“No,” I said, “I don’t think that’s entirely true.”

We handed the bottle back and forth. I told her my story, even some of the stuff that was classified as above top secret because why not? Secrets didn’t really matter. She listened, nodding, not interrupting. I like people who don’t interrupt. When I wound down, she put the cap back on the bottle and gave me her tale.

She’d been one year shy of a late retirement, and was planning to fight it, preferring to grow old and die among her beloved books. When the dead rose, Abigail was among the people who gathered in an emergency shelter, but first the power went out, then the back-up batteries failed, and finally the food ran low. That’s when she decided that waiting for help was likely to be a suicidal pursuit. So, she and a few others went out of the shelter to find a destroyed town filled with monsters.

There were younger men and women in the shelter, there were bigger and stronger people, but there was no one tougher. And by that, I mean tough of mind, tough of spirit. Over the next few weeks Abigail polled the survivors about their skills and put them all to work. Anyone who knew how to do basic household repairs or construction were assigned the task of reinforcing the shelter. Hunters were tapped to find weapons and ammunition, and to establish elevated shooting positions on the key routes leading up to, or away from, the shelter. People who could cook from scratch were tapped to work with scavenging teams to locate bulk staples and oversee nutrition. Those with first aid training were required to teach that to everyone else.

That’s how she did it. “Everyone has some useful skill,” she said, “even if they don’t know it yet. You get someone who played field hockey in school or was good at tennis or softball and you make them your front-line fighters. They may not know how to fight per se, but they’re used to hitting things in ways that don’t hurt their own backs and elbows and knees. The dead don’t require finesse out of us, but fighting them requires efficiency.”

I grinned and listened. The smell of roasting mutton filled the air and that was wonderful. Sentries with sharpened staves and bows patrolled the road.