Back | Next
Contents

On the Wall

JOHN SCALZI & DAVE KLECHA

“Hi, Jim.”

“Hi, Keith. What’s up?”

“I’m here to take the watch with you tonight.”

“…You.”

“Yeah.”

“Taking a watch.”

“Yes.”

“On the wall.”

“I’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“It wasn’t my fault we had a breach.”

“That’s what the ruling was, yes.”

“Then there’s no problem.”

“Where’s Jenna? She’s supposed to have watch with me tonight.”

“She’s in the infirmary.”

“What happened to her?”

“She broke her foot.”

“How did she do that?”

She didn’t do it. Brandon did. Accidentally dropped a big ol’ pot of beans on her foot in the kitchen.”

“How bad is it?”

“Doc Kumar wants to keep her in the infirmary overnight to make sure there are no complications. Should be up and hobbling about tomorrow. But in the meantime she can’t take the watch.”

“You don’t have anything else you could be doing.”

“I don’t know how to break it to you, but it’s not like we have much need of a communications watch these days.”

“You could be monitoring the solar panels.”

“…It’s night, Jim.”

“They might need maintenance.”

“Which is Brenda’s job, actually. I’m just her helper monkey.”

“She might need help.”

“And if she does she’ll let me know. Or she’ll let Amy know, since Amy is also her helper monkey, when she’s not otherwise busy.”

“Fine.”

“Is there an actual problem here, Jim?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“The scavenger group that went out today saw a lot of active movement when they were out there.”

“We know the town’s got a lot of scurriers in it. That’s not news.”

“They said it wasn’t just scurriers. Roxie says she thinks she saw some runners. And she thinks some of them might have followed them home.”

“Have you seen anything yet?”

“No.”

“So it might be nothing.”

“It might be nothing. But that’s not the smart way to think about it.”

“So you’re worried about some runners making a sprint for the compound.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re worried about me because the last time we had a breach I was on the wall, even though what happened wasn’t my fault.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No, you’re just implying the shit out of it, Jim.”

“You don’t stand on the wall much, Keith. That’s all.”

“No, I don’t. Some of us don’t. But you know the rules. No one stands a watch alone.”

“Yes.”

“Well, there’s no one else to stand the watch with you right now.”

“Where’s Corrine?”

“She’s in the auto shop. The Wrangler is having issues again. She’ll be there all night.”

“Fred.”

“Sleeping. He’s got the next watch.”

“Andre.”

“Come on, Jim. Give it a rest. I’m here. You need someone on the wall with you. If you want to complain, then take it up with The Boss. But you know what she’s going to say. She’s going to tell you to tuck your balls back in and deal with it.”

“She wouldn’t say that.”

“I heard her say that to Eric just the other day.”

“Eric’s a whiner.”

“And what do you think The Boss would categorize complaining about a watch partner as?”

“…Point taken.”

“I thought so.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

“I got enough sleep last night. I’ll be good to the end of watch.”

“You sure? Coffee’s scarce.”

“I don’t drink coffee anyway. I’ll be fine.”

“You don’t drink coffee?”

“No. Never have.”

“Some sort of religious thing?”

“I just don’t like coffee. So I don’t drink it.”

“That’s kind of weird.”

“It’s not that weird.”

“It’s a little weird.”

“Well, I have some bad news for you, Jim. Soon enough, no one’s going to drink coffee anymore.”

* * *

“Jim, I can’t help but notice something.”

“What’s that.”

“You have a gun and I don’t.”

“It’s not a gun. It’s a rifle.”

“It’s a gun. Technically it’s a gun.”

“It’s a rifle.”

“Which is a type of gun. If we still had Wikipedia I could look it up and prove it to you.”

“You would be the sort of person who would say Wikipedia was authoritative about something.”

“Pretty sure the ‘Gun’ entry wasn’t contentiously edited. And you’re missing my point. A rifle is a type of gun.”

“That’s like saying that technically, you’re a mammal.”

“There’s no technically about it. I am a mammal.”

“I mean that describing you only as a mammal would be sufficiently accurate.”

“Depends on the conversation.”

“Fine. In this conversation, ‘gun,’ is not sufficiently accurate. I have a rifle.”

“And I don’t, which is what I was getting at. I don’t have a rifle. Or a handgun. Or a blunderbuss, for that matter. I don’t have a gun.”

