Rule 21: Know your sizes before you go into a store._

Austin determined his size soon enough, and after that he had little trouble choosing his shoes: a pair of Hi Tec shoes, which looked half-sneaker and half-boot. The design made the shoes a good choice for walking (and running) both around town and through more rugged terrain. He also stowed a promising pair of sneakers in the suitcase. He rummaged behind the counter for the device to remove the security devices attached to the shoes. He found it, and finally discovered a size checker, which gave him a good laugh. He removed the device from his Hi Tec shoes and put them back on behind the counter. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see a single zombie standing between him and the storefront. There was no confusion or disorientation on his part. He knew the "gushers" were more intelligent than Strain 1 zombies. This one must have been in the back, living off whatever was making the smell. Its distended belly showed that it had been well-fed, enough that it would not have taken immediate interest when he passed by. But, when he had been in the store long enough, it finally came out. He calmly deduced all these things in seconds, while he let the more instinctive part of his mind handle what to do about it. With the shotgun out of reach, and too noisy to be used except as a last resort in any event, he snatched up the size checker. One blow spun the zombie 90 degrees, deflecting an especially thick spew in the same direction. The second, edge on with the heavy heel end, fractured the back of its skull while shedding less blood than might be expected. The zombie staggered, rebounded off the wall and fell back, spraying the ceiling with its last hack.

He grabbed the shotgun and the suitcase, and ran out- forgetting to take the security devices off the sneakers in the suitcase. A loud alarm sounded. A zombie screeched. He looked left, right and straight ahead, and saw zombies coming from each direction. Again, he quickly and calmly worked out what he had done wrong. He had not taken into account the slow speed of "gushers". When he had done a circle to lead them away, only the closest had arrived in time to see and chase him. While he was in the shoe store, others, probably from within the Penney's and the Dillard's across from him, had caught up. Setting off the alarm was only his culminating mistake, attracting the immediate attention of the already curious zombies. He looked about for some path to safety, knowing, if he escaped, what his next rule would be:

_Rule 22: When it doubt, know your way out._

	6. Chapter 6

_I've seen silver turn to dross
Seen the very best there ever was
And I'll tell you, it ain't worth what it costs
And I remember my father's house
What I wouldn't give right now
Just to see him and hear him tell me that he loves me so much _

_Rule 24: Beware of malls, department stores and especially department stores in malls._

Austin penciled in his latest rule as he crouched in the elevator of Penney's. As it came to a stop on the third floor, he lunged for the close button. He wasn't fast enough. The door opened, and six zombies were waiting for him. He fired low as the doors opened, felling two zombies with wounds to the leg. He killed a third with a point-blank head shot. The doors started to close, but a zombie was already reaching through. Before the elevator doors could touch its outstretched arms, he grabbed it by the wrist and pulled it inside. It slammed into the wall on momentum, and three blows of the stock finished it. He pushed floor 1, and then penciled something else in his notebook:

_Rule 25: Beware of elevators._

Suddenly and prematurely, the elevator stopped. He frantically slapped a shell in his shotgun. He raised it instinctively, but barely held his fire when he found himself looking into the face of the female leper. "Are you sure you don't want our help?" she said.

"* no!" He pounded on the close button. The leper kept the doors open with a thrust of her cane.

"Then we shall help ourselves!" Her companions reached in and dragged out the body of the zombie. As far as Austin had been able to determine, no one knew, as a matter of personal observation, why the lepers killed zombies and collected the bodies, but one single explanation was known to all and questioned by none.

The doors opened on the ground floor and the face of a single, poorly fed zombie. He blasted it and ran over its carcass, lifting the suitcase over the carcass. Behind him, a leper leaned out and spoke to another. He assured himself that he had _not _heard the leper say, "Shame, we cudda fattened tha' un up."

At least ten zombies approached at the sound of the shot, the most well-fed managing a jog. He ran, circling the bottom of a shaft that ran through all three floors. He flinched in disgust when he brushed past a severed leg dangling on a string. He glimpsed one of the zombies that followed stop to sample the flesh, and be promptly hauled up. He reached the bottom of an escalator and ran up, realizing too late that it was a down escalator. He ran faster, then looked over his shoulder and laughed to see a logjam of zombies at the bottom, striving with minimal success to go up the down escalator. He decided on a new, admittedly specialized rule:

_Rule 26: Zombies can be evaded by running up a down escalator._

As Austin reached the top, a very fat zombie lurched into his path. He pulled the trigger, but the gun clicked empty. Foam bubbled in the zombie's throat as it stepped onto the escalator, while he tried in vain to retreat. Then the zombie fell headlong, letting fly with a spew that arced over his head. With luggage lifted as high as possible, he scampered over the carcass to the top. Waiting there were the female leper and a companion wielding what looked like a sack with a bowling ball in it.

