"Hey," Frankie shouted from the front seat, "you want to see your kid again? Snap the fuck out of it and get your shit together. Now which way?"
Jim opened his eyes. "Sorry, you're right. Go to the bottom of the ramp and make a left at the light. Go up three blocks and then make a right onto Chestnut. There's a big church and a video store on the corner."
Jim exhaled, long and deep, and began to move again. He sat the rifles aside and double-checked the pistol, shoving it back into the holster after he was satisfied. He pressed himself into the seat and waited, while his son's neighborhood flashed by outside.
A zombie wearing a tattered delivery uniform jumped out from behind a cluster of bushes. It clutched a baseball bat in its grimy hands.
"There's one." Martin rolled down the window enough to squeeze off a shot.
"No," Frankie said, stopping him. "Don't shoot at them unless they directly threaten us or look like they're following."
"But that one will tell others," he protested. "The last thing we need to do is attract more!"
"Which is exactly why you don't need to be shooting at it, preacher. By the time it tells its rotten little friends that the lunch wagon is here, we can grab his boy and get the fuck out. You start shooting and every zombie in this town is gonna know we're here and where to come find us!"
"You're right." Martin nodded, and rolled the window back up. "Good thinking."
An obese zombie waddled by, dressed in a kimono and pulling a child's red wagon behind her. Another one sat perched in the wagon, its lower half missing and few remaining entrails and yellow curds of fat spilling out around it. Both creatures grew agitated as they sped by, and the fat zombie loped along behind them, fists raised in anger.
Frankie slammed on the brake, slammed the Humvee into reverse, and backed up, crushing both the zombies and the wagon under the wheels. The vehicle rocked from the jolt.
She grinned at Martin. "Now wasn't that much quieter than a gunshot?"
The preacher shuddered. Jim barely noticed either of his companions. His pulse continued to race, but the nausea was gone, replaced with a hollow emptiness.
How many times had he driven down this same suburban street, either to pick Danny up or to take him home? Dozens, but never suspecting that one day he'd do so armed to the teeth and riding in a hijacked military vehicle with a preacher and an ex-hooker. He remembered the first time, right after his first complete summer with Danny. Danny started crying when Jim turned onto Chestnut, not wanting his father to leave. The big tears rolled down his little face when they pulled into the driveway, and were still flowing when Jim reluctantly drove away. He'd watched Danny through the rear-view mirror and waited until he was out of sight before he pulled over and broke down himself.
He thought of Danny's birth. The doctor placed him in his arms for the first time. He'd been so small and tiny, his pink skin still wet. His infant son crying then too, and when Jim cooed to him, Danny opened his eyes and smiled. The doctors and Tammy insisted it wasn't a smile, that babies couldn't smile; but deep down inside, Jim had known better.
He thought of the summers that he and his second wife, Carrie, spent with Danny. The three of them had played Uno, and Danny and Carrie caught him cheating,
hiding Draw Four cards under the table in his lap. They'd wrestled him to the floor, tickling him till he admitted the deception. Later, they sat on the couch together, eating popcorn and watching Godzilla and Mecha-Godzilla trash Tokyo.
The message that Danny had left on his cell phone a week ago echoed through his mind as they turned a corner.
"I'm on Chestnut," Frankie reported. "Now what?"
"I'm scared, Daddy. I know we shouldn't leave the attic, but Mommy's sick and I don't know how to make her better. I hear things outside the house. Sometimes they just go by and other times I think they're trying to get in. I think Rick is with them."
"Jim? JIM!"
Jim's voice was quiet and far away. "Past O'Rourke and Fischer, then make a left onto Platt Street. It's the last house on the left."
In his head, Danny was crying.
"Daddy, you promised to call me! I'm scared and I don't know what to do ..."
"Platt Street," Frankie announced and made the turn. She drove past the houses, each lined up in neat rows, each one identical to the next, save for the color of their shutters or the curtains hanging in the vacant windows. "We're here."
She put the Humvee in park and left the engine running.
"... and I love you more than Spider-Man and more than Pikachu and more than Michael Jordan and more than 'finity, Daddy. I love you more than infinity."
The phrase had haunted him over the last few days, resonating with double meaning. It had been a game he and Danny had shared, something to ease the pain of
long-distance phone calls from West Virginia to New Jersey. But one of the zombie's he'd faced during the trip had also used the phrase.
"We are many. Our number is greater than the stars. We are more than infinity."
Jim opened his eyes.
"More than infinity, Danny. Daddy loves you more than infinity."
He opened the door and Martin followed. Jim placed a hand on his shoulder, pushing the old man back into the seat.
"No," he said firmly, shaking his head, "you stay with Frankie. I need you to watch our backs out here. Make sure we've got a clear shot at escape. I'm going to leave the rifles here with you guys-just in case."
He paused, and still squeezing Martin's shoulder, raised his head and sniffed the breeze,
"This town is alive with the dead, Martin. Can you smell them?"
"I can," the preacher admitted, "but you'll need help. That buckshot wound in your shoulder ain't getting better. What if-"
"I appreciate everything you've done for me and Danny, but this is something I have to do alone."
"I'm afraid of what you might find."
"So am I. That's why I need to do this by myself. Okay?"
Martin was reluctant. "Okay. We'll wait here for both of you."
Frankie leaned over the seat and pulled one of the M-16s to the front.
She placed it between her legs and checked the rear-view mirror.
"Coast is clear," she said. "Better get going."
Jim nodded.
Martin sighed. "Good luck, Jim. We'll be right here."
"Thank you. Thank you both."
He took a deep breath, turned away, and crossed the street. His feet felt leaden, his hands numb. Gripping the pistol, he shook it off and clenched his jaw.
"More than infinity, Danny ..."
He broke into a run, his boots pounding on the sidewalk as he sprinted for the house. He turned into the yard, dashed onto the porch and drew the pistol from its holster. Hand trembling, he reached out and tried the doorknob. It was unlocked.
Slowly, Jim turned it. Calling his son's name, he went inside the house.
They waited in the darkness.
Martin hadn't realized he was holding his breath until Jim vanished through the front door.