The Last Infidels
Author: A R Shaw
Date: 2015-02-17 00:00:00+00:00
Description: What the world dreads most, happened. Now that they've achieved their quest for survival, the true reason for humanity's demise becomes ever more apparent. In her dystopian and post-apocalyptic novel, The China Pandemic, A. R. Shaw created a realistic world after a much too plausible pandemic collapse event. Now, the remaining survivors must face an enemy more sinister than anyone ever conceived. The story moves forward with...The Last Infidels and the terrorists are here. The survivors are back in book three of the Graham's Resolution series. In the tiny town of Cascade, Washington, the membe
Publisher: CreateSpace Publishing

Graham’s Resolution

Bundle

Book 1, 2 & 3

The China Pandemic

The Cascade Preppers

&

The Last Infidels

By A. R. Shaw

Liberty Lake, Washington

Copyright © 2015 by A. R. Shaw.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator.

Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Cover Designs by Keri Knutson of Alchemybookcovers.com

Dedicated to my friends and family

The China Pandemic

Introduction

1 A Fate Worse than Death

2 Digging Graves

3 The Dark before Dawn

4 The Lucky Ones

5 Heading Out

6 Bang

7 Marcy, Macy, and Sheriff

8 The Madman

9 The Confrontation

10 Through the Darkness

11 Regrettable Decisions

12 A New Candidate

13 In Search of One

14 If It Weren’t for Guardians

15 The Owls at Night

16 The Guardians

17 A New Pack

18 Troubling Introductions

19 A Night in the Woods

20 Once Lost, Then Found

21 Torment

22 Contrition

23 Scouting Around

24 On the Road

25 The Journey to the Cabin

26 New Introductions

27 Getting Things Straight

28 A Surprise Bounty

29 The Scavenger Hunt

30 New Plans

31 An Extra Setting

32 The Preppers

33 A Surprise Encounter

34 An Observation

35 On Watch

36 A Decision

37 Trick or Treat

38 The Debriefing

39 A Sigh of Relief

40 Containment

41 New Signs

42 An Urgent Call

43 Cabin Fever

44 A Walk in the Snow

45 A Plan

46 A Violation

47 The Chase

48 The Accident

49 Bad News

50 Reunited

51 The Cost

The Cascade Preppers

1 The Trail between the Trees

2 Daily Routines

3 His Best Girl

4 Addy at Heart

5 Skinning Wolves

6 Going on the Hunt

7 A Call In

8 Hunting

9 Whiteout

10 Precautions

11 A Sleep Over

12 Mark Takes a Walk

13 Frayed Ends

14 Tended

15 Not This Time

16 Decided Chance

17 A Quick Trip

18 The Carnation Boy

19 Manning Media

20 Marcy Moves

21 McCann

22 Good and Bad

23 The Caretaker

24 Story Time

25 Night Drive

26 Fire

27 The Return

28 Alarms

29 Missing

30 Found

31 Unforsaken

32 Tracker

33 Intervention

34 Coming to Terms

35 The Return of Sam

36 Repairs

37 The Fall

38 A Chance

39 Hope

40 Aid

41 Like a Promise

42 Dawn

43 The Last Candidate

44 The Birth of Spring

The Last Infidels

Chapter 1 Dutch’s Caravan

Chapter 2 Required Reading

Chapter 3 To Fix Them

Chapter 4 Triple-Loaded

Chapter 5 Shots Fired

Chapter 6 Speak Easy

Chapter 7 By the Campfire

Chapter 8 A Story of Fire

Chapter 9 The Injustice

Chapter 10 A Greeting

Chapter 11 The Stalker

Chapter 12 Fleeing Dreams

Chapter 13 The Messenger

Chapter 14 The Girl

Chapter 15 Private Time

Chapter 16 An Old Enemy

Chapter 17 Caught and Lost

Chapter 18 The Nightmare

Chapter 19 Sheriff’s Vacation

Chapter 20 The Invitation

Chapter 21 Saying Good-Bye

Chapter 22 The Debriefing

Chapter 23 The Trip

Chapter 24 In the Garden

Chapter 25 Anticipation

Chapter 26 The Attack

Chapter 27 Pressure

Chapter 28 The Burial

Chapter 29 Regret

Chapter 30 Fixing Dalton

Chapter 31 Riding High

Chapter 32 A Predicament

Chapter 33 Shooting the Breeze

Chapter 34 Young Love

Chapter 35 Come to Me

Chapter 36 Tent City

Chapter 37 Man Traps

Chapter 38 A Trick

Chapter 39 The Meeting

Chapter 40 A Dinner Mood

Chapter 41 Malefic Nation

Chapter 42 Eyes Aglow

Chapter 43 Let’s Roll

Chapter 44 The Escape

Chapter 45 Americans

Chapter 46 The Cache

Chapter 47 Going Back

Chapter 48 Waiting

Chapter 49 All Is Lost

Chapter 50 Graham’s Resolution

Chapter 51 The Immigrants

Chapter 52 Reunion

About the Author

Acknowledgments

~ ~ ~

The China Pandemic

~ ~ ~

Introduction

Some said that China’s intent to develop the H5N1 virus merely came about as an attempt to culture a vaccine, knowing the nation’s dense population would be at catastrophic risk if attacked by such a virus. Others said that China’s motives had always been sinister, and that they had developed a weaponized form of the virus. In the end it didn’t matter what the intentions had been; having tinkered with Pandora’s box, and without safeguards in place, they had unleashed it. And not only on their own people; it spread like wildfire across the globe, exterminating more than six billion souls. The million or so who were still alive were somehow immune, but they were carriers. As for the virus itself, it became known simply as the China Pandemic.

1 A Fate Worse than Death

Shivering in the pounding Pacific Northwest rain, Hyun-Ok needed to see for herself what threat the grim man in the distance posed. She’d heard him yelling before, followed by a gunshot blast and then a terrible scream. Having already counted him an unsuitable candidate to offer her the aid she needed, she had to be certain he wasn’t an immediate threat to her and her son.

With a death grip on the bed of the parked black pickup truck behind which she had taken refuge, Hyun-Ok gasped in horror as the crazed man powered up a small, worn backhoe. He scooped his victim up with the bucket, then spilled him, still alive and screaming, into a massive fire he had kept burning all day in a Dumpster.

She slinked away, her broken sobs bringing on a coughing fit from her own infected lungs. The agonized screams finally stopped, and Hyun-Ok grieved in silence for the unlucky man’s soul as sparks flew skyward. She must escape this part of town! The grim man, Campos, had posted no trespassing signs, and his actions told her he meant it.

She was her son’s only hope, and there was little time left to ensure his future. The disease weakened Hyun-Ok more each day, and she knew she would soon die. She could not leave her five-year-old to fend for himself with the likes of Campos around. Her days of scouting had told her there was only one person left to consider; the search had already taken up too much valuable time and energy, and Bang had to be in caring hands soon.

The one she was thinking of had one more to bury anyway. She might as well spend what little time she had left with her son.

Hyun-Ok recovered from her coughing fit as best she could and continued her journey home. She would need to make the trip in silence through the forested night, hidden from the few remaining people. Since coming to the realization that Bang showed no signs of the virus she had been venturing out like this, into the dark, every night.

One by one those around her had died off as she cared for them, Bang always at her side. Her elderly mother had been the first to go, followed closely by her father. Shortly after that, her husband, though he desperately clung to life, not willing to abandon his wife and son.

Covered in the sweat of fever, and her words rasping, Hyun-Ok had assured him his son would be fine and urged him into a peaceful beyond. “I will be with you soon, my love,” she’d told him with tears streaming down her face. As weak as she was at the time, the tears had surprised her.

The endearment, and the true meaning of her words, had sparked something in her dying husband. His eyes darted from Hyun-Ok to Bang, who was standing at the bedside. In brutal agony he drew himself up to gaze at his son’s face. “He must not be left alone and defenseless in this world gone mad!”

Hyun-Ok tried to comfort her husband with words, pushing him gently back toward the mattress, and she revealed her plan to safeguard their son. Her husband held them both close, praying aloud to an unhearing god that he could draw them with him as he slipped away.

That was just a week ago, and that night, after Bang drifted off to sleep, Hyun-Ok had gone out canvassing for the few remaining survivors in the neighborhood. Cloaked in black and defying the many dangers, she spied on the others and assessed them based on instinct alone. She estimated six hundred had originally occupied this immediate area in the Seattle suburb of Issaquah, and with only a 2 percent survival rate there should be twelve survivors—now known to be carriers. Of those she had only found seven.

Tonight she immediately discounted the first person she came across, two streets over, as being too elderly to be the guardian of a child of five. This lady only had a year left in her, if that. Hyun-Ok’s boy needed someone younger to carry him through life, at least into his teens.

The man she found next made her uncomfortable. She observed him decidedly grieving for his lost family, sitting out in a lawn chair in the night, yelling obscenities. He taunted and waited for the starving dogs, now gone wild, to smell him out. He shot at them, but it seemed to her that he was only trying to provoke an attack. She could sense his massive sorrow and knew his intentions were suicide by mauling if he could manage it. If not, he would likely soon take his own life. Sadly, she suspected that happened a lot with survivors.

Hyun-Ok crossed the highway unseen and found a scantily clad woman picking apples from a tree in a vacant lot. She knew the woman would attract the wrong kind of attention and wouldn’t be a good choice for her son’s welfare.

The man she had finally chosen seemed the only one capable of being her son’s guardian. Not only that, but something about him—either the way he carried his tall frame or the thoughtful dignity with which he buried his loved ones—assured Hyun-Ok that the neighbor named Graham would prove himself the best guardian. She knew that she could trust him with her boy. Knowing that as soon as Graham’s father passed away he’d have no more to bury, she could take her boy to him going on her own journey into death. One more day, she thought. But before then, I need to write to him about Bang.

With a sad smile, she stepped through the maze of parked vehicles, listening attentively to all sounds and alert for any dangers. She glanced back at the glow in the distance one last time. The last remaining obstacle would be to make Graham understand that he needed the boy as much as the boy needed him. She knew that would be the greatest challenge. She had to convince him of that or her son would be doomed.

2 Digging Graves

The frail man reached out to his son. Through tears, Graham gently grasped his father’s shaking hands as he lay dying. He knew it was the closest they had ever been.

Graham reaffirmed that he would go on as they had planned, that he would always keep the rifle beside him. Through drowning coughs his father reminded Graham that taking his own life was not part of God’s plan; it would only ensure a soulless wandering in the afterlife and would prevent him from ever again joining his departed family.

Having seen the signs so many times before, Graham knew the end was drawing near. He became desperate, knowing that the difference this time would be him standing alone without a soul known to him. His father’s wheezing came in shorter gasps, his eyes drew quiet, and his face sank into itself. Graham went from the desperation of losing his father to praying for mercy and a quicker end; he could take no more of this torment. Just like all the others, one by one, they all died in anguish.

Graham could not understand why he still lived. He had watched helplessly as his wife Nelly had died, taking their unborn child with her. Then his dear mother left him, followed by his sister and four-year-old niece. And now his father.

“What will I do without you?” he asked.

“Do what I have taught you, Graham. Make good decisions along the way, and don’t regret anything. You’ll do fine. Always know that I’m proud of you.”

Graham wiped spittle from his father’s lips and clutched his hand.

When death finally came, his father assumed a peaceful demeanor and said for the last time, “I love you, son.”

Exhausted from the night’s endless vigil, Graham rubbed his face. Tears of frustration, fear, and loss streamed down through his light brown whiskers. He had not shaved since way back when things were normal, and he did not care if he ever shaved again. Food, and even the very air he needed to breathe, had lost all importance. He could only wonder how he could possibly go on without his father’s strength and guidance.

With his last racking sob, Graham took a deep breath. “Buck up,” his father would have said sternly. And that’s what he decided to do. He was now the father of the clan, and he continued as if there was a family to lead.

There was only the one last grave, though this one would be the hardest to dig. Such little consolation would have to do at this moment. Everyone he’d ever known was now gone: all of his family, friends, and acquaintances. From the lowliest beggar to the wealthiest tycoon, no class had gone untouched; even the president had died. This was an equal opportunity pandemic; no one could be accused of racism or class warfare.

With only the blue shadowy morning light peering in on them, Graham reached over to close the blue-veined eyes of the man he loved and admired.

“Good-bye, Dad,” he whispered, kissing him on the forehead. He wrapped the edges of the white bedsheet slowly around his father’s body; it was a skill he had learned through repetition. Then he left the room, walking lightly so as not to disturb the peace.

~ ~ ~

His father had asked Graham to leave space in the middle of the other four graves in his mother’s prized rhododendron garden. On one side lay his mother and Nelly, and on the other his sister and niece. His father had wanted it that way so he could “safeguard the ladies.” Graham had known that his dad, always the gentleman, would hold out to the very last, until after the ladies had gone.

In October the soft loamy ground would still shovel easily, though it would freeze soon enough. The autumn rains were often misty, but this morning it rained as if it meant it. The digging would have to wait.

Graham dreaded this final act almost as much as when he’d buried his beloved Nelly. He slumped down in his father’s living room chair and sobbed uncontrollably. “Where do I go from here?” he yelled, grabbing his water glass and flinging it across the room, where it crashed against the wall.

But he already had his answer; his father had already made him commit to certain plans. Graham remembered this but asked aloud, “What for?” He continued to sob, frustrated by the lack of answers.

He left the bedroom, walking to the dining room window to peer out into his mother’s garden. He saw the fading leaves of the rhododendrons, and the memory of their spring flowers made him wish he could somehow share his grief with Nelly.

After the pandemic had started, he and his wife had fled to his parents’ isolated home from the chaos that had come to Seattle. With Nelly’s teaching job suspended due to futile quarantine efforts and Graham’s job as a math professor gone, it only made sense to get the hell out of their apartment in the city. The decision became final when shots rang out one night, waking him from his sleep and causing him to clutch his pregnant wife securely against him. The next day they learned their neighbors had been murdered for their food supply. Fearing that he and Nelly were next, he packed the car and they left.

As humanity died off, people turned on one another. Fresh food was at a premium, and even preserved foods were running short. The immune preyed on the living; they desperately searched for dwindling food supplies because the grocery stores were no longer being stocked. To make things worse, counties had implemented quarantine roadblocks in an ill-fated attempt to lock infected populations out, thus making residents prisoners within their own communities.

Even though Graham had been raised by a Marine Corps father, he staunchly believed in gun control. He blamed easy access to guns for the various school shooting tragedies and railed against the ongoing wars fought abroad. These views had been furthered in the liberal-minded schools and universities he’d attended and subsequently taught in.

Having grown up in the Northwest, Graham embraced its culture and ideals, unlike his mother and father, who had kept their worldly views to themselves. They had never taken sides publicly nor tried to push their own views on their children. They had wanted Graham to become his own man in their troubled world.

Though Graham’s dad had insisted that he learn to hunt at a very early age, Graham had never owned a gun of his own. His father often tried to convince him to have a pistol with him for protection, especially since he was married and lived in what his dad thought a dangerous neighborhood. Graham had always refused, and had even tried to convince his father that those were the old ways of thinking and that every situation could be reasoned out peacefully.

His father, of course, doubted this based on his own experience. While he worried about his son’s attitude, through the years the older man’s subtle teachings provided Graham with the skills he needed to survive. He wanted the boy to be prepared regardless of personal ideals or political affiliation. They spent a lot of time in the wilderness. Even at their family cabin, where all manner of survival skills were keenly disguised as camping or hunting lore, he tricked his son into learning.

They would sometimes arrive at the old cabin that had been retrofitted over the years with running water and electricity to find both unavailable. Graham’s father would then show him how to set up solar panels for power and how to sterilize the nearby lake water. He also taught him how to hunt and cook outdoors over a wood fire. Graham now realized how clever the man had been in those early days to teach him so well.

Before it all came apart, Graham and Nelly had been happy and enjoyed healthy lives; they had just celebrated their second year of marriage. She was a planner and a list maker and, not surprisingly, had their futures all mapped out.

Graham usually arrived home first and got dinner ready for them. On one particular day, Nelly had been down with a cold, so he’d planned to make her favorite knockoff of a soup they both enjoyed from a local Italian restaurant, the one with sausage and kale. He was startled that evening when he found her home from work early, balled up and crying on their bed. She was not one for weeping fits, so he knew something terrible must have happened to her as he bent down to comfort her. She resisted, and sat up to face him. “I’m pregnant!” she blurted out through tears.

“You’re what?” he asked, stunned.

“I’m pregnant. We’re going to have a baby, and it’s way too early. It’s not part of the plan. Now I won’t be able to get my masters degree.”

He pulled her toward him, even though she struggled and kissed her swollen red lips. “You’re so silly, Nelly. We’re going to have a baby! It’ll all work out. I love you!”

But nothing did work out. Soon the pandemic came, and it took Nelly and their unborn child.

Now that he was all alone, Graham wondered how many in the neighborhood were still alive and how many would, as his father had warned, have “evil intent.”

The pelting rain had dwindled to a light mist. Graham retrieved his slicker and shovel from the garage, and his rifle from beside the door. A rifle: it felt as natural to him now as carrying his keys. Anytime he ventured outside he had it slung over his shoulder; indoors it was always within arm’s reach. “At all times,” his father had insisted.

Graham knew it was time. His throat tightened as he tried to suppress more tears. Out among the rhododendrons he leaned the rifle within reach against the garden shed. The wind picked up as he stood and listened. He and his father had made a practice of this early on; the act of listening had become one of the rituals of survival. The silence should be filled with familiar sounds, and the total absence of them could mean trouble. There were very few familiar sounds now.

No distant train could be heard, no planes overhead. No lawnmowers, or cars’ squealing belts, or the ever-present roar of Interstate 90 passing through town. Neighborhood chatter and children at play were now only past memories, but they were the sounds that Graham missed.

What he did hear was often met with the natural instinct of fight or flight: the howling of a dog (or was it a wolf?); the noise of dogs fighting over prey, as fear-inducing as any distant gunshot; the occasional scream, though in recent days these had become less frequent. This was what Graham chose to distract himself with while bending over the soaked loam next to the mounded grave of his mother; the ruminations of a world gone silent.

As sweat dripped from his nose he heaved each shovelful with vengeance, using the activity to release some of his anger. He continued to toss shovel after shovel of dirt, ignoring the pain in his back and shoulders.

Then he could not help it. Graham broke down again as an image of tossing a ball with his father in that very spot crossed his mind. He dropped the shovel and put his hands on the back of his neck. He fell to his knees in the damp grass. “No, this cannot be happening,” he cried, lifting his face toward the sky.

At that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Graham spotted a form in gray next to the barberry bush. It was so slight that he nearly missed it altogether. In one fluid motion he quickly retrieved his rifle, cursing himself for not noticing something sooner.

Graham leveled the rifle and aimed, grief fueling his anger. “Get back! I will shoot you!” The shape slipped back around the corner, but he knew it hid there. He could sense its presence, but had no idea of who or what it could be.

“There is nothing for you here, so please leave,” he added more calmly.

Then a muffled coughing signaled someone around the corner. Graham knew it was not his imagination; he took several wide side steps to view the hidden space, then adjusted his aim to get a visual of the one who dared intrude upon his private grieving.

A slight female form stood against the house, hooded, bent over in a futile attempt to restrain a persistent cough. When the cough lessened, she lifted her head to gaze at Graham. Her eyes pleaded with him as she raised her hand up in a gesture to show she meant no harm.

The frail woman limped forward, stopped, and raised her hands again. Graham could tell she was weak with the disease, and after she took a couple more steps he could clearly see she would not last more than an hour or so. Her face showed all the signs he’d seen before, and the fact that she was able to stand was a miracle alone. Her whole body rattled with the endless coughing. Graham walked within fifteen feet of her and lowered the business end of his rifle. He met the woman’s pleading gaze with his own, knowing her dying breath might come at any minute.

She must be one of the few still alive with the virus. But not for long.

“I am Hyun-Ok,” she said, barely audible; it was the voice of a woman weakened and scarred. She gestured vaguely behind her. “This is my son Bang.”

Graham took several steps back and held up his hand, knowing right away what she wanted from him. He shook his head. “No, I can’t take on someone else.”

She shuffled forward a few steps and pleaded again. “I have watched you, you’re a good man. Please, you’re the only one. He is immune, like you.”

Before she could say any more, she stumbled on the rocky driveway, falling to her knees and coughing again. Bang ran to her side.

Surprised at seeing such a small child, Graham slung his rifle over his shoulder and took several steps closer to her. He’d never taken any notice of the danger the virus might cause him. Hell, he’d even tried to catch it once Nelly had passed away.

Graham lifted the dying woman’s small frame into his arms while the boy watched his every move. The child trailed him closely as he moved toward the house.

He had few choices here. He could not watch this woman die right in his driveway, especially with her child there; he doubted his father would have allowed this either. He opened the sliding glass door with one free hand while the lady continued to cough in his arms. He could not see the boy, but knew he was close behind. He laid her down on the living room sofa and heard the boy slide the door closed. Graham pulled his mother’s red floral quilt down from the back of the sofa and laid it over the tiny woman.

He watched as the little boy ran to his mother’s side. She reached for him, and once she regained control she reached for Graham’s hand as well. She looked at him with desperate eyes.

“Please, Graham, you must take him, there is no other,” she said.

He wondered how she knew his name. “Let me get you some water,” he said, trying to stall the conversation. It dawned on him how cruel her plight must feel, knowing she would leave a young child alone and helpless in this new world.

“No, there is so little time now,” she mumbled. “Please don't bother.”

Graham no longer felt so sorry for himself; he knew the boy’s predicament was much worse than his own, but still he felt unprepared to take him on as a responsibility.

Hyun-Ok grabbed his hand to keep him close.

Before she uttered another word, she joined her son’s small hand with Graham’s. “You need him as much as he needs you. Please, take him,” she continued, crying.

Graham found himself nodding as he became more aware of her desperation. At any second she would perish right there on the couch in front of her son. He could not take any more heartbreak.

He gave in.

“I’ll take him. I’ll take care of him.”

To bring her peace, he lifted the child onto the couch next to his mother. As Bang cried, Graham’s voice cracked. “It’s okay. I promise to take good care of him.”

He wanted to give her this gift. He’d had no control over the loss of his loved ones, but he could at least give this stranger peace. He wanted to show her some humanity in her dying moments. He missed the kindness of the living.

Hyun-Ok looked up at him, and Graham saw that the same peacefulness that had come over his father just before dawn was now coming to her. Her face softened and she managed a weak smile, moving her eyes from Graham to her son. She blinked away tears and her smile faded. Then her mouth fell open. The spark of life was gone just like that. She had completed the transfer on borrowed time.

Graham stared at her for a few moments in silence. He heard a low, muffled cry starting deep in the boy, who remained curled up next to his mother. Graham could understand his sorrow; the boy, too, had seen too much death—and so early in his life. He stroked Bang’s head as the boy clung to his mother’s side, sobbing.

Graham gently closed Hyun-Ok’s eyes and laid his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It’s going to be all right,” he said, but Bang pulled away from him and clung to his mother.

Graham stepped back. He shook his head, cursing himself for the promise he’d just made. He walked away, leaving the little boy there. He now had another grave to dig before sundown.

3 The Dark before Dawn

Graham dug the dead woman’s grave next to his beloved Nelly’s; he wanted to think that the two would have gotten along in the living world. They both loved children, and he didn’t think he wanted this brave little lady to be alone. This just seemed like the right thing to do.

