Chapter 10: The City and the Sale

Zombie Dad, carrying the money from selling salt these days, wanted to take me to the county seat.

He flashed the bills like a prize at the county fair, grinning and making plans for what we’d buy. I tried not to get my hopes up.

Afraid of thieves at home, I carried our only valuable thing on my back.

I tucked Mom’s locket into my shirt and slung Dad’s old army duffel over my shoulder, the one with his name stitched inside. It felt like carrying a piece of home with me.

Looking at the old pickup truck in front of us, I was surprised: "Where did you get this?"

It was a beat-up Chevy, paint peeling and muffler rattling, but it ran. I circled it, checking the tires and fenders, just to make sure it wouldn’t fall apart on the way.

"Borrowed it, why you asking so many questions?"

He tossed me the keys like it was nothing, swaggering like a small-town cowboy.

Zombie Dad waved his big hand, and I instinctively dodged back.

He always talked with his hands, nearly whacking me in the head every time he made a point.

I climbed up on the truck, and after about an hour, we reached the city limits.

We passed a Waffle House, a Dollar General, and a billboard for a personal injury lawyer before hitting downtown’s blinking traffic lights. We bounced down pothole-filled roads, passing cornfields and diners with neon signs. My legs cramped, but I didn’t complain. I’d never been this far from home.

The security guard looked tough, waving his baton: "Get out of the truck! What are you here for?"

He wore sunglasses even though the sky was overcast, and eyed us like he expected trouble.

"Officer, I’m here to buy fabric to make clothes for the kid, and help the neighbors pick up some things."

Zombie Dad grinned, pulled out a handful of bills and slipped them to the guards.

Their faces immediately softened.

It was amazing how fast a bribe could turn suspicion into hospitality. The guards even offered a tired smile, ushering us in like VIPs.

They tucked away the cash, nodded, and let us through.

This was my first time in the city.

My mouth hung open at the skyscrapers, flashing billboards, and busy crosswalks. People hustled by in suits and sneakers, coffee cups in hand, like they had somewhere important to be.

So many people, so many buildings, so many things I’d never seen.

Everything was bigger and brighter—the air thick with car exhaust and the scent of fried food from street vendors. I gripped Dad’s hand tight, afraid I’d get lost in the crowd.

My two eyes weren’t enough to take it all in.

I tried to memorize every detail, from the pigeons picking at crumbs on the sidewalk to the distant wail of sirens.

Zombie Dad didn’t stop either, driving the pickup down a quieter side street.

The buildings grew smaller, the crowds thinned. I started to relax, just a little.

I didn’t get it.

Why not stop and shop like normal people? What was he up to?

Quickly grabbed his sleeve and asked, "Where are you taking me?"

My voice cracked, but I didn’t care. I needed answers.

"To sell you, hahahaha." He burst out laughing.

I glared at him, but his laughter just got louder, echoing off the brick walls.

The keys in his hand made the truck speed up even more.

He grinned like a maniac, foot heavy on the gas. I clung to the door handle, knuckles white.

I was terrified: "You really are a bad guy! You’re not my dad—my dad wouldn’t sell me."

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

"Didn’t your dad sell your sister? Selling another one’s nothing."

His words hit me like a slap, cold and cruel. I turned away, staring out the window at the passing trees.

I was speechless.

I pressed my lips together, refusing to let him see how much it hurt.

Both my real dad and Zombie Dad weren’t good people.

I thought about all the times I’d wished for something better—another family, another life. But the truth was, nobody’s perfect. Sometimes, you just have to play the hand you’re dealt.

After a moment of silence, I pleaded in a low voice: "Can you sell me to the family where my sister is? I want to be with her."

I tried to sound brave, but my voice wobbled.

Zombie Dad readily agreed: "Sure."

He nodded like it was no big deal, flipping on the radio and humming along to an old country song.