	7. Chapter 7

Austin looked down and around on a scene of methodical capture or slaughter. He saw seven lepers, two armed with rifles, and each with at least one machete or carving knife, but these were being kept in reserve while they used more quiet and tidy methods. Four zombies hung strangling from the guard rails. At the top of the up escalator, across the shaft from him, a leper stunned one zombie after another simply by thrusting out a wooden bat, as if bunting, as they reached the top. Two more dragged away each zombie before it could rise, using prepared lengths of rope either to bind it or strangle it, with the captives and the killed being in approximately equal numbers. A duo on the ground floor took on zombies with croquet mallets, striking usually without drawing blood, but wearing down with repeated blows to the sides of the head, the knees, the belly and lower back. As he watched, the leper with the bowling ball descended and joined in, finishing a zombie vomiting on hands and knees with a single blow to the back of the head.

Austin looked at the woman. "Do you- have a name?"

"Call me Sybil," she said, with a Mexican accent that had not been noticeable before.

There was a commotion by the up escalator. A zombie ducked under the bat, and then bit one of the men with the rope. It was quickly and calmly dispatched, but the bitten man looked at his hand with every sign of real concern. Austin turned back to Sybil. "You don't- really-"

"No, not _them_," she said, in a decidedly open-ended answer to the unfinished question. "But we find uses for them."

"They say you're immune, that the zombies won't even try to attack you."

"`They' say many things," she said with pointed irony. "But that is true enough; these, however, are the exception to prove the rule. We, and the `regular' zombies, are infected with a different strain, and that is enough to make a difference. That is why we take measures such as these."

Austin took a step back. "Then you're still infected, still contagious, just like people say."

"Yes, but what difference would it make to them if we weren't?" she said. "You know even better than we what ordinary people will do in the name of prejudice."

"How- how many of you are there?"

"Far fewer than there were, and we were never many."

"Is- is there anything you need?"

She met him with a piercing stare. "No. But perhaps there is something we want." She stepped closer. "When you saved our sister, you placed us in your debt. But what we offered you in repayment, you refused. Thus, it is not in repayment of the debt but as a magnanimous gift that we have saved you. Now you are in our debt, so that we can ask what we wish of you."

"* that!" Austin countered belligerently. "You may believe in karma, or the golden rule, or something like that, but I don't! I believe in logic, and what I can see, and in what keeps me alive! You can't hold me over a barrel with mystical bull*!"

"Austin- you lie," she said succinctly, and though he would not look her in the eye long enough to be sure it seemed he saw a tear in her eye. "You do not know what to believe, about many things, but you have always believed in justice, even when it seems that all you see is injustice. If I had seen it in no other way, I would know it just as well by what you did for our sister. That is why you are a _good_ man, and if you deny justice now you murder yourself!"

"Well, just tell me what you want," he said sullenly.

"Leave. The path is clear. Go. Do not turn, or pause, or even glance aside, until you are far from this place."

"Fine, I have what I need anyway."

He descended the stairs, left the store, exited the mall by the same way he had entered. The sound of little wheels could be heard as he went by the pizza place, an empty storefront... then, abruptly, they stopped. Austin looked over his shoulder. He almost moved on. But then, like a moth to a flame, like Gollum to the Ring, he walked into the mall's huge two-story bookstore.

	8. Chapter 8

_Week 7, day 1: "Midway in this life's journey, I went astray, and woke alone in a dark wood. How I came to it I cannot say, so drugged and loose with sleep had I become when I first wandered from the True Way."_

_Still at the bookstore. Finished rereading _Divine Comedy_. Starting to read _I Am Legend.

It was somewhat counterintuitive but nonetheless true that, as alarm gave way to panic, bookstores were hit especially badly by the mobs. The periodical racks toward the front were a shambles, the floor littered with torn, trampled and not-infrequently bloodstained magazines, as well as a snow of subscription cards. News magazine had been chiefly sought after, with those on firearms, camping and automobiles vying for runners up. Among the books, the corresponding sections had also been gutted. But fiction had been virtually untouched.