Exhausted, he trudged back inside, stomping the dirt off his boots at the door. The boy still lay at his mother’s side. Graham knew this wasn’t a good sign. What if I can’t get him away from his mother’s dead body?

He walked over to the boy and shook him awake. Eyes just like his mother’s, but now rimmed in red, looked up at him.

Hey, kid, what’s your name again?” Graham asked. The boy hesitated.

“Look, my name’s Graham. What’s yours?”

“Bang.”

Graham wasn’t sure he heard it right. “What?”

“Bang!” the boy said and rolled over, weeping.

“Come on, Bang, I need your help,” Graham said.

The boy closed his eyes and buried his face in his mother’s side.

“Hey, come on. We have work to do,” Graham insisted, pulling him away from his mother and off the couch. Bang began to kick and scream, landing a lucky strike against Graham’s shin.

“God dammit, kid!” He held Bang firmly by one arm, and pulled him, kicking and screaming, into his father’s bedroom.

“Look!” Graham said, pointing to his dead father and yelling over the crying. Bang quieted and looked up at Graham, terrified. His eyes and nose were running, and he tried to stop his sniffling.

“We have to bury him, and then we’ll bury your mother,” Graham said in a stern voice. “But I need your help.”

Graham let go of the boy’s arm, and Bang took hold of the dead man’s sheet. Graham took a deep breath.

“All right, Dad, here we go.” Graham worked his arms under his father’s lifeless body, which had already begun to stiffen. It was easier to lift than he had thought it would be, and he cradled his father against his chest.

“You follow me,” he told the boy. He didn’t expect him to be happy, or even quiet; he just wanted to give him a part in the task to keep him busy. Bang followed him through the house and out the door. Once outside, Graham stopped for a moment and buried his head in his father’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Dad,” he said, wishing he knew of a more dignified way of transporting him.

The late afternoon sky was gray, and more rain was on the way. Graham laid his father at the edge of the grave, then jumped down into the hole and looked up at Bang. Somehow the boy had quieted, maybe because he had something to do, or maybe because he was stunned with so many dead people around. Whatever the reason, Graham was grateful.

“Okay, you help me get him in here,” Graham said, struggling to hold back his own emotions. “Try to give him a little push.”

Graham dragged his deceased father over toward him. The boy helped push as much as he could, which was barely at all. The body started to sink to the bottom too quickly in what ended up in more of a controlled fall. Graham couldn’t help but cry. He settled his father neatly within the grave and started to climb up. As he climbed out, the first thing Graham noticed was that the kid had disappeared. He looked all around the yard but saw no sign of him.

“Shit!” Graham said, followed by, “Hey, Bang!”

Graham ran to the back door of the house, thinking that perhaps Bang had gone back to his dead mother’s side. But looking through the glass door he couldn’t see the boy. Then he heard a yell and a dog barking from the front of the property.

Graham grabbed his rifle and ran to the front of the house to see Bang running down the street with a pit bull at his heels. He yelled and ran toward the dog, startling it enough that it turned in his direction. Graham aimed and fired, killing the attack dog instantly.

Knowing they had caused a commotion enough to attract other predators, Graham didn’t delay; with one arm he grabbed Bang, who was crying and kicking, and ran home, closing the gate behind them. He then sat Bang down in the grass and knelt next to him.

“Okay, okay, be quiet! It’s done now. The dog is dead,” Graham said. He felt guilty for forcing the kid to behave, but he needed him to quiet down. Graham went to the front gate to look for more dogs; so far there weren’t any.

“You need to be quiet or the other mean dogs will find us,” he said, rubbing Bang’s head. The boy tried to stifle his crying. “Are you okay? Did he bite you?”

Bang shook his head. Graham took a rag out of his pants pocket and wiped the tears and snot away. The little boy’s chest heaved with his effort to hold back his sobs.

“I know this is tough, but you can’t run away from me. Your mom wanted you to stay with me so I could take care of you. I promised her. Please don’t do that again. Now, come on, let’s finish our job.” Graham got up and headed back to the graves, taking his rifle with him all the while keeping an eye on the street for more dogs. If he were lucky, the dead, rather than he or Bang, would attract predators.

“We need to be quiet out here, okay?” he said to Bang. The boy followed slowly behind him at a slight distance.

Graham knelt at the edge of his father’s grave, as if in a moment of prayer or meditation, then stood up and grabbed his shovel. When Bang walked over, Graham handed him a smaller shovel.

“Here, you can use this one,” but the boy just started shaking his head and crying again. “Fine,” Graham muttered in frustration. “Just sit down there, then.”

He reluctantly picked up a shovelful of dirt and slowly swung it over the hole. He started at his father’s feet and carefully dropped in the soil. He grabbed another shovelful, and another, but when it came time to cover his father’s face he was reluctant. He didn’t cry, but still he shook with grief.

The next thing he knew, the boy shouted out as a dog snarled close behind them. Graham looked up and saw two more. He reached for Bang and pulled him away just as the dog bit into the kid’s jacket. He flung the boy behind him, toward the edge of the grave. Bang scrambled away from the edge, bawling. Graham swung the shovel at the attack dog and smacked it in the head. He then grabbed his rifle, putting a bullet into the skull of the stunned dog.

“Get out of here!” he yelled at the other two.

With its teeth bared, head down, another dog came at him. The third tried to edge around him toward the boy. Graham shot the closest dog squarely in the forehead, so close that he felt the misty splatter of blood on his face.

The last dog tried to take advantage by lunging at Graham, but it was too little too late. Using the gun barrel as a club, he knocked the dog to the side. He had just enough time to squeeze off a shot, wounding the dog in the hip. He cocked the rifle one last time and fired.

Nothing happened. He was out of ammunition, right when an enraged and wounded beast was coming after him. He tossed the rifle down and grabbed the shovel again, slipping in the mud and falling on his side. The injured dog locked its teeth into Graham’s pants leg.

He swung the shovel with all his might. There was a clang and a yelp, but he still felt the dog pulling on his pants. He swung again and finally heard silence. He scrambled to his feet.

Bang just stared at the dead animal. The growling had stopped, but the boy’s bawling did not; he was nearly hysterical. Graham dropped the shovel and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Shhh, be quiet, or more will come,” he told him in a harsh whisper. He left him there and quickly filled in his father’s grave, mounding the dirt deeply and looking all around him as he did.

He tossed the dogs’ bodies in a wheelbarrow, and then went back to kneel again at his father’s grave. Though Graham had never been a religious man, he hoped now that all of his loved ones were in a better place. His heart ached as he smoothed the mounded dirt with his rough hands to level it out.

“It’s so hard to say good-bye, Dad. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.” Then he remembered what his father would expect of him. He stood, grabbed his rifle, and led the sobbing boy inside the house.

There was still the boy’s mother to bury, and dusk was quickly falling, so he knew he had to hurry. Bang immediately ran to the body, and Graham could tell this was going to be a battle.

He used a rag to wipe mud from the rifle quickly and reloaded it. “We have to bury her now,” Graham said when he was done.

“No!” the boy cried.

“We can’t leave her here. It’s getting dark, and we have to do it now,” Graham said gruffly, walking over to the couch. Bang put his arms around his mother as if to guard her. Graham pulled him back by the shoulders and said, “Look, kid, we have to do this right now. You can either help or you can stand back. Don’t make me lock you in a room. The least you can do for your mother right now is be strong and help me.”

Graham wrapped the red floral quilt around Hyun-Ok, much as he’d done with the others. At first Bang just stood there sobbing; then he began patting her wrapped legs. As Graham started to cover the rest of Hyun-Ok, he noticed a necklace with a medallion. He took it off her body as the boy watched. He then reached for Bang, who pulled back, clearly untrusting until he realized what Graham was trying to do. He let Graham put the chain over his head. The medallion landed with a thump against Bang’s narrow, bony chest.

“She has a book in her pocket there,” the boy said, pointing to her gray jacket. They were the first words he’d spoken other than his name and “no.”

Graham felt in her coat and found a small journal in a leather sleeve.

“Is this for you?” Graham asked Bang, who just shrugged, not knowing the answer.

“Well, you hold on to it for now,” Graham instructed. He continued to wrap Hyun-Ok but stopped when he got to her face.

“Go ahead and say good-bye,” he said to Bang.

The boy sniffled, and then kissed her on the cheek. He hugged her one last time and stroked her long silky hair.

Graham looked outside and realized the night was coming quickly. He pulled the boy back gently from his mother. “Okay, it’s time. We need to get her buried now.”

The boy watched as Graham covered her face with the quilt. “No, no, no!” he cried again. Bang tried to tear the quilt off, and Graham had to pull him away, restraining him. He knew this was heartbreaking for the boy, but he didn’t have a choice.

“Look,” he said, “we have to bury her now or we’ll have more trouble with the dogs. Do you want that? Your mother wants you to be safe and stay alive. We can’t do that if there are dogs attacking us.”

Bang looked miserable and confused and just shook his head again.

“All right then, let’s get this done before dark,” Graham said, slinging his rifle over his shoulder.

He picked up Hyun-Ok’s light frame and led the small procession out to her last resting place. The boy followed, unable to suppress his grief. The closer Graham got to the grave, the more Bang struggled to pull the quilt away, and Graham ordered, “Knock it off!”

When they reached the grave, Graham lowered Hyun-Ok’s body to the grass at the edge of the hole. Bang pulled more of the quilt off, exposing her feet, and Graham pushed him away, landing him on his rear.

Looking around first for any more predators, Graham jumped into the hole. “Give me a hand, kid,” he whispered, but the boy ignored him.

Graham pulled Hyun-Ok’s body into the grave and gently lowered her to the bottom. Bang scrambled over to the grave’s edge, again yelling, “No, No!”

Graham quit worrying about the kid and instead shoveled dirt into the grave as quickly as he could with Bang crying all the while. He felt awful having to do it this way, but the circumstances left him with no choice. Nightfall meant predators.

By the time Graham finished it was nearly dark, and Bang’s sobs had faded to whimpers. Graham, exhausted both emotionally and physically, began to smooth the mounded dirt atop the grave. To his surprise, Bang shoved his hands away and began smoothing it himself. Graham let him do it.

Another howl pierced the backyard silence, sending a chill up Graham’s spine. Not knowing the kid’s religious beliefs, he said, “Okay, kid, hurry up and say good-bye.”

The boy said something in what Graham assumed must be Korean, but he wasn’t sure. He knelt beside the boy and bowed his head. He hoped that bringing Hyun-Ok into his home had allowed her to pass peacefully. Out loud, so the boy could hear him, he said, “Just like I promised, I will look after your son.” Graham heard another howl, then reached over and picked up Bang, who leaned, now spent and tearless, against his shoulder.

4 The Lucky Ones

They were the lucky ones, able to bury their dead. Most families without members among the 2 percent still alive were left unburied; they lay in hospital beds, their own beds, and sometimes in vehicles, trying to reach a destination or escape from what had become a travesty of the life they had once known.

Early on, ailing and dying people had overrun the hospitals; after attempting to encase every single dead body in plastic body bags, workers soon ran out of them. As the disease spread they resorted to simply burning bodies in parking lots. Many bodies were left to decompose; depending on daily conditions, nature, either sped up or slowed down the process of decay.

This caused wild animals to descend in droves out of the forests and into the normally forbidden land of man. They appeared around houses and on the black asphalt-topped roads, lining the maze of streets beyond their natural borders. Drawn in by the lack of human sounds that had formerly kept them at bay, they now were enticed by the aroma of rotting flesh. Neglected family pets soon either became prey or turned into semiferal predators, forming large packs and often tangling with the wilder animals.

Coyotes, wolves, bears, and bobcats chased their natural prey, the deer, which were once only seen at dusk and dawn, but the sound of the ruminants’ clip-clopping hooves on the hardened road surface and concrete sidewalks was heard by few people now. Those humans who did hear them would just as often witness the sound of savagery as they suffered death by fang and claw. This left those who endured with an intense fear of being hunted by wild beasts, so they remained in their shelters, slowly running out of resources.

~ ~ ~

Graham put the boy down and locked the door. The wind picked up and the rain started again. Bang just stood there, dazed, as Graham looked out at the graves, which now totaled six. He leaned his head against the cold glass, fighting back the pain. He thought about the answer his father had given when Graham had asked, “Why should I go on?”

“You’ll find a reason, or the reason will find you,” the old man had replied. Graham now looked down at the boy. Great! My reason’s a pissed -off kid?

Graham sighed and looked down at his boots, caked in mud. He began to wipe them off on the mat but saw how useless that was. He removed them instead and glanced at the boy’s tennis shoes, which were filthy as well; too filthy to track around Graham’s parents’ house.

“Hey, Bang, take off your shoes,” he said.

“I want to go home,” the boy whined.

Graham spun him around to face him. “Listen, your mother spent the last moments of her life trying to save yours. She brought you to me and I promised to take care of you. I’ll do that until you manage to get yourself killed. Until then, you will do what I say, when I say it; and if you leave my sight again, you won’t get two blocks before you’re attacked by big, mean dogs. Only this time I won’t save your ass because you didn’t listen to me. Got it?”

Bang cried, but he also took terrified glances at the darkening outside; Graham hoped the warning was enough to keep him from running off again. The truth was that he could have easily been mauled to death earlier.

“Now, take off your shoes,” he ordered again.

Bang sat down on the carpet and untied his shoes. He still sniffled, but at least complied.

“Are you hungry?” Graham asked, trying for a kinder tone.

The boy didn’t look up at him.

Graham didn’t feel like eating now, either. He looked down at his dirt-covered hands. He was concerned that Bang might try to run off if he turned his back. “Okay, listen. I’ve got to go shower. You have two choices. You can either promise me you’ll stay here and behave, or get eaten by the dogs outside—what’s it going to be? Because I don’t have time for this.”

Between sobs the boy said, “Stay.”

“All right,” Graham said. “It’s getting dark in here. Let’s go in back.” Bang picked up his backpack from beside the door, and Graham realized he hadn’t even noticed it there before. The kid followed him.

Since the illness had come, Graham’s family had kept the house mostly dark at night. He used a flashlight to light the way to the back of the house, where he opened a bedroom door, revealing a pair of twin beds.

“That’s my bed, by the window. And you can sleep there,” Graham said, pointing to the one nearest the door. He pointed again. “That’s the bathroom, across the hall. I want you to go do your business and wash your hands.”

The boy looked up at him. Graham started to feel guilty for being so harsh with him, but it was for his own good. The kid walked into the bathroom, where a small nightlight cast a soft glow, and closed the door behind him.

Graham heard the water running, so he waited in the hall for the boy to finish. In the meantime he leaned his head back against a closet door. He hadn’t eaten anything today, but he knew that if he tried he wouldn’t be able to keep it down anyway.

His thoughts wandered back to dawn and his father’s death. He bowed his head, and when he looked down, Bang was standing there, gazing up at him.

“Are you all done?” The boy nodded. Graham walked him into the bedroom and pulled back the blankets on the bed for him. “Okay, climb in,” he told him.

The boy climbed up and Graham pulled the covers over him. “I’ve got to take a shower. You’re going to stay right here, right?” Bang nodded, but his lower lip quivered. Graham patted him on the head, but the boy jerked away from his touch.

Graham closed the bedroom door, but left the door to the bathroom open so he could listen for any noise. He looked at himself in the mirror, still holding his rifle over his shoulder, and saw a man he didn’t recognize. He was filthy and utterly spent—both of energy and of emotion. He peeled off his dirty clothes and turned on the shower, then propped the rifle nearby. He kept the shower curtain partially open so he could see out. He let the hot steamy water run over his worn body, watching it turn brown as it drained away. After showering off the dirt of graves, he emerged and checked the bedroom to find Bang asleep.

Graham stopped at the door and watched the sleeping child, then noticed the leather-sleeved book lying atop the kid-size backpack. He picked it up and sat down on his own bed. Under the golden glow of the flashlight he removed the book from its sleeve. The first two pages showed a genealogical tree; a photo of Bang rested on a top branch. Photos and names of ancestors were in the lower branches, delicately translated into English below what he guessed were Korean names. The brave lady whose likeness Bang bore had been a beauty. Graham’s stomach knotted at the pain of losing his own mother. He turned the pages slowly until a loosely folded letter addressed to him came into view.

Dear Mr. Graham,

I’m writing you this letter with a happy heart. I know you are a good man and will take good care of my son Bang. Please keep him safe and remind him of his father and me. When he is sad, ask him to tell you of his whole family and the people we were. We will be with you both in spirit.

I will tell you a little about Bang so that you will know how to care for him.

We are Korean American. My father bravely escaped the death camps of North Korea, Bang knows of the story. He is five years old and his birthday is July 15th. He was born in Seattle.

He loves cars and animals. He is scared of the dark and sometimes has bad dreams. I taught him he must be brave for you. He is a good hunter of small game.

Reading this, Graham lifted his head and looked over at the boy, then turned back to the journal.

His father and I trained him well to fish and hunt duck, rabbits, and squirrels. He knows how to set small snares and traps for them. There is a slingshot in his backpack, and he is good with a bow and arrows.

Bang is quiet most times but can read and write well for his age. Most important, I believe you need him as much as he needs you. You are both alone now. That is why I chose you over the others.

There it was, as if the answer to Graham’s father’s premonition: You’ll find a reason, or the reason will find you. Obviously Hyun-Ok had written the next part later, because the handwriting wasn’t as smooth or as calm.

Please heed my warning!

I must warn you about a very bad man named Campos in case you take Bang and leave this place, I watched all the living here at night to make my decision. Campos has killed two of the few that walked into town. If you leave, please go at night, away from the highway exit. Campos stays at the gas station there by a small blue-trimmed house. He seems like his mind is gone and he speaks to himself out loud in different voices. He’s very dangerous and you should avoid him. He has guns and carries a hatchet on his belt at all times. He keeps the fires in the Dumpster going and he even threw one of the survivors into it alive. When you leave, don’t make any noise with a car, or I fear Campos will find you. Stay hidden from him.

Do not be sad for those you lost, Mr. Graham. You now have someone to live for.

With my deepest gratitude as a mother,

Hyun-Ok

Graham refolded the letter and placed it back into the book, then slipped the journal back into its leather sleeve. He wasn’t sure what to think of the boy. He wasn’t surprised by the warning, since he’d often heard the distant sound of gunfire and had seen the black smoke drifting this way from afar almost every evening. He’d had no reason to venture that way because his dad had issued the no-contact order. The family members had always stayed close to the house, and then they had started dying off, one by one, so Graham certainly hadn’t thought of going anywhere before now. But there was the family’s cabin, as he and his father had planned—far away, Graham hoped, from all this madness, disease, and death. Now that he knew of Campos he would have to devise a plan so that he and Bang could get away safely.

Unfortunately, the route he needed to take to get to the cabin led him right through the trouble spot; they were locked in by man and nature both. To get to the other side of the highway, raised above the neighborhood like a causeway and lined with stone walls on each side, they needed to cross under the bridge right where this Campos fellow resided. This guy sounded pretty bad. Regrettably, the immunity to the virus wasn’t confined to good people alone, as Graham’s dad had warned him.

Then, like most nights before he went to sleep, Graham cleaned his rifle, taking pleasure in the familiar routine. This act had recently taken precedence over his bedtime ritual of reading a chapter or two of a dystopian novel; in the last few days the world around him mirrored the novels too closely for Graham to be able to enjoy them.

Having finished cleaning the rifle, Graham lay down on his bed. Despite everything that had happened that day, it took only minutes to fall asleep.

5 Heading Out

Just before he woke, Graham’s father’s death replayed in his dreams. The desperate pleas, and the last-minute imparting to Graham of every bit of advice he would need to survive, remained with Graham as he awoke. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning, Graham suddenly noticed the sleepy little boy sitting atop the adjacent bed, leaning against the headboard. For a moment Graham couldn’t make the connection. Then it all came back to him from the day before: losing two and gaining one. This new day brought with it a new purpose, one Graham could look forward to because now he had a boy to look after and that meant he needed to keep him safely away from harm. He felt the burden of the promise, but he did not resent it, even though it had come unexpectedly.

Time to get the hell out of here, especially considering Hyun-Ok’s warning.

“Morning, Bang. You sleep well?” he asked. The boy nodded. Graham could see from Bang’s sad little face that yesterday’s facts were shaping into reality for him as well. Bang let himself drop back down to his pillow.

“I’m going to take another shower this morning, because we’re headed off on a journey and we probably won’t be able to get clean for a while—until we get to the new place. After I’m done, you can take a shower or a bath, too—whatever you’d like to do. You do know how to take a shower, right?” Graham asked him.

Bang nodded, then asked, “Where are we going?”

“Away from here. Someplace safe. You’ll see in due time.”

Hell! I don’t know what to do with a five-year-old. Guess I better let him figure the shower thing out, and if he comes out clean then that will do. A stinky little boy will be the least I have to worry about. Heck, we’re both going to be pretty ripe soon enough.

Graham grabbed a change of clothes, went back to the bathroom and turned on the hot shower. He tried to wash away his grief and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. It looks like I’m going to have to find a way out of town tonight, sans engine, according to Hyun-Ok’s warning, he thought. His truck was out of the question. Then it hit him: maybe they could take the bikes in the garage and make a quiet escape. He did not know if Bang could ride a bike. His niece’s bike was about the right size, and it would have to do, even if it was a bit girly.

Graham hoped the boy knew how to ride; teaching him out front in the driveway would be too risky. As he thought about it, teaching a kid he hardly knew hit right up there with experiencing parenthood. Graham was a novice guardian at best and felt severely unprepared; he wished he could just go into the next room and ask his dad, but instead he’d have to rely on what he remembered of his own experiences as a kid. His parents had been pretty decent with him and his sister, so he would just ask himself what his mom or dad would do as each case presented itself. He’d made a promise to Hyun-Ok and, as best he could, he intended to keep it.

The day had come where he would set into place what he and his father had planned, though now these plans also included a young boy. It would certainly slow him down, but he’d never been a loner in life and started to warm to the idea of having the kid along. At least it gave him a legitimate reason to talk—to someone other than himself.

After showering, Graham contemplated shaving, but somehow just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Looking at his reflection in the mirror he saw a worn man full of grief, someone he did not know at all.

He headed into the bedroom, where he found a neatly folded solid blue comforter but no boy. “Bang?” he called in a panic, cursing himself for not leaving the bathroom door open this time. He did not have to look far; Graham found Bang in the kitchen, staring out the glass door at his mother’s grave.

The boy’s eyes had still not lost their sleepy morning gaze. “All right, buddy, it’s your turn,” he said with relief. “You do know how to turn on the shower, right?” Bang grabbed his backpack without looking up at Graham and stomped past him, heading down the hall and into the steamy bathroom. Graham watched him as he closed the door; somehow he did not quite believe the kid could do it all by himself, as tiny as he was.

Graham turned on the Keurig coffeemaker one last time and leaned against the counter. He and his father had joked many times about who would be the first to die and who would get the last K-cup. His dad dubbed it the “last stander” trophy. Graham flipped the white cup around a few times and opened the Keurig’s hatch, popping the cup in with its familiar snap; this single cup of coffee, the last that remained, seemed a morbid symbol.

He let the machine go through its routine. The pleasing aroma filtered through the room, which made the first tears of the day slip gently down his sunken cheeks. Graham lifted his steaming cup in a toast to his departed father and sipped down the black brew. He needed this caffeine jolt to begin this day. His father had been right. If it were not for the well-planned escape, Graham would not make it for long here in such silence.

