Peter looked at the egg. It was off-white and instead of speckles like most eggs, it had swirls, swirls of red, and it reminded him of a tie-dyed t-shirt, but not as gaudy. It might have been the same size as his head and it probably weighed the same amount.

He looked back at the old man. He didn't really look like a wizard, except for the bushy eyebrows and beard, but what would one expect in a neighborhood outside New York City. Grey robes and a big tall hat? Well, maybe. There are a lot of strange people in New York.

"Why are you giving this to me?" Peter asked.

"It's a gift," said the old man.

"But I have no idea who you are? Why would you give me a dragon's egg?"

"Because you wanted one." The old man's eyebrows squished low and obscured his eyes as he assumed a look of puzzlement. Peter could almost read his thoughts, "What a silly question."

It was true. Peter did want a dragon, but how could this old man possibly know? He continued to look at the old man and couldn't help but wonder, did he meet him before? He had no recollection.

"How big will it be?" Peter asked.

"Well, it's not going to get that big. It'll fit in your mother's apartment without a problem, but you'll have to keep it a secret obviously." The old man stood up straight. "Dragon's prefer to keep to themselves, and they're pretty lithe. It'll have no problem moving around the apartment without making a mess and getting in the way. It'll be pretty self-sufficient."

Peter had so many questions he still wanted to ask. "How long until it hatches?"

"Oh, it's fresh. It's only about a day old, so you'll have to be patient. I'd say a full six weeks."

"Six weeks?" Peter looked back at the egg. How was he going to keep it hidden from his mother for six weeks? What would he say when she asked him where he got it. How could he tell her it's a dragon's egg? She'd think he's crazy. "You've been reading too many of those magic books," she'll say again. "Besides, you can't remember to feed the dog, what makes you think you'll remember to feed a dragon?"

The old man turned and started to walk away.

"Wait a minute," Peter said hurriedly. "Where are you going?"

"Well," the old man said without completely turning around. "I have business I need to take care of, and it's none of yours."

"But, why don't you want the egg?"

"Me? I have no use for a dragon." He started to walk away again.

Peter's mind raced. "Do I?" he thought. "Have a use? Will I remember to feed it? What do I feed it? Do I have to feed it? The old man said it would be self-sufficient." He continued to watch the old man walk away as the questions kept rolling through his mind, and he struggle to figure out which one was the most important to actually open his mouth to ask. No question emerged as the old man disappeared around the corner.

Peter looked back at the egg he held between both hands as the questions swirled through his mind, and then back along the empty street.

Suddenly he wished he had something to put it in. He would have to carry it as is all the way home, and everyone he came across would see it and wonder about the egg. Anyone he knew might stop and ask him questions. What would he say? He couldn't tell anyone it was a dragon egg. They'd think he was crazy. Was this real?

He started to walk. What would he tell people? How could he tell people he got it from a wizard in an alley. Maybe he was crazy. Although he did have the egg. "Six weeks," he thought. "Then I'll know."

Peter had only gone about five steps when he tripped over a crack in the cement, fell forward, and landed on his hands and knees. He was staring at the bright yellow yolk slowing leaking out of the broken shell. He was in shock. He would never know the answer to the question, "Was it real?"

The arsenal was a joke. Well, at least it was when I inherited it, but it’s not a joke anymore. I guess it’s not a true arsenal, but it works on the zombies. I never thought of my Dad’s collection of John Wayne pistols and rifles as viable self-defense weapons, but a single Colt 45 or .357 Magnum round works wonders on a slow-moving monster from Hell.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen the movies. And even though I also inherited a couple thousand rounds of ammunition, it won’t be enough to quell the never-ending horde that is sure to come. They may continue in groups of four and five as they have been since they first appeared this afternoon, but I think it’s only a matter of time before larger groups start to show up. Even so, if the whole world becomes infected, if an infection is what it is, my couple thousand rounds will be several million short.

And there’s another problem. It’s getting dark, and the power’s been out for a couple hours now. I don’t think it’s coming back on. Ever. They don’t seem that bright, but the power, it seems should have run for a while anyway. I wonder if they shut it off knowing it would be harder to shoot them when they can’t be seen at night.

I should probably move, but there’s still too much ammo to carry. I hate to waste it, but it’s just too heavy. I tried to barricade all the doors and windows, except one. It seems to keep them coming from one direction, like they know they don’t have to break in. They seem to be smart enough to know it’s the only way in, but dumb enough that they can’t figure out it makes them easier targets. Anyway, if I’m still alive when the ammo gets to a level where I can carry it, I’m going to move on and see if there’s anyplace safe out there.

I think there’s more coming. I’ll keep writing this story in case anyone finds me and wonders what the hell happened, but I have a feeling no one will read it. Ever. I’ve seen the movies.

Someone’s always telling me about the things that will kill me.

Eating too much will kill me

     So can not eating enough

Eating eggs will kill me

     So will whole milk, heavy cream, and cheese

Eating the little blackened bits from the grill will kill me

     But they’re oh, so tasty!