“You don’t need one.”

“I’m on the wall.”

“So?”

“So when I’ve been on the wall before, I had a gun.”

“You didn’t need it then, either.”

“What if a bunch of runners come at the wall? That’s happened before. We both know that.”

“What did you do when the breach happened?”

“I yelled ‘Breach!’ and then other people took care of it, because I didn’t leave my post.”

“Right. One, you did the right thing by staying at your post, and two, you didn’t need a rifle.”

“But I might have.”

“What would you have done with it?”

“Well, if I had seen the runner before it was up to the wall and inside it, I would have shot it.”

“You would have shot it.”

“Sure.”

“You shoot much?”

“What do you mean?”

“Before all this. Did you shoot much? Go to the range? Go hunting?”

“I didn’t hunt. I didn’t see the point. Supermarkets existed for a reason.”

“Did you go shoot at a range?”

“I went to one once for a friend’s birthday party. Five or six years ago. Shot a Glock.”

“How’d you do?”

“I hit the paper.”

“How many times?”

“…Once.”

“Okay. What kind of rifle is this?”

“It’s a military rifle.”

“You might as well call it a gun.”

“I did call it a gun, if you recall.”

“What kind of military rifle is it? It an M4? An M14? An AK-47?”

“AK-47.”

“Wrong. It’s an M16.”

“That was a trick question.”

“It wasn’t a trick question.”

“It was a trick question. You didn’t list ‘M16’ as an option.”

“The point is if you knew which rifle it was, you would have known none of those options were correct.”

“We need a judge’s ruling on that.”

“Since you don’t know what kind of rifle this is, it’s a pretty good guess you don’t know anything about it.”

“That’s not necessarily true.”

“What sort of ammunition does it shoot?”

“Bullets.”

“It shoots 5.56 NATO rounds.”

“I think you’re making that up.”

“I’m not making it up.”

“You’re doing that Star Trek thing where they give a bullshit name to a brand new subatomic particle.”

“5.56 NATO round. Do you know anything about the 5.56 round?”

“It disrupts a tachyon field when you hit a deflector dish with it.”

“The 5.56 NATO round is one of the most common rounds in the world. We used it in the M16, and the M4, and the M249. The British used it in the SA80. Germany used it in the G36. The French used it in the FAMAS. It means there was a lot of it out there.”

“Okay. So?”

“The M16 can also fire a .223 round, which is nearly identical, and was also incredibly common. What does this mean?”

“It means there’s a lot of ammo out there the M16 can shoot.”

“No. It means that there was a lot of rounds that were manufactured that the M16 can shoot. Which meant our scavenger crews were able to find it more often than some other rounds. Right now we have about four thousand rounds that work with this M16.”

“Which is a hell of a lot.”

“It’s really not. More to the point, it’s not enough to train you on the rifle.”

“It doesn’t take much training to point a rifle at a runner.”

“No. It takes training to hit one. And once those rounds are gone, they’re gone. We don’t have the capability to make more here. So you don’t get a rifle. Or a shotgun, for which we have even fewer rounds.”

“This is a ‘macho former Marine’ thing, isn’t it?”

“No. This is a ‘give the weapon to the person who has training on it’ thing.”

“So what do you want me to do if a runner makes for the wall?”

“I want you to do what you did before. I want you to call it out.”

“And then you’ll shoot it.”

“If it makes sense to shoot it, yes. Otherwise, we have other options.”

“I still think this is a macho bullshit thing.”

“Fine. Here. Take the rifle.”

“What do you want me to do with it?”

“I want you to hold it.”

“…Okay. I’m holding it.”

“Aaaand you just shot off your foot.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you took the rifle, you put your finger on the trigger and you pointed it at your left foot. You just shot off your foot.”

“Except that I didn’t. See? Left foot intact.”

“That’s because I’m not stupid enough to hand you a rifle with live ammunition in it with the selector switch in any position other than ‘safe.’”

“I didn’t shoot my foot off before when I was on watch.”

“Was the selector switch in the ‘safe’ position?”

“…Possibly.”

“‘Possibly.’ Meaning that you didn’t have the first clue as to whether you could fire your rifle at all.”

“I think you’re being unfair.”

“I’ll give you five seconds to find the selector switch on that rifle.”