As the hours reached late afternoon, Austin sat reading. He had seen exactly three zombies since the desperate day in Penney's, only one of which had come close enough to warrant his attention, though the state of its body, left in the parking lot, showed that quite a few more were coming by at night. For that reason, he spent the nights in a locked storeroom, with his jacket stuffed at the base of the door to hide the glow from the flashlight he read by.

As he read Matheson's tale of the last man in a world of the undead, psychotically killing the new rulers of the Earth by day and escaping into his books and records while they cried out at his door by night, he decided he could relate. Even apart from being in a world of mindless cannibals, that is. He had always been isolated. His books, music and movies had always been better companionship than the people around him, even his parents. Thus he, unlike Robert Neville, was not forced into his situation, but predisposed to it. He paused a moment, then somewhat uneasily continued to read: _"There was no solace in liquor. Before you got happy, you collapsed. Already the room was straightening out, the sounds outside were starting to nibble at his eardrums. `Come out, Neville!'" _

He jumped and reached for his shotgun as a sound of pounding broke through his concentration. How long had it been going on? He had always had trouble, when reading or doing something else he enjoyed, with "tuning out" other things. In the "United States of Zombieland", it was liable to get him killed. And as he listened, the pounding intermixed with shouts: "Come out! Come out, Austin!"

His surprise and fear quickly became indignation. He stormed to the door, to find a dozen or so lepers. It was no surprise to him that Sybil was at the front. "What the * do you want?"

"We want our debts repaid," Sybil said. "I asked one thing of you, and you refused. I am giving you another chance. Go, now, or you will never leave."

"Well, * you, maybe I don't want to leave!"

"But you must."

"I don't have to do anything! Now go away!"

As he turned, Sybil said, "At least look at this." Slowly, reluctantly, he turned back. She held against the glass a poorly cropped, half-sheet flier. Ones like it were everywhere, mass-printed and distributed by every possible means, up to and including airdropped "bombs" that strewed thousands of them over the landscape. Even with the populace desperate enough literally to fight tooth and nail for potentially useful information, they were ignored or discarded, so that that they might be seen piled in drifts by the wind like so many leaves. But this one was clearly fresh, and the graphic was different from any he had seen. He opened the door and took it. Then the lepers walked away, with Sybil lingering just a little. Carefully holding it where the lepers had not, Austin examined the flier- in fact, a booklet of about 20 pages.

A map of the US showed the spread of the virus. There was little he did not already know. One week after Patient 0, the outbreak was general in Oklahoma, and spreading to neighboring states. At the same time, major outbeaks were occurring ahead of the general outbreak: Austin, Texas; Las Vegas, Nevada; New York City... Still, it had taken two more weeks for the onset of a general Pandemic to occur. But after that, the spread had been exponential. The map showed that Washington DC was gone. Areas uninhabitable for other reasons- chemical spills, nuclear accidents, and fires- were also marked. It represented uninfected areas as several islands, albeit large ones, in a sea of infection. His eyes settled on one particular island: _Ohio._

	9. Chapter 9

_Week 7, day 5: Limited zombie activity. Could mall swarm have been majority of population? Consistent with early estimates of 1/1000 long-term survival rate: Pre-Pandemic population 115K=ca. 100 zombies. No sign of lepers. Evidence of humans, not friendly._

_One more day._

Austin was most assuredly acting against _Rule 7: Travel light._ But then, he wasn't traveling far. As he pushed the dolly across the parking lot, he mused that surely, of all the people left alive in the world, only he would have thought of breaking into a bank to _make a deposit_.

Somehow, in the midst of the chaos and carnage, one of the bank vaults had been left open, without being emptied of all of its contents. Austin had finished that, and now he was finishing refilling it.