Bang emerged from the bathroom and walked back down the hall toward Graham, dragging his feet and his backpack. He looked and smelled fairly clean.

“Good job, buddy,” said Graham. “Lookin’ good. Let’s get some breakfast and start packing up this place. We have got a lot to do before we head out tonight.”

Graham reached down and lifted the boy easily onto the granite countertop. He needed to talk to him while reheating some leftover beans and rice he’d made a few days earlier. Initially it was intended to be enough to last Graham and his dad a few days. Now they’d have to throw some out.

It was lucky for Graham’s family that his mother’s southern roots had taught her to always stock a pantry well. She had always kept twenty-five pound sacks of pinto beans and rice in store. She shopped at Costco weekly and always prepared for emergencies. After having lived through the aftermath of several hurricanes, droughts, and other calamities while growing up in south Texas, she argued it just made sense to be prepared.

While the family quickly grew tired of beans and rice, they never grew hungry. Grabbing a second bowl for the boy, Graham considered him and asked something his mother had always asked his friends. It had always caused him great embarrassment as a kid.

“Are you allergic to anything?”

Bang just shrugged and made a face instead of answering. Not ever running across anyone allergic to rice and beans, Graham decided it was a safe bet Bang could have it. He knew now this parenting thing left him with a lot to consider.

Graham pulled out the little red plastic cup that had always been reserved for his niece. He filled it with cold tap water and handed it to Bang with the steaming bowl of food. The boy peered down at his bowl and for a second, Graham thought he might toss it on the floor, but hunger won out.

Seeing this, Graham felt a pang of guilt at how easy their family had had it compared to others; at least they had not gone hungry. He felt happy to be able to ease the boy’s hunger even in this little way. Once he finished, Graham debated giving him seconds, but thought it might not be a good idea given how little Bang had probably eaten in recent weeks; he looked skinny. Instead, he offered more clean water; he did not want the boy to throw up what he’d eaten.

With their meal completed, Graham took the time to ask Bang a few questions. After all, he’d only known the kid a few hours and held full responsibility for his life now. As much information as he could get would help him decide their next step. Graham knew they would be leaving for the family cabin up near the Old Cascade Highway by the Skagit River tonight. The plans were already made. At least there, he hoped, they would be safe from the wild animals and the stench that had brought them to civilization. Even now he could hear the howls of the packs in the distance. Additionally, the fires that had started in Seattle continued to grow unabated. What started as a distant glow seemed to be spreading, rapaciously consuming the vast amounts of fuel on its way.

Waiting for his father to pass had felt like the only thing holding Graham back; his dad would never have considered being buried away from his mother. But now it was time to make a clean break.

“So, it’s just you and me,” he said to Bang, who sat on the counter with his small legs dangling down, resting his heels against the cupboard. Graham knew he needed to get some dialog going with the obstinate child. Remembering Hyun-Ok’s letter, he asked, “So, how old are you, Bang?”

Instead of answering, Bang held up his hand and splayed five fingers. Graham tried again.

“Can you hunt?” he asked. The boy’s face brightened a little and he nodded his response. “Well, I’ll have to see you do that sometime,” he said, trying to make the best of it, even if Bang did not want to talk back.

Graham thought he should probably make some things clear to his new ward before they got started. “Bang, we need to set a few rules to be safe,” he said. Recalling his sister’s voice to her own daughter, he said, “You need to always stay nearby. I need to know where you are, all the time. If you have any questions, you can ask me, all right?”

Bang just nodded.

“Do you have any questions?” Graham asked him, putting him on the spot.

Bang’s face was blank, but then he asked, all of a sudden, “Do you have a truck?”

With a relieved smile Graham knew he’d made some kind of breakthrough with the boy. He also remembered being a boy of five himself and an aficionado of trucks.

“Yes, I have a blue truck. I thought we could use it today, but now I’m afraid we’ll have to make different plans. We have to leave here tonight and go somewhere that’s safer before the winter weather takes hold. We’ll start packing now and leave after dark. We have a lot of work to do.”

He helped Bang down from the counter, then pulled out several Ziploc gallon bags and showed Bang how to fill and seal them with the leftover dry rice remaining in the opened twenty-five pound bag.

Watching the child sift the little grains into the bags with a cup reminded Graham of memories, though very recent ones. His mother had been partial to the pinto bean—“as versatile as it is,” she would say—but had not restricted the family to only one kind of rice. There were ten twenty-five pound bags of several different varieties—jasmine, Calrose, long grain, and basmati—stored in the garage. It kept things from getting too boring, at least.

Graham and his dad jokingly fought over which bag they would open next, finally settling on a system of rotation. Graham favored the jasmine, but Dad preferred the short, sticky grain Calrose. His father argued the benefits were that it “stuck to your ribs” and said, “Now that’s rice that’ll get you through men’s work.”

Here I go again, stirring up memories that will do nothing but hold me back today. Graham figured it was probably normal to go through memories after a loved one passed away, and he wondered if Bang was doing the same thing. He hoped that, since Bang was in new and different surroundings, there were not as many stimuli to provoke such memories. Graham hoped his own reminiscences would subside a little once they got to the cabin. He did not want them to go away completely, just enough to prevent him from going insane or living a life filled with grief.

After supervising Bang for a few minutes, he said, “I’m going to go right over there to the garage to work on a few things. I’ll leave the door open, so if you need anything, yell.” Bang just looked up at him, nodded, and then continued his work, but Graham noticed the boy glancing over to the couch where his mother had died. His memories were there too.

Leaving Bang to his task, Graham propped open the garage door with the petrified rock his dad kept there for that purpose. The first thing that came to him in the darkness was the scent of his father.

He flipped on the light and looked at the bikes, which neatly hung from ceiling hooks. He pulled down the one his dad often rode, as well as his niece’s pink Barbie bike, which Graham’s parents kept for their granddaughter’s visits. He cringed at the pink sparkly tassels and pink basket. He would not have dared to be seen on one of these when he had been a boy of Bang’s age, but these were not normal times, and the kid would just have to deal with it. Graham quickly pulled off the tassels and the basket, but that was the best he could do.

He brought the little bike over to his dad’s workbench, where he could still sense the man now departed. He considered using the noisy air compressor to fill the tires, but it probably was not worth the risk of attracting attention, so he opted for the handheld pump they’d always taken with them on long rides.

Graham grew uneasy at the silence from the kitchen and went back to the door to check. The boy was still busy at the bottom of the big rice bag, and Graham said, “Come out to the garage when you’re done.”

He’d taken care of his niece a few times, but never held the sole responsibility of a child. He decided he both liked and disliked the duty. He could not quite pinpoint why the job came as a hindrance to him—perhaps because it made him feel vulnerable somehow. Graham had only been Bang’s guardian for twenty-four hours, yet he knew he’d have to kill anyone who would try to harm the boy. This came as a shock; he’d never before adopted what he thought of as a macho-man attitude, but there it was.

Graham pressed his own weight down on the bike seat and handlebars, rolling it across the garage. He wanted to listen to see how much noise it made. After noticing the typical clickety-click of the chain, he heard something unexpected. He knelt and saw bunches of pine needles wrapped around the back wheel slot and bits of brush in the spokes. He picked them out and cleaned it up, then oiled the chain and spun the pedals to work the oil in. Satisfied that he’d made the bike as quiet as possible, barring the typical chain noise, he turned his attention to his own bike and did the same.

Next on the list was his mom’s bike cargo trailer, which they’d often taken on picnics. It was a two-wheel configuration that attached with a hitch to the back wheel joint; its flat platform fit a heavy duty lidded blue storage container. Graham dusted it off, rolled it around to listen for any excess noise, and oiled its moving parts.

He attached the hitch to his bike and then noticed, out of the corner of his eye, Bang standing in the doorway with his finger in his mouth. “You can come in, buddy,” he said in a cheerful tone, waving the boy in. Graham knew the little guy was not used to him yet and that he would have to build trust over time.

“Bang, do you know how to ride a bike?” Bang’s face lit up like a sparkler.

“Yes, I can ride. I have a bike at home. My mom takes me lots of times. We even bike to school sometimes, and—.” His little face fell to an expression that echoed the one Graham had seen in his mirror that morning: a happy memory turned, in a nanosecond, to devastation, the good thoughts replaced by the pain of their new reality.

“Well, that’s great,” Graham said, sidestepping the strong reel of emotion, clear as hell on the little kid’s face. He hoped the pain would go away quicker if he didn’t acknowledge it, if they didn’t dwell on it. “Come on, then. Let’s see if this will work for you.” He motioned to Bang as he pulled the hideous pink bike out for him. Graham watched as the boy eyed the bike. With a look that could kill, the kid shut down.

“Look, I know it’s pink, but it’s all we have right now,” Graham said. “If we come across something more suitable for a boy, we’ll trade it then.” He leaned the bike in Bang’s direction and hoped the kid would take it, but he didn’t move.

“Bang, I don’t have time for this. If you ride this bike, as soon as we can, we’ll find you a better one. I promise.”

Then, in an abrupt about-face, Bang simply nodded his head and grabbed the handles.

“You’ll have to ride around in here for now, and we’ll see if we need to adjust anything,” Graham said.

Bang looked eager to show off, so he hopped on the bike and began skillfully riding around in circles. Graham then realized Bang had no helmet. Oh crap, there is no way that kid will go for that, he thought, eyeing the pink Barbie helmet. It probably won’t fit him anyway; the kid has a big noggin. Graham reached into the sports cabinet and pulled out his mom’s helmet, which thankfully was olive green.

“Hey, Bang, stop for a minute. Let’s see if this will fit you,” he said. As the little bike skidded to a stop right in front of him, Graham realized that the kid really could ride, and loved to do so. After adjusting the helmet to fit snugly, he let Bang practice a few more times around the garage. He noticed that he even stood on the pedals, leaning on one side or the other when turning. This boy has some skills, he thought. That’ll come in handy—as long as he doesn’t get reckless.

After adjusting the seat, Graham went on to other matters. “Next, we need to start loading. We only have a little space, but we’re going to load up as much as we can with food, sleeping bags, ammo, and a first aid kit.”

Graham and Bang worked side by side, busily collecting and stuffing as many essentials as they could into the trailer tote, which seemed far too small for a trek like theirs. Using bungee cords, they strapped the sleeping bags to its top. Graham knew he should take several other things, but there just was not room.

He grabbed his dad’s pocketknife, putting it into his jeans pocket. Then he noticed a smaller one—his own from childhood—which he handed to Bang. “Keep this in your pocket, buddy. It is for work, not play, do you understand?”

The boy met his gaze with a serious face, nodded his understanding, and put the knife in his jeans pocket. Graham hoped he could entrust Bang with such a thing, but he guessed that someday soon the boy, struck with a fit of boredom, would run his thumb along the blade, causing a thin red gash, as he himself had done as a child and as his father had done before him. By circumstance Graham was passing the gruesome rite of passage down to this boy.

Having just evoked yet another memory, Graham growled under his breath and retreated into the house. He went to collect a few pieces of silverware and some bar soap, as well as the first aid kit and the plastic shower curtain to use as a barrier against the constant drizzle. Most important, he went into his father’s closet, with Bang close behind him. He opened up the gun safe and collected two of his dad’s Garand rifles and his Ruger handgun. He put the rifles into cases and strapped his father’s holster at his waist for the handgun. He felt awkward wearing it but, as with his own rifle, he’d soon get used to it.

They went back to the kitchen counter for the map that he and his dad had drawn up for the best route out of town. His great-great-grandfather had built the cabin as a trapping lodge in the 1920s. Over the years it came to serve as a winter hunting lodge and summer retreat for the whole family. They spent several weeks there each summer, and in the winter Graham and his father went there to hunt. Now, with everyone else gone, it belonged to Graham alone.

Almost every visit had brought improvements to the cabin. His grandfather had built on a bunkroom and the attached bathroom. Running water and electricity came next, and just the previous year an indoor composting toilet was added; it was a huge improvement over the old outhouse. Most recently they’d replaced the old woodstove with a larger and more efficient one his dad had found on Craigslist; hauling the heavy cast-iron thing had made them both ache and groan for days afterward, but it had been worth the effort.

The structure, built well in the beginning, had had many repairs and upgrades over the years. On one visit, as a teenager, Graham had helped rechink the grout and replace rotted boards. On another visit he and his dad had replaced the cedar roof shingles. He had always suspected his dad had arranged these chores to keep him out of trouble during the summer months.

He just could not escape the memories.

With their gear all packed, including their personal backpacks, Graham plotted his and Bang’s possible route through town. Though he’d play it by ear, not committing them to any particular course, he’d adjust as needed for safety. Typically, they’d take the highway up near Seattle and then shoot northeast. But it was safer to snake up the less-traveled back roads.

Graham knew they would have to rough it on bikes until they bypassed the bad guy Campos. Since he had not ventured out lately, Graham really didn’t know what conditions he would find, but he knew there were the feral animals to worry about. He also knew that the highways were cluttered with abandoned cars, and maybe they could secure one. The best idea was to adopt a wait-and-see approach. Once he could see where the bad guy hung out, then maybe he and the kid could slink through unnoticed.

Unfortunately there was no other way to get up to and across the overpass either by road or on foot. They would just have to go as quietly as possible under the highway and cross by the gas station.

Graham hoped to get past without drawing the guy’s attention. According to Hyun-Ok’s letter, this Campos character apparently stopped folks who were coming into town, not those trying to get out. If he had to confront him he would just reason with him or offer him food to pass through peacefully. But Graham would be armed, and he would have Bang ride on his left, providing a little cover for the kid in case things got hairy.

To get to the cabin on the outskirts of Cascade, along the Skagit River, they’d go hopefully by “borrowed” truck, up the road through Fall City and Carnation. Then, they’d go finally up to Monroe, but Graham doubted they could drive freely on Highway 2, so he opted for the less traveled back roads that would take them around the lake and then north to Granite Falls. From there, they’d take another back road through Darrington and then finally north to Cascade.

All these small towns were now deserted. If they ran into any trouble, they could always change their route. The last thing he wanted to do was end up hiking with a five-year-old, making it an epic trek through the wilderness.

Now that Graham had his plan mapped out, he also thought it might be wise to grab his dad’s binoculars so that he could scout ahead.

Graham heard a grumbling noise coming from the little guy who was shadowing his every move; this signaled lunchtime. Again Graham resorted to rewarming the last of the leftover beans, forgoing the rice this time. There was just enough for the two of them.

“Okay, Bang,” he said. “It’s time we tidy up this place so if—when—we come back here someday it won’t be a mess. We’re going to ride our bikes out of here tonight, and I don’t know when we’ll get a chance to sleep. So, if you need to take a nap before we go, this is the time. What do you think?” he asked the boy.

Bang hastily shook his head, and with an offended glare, answered, “I don’t take naps.”

Note to self: Bang does not do naps. At least he was learning more about the boy.

Looking Bang over, he decided the boy needed more cold weather gear. Nightfall often brought cooler temperatures. Bike riding at night would be quite cold indeed until they could procure a decent vehicle to drive. He checked out the hall closet for extra gloves and jackets. He found pink gloves and mittens but did not even try to pass them off to the boy. Instead he opted for one of his own black knit hats and his mom’s black knit gloves, which stretched to fit all sizes.

As he rifled through the closet Graham kept thinking about a potential confrontation with the Campos guy. He thought it might be wise to stash the boy and their bikes nearby while he confronted Campos on foot. He would wait to decide until he could get a visual of the situation. If it were true that Campos had already killed two people, as Hyun-Ok had claimed to witness, he’d likely killed more. “How crazy could this guy be?” he muttered. In a few hours the answer would be clear.

Graham looked through his mother’s hall of portraits, about which he often chided her. He looked for one with a decent likeness of them all and small enough to carry around in his wallet. He rarely carried his wallet with him now, but in the impossible event the world did indeed come back, he wanted his identification and his family picture with him. Or, if he admitted it to himself, he just really felt like taking them along with him on this journey.

Never in a million years did he think he would trek by bike and an unknown truck to the family cabin, past bad guys and wild animals, with a kid named Bang, at the end of humankind. How life had changed in the course of just a few months. Graham had no idea what would become of them next year at this time. Staying alive was the plan right now.

The night started to descend, so Graham made the last of the rice for dinner with his mom’s southern gravy recipe. He heated and then whisked together a little melted venison fat with the remaining flour and canned milk. He diluted it with water and sprinkled it liberally with salt and pepper. His dad would have been proud of the dinner. Graham offered a bowl to Bang and he wolfed it down in quick order.

After dinner, Bang and Graham walked out to his mother’s garden. They gathered a few of his mom’s remaining prized but faded roses and took them over to the six unmarked graves. He let Bang pick which one he wanted to place on Hyun-Ok’s grave. They stood in silence, a solemn moment in the sunset haze, with no words needed between them.

Graham believed Bang was what he’d heard others talk about from time to time—a child possessed with an old soul. His silent actions today as they prepared their escape bore witness to this characteristic. Graham knew they’d get along well once Bang stopped resenting him.

After their impromptu memorial, Graham went around the inside of the house, making sure all the windows were locked, turned off the water heater, and then, after making one last ceremonial trip to the bathroom, he shut off the incoming main water valve. After he was satisfied that he had completed his checklist of the house, he securely locked the front door from the inside. It was all as if they were just going on vacation.

They donned their backpacks and headed to the garage. Along the way, he turned off the few lights. Grabbing his rifle, he slung it over his back to have it at the ready. He reached over to Bang, secured his helmet and retied his shoes while down at his level. He then remembered something: a few weeks back he’d seen his childhood bow and arrows in a quiver tucked in a corner of the garage. He grabbed the quiver and showed it to Bang.

“Would you like this?” Graham asked. Bang’s face lit up, and Graham thought he detected the beginnings of a smile. Graham fastened the quiver to Bang with a strap that secured over his head and around his back. The small archery set seemed perfect for his size, but Graham doubted it would be good for defense. Nevertheless, if it made Bang feel more secure to wear the contraption, he did not have a problem with it.

After checking for any danger, be it from man or beast, Graham popped the garage door latch manually, making as little noise as possible. They pulled their gear out into the darkened driveway, securing the door behind them, and headed out, riding side by side. Graham’s bike towed the little supply trailer with the rifle case sticking out awkwardly. With the unknown before them, they did not even think to look back.

6 Bang

Draped in darkness, the autumn hued trees didn’t have their typical daytime appeal. To Bang they resembled the frightening and enormous goblins, Dokkaebi, from Korean folklore. Bang had always enjoyed his father telling him about these mythical mischief-makers, but sometimes he would have nightmares afterward. His mother would discourage his father from sharing the stories, but Bang just couldn’t get enough of the tall tales.

The Dokkaebi were known to play tricks on unsuspecting mortals who traveled, as Bang and Graham were doing now. They would transform out of inanimate objects to challenge travelers in an impromptu wrestling match to guarantee their safe passage. Bang imagined this would be really scary about now; he did not want to find out what would happen if he failed, though—according to legend—winning such a match would often earn one a magical item. Bang moved in to ride a little closer to Graham, just in case the Dokkaebi appeared. He figured Graham could probably wrestle better than he could.

They quickly reached the neighborhood’s main drive. From there they could see stationary vehicles all along the highway overpass, in both directions, leading up to where Campos’s gas station was. A light could be seen in the distance, but at present no one was within sight. The ever-present fire glow to the west lit up the distant darkness. It seemed to grow a little each day.

Bang missed his mother. He didn’t want to be there at night in the dark. He tried to honor his mother’s wishes though; she had told him to obey Graham and to help him when he could. Bang tried to remember that, but his heart ached for her and he wanted to go home. At first he had hated Graham, but after he saw the man crying in the hallway he knew his heart ached too. Maybe he isn’t such a bad guy, he thought. Graham had already saved Bang from the dogs, and because his mother wanted him to trust Graham, he decided to stay with him.

7 Marcy, Macy, and Sheriff

Events forced Marcy and Macy to learn how to drive. It had been weeks now, and they were tired of waiting for their dad to show up. They’d discovered their mom dead from the virus the night before last after they broke into her bathroom and found her on the floor. Their mom had locked herself away so as not to expose the girls, but even with the virus all around, in their house, in the air, neither one of them became ill. They moved her dead body to her bed. They each took one end, stopping several times; Mom weighed more than they had expected. Of course, they were both slight, though at fifteen the twins told each other they were really quite strong.

Afterward they washed Mom’s face with a cool washcloth and pulled the covers over her. Not certain what else to do, they admitted the time had come to make their way to Dad’s house. They took turns calling him, but he never answered. This was not new to them, so they kept at it.

“He has to answer at some time, right?” Marcy asked her sister.

So many were dead in their neighborhood, and with Mom gone now they were getting really scared. After crying themselves to sleep, they woke to a new reality. Dad lived at the apartments in Issaquah. To get there they would have to drive down the highway, a trip they had done many times before as passengers. So they pulled their mother’s keys out of her purse. “She would want Dad to take care of us now,” Macy said.

The Williamses, who had lived next door, were gone—or at least no one had answered when they knocked the day before. They did not hear anyone anywhere except for the dog packs. Not only that, but late the previous night they had been awakened by loud yelling from the street outside. The girls went downstairs and looked out the front windows, where they witnessed a man running down their road with several dogs chasing him. He screamed and screamed as he ran out of their view. More screaming came after that, and then silence. The girls clung to one another, too afraid to open the door. They were not sure what happened to the man. After the quiet had come finally, they cried themselves to sleep again, this time on the living room sofa.

Too scared even to go to the bathroom alone, the twins made the decision to head over to their dad’s place by themselves. Considering the circumstances, they did not think he’d mind them trying to drive. “This constitutes an emergency,” Marcy said, justifying their plan. And in an emergency, new rules are made.”

They had seen Mom and Dad do this plenty of times, so how hard could it be? Since they’d probably stay at Dad’s for a while, they both packed overnight bags. They’d both slept late, so they tried to hurry, because they wanted to make it to Dad’s before nightfall.

Macy suggested that she should drive first, to which Marcy said, “You know how it works. We have to play rock-paper-scissors.”

Macy rolled her eyes but started the ritual anyway. Their old ceremonial game seemed childish to her now, but it was how they has always resolved disputes. Having an identical twin had some drawbacks. Marcy was bossier, and Macy figured it was not worth the ensuing battle to point out that they were old enough now to make their own decisions.

Macy decided on rock, and Marcy, of course, paper. “You always win,” Macy grumbled. Sometimes she thought Marcy could read her mind. Was it not enough that they mirrored each other, with blue eyes and blond, wavy hair? It just was not fair, but perhaps that’s what had kept them alive and together. Macy felt ashamed of herself for being upset with her sister. It would indeed kill her, too, if Marcy died of the virus and left her all alone.

Marcy grabbed the keys out of Macy’s hand and they walked out to the attached garage, making sure the car doors were closed before they let the garage door up. Adjusting the seat so that her feet could just touch the pedals, Marcy checked to see if she could see out the rearview mirror.

“Put your seatbelt on, Mace, this might be bumpy,” she said.

Before Marcy could start the ignition, Macy advised, “You have to move that stick to R, like Mom does.”

“I know, I watch her too—watched her, I mean,” Marcy said, a small crack in her voice. She turned the key, hearing it complain far too loudly, and then removed her hand. “Oh, I think it’s on now,” she said. Then she moved the stick to R, but nothing happened. “Okay, what do we do to make it go?” she asked Macy.