“And then what?”

“Then I punch you in the shoulder and take back the rifle.”

“What if I find it?”

“Then I take the rifle back before you can shoot yourself in the foot because you still have your fucking finger on the trigger.”

“Look, just take it back.”

“Thank you.”

“I still want a weapon.”

“We can start you on the bow.”

“How are you on a bow?”

“Terrible.”

“That makes me feel a little better.”

“That’s nice. Now shut up and look for runners.”

* * *

“Do you ever wonder which famous people made it?”

“Made it?”

Made it, Jim. Survived.”

“Oh. No.”

“Never once?”

“I’ve been kind of busy.”

“We’ve all been kind of busy. Doesn’t mean you don’t think about these things.”

“I haven’t.”

“Well, think about it now. Which famous people do you think survived?”

“…I can’t think of any famous people right off the top of my head.”

“Do you live in a cave?”

“No, I live in an improvised fortress in the suburbs of Detroit, surrounded by goddamn zombies and a general apocalypse.”

“If you don’t have hobbies in a situation like that, you’re gonna go a little crazy.”

“Thinking about former celebrities is not a useful hobby.”

“Hobbies aren’t supposed to be useful. That’s why they’re hobbies. And why do you say ‘former’?”

“It’s the zombie apocalypse, in case you haven’t noticed. No one’s going to the movies anymore. No one’s listening to Top 40 radio. No one’s watching Entertainment Tonight.”

“I don’t think Entertainment Tonight still exists.”

Nothing still exists, entertainment-wise. That’s what I’m saying.”

“Indulge me here. We have six hours to go in the watch. There’s nothing moving out there. I’m a little bored.”

“The alternative is worse.”

“If you mean things moving out there, then yes. Otherwise we disagree.”

“Fine. Name a celebrity and I’ll tell you if I think they made it.”

“Justin Bieber.”

“Jesus Christ, man. You can’t just lead with Justin Bieber. You have to work up to that kind of shit.”

“Deep end of the pool, Jim. Come on. You think Justin Bieber’s survived?”

“Of course not.”

“Are you sure? Fact: He had bodyguards. Fact: He had money to escape to an isolated area. Fact: He’s owned a monkey.”

“What the hell does a monkey have to do with anything?”

“Irrational crap-flinging primate. I suggest that’s decent training for dealing with runners.”

“One, no it’s not. Two, he abandoned his monkey in Germany.”

“The fact you know that and yet say you don’t follow celebrities is something we need to revisit at a later time.”

“Three, if you think those bodyguards stuck with him after everything started to fall apart, you’re delusional. Four, money stopped doing anyone any good really fast. No. He’s dead. Dead and probably eaten.”

“Concur. George Clooney.”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He had that villa. Maybe it was defensible.”

“Jay-Z and Beyonce.”

“I have to think they made it to an island somewhere.”

“Any of the Kardashians.”

“Eaten. All of them. Every single one.”

“Harrison Ford.”

“He’s a pilot. He may have gotten out.”

“He crashed on that golf course, though.”

“He walked away from it.”

“The members of Metallica.”

“You know what? Once I would have pegged them to survive. But then I saw that Some Kind of Monster documentary. I think the runners were feasting on Lars Ulrich’s sweetmeats on, like, day two.”

“Ted Nugent.”

“Eaten.”

“Come on. This is Ted Nugent we’re talking about, here.”

“Look. I don’t want to say he didn’t talk a good survivalist game. He did. But I think he’s a prime candidate for being overconfident. I bet he thought he could just bowhunt the crap out of the runners, and they probably trapped him in a ravine or something.”

“This is how I find out you’re a liberal.”

“This isn’t a political position. I’m just saying overconfidence is a killer.”

“Lady Gaga.”

“You’re talking about someone who once dressed herself in meat.”

“So that’s a ‘no.’”

“I’m laying long odds. Who else?”

“Look who is actually enjoying himself.”

“I’m both surprising and disgusting myself with how much I seem to know about all these people.”

“Do you want to do any politicians?”

“Oh, let’s not. We got dangerously close to politics with Ted Nugent.”

“Fine. Writers?”

“Lunch meat. All of them.”

“Wow. That’s dark.”

“They write fine. But it’s sedentary work. I went to a couple of conventions in my time. I know what I saw.”

