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Harry Kimura sat in the lounge chair for several hours, his attention focused on one of his mother’s magnum opuses. The plot and characters of Even Angels Cry was keeping the young man hooked. He felt bad that he had never given it a read before as it was truly something special. Just like his mother was. Emotion flared up in Harry’s heart but he quickly stuffed it down. Now was not the time to get all riled up. Instead his gaze stay affixed to the pages in front of him.

Harry barely noticed as his brother went from the kitchen to his bedroom. Right now all that mattered was finishing reading the book. It took about another hour for Harry to reach the conclusion, but when he did it was very satisfying. Again he couldn’t believe that he had never read it before. He was ashamed to know that he used to actively avoid anything to do with his parents.

Closing the hardcover, Harry took it back upstairs to the room that used to be his parents’ study. It was in this half-library, half-office that Eric Kimura and Jacqueline Nord had wrote many of their novels and short stories. It was a room that Harry had tried to stay out of as a child, as it seemed foreboding to the youth. But now just nostalgia flowed through Harry as he placed Even Angels Cry back on the bookshelf. A great feeling of loss washed over Harry as he remembered his parents.

Once more, Harry pushed away his feelings. He never liked talking about them, and sometimes wished they would just go away. Wanting his brain to focus on something else, Harry decided to grab some old paper maps his father had in his desk drawer. Harry’s father Eric had always had a thing for outdated formats, collecting things like 8 track or in this case, actual maps.

While they were OK for right now, Harry knew that the supplies here on Mulberry Street would run thin soon. So it would be a necessity to go out and scavenge, probably heading to the various communities that surrounded Huddeen, hence the maps. Harry could admit that he wasn’t well versed on the nearby towns, so he had been using the maps to try and plot out supply runs. Of course the people who seemed in charge here on Mulberry had yet to approve such a task.

Since the barricade was put up, Harry had been butting heads with the older folk, the true residents of Huddeen as they liked to style themselves. Perhaps this gathering of the younger residents that was coming up could swing the balance of who was in charge. With that thought, Harry set a timer on his phone for quarter to two.

Harry would then spend a lot more time going over the maps, making notes in a journal, as he hated typing long messages on his phone. Before he knew it, Harry’s phone chimed. He then quickly put away his maps before heading downstairs. He wondered if Kit had already left, but that was quickly answered when Kit emerged from his bedroom.

“I was wondering if I had to get you,” said Harry as he put on his shoes, “We’re cutting it kind of close.”

“Yeah, well I needed some me time,” responded Kit as he grabbed a bag from the kitchen, “But yeah, we should get going.”

Harry then left the Kimura house, Kit right behind him. The brothers then headed down Mulberry Street, taking the few minute walk it took to the gazebo in question. Harry noticed that they weren’t the first to arrive, so he tried to slink into the background. Truthfully, Harry had always felt out of place with the youths of his neighborhood, never really fitting in. It didn’t help that he had a reputation for thinking himself better than the town of Huddeen.

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Kit Kimura quickly devoured his bowl of instant oatmeal, not caring that it was the cheaper brand. He then washed his bowl in the sink, still glad that the water was running, before returning to his cupboard. While he had promised Holly some food, Kit did note that they had little in the ways of extra food. The Kimura kitchen was slowly running low on a lot of staples, something Kit saw Harry acknowledge with his limiting of meals. Although he didn’t want to admit it, Kit could see that in maybe a week and a half he too could be asking for donations from the other people of Mulberry Street.

Still, Kit felt that he had to help, as it felt like the right thing to do. So he pulled out a reusable grocery bag and began filling it with the canned goods he had mentioned to Holly. A few cans of beans, some soup mix, and a can of evaporated milk made up Kit’s selection of goods. He considered heading over to the Holloway residence now, but decided he didn’t want to leave the house. Something about this particular day was really triggering Kit, his anxiety running rampant. He needed time to chill out.

After brushing his teeth, Kit headed back to his bedroom, collapsing down onto his bed. His body was still cold from the freezing shower, so he pulled his sheets over his body. He remained there for several minutes, unmoving, staring at the ceiling. Eventually his brain told Kit to get up, as it didn’t like his inactivity. Rising off the bed and heading over to his mirror and dresser, Kit’s eyes made contact with the photos attached to the mirror. They were Polaroid photos of his friends from high school, as Polaroid was retro which made it cool.

