Traveling close to houses, we kept to the shadows, and at one point, stumbled upon an armory of yard tools. I gave up the hockey stick for a wood handled shovel. Allison stuck the flashlight through a belt loop and retrieved hedge clippers. Josh tucked a hand shovel into each pocket, and carried a hoe like he was an Amazon native armed with a spear. Thing resembled a fireman's halligan bar. Dave went all old school with a four-tined pitchfork. There was no denying it, try as I might. It did feel safer with the four of us. Perhaps it was the additional weapons. More than likely, it was the two extra men, and Dave being a brick wall at that. It wasn’t that Allison couldn’t handle herself. She was still alive and had proven to me that she could. She’d destroyed the fat zombie that had attacked her from out of the bathroom. No, this was something different. Maybe it was because these two guys didn’t mean as much to me. Didn’t mean I didn’t care, or wouldn’t have their back.