“You have to use the pedals. I think the left one is the brake and the right one is the gas. Try putting your foot on the gas a little,” Macy said.

Barely pressing the pedal on the right, she could hear the engine get louder, but the car didn’t move, so she eased up on the pedal. Macy noticed the other handle next to the drive stick. “This is the parking brake, I think.” She reached over and pushed the button to lower the lever. Then they started sliding backward down the sloped driveway. Marcy screamed, and Macy yelled, “Hit the brake!”

As Marcy stomped on the brake, both girls lurched forward, nearly hitting the dashboard. Shaking now, they looked out the window, having just barely reached the road. Macy noticed an audience of a single curious boxer dog, sitting on his haunches, panting. At first glance the dog looked like any of the once-beloved neighborhood pets. She’d seen this one on a leash walking with its owner many times before.

Then she noticed another dog and shouted, “Look, they’re coming! Quick—close the garage door so they can’t get in!”

The garage door closed just in time. A blood-stained Akita showed up, baring his teeth at the girls. The noise encouraged his entourage to do the same, and even the docile boxer joined in. “Time to go,” Marcy said, lifting her foot off the brake. The car slid back as the dogs went from a low growl to ferocious barking that caused the girls to scream again. Then, remembering the brake pedal, Marcy pressed it again, but this time not so hard. Macy reached over and began to spin the steering wheel to move the car into the road, like their mom used to do.

With dogs trailing behind them and jumping up at the windows, Macy pushed the shifter from R to D and yelled at Marcy, who was too distracted by a German shepherd snarling at her window to press the gas pedal.

“Press the gas, Marcy!” she yelled, trying to get her attention again. Some part of Marcy heard her, and she stomped on the gas as Macy tried to steer from the passenger’s seat. The dog pack chased them down the road, but soon gave up since more accessible prey was available.

“Slow down!” Macy yelled, and Marcy let off the gas halfway. Thankful that the road was clear of many obstacles, they soon approached a stop sign.

“Mom made this look so easy,” Marcy said as she pressed the brakes again, stopping them fifteen feet before the sign. This time they only leaned forward a little when she applied the brakes.

“This just takes practice, Marce,” Macy said. “Just move up a little more so we can turn onto the main road.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Marcy shouted. “You try to do this for the first time with wild dogs trying to get you. I just saved your life, Mace, so you should be grateful instead of giving me a hard time about it.”

“I was not giving you a hard time, Marcy. I’m just trying to help!” Macy yelled back.

Approaching the stop sign, Marcy removed her foot from the gas pedal and stomped the brake again. They both flew forward sharply and then back again.

“Marcy! Not so hard.”

“Sorry!” yelled Marcy, clearly frustrated about this driving thing.

With Marcy’s foot easing off the brake pedal, the Grand Am glided slowly forward. This time Marcy employed her newly learned technique of softly applying pressure to the brake. Both girls leaned forward, turning their blond curls left and then right in unison, checking for oncoming cars; they’d seen their parents do this many times. Since there no cars, Marcy turned the wheel, not paying attention to the lines on the road. Her driving was simply an effort to stay on the road, and being in the middle just seemed like a good idea. The farther they got into town, the more cars they’d have to dodge anyway. If one did come the other way, she figured she would pull over then.

Macy checked behind. No more dogs followed them. Turning back to face front, she knew there were a few straight miles ahead of them before they got to the highway turnoff. She began to look around. Up ahead, the first stop light intersection came into view and there were cars stopped in one lane, even though the light had turned green.

Marcy slowed down as the lane divided, one for going straight, the other for turning. She came to a stop, trying to assess the situation. They waited behind a gray SUV at the green light. They had rehearsed this scenario many times in the past and both girls thought the car should have started moving by now, but it did not.

“Honk the horn,” Macy suggested as the idea came to her.

Marcy studied the steering wheel, looking for the right thing to press. She finally noticed the horn icon and pressed it, allowing the intrusive sound to disturb the afternoon silence all around them. Birds flew up in haste along the street side.

Once the sound had dissipated into the late afternoon horizon, Macy put the drive stick back into R. Marcy then depressed the gas pedal and they rolled backward several car lengths. After applying gentle pressure to the brakes again, to keep herself and her sister from flopping around like ragdolls, Marcy came to a complete stop. Macy moved the drive stick to D again and Marcy rotated the steering wheel left and pressed the gas pedal a little to pass the parked car.

Slowing as they passed the SUV, Macy could see the driver slumped over the steering wheel. Though the girls could not see the face, they both knew what had happened; and now reality was settling in.

“I hope Dad’s okay,” Macy said, never having thought of the possibility that he, too, could have become a victim of the virus.

Driving through the intersection that led to the highway entrance ramp, the girls noticed several cars in the way. As Marcy snaked their car through, it scraped a Suburban; the horrible screeching continued as the Grand Am forced itself through the space between the other car and the guardrail.

Marcy continued to wind her way, having somewhat gotten the hang of this driving thing by now and squeezing between parked cars. Macy sat high in her seat to help navigate ahead until the cars became so crowded that there was no longer much space between them.

Marcy, unsure of the next direction to take, killed the engine. After scouting around the area for dogs, Macy rolled down her window. She pulled herself through the narrow opening to stand on the windowsill, gaining a better view of what lay ahead. With wide eyes she returned to the passenger seat and rolled up her window.

“What? What’s out there?” asked Marcy.

“The road’s blocked, we can’t get through this way. We’re stuck, Marcy. We’ll have to walk from here.”

“No! What about the dogs?” Marcy asked. How could Macy have forgotten them so quickly?

“That’s what I’m saying. We can’t stay in the car. There are big concrete barriers up ahead with police cars on the other side with their lights on. We’re not going to make it this way,” Macy said.

Sitting in silence, both girls tried to solve the dilemma, knowing they did not want to leave the safety of the car.

“I think we should take our stuff, leave the car here, and walk to the barricade. Climb over and see if there is a car on the other side that we can take. The road is clear over there,” Macy said.

Marcy’s jaw dropped. “We can’t steal a car. Are you crazy? You can go to jail for that. The police are over there. Maybe they can take us the rest of the way.”

“Marce, things are different now. Look around you. We’ll leave a note or something to let the owner know that we’re borrowing it. This is an emergency and, like you said, we have to make new rules now. They’ll understand. They’re probably dead by now anyway. In fact, we haven’t seen anyone alive since that guy ran from the dogs last night, remember? It’ll be okay. Dad can explain it to them if the police come. Or if someone’s alive in the car, we’ll ask them to take us to Dad’s, okay?”

Pausing in the silence to give it a little more thought, Marcy conceded. “Well, I can’t think of anything else better, so let’s get started. The sooner we get to Dad’s, the better.”

As the twins gathered their belongings, Marcy said, “We need something to fight with in case those dogs come at us again.”

Looking around in the car for potential weapons, they came up with an ice scraper on the floor by the backseat and Macy’s metal ruler. She’d been looking for it a while back; it must have dropped out of her backpack.

Then Macy lowered her window once again and scouted out the easiest path of escape through the cramped cars ahead. She saw a few places they’d likely have to climb over bumpers while they wound their way to the concrete barrier.

Climbing back into the car, she said, “Okay, it should not be too hard. Just follow me and we’ll run as fast as we can. Stay close and don’t make any noise. We don’t want to attract the dogs’ attention.” She added a second thought. “You need to come out my side since you don’t have any room over there. Don’t slam the door, just push it in softly.”

“Okay, that sounds like a good plan. How far is it?” Marcy asked, scared.

Macy had thought about this before she jumped back into the car. “From our front door to Mr. Sanchez’s house,” she said. Explaining the distance in this way was an old habit, one that Marcy would accept, and thus she would not be too afraid. Macy thought the distance was actually more like from their front door to the Christensons’ house, which was quite a bit farther, but she did not want Marcy to know that or she might opt to stay in the car indefinitely.

Looking again to make sure there were no predators present, Macy opened her door and Marcy scooted over the center aisle controls to exit on that side. The area between their car and the one to their right was just barely enough for their petite frames to pass through. Marcy closed the door with just a click.

Macy led them in a crouch as they scurried along, armed with only the metal ruler and plastic ice scraper. With overnight bags flung over their shoulders, they made their way through the tiny passages left open between cars. They leaped up and over the hood of an Escort that had rammed against a 4Runner. Checking behind them for any threat, they stopped occasionally to listen carefully before resuming their escape to the concrete barrier.

Finally, when it was within sight, Marcy pulled Macy’s sleeve. “I thought you said to Mr. Sanchez’s,” she protested breathlessly, “but this is way farther!”

“Come on, Marcy. It’s not much longer—look!”

They were squatting behind the rear bumper of a dirty white Impala. Standing up slightly to get a better view, they were shocked to see several dead bodies. They looked like they’d been struck down in an attempt to confront whatever officers might lay beyond. There were dark blood smears where animals must have fed on them. Their scattered remains were all over the roadway.

“Oh God,” Marcy said, and covered her mouth before she bent to heave.

Macy just stared beyond the carnage, forcing herself to plan a route. Patting Marcy on the shoulder she said, “I know it’s bad, but look over this way. We can make our way over to the edge where there’s a crack between the barrier and the railing. We can push back the barbed wire above it. I think we can squeeze through there to the other side.”

Marcy began to sob in fearful desperation. “It really smells bad, and there are all these bodies. Let’s get out of here before the dogs come back.”

Macy realized this could be the beginning of one of Marcy’s famous breakdowns and pulled her behind her at a crouch. “Come on, Marcy. We have to get through here,” she said.

Macy knew she and her twin were always on the too-thin side, something they had often been teased about. But now this enabled a hasty escape, squeezing in between and under the coiled barbed wire traversing the top of the barrier. Holding their bags out to her side, Macy went through first. She pulled her bag through and then reached for Marcy’s. She looked around at the scene before her on the police’s side. After Marcy had come through, they both stayed hunkered in their corner before coming up with the next plan of action.

At least the bodies were behind them now, though the twins could still smell their stench. Before them were four police cars, arrowed inward on each side, with blue strobe lights working on one of them.

Waiting and listening, they remained in their spot to assess the situation. Finally, Macy said, “I don’t think there’s anyone here. We should go over there to the last car on our side and see if we can find the keys. Then we can back it up and take off from there.”

“You can’t steal a police car, Macy.”

Ignoring her sister, Macy took off, scurrying to the end of the first car. Rather than be left behind, Marcy quickly followed.

Seeing no live souls nor roaming dogs in the vicinity, the twins inched their way past the first car. They squatted down next to the one beyond it on the passenger side. Then, they slowly stood and noticed a decaying form, lying back on the reclined driver’s seat; Macy declared this guy “way dead.” With the driver’s door left open he looked like he must have passed right there, on duty, days before.

Macy bent low and around the back of the car, where they came abruptly face to face with a panting German shepherd who scared the hell out of them both. Panicked, Macy jumped backward into Marcy, causing the two of them to scream out and land in a heap.

The dog had spotted them long before they’d crossed the barrier. He had not seen humans without the smell of sickness in a long time, so he had come over to check them out, leaving his guard post.

To Macy’s astonishment, the dog simply sat there, head cocked to one side, regarding them as if they were an oddity. Then, he stood slowly and padded over to them, sniffing them, but without seeming to threaten in any way. Still, Macy remembered the weapon in her right hand and thrust her ruler out at the dog. He sat again on his haunches, panting and tilting his head.

“Get back!” Macy yelled.

Looking confused, the dog lowered his head down to the pavement, as if to show he meant no harm. Then he huffed and lay still, though he never took his gaze from them.

“Stay!” Macy yelled. She’d heard other people order their dogs to do that and, to her surprise, the dog stayed. She pushed herself up and off her sister as she stood. Her ruler shook with the adrenaline rush.

The dog rolled over to his side.

Totally bewildered by this reaction, Macy reached behind her to help Marcy up to her feet.

“I think it’s okay, Marcy,” she said, “He’s not trying to eat us.”

“Don’t trust him, Macy. He could just be playing and then turn on us,” Marcy warned.

As if she just remembered her ice scraper, she looked around where they’d fallen to find it. Seeing it several feet away, she watched the dog cautiously while she reached for it. He did not move a muscle, only watched her movements with his eyes.

Macy, seeing this, decided to take a chance and reached over with her left hand to let him smell her. Her dad taught her to do it this way when approaching animals she didn’t know.

“Don’t do it, Mace,” said Marcy.

The German shepherd merely studied her hand. He sniffed her, and then licked her. Macy began to pet his head and found that he had a black collar around his neck with a sheriff’s badge hanging down to his chest.

“Look, he’s a police dog,” she said, holding up the badge for Marcy to see, then continued to pet the dog.

“Maybe that’s why he has not turned mean,” Marcy answered.

Macy noticed he had bite marks on his haunches, and as she ran her hand over chest, his ribs stood out. “No wonder he’s panting a lot, he’s thirsty. Let’s see if we can find him some water.”

“Come on, Sheriff, do you have water in the car?” she asked him as she got up. He rose from the pavement, trotted over to the open door of the car, and whined a little before the dead officer.

“Oh, sorry, Sheriff, is he your owner?” Macy asked.

The dog just sat down on his haunches. “He wants us to help him,” Marcy said.

“Oh, so sorry, Sheriff, he’s gone. We can’t help him now,” said Macy. She looked into the backseat window and noticed a gray blanket on the seat. Slowly reaching in, she pulled it out, unfolded it and showed Sheriff as she draped the blanket over the decomposing body of his former owner. Then Sheriff lay down on the pavement in front of the doorway and rested his head on his paws again. Macy stroked his fur; she knew his sadness and felt sorry for him.

Turning to Marcy, she said, “I think we should try to see if that car is available instead. If not, we’ll have to move this guy, and I don’t think Sheriff would like that very much. What do you think?”

Macy nodded. It was stupid to take the chance of aggravating the dog. They walked over to the other car across the road. There were no occupants, alive or otherwise, and the keys were on the passenger seat. Macy offered the keys to Marcy, who said, “Your turn. You’ll find out it’s not so easy.”

By this time the sun was going down. “It’s going to be dark soon,” Marcy said, “so we really need to hurry up.”

They opened the doors and the trunk to see if there was any water. Luckily, in the trunk they discovered a half carton of bottled water. Macy took two bottles out and walked over to the dog, opening one of them and offered Sheriff water in the palm of her hand. It tickled her terribly as his rough tongue slurped the water down easily. She repeated this process many times, pouring water into her hand, until Sheriff had drank the contents of both bottles.

Macy walked back to the opened car to close it up, but Sheriff jumped into the backseat, surprising both of them. “Um, he wants to go with us?” Marcy asked.

“Well, it’s up to him I guess. I’m not going to tell a police dog what he can and cannot do, are you?”

Shutting the trunk and doors and seeing no protest from Sheriff, Macy started the ignition. Having had the benefit of watching her twin, she smoothly guided the car into reverse. She then applied the brakes carefully and stopped to adjust the seat to the closest position possible so that she would not compromise her vision. She began again and swung the car around, heading toward Issaquah. Now that the road was wide open, they should be there in no time.

8 The Madman

Horacio Campos had just finished pounding the last sign into the persistently damp earth surrounding his domain. It read no trespassing in big letters above violators will be shot, followed by see mayor campos for supplies.

Now that he’d posted it, everyone would know he owned this town, complete with all the homes and buildings, including their contents. No excuses would be accepted from any trespassers who ignored the rules and failed to pay the toll he established. “No more free rides, like those two bozos who thought they could just walk right through here without paying a fee,” he grumbled aloud. There’d been rules even before he’d posted the signs. There must always be rules.

Just because most folks were dead didn’t mean the few that lived could run off with everything else. After all, he kept the wild animals out—including the wild dog packs. He also kept the electricity on and the water running. If they paid, he’d even sell them gasoline. He had homes ready, complete with cars for those few he thought would be good citizens. They just had to pay in either work or trade. If they wanted supplies or a way through his town, they needed to prove they could pay.

Campos, having grown up here, where his father was the town’s electrician, knew that people often took advantage if you let them. He didn’t let them. Before Daddy’s time, Granddaddy owned this land, including a gas station where he worked.

The government stole it from their family after Granddaddy refused their first offer. Back in the 1970s they claimed the tract of land, which they held was required for “urban renewal” or some such nonsense. What really happened—after they offered only half of the land value and Granddaddy refused—was that they stole it through eminent domain. That caused Granddaddy to get so upset, after spending his entire life farming here, that he up and died of a heart attack from the stress of it all. That had left Daddy fatherless at the age of fifteen.

With bitter resentment, Daddy had told of holding Granddaddy, dying in his arms, and watching Grandmama cry her eyes out. But not for long; soon after, she went whoring around, leaving her son, Campos’s father, alone to fend for himself. Campos remembered Daddy swearing that he’d get the land back someday.

Daddy had gone into the navy. He learned to become an electrician and then came back to his childhood home. He resented providing service for those men who had once worked for his own daddy on the dairy farm. So when this virus struck and everyone began dying off, including his own father, Campos decided the time had come for payback. This land belonged to his family once again, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take it away. If only he’d survived the virus to see what his son had done for him, Daddy would be so proud of him. He wouldn’t get mad at him anymore.

Night and day Campos cleaned the place up. It took several days to round up all the dead bodies and burn them. He also killed family pets to keep them from becoming feral like the rest; he burned them right along with their owners. Since he owned this place now, he wanted it to look nice. He wanted it to look like it was back in the old days, just as his daddy remembered it.

From sunup to sundown he worked to put things back in order. He’d even gone through all the homes and stripped the beds, washing sheets and blankets, vacuuming mattresses and flipping them before making them up again. In the same manner, he went from room to room tossing belongings, cleaning and renewing each home so they could accommodate new citizens once he approved of them.

His daddy hadn’t been one for charity, so Campos wasn’t either—especially not for those last two who’d roamed into town. He offered them work, but he wouldn’t put up with lazy asses. He knew his daddy would not approve of them.

One thing was troubling Campos since the virus had struck and the groceries had begun to run out: so too had his medicine. He broke into the pharmacy lockup, but couldn’t find any Trilafon—the name on his bottle. The good thing about not having the meds meant that his face didn’t twitch so much. So maybe he didn’t need them after all.

But when things were real quiet and he wasn’t so busy, he could hear the voices of those coming for him again. That’s why he kept really busy all the time, from morning to night; mowing the lawns, cleaning the houses, power-washing dried blood off the sidewalks: the endless work meant he could keep the voices away.

His daddy would be real mad that he wasn’t taking his medicine, but if he could see how nice the town was now he might not mind. Just in case Daddy was keeping an eye on him from the beyond, Campos stayed busy as hell. He really hoped Daddy wasn’t one of the voices; that thought scared the hell out of him, more than anything else. “Please, no,” he whimpered, because even the very idea made him shake. I’ll have to search some more to find them pills, he thought. He’d checked all the houses already because surely someone else took the same drugs.

He’d have to check out the apartment building across the way. He hadn’t made his way over there yet, and contemplated burning the whole thing down to the ground because of what had happened there once.

One day, he’d found a live one there. He heard her screaming as she ran from a feral dog. He’d run over there and shot the damn thing, and then she invited him into her apartment to thank him. He thought at first that she would make a nice citizen, but as he got to know her he soon realized she wouldn’t. Daddy would call her sort the whoring kind, just like his own mama. She wore those short skirts and tank tops, not nice lady dresses like Mrs. Walker who had lived next door. Too bad she passed away.

He tried to tell the woman in the apartment that she could not stay for free, but she called him names—and no one could do that anymore. He told her she had to leave at once, but that only made her turn ugly. Then she called him a psycho and a crazy-ass bastard. After that, he remembered grabbing her by the arm, intent on walking her out of there like a gentleman, but she started screaming and hitting him on the chest. Then she took him by surprise and grabbed his manhood through his denim jeans, squeezing, instantly hardening him. He pushed her against the wall, but then he remembered Daddy said never to let anyone touch him there. So he grabbed her around the throat. And then he blacked out a little.

The next thing he knew, she sat leaning against the blood-splattered wall with her head off, neatly hacked from her neck. Then he found his bloody hatchet in his own left hand with her blood dripping from his clasped knuckles, staining the white carpet below.

He cried then, not for the girl but for himself. Now he knew for sure the voices were back. He hadn’t planned to kill her. In fact, he didn’t even remember doing it. He’d never murdered anyone before. He tossed her body in the burning Dumpster, like all the others. He went back to his own little house, still with the effects of her touch on him, to wash off the dried blood clinging to his skin. Daddy would be furious at him. He had really wanted to pull her to him, but Daddy’s voice grew stronger and he knew he watched him then. It scared him still.

Today Campos would work on pulling all the spoiled produce, meat, and dairy products out of the little grocery store down the street. He wished he’d gotten to it earlier, knowing by now how rank it had gotten in there. The maggots were gaining ground, and he hated maggots. That’s why he always made quick work of burning bodies. Burying them all would be impossible, so burning became his method of choice to stunt the maggot infiltration.

“Whew!” he said, and began to gag involuntarily after he’d open the door; he pulled his bandanna up over his nose and mouth to help block the stench. Having donned his work gloves, he grabbed a cart from the line and pushed it past the magazine racks to start with the produce. He would work his way around to the meat department in the back, and then to the dairy aisle.

He’d already taken the time to stoke the fire in the city’s Dumpster that he’d made into a portable incinerator by attaching a hitch and tow line to his father’s small backhoe. Day after day he towed it slowly to where he needed to work; this way he didn’t have to go far to dump the things he didn’t want to keep.

There was one loudmouth guy who’d called him Campos a nut job; he threw him in the Dumpster still alive after he shot him in the stomach. The screams lasted for longer than Campos had thought they would, but it served the vagrant right to try to pull one over on Campos. “Free gas is not possible here,” he’d told him.

He had a difficult time touching anything with his bare hands, but with long work gloves on he fearlessly plunged his hands deep into the slimy maggot-covered territory. After he had dropped the bundles of rotting produce into the cart, he strolled out the door and onto the asphalt parking lot holding the blazing fire. From there he tossed the bundles into the fire, letting sparks fly upward toward the darkening sky; it was a sight that brought him pleasure. Then he went back into the little market for another load.

The store, being so low on supplies since the pandemic hit, luckily still contained enough for him and maybe five more people through the winter. Then, come spring, he planned a large garden and would need workers to help him keep it going. There was more than enough work for more than one man to do here, and Campos hoped a few decent folks would show up soon so that he could get his plans underway.

9 The Confrontation

As he pedaled slowly, navigating through the stranded cars, Graham felt the hairs on his neck start to rise. He spoke in a hushed tone to Bang, telling him to stay quiet and to move over to Graham’s left side. Underneath the overpass, they could hear what sounded like a distant dogfight. Graham worried that Bang might become alarmed and yell out, exposing them.

Now that they were pedaling their way through the cars, Graham remembered the clump of bushes and evergreen trees on the left side of the shoulder; this would be the best place to stash the boy and their gear, and then he could get a better visual of the situation at the gas station. They descended the short decline and walked through the brush and trees to find the best cover.

Graham got out his binoculars and crawled on his belly in the damp grass on the adjacent incline. He peered down the road to the gas station across the intersection, but with so many cars parked on the roadway it made it nearly impossible to get a clear line of sight. Judging from the odor emanating from the cars, Graham guessed that some cars still contained their original owners. He reluctantly crawled back to where Bang sat guarding their belongings.

