Chapter 1

"Matt, what do you want Santa to bring you?" Matt ignored Vanessa's question and fed more twisted strips of paper into the stove he'd made from a couple of number ten cans they'd found in one of the stores. His thirteenth birthday had come and gone, right here in a strip mall surrounded by walking dead people who wanted to eat him. He didn't have any illusions left. Unless they were very, very, lucky they'd all be dead before another month went by.

They only had enough food left for three or four weeks, and once they were down to only the food they could carry, they'd have to make a break for it. He was pretty sure they could get away from the stores, and even little Ryan could outrun the monsters, but they didn't have anywhere to go. That was why he hadn't told the others yet, he had to have a plan first, some hope to offer them before he said anything.

Valerie already knew. She had to know, because she'd helped him inventory everything only a few days ago. She was twelve. He remembered her birthday in the evacuation center outside of St. Louis. His mom and dad were both still alive then, and so was the girls' mom.

His little brother Mark had died in the back of an army truck on the way there. He'd changed into one of those things before they got to Bloomington, and they'd had to throw him out the back, without even a chance to bury him. The girls' story was a lot the same. Their dad had never come home from work, but he'd sent a text message saying he'd been bitten, that was before anyone had realized what being bitten meant.

Valerie's birthday party had been one of the few bright moments in the center. Somehow his mom and hers had gotten together and managed to arrange a little cake, and they'd sung to her and played a few games. Singing happy birthday was the first time Ryan had said anything since they'd picked him up on the way through what was left of Springfield. Bobby had come in later, with one of the last groups to arrive. Like Ryan he didn't have a family anymore, but unlike him, he was willing to talk about them.

Matt shut the door of the stove, and took the lid off the pot. Most of the snow had melted, so he added enough to nearly fill the aluminum camp pot and put the lid back on. A small hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Matt ... What are you going to ask Santa for?"

He turned around, still crouching, letting the warmth from the stove warm his back. They'd covered one of the aisles over with plastic duct taped to the top shelves to make a sort of tent. The middle shelves made part of the barricade up at the front of the dollar store. The bottom shelves and the sides were covered with more plastic for insulation. The stove and candles kept it warmer than the rest of the store, and lots warmer than the subzero temperatures outside, but he was still cold despite the layers of clothes he wore. He looked at the eight year old kneeling beside him. She held a notepad in one sock covered hand and a pen in the other. "What are you talking about Nessa?"