Jess, come out of there. I know you’re scared and you’re mad, but we have to go. Jess, you have to come out. Please, we don’t have a lot of time, and we really have to go now. Jess, Seriously. Your boyfriend might not be able to get here. I know you love him, or you think you do, but he’s just a kid, Jess. He can’t protect you.
I don’t want to leave you. Your mother is waiting in the car. This is your last chance to come with us. I don’t want to leave you, but I will.
He peered out into the dawn through the cracks between the boards nailed over the ground floor windows. He stood there a long time, silent. When he was sure, he went to wake the others. There were six of them. There had been eight three days ago, and now they were running out of food to boot.
“I think they’re going away. wind must have changed. Gather your stuff. Quietly.” He went back his limited view of the yard, the street.
He had begun to think they would die there, starving to death in a stranger’s house. Now? Maybe not.
I won’t wake them just yet.
I was designed to handle turning the ship and starting the deceleration burn on my own if necessary. I can put it off until the very last minute, by which time I’ll know enough about the target system to know if it’s worth stopping. If not, I can go on to a more promising star. There are plenty of suitable yellow dwarves in front of us, there’s no sense rushing into a decision.
I have a thousand fragile colonists in my hold. As long as they’re in cold sleep, they’re safe. That’s what’s important.
The spinnaker was full, bulging out in front of the Blackwing. The boat sped across the ice, faster than Jink had ever gone in his life. He kept his face pressed to the telescope, which offered at least a little protection from the cold wind.
“There!” he cried, and pointed. It was only a spot on the horizon, hard to see even through the scope.
No one asked if he was sure: Jink had been hired for his excellent eyesight. Blackwing was already tacking, weapons being quickly unpacked. One fully grown White Elephant would feed the village for a month.
All right, listen up. The windows stay up, I don’t care how hot it gets. I won’t run the A/C because it lowers the gas mileage, and we need to make this fuel last. Jean, you’re in charge of rationing out the water. We’ll get more whenever we stop, fresh water shouldn’t be hard to find. Bill, you hold the gun, safety on.
And for Christ’s sake, stop screaming every time I hit a zombie. I’ll try to avoid them but sometimes you just can’t. It’s not a big deal. This is a 1973 Lincoln Continental. It’s a goddamn tank.
He’d carved the wood himself, to match the dimensions of the metal parts he’d been ceremoniously handed. It had taken weeks, it was important for it to be methodical, every inch of it perfect. The metal parts belonged to the village, and they didn’t have the tools to make more. It was a trust, not a gift.
When it was done, he had a working crossbow. He could hunt now, with the others, with his father.
He still wasn’t considered a man, though. He wouldn’t be a man until the first time he put a bolt through a zombie’s skull.