“Back to real celebrities, then. Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie.”

“Brad, dead. Angelina survives.”

“You would think that zombie film would have given him some training.”

“No. He was Hollywood tough, not actual tough. But think of everything Angelina’s been through. Double mastectomy. Turbulent early years. Billy Bob Thornton. That’s one tough woman. I wouldn’t bet against her.”

“Batman.”

“What?”

“Batman.”

“Batman’s not a celebrity.”

“Batman’s not famous? Batman’s not known worldwide? Batman’s not instantly recognizable?”

“Batman is all these things, yes.”

“Then he’s a celebrity. So: Batman.”

However, Batman is fictional.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so’? So, you can’t go mixing up fictional and nonfictional celebrities.”

“Why not?”

“It’s against the rules.”

“There are rules to this?”

“Yes, there are rules. I’m making the rules right now. Rule number one: No mixing the fictional and nonfictional.”

“Fine. The rule takes effect after you answer the question. Batman.”

“Of course Batman survives. He’s Batman.”

“Then George Clooney did survive. Because he was Batman.”

“No. Not that Batman. Any Batman with nipples on his Batsuit was eaten first.”

“First?”

“Yes. Even before Lars Ulrich.”

“Hmmm. Tough but fair. I’ll allow it.”

“You better.”

“I wonder if celebrities play this same game. If they’re off on their islands going ‘Huh, I wonder if George Clooney made it.’”

“No. They’re all dead.”

“But you were just saying which ones made it out alive.”

“I was humoring you.”

“…I don’t think I want to play this game with you anymore.”

“Then I win. Now keep looking.”

* * *

“There.”

“Where?”

“In the trees. By the road.”

“There are a lot of trees by the road, Keith. Be more specific.”

“In the trees, by the road, about a hundred yards out.”

“Which side of the road.”

“To our left.”

“…I don’t see anything.”

“There was movement there. I heard it and I saw it.”

“You see that chest?”

“Yeah.”

“Open it and take out the night vision binoculars.”

“We’ve had night vision goggles this whole time?”

“Yes. We don’t use them unless we have to because they don’t exactly make batteries for them anymore, do they?”

“The next zombie apocalypse I attend, I want it to keep a manufacturing base.”

“Cute. Take a look where you heard the sound. Tell me what you see.”

“I don’t know how to turn on these binoculars.”

“And you were wondering why I wouldn’t let you use the rifle.”

“It’s not the same thing.”

“It’s kind of the same thing. Give them here.”

“I don’t appreciate being made to feel incompetent.”

“It’s not a feeling. You actually are incompetent.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s not meant to be an insult. There are lots of things I’m not competent in.”

“Do any of those things have to do with surviving a post-collapse hellscape?”

“Not so far.”

“This doesn’t help me feel better, then.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you see anything?”

“No…yes.”

“What?”

“Two deer.”

“What are they doing?”

“They doing what deer do. They’re standing around looking surprised that they exist in the world.”

“I don’t think it was just deer.”

“I’m seeing deer.”

“You were the one who said you were worried about runners.”

“I am worried about runners. I’m not seeing any. I’m seeing deer.”

“It’s possible you made me a little paranoid by mentioning the runners earlier.”

“It’s not paranoia. It’s a healthy reaction to the fact that runners exist.”

“I remember the first time I saw one.”

“Everyone does. What’s your story?”

“A pack of them coming down my street.”

“What did you do?”

“I hid in my kid’s treehouse for two days.”

“…You had a kid.”

“Yeah. Might still have. She was with her mom when this all went down. In Arizona. We’d been divorced for about a year and a half. She got custody. I get visits.”

“Sorry.”

“About the divorce and custody thing?”

“No, but that too.”

“Don’t be. It got bad at the end. She had family out west, she moved back there, and I didn’t want to make a scene. She was living with her dentist fiancé the last I heard.”

“Still rough.”

“Yeah. Anyway, by that time the phones and Internet were already gone. I don’t know how they’re doing.”

“I’m sure they made it.”

“I’d like to think so. Well, except for the dentist. I hope that fucker got eaten.”

“Huh.”

“I know. Not very nice of me.”

“No. I see something else.”

“What?”

“Shhhhhh.”

“Why do people always tell you ‘shhhh’ when they’re trying to look at something?”

