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The mayor led us downstairs to a musty basement. The walls and floor were cinderblocks and concrete. Jail cells had been made with bars of scrap metal welded together in a crude but effective manner. Wilder dropped the zombie child in his new cage, still bound and gagged, and he closed the door and locked it.

Vaughn turned to me, not bothering to mask any of his weary contempt anymore. “I trust that you are satisfied with the zombie’s containment.”

“It’s good enough, but I still want to say again that this is a very dangerous and very stupid thing to do,” I reiterated.

“Well, I will be sure to make a note of that in the town records that one Remy – what was your last name again?” Vaughn asked.

“King.”

“Right, I will make note that Remy King has expressed great displeasure at the mayor’s decisions,” he finished.

“Aren’t you going to untie him at least? It seems inhumane leaving him like that,” I said, ignoring his tone.

“It doesn’t need to be humane! He’s not human,” Vaughn argued. “And this is plenty good enough for a zombie.”

“What are you going to do with him?” Boden asked.

“I need to speak with my council and the scientifically inclined folks, and we’ll decide from there,” Vaughn said.

My heart raced as I remembered how the scientifically inclined folks had treated me when I was in a cage.

“Come on. Let’s go, Remy.” Boden put a hand on my back, leading me away from staring at the zombie child.

It was early enough in the evening that everyone was still awake. I told Max, Stella, and Serg about the hunt and the rescue, but with the notable exception of the zombie child. I didn’t mention him at all, because I didn’t want to worry them, and I couldn’t change anything. Thankfully, Boden supported me on this.

Then life went on, as it always did. While the temperatures weren’t exactly soaring, it was warm and dry enough that all snow melted in a matter of days after the storm.

Max and Stella filled us in about how she had been struggling with postpartum issues, and she started making changes to feel better. One of the things that Jovie suggested was that Stella get outside in the sun and take walks. She went out with Boden when he took Ripley out on a leash, and she’d go for afternoon strolls with Serg.

Within a few days, Stella seemed to be noticeably doing better. She smiled more, and the lullabies she sang to Fae sounded cheerful again instead of so melancholy. Over dinner, she would talk about her excitement for the rapidly approaching Emberwood Fest. There was to be food, music, and dancing, and Stella had never experienced anything like that before.

I still didn’t think the festival was a good idea, but I decided to shut my mouth about the whole thing. I couldn’t change it, and people needed something to look forward to. Especially Stella.

It was actually Serg who came up with the idea that we ought to get new clothing for such a big event.Then I remembered that Harlow had a clothing shop, and I offered to go down and get something with Stella.

The boutique was located in the front room of a small house that Harlow lived in. It was downtown, in one of the homes fortunate enough to be on the solar panel grid. It was rustic and cute, built at least fifty years before the zombies arrived.

Clothing was on racks all around the room. Some were Harlow’s own creations, most notable for an edgy chic mixed with a feminine touch via lace or silhouette. Other clothing was clearly premade or traded from elsewhere, like denim jeans and t-shirts with screen printed designs.

Harlow had always believed that there was no reason the post apocalypse couldn’t be stylish, and it showed in her boutique. She was organizing necklaces hanging by the sales counter, but she smiled brightly when she saw us.

Her blond wavy hair hung in a loose braid over her shoulder, and she wore layers of necklaces and clothing. Her dress and shawl were made from a combination of repurposed fabric, soft rabbit pelts, and trimmed out with lace and tassels. The whole thing felt like Stevie Knicks by the way of Mad Max.

“Hey, Remy. Are you finally ready to spruce up your wardrobe?” Harlow asked as she approached us.

“Actually, we did want to get something new for the upcoming fest,” I said.

She looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Really? I Never assumed you’d be one for that kind of thing.”

I bristled a little. “What kind of thing?”

Harlow shrugged. “Fun. With other people.”

“You’re right,” Stella told her. “Remy doesn’t want to go. She’s only doing it to make me feel better.”

“Why do you say that like it’s a bad thing?” Igrumbled.

“You must be Stella.” Harlow finally addressed her and held out her hand to shake it. “I’m Remy’s old friend, Harlow.”