“You need to stay right here. I’ll only be gone a second so I can see which way we’ll go. Watch our stuff.”

Bang leaned against a tree that provided him some shelter and Graham assured him once again that he would return soon. The boy didn’t look happy with the arrangement, but he nodded and crouched down with his bow and arrow out before him.

Graham walked a bit, then stopped directly across the street from the gas station. He crossed the off-ramp along the way, and he ducked behind a truck, using it to conceal his position. He spied no madman, or anyone else, in the general vicinity. He resolved that since the Dumpster fire burned brightly in a parking lot down the road, the madman couldn’t be far away.

Pulling up his binoculars, Graham watched the entrance, but heard the man before he saw him. Hyun-Ok had described him well: this guy sounded like he was short a few marbles. As Graham followed the voice—or voices, because there seemed to be more than one—he saw a man pushing a squeaky-wheeled shopping cart, often stopping, shouting as he made his way toward a blazing fire.

Graham tried to make out the conversation the man was having with himself. The guy talked mildly under his breath, then abruptly turned his head, completely changing his persona and the timbre of his voice, and roared, “I knew you were a fucking wasted sperm! I was right, you little bastard. Admit it!” Then another, in a feminine tone, shrilled, “Stop picking on him, you ass! He’s working, can’t you see that?”

Watching the scene sent chills up Graham’s spine, and he started scouting around with the binoculars for an alternate route to safety. He needed to get himself and Bang through this place and far away from Campos.

Graham thought himself a fool now for having thought he might be able to talk reasonably with this guy. What the hell had he been thinking? This guy was dangerous as hell. His dad had told him he’d have to make new rules for himself, and this one came easy: stay away from the crazies. There was no doubt that Campos presented a physical risk; he was heavily armed. He also had a gnarly looking hatchet dangling from his back belt loop. Clearly this guy wasn’t to be reasoned with.

Unfortunately, the road ran straight past the store where the man was currently working; the first left turn off that led around and back to the main road. If they went that way, he would still have a clear line of vision if he heard the man coming. If they crossed the street toward the gas station, they could take the first right and then go several blocks around the grocery store. Then they could meet up with the main road farther down the way. In either case they would have to take the chance of being seen, but the second path posed less risk than the first.

Graham thought it would be best to observe Campos a few more minutes to see how long it took the man to go inside the store before he ventured out to unload his cargo again, realizing that the man’s mental state made him unpredictable. Dusk had come and gone, leaving them with the light of a full moon. He had hoped the man would just give up and head in for the night so that he and the kid could slip through undetected. A fleeting thought crossed his mind, making the hair stand up on his arms: what might happen to the boy if Campos got his hands on him? Then Graham remembered his promise to Hyun-Ok. Whatever it took, he would get the boy through this unscathed.

As Campos once again entered the store, presumably to reload, Graham lowered his binoculars and fell back. Then he sucked in his breath as he noticed a figure standing right beside him. Having never heard Bang approaching, he wondered how long he’d been standing there. With adrenaline racing through his veins, Graham covered his chest to calm his pounding heart. “Jesus, Bang! Don’t do that!” he whispered.

Bang ignored the admonishment and pointed with his little finger down the ramp behind them. Then Graham heard the noise, too, and it was getting closer to their position. He pulled Bang behind him, lifted his rifle, and peered around the bumper to see the culprit.

“It’s girls,” Bang whispered into Graham’s ear from behind.

“How many are there?” he whispered back.

“Just two, but they’re the same kind,” Bang said.

Graham made a quizzical face at that comment, though Bang couldn’t see it. He looked through his binoculars at the pair now walking openly up the off-ramp in their direction; a dog followed close behind them. They didn’t seem to be afraid of the dog, though, so Graham guessed it wasn’t one of the feral ones. The girls looked to be teenagers; both wore jeans and T-shirts, they were skinny, and they carried backpacks. With shoulder-length light, wavy hair bobbing, they traversed the vehicle-packed road. They looked to be twins, so Bang’s comment made sense now. But the fact that they were singing did not.

Graham knew that in another minute the girls would pass right by his current hideout. Knowing they might possibly walk right into a death trap if the madman spotted them, he didn’t know what to do, but he did know he didn’t want any more responsibility. Still, he had to warn them off this path. He reasoned they might turn right at the intersection and go over the highway, and that would be fine, but if they went left they were in for some trouble. There was no telling what would happen to them with this guy Campos around.

What do I do? I can’t let them just walk right to their own deaths, but I also don’t want to take on two more. “Shit,” he said under his breath, then hoped Bang hadn’t heard the expletive.

Gauging the girls’ advance, he lifted the binoculars once again to check the madman’s position. He hoped the guy would be too preoccupied to hear the voices of the singing girls as they approached.

10 Through the Darkness

Macy enjoyed driving. Maybe because she got the hang of it before Marcy had. In any event, she thought she would like to do it more often in the future, but from the looks of the traffic jam up ahead, her short experience behind the wheel would soon end. “There’s no way through that mess.” Macy nodded toward the tangle ahead. “You know what that means. We’re almost there, but we walk from here.”

“Well, just get as close as you can. Go up the off-ramp there,” Marcy said, pointing.

Macy noticed that Sheriff sat up in the backseat as she slowed the vehicle. The dog looked out the window at the unfamiliar surroundings.

They could see smoke and flames flicker through the evergreen barrier up ahead, but it didn’t seem like the big spreading fires they could see far off to the west. This one looked more like a burn pile, the kind their grandpa had when he burned brush out on his property. That made her think about her grandparents and hope they were all right.

As Macy came to a complete stop on the inclining ramp, she kept her foot on the brake and turned off the engine. But when she lifted her foot off the brake pedal, the car started sliding backward, so she depressed the brake again, a little too hard this time. It caused all three of them to dive sharply forward. Hearing a scramble behind her, she said, “Sorry, Sheriff, I guess I don’t quite have the hang of this yet.” Macy was sure the dog had seen better drivers in his day.

“Not so easy, is it?” Marcy said.

Macy sat there wondering which lever she needed to push or pull. There were other cars parked like this in the same position uphill, so it was possible to do, but so far, she couldn’t figure it out.

“I think you have to move it off of D, to start with,” Marcy offered.

Macy moved the stick to P, and then lifted her foot off the brake. The car still slid a little, but then it stopped. “Okay, I guess that’s it,” she said.

Sheriff poked his head forward, between them, as they looked around at their new surroundings, each searching for danger in the discernable darkness. “I really don’t want to go out there,” Marcy said.

“It’s okay, Marce,” answered Macy. We’re only a few blocks from Dad’s now. It’s just up to the intersection, two blocks up and two blocks over. We have a guard dog with us now, so don’t worry.”

She tried to make light of the situation, but Macy knew the dog packs were likely out there, and she was scared too. Knowing it was her sister’s favorite, Macy started to hum the pop song “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” to calm her.

They exited the car as quietly as any two teens with a German shepherd could. At first Sheriff just sat in the backseat when Macy opened the back door. He didn’t seem to want to leave, so she patted her thigh and whispered, “Come on, boy.”

Seeing the invitation, he jumped down and immediately started sniffing the burning smell in the air. With his ears twitching, Sheriff tried to take in the sounds. Keeping pace slightly ahead of the girls, he ventured forward cautiously. The girls quietly picked up their tune again, bobbing along behind him.

There were many intermingling smells, and the girls watched as Sheriff’s nose worked overtime. They smelled a strange barbeque odor from the fire beyond the trees. But their biggest threat would be any wild dogs. As if sensing it, Sheriff quickened his pace, then after a few minutes, as they rushed to keep up, he stopped suddenly in front of them. He growled in a low menacing tone, warning of something ahead.

The girls both stopped singing at the same time, and crouched behind the German shepherd. “I told you we should have stayed in the car!” Marcy hissed.

Macy grabbed hold of Sheriff’s collar and tugged him over to the side of the road that met the tree line. “What is it, boy?” she asked.

Sheriff kept his low growl up while Macy petted him. He whined a little, then repaid Macy for the attention with a lick to the face, but went right back to growling in the direction ahead. “There’s something up there, said Macy. “He’s warning us.”

“I don’t care. I’m going up to Dad’s,” Marcy said loudly.

“Shut up!”

After a few moments of panic Marcy said, “We’ve got to go up there. It’s the only way through.”

11 Regrettable Decisions

Graham hesitated. His intention was only to get Bang and himself through this stretch of town. He didn’t want to intervene where the girls were concerned. They would only slow him down. But he didn’t want to see them fall into the hands of the madman, either.

After debating his options he decided to wait and see where the girls were headed. He watched them as they stopped because of the dog. Smart dog, he thought. Graham knew the dog could probably smell him and Bang.

But at least they were hidden by other vehicles on all sides where they hid behind the truck. The girls could pass them by and never see them. After much internal struggle, Graham fell to his third option of just waiting to see if the girls veered left or right as they proceeded up the road. That would probably tell him which way they intended to go and would buy him some time to decide whether—or how—to intervene.

Just twenty feet away from them now, the girls started to veer left. “Damn,” Graham said, because now he knew they were headed for trouble. They suddenly stopped singing when the dog halted their progress. The German shepherd started growling, and the girls bent down behind him. They seemed more cautious now, and that was probably a good thing.

Wanting to make sure of the madman’s position, Graham turned his head to bring up his binoculars, but before he even got them to his eyes he noticed an armed silhouette coming their way against the light of the burning fire beyond. The singing had probably alerted the man. Graham and Bang were concealed, but the same couldn’t be said for the unsuspecting girls.

Options flashed before him. He couldn’t startle the girls into running, which would cause Campos to fire out into the darkness, likely killing at least one of them. If he fired his own weapon to warn them, he’d give away his own position and jeopardize the boy whom he’d sworn to protect. What the hell do I do now?

Graham knew what his father would do. He’d take Campos out, here and now. He had a clear shot, after all, and the man posed a threat to the living. Graham’s father would do what he thought was best, and for the greater good he would get rid of Campos. Graham lifted his rifle but just couldn’t do it. Maybe it’ll be all right, he thought. As Campos came closer, approaching the intersection, Graham ran out of options.

He made a sign to Bang to stay quiet and motioned for him to crawl under the truck. He crawled in behind Bang, over the pavement gravel, and pulled his rifle in along with them. He would be of no help to Bang dead. He needed to see what would happen, hoping Campos would see that they were just teen girls and probably run them off. That’s all Graham had now—hope: he had wasted all other options in those few precious moments of indecision. He felt ashamed as, from under the truck, he saw Campos’s boots getting closer.

From underneath the vehicle Graham could really only see things down low, and he wanted to make sure Bang was out of sight. He slid the little boy’s body quietly against his side. He could hear Campos’s booted footsteps approaching faster, and then quieter, obviously now positive that someone was coming. Graham hoped the dog’s warning had sent the girls running off into the woods, but he couldn’t see what they were doing, though he could still hear the dog, which was now growling louder.

He then heard one of the girls say, “He really doesn’t like something up ahead. Something’s not right, so we should stop.”

The other one answered, “I don’t care what that dog thinks. We’re so close to Dad’s now. I’m going up.”

Then, just as Graham feared, Campos’s footsteps stopped directly under the car parked in front of their truck. Straining from his cramped spot, he could see in the firelight that the man wore black leather work boots; then he saw the barrel end of a rifle. Graham was filled with both fear and regret. Fuck! What the hell have I just done?”

12 A New Candidate

“Can’t you hear that, you dumbass?” said a voice to Campos. Standing quiet and still, he listened, and off in the distance he heard something. Actually, he heard singing, though he couldn’t make out the words. Grabbing his rifle, which leaned against the doorjamb of the market, Campos headed in the direction of the sound. He could hear better without the crackle of the fire in the background. The closer he got, the more he heard, and the little tune came in clearer.

“Who would be singing out here at night?” he asked.

“Someone about as crazy as you, I bet,” the voice said.

Campos had learned long ago not to argue with the voices he heard, even when their remarks upset him. Usually, one of the other voices would stand up for him.

As he got closer he noticed that the sounds dissipated. Campos thought perhaps he’d only heard an animal, or two, or—more likely—whining or something. Or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him again, which wasn’t unusual. Then he heard a low growl. Something or someone was definitely out there. He saw movement in the dark. He heard footsteps. He stopped beside a parked car, weapon lifted. There was danger ahead.

Peering toward the approaching footsteps, he made out the silhouette of a young lady coming his way in the moonlight. Squatting, he planned to trail her for a few minutes to see where she headed and if anyone else tagged her.

As she got closer, he saw only a slight young lady looking worn out and a bit frightened by the darkness. She wore a light pink T-shirt and had a matching pink drawstring backpack on her back. She held what looked like an ice scraper in her right hand. She moved it back and forth as she swung her arms in her effort to climb the ramp.

At first sight Campos supposed this young lady would be a good addition to his town. She looked determined, and clean cut. Old enough to work, although right now she looked a bit cold as the breeze picked up her golden locks, highlighted by the firelight.

“Hi, miss,” Campos said as he abruptly stepped out from his hiding spot.

She screamed. It startled Campos. He jumped back as much as she did. He brought his rifle before him, but before he could ask her to quiet down, a voice yelled at him, “Shut up!” Then he reached out with his unarmed hand and grabbed the girl by her long hair, dragging her toward the fire bin.

She kicked and screamed, so he let go of her, but only for a second so he could get enough leverage to backhand her. He sent her sprawling down to the hard asphalt, where her head bounced with a sickening thud. A dog barked in the darkness, and Campos knew he should get the girl inside in case the wild animals were coming. He slung the gun over his shoulder and reached down to lift the girl’s light frame. He carried her to safety within his home in the blue-framed house next to the gas station.

He didn’t know why she’d screamed like that. Campos knew young girls were often afraid of their own shadows. It was lucky that she had happened upon him; he could keep her safe from the wild beasts, and it sounded like at least one had been headed their way.

He brought the girl into his tidy living room and placed her carefully on the corduroy sofa. He noticed a stream of blood coming from her lip and trickling down to her chin. He thought it must have happened when she fainted.

He went to the kitchen to wet a clean towel and then gently mopped up the blood. He then applied pressure to her lip gently to stop the bleeding. He felt her icy cold hands, so he pulled a soft afghan down from the back of the couch and began to cover her when he noticed she still wore the backpack. He lifted her head and gently removed the bag to place it next to her. He studied the girl as he tucked her in, her lovely innocence unmarred in the wake of this world. She’s just a child, he thought, feeling the weight of her life there with him.

13 In Search of One

Graham could only watch and listen as Campos startled the girl. He wasn’t surprised when he heard the man’s voice change, but it creeped him out. He began to slide out of his hiding place to intervene, but Bang grabbed him around the leg and buried his face in Graham’s side, trembling. Then he heard a loud smack and watched in horror as the girl’s head bounced on the pavement in front of him. Bang jerked, moving even closer to Graham’s side.

Feeling absolutely at fault for not helping the girl to begin with, Graham cursed his stupid indecision. From underneath the truck he could see the girl’s body in a heap on the ground. As Campos reached down, Graham feared he and Bang might be discovered. He truly felt like a coward and not at all worthy as his father’s son.

Once the dog started barking, he feared the other sister would come forward and engage the madman, too, but then he heard the dog and girl run off to the safety of the woods. He needed to find her. He could have made a difference in their survival, but he’d chosen to remain silent. Now one of them was in grave danger, and the other needed him more than ever. Surely she was scared out of her mind with her sister attacked and taken like that. Shame enveloped Graham as he pulled himself and Bang out from under the truck.

He looked again through the binoculars and watched Campos walk away, carrying the girl through the door of his house. At least he knew where she was. Quietly he backed away with Bang and crept down the grassy slope to where the other girl hid, hoping to find her.

Not trusting his back on the man, Graham took cover at the beginning of the tree line and watched as Campos closed the door. He would find the girl who’d run off, and then wait until morning to rescue her twin.

All of this meant he would need to find shelter here for the night. Bang pulled on Graham’s shirt, and Graham bent down to his level to hear him more closely. He noticed the kid had his fingers in his mouth again. “What is it, buddy?”

“I’m scared. Can we go now?” Bang whispered.

“I know you’re scared,” Graham said, rubbing the boy’s shoulders. Then he took him into his arms and held him, hoping to dissipate some of the fear. “I promised I’d take care of you, and I will, okay? But one of those girls we saw earlier is hiding in the forest here and she’s very, very scared and she’s all alone now. I think we should find her. We might have to stay here overnight though, okay? What do you think—should we go help her?” Graham held Bang away from his body to see his reaction.

“Sure. Are we going to save the other one from the bad man?” Bang asked.

“I don’t know yet. We’ll have to figure that out after we find the girl in the woods. I think she went that way. I want you to stay close. The dog went with her, and he might not be in a very good mood, but we can’t just leave her like this,” Graham said.

As he walked with Bang close behind him, Graham really felt the pressure of his own indecision. Holding his rifle out in front of him, he wasn’t surprised to see Bang swallow his own fear and pull his bow and arrow out for defense.

“Be careful with that thing,” Graham said. Bang nodded but continued to look into the dark forest beyond.

Their progress slowed through the brush. Graham tried to still their movements whenever they caused a rustle. They stopped often to listen for any clues in the distant sounds to see if they might be from a distraught young girl or wild predators.

Fifteen feet above, darkness cloaked the canopy of tree branches, permitting only narrow moonbeams to filter through, like a celestial mirage, casting sparse rays of blue light within. It would be almost impassible if it weren’t for the mercy of the moonlight, though even that made it difficult to see as the silver castings seemed to deepen the shadows.

Stopping every few steps, Graham raised his rifle and made sure Bang was close by. They’d begun to anticipate one another’s movements in a rhythm of guarded devotion. One, two, three, four. Stillness, silence, scanning. One, two, three, four . . . And so the two of them went through the forest.

14 If It Weren’t for Guardians

Macy sat huddled against a damp fallen log with her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. With her new companion lying alert across her feet, she thought of the events that had landed her in this current situation. Had it not been for this dog, she too would be in the angry grasp of the stranger.

Macy felt alone. She could only see puffs of steam coming from the German shepherd as he panted and sniffed the air on occasion. “Oh, Marcy, I’m so sorry!” Her sobbing distracted Sheriff from his vigilance; trying to comfort her, he stretched around to lick the back of her hand. Macy tried to suppress her tears and the fear. Gripping the dog, she buried her wet face into his course bronze fur, taking what comfort it provided.

Moments later, a little calmer, she peeked out into the night. Every now and then she heard the crunch of twigs, swooshing of leaves, or distant hooting of owls. She trusted Sheriff’s proven senses, so she continued to crouch in her spot and lamented the events that had led her here.

The day before, her mother had died. She was afraid her father was dead, too; Macy could feel it, even if Marcy didn’t want to believe it. And now her twin sister, whom she’d never been parted from, could also be dead for all Macy knew.

She vowed that when the morning dawned, she would sneak around to her father’s apartment. She hoped her fear of his being dead was wrong and she could get his help to rescue Marcy. At the very least, she knew he had a hunting rifle hidden deep inside his walk-in closet. He’d showed her and Marcy how to use it last winter at her grandfather’s place. She wasn’t certain she’d be able to pull the trigger to kill someone, but she thought she could if it meant saving Marcy’s life. She would never leave Marcy here alone with that man. Then, exhausted by the trauma of the past two days, Macy fell asleep deep in the fur of the haven that Sheriff provided.

15 The Owls at Night

Making sure the girl still slept, Campos quietly left the house to shut down the town for the night. “Time to close up shop,” he said only to himself.

He’d made good progress today after clearing out most of the contaminated food from the market. “One more day will do it,” he told himself. “With the girl’s help, it might go even faster—if she works hard enough.”

Smiling to himself, Campos felt happy to have someone to take care of as long as she pulled her weight. No slackers here, he thought. She wasn’t as strong, not like the workforce of men he’d rather have, but at least he’d have someone to talk to about the events that happened on any given day. Truth be told, he felt kind of lonely these days; even though his father had never been a nice sort, Campos missed him. And Ben, the postmaster, could be counted on to greet him every time he came into the post office, handing over the mail and stopping to chat a bit. But Campos had recently found old Ben slumped over the breakfast table at his home, and he had buried him and his wife in their backyard.

“I’ll have to come up with some chores for the girl. Jobs she can do to keep her busy,” Campos said to himself.

“I don’t like the little bitch,” replied another voice.

“She’s a darling girl, and she needs a home,” the she-voice insisted.

Getting angry now, Campos said under his breath, “You leave her alone; only I talk to her. I’m warning you all.” Campos stopped midstride on his way to the fire pit, hoping he had made himself clear to the others. He rarely even acknowledged the voices within, but he knew they could be a problem for the girl.

There were things he couldn’t even remember, and he feared that those were times one of the others took over. He would find himself in a different place, with parts of the day missing; that’s what had happened with the whore woman and the beggar man. He knew he’d have to find his medication soon; the girl’s safety depended on it. Some of the others were fine—friendly, even—but one in particular scared him.

Pulling on the makeshift barbed wire fence he’d rigged up along the open road, he closed up the front entrance. It wasn’t a surefire locking system, but at least it kept the wild animals from wandering into town. When he’d walked outside a few days ago early in the morning, he’d found, out of his peripheral vision, a wolf standing sure as you please on the corner of the bank plaza. The wolf watched his every move, and then walked with those big pads of his off to the side. He finally disappeared between the buildings and into the brush.

From that point on had Campos decided to at least put up a few fences to dissuade the wild animals from freely roaming into town at night. Each morning he opened them up again for anyone of the two-legged variety who wanted the option of staying or trading.

Walking to the other end of town for the back entrance, Campos stopped at the market parking lot. There he found that the fire in the bin had died down from lack of fuel. He pushed the shopping cart back into the line of carts, turned off the lights, and closed the door he’d propped open earlier. Then, listening to the nightly insect chattering and the rhythm of his own boot steps, he walked to the darker back entrance and secured up his town for the night.

With a bit more pep in his step than in previous days, Campos thought about how the events of the day had finally taken a turn for the better. He looked forward to tomorrow. He’d feed the girl some breakfast and then find her a better home to live in. Not too far away from him, though, in case she needed him. Perhaps the one next door where Mrs. Walker had lived with her daughter, who had not been much older than this girl. Maybe there were clothes about the same size for her there too. It’d be nice if he found her a mother and father as well. “Girls need their moms and dads more than boys do,” he said to himself.

Knowing the day was finally done and his nightly chores were finished, Campos stopped at the gas station to lock up the doors in case someone tried to steal his fuel. As on any other recent night, he stopped and looked up at the bright moon just above the tree line of the forest. He listened intently as the quiet begged for even the slightest sound to say he wasn’t alone. He heard nothing out of place, nothing out of the ordinary that would cause him alarm. Only the crickets chirping; an owl, known to make his calls every night, echoed in the dark with a lonely hoot. On most nights Campos felt himself a certain kindred spirit to the lonely bird.

Feeling secure, he accepted the yawn and soreness the day’s work now brought. He ambled quietly over to his home and stepped inside. The girl lay unmoved from her last position. He felt her head for any fever, avoiding the lump that had risen on the side of her head. He watched her breathing and decided she just needed to sleep. Tucking one end of the loose cover in, he removed her shoes, placed them beside the couch, and went off to his room to close the day behind him while looking forward to the next.