“Quiet!”

“Mmmmph.”

“Well, shit.”

“What is it?”

“Definitely not deer this time.”

“You’re killing me over here, Jim.”

“It’s human-shaped.”

“You could be more specific.”

“Too far away to be more specific.”

“What’s it doing?”

“At the moment it’s standing there.”

“It could be an actual person.”

“Scavenging crews aren’t seeing too many actual people anymore.”

“A scurrier, then.”

“Maybe. Maybe.”

“What are you doing?”

“Remember when I told you that there were options other than shooting runners?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m going to show you one of the options. Here, put these back in the chest and get me out the garage door opener.”

“You’re going to open a garage door?”

“No, you idiot. I’m going to use the garage door opener to activate something else.”

“What?”

“You’ll see. There’s another pair of binoculars in the chest, too. A regular pair this time. Get those out.”

“Here’s a garage door opener. You want the binoculars, too?”

“No, you hold on to them.”

“What do you want me to do with them?”

“I want you to watch and tell me what happens.”

“What happens when?”

“When I press this garage door opener button.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah.”

“What is that?”

“It’s a runner trap. We put it out there a couple of weeks ago. If one of them comes too close, we set it off. Activate it, the strobes go off and the music comes up. If it’s a scurrier, it gets the hell out. If it’s a runner, it attacks.”

“…What is that music?”

“Metallica. ‘Creeping Death.’”

“I thought you were down on Metallica.”

“The music is awesome. Individually they’re a little soft. Tell me what you’re seeing.”

“It’s definitely not running away. It’s charging toward the trap.”

“Tell me when the trap gets sprung.”

“How will I know?”

“You’ll know.”

“…Whoa.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yeah. Like it fell into a hole.”

“A moat.”

“Is it going to be able to climb out?”

“Ten feet deep. Filled with spikes.”

“So that’s a no.”

“That’s an ‘I’d be impressed.’ Let me turn off the trap.”

“…Well, those screams are pleasant.”

“Must not have punctured a lung.”

“You were expecting a punctured lung.”

“I wasn’t expecting anything. This is the first time we’ve gotten to use it.”

“But you were hoping for a punctured lung.”

“Well, yeah. Or a severed windpipe. The screaming could become a problem.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means maybe you should go back into the chest and bring out the night vision binoculars again.”

“I’m not one hundred percent happy with the turn events have just taken here, Jim.”

“It’ll probably be fine.”

“Which is why I’m getting out the night vision binoculars again.”

“The screaming seems to be winding down. That’s good.”

“Here.”

“Thank you.”

“I don’t think that qualifies as ‘winding down,’ by the way.”

“Quiet.”

“We’re back to that again.”

“Keith.”

“Yeah.”

“I want you to do a couple of things for me.”

“All right.”

“The first is to quietly go and tell The Boss it looks like we’ve got eight runners less than a hundred yards from our doorstep.”

“…Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“This is on you with the ‘Creeping Death’ stunt.”

“They were there already. The one in the pit was just ahead of the rest of the pack.”

“I’m still blaming you.”

“Fine. The second thing I need you to do is go over there to the weapons shack.”

“This is where I get a gun?”

“No.”

“What the hell?”

“I want you to get out the shovel.”

“What the shit good is a shovel going to do?”

“When they start climbing up the wall, you can bash them in the head with it.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m totally serious.”

“When I go talk to The Boss I’m going to ask for a shotgun.”

“She’s going to tell you ‘no.’”

“I’m going to ask anyway.”

“Whatever. Just go and tell her. And then get back here. Believe it or not, I need you back on this wall.”

* * *

“That’s a nice shovel.”

“Shut up, Jim.”

“What did The Boss have to say?”

“She said she’s organizing a response and that until then we hold the wall.”

“Okay.”

“I told her about the ‘Creeping Death’ thing.”

“What did she say?”

“She said she liked the choice of music.”

“She would.”

“I feel like there’s some bias going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I was not at fault for the last breach we had and you still didn’t want to stand a watch with me. And now you might be at fault for getting us overrun by a whole pack of runners, and the official response is, like, ‘cool tunes, bro.’”

“I don’t blame you for the breach.”

“You still didn’t want to stand a watch with me.”

“Do we have to talk about this now?”

