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He spotted Jenni at a table, sitting down to breakfast, and headed over to her.

“Well?” She flipped her long dark hair over one shoulder. “What was the big deal with that guy wanting to talk to you?”

“He wanted to talk my ear off and show me what is going on outside. ” He slid onto the chair next to her and shook his head.

“What is going on outside?” Jenni poked at her congealing oatmeal, her expression one of slight disgust.

“We’re in the gawddamn Alamo,” Bill answered gruffly.

“Seriously?” Jenni grimaced.

“Only difference, Mexicans didn’t eat the people in the Alamo,” Bill muttered.

Jenni leaned her head on his beefy shoulder. “Damn. We sure are good at getting ourselves into trouble. ”

“Yeah, tell me about it. This place makes the hospital look like a cake walk. ” Bill exhaled long and hard. He slid his arm around Jenni’s shoulders and hugged her to his side. “It’ll be okay, Jenni. We always figure something out. We’ll figure a way out of this. ”

“I don’t think my old method of whacking zombies with my ax is going to work,” Jenni decided grimly.

“Nope. But we gotta trust our friends are going to be looking for us and hopefully something can be worked out. ”

Jenni lifted a spoonful of the oatmeal and slowly turned it over. The oatmeal clung to the spoon. “Ugh. I hate the food. I’d kill for something sugary and crunchy. ”

“Did you notice the people around here?”

Turning her gaze from her spoon, Jenni looked around. “Hmm. . . ”

Bill smiled at a woman sitting across from them, but she looked away.

“They all have given up hope. They’re like ghosts. Just wandering around. Kinda empty. ”

Jenni slowly swiveled around in her chair, looking at the people seated around them. There was barely a whisper of conversation among them.

Side by side, they sat in silence watching the people all around them talk, eat, and drink.

“I want to go home,” Jenni whispered.

“We will, Jenni,” Bill vowed. “We’ll go home. ”

2. Speaker of the Dead

Travis sighed and tried hard not to look at the clock hanging over the check-in counter in the lobby. He hated waiting. It was sheer torture. It always made him feel as though someone had decided to churn butter in his gut. Charlotte, Belinda and the Reverend were operating on Juan in an attempt to remove the bullet and the suspense was killing him.

He was also completely exhausted even though it was just ten in the morning. He was having trouble focusing. Of course, he hadn’t slept a wink the night before. Rubbing his eyes, he yawned. At least he wasn’t alone as he waited to hear if Juan would pull through. A collection of Juan’s friends and family were gathered in the lobby waiting for the word.

Rosie sat nearby, clutching her rosary, and softly whispering, “Hail Mary, Full of Grace…”

Nerit sat next to her, her hand gently resting on Rosie’s, eyes closed, seeming to meditate.

Jason was sprawled on the love seat next to the couch Travis was sitting on reading a Star Trek novel Roger had loaned him. The boy looked absolutely morose and Travis couldn’t blame him considering the drama encompassing the boy’s life. His mother was in the hands of the military, his friend and teacher was missing, and his somewhat stepfather was in surgery. Despite his surly teenager routine with Juan, Travis had noticed a considerable thaw in how Jason felt about Juan. It was just too much for anyone to handle. Jason’s way of handling it seemed to be to sink down into the love seat and read, his hair falling over his eyes to hide his tears while Jack lay next to him looking very sad.

Travis looked down at Katie. She was sprawled out on the sofa, her head resting on his thigh as she slept. He slowly drew his fingers through her hair, once more marveling at the softness of her silky curls. It was a relief that she had fallen asleep. The stress of the last twenty-four hours had worn on her. She had began to suffer from vertigo, and Travis had made her lie down. He knew she had slept fitfully the night before. He was relieved to see her soundly sleeping.

Again, he tried hard not to look at the clock.

Picking up the pencil on the end table next to him, he started to write notes and sketch a possible extension to the fort. Yes, he was most likely a workaholic, but working made him feel more in control and relaxed. He hated feeling helpless. He hated feeling there was nothing he could do to remedy a bad situation.

Most of his life he felt helpless. It wasn’t until the fort had risen from the ashes of the former world that he felt he had found his place.