16 The Guardians

Sheriff sniffed. He knew there were people there, not far from his young one in the night. He could not see them yet, but he could sense they were coming. He had lost one of them already and he was not going to let anything happen to this one. It was his job to keep her safe now, but he was not sure what to do. Those approaching did not smell the same as the bad one who had taken the other girl, but they smelled familiar.

Sheriff moved his head in the direction of the approaching people. He started a menacing growl, trying to warn them off. His young one still slept, and he didn’t want to wake her but needed to ward off these intruders.

The closer the humans got through the darkness, the better Sheriff could make them out. A man and boy approached out of the night and into one of the beams of moonlight. The man lowered himself to his knees and the boy beside him did the same.

Sheriff warned them not to come any closer. Occasionally he stopped his threatening growl to take in their scent as best he could without leaving his girl’s side.

The man stayed on his knees in the light; the boy was now hugging his side in fear. In a hushed voice, the man said, “It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you or her. It’s good you’re keeping her safe. I’m not going to hurt her.”

Taking the man for his word, Sheriff stopped growling and simply lowered his head to his paws but kept the man and boy within his line of vision. He wasn’t sure why he trusted the man, but he did.

17 A New Pack

Graham followed the low-pitched growl. He hoped like hell that the sound was coming from the dog he’d seen with the girl and not a wild one. His body was shaking, warning him that to trace the path of the growl might be foolish. Graham’s stomach was telling him to get the hell out of there, but his heart was telling him this was the way to the girl.

Dragging a reluctant and scared boy behind him, Graham could finally see the dog and the girl asleep behind him. Bang took in a sharp breath and pointed at the dog beyond the brush. Slowly the two walked through the remaining brush; Graham squatted because that seemed the thing to do; this dog clearly was in no mood for intruders.

Graham tried to calm the dog’s fears by speaking quietly. He leaned against a tree trunk and pulled Bang up against him. He tried to warm the frightened boy, who kept his bow and arrow aimed at the threat twelve feet away. Knowing the probability of separating the sleeping girl from her protector wasn’t the best course of action, or at least not tonight, Graham decided they would camp right there.

At least the bedding remained dry under the tall pines and though the temperature was cold, it wasn’t freezing. Graham used his hand to lower Bang’s bow gently, urging the boy to put it away. As he did, Graham pulled the boy’s hood over his head and settled him into the crook of his arm. He pushed loose pine needles up the boy’s exposed side for extra warmth. All the while, the dog kept a close watch on his every move. The dog was not really afraid of him or he would have already attacked, Graham reasoned; he seemed, at least, to be tolerating their presence, and that was a good sign.

“Go to sleep, Bang,” he whispered. “We’ll try to make friends with the guard dog in the morning. For now he seems not to mind our presence. I’ll stay awake and keep watch for a while. We’ll figure things out in the morning, okay?”

Bang nodded and lowered his eyelids, cuddling into Graham’s side, welcoming his warmth. Graham looked over at the dog staring at him and noticed the similarity in the way they were both protecting the ones they were with. Graham silently nodded to the dog, who blinked once and then resumed scanning the depths of the forest, as if somehow knowing they were now in this together.

18 Troubling Introductions

Marcy woke at dawn’s light. At first, her subconscious thought the prior days had all been a terrible dream. Then the smell of her mother’s coffee wafted through to her, and she knew deep down that couldn’t be right. Her mother had run out of coffee and her mother had . . .

Marcy struggled to regain full consciousness. Her head pounded, and then she remembered the events of the night before. Her fear came back in a rush, and she gasped as she fully woke to her new reality. She sat straight up, too fast, which caused the pounding in her head to increase.

“How are you feeling this morning? Hungry?” Campos asked.

She just stared at him, ready to scream again, shaking with fear.

“We have lots to do today,” he said.

The man terrified her. Marcy began to inch away, pushing herself farther from him. She looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings and noticed that her backpack and shoes were neatly placed beside the sofa. She looked up at the man. “I have to go,” she said, not certain what to expect. She threw off the blanket, grabbed her shoes and backpack, and ran for the door.

It took little effort for Campos to close the distance as he set his coffee down on the kitchen counter. “Hey now, you bumped your head pretty hard last night when you fell,” he said. She stopped short just three feet from him and stared at the door.

She knew that even if she struggled, he could easily overpower her. She backed away a few steps and remembered how his outburst the previous night had terrified her. Yet today, he seemed different, somehow—nicer. The events of the night before were coming back to her now, and she remembered leaving her sister out there.

She had to get away from him, and to do that she knew she’d have to play it cool. She felt like running, but chances were she’d never make it. Making up her mind, she looked up at the man and said, “Yeah, it kind of hurts. Do you anything for a headache?”

Campos sensed her urge to flee. He gently guided her by the arm to the kitchen. “Yes, I think I do. Here, you sit down and I’ll get you something. In fact, you should have some breakfast. I’m all out of eggs and bacon, but I still have cereal and instant milk. It’s not as good as the real stuff, but it works in cereal. How’s that sound?” he asked as he turned around with the found bottle of painkillers.

She held her head, trying to stop the pounding, and reached up to feel her split lip; more memories came back to her. Obviously, he had hurt her, but something told her to act as if she didn’t remember. He watched as she touched her scabbed lip. “Can you tell me what happened last night?” he asked.

“I don’t really remember,” she said.

Looking at the girl, Campos turned to fill her glass with water as he said, “I saw you coming up the road last night. You must have been worn out by the time you got to the top of the road. You collapsed right in front of me. Then I heard a dog barking, so I thought that maybe you were running from him. It’s lucky you found me. I brought you here and stopped your bleeding lip. Let’s start with names. I’m Campos. Who might you be?” He handed her the water and pills, then went to the cupboard and returned with a bowl and spoon while he waited for her to answer.

Marcy kept doubting herself. This just couldn’t be the same man from the night before. She knew she’d let the question linger too long unanswered. “My dad lives in an apartment complex near here. I wanted to see if he’s still there. I haven’t been able to get hold of him. Mom died, you see.”

“I see. I’m sorry for your loss. Well, I can take you over there later but I’m sorry to say I haven’t come across anyone alive in that direction, other than a lady who died of an accident shortly afterward. Where did you come from?” Campos asked.

Marcy was glad he’d let the name question go for now. She had always been taught that you never tell strangers your name and personal information. This conversation broke so many rules, but then again, she knew she had to survive. “I walked from near Lake Sammamish,” she said.

“Did you see anyone else along the way?” he asked.

“No, no one. Is everyone gone here?” she asked, trying to divert attention from herself.

“Looks that way. I’ve seen a few, but no one worthy of staying here. Except maybe you.” He nodded in her direction.

“Excuse me?” Marcy asked, not knowing what he meant.

“Well, I’ve been cleaning up this town, you see, and since your dad lived here, you can stay here too, as long as you’re willing to work. We’ll set you up in your dad’s place if you like, or another house closer to me if you don’t feel safe there. I must warn you, though, he’s probably not alive at this point. You may not want to live there if he’s been shut up all this time. It might not smell good, if you know what I mean.”

Marcy sniffed and tried to stem the flow of tears. Even though she knew it was probably true, she felt more scared and alone now with the certainty with which Campos spoke. He wasn’t unkind in his revelation, and this confused her more than ever. Suddenly the tears broke through to stream down her cheeks. Marcy sobbed and sniffed hard.

“It’s all right. I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Campos said. He handed her a paper towel. “Wipe your eyes and blow your nose. Things like this are a commodity quickly running out, so try not to waste paper. You’ve been through a lot, you poor girl, but you’re safe now.”

Marcy looked at the man. She wanted to believe his sincerity, and he seemed genuinely kind, but she knew something wasn’t right with him. It was all so confusing, because she definitely remembered the harsh way he’d spoken to her the previous night, and how he had hit her. He had not seemed like the same man who knelt before her now. She was not sure why he was being so nice to her. She decided she’d have to get away from him as soon as possible; he just couldn’t be trusted.

“When do you think we could go check out Dad’s place?” she asked.

“Well, I have a few things to get started this morning and then we can go over there. If you’d like to finish up eating, you can then use the restroom to clean up down the hall and meet me over at the gas station next door. Do you know where you are?” he asked her.

“Yes. So the gas station is right next door?” she asked, glad to have a reference, finally, to where she was.

“Yep, right that way. Take your time. Um, just one thing. Make sure you clean your dishes and put the milk back in the fridge. I like to keep things nice and clean. I really don’t like bugs running around.”

The way he said, “bugs” kind of made Marcy’s skin tingle: he means he really does not like bugs. She nodded, and Campos headed for the door, adding, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have someone else to talk to. What did you say your name was?”

She smiled and knew she couldn’t get out of it this time. “My name’s Marcy. Thank you for having me,” she said, smiling at his retreating form and pretending to go back to her cereal, which wasn’t worth eating with the pain the split lip caused her.

Once the door closed, Marcy looked into her bowl as if the answers might be in there among the floating flakes. She wavered. He doesn’t seem so mean today. Maybe I should have told him about Macy so he’d help me find her. She’s probably scared to death about now.

Getting up from the table, Marcy went quickly over to the window. Unfortunately, the house was situated on the other side of the gas station, blocking her view of where she knew Macy must be hiding. She must have gone through the woods to Dad’s. Maybe she’ll be there.

Quickly she emptied the bowl down the drain and cleaned up her breakfast, as Campos had said to do. She didn’t want to provoke the temper she feared lurked inside the man. Afterward, she walked, feeling a little dizzy, to the restroom. She felt quite guilty that, more than likely, Macy had slept outside, probably freezing.

One look in the mirror brought reality sharply into focus. Her reflection stunned her and left no doubt in her mind what had taken place. Not only was her lip swollen and crusted over with a scab, but her eye was black and blue with hints of green. She also displayed a painfully sore lump on her forehead. No wonder she was woozy.

Seeing the results of what she was sure she remembered from her meeting with Campos conflicted with this morning’s events. Tears flooded her eyes as she accepted that the man was, without a doubt, crazy and dangerous. She could not trust him, and she had to find Macy. She needed to get away before his temper flared again.

The mistake she’d made by telling him where her Dad lived could be a problem if Macy were hiding there. She did not want to put her twin sister in danger too. She’d just have to play it cool and hopefully tonight she could escape and find her.

Running her hands through her hair to straighten it as much as possible, Marcy splashed a little water on her face. It stung. She dried off, patting gently and, after one last look, she broke herself away from the horrible reflection.

Marcy headed out of the little house, scanning the woods beyond and trying to subdue her worried thoughts. She knew Campos could see her approaching. She found him pulling back a crude fence from across the main road where she had come in the night before.

“Hi there, Miss Marcy, you’re looking better,” Campos said.

“Thank you, Mr. Campos. What can I help you with?” she asked him.

19 A Night in the Woods

Graham woke in the night with Bang murmuring and flailing in his sleep. Graham pulled the boy up into his lap and tucked his head under his chin, cuddling him into his warm jacket to keep him warm. “Shhh . . . it’s okay, Bang,” he whispered, and the boy settled down against him. Looking over to his fellow guardian he noticed the dog shutting his eyes again after the brief disturbance and continuing his light but vigilant rest.

Graham listened to the quiet night for a few moments, lulled by the rhythmic breathing of the boy he held. God, how he wished it was his Nelly or their child that he held. Knowing there was no room for those thoughts now, Graham forced them from his mind and allowed himself to fall asleep once again.

The next thing he knew, a wet sniffle in his ear disrupted his sleep. He pulled away slowly and opened his right eye to see if the animal was friend or foe. Indeed, the guard dog had come up close and personal.

Bang held very still in his arms, but started to move his hands toward his bow and arrow, which lay beside them. Graham used one arm to lower the boy’s. The dog sniffed the boy, then turned to look at the girl, who was staring at them.

Graham watched as the dog walked around the boy and licked his face. Bang quickly wiped off the goo, saying, “Ugh.” Then he giggled.

Graham smiled at the scene, and then he noticed the girl, expectantly awaiting his attention. Sitting across from him, holding out her ruler and looking none too happy, she asked in a hushed tone, “Who are you?”

Holding up his hand in a peace gesture, he said, “Hi, my name is Graham and . . .”

“Like the cracker?” she asked.

“Uh, yeah, like the cracker. And this is Bang,” he said in a reassuring tone, pointing at the boy.

“We saw what happened last night to your sister. I’m sorry I didn’t stop the man before that,” Graham said.

“Wait! You know him?” she asked, getting angry, or scared, or both.

“No, I don’t know him. I was warned about him, and I was watching him, trying to figure a way around him last night when you and your sister walked up,” Graham said, lowering his head. “I should have shot him when I had the chance, or stopped you girls before you got too close. I’m sorry.”

She merely looked at him. “He must have heard you coming,” Graham went on. “So afterward he hit your sister and carried her away. I followed you in here to make sure you were safe. When I finally found you, your guard dog here was taking good care of you after all. Are you doing okay?” he asked.

“No, I’m not doing okay!” she snapped, “Do you know where he took my sister?”

“Yes. Into that little house next to the gas station,” he said.

She jumped up. “Right. I’m going to go get her.”

“No,” Graham said. “Trust me. He’s really crazy. You can’t just storm in there and get her yourself.”

“I don’t even know you,” she said angrily, “so why should I trust you? That guy hit my sister last night and took her. I don’t know who to trust.”

“I know,” Graham said. “All I can tell you is that I’m really sorry that I didn’t intervene. I already have Bang here to take care of.” He glanced over at the boy becoming fast friends with the German shepherd, who’d lain on his side so the boy could give him a belly rub.

“I’m trying to get through town so I can get to my cabin up near Cascade. Where were you two trying to go?”

“My dad’s place, over at the apartments a few blocks down through town.”

“All right. What’s your name?” he asked.

She stared at him, her expression filled with doubts and questions. “Macy. My sister’s name is Marcy, and this is Sheriff,” she said, pointing to the dog.

“Oh jeez, so we have a Bang and a Sheriff?” he said.

She turned her head and watched Bang brush his hand along the dog’s side. “Yeah and they seem to like each other. We found him yesterday with his dead owner. He’s a police dog.”

“I thought so after I saw his collar. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be reverting like the others.” Graham drew a deep breath and let it out in a long, resigned sigh. “All right, Macy, I think we should get ourselves together and figure out how to get your sister away from that guy. Then I’ll take you over to your dad’s and we can see what to do from there. Sound good?” he asked.

“Yes.” Her lips trembled. “Do you think he hurt her?”

Fearing that this was likely the case, Graham said, “I just don’t know. I couldn’t really see much last night. When I watched him yesterday, he changed his voice a lot, so I’m not sure. He seemed normal sometimes and then he sounded like someone else entirely, as if he’s arguing with several people. He’s certainly dangerous. Hopefully, he’s been nice to her because she’s a kid and not a threat to him, but I just don’t know. I think the longer she’s with him, the more danger she’s in. We need to watch them and then try to snatch her when he’s not looking.”

Graham noticed she was still holding her ruler toward him unconsciously, only now it was not shaking. “I see you’re pretty good with that ruler you’re holding, but I don’t think that’s going to do it, Macy. I feel really awful I did not warn you two, so I’ll help you get your sister back. Then you can do what you want, but I don’t think you should stay around here.”

Macy was thinking the same thing. “Listen,” she said as a screeching, metal-on-metal sound came through the trees. “Did you hear that?”

“Yeah, sounds like he’s up. Let’s be really quiet now,” Graham said. He got up, dusting the forest debris off his jeans.

Macy noticed Graham’s gun lying nearby, and this made her more comfortable. She hoped she would see her sister again soon. Leaving the boy behind, Sheriff ambled his way over to her and licked her hand. She looked at Sheriff and said, whispering loud enough for Graham to overhear, “Good morning, handsome. Thanks for keeping me warm last night. I think you must trust his guy or he wouldn’t be here right now.” She scratched him under the collar to show her appreciation.

“He’s a great guard dog,” Graham said. “There’s no way I was getting anywhere near you. You’re lucky to have him.” He reached down to let Sheriff smell his hand.

Another metallic screeching sound came and the dog suddenly went on the alert, ears perked up. A low growl came from his throat. Graham started to reach for Sheriff’s collar, but Macy shove his hand away. She squatted by the dog, one arm around his neck. “Hey, boy, no barking. Let’s keep it quiet,” she whispered, hoping the dog would listen to her commands.

“Macy, you take Sheriff and Bang farther that way,” Graham said, pointing away from their direction of the ominous noise. “I’m going to sneak closer and look with my binoculars to see what’s going on down there. I don’t want him to hear you guys. I’ll come back and find you after I know what’s happened. Do you understand?”

“I’m coming with you,” Bang said, holding his bow and arrow and pulling on Graham’s jacket.

“I need you to keep Macy safe, Bang,” said Graham, looking the boy in the eyes. “I will come back for you. Girls need looking after.” Macy shot Graham a look, but didn’t contradict him. “You and Sheriff will keep her safe, okay?” Graham continued. “Stay together. I won’t be long.” Without waiting for the boy’s reply he headed off toward the tree line, holding his rifle ahead of him.

If I can get a clear shot, I should take it and get this all over with. Graham nearly felt sick at the idea. He’d never been the kind of man to harm another, but he knew he should have taken care of this problem the night before. He just hoped he had the guts to pull the trigger when the time came.

As he backtracked his way through the forest, Graham recognized the path he and Bang must have taken. He was very careful not to make much noise, and he could quite clearly make out two voices as he got closer to the gas station.

Pulling up his binoculars, Graham hid behind a pine tree, large enough to conceal his presence. He could see the man talking to the girl who mirrored Macy as she stood about five feet from him. Graham could see that she had quite the shiner and seemed a little nervous, but she didn’t appear to be too afraid of the man she was talking to. The guy pointed up toward the market, telling her what it appeared he wanted her to do.

So far he hadn’t touched her. She seemed to be there of her own free will, except that she kept scanning the tree line where Graham was hiding. She was probably looking for her sister. He hoped she wasn’t beginning to trust the dangerous man; it could mean big trouble if she told him about Macy.

At least she looked healthy. Graham knew it would be a matter of time before the nutcase changed his demeanor again, and he watched as the pair walked toward the blue trash bin. The closer she got, the more nervous Graham became.

20 Once Lost, Then Found

Campos was glad to have the girl here. It meant he would have someone to share the day-to-day workload with. But he worried that the others wouldn’t like her and would try to scare her off. He had to find his meds. If he didn’t, the others might harm the girl.

He opened the fence barrier and noticed her coming out with her backpack and shoes on, ready for the day. She looked a little worried, but he supposed that was to be expected. He would just do his best to make her feel welcome, and maybe she’d want to stay.

Greeting her, Campos showed her the fences that he’d made to keep the wild animals at bay during the night. “It’s not foolproof, but at least it deters them from coming right into town,” he explained. “Let’s walk down this way and I’ll show you the market where I’ve been clearing things out. We have about two more days of work there before we need to move on to the other stores,” he said, pointing farther away.

“I’ve been cleaning everything up so that when nice folks come into town, they’ll have a place to stay. I’m hoping we can have enough people to start a big garden come spring. We really need to plan for seed starting this winter. Things are pretty picked over. We have enough to get through the winter, but spring is going to be a problem.”

As they got closer to the garbage bin attached to the four wheeler, Campos explained how he pulled the incinerator on wheels wherever he went to make the cleanup job easier. “Be careful, because it’s hot. Don’t touch the sides. Give me that gas can over there,” he said.

Marcy did as he asked. He poured some gasoline into the bin, walking from side to side to spread the fuel around. He put the can down by the building door and walked back to remove matches from his back pocket. He tore several out at once, struck them, and tossed them in. The flames went up in a big whoosh, and Marcy jumped back with a scream.

“Oh, man, that scared me,” she said. She noticed Campos’s head twitch in an involuntary tic. She didn’t think anything of it until he turned to face her with a twisted smile that didn’t seem like his own.

“Oh, yeah, little darling. You want to get in?” he asked, smiling sadistically.

Marcy started walking backward from his suddenly evil-looking profile, highlighted by the roaring flames behind him. This wasn’t him. This is the man from last night. She knew it now. It happened right before her eyes; he changed. There was something really wrong with this guy, and she knew for sure that she was in danger. He started laughing at her retreating form.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?” he asked her.

Marcy continued to try to put distance between her and this crazed man as she stepped backward. “I think I should g-g-go to my—my dad’s now,” she stuttered, panicked. She turned and ran.

“No you don’t, you little bitch!” this new persona yelled. He reached behind him to retrieve the hatchet he kept there, hidden from Campos. He aimed for the girl and threw it, overhanded, through the air.

21 Torment

Seeing the girl run, Graham knew he would not make it. It’d take him too much time to get there, considering the distance between them. Then he yelled “No!” as Campos reached behind him and threw the hatchet toward the girl with deadly skill. The girl whirled to look in his direction. He ran toward her, but she’d already fallen. Campos reached for his rifle. Graham stopped in his tracks. He aimed and fired before Campos even wrapped his hand around the barrel of his own weapon.

Campos fell as the shot struck home. Graham rushed to the fallen girl. She lay on the asphalt, blood running from her leg. “Marcy?” he asked, hoping she’d respond. Her blond locks were now tinged pink with blood. A quick glance back at Campos showed him down, and still; Graham could disregard him for now.

Graham pulled Marcy’s hair back and saw that she was bleeding from a head wound, a result of hitting the rough pavement, but the worst damage was from the hatchet still embedded squarely in the back of her upper thigh. Blood spread in a radius around the gash.

“Oh, Jesus,” Graham said. “I have to stop the bleeding.” He pulled out the hatchet and pushed on the wound with the palm of his bare hand, trying to stem the flow. “This is really bad,” he said, looking around for something he could use as a compress. Not seeing anything, he took off his jacket and removed his T-shirt, balling it up and pressing it into the red flowing wound. “She’s going to bleed to death right here, dammit. I’ve got to do something!”

Looking over at the grocery store in front of him, he snatched Marcy up and carried her inside, searching for towels or anything he could use to help the girl.

He carefully positioned her on one of the register counters, trying to be careful of her head, and rolled her onto her side so he could see her wound. Grabbing the edges of the blood-soaked denim, he ripped the jeans open to get a better look. Blood seeped out of the wound, but not as much as before.

In the darkened store, a medium-size market by any real standard, Graham read the aisle signs for supplies that might help in treating the girl. He could not really see much, but he did notice a display rack of paper towels; he grabbed several rolls, ripped off their plastic wrapping, and wound a thick bundle of paper around his arm. He jammed the wad of towels onto Marcy’s wound and applied pressure. With one hand holding that, he directed his attention to her head. She was knocked out cold from the impact. The previous day’s injuries didn’t look too good, either, but this new bump swelled up quickly.

“I need ice,” he said, again out loud, looking toward the front of the store where it was usually kept. He wished Bang were here to help him. Noticing the blood seeping through the top of the paper towels already, he took hold of the entire remaining roll and pressed it down on top of the first wad. He slid Marcy onto her belly with her head facing away from him so that he could see the side of her face where most of the recent wounds were.

Looking around, Graham saw nothing that would help hold the pressure on Marcy’s leg so that he would be free to get ice for her head. Giving up, he quickly took off pressure and ran over to the ice cooler and took out a bag, then raced back to her. He applied pressure again on the injury, causing some of the blood to cascade down her leg in streams. It slicked the floor, and he nearly slipped in it.

With the ice in his left hand, he punched his finger into the plastic, ripped it open, and then grabbed a plastic grocery sack off the dispenser at the end of the checkout counter. The counter was now a bloody, smeared mess, and Graham tried not to notice how much of the blood was covering his arms and bare torso. His stomach turned at the iron-like smell. He’d never seen so much blood before; the girl was soaked in it.

