Instead, I spent the rest of February and March paralyzed in my container, my eye on the classified map. I watched that green line turn red, watched it creep farther south, watched it go under waterways, hide itself in the marshes and wetlands, plant itself next to the poor and vulnerable, cruise like a smart missile straight toward my family. I knew if I called Lily, I would have to say out loud how bad it was, and if I admitted to her how bad it was, then I would have to tell her what we were going to do about it, and when we were going to do it, and how the hell was I to know a thing like that?

Marie and Lawrence liked to talk about the zombie apocalypse. It passed the time at lunch, when I joined them near the pipeline pit or in the truck cab to eat bologna sandwiches. It passed the time around the campfire, where I sat smoking cigarettes, which I’d taken up to replace whittling. There was a lot to do to prepare for the zombie apocalypse, especially because, according to Marie and Lawrence, these particular zombies would know how to operate heavy machinery. Therefore, they said, it would be of primary importance to disable all equipment so that it would be useless to the zombies. There were many ways to do that, and Lawrence and Marie went over each one in detail.

“Gallon of water in the fuel tank or oil filter,” Lawrence said, adding a log to the fire, popping the top off a beer. “Done. That thing ain’t running.”

“Oh right,” Jay said. “The zombies are after you, and you have the presence of mind, let alone the time, to fill up a jug of water. Ain’t going to happen.”

“So just grab a couple handfuls of sand,” Marie said. She sat on a cinder block, her gloves off, fingers wide over the flames. “Send it straight into the crankcase, or better yet, the intake.”

“What about battery acid in the radiator?” Lawrence suggested.

“There you go again,” Jay said, swinging Mountain Dew. “Where are you getting the battery acid? You’ve got to use what you have on hand.”

“So you bring a turkey baster,” Marie said. “Use it to suck acid out of the battery, then down it goes into the fuel system.”

“That’s right,” Lawrence said. “You’ve got to have your zombie apocalypse kit ready. Turkey baster, crescent wrench, water jug, flashlight.”

“With a red lens,” Marie put in. “Remember, zombies can’t see red lights.”

“What else you got in this kit of yours?” asked Jay.

“What about sugar?” I asked into the smoke. I shook out a cigarette, passed the pack to Lawrence.

“Sugar?” asked Lawrence.

“Everyone knows putting sugar in an engine is the worst thing for it,” I said, using a twig from the fire to light up.

“Oh, everyone knows that, do they?” asked Jay.