The photos were of a wide variety of students from Huddeen High School, representing many different cliques. That spoke to Kit’s ability to get along with anyone, as he had a huge friend base in town. But those positive memories of the past were overtaken by thoughts of today. Most of the people in the photos were probably dead. As they didn’t live on Mulberry Street, Kit had no way of knowing if they got to safety. They had shored up his street very early into the zombie crisis, unsure if anywhere else in town had managed to survive.

Needing to focus on something else, Kit grabbed the Nintendo Switch that was sitting on top of his dresser. While Kit was usually an avid gamer, he hadn’t felt like playing much since the whole end of the world thing. As a joke he considered playing a zombie killer game, but decided against it as he wanted an escape from real life, which now included zombies.

Going back to his bed, Kit decided to play through Zelda for the umpteenth time. Many hours were quickly sunk into the fantastic adventure, before Kit checked the time on his phone. It was ten minutes to two. Quickly saving, Kit turned off and then put away his Switch. Exiting his room, Kit saw his brother standing by the front door, putting on his shoes.

“I was wondering if I had to get you,” said Harry, “We’re cutting it kind of close.”

“Yeah, well I needed some me time,” responded Kit, “But yeah, we should get going.”

Kit then grabbed the bag of food for Holly, before throwing on some running shoes, Kit and his brother then departing their family home. Walking down the street, they reached the Merriweather gazebo in only a few minutes. A few of the other youths of Mulberry Street had already arrived, gathered around the gazebo. Kit walked over to the gathering but didn’t say anything. He wasn’t in the mood to talk as he was having an off day.

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The pitchfork had lasted about twenty seconds and as many yards. Lila had nearly tripped Jason and skewered Winnie, who still thought it was okay to walk right in front of people and just randomly stop moving. It was now in the eleven-year-old's hands, God help them all. Canvas bag full of pasta on her lap, Lila pushed her way across the grass, wheels threatening to sink into ground still spongy from a recent Spring rain.

"Shit, they all came," murmured Jason, and Lila, straining to keep up, pushed a bit harder, popping a hint of a wheelie to keep her front castors out of the mud. "You say it like it's a bad thing," she grunted in reply, but she could tell that he was nervous. He'd started something and now wasn't sure if he was the man for the job. "The fact that they're here means they feel the same way, or at least close," she tried. He was putting on airs of confidence with his swords and his 'tough guy' walk, but he didn't know what to do with his hands and that told her what she needed to know about her little brother's emotional state. "Yeah," he agreed belatedly. "I guess they wouldn't be here otherwise, right?"

"Right," Lila replied, straining against a tuft in the lawn.

"Right!" echoed Winnie, taking a momentary break from swinging her arms loosely from side to side and twisting to look at her older siblings.

The gazebo was just ahead and the grass was treacherous. There was a wood chip pathway nearby and it was, if possible, even worse... for reasons beyond the readily apparent as well. Bless their little hearts, they wonder why I left. In grade eight, when they'd had a petition assignment, Lila had written up a particularly eloquent one to the local council, researching online, finding links and recommendations, and double-checking her formatting with her mom's secretary in the hope that they would install a ramp and an accessible path to the Mulberry Park gazebo. The news station over in Rochester had even run a little feature when her petition had been selected. Then, after a couple of locals had complained that the ramp 'disturbed the historical character' of the gazebo, it had been torn down and rebuilt on the 'less attractive' far side, doubling the cost and not leaving enough funds for the paved path. She'd gotten 'levelling' and wood chips instead and, when the cameras had circled back for the conclusion of their feel-good story, it had ended up being one of the many, 'it's the thought that counts' moments in Lila's life, except, well... it hadn't. Good intentions don't magically make inaccessible things accessible. She'd made the mistake of smiling through the fiasco and playing along because she'd been a needy fourteen-year-old under social pressure, afraid of being left out or seen as ungrateful or not worth the trouble.

