I wanted to argue, but the look in her eyes told me it would be a waste of time. Instead, I let out a frustrated sigh, gave her one last squeeze, and got moving.

The engine was small, but loud. I did not dare crank it lest I draw a swarm of infected. It took only a minute or two to row the boat ashore. There were no infected in Phil’s back yard, but I could hear their feet crunching the asphalt in the street beyond. It struck me, then, just how different the world seemed without all the background noise: the ever-present drone of cars on pavement, jetliners roaring overhead, the rattle and whir of air conditioning units, the hum of power lines and streetlights, human voices in the distance, music drifting through open windows—all of it gone, now. Replaced by the wind, the buzzing of insects, the skittering of squirrels on tree bark, birdsong, the rustling of leaves and branches, the crackle of rodents and small lizards fleeing my footsteps in the brush. It was as if God had turned down the volume on mankind and raised it on mother nature. Even the scrub grass under my feet seemed too loud as I walked across it. I found myself holding my breath, straining my ears, and walking on the sides of my feet.

Moving quickly, I traversed the yard and went up the porch steps in two big strides. Knocking would have made too much noise, so I tried the door handle. Not surprisingly, it was locked.

Now what?

Glancing around, I saw a couple of windows on the ground floor. I walked to the closest one and peered through the glass at the little bronze clasp. It was unlatched. Using the crowbar, I wedged the flat end under the sill and levered upward.

After pushing the window up and slowly releasing it to make sure it wouldn’t come crashing down, I peeked inside. A living room lay in front of me, complete with sofas, bookshelves, entertainment center, and a gigantic flat-screen TV. The bottom of the window was only waist high, allowing me to place the crowbar on the carpeted floor and step inside. Once through, I slowly eased the window shut.

Now the problem was finding Phil and not eating a bullet for intruding. Shouting for him would have been the easy thing to do, but also stupid. Announcing my presence to a swarm of hungry ghouls would not do either one of us a bit of good. So I did what I always do: I fell back on my training.

Room by room, I swept the house, starting with the ground floor. At each doorway, I gave a little tap of the knuckles and whispered, “Phil, it’s me, Caleb. Are you in there? I’m going to open the door. If you’re armed, don’t shoot.”

The living room, kitchen, garage, and downstairs bathroom were all empty. Ditto for the three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs. After clearing the laundry room, I stood in the doorway, shoulders slumped, perplexed.

“Did he take off already?” I muttered aloud.

Back in the hallway, I looked left, then right, wondering where he might have gone. Finally, I looked up and realized there was one place I had not yet looked.

A quick tug on the string popped the trap door to the attic. I grabbed the stairs and eased them to the floor as quietly as I could. “Phil?” I said, voice pitched just above a whisper. “You up there?”

No answer.

I set the crowbar down, drew my pistol, and eased my way up the steps. Under other circumstances, I would have led with the gun. But in this case, I had come to help Phil, not shoot him. So I kept the Beretta down by my hip. It seemed like such a small decision when I made it, but like many small decisions I’ve made since the Outbreak, it saved my life.

When I was halfway up the steps, Phil stood up from behind a stack of cardboard boxes and raised his right hand in my direction. In his grip was a large, nickel-plated revolver.

“Stop right there,” he said.

I froze. “What are you doing, Phil?”

“I could ask you the same question.” His graying hair stood around his head in a frazzled halo, framing his bald pate. His clothes were stained and rumpled, looking as though he had been wearing them for several days. He hadn’t shaved in a while, and I was guessing he probably hadn’t bathed either. “I’m afraid you caught me at a bad time.” He gestured behind me with his gun.

I turned and looked over my shoulder. The space behind me was empty of boxes, the floor covered in blue tarps tacked down with roofing nails. At the far end, a very attractive, very naked woman was bent over a metal desk, arms and legs bound with duct tape and chained to eyebolts driven into the wall. For a moment, I thought she was alive. But then I noticed the mottled gray skin and the missing gouge of flesh on her left calf muscle. She bucked and thrashed, and made inarticulate growling noises through a ball gag. Around her feet lay several used condoms and empty foil packets.

Slowly, as if my head were on a rusty hinge, I turned back to Phil. “Listen, man. What you do in your spare time is none of my business, all right?”

He shook his head, a smile beginning to stretch his mouth. “You shouldn’t have come here. I’m afraid I can’t let you leave, now.”

My mind raced. It occurred to me Phil couldn’t see my hands. If he could, he probably would have pulled the trigger already. Which meant I had one chance, but I would have to be quick.

“Phil, I don’t care what you’re doing here. No one does. Maybe you didn’t notice, but it’s pretty much the wild west out there. There’s no reason not to let me just walk away.”

“I’m curious,” he said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “What brought you here?”

“There’s a giant horde of infected coming this way. Soldiers too. The Army set up a perimeter around the north side of San Antonio, but they were overrun. My father and some of the others saw it; the troops there are in full retreat. Some of them deserted. If they come this way looking for food, I doubt they’ll take no for an answer.”

“So you came here to warn me?”

I nodded.

“Very kind of you. Now I need you to go ahead and step on up onto those tarps over there.”

“No.”

The smile faltered. “I don’t think you understand, kid. I’m not asking you. If you’re not on that tarp in the next three seconds, I’m going to-”

“You pull that trigger,” I interrupted, “and you’ll bring every infected in a mile radius down on this place.”

Phil shrugged. “I have enough food to last for months.” He nudged a box with one of his feet. “Water too. All I have to do is pull up the ladder. Besides, I have all the entertainment I need. Now move.” He waved at the tarps with the pistol, a stupid thing to do when pointing a gun at someone. There’s your chance, Caleb.

“My family will come looking for me,” I said. “Two former Green Berets, a Navy SEAL, and a Marine. They’ll kill you, Phil.”

Another shrug. “I think you’re full of shit, kid. But even if you’re right, let them try. I’ll blow a hole in ‘em and feed ‘em to the dead.”

If you only knew. I looked behind me at the reanimated corpse and faked a defeated sigh. “Fuck it. Nothing much left to live for anyway.” I looked back at Phil and said, “Listen, man, before you do it, would you mind if I … you know? Just one last time?” I hooked a thumb over my shoulder at the dead woman.

The smile on Phil’s face took on a ghastly light. “I don’t see why not.”

I felt a familiar coldness start in my chest and spread to my hands and face.

“You’re a good looking kid.”

My eyes locked to the gun, the breath slowly leaving my lungs.

“I like women, mostly, but I have a thing for fit young men too.”

I kept my hand loose on the Beretta, finger looped over the trigger, arm relaxed.

“You look like you’re in good shape. Bet you have a great ass, nice and firm.”

He took a couple of steps forward. I watched and waited.

“Maybe I’ll rub one out while you fuck her. Go on, give her a go.”