After reapplying pressure with his right hand, he used his left to open the bag enough to transfer handfuls of blood-covered ice into the grocery bag. He grabbed the loose ends and swirled the bag around to twist its opening closed. Then he laid the bag, dripping with bloody ice water, gently onto Marcy’s head wound.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been since he had left the others in the woods. Ten minutes? An hour? Everything had happened so fast. Surely by now they were getting concerned that he’d been gone so long.

He glanced again at Campos’s body. Though he could not see if he still breathed, he certainly did not feel the need to help the man and hoped he was dead; really dead.

Next he knew he needed to figure out how to close the girl’s hatchet wound. She was unconscious, and he could take advantage of that to sew up the wound, but he knew next to nothing about first aid. Other than having watched a very competent ER doctor sew up his sliced-open finger a year ago, he’d rarely visited hospitals. He’d watched then as the nurse irrigated his cut with saline solution; the young doc sewed it up, leaving the nurse to apply antibiotic ointment and a bandage. This was followed by a tetanus shot on his way out, along with a prescription for oral antibiotics.

Graham thought there was probably saline solution in the contact lens aisle. Maybe not exactly the same thing, but it should work. He would also need gauze, and maybe a sewing kit could be found somewhere. God, he was not looking forward to that.

He tried to remember the process as he watched the doctor stitch up his finger. He’d nearly fainted, and he was ashamed to admit it. Thinking of the details, he’d also need a cigarette lighter to sterilize a needle. The whole idea made his stomach roll, but he had to do it. He’d failed this girl twice now, and the weight of it was hard to bear.

Graham had liked coming in this store back when things were normal. There were not usually many people in line, and the butcher always smiled and asked what you were in the mood for that day. Too bad he was not here now. Graham knew the guy could probably stitch this girl right up without a second thought.

He had remembered filling a prescription here once and recalled the pharmacy toward the back of the store. Hopefully, the child would not wake up while he gathered the supplies in the dark. Making a mental list of the things he would need and where they were likely found, he checked the wound by lifting his hand. Seeing no increase in flow, Graham carefully left the paper towel roll in place and removed the ice, setting it to the side. He watched the rise and fall of Marcy’s back as she breathed. Then he ran toward the pharmacy department.

He grabbed several boxes of gauze pads, regardless of their sizes, as well as adhesive tape and several very large Band-Aids. There was Bactine, but he knew he needed something to irrigate the cut as well. He turned around in frustration and finally spied the contact saline solution below the pharmacy window. He grabbed a few bottles, complaining, “This stuff is never where you think it should be.” He went a little farther down, found the painkillers, and then had a stupid thought: How old was she? He tried to see the age requirements on the box in the dark. There was a slight bit of ambient light coming from the back door exit sign, but it made little difference.

Graham heard a snap and buzz of electricity and then the lights flickered on, blinding him for a second. He reached for his rifle, only to remember that he’d left it beside the girl. By the time he got to the end of the aisle, he was staring right at the madman, the one he knew as Campos,

“Get away from her!” Graham yelled, rushing at Campos before he had a chance to move. “You did this to her!” He grabbed the man by his blood-stained shirt and pushed him toward the open doorway. Campos did not put up much of a fight; he was struggling with what Graham said.

“I would never hurt her,” Campos meekly pleaded. “She’s just a girl. I was going to let her stay here,” he said, and began to cry.

Graham began to doubt himself, but held the man in place. He watched as Campos swung his head back and forth, either out of confusion or pain or both. Graham did not know or care. Only one thing was certain: he’d seen the same man hurt her the night before and had seen him throw the hatchet this morning. Now, faced to face with him, he was convinced the guy was crazy, yet the look in Campos’s pleading eyes showed he cared for the girl. The sentiment appeared genuine.

Then, before he knew it, Campos looked at Graham’s blood-covered chest and smiled the most chilling smile Graham had ever seen. The hairs on Graham’s arms and neck stood on end and he pushed Campos out through the doorway.

Campos jerked him toward the blue firebox, and at once Graham knew his intent. Campos released his arm briefly and slugged him across the jaw, stunning him, but not quite enough; he saw the nut job reach down and grab his own rifle. Graham had just enough time to grab the barrel in an attempt to wrench it from him, but Campos, though shorter, was much stronger. Campos, with his long sinewy muscles developed through hard labor, could easily overwhelm him.

Graham knew fear. He wanted to run away from this crazed man, but he tightened his hold on the rifle now in a tug of war. He knew that if he lost his grip, not only would he die but so would all the children. In a rush of adrenaline, he found what he had always believed he lacked, a capacity he had seen deep within his own father. This nameless thing, more than words could convey, enveloped him.

He can’t win, Graham thought. He cannot be permitted to take the lives of the few who remained living. Graham was not the three children’s father, but their safety, their preservation was a burden he’d accepted. He would see it through to the end and not fail them.

Campos laughed as he pulled Graham sharply toward him. It was as if he relished this fight, exulted in the chance to prove himself superior. He wrapped his left leg behind Graham’s right, so when Graham pulled back with all his might, Campos began to fall and released his grip on the rifle. Graham grabbed him by the shirt collar instead, twisted to the left, and took the bastard down with him.

Having landed on his side, Graham rolled over quickly on top of Campos and struggled once again with the rifle between them as Campos wrestled the business end up toward him. Graham knew the danger, but he pulled strength from somewhere inside himself and pushed the rifle upward, sliding it along Campos’s rib cage as he shifted his position to rest high on the man’s chest so Campos could not buck him off.

Graham pushed the rifle upward, shaking now against the opposing force. Campos kicked and writhed; he tried all his tricks and then, finally, fear appeared in his insane eyes—or perhaps it was resignation.

Graham had not planned it this way. In fact, he had not planned it at all. Now the realization of what must happen fought within him. He knew there was no other way. Graham pushed on, past Campos’s arm strength, past even his own strength. Instead of pushing the weapon away, Campos pulled it downward, desperately knowing where it was headed.

Once Graham had the rifle into the recess between Campos’s chin and collar bone, he pushed onward, trying to make quick work of it, but still the insane man struggled, his face going from beet red to purple as he fought for oxygen. Then, suddenly, the madness seemed to go, leaving only the bewildered eyes of a man who knew he was about to die. Though he saw the madness fade, Graham knew he could not stop and maintained the force, all the while fighting the guilt that tried to overtake him. He pushed even harder when his victim stilled his movements, staring at him with glossy purple resignation. With the choking mostly over now, Graham heard movement beyond the door.

Quickly, he chanced a look up to see Marcy staggering toward him. “Stay back!” he yelled, but she continued.

Marcy held her head with one hand, steadying herself against the metallic doorjamb. With her right hand Marcy pulled around, dragging Graham’s rifle toward him. Graham wanted her to stay away, not for her own safety but because he wanted to kill the man without bearing the guilt of having a witness.

Marcy dragged the weapon even closer and put her hand on Graham’s shoulder. She collapsed by his side, not really knowing Graham but recognizing his sense of duty toward her.

Graham felt Campos’s life lift away. The madness within him could now no longer menace and torture other beings, and death had surely come as a mercy for the kindly portion of him.

Graham pulled the weapon away and checked Campos’s pulse to make sure this time. He wrapped his aching arms around the sobbing girl and lifted her slight weight up, staggered backward. He carried her several steps, and stood still, not willing to take his eyes off the dead man. Marcy’s shudders interrupted him. She needed caring for now.

“I’m sorry,” he said hoarsely, “It’s okay now. You’re safe.” He tried to convince himself to some degree. Marcy just sobbed.

Trying to distract her, he said, “I know your sister, Macy. She’s back there in the woods.” He pointed in that direction, then turned away for a second, still not trusting what his eyes were seeing: Bang and Macy, and their dog companion Sheriff, coming down the hill toward them from their forest haven.

“They’re coming now, you’ll see her soon. It’s all right, he can’t hurt you again,” Graham said, trying to convince himself again along with the girl of the madman’s demise by his own hands.

As if she detected in his voice his own shock that the task was done, even at the innocent’s cost, she patted him with one hand on his chest, as she herself shuddered at the wretched nightmare they’d both endured.

He could hear Bang and Macy’s footsteps on the damp asphalt now, thumping nearer. Graham felt Marcy shift in his arms and noticed the dampness against his hand. Her wound was bleeding freely again.

Macy arrived and clung to her twin’s side, unable to say more than, “Marcy, Marcy, Marcy,” a ragged chant filled with anguish.

Bang sidled up, seeking Graham’s attention; he wrapped his arm around Graham’s long leg and leaned into him. Nothing more needed to be said. Bang and Macy had watched from afar, and they knew that Graham had done what needed to be done.

Silently, they stood for a moment more and watched as Sheriff sniffed over the body. Graham stepped forward, knowing he needed to pass the man to take Marcy inside to care for her wounds.

“No, don’t go near him!” Marcy cried, too scared of what might happen and grabbing at Graham.

“He’s dead, Marcy.”

“Still, I’m afraid.”

Without another word Graham lowered the girl to the ground and motioned for Macy to hold her up.

Sheriff stood over the man. Graham lowered Campos’s lids over his bulging eyes, and then started to drag him away toward the side of the store.

Marcy broke her silence and yelled, “No, don’t! He does not like bugs. Burn him. He would want that, I think.” Graham understood she meant it for the good man, not the mad one.

“Turn around, all of you,” Graham said, not wanting an image of what he was to do next to be etched into their young minds. They did, and his only witness was Sheriff; to Graham, a police dog seemed a fitting accomplice. He hoisted Campos’s body into the Dumpster. He retrieved the gas can, poured in the remaining fuel, and reignited the fire.

“It’s done,” he said as he walked over to retrieve the girl. Macy and Bang collected the rifles along the way and they all walked back into the market together.

22 Contrition

The store looked very different with the lights on. Now Graham could see how few items remained on the shelves and how lucky they’d been to discover the ones he had. He chose another checkout counter to set Marcy down on, since the first was a bloody mess. He covered her shaking body with his jacket. Macy clung by her sister’s side as Sheriff stood guard at the open doorway.

Graham went over to the first counter and used the uncontaminated ice to clean the blood and sweaty death off as best he could. With the last several minutes replaying in his mind, the stinging cold of the ice water snapped him out of his own shock. He grabbed a fresh bag of ice and several more rolls of paper towels to clean Marcy, having Macy apply pressure to her twin sister’s leg wound. After Graham had retrieved his rifle, he and Bang gathered the supplies he’d dropped earlier. “Look for anything you think we might need, Bang,” he said, and then searched the store for a sewing kit as Bang trailed close behind him. Graham wasn’t looking forward to treating Marcy’s wounds.

Bang noticed on a low shelf a half dozen juice boxes with happy smiling green apples staring up at him. The boy stopped to pick them up while balancing Campos’s rifle. He managed well enough and then caught up with Graham, who turned and realized he’d left a five-year-old in charge of the heavy weapon. Graham took it from him and silently chastised himself for the oversight.

He would never again be without his own firearm. If he’d had it earlier, he could have simply shot the man again. He would carry the cost of his mistake now and forever.

After retrieving a bottle of alcohol and antibiotic ointment, he went to the housewares aisle. Along with bleach, he looked for the sewing kit, something always present when not needed. He found one on a plastic hook, then decided they might need more in the future and took the other three as well. After looking at the dinky thread in the kit, he looked around for something sturdier and found a spool of black upholstery thread. He took that too.

“Okay, Bang, now we need a lighter,” he said; he remembered they were usually up by the checkout counters near the cigarettes.

Back at the counter, Macy was still holding pressure on Marcy’s leg wound as she stroked her sister’s hair away from her bruised forehead.

“Is everything all right, Macy?” Graham asked

“Yeah, we’re fine,” she said.

He put down the items and noticed both girls quietly watching him with four blue eyes. It began to rain outside, which he welcomed because it would help clean away what had taken place earlier.

Marcy was shaking now, either from shock or the cold, he didn’t know which, but he asked Bang to close the open door.

“Macy, go look for jackets or blankets; something to wrap her up in,” he asked.

“Sure,” she said, and wandered off to plunder the aisles.

“Marcy, I’m Graham. I met your sister and Sheriff early this morning. I tried to help you earlier before . . .” He chose not to continue the thought. He looked up at her that her teeth were now chattering too. “It’s okay. We’re going to get you warmed up and fix your leg. Then we are all going to get out of here,” he said as Macy ran up holding an armload of XXL-size heather gray sweatshirts. She’d found them somewhere in the store. They were huge and bore the logo of the town’s name across the chest.

“These are all I could find,” she said as she rushed over.

“They’re perfect,” Graham said, and sat Marcy up to pull one over her. Then he balled up another one and put it under her head as a pillow. He laid the others, layer after layer, over the girl. He overlapped them and tucked them under her sides as if folding a burrito. “We’ll get you warmed up in no time,” he said, then added, “We need to get something warm into her too.” He was afraid Marcy might be going into shock. He looked around for an answer and then remembered that there was a microwave to warm fast food next to the deli.

“Macy, you and Bang go see if you can find clean cups, bottled water and teabags or hot chocolate. Use the microwave by the deli to make her something warm to drink, but make sure the water’s clean,” he said as he sterilized several sewing needles with the flame of a cigarette lighter. He sat them on a clean paper towel to cool, and then decided that the larger thread would be the best way to go since it was sturdier and had less lint than the other. Luckily, one of the needles had a fairly large eye he hoped the wider thread would fit through.

He checked under the compression and saw that the hatchet cut had stopped bleeding but the swelling had increased. Graham knew it needed to be cleaned and dressed as soon as possible.

Bang and Macy must have found something appropriate because he and Marcy could hear the microwave humming. “Looks like they’ve got something for you,” he said to her. She smiled a little, but her teeth continued to chatter.

“I need to rip your pants leg open more,” he said to her, and she nodded. He grabbed each side and ripped the edges all the way down as cleanly as possible. When he got to the hem, he gave a little more effort and then just slipped it over her shoe. After he had moved the blood-stained excess out of the way, he wetted several paper towels and gently tried to clean off the dried blood from her calf.

Macy and Bang showed up smiling and bearing a steaming cup of cocoa. Bang carried the remnants of their excursion: a few unopened bottles of water, paper cups, plastic spoons, and an opened package of Swiss Miss. Where they had found water was a mystery to Graham.

“Perfect,” Graham said as he helped Marcy sit up. They all watched her, so she grinned weakly and a little sheepishly, but she drank it all down.

“Feel a little better?” Graham asked. At least she’d stopped shaking so much. He took a deep breath and said to the girls, “I’ve got to get this cleaned out and closed. I’m sorry, Marcy, it’s going to hurt.” Both girls looked ready to cry. “It has to be done. The sooner we finish it, the faster we can get out of here,” he said, trying to help them understand.

Macy reached over to help her sister roll to her side. “Just hold on to me, Marce,” she said.

Bang appeared silently on the other side of the counter, pulling the makeshift sweater blanket over the girl to help cover her back. Graham nodded at him and the boy reached over and opened the various items they needed for the job, getting them ready for Graham.

Graham opened one of the water bottles and dampened several more paper towels. He cleaned up around the wound. Bang struggled to open the heavily sealed saline bottle while Graham used the alcohol to clean his own hands. Watching Bang wrestle with the bottle would have been funny in any other situation, but not now.

After smelling the alcohol in the air, Marcy started to whimper a little. “That smells like the doctor’s office,” she said. Macy held onto her sister, trying to soothe her. Graham would almost rather kill another man than do this—but only almost.

When Bang handed him the opened bottle triumphantly, Graham grinned at him, showing his appreciation.

“Okay, Marcy, the first thing we have to do is clean this out. It’s going to be cold and it’s going to sting. Just hold onto Macy and breathe. Don’t hold your breath. I’ll go as fast as I can,” he said.

Marcy didn’t look up or acknowledge him. She only held onto Macy and buried her head into her sister’s neck. Graham began to spread the wound open, as gently as he could with his left hand. She made no sounds of discomfort yet. He popped open the bottle top and squirted a test stream, arching it across the floor. “Okay, Bang, I need you to come over here and hold onto her leg to help keep it still.”

Macy tightened her hold on her sister as a warning of what was to come. Graham started the stream at the higher end, working as deeply as he could and flushed more blood out of the wound. Marcy moaned and her leg shook involuntarily. “I’m sorry, Marcy,” Graham said to her, hoping she knew it was true.

He picked up the pace to get it over with quicker. The girl moaned louder and Macy tightened her grip. Big tears streamed down Macy’s face as she repeatedly said, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

Graham focused completely on the task at hand. He used up the entire bottle of saline and then took most of Bang’s pile of gauze, pushing on the wound in hopes of stemming the new flow of bright red blood. Graham held the pressure on Marcy’s leg, and her moans subsided a little. He noticed she gulped air now and then, and held her breath. “Don’t do that, Marcy. Breathe normally, or you’ll make it worse. I’m sorry, but we’re halfway there now. You’re a brave girl.”

The rain outside got heavier and made plunking sounds against the pavement so loud it could be heard inside. Occasionally Sheriff was distracted by it when he wasn’t fixated on the people doing what must be done. Once he whined, when he knew the girl was hurting, but stood where he was, alternating between watching his companions and guarding the door of the store.

Graham wiped dry the injury and then the area around Marcy on the counter. He put several more paper towels under her leg, getting it ready to sew up. He reapplied alcohol to his hands, hoping this would help keep infection down, then wiped carefully around the wound and let it dry. He threaded the needle, knotting one end, and glanced at Bang, who gave him a sympathetic smile.

Graham had no idea what he was doing. He’d only seen it done once before, and he hoped that was enough direction to get him started. The gash was about four inches long, with the worst part about an inch and a half deep. He thought it would be best to just start at the right end and pull the sides together as he went along. He would try to space the stitches evenly and use enough of them to close the wound. He wanted to do it right the first time.

“All right, Marcy,” he said, “We’re almost done. This last part is going to hurt again but then we’ll be done and we can get out of this place. Are you ready?”

“Yes, just do it,” she cried from under her coverings. Macy nodded at him.

“Good girl,” he said.

Graham first held the two ends together and pushed a clean ice cube against the skin to help deaden the nerve cells, then started sewing in the middle. As he pushed the needle through the skin, he worked his way down and then tied it off. He continued from the middle up, again using ice cubes to help numb the pain as much as he could. Marcy began to scream. By the time he pulled the last one through, he was shaking and his eyes were tearing up. He wiped the site clean and applied antibiotic ointment. Bang looked sheet white as he handed Graham a large bandage to cover it up.

He pulled Marcy into his arms and held her, whispering, “I’m so sorry I had to hurt you, but it’s over now.” He let her go, and on his way to the pharmacy area wiped away his own tears. He thought he would have to break into the pharmacy, but as it was, the door was already open. Graham tried to remember what he’d been prescribed for the finger incident, but he could only remember it started with a D.

There were rows of white shelves behind the main counter with large bottles in alphabetical order. He found the D’s: Demerol, Depakote, Depo-Provera . . . dopamine, doxazosin, doxycycline. “That’s it, doxycycline!” he said, and then thought to himself, God, this could be dangerous; how much do I give her? He looked around for some kind of guide and saw a stack of rather thick books on the counter; one was titled Merrill’s Drug Encyclopedia. He turned quickly to doxycycline and it read:

Doxycycline is a tetracycline antibiotic. It kills certain bacteria or stops their growth. It is used to treat many kinds of infections, such as dental, skin, respiratory, and urinary tract infections. It also treats acne, Lyme disease, malaria, and certain sexually transmitted diseases.

“Bingo!” he said, but then realized it didn’t tell him how much to give her. He remembered taking one twice a day, and thought he’d just go with that for her as well.

The nonsensical thought of dispensing a few into one of those honey-colored pill bottles occurred to him. But things are different now. I need to think like it, Graham said to himself. Their lives depended on him thinking in this new world, not the old one.

He grabbed the entire bottle and looked around for ibuprofen too. Then he looked at the book in his hands, and decided it needed to go with him as well. He searched around for something to carry all of this in and found a bright red empty cooler lying against the wall. He laid the jumbo bottle of antibiotics in along with the pharmaceutical encyclopedia. The thought crossed his mind just to take all the drugs on the shelf, but he knew there would be pharmacies along the way. What mattered now was just to get everyone out of here. He grabbed a bottle of Tylenol with codeine, knowing that it could come in handy.

Graham stopped at the first aid aisle once again and picked up more tubes of Neosporin and their generics and as much gauze and bandages as he could see. Keeping Marcy’s cut clean would be a real problem.

As he approached the kids he noticed that they looked a little stunned after the morning’s events. “Hey, Bang, let’s all have one of those juice boxes! Here, Marcy, I want you to take one of these. You’ll need to have one twice a day. And one of these painkillers”—he handed her the bottles—“every six hours.”

“I think I need to eat something before I do,” she said.

“That’s probably a good idea. Macy, see if you can find her some crackers or something to eat. In fact, you and Bang take carts and load up as much on edible food items as you can find. I need to find a truck we can use to load this stuff up. We’ll go to your dad’s apartment first and then make plans from there. I don’t want to stay here tonight and I’m sure you guys don’t want to either.” They all nodded in agreement.

“Graham, I . . . uh . . . need a bathroom,” Macy said as she pulled one of the oversize sweatshirts on. It fell nearly to her knees.

“Please hurry and don’t go far,” Graham answered.

He needed a bathroom too. He picked up his own jacket lying on the table and put it on. “You guys stay right here. I’ll be right back. Sheriff, you stay here and watch these guys.”

The dog looked up at Graham as if he knew exactly what he meant.

23 Scouting Around

Graham stepped out into the dampness of the empty parking lot. It was past noon, and he was thinking about lunch but, noticing the smoke rising out of the blue garbage bin, he did not have much of an appetite even though he’d not eaten since the day before.

Graham stood still, one hand on his rifle, scanning the horizon for usable vehicles. He headed across the street where several residences lined the streets and apartment complexes lay beyond. Graham saw a few cars in driveways and along the street, but he saw no trucks. He knew he’d need something with four-wheel drive where he was going. To the right, he noticed a reddish Toyota SUV, but he had no idea if there were keys in it.

He set off in that direction when he heard a rustling. Farther down the road, he noticed three deer pulling at the green lawn of a yard. It was yet another reminder of encroaching wildlife and the need to get somewhere safe from their predators. Camping out in a festering grocery store held no appeal for him, knowing the smells would bring in more than just the deer looking for tender grass.

Graham approached the truck and tried the door, but it was locked. He took in a deep breath, knowing he’d have to go inside the home to see if he could find the keys.

With a peaked roof and matching doorway, the little white house was edged in green. “It must have been built in the forties or fifties,” he said under his breath. These little postwar houses had been put up quickly to accommodate the troops coming home after the Second World War.

Whoever lived here took pretty good care of the place. Even the concrete walkway had recently been power-washed. He did not bother knocking, but simply tried the door and found it unlocked.

The darkness of the interior seemed daunting. He opened the door farther, but slowly, as if someone might come to meet him, which Graham knew was not likely. The only smells he encountered were mild, musty and moldy but not of death or decay. It was just like some grandmother’s closet or basement filled with mothballed coats.

