“When are ya gonna switch to a lower caliber?” Charlotte eyes up and down the barrel of my rifle, the glint of metal only slightly darker than her eyes. Her brown hair is supposed to be in a bun, but hangs in loose curls with her usual tiny, unkempt mound up top. As usual. “It’s a lot quieter. Would attract less zombies during a job.”

  “Yeah, but the power’s not great; it takes more bullets to blow the lurcher’s head.” I sit next to her at the peeling, folded table, pulling the bore snake through my AR’s barrel.

  “Why on earth do you call them that?”

  “You know.” I put the brush and oil down, theatrically moaning and staggering away from the table.

  “Not if they lose their legs.”

  “Those are crawlers,” I reply quickly.

  She rolls her big brown eyes and gets up. “Did they fix the hole this time?”

  “Yep.” I sit back down and reassemble the AR. It snaps together as I continue, “I stayed and watched them do it while my boombox was charging.”

  “Bad plan…” She draws out the last word, her southern drawl making a neat lasso of it. “You’re losing your best income.”

  “They have guests coming in and out on a weekly basis. Someone’s bound to leave a door open.” I stand and stretch before digging in the kitchen cupboards. The small galley kitchen fills fast with tiny clinks as I unstack and restack our mismatched selection of cups, climbing up on the counter to forage. “Besides, Rufus won’t do well with the constant disruption.”

  “Since when is their son your concern?” Charlotte snorts behind me. I hear the faint flick of a match seconds before the tobacco smoke glides to me. “Whatcha lookin’ for?”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Tea. Where’s that chai you mixed up last summer?” Our cupboards are a wreck, and she’s only been back for three days.

  You know how it is; only the richest families have complete sets. But ours are constantly tilting and leaning over one another, placed haphazardly whenever she wipes them down. I wouldn’t mind her lack of organization if she didn’t also insist on keeping all the tea behind the wreckage.

  She lets out a long breath with a slow trickle of pale blue smoke. “Ya want the cinnamon blend or the vanilla?”

  I stop to consider, teetering my head back and forth. “Vanilla.”

  Then we could skip the honey, save more for winter in case of a wound.

  “Then you’re in the wrong cupboard, sugar.” She takes the cigarette from her lip and points with the glowing cherry end. “Two to the right.”

  “Why’d you move them?” I scoot on the counter and start the process again.

  “Found a wasp nest when I got back. I wanted to make sure there weren’t any more.”

  We both flinch after I drop a bowl, letting out a sharp noise of protest.

  “You break our plates, and I’ll be more pissed than a wasp in an old Coke can.”

  “What’s Coke?” I finally seize the storage tin from the back of the cupboard, popping the lid and giving the mix an appreciative whiff.

  “Dunno, I heard something like it on a new CD I got at the last Heritage Fair. Two girls bitching about their dates refusing to fish. They kept usin’ the line, and I like it.”

  I snort and hop down. “Sounds right.”

  Charlotte makes her way to the stove, using the end of her cigarette to light our little propane heater. “Any interesting zombies this last job?”

  “A couple. One missing his dick but didn’t have any other bite wounds.”

  She whistles, filling the copper kettle from a big jug of rainwater. “That’s one hell of a way to go.”

  “Yup. There was also a kid in some oversized footie pajamas.” I regret the words the minute they leave my mouth

  She stops, holding the jug up and staring ahead with a couple long, deep breaths. “I hate it when they’re kids.”

  There’s nothing I can do; I’ve spoiled our moment. So I just tuck a loose curl behind her ear. “I know.”

  She sighs, caps the jug, and gives me a level look. “You wanna smoke a joint while the tea brews?”