Too much salt will kill me

     So, too, will too little

Sugar and caramel coloring will kill me

     And Oreos are crack!

Too much fat and red meat will kill me

     Don’t eat this, but that

Driving a car will kill me

     Even from the back seat

Flying in an airplane will kill me

     And only the black box will know why

Driving a motorcycle will kill me

     Look twice! Save a Life!

Riding a bike without a helmet will kill me

     No one survives childhood without one!

Skydiving, rock climbing, and bungie jumping will kill me

     Geronimo?

Swimming will kill me.

     Rip tides, killer waves, and Jaws!

The flu will kill me

     Despite the nagging: get yer shot!

Disease will kill me

     Is it genetic or contagious?

Taking drugs to better my life will kill me

     Side effects: unexplained muscle pain, tenderness, or weakness; confusion, memory          problems; fever, unusual tiredness, and dark colored urine; swelling, weight

     gain, urinating less than usual or not at all; increased thirst, increased urination,

     hunger, dry mouth, fruity breath odor, drowsiness, dry skin, blurred vision, weight

     loss; or nausea, upper stomach pain, itching, loss of appetite, dark urine,

     clay-colored stools, jaundice (yellowing of the skin or eyes); abnormal ejaculation,            impotence, decreased sex drive, difficulty having an orgasm; suicidal tendencies,

     death

Going to the hospital will kill me

     Medical professionals are not perfect!

Vaccines will not!

Alcohol will kill me

     Oh, the trouble I could get into, if I only drank more than two

Smoking will kill me

     Oh, the trouble I could get into, if i only inhale

Breathing second hand smoke will kill me

     Well, if you believe that, I’ve got a climate change story to sell you

Bugs, bees, and spiders will kill me

     As well as snakes and colorful frogs

Bad chicken will kill me

     So will bad vegetarian

Coyotes and moose will kill me

     And lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my

Carbon monoxide will kill me

     So can the mold under the stairs

Earthquakes, lightning, and tornadoes will kill me

     Proving Mother Nature’s a bitch

Thugs, convicts, and parolees will kill me

     As well as home-grown or foreign terrorists

Working at a gas station or party store will kill me

     Or simply walking the downtown street

My family and friends will kill me

     And so will my neighbor

And if all else fails, one of these days, old age will kill me.

“What the hell is that smell?”

The thought had barely registered when the whole thing came rushing back. The storm. The waves. The wind.

Brad opened his eyes and rolled over to see the rolling waves with the sun-baked seaweed reeking on the beach. He ran his fingers quickly through his sun-bleached hair as he looked back and forth down the beach. The only thing in either direction was the Minnow, fully beached, and rotting seaweed.

His head hurt.

Every muscle in his body ached as he climbed to his feet and half-trotted down to the boat. The port side of the hull was essentially gone. From the debris that hadn’t been washed away by the surf, it looked as if it had been scraped off as the boat was dragged up the beach. How did it get so far up the beach?

And where were the girls? He felt bad that he hadn’t thought of them first. He quickly looked down the beach again for signs of the four women he had taken on the tour, and now that he was on the other side of the boat, he saw a human shape further down.

He ran as quickly as he could, head pounding with each step, to where she lay.

She was on her hands and knees by the time he arrived and dropped to his knees next to her. “Thank God, you’re alive. Are you okay, Janet?”

He wanted to help, but she shrugged him off when he touched her shoulder, so he just watched, helpless, as she tried to compose herself, breathing heavy. Her wavy brown hair was caked with sand, and obscured her face. The ends disappeared into the wet sandy beach. It made him conscious of the sand he was still covered in, and it began to itch in the sun. He trembled, despite the heat from the sun.

After a minute she rolled over, sat down, and looked around. Brad hadn’t noticed her eyes yesterday. Was it yesterday? Earlier today? Now they darted around, big, brown, wide, while her eyebrows tried to push them closed to protect them from the sun. “Where are we?”

Brad looked around again. There were no houses or buildings on the beach, and there were no people. “I don’t know. But help shouldn’t be too far. I think it’ll be faster to walk down the beach for help instead of going through the trees though.”

“Where are the others?” Janet was staring at the beached Minnow.

Brad didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know,” he said quietly.

Janet was staring at him now. “What do you mean you don’t know? You’re the captain, aren’t you?”

It felt like an eternity before he was finally able to answer feebly, “We made it to the beach, maybe they did too.” He looked down the beach again. “We need to start walking. Find help. Maybe find the others.”

Brad held out his hand to help her up, but she ignored it.

“Oh my God,” she half grunted as she reluctantly stood. “My whole body hurts. My head hurts. My chest hurts.”

“Me, too. We were probably swimming for hours. Who knows how much water we swallowed. It’s weird that I can’t remember much. Do you want to wait here? I can’t imagine help being that far away. There’s not too much uninhabited beach in this part of Florida. I shouldn’t be gone...”

“You want to leave me behind?” interrupted Janet. “Like Erin, Jen, and Jacki? Not a chance.”