They were, he knew, not the treasured books of the world. He had made sure to put in a few: Dante, of course, John Donne, Swift, Poe and HG Wells, plus books on the art Michelangelo, Da Vinci, Bosch, Audobon and Van Gogh. But the vast majority were more specialized tomes, all paperbacks so he could carry more of them: Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury, Phillip K. Dick, Robert Howard, Tolkien, and so many more. Then there were the DVDs, and those he had chosen with more care. He had chosen his own favorites, but even then with an eye to what withstood the test of time: _Twilight Zone, Get Smart, Fantasia, Star Wars_ and _King Kong_. Then he covered the "classics", whether he liked them or not: _Casablanca, Gone With the Wind, I Love Lucy_... He couldn't resist adding _Ghostbusters,_ _The Thing_ and two volumes of _Pinky and the Brain_. He also made sure to leave a working DVD player.

He took one last look at the vault, then at the heartbreakingly slender haul he had left for himself: _Inferno, Island of Dr. Moreau, I Robot, _and _Rats, Bats and Vats_. He had, on consideration, rammed _I Am Legend _down a paper shredder. Before regret could become doubt, he slammed the vault door shut.

As he walked to the car he had chosen to acquire, he considered whether the bank was a safe place to leave such a hoard. It was as secure as could be against the elements, but not against looters. He believed that threat was less than it might seem. Cash had long since come to mean very little: While it was still generally negotiable, the $50 was the new $1. Precious metals and jewels still commanded respect, but too much of them, plus too few people able to tell gold from gold-plated and diamond from zirconium, had diminished their value. The truly canny raiders had learned to turn their attention elsewhere: grocery stores, gun shops, and the gas station where he had seen a man in military fatigues with his half his head blown off, still fresh.

He sped toward the city limits, at what was for him an adventurous speed of 35 mph. As he approached the city limits, a vehicle appeared in the rear view mirror. It was a Hummer, not an H1 or H2 SUV but an actual, military-issue HMMWV, built like a limpet crossbred with a brick, but rapidly gaining on him. He slowed and moved over as far as he could. The Hummer sped up and went straight for his bumper. He swerved and sped up, but still took a glancing blow to the rear that sent his car carreening. The car bounced off one of the wrecks lining one side of the road, then plowed to a halt among the vehicles on the other side.

	10. Chapter 10

"_Really now, search your soul, lovie- Is the vampire so bad? All he does is drink blood."_

The men who piled out of the Hummer all wore military fatigues and gas masks. There were three, and Austin could see there was room for a fourth. He reached for the shotgun, but raised his hands when one of them leveled a submachine gun at him. "What do you want?" he said.

"You know what we want." The nearest smashed his window with the butt of the SMG, while the other two covered him with assault rifles.

"No... All I have is food, ammo for the 12 gauge... And a couple rolls of paper towels."

"You was in the bank," said the one with the subgun, whom Austin supposed was the _brains_ of the operation. "And before that, you was with them."

"The lepers? All they did was talk to me, and kill a bunch of zombies... They do that... Everyone knows that."

"Naw... They was helping you. Joey saw 'nuff to know that." There was no indication that Joey was one of the other two.

"I- I helped one of them," Austin said. "It was almost two weeks ago."

"Yeah? An' what did you get outta that?... Maybe they didn't give you nothin', maybe they jus' tole ya where ta go." He seemed to acquire a drawl spontaneously as he spoke. "Everybody knows..."

"What?" Austin shouted, suddenly more exasperated than scared. In a part of his mind, he was no longer on a post-apocalyptic road facing trained soldiers, but on a playground as a fourth-grader facing older kids aspiring to be juvenile delinquents. "What does everybody know? The lepers eat the zombies? Probably, except who's really seen them do it? And what else? Are they saying they * diamonds now? Except, what's a diamond really worth nowadays?"

The man slung the SMG and drew a survival knife. Austin swore. "Fine! You want to know why I was in the bank? I was filling the vault with books. So some day, if anyone lives through this, someone else will find them and learn something about what life used to be like, learn how their lives can be better. But I guess that was pretty stupid of me, because if people like you are the ones who come out on top, then the rest of us are better off dead!" He impulsively spat, the drops hitting the left eyepiece of the gas mask with an audible tink. He started to jerk back, but the man caught him by the shirt.

"Ya know, ya look like enough of a faggy, ya might be tellin' the truth," said the other man. "But just in case... an' so we'll at least get a little fun..." He hauled Austin forward, through what was left of the glass. Then, as the jagged edges tore into his shirt without quite drawing blood, he caught a glimpse of fourth figure, and shouted: "Yes! I need you! Please!"

