Chapter 6

chapter six I figure there are two types of people in this world: The first: People who think living in an abandoned, post-apocalyptic world would be awesome.

The second: Normal folks who think that people in the first group are clinically insane. Quint is definitely type numero uno. Every day he's up at the crack of dawn, "doing research." He says we need to document the end of the world properly, like scientists. want to play Frisbee. No want to hop in Big mama and cruise for monsters. No want to sit around all day and be a big dork. Yes,

See? This is what I deal with. On the plus side, Quint is a big fan of my photos —"For science," he says. I don't think he quite gets the art of it—he just says they're really helping with the whole "studying the monsters" process. Me, I'm less into "studying the monsters" and more into, y'know... DESTROYING THE HORRIBLE MONSTERS THAT HAVE TAKEN OVER THE WORLD.

But whatever. Different strokes for different dorks. The problem is that all this research keeps reminding me that IT'S BUTT-CLENCHINGLY SCARY OUT THERE! And when something is butt-clenchingly scary, it's natural to want to avoid it. Maybe that's why I haven't gone back out to look for June in two days. So tomorrow, I'm changing that. Tomorrow, I'm going to be all Liam Neeson–y, like, "WHAT'S UP, ZOMBIES?! HAND OVER MY FRIEND JUNE!" Tomorrow, bright and early, we're scouring this town for June. Not just the school and not just her home. Everywhere. No building unexplored. No spot unsearched.

Rise and shine, brainy It's 6:45 in the morning and I'm guzzling a warm Cherry Pepsi, trying to put a little pep in my system. I give Quint a gentle kick to the side. He groans, groggy, looks up, and mutters "Santa?" "Quint," I say, "I need to complete my ULTIMATE Feat of Apocalyptic Success: find and, if necessary (which it totally will be), rescue June Del Toro." Quint grunts, climbs out of his sleeping bag, and shuffles over to our little bathroom. The bathroom is

just a bucket on the side of the tree house. We have a rule—no one looks at what the other person is doing. You wouldn't think that would need to be a rule, but, well, Quint is odd, and stuff like this kept happening— Quint has another weird habit: He always talks while he's out there on the bathroom bucket. Today he says, "Before we go driving anywhere, we need gasoline." See, we've been using gasoline by the gallon-ful to run the generator for the Xbox and the toaster oven and the RC helicopter and the massage chair and the Christmas lights and all that jazz.