Steph went into the bathroom and closed the door. She was right. Mostly everything we were doing was futile, prolonging the inevitable. Stu always said it was more fun to try and outlast those who have quit. I agreed with him, but would never admit it.

I kept my Gathering Pack in the closet. A large knapsack with tools, a set of heavy gloves and military boots. I put it on and went over to the bedroom window. I hated the window, but I forced myself to open the blind and look out.

The city below was the same as yesterday, same as last month, same as always, motionless. Cars sat immobile and skewed all over Third Avenue. Doors hung open, mocking the sensibility of the street. The burned out M3 bus dominated the view, it had been there, black and twisted since February. No one was out there, because death was out there.

“Come back, Don, you there?” Stu over the radio.

“Yea, coming now. Ed you there?”

“Yes, I am here,” Ed broke in, “what are we doing?”

“Get your pack on, meet on 20. We’re hitting 9.”