He turned sharply, and saw the anger on her face. She really believed this was his fault, and that he left them. “This is not my fault,” he defensively. “That storm came out of nowhere. I did what I could getting them life jackets, and keeping the boat pointed into the swells, but I can’t recall a storm ever coming up that fast. I’d say you’re lucky to be alive. Besides, you don’t know that they’re dead yet. We’re not.”

With that, he turned and stomped up the beach.

Janet scowled, but followed anyway. “What the hell is that smell,” she asked.

- - -

They hadn’t gone far before Brad realized that they weren’t where he thought they were. Nearing what he thought was the beach turning into towards a bay, it became apparent that the beach was simply turning, and the closer he got, the better he could see that there was no shoreline in the distance. He stopped and ran his fingers through his hair as he eyed the endless water. He felt himself trembling again, and wondered if he had actually stopped.

“What’s the problem,” Janet asked as she stopped and looked across the water.

His mouth was dry as he answered, “There’s no coast line. We’re not in Florida anymore.”

Fear, mixed with sarcasm, was clearly audible in Janet’s voice. “Is this a joke? You’re joking right? How do you know we’re not in Florida? How could you possibly know we’re not in Florida, just by walking a hundred yards...”

Brad, short on patience, cut her off. “Look. There’s no coastline.” His voice was stern. “You can’t hide something as big as Florida.”

Janet stared out across the water. “Maybe it’s further around the bend,” she said trying to sound hopeful, but failing.

Brad shook his head. “I don’t think so.” He paused, and looked around absently for a minute. “Wait, here. I’m going to grab a couple waters out of the boat.” He wasn’t thirsty, but wanted to be prepared.

“What? Wait. What do you need water for?” Janet sounded annoyed.

So many emotions for one person, Brad thought. “I don’t know how far we’re going to have to walk,” he called back as he ran towards the Minnow.

- - -

Brad sat leaning against a palm tree looking over the water. He felt better after finally rinsing the sand from his hair and body, but still itched from the salt water.

He looked over at the unopened water bottles from the hike around the island. It had taken them, he guessed, about four hours to walk the shoreline. About twelve miles? The lagoon cut in quite a ways, so the island was probably more like ten miles round. There was no other landmass in sight from any direction, and not a single ship on the water. He still wasn’t thirsty, and he wasn’t sure yet why that bothered him more than the fact that they were stranded on an island in the middle of nowhere. Or what seemed to be nowhere.

He looked over towards Janet. She sat on the back bench of the Minnow, and hadn’t moved in hours. Earlier, when she had blown up at him after coming around the last bend in the island, and seen the Minnow from the other direction... She lost it. She blamed him for the death of her friends, getting beached on this island, the storm, the funeral they were going to have for her in a few days, not being able to go to the funeral for her friends, not being able to say goodbye to Jamie, her husband, and she probably would have gone on, but Brad thought for sure the sobbing was going to turn into hyperventilating. But, she simply stopped and ran to the Minnow, with a final “I hate you,” left drifting on the wind and in his mind. Wow, what a bitch, he had thought at the time. Now, he felt bad for her.

He watched the sun set as he thought about Alison, his own wife, and wondered what she was doing. Probably a mess, like Janet. It’s only been a day, so they’re probably still looking, and feeding her empty reports. “We’ll keep looking,” they’re telling her, knowing they’ll only look for so long. “Which sucks, because they’re looking in the wrong place,” thought Brad. “They’re not going to find us. I’ll get off this island purely by accident, years from now, if I don’t die, and I’ll be like Tom Hanks. You’ll be married to someone else.”

- - - Day: 3 - - -

“Baby face.”

Brad looked at Janet. It was the first time she had spoken to him, but there was still no emotion in her voice. “What?” he asked.

“It’s been three days and you haven’t needed to shave,” she said quietly. Flatly.

Brad rubbed his face. It wasn’t the first time since landing here, but it was the first time he actually thought about rubbing his face. She was right. It was as if he had just shaved this morning.

He shook his head and looked around uselessly. “I have to shave every day. You should be able to see a good amount of growth. It should start to itch in a day or two.”

“I haven’t shaved my legs since we got here,” she said, looking down. She ran her hand absently along the side of her smooth calf. “It doesn’t grow real fast, but three days? My legs should feel like sandpaper.”

Brad didn’t say anything. He continued rubbing his face, and stared at the little pile of snacks and bottled water he had pulled out of the Minnow. It should have been gone. He had only packed enough for a three-hour tour, yet here it was three days later, and it hadn’t been touched. Neither one of them had felt like eating or drinking since their arrival on the island, and so far, there had been no ill effects: no loss of energy, no dehydration, and apparently, no hair growth.

Janet was still absently rubbing her leg, but looking at the food and water. "Maybe we're wrong. Maybe we are dead," she whispered.

Space. Cold. Uncaring. Void.

Planets. Stars. Separated by emptiness.

Me? I can relate to emptiness.

Teammates. Family. Gone, leaving emptiness.

What am I? Everyone cares.

Who am I? No one cares.

An artificial intelligence cares.

My imaginary friend: deluxe, fills the void.

Sometimes I wonder if it's me going rampant.