The nearer that she drew, arms and shoulders straining, the more that her mood began to sour. If the... zombies - the word was still surreal to say or even think in a serious context - showed up, she would be dead, full stop, all because some pointedly anonymous HOA-esque asshole almost a decade ago had been so certain that their right to a 'historic' vista outweighed hers to not have to be dependent on her fast-evaporating friends. For an extended moment, she glared at the path: utterly useless in its intended purpose. Then, Jason twisted. "If it's any consolation," he joked, "Fucker's probably zombie chow."

"Or a zombie," Lila snorted, shaking her head. "Now get outta my brain or at least pay me rent!"

He grinned.

"If I kill one, Jason, this whole fucking time, let it serendipitously be that piece of shit." She rolled her eyes and smirked. "Then my life will be complete." Jason slowed up until he was beside her. "Shake on it." He held out his hand and she took it. "Shake on it!" agreed Winnie, skipping up on her other side. Lila reached out with both hands and simultaneously shook, but her siblings didn't let go. "Now that we have her..." her brother teased, "I say we fling the cripple."

"Jason, I swear, if you do it -"

"The only question is 'how far'?" chirped her sister, malevolently Cheshire.

"Okay, seriously, the ground is muddy. I'll literally just faceplant!" Meanwhile, they were pulling her along, all three of them holding hands, until she reached the small paved area around the antique gazebo. Others stood around as they released her, some conversing, waiting for them or for some poorly-defined starting point. "Next time," Jason warned, as Lila let out a small, appreciative _{"thank you"}.

"She gonna fffflllllyyyy!" teased Winnie, twirling away, "But I get a ride, okay? That's what you owe me." She half-pivoted and struck a pose, as if she were about to stick her tongue out, before thinking better of it in front of the teens and twenties. Lila stuck her tongue out instead, giving Winnie social permission to respond in kind. "But then how am I gonna fly without a push from your big strong arms, Win-win?" Winnie bunched up her face, let out a little "Hmph!" and turned on her heel, bounding up the wooden steps with a series of loud thumps and leaning against a pillar. She faced her elders from a safe corner, eyes darting warily between them, trying not to be too intimidated.

"Up or down?" Jason asked, and Lila didn't want to be any more trouble. She crafted a smile and shook her head. "I'm fine here." She held up her fists and winked. "Besides, you need a perimeter guard who actually watches your six." Jason snorted. "Then she should have a weapon." He pulled his wakizashi from his belt, sheath and all, and handed it to her. Growing up around him and not knowing what the midsized sword that a Sengoku or Edo period samurai would carry was simply an impossibility, as was not looking like a complete dork in the current context. Somewhere between grateful and cringing, she thanked him and placed the sword across her lap as he swept some hair from his face and thumped up after Winnie. Lila rolled over to the foot of the steps so she could crane her neck and at least kind of participate. She already had her suspicions about how this was going to go, but she'd also given herself a job. She could only hope it wouldn't be required.

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Jason wasn't smart. A comparative dearth of smiley faces on his tests and homework growing up had taught him that. Disapproving looks from adults, 'evaluations' for learning disabilities, and the sneering disdain of self-appointed smart people like Lee had taught him that.

Thing was... he wasn't dumb either, and he knew it. Maybe he wasn't book smart - all the books they'd read in school were for girls anyway - but he doubted anyone else here had his sense of spatial awareness or his intuitive understanding of angles, positioning, force, and motion. Maybe he didn't know all of the formulas, but he could tell where a ball was going to go as soon as it left someone's hands. He could guess, with near-certainty, whether he'd be able to make it somehwere before being caught.

The other part of that was knowing people, and reading them. He hadn't been good at that as a kid, but he'd worked at it, and his carefully-honed skills in that regard now told him that he'd messed up. He hadn't even wanted to be some kind of leader - merely get the ball rolling because it had been a couple of weeks and this was the new normal and nobody else had - yet now he was supposed to stand in front of a bunch of people - him: the class clown, the not-jock, the weeb - and deliver some kind of speech?

Jason sucked at speeches.

He gripped the hilt of his katana with one hand, finding sensory solace in its intricate surface. Bless Lila; she'd taken his mind off of the anxiety before, but now she was down there and he was up here and there were so many eyes and expressions and...

Fuck it. YEET.

