Chapter 41

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We've had plenty of luck finding cleared streets, but now we ran into an almost jam-packed block, leading all the way directly toward the marina. It would be impossible to squeeze the bus through. The HARGROVE MARINA CLUB sign hung on the steel-arched entrance, and beyond it, the glass-domed roof of the yacht club itself.

That must be it, I thought. Our chance of escape was so close to our reach. But life's a major ass, and it still refused to hand out easy passes for anyone, no matter how you tried to be a good person.

Fortunately, the street looked empty of vectors. They could be hiding in the vicinity, but with no way of going back and 11th avenue filled with vehicles, we'd still end up having to cross the same road, and we'd even get stuck on the next block and the next.

"I guess we walk? It's only two blocks," I said.

"Right. That's what you always say. Then, the screaming starts, and the fighting..."

"Yeah, yeah. Listen up, everyone. Pack up your bags. We're almost there."

Some hushed cheers were engulfing the interior, and I let them. I was happy and excited, too, but coupled with my nervousness, it made me look constipated.

"We're going home, Ma cherie," said Felipe to Margot, and a wash of relief crossed her face.

"Good. I want to hug mama," she said.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aria pulled out her smartphone from her pocket, checking the screen and turning it off again, waiting just so that she could call her parents the moment they reached a signal outside the quarantine zone. Luke and Yousef patted themselves on the back, with the latter almost close to tears. Logan remained glum.

I each gave Logan, Luke, and Miguel their spare ammunition just if they would run out and saw them placed it inside their pockets. The rest hauled the other bags and boxes out, with Felipe and Yousef having to carry the heavier crates filled with canned goods. Margot armed herself with Luke's makeshift spear, and Aria had Miguel's silver candlestick, and I also stuck her with babysitting duty of little Henry.

"Do I get a weapon?" Henry asked me.

"You want one?"

"Why not? I have to protect myself, right?"

I chuckled and took a knee in front of him. "What do you want?"

He pointed at my shotgun. "Well, can I have that?"

"Do you know how to use it?"

"No..."

'Then, would it be better if I have it?"

The boy nodded. "Coz' you know how to use it more."

I must admit I was a bit hesitant about giving a child a weapon, but he did say something right. He needed to protect himself. What if something terrible happened and he was left defenseless, and I or someone else are too far away? I couldn't allow that to stay on my conscience. I unclasped the sheath of my knife and handed it to him.

"This is not a toy," I said. "Only use it for an emergency. If you have to."

Henry smiled. "It's kinda too big for me."

I helped him secure the knife's sheath on the belt loop of his pants. I ruffled his full head of curly brown hair, said, "You'll grow into it."

He grasped the hilt of the blade as if he was petting a growling dog, grazing his fingers through its black leather, but he didn't pull it out of the holder. He gave me a stern nod, realized he was copying me.

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