“Well, I might end the night having my fucking intestines being ripped out by a pack of things that used to be accountants and GM factory workers, so yeah, if you don’t mind, let’s talk about this now.”

“Did you not hear what I said to you before you left to go talk to The Boss?”

“You told me to get the shovel.”

“I also told you to come back here.”

“I don’t remember this part.”

“I specifically said that I needed you back on this wall.”

“I must have missed it.”

“It doesn’t mean I didn’t say it.”

“I only have your word for it.”

“No you don’t, because I just said it again. Not even thirty seconds ago.”

“…You were referencing a previous alleged statement.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, Keith. I’m sorry, all right?”

“Are you saying that because you mean it, or because you think I’m whining right now?”

“You want the truth?”

“Of course I want the truth.”

“Then it’s a little of both.”

“All right. That’s fair.”

“You have to admit you’re whining.”

“Maybe a little.”

“You should not do that.”

“It’s one of my competencies, Jim.”

“You’re going to make me regret that comment, aren’t you.”

“I might. I mean, if we live.”

“Quiet.”

“You keep telling me that…oh. What’s that?”

“Look over the backside.”

“It’s The Boss and about six others.”

“What are they doing?”

“I don’t know. They’re all armed except for Clary. He’s got a big ass boom box.”

“Did you just say ‘boom box’?”

“Yeah. So?”

“I just haven’t heard anyone use that phrase this millennium.”

“It’s back. Like bell bottoms. All right. The Boss is going to the switchbox.”

“She’s going to turn on the flood lights.”

“…Yup. There they go.”

“Come back over here, please, Keith.”

“She’s going to draw them here, isn’t she?”

“I’m guessing that’s the plan, yeah.”

“I’m not a fan of this plan.”

“I don’t think you get a vote.”

“Apparently not. I’m just an asshole with a shovel.”

“What…what the hell song is that?”

“…It’s ‘Dancing Queen.’”

“By Abba.”

“I think so.”

“We’re luring runners into attacking us with Abba.”

“It appears so.”

“I liked my choice better.”

“Jim, if I die to Abba, I’m coming back to haunt the shit out of you.”

“That’s fair. Look, here they come.”

“That looks like more than eight, Jim.”

“I saw eight. That didn’t mean there weren’t more.”

“I count at least fifteen.”

“Tell The Boss.”

“I’m guessing she already knows.”

“Tell her anyway. Don’t worry about being quiet about it.”

“Too late. They’re coming!”

“On it.”

“…Why aren’t you firing?!?”

“Not until they’re closer.”

“You want them to hit the wall?”

“I need them close. We don’t have enough rounds to miss.”

“Jesus!”

“Shut up and let me aim.”

“…Oh shit.”

“That’s one.”

“I’ve got a couple on the wall, Jim.”

“Two.”

“Here on the right, Jim.”

“Three…uck! Three. Made me waste a round, runner.”

“Jim!”

“What!”

“Fucking zombies on the wall!”

“Four! I’m busy!”

“You’re the one with the rifle!”

“And you’re the one with the goddamn shovel! Use it!”

“You can dance! You can jive! Having the time of your life! Holy shit!”

“Five! What?”

“‘Dancing Queen’ has the perfect beat for hitting runners with shovels! It’s like The Boss knew!”

“That’s why she’s The Boss.”

“Guess so!”

“Hold up. Firing’s done.”

“I think we got them.”

“How many did you say you counted before?”

“I think fifteen.”

“…I’m seeing sixteen in front of the wall.”

“I was close.”

“Including two with their heads bashed in with a shovel.”

“They deserved it.”

“That’s hardcore, my friend.”

“I owe it all to you and your refusal to allow me firearms, Jim.”

“Tell me I was wrong.”

“I say you’re wrong. My foot probably thanks you.”

“I accept your foot’s thanks.”

“Now what?”

“What do you mean ‘now what’?”

“We just fought off a runner pack. There’s a pile of corpses at our door. Now what?”

“We stay on the wall, Keith. The Boss will assign a detail to deal with the corpses. We’ll guard them while they do. You keep the lookout. I’ll provide the firepower.”

“Makes sense.”

“It does. We make a pretty good team.”

“I think you’re right.”

“Glad you think so.”

“I still think I should have a gun.”

“I know.”

“You going to let me have one?”

“No.”


Back | Next
Framed