“Fuck . . . what else?” said Loki. “Food, supplies, walls, and a prime location. That’s going to be our kingdom, man. Roverville or some shit.” Then he smiled. “Besides, Buckeye said there’s some quality tail in there. Rich bitches who probably never had nothing more than pencil dicks. Most of them white and clean and, like, ready for it.” The son of a bitch actually winked at me. “You’re a tough motherfucker. Big Elroy would welcome you like a brother. Shit, you could have first crack at all that trim—”

Loki wanted to say more, but then he was dead. Diver, who had been nodding at what his friend was saying, never spoke another word.

Baskerville pissed on their corpses. Eloquent and appropriate.

As I walked away it amazed and disappointed me that a shared crisis did not encourage everyone to drop all their old bad habits and rise to stand together. It would be nice to believe that would be the defining characteristic cited in history books written years from now. Not that I believed it, but it would be nice. If there was a future. I really believe humanity could outlive and outlast the plague of the dead. It was groups like the Rovers who made me doubt if the human race had the collective right to survive. Fighting the urge to give in to a cold and unforgiving cynicism was a real bitch, and it felt like every day I lost a little ground. Days like today made me feel like I was sliding down a hill smeared with slippery human sewage.

It was twilight now and when I reached the tree line I could see lights coming from beyond the walls. Pale and flickering for the most part, which suggested firelight; but there were some of the colder and steady blue-white lights consistent with camping lanterns. The illumination wasn’t very evident and probably leaked out from under canopies. It barely reached the upper branches of the surrounding trees, and there were no clouds to reflect it. So, basically not a “come eat me” sign. That was about the first smart thing the residents had done.

Well, semi-smart. There was enough light for me to walk the entire perimeter of the place, staying inside the forest shadows, and get a really good idea of where and how to scale the walls.

Bottom line was this—they probably thought they’d all stayed safe because of the walls and their own brutal treatment of anyone who came knocking at the gate. I doubted anyone was ever allowed to leave. The walls kept out the dead, and the guard towers allowed for just enough vigilance to reinforce the distorted feelings of safety, and as the months went by, complacency set in. That brings with it a certain skewed and naïve logic: if it’s worked this long it must mean it’ll keep working. It falls somewhere between arrogance and optimism.