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Taking a deep breath, he continues. “The problem is my mobility. I know it’s hard to believe, but these old bones just don’t work as good as they used to.”
    That earns a few chuckles, since the strong old bastard still hefts around hundred pound rain collectors when he thinks no one’s looking. The few exceptions being when his rheumatoid arthritis acts up, this is quickly becoming a common occurrence, since drug stores raid are turning up empty results for his old prescription.
    “I don’t want to slow you down and endanger the group as a whole,” Leonard finishes.
    “So, thank you for the offer,” Tommy picks up after Lenny. “But we’re going to stay here and make the best of it.”
    “We respect your choice,” John acknowledges. “Just know that the offer remains open if you happen to change your mind by Thursday.” After Leonard and Tommy’s matching nods of agreement, John calls on our next stray.
    Mike Williams and his wife Whitney, a bi-racial middle-aged couple, were found by John six months ago. They were holding out in a warehouse that John was raiding for supplies. Mike was a high school math teacher, and Whitney headed the maid service company they owned. Now, they help out with Mike doing supply runs, and Whitney handling the distribution of household chores.
    “Whit and I are comfortable here,” Mike states. “We don’t like the idea of starting over again.”
    “We know the area,” Whitney says. “We feel secure with the defense system we have in place and would rather stay.” Agreements are muttered by several other survivors before I hold up my hand to shut them up or it will just escalate again.
    “Those are good points to make,” I begin carefully. “But keep in mind that some of that very security, to which you are referring, will be leaving in two days.”
    “You mean you’d abandon us?” Kelly’s shrill asks.
    She steps out from behind the crowd with a pout, which I know for a fact is practiced, since I caught her doing it to her reflection on multiple occasions. How to describe Kelly? She’s the residential bitch, you know every group has one, and she’s the ultimate cliché to boot. Blonde haired, blue-eyed captain of the senior cheering squad, and don’t you dare forget it or you’ll suffer the wrath of her harping.
    Unfortunately, I must take blame for this wonderful catch. In my defense, her screeching was attracting a crowd of ass munchers, so it was either take her, or die. I chose to live back then, but now I find myself questioning daily as to if there were a third option available. One where Kelly is bound and gagged, before sacrificing her to the wheezers like a roasted ceremonial pig.
    Kelly Randalls has no known survival skills, besides screaming of course, so she’s been with us for miserable five months, and adds no contribution to the group. Well, except for occasionally warming John’s bed. I once asked him how he handles her excessive whining in a shrill voice. In answer, I got his trademark smirk and a, ‘what shrill?’ You don’t need to be have a Ph.D. in sexology to draw conclusions after that.
    “We’re not abandoning anyone,” says John the pacifist.
    “You can stay here,” I point out, which I’m rooting for. “Or, you can tag along.”
    “And are you going, Jared?” Kelly inquires.
    She asked that with her come hither smile aimed at me. In response, I want to steal the words of Sarah, and shout, ‘duh! You stupid bitch,’ since the answer is obvious. I mean, didn’t I just propose the plan to begin with? I don’t dignify her with a response to her stupid question, or the inviting smile, because John and I don’t do sloppy seconds, especially in her case. Instead, I turn my attention away from her, to call on the next pickup.
    Oscar and Carlos Santos, two former Boston P.D. officers and current snipers, step up to state their takes on the situation. Originally from Puerto Rico, the identical twin brothers are in their