Then two of the men turned, to see the third already falling, and Sybil leaping at them with raised sword cane. Somehow, the blind lepress caught the man with the subgun with a single thrust through the right eyepiece. The other man brought his rifle to bear, but she was already closer than the muzzle. As they grappled, Austin added a single shotgun blast to settle the matter.

Sybill turned, her face streaked with blood, and her unseeing eyes pierced his soul. She smiled. He stammered, trying to speak. Then she shifted, to thrust into the belly of the leader as he lunged at her with the knife. He slashed in vain, held at bay by the shaft. Then he fired the subgun, a long, wild burst that did more than enough. Sybill was seemingly flung back. The raider leaned against the car, dropping the subgun to clutch at his wound. As Austin's shotgun pressed to his mask, the man cocked his blind eye and chuckled: "Go ahead and do it, big man." Austin flinched, and his attacker struck him, sending a shotgun blast wide.

The raider threw open the door, raising the knife he still had in one hand, then turned when the door struck something. Sybill was up, though her entire torso seemed to be a mass of blood. He slammed the door and drove the knife into her chest. She lurched back before he could pull it out, then she removed it herself- and pounced. Austin turned away and shut his eyes, but the screams went on and on, high-pitched long and hideous. It was not pity but the pain of even listening to the raider's final agonies that brought him to load another shell and fire.

	11. Chapter 11

**Last chapter... Thanks for the reviews, of which there are quite a few for a story that hasn't had much traffic. I have mixed songs with my fan fiction, esp. "Zombieland", and I finally thought of a song for this story as I drafted this. Check chapters 1 and 6 for others.**

_I've been broken now, I've been saved_

_I've learned to cry, and I've learned how to pray_

_And I'm learning, learning even I can be changed._

Sybill leaned against the car, her mask finally lowered to show her face: She was old but not elderly, in the dusk between late 40s and early 60s, and had clearly been beautiful before the lesions. Austin knelt beside her, and as he looked on her it seemed to him she was beautiful for him. A light drizzle of rain mixed with her blood and his tears. "You understand now... one of you understands," she said. "We could have hunted you as we hunt the zombies, killed you before you tried to kill us... Some of us would have... But we stopped them. I taught them, not to fight you unless attacked, if even then... To hunt those who hunt you, feed on what you cannot... Ours is not to rule the Earth... only to clean up the mess."

"I promise," Austin said, "I'll always remember you. And I'll change."

"No," she whispered, "no, you won't." As tears welled in his eyes, and he tried to stammer a reply, she smiled and continued, "Sometimes you will remember, sometimes you will forget, and you will regret, but you will not change... not yet, and not for me. You cannot do that now, any more than a flower can bloom in the snow. But you will meet another, and if you think I am beautiful, she will shine in your eyes like the sun. For her, you will be all that you are, and become all you can be. Then some day, soon I think, you will grow enough to know that what you wish had been different could have been no other way. And if you grow enough, and I think you will, you will learn a harder lesson, but the one which will set you free: That what you will learn, those you love always knew, and those you wish you could ask for forgiveness, already gave it. When that day comes... _then _remember me." She smiled again, and was still smiling as the bleeding of wounds stopped with the beating of her heart.

Then, without his knowing when or from where they had come, the two lepers with rifles were standing over him, almost eldritch in the mist-like rain. They lifted Sybil, and before they disappeared as unaccountably as they had come, one paused long enough to lay at his feet a necklace with the symbol of the lepers, a heart cleft almost in two. The heart was ruby, and the chain, as far as Austin could tell, was pure gold.

_And everybody used to tell me big boys don't cry_

_Well I've been around enough to know that that was the lie_

_That held back the tears in the eyes of a thousand prodigal sons _

It was raining harder as he drove the Humvee beyond the city limits. His mood wavered between profound grief, anxiety and a sort of indignation. He would head for the Dallas area, perhaps Garland. Then he would resupply before going north. If Ohio was secure, he could still go home. He could still see his parents again, at least once. He could still... do _something_ different. His hopes and fears were interrupted as the engine sputtered and died. Before stepping out into the now-pouring rain, he penciled in his notebook:

_Rule 29: Don't drive a car without checking the fuel gauge._

Another 15 miles down the road, he added:

_Rule 30: Also check the tires._

_And our Father still waits and He watches down the road_

_To see the crying boys come running back to His arms_

_And be growing young_

_Growing young _

End file.

Shoe shopping by David N. Brown