"Fine, we''ll do it your way!"

Evan let out a breath he didn''t realize he''d been holding.

"It''s already afternoon, so today, Uncle will be teaching me. Bernard, you''ll just

have to watch," Evan said.

"Hmph!" Bernard snorted, one of them looking smug while the other looked

seriously annoyed.

The big guy with the scarred face stepped forward, his expression deadly serious.

He was just about tounch into a lecture when Bernard suddenly cut in.

"If you suck at offense, don''t mess him up. I''ll teach him how to attack, you stick to

defense!"

Everyone knew, after all: the best fighters could y both sides of the game—

offense and defense.

The scar-faced guy red daggers at Bernard, practically grinding his teeth.

"This is my time. Nobody asked you. If you keep quiet, nobody''s going to think

you''re dead," he snapped.

Bernard just rolled his eyes and shut up.

The scar-faced guy really didn''t want to admit it, but Bernard wasn''t wrong. When

it came to attacking, Bernard had skills he just couldn''t match.

He''d tried teaching Evan some offense before, but after sparring with Bernard,

he''d figured it was better to focus on defense. That was where he really had

something to offer.

"Evan, when your opponent is weak, sure, you can end things quick. But if you''re

up against someone just as good as you—or even better—solid defense will keep

you alive and might just give you the upper hand."

"Come at me. I''ll show you how to cover yourself better..."

...

While Elysia and the kids were busy—some drawing with sidewalk chalk, others

chasing each other around the backyard—Tarquin was off to the side, standing

quietly by the picket fence, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers.

His smoking habit had gotten a lot better, but he hadn''t quitpletely. When

something weighed on his mind, he still needed that familiarfort.

All he could think about was finding the real source of the eighth mutation of the

virus. Over and over, he reyed memories of his parents—theirughter, their

voices, and especially the day they died.

He tried to pick apart those memories, searching for clues, for anything he might

have missed the first hundred times.

Some memories were sweet, some were bitter. But because it all ended so badly,

even the sweet ones turned sour, and the bitter ones just hurt more.

Eventually, all that pain just turned into grief.

Tarquin furrowed his brow, not wanting to go back through those memories again,

but forcing himself to anyway.

He smoked, and remembered. Smoked, and remembered, again and again.

...

By dusk, Evan and the scar-faced guy returned to their little cabin.

They''d sent a message ahead, so

nobody was surprised to see them.

Dinner was served outside on the

porch—fried chicken, mashed

potatoes, corn on the cob,

lemonade—everyone gathered

around,ughing and sharing stories

as the sun dipped below the trees.

Just after sunset, a sudden sh of

light appeared outside the backyard

fence. It burst open, and in the

fading light, everyone saw a tiny

bunny made of glowing sparks.

Then, another sh, and another rabbit appeared.

One, two, three... five, six, seven, eight...

New sparkly bunnies popped up

before the old ones disappeared,

each one wiggling its nose, sporting

a different color—white, gray, ck,

even a few pink ones.

The kids'' jaws dropped in awe. "Whoa—"

Baby was bouncing with excitement next to Elysia, practically jumping out of her

shoes. "Bunny! Mommy, look—so many bunnies!"

The kids were thrilled, and even Walter grinned from ear to ear.

"Hey, Baby, do you like them?" he asked.

"Love them! Love them!"

Evan''s eyes went wide. "Walter, are those... fireworks?"

"Yup! Made them this afternoon. Pretty cool, huh?"

"But... why don''t I hear any noise? Aren''t fireworks supposed to go bang?"

Walter grinned. "Didn''t want to scare the little one, so I made them silent."

Evan stared. "Wait, what?!"

It wasn''t just Evan—Tarquin looked over too, just as shocked. "How the hell did

you pull that off?"

Silent fireworks. Only Walter.