"So, uhh, I'd like to thank you all for coming here, but, uh, first, I'd like to take a moment to recognize our security team for this event." He gestured in Lila's direction. "And our caterers." He took in those who had brought food for Holly and cleared his throat. "Finally, of course, how could we forget..." It was the quickest pause but it was a pause and he regretted it. Fuck! What were your names again? "Carson and, umm, Alena - for booking this venue ahead of time for us. We all know what a hot property it can be."

Jason grinned, impish and nervous in equal measures, and spread his hands. "So, listen, guys: I have some ideas, but I have no clue how to like... be a boss or whatever." He let out a snort. "I just saw that nothing was actually getting done and people were starting to run out of stuff, and the power's probably gonna go out soon, so I was juss like, 'we should probably all get together and figure shit out,' you know?" The middle Sparling glanced about, spurring himself to continue. "And I know the old people will probably find out, but I wanted it to be just us first so we actually get to talk without, I dunno, just being told what to do like we always are." He shrugged and walked over, leaning against one of the picnic tables under the shelter and crossing his arms. "That's the idea anyway. If anyone has a plan, I'm all ears." He paused and furrowed his brow. "Oh wait, and yeah, we should probably have like... a speaker's stick or like, you know, the conch from that book, like they had. Uhmm..." he trailed off.

"Lord of the Flies!" interjected Winnie, finding her voice.

"Yeah, that!" He'd ceded the floor. Now it was time to listen instead of speak... unless someone pissed him off. Someone would probably piss him off, or say something really dumb. Probably.

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"Incoming." Carson perked up and grabbed his MacGyver hammer.
"Undead?" Alena readied her crossbow, still watching her direction.
"Alive." Carson breathed a sigh of relief after observing their gait and clothing for a moment and both relaxed again. No zombie was that clean and put together after two weeks outside.
"Hello." Carson greeted the new arrivals, setting his weapon down again and turning to the one he recognized the best. "Harper, was it? From the Greenhouse?"

'From the greenhouse' was about as far as Alena got, struggling in vain to recall what her name tag said, only managing to recall the look the other woman gave her the first time Alena ate at the restaurant and forgot tipping was expected in the United States. The other people were simply not connecting at all. "Nazdar." She greeted them cheerfully with a wave. The organizer left her with… mixed feelings. Usually if people didn’t let someone of his age take part in discussions, they had a very good reason. Not to mention the Gazebo wasn’t a particularly sheltered location, half the street could make out the gathering from their windows. She couldn’t help but bow theatrically when they were thanked for “booking the venue”.
While she didn’t have a “plan” so to speak, she took it as opening the floor to suggestions out of which a plan could be cooked up. ”We could start by figuring out who can do what and what secondary specialization you’d like to pick up.” Alena spoke up when it looked like no one else would, ignoring the mention of a talking stick and trusting people to be able to communicate without holding something, ”So that the person who’s, for example, a good cook also learns a little bit about farming. I’d hate to wake up one day to find the only person here who knows how to grow vegetables fell down the stairs and broke their neck.
As for food, I did intend to go hunting, but some jackass found their driver’s license in a box of frosted flakes, so that’s on hold until The Neighbors calm down a bit.” A bit insensitive perhaps, she thought, checking for any negative reactions as she remembered too late that she was in the presence of people for whom the death lurking just beyond the street were their actual neighbors, ”I’ve got a backup plan for tonight in motion, but I’ll consider a meal for three to be great success.”

Biting his tongue as the “Shut up, I have the talking stick” meme wormed its way into his mind, Carson waited his turn before leaning forward in his chair to talk. ”We could regroup in only a few houses as opposed to being stretched out throughout the entire length of the street. Your message mentioned a fence, that would be easier and less resource intensive if we only had to fence in three or four houses.” He offered his two cents, ”We’d also only have to maintain a few houses as opposed to the whole street, could cannibalize the vacant ones for materials and furniture, we’d burn less wood to heat them when it gets colder and more people in a house means easier watchkeeping.”
”Not too consolidated though. Cabin fever for one, and let’s not lose all of our food just because one house burned down.” Alena cautioned, otherwise nodding along to his suggestion.
”You said you had some ideas yourself?” Carson turned to Jason, extending the arm that held his hammer into the middle of the group to offer it up as the Talking Stick.