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before I keep going.
    “No, I don’t care that they make him look ‘hot , ’ the only thing that will be hot, are the wheezers that will be hot on our assesif that fucktard trips and knocks something over again.” Sarah’s eyes widen.
    “That’s why they’re all here isn’t it?” Sarah asks and I nod. “Oh Jared, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
    “I know.” And I do, because John and I have tried to shield her from this world as much as possible. “But now you do,” I confirm and she nods. “Alright, so John and I will go scavenging tomorrow, and we leave Thursday at first light.” Sarah and John agree with the plan before we enter the apartment.
    Now we just have to convince a group full of pigheaded strays.
    <~~~<~~~ ~~~>~~~>

Chapter Three:
     
    “What do you mean we’re leaving?”
    That’s a whiny voice from the back. I’m pretty sure the owner of that shrill is Kelly, but who can be positive with a dozen others raising their voices over each other to make their own opinions known? We’ve been at this for over an hour, and I’m seriously considering the option of duct taping their mouths shut and throwing them in the back of a van for transport. Actually, I may do that just to shut them the fuck up right now.
    Before I can make good on my internal threat, Cory steps forward from his spot behind me. He then places two fingers in his mouth, and emits a whistle that is sure to damage a few eardrums with the echo in here; but I don’t give a fuck the potential damage done, since it works. I nod my thanks to him before John, the Professional Placater, graces us with his presence.
    “I know you all want to be heard,” he says. “So, why don’t we all try out this revolutionary concept of a raised hand? Simple really, all have to you do is lift your arm up high in the air and wait to be called on. I heard it worked miracles with the preschool crowd.”
    John shines them a dazzling smile, the same one that he uses to lure women into his bed, to soften the insult. Upon closer examination, you can see that even his facade is cracking. A twitch in John’s cheek is his tell, but it’s masked by the false smile and a small price to pay after an hour of non-stop bickering with no decisions being made.
    “How about a show of hands?” John requests.
    In answer, eleven hands fly up in unison. With John, Cory, Sarah and Danny unified behind my decision to move on, that makes just about two-thirds of the group still opposing the plan. I shrug at John to convey my feelings on the matter; I’m perfectly fine with leaving them behind. The way I see it, moving a group of five will be much easier than sixteen; especially if more than half of them are disgruntled travelers, who will just slow us down with their sulking asses moping along the way. Only problem I see arising would be the division of supplies. Sure, it was mostly a group effort, but this is my house and either John or I went to help with every trip made outside the complex, so I think that we deserve our due.
    John calls on Leonard first, since he and his grandson Tommy are second only to Cory, as the first of the strays. We found them eight months ago, picking through the looted corner store up the street, and they’ve been with us ever since. Leonard Shue is a retired postman and Vietnam veteran. In his seventies, he does most of the cooking for the group. Thomas Shue, a former ironworker, now splits his time between sentry duty and the gathering of supplies. In his a mid-twenties, he looks like a younger version of his grandfather, with their mirrored brown eyes, strong jaws and Roman noses. As far as I’m concerned, they’re two out of the handful in our group that have actually earned the right to voice their opinions.
    “I would just like to thank you first of all for taking us in,” Leonard begins in his age withered baritone. “If you hadn’t opened your home to us and shared your food, Tommy and I would most likely be dead.”