He had looked first by the door before he stepped in, hoping there would be a set of keys on a nearby table or on the wall. He looked around the small living room as the light shone in and revealed a brown moleskin sofa facing the blackened screen of a TV no longer needed. The back of the sofa created a hallway that extended beyond to what Graham figured must be the kitchen.

Graham stepped onto the chestnut parquet flooring. “The real stuff, not the fake kind. Must be the original,” he said absentmindedly.

Still with his hand on the door, he said, “Anybody home?” When no one answered he left the door open, looking back across the street, feeling tethered to the kids. It was as if they were his own, or at least like he needed them to feel like his own. Who else’s would they be? he thought. He released the doorknob and began walking through the strange home and into the kitchen. He hoped the kitchen would be the next likely place someone would leave their keys, possibly on the counter or on a hook by the garage door.

Graham peered around the well-lit kitchen, which was clean and tidy right down to a candle placed in the center of a small island. This is a redone kitchen for sure, he thought. No way this cabinetry is original. They’d been redone with raised panel oak, and the countertops themselves were a light peach laminate, obviously not up to date but definitely not harking back to the 1940s, either. The place was oddly neat as a pin. Had someone been home when they died, their stuff, in the haste of disorderly living, would be everywhere. He looked around the countertops and a small oak square kitchen table beyond for keys, but with no luck.

“Maybe the bedroom,” he said aloud and looked to the short hallway he’d already passed that must lead there. Graham held his jacket up to his nose and mouth. He expected the worst as he turned the doorknob. He opened the door an inch, then two, but what he saw was only a neatly made chenille-covered bed.

“Nobody’s home,” he said to no one in particular. Just behind him was the door leading to the garage, possibly the last hiding place for the keys.

He opened the unlocked metal door, thinking it was surely a replacement and not the original to the old house. He then peered inside the darkness of the one-car garage, reached for the likely light switch, and flipped it up. By accident, in the process of his search, he dislodged what sounded like keys, sending them jangling to the floor.

As his eyes adjusted to the new light, Graham was surprised to see an older but well-maintained gold and white International Harvester Scout, probably a 1975. It had two rows of seats and a decent cargo area in the back for supplies. He could probably load the bikes up on the top, tying them to the rack. He located the keys he’d dropped and examined them. The ring only contained the keys for the Scout, not the Toyota out front. He hoped this thing was a four-by-four. Graham hit the garage door opener and heard a familiar racket as the door lifted.

He walked over to the driver’s side and opened the locked door. He inspected it for the necessary conversion to switch over to four-wheel drive for rough terrain, which to his surprise it had. He started the vehicle up and laid his rifle in the passenger’s seat area. It smelled clean and there was no litter lying around. He was happy to see it registered a full tank of fuel.

It dawned on Graham that this must have been Campos’s doing: he must have gone house to house, getting them ready for the new residents he expected. He truly wished he hadn’t had to kill the man; part of Graham would always feel guilty about it, because the truth was that part of Campos had been good—the part of him that wanted to make this town clean again and the part that had cared for Marcy. Graham knew that part of him, too, because he’d seen it just before he died in the look he gave Marcy. But the other parts of Campos just couldn’t have been allowed to remain. Graham knew all lives were especially precious in this new world, and that made his guilt even more so. He laid his forehead onto the steering wheel for a minute while he let the engine run and idle down.

~ ~ ~

It was only late afternoon, but already Graham felt spent. It’s time to get the kids out of here, he thought before backing out of the skinny driveway and onto the main road. He left the vehicle running and parked right outside the market to warm up the inside. The kids already had two carts full of boxed food ready to load. Graham walked over to Marcy.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her.

“I’m okay,” she said, “but my head really hurts.”

A little concerned, Graham looked her over again. He didn’t see anything unexpected, considering her injuries.

“Let’s put some ice on your head to keep the swelling down. You just took the painkillers, too, right?” he asked her.

“Yeah, I took two just like it said on the bottle,” Marcy said.

“How old are you girls?” he asked.

“We’re fifteen, but I’m older than Macy by five minutes,” she said.

He smiled at the girls, amused that she had said something normal in this abnormal world. “Well, you keep taking those pills every six hours then,” he said.

“All right, let’s get you in the backseat and warmed up. Then we’ll load up the rest of this stuff,” he said.

Graham lifted the girl, making sure he didn’t disturb her wound, and carried her out into the misty cold. He opened the door to the backseat and slid her in onto the warmth of its vinyl.

“You couldn’t find anything newer?” she asked.

“No; we were actually lucky to find this one,” he said.

“At least it’s warm,” she conceded.

He shut the door gently and then looked over at the dog, who watched his every move. Graham moved over to the back, opened the top window and then lowered the tailgate.

“Come,” Graham said to Sheriff, who just looked up at him, not knowing what he wanted. Then Graham said, “Hmmm, what’s your language, big guy?”

Macy pushed one of the carts through the door, coming around to the back of the vehicle. “Do you know what kind of commands to use for him?” he asked her.

“I have no idea. He just jumped into the backseat of the last car we were in. I haven’t tried to tell him anything.”

“Well, let’s try this, then,” he said as he patted the back of the tailgate of the truck. Sheriff did a running turn and jumped right up and in. “Good boy!” Graham said and scratched Sheriff behind the ears. “Bet you’re getting hungry too.”

“Bang found some dog food,” Macy said. “They’re fast friends, those two,” she added, while handing Graham the food supplies from the cart.

Graham loaded quickly, tossed everything lightly into the back. Sheriff walked up to Marcy and sniffed at her head rising over the headrest. She reached up and patted the dog, who sat on his haunches and let her continue the affection.

“Wish I had listened to you, boy,” she said lightly.

“Don’t do that to yourself, Marcy. Don’t regret; it does you no good, believe me,” Graham said, speaking loud enough for all of them to hear.

“Look, we all have to be more careful now. There are wild animals everywhere, and a few people who are willing to hurt you, for whatever reason. These are the new rules now. No one goes anywhere without telling me, and you must always have someone with you at all times. I’ll carry my weapon with me wherever we go and you three need to learn to do the same. A ruler and an ice scraper aren’t bad, but they’re not good enough to defend yourself with.”

The girls looked at one another.

“I know we haven’t really talked about this, but it’s your choice. You two should decide together. After we load up, we’ll go get the bikes that Bang and I hid last night, then go over to your dad’s place. Girls, I’m pretty sure you know he’s not with the living, but we’ll go there and make sure at least. Then it’s up to you two if you want to come with Bang and me up to my cabin in Cascade. It’s safer there. I know the hunting and fishing grounds, and not that many people know the area. Those fires over there”—he pointed toward Seattle—“are inching their way over here and I don’t want to be anywhere close to them when they get here. Besides that, this place welcomes people and you don’t know what kind you’re dealing with. I’m not saying it’s bad to stay here, just that I’m not. It’s up to you to come with me or stay by yourselves. There are a lot of houses that are livable if you want to stay.”

The girls looked at one another again and Macy spoke first. “We’re going with you—at least I am. I don’t want to stay here. Do you, Marcy?”

“No way, not after this,” Marcy said and gestured openly with her hand. “I can still feel him here,” she said, with goose bumps rising and shuddering from a chill.

“All right, then, I just wanted to make sure you realized it was your decision,” Graham said, and continued loading what little food they’d managed to find. It wasn’t a lot, but it might get them through a couple of weeks.

Graham walked back to the market and scanned the inside, retrieving the red ice chest he’d packed earlier, and looked around for anything he thought they should also grab. He noticed a few fire starter logs and took them, as well as several lighters and a snow shovel leaning near the entrance door. He carried the goods out with Bang’s help and locked up the back end of the truck while Macy and Bang climbed in the backseat next to Marcy. Before Graham got in, he noticed the sickly sweet burning smell again, coming from the damp, smoking blue trash bin, and his stomach clenched. “Sorry, Campos,” he said under his breath. He meant it, but he wouldn’t regret what he’d done.

Graham got into the running vehicle and headed over to where he’d stashed their bikes the night before. For him it was returning to where Campos had struck Marcy the first time and, more important, where Graham had failed. Hopefully the lesson he’d learned would stick with him.

Shutting off the truck, Graham said, “All right, Bang, let’s go get the bikes and stuff. Girls, this shouldn’t take long,” he added, shutting the doors to keep in the warmth. Graham looked around to make sure there were no predators; he could not be too careful these days.

Graham and Bang walked between the cars and over to the brush where they’d hidden their bikes and trailer, only to find that something had tried to get into the plastic storage bin containing their food. The shower curtain was ripped to shreds and scattered about. The rifles had been tipped onto the ground but, thankfully, they were still there.

The first aid kit was smashed and scattered all over the ground, but to Graham’s amazement, the storage bin itself was intact and unmolested.

They unhitched the trailer and left it where it was. “I wish we could take it,” Graham said, “but there’s not enough room.” He picked up the gun cases and the storage bin and balanced them on the seat of his bike. Meanwhile, Bang retrieved his bike and then they both made their way back to the truck, winding through the scattered maze of cars. Graham took a second to look down the highway and noticed several dogs milling about below the overpass. One looked up at him. “Hurry up, Bang,” Graham warned. “If they come up here, just drop the bike and run for the truck,” he said.

They both picked up their pace as one of the dogs lifted its head at their scent and barked, alerting the rest of the pack. Graham heard growling and turned around just in time to see the boy let a little arrow fly into a coyote’s side as it snuck up behind them. The coyote let out a yelp and took off in the opposite direction.

“Okay, that’s enough for me, leave the bike,” Graham said, and awkwardly grabbed the tote with the guns balanced on top in his right arm and reached down and pulled Bang up in the other. He ran the rest of the distance to the truck, with more of the pack in pursuit behind them.

Graham opened the front passenger door, pushed Bang in roughly, and then stuffed the bin in right behind him. He then jumped in himself and quickly closed the door.

As they looked out the windows they saw a large coyote come to the rise, followed by a Rottweiler barking insanely. Sheriff growled in their direction, the fur on his back standing on end. Somehow, domestic dogs had gone so far as to join with the wild packs. The girls were shouting and crying and Graham turned around to them, waving his hand up and down, trying to calm them.

“It’s all right, we made it back,” he said. “Whew, that was too close!” He climbed over the bin, and lifted Bang back to the passenger side. “You’re pretty good with that bow and arrow, buddy!” he said.

“Those are bad dogs,” Bang said, pointing. “They’re coming over here,” he cautioned.

The girls’ cries started to increase as they remembered their drive the day before. Graham started the engine and circled around, even though the dogs were many now and they were jumping and snarling at the truck.

He sped down the main street and turned left toward the apartment complex beyond. The dogs gave up the chase before long. “Okay, girls, can you give me some directions here? Which building is it?” Graham asked.

Marcy pointed to a gray building with white trim and looked up through the back window at the second floor pointing north. “That’s it, number B204,” she said.

The building itself was fairly new, built within the last two years or so; behind it there were several more, still under stalled construction. Graham stopped the truck and let it idle right in front of the breezeway that led to the stairs of the building; he looked out the back windows and didn’t see any vicious canine brigades. He turned off the engine and then turned back to the girls. “I think I should go up there first. Do you have a key?”

Macy pulled at a lanyard around her neck that held a key hidden within her shirt. She took it off and handed it over. “It’s the first door on the left there,” she said, pointing to the second floor.

“Don’t forget the rifle. It’s in his closet,” Marcy added. She paused, then said, “His name is Brian.”

Graham nodded to them, not sure what else to say; he looked deep into Marcy’s eyes, and then Macy’s. He took the lanyard and said, “Keep the doors closed, and if there are any issues, honk the horn. I’ll just be a minute.”

All three nodded in unison. Graham looked at the dog and said, “You’re in charge, Sheriff,” and the shepherd returned the look with smiling eyes. Graham saw Bang grin back at the dog, then switch his gaze to the girls’ faces. The kid sobered quickly. After one quick survey of the world outside, Graham stepped out and silently closed the door, taking his rifle with him.

When he approached the building, Graham noticed debris scattered around the concrete breezeway. What looked to be cheese crackers and cereal were strewn all over.

The door to the apartment wasn’t locked or even fully closed, and Graham had a bad feeling about what lay inside. He pushed the door open a little and looked around, holding his rifle up as he entered. The smell hit him right away, pushing him back out the door. He looked down at the truck below and then pulled his jacket back up over his nose and mouth. He entered again and pushed the door against something lightly blocking it. He looked around the door itself and found a large unopened bag of sugar, just lying there wedged against the wall as if someone dropped it on his way out. The place was a mess, and the smell was terrible. Someone was dead in there somewhere. Though Graham couldn’t see the body, he had no doubt that the girls’ father had perished.

The lights to the kitchen on his right were blinding. He kept his rifle out and peered around the counter, scattered with cans of corn, a box of gelatin, and another of pancake mix, opened and spilled of its contents.

Nobody’s in here, he thought. Then he looked over at the couch in the little living area, covered in tossed clothing. On the wall above the sofa he recognized two photos of the smiling girls, Macy and Marcy. One was a gold-framed picture of the girls and their father on what looked like a family fishing trip; each proudly held up a fish.

Graham made his way over to the bedroom and pushed the door, which was slightly ajar. He opened it farther with the end of his rifle.

What he saw wasn’t a victim of the pandemic but a bloody massacre. Two decomposing bodies were sprawled on the bed. The odor even seem to latch onto his eyeballs. He dry-heaved, then pulled the coat closer to barricade his senses further if it could. There was a man, or what looked like one, with a gunshot wound to the face and blood spray covering the wall behind him. A naked woman lay across his middle, face down; she appeared to have taken a shot to the back of the head.

Graham looked around quickly for any rifle within the closet and around the room, but it was clear the place had been ransacked, and a rifle would have been among the first things taken. He quickly made an about-face and ran toward the living room. He picked up the two pictures he’d seen on the wall and left, closing the door behind him as best he could. He looked down at the truck below and dreaded what he had to do now.

Checking below the stairs for any predators, Graham walked around to the driver’s side and entered the truck. He was glad to have fresh air to breathe into his lungs, even if it was cold and damp. “Here, I thought you might want these,” he said, and handed the pictures over to the girls who had wide, questioning eyes. “He’s not alive; I’m sorry,” he said.

Marcy said, “I want to see.” She looked beyond Graham, staring out the windshield.

“Let me tell you something, Marcy. You don’t want to see that. I’m telling you,” he said, shaking his head.

Macy cried now, and tears ran down Marcy’s face too. “I don’t know if I can believe you if I don’t see him,” Marcy said.

Taking a deep breath and fully understanding her statement, Graham said, “I know, but, Marcy, I don’t think he died of the virus. I think he was killed for supplies.” Then he added, “There’s food all over, like someone tried to cart it all off at once. I think he was shot in his sleep. He didn’t suffer. I’m sure your dad wouldn’t want you to see this.” Marcy let the tears roll, sobbing and holding her sister. Now they knew for sure, but the truth held no hope, and they were alone in the world together.

Graham let them be and turned his attention to the road; he needed to make distance between this place and the place he would be take them. He headed back out to the main road and scoffed at his own habit of putting on the loud turn signal, flipped it off, and turned left. They all looked at the parking lot in front of the market, the blue trash bin still smoking in front of it, as they headed out and they saw a black crow nibbling at bits on the pavement. No one said a word as they headed to the other end of town, where the final makeshift gate remained, blocking their freedom.

Graham put the truck in park and looked around before heading out to move the barrier. He didn’t feel the need to reclose it now, and when he got back into the cab, they drove on without looking back.

What should have taken them five hours to drive had culminated into a full day, a rescue, a murder, surgery, and a discovery that would remain with Graham forever. He looked back in his rearview mirror at the girls, and farther to the dog looking out the back window, then over to the boy looking up at him, and realized how much his life had changed in forty-eight hours with the death of his original family and the accumulation of this new one in such short order.

His Nelly would have loved each of them, and he was sorry she wasn’t here now, especially knowing she would instinctively know how to comfort the girls grieving in the backseat.

“Bang, why don’t you open the bin and get the map out for us,” Graham said to the boy. He did, and Graham saw how the boy smiled up at him whenever he asked for his help.

24 On the Road

The trip north was a winding one, through forests, over hills, and into valleys. In most ways it seemed like any drive through the countryside in the fall—until Graham noticed that the brown cows who usually grazed in open fields were eating the tender green blades along the roadside and sometimes lounging on the warm blacktop road.

It had only been a day since Graham and Bang had left his home, but it felt like a week or more; Graham could feel the soreness in his shoulders from so much exertion earlier in the day. Pushing the memories of the awful day from his mind, he looked in the rearview mirror at Macy and Marcy, each gazing out her own window, but each also holding the other’s hand at the center of the backseat. He knew he’d have to stop in an hour or so to change Marcy’s bandage and find something in the back to eat.

When they got to the cabin they would have to take an inventory of their food and then look in town for more. He remembered there was a little store, though he was sure it was mostly open only during the summer months. He hoped they still had some supplies in there.

It had only been an hour since they’d left, and everyone was caught up in quiet thought. Too quiet, Graham thought. He reached over and turned on the radio, which emitted static at first. There were no search buttons on this thing. He turned the tuning knob slowly and tried to find some sign of life.

Macy said out of boredom, or curiosity, “What are you doing?”

“I’m checking to see if there are any news broadcasts or anything out there. Did you girls listen to the news after all this happened?” he asked.

“Yeah, but we were waiting for Dad . . .” Macy said; then she looked over at Marcy.

“We thought we should stay where we were so he could find us,” said Marcy. “Then, when he did not call back, we thought we should go find him.”

“The first broadcast said to go to the high school near where we lived, but then the next day it said not to. So we didn’t really know what to do,” Macy added.

“Yeah, I think everything happened so fast that there was a lot of confusion. And then it ended,” Graham said, raising his eyebrows as if to say he had no other answers and then pausing with a catch in his throat. “Anyway, here we are now.”

They were silent once again except for the sound of the static Graham made with the radio knob and the noise of the engine propelling them farther north on the wet highway.

Marcy began to nod off, and Graham saw Macy made her sister more comfortable so that she could fall asleep. He felt again he’d done the right thing; these twins needed each other, and he had saved them. Finally he found a beeping sound that was not static and tried to fine tune the station further. A woman’s dour voice began repeating an announcement he’d heard parts of before.

“This is a public service message. This pandemic was a weaponized attack starting in China. Due to faulty security measures, it quickly grew out of China’s control and spread globally. There is no one left to blame now. Fewer than 2 percent worldwide show immunity to this virus; some will try to hide from its effects, but those who are survivors most certainly are carriers.”

Then came the part he had not heard earlier but had suspected would turn out to be true.

“This means,” the sober voice continued, “if you are a prepper and successfully hid from the virus, you are still in jeopardy and should remain separated from any immune survivors or you will succumb to the pandemic after all.

“Additionally, The Charters of Freedom, including the US Constitution, the Declaration of Independence, and the Bill of Rights, have been automatically secured in a high-security vault, located beneath the Archives building on Constitution Avenue in Washington, DC. They should remain so until all borders are secure and the population has succeeded in creating a republic once again. Until that time it is best to leave them where they remain.

“This is a difficult world you live in now. Food and shelter should not be a survival issue in the short term, but you should educate yourselves and the younger generations on growing crops, hunting, fishing, and basic medical care.

“Due to the lack of public services, your biggest enemy now is Mother Nature, including wildlife, weather, fires, and even humankind. Gather and take care of the young, because they will need your guidance. Above all, live peacefully.

“This concludes this public service message.”

Graham looked forward through the rain-streaked windshield, down the long winding road as they made their way through Falls City. There was the familiar alert beeping, and then the message began again. Graham reached over and turned the radio off. He did not need to hear it again; he was still trying to comprehend what he’d heard the first time. He looked over at Bang, who was now fast asleep with his head lolling onto the side armrest.

Graham looked into the rearview mirror and saw Marcy asleep, her head on Macy’s lap. Macy looked directly at him with a worried expression in her vivid blue eyes. Sheriff must have been asleep too, because Graham had not seen even the tops of his ears over the seat for some time now.

Macy still stared at him. “Do you have any questions, Macy?” he asked, not knowing what she was thinking but seeing that she looked terrified.

“Does this mean it’s all gone? Everything?” she asked, as if trying to comprehend the incomprehensible.

Graham swallowed, “Macy, it means we have to take care of each other now. There are no schools, no police, and no hospitals anymore. No grocery stores or farmers, for that matter. It means we have to do all of those things for ourselves now. At some point the fires or weather will hit the power stations and there won’t be power any longer or gas for vehicles. No iPhones, computers, or video games. It means we have to think differently and make new rules that make sense to us in these times.

“We left the city because of the animals coming in after the smells and because people can no longer keep them at bay with everyday noises. Not to mention the fires that will soon come in and consume all the buildings and houses; there’s no fire department to put them out. That’s why I decided to head out to the cabin, because I know the area and I’ve hunted and fished there every year since I was a kid. It’s where my great-great-grandfather who was a logger lived, way back when. There’s an old apple orchard a few miles away too, so I know we can grow things there. It’s been done before,” he said.

Graham looked back at Macy again and thought she looked a little more hopeful and a little less terrified. I’d better keep pushing these guys to think ahead and not look behind them or we won’t get through this, he thought.

“We’re going to try to stop up here in Carnation and get some gas,” Graham said. “I’ll change Marcy’s bandage and give her some more medicine. We can get something to eat and hopefully find a bathroom. Sound good?”

“Yeah, especially the bathroom part,” Macy said with a faint smile. “Graham?” she said. Her tone led him to believe she wanted to ask more questions.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for saving Marcy. You could have left us there. I just wanted to thank you for helping us.”

Graham just looked Macy in the eyes through the reflection in the rearview mirror and nodded solemnly.

~ ~ ~

Macy hoped Graham knew how grateful she really was. So she would not cry, she looked out the window as the gray rainy day gave way to a few patches of blue sky in the late afternoon, set against the autumn hues of the landscape that rushed by.

She was caught in a vicious cycle. She kept feeling as if she and Marcy were on a normal road trip with Mom or Dad, but then she would look up and see a stranger named Graham driving, a forcible reminder of why she was there. Then she would remember all that had happened that day, and the weeks before, as it replayed in her mind. Macy looked back out the window to get away from it all until she felt like she was on a road trip, once again.

Graham slowed as he approached the little town of Carnation on Highway 203. There was an apparent attempt at a roadblock as he went into town, with a few vehicles parked in the road. Graham just drove around them on the soft shoulder. There were no signs up or any other warnings, so he just assumed it was an early attempt by the residents to keep traffic out of their town. He drove a little more slowly, dodging a parked semi truck just before the Tolt River bridge.

They passed a baseball field, and Graham felt a pang of sorrow as he remembered the little league team he’d helped coach last spring at the insistence of his brother-in-law. He had not heard from that side of the family at all; he’d tried to call them when Nelly passed away, but no one ever answered. He shook it off and continued looking straight ahead.

Carnation was a typical little northwest farming community. The main street led past a pizzeria, an Ace Hardware store on the left and a Mexican restaurant on the right. He noticed a little nondescript gas station and pulled up to one of the pumps. Not certain if they would work, Graham got out quickly and slid his credit card through. To his surprise, his card was accepted as if all was right with the world. He filled his tank while he looked around and noticed a few dogs lingering in front of the Mexican restaurant, but they did not seem to be paying him any attention. He finished, hopped back in the truck, and continued driving down the street.

Two raccoons scrambled across the road ahead of him, which caused the loitering dogs to take chase, and Graham let up on the gas to slow the truck as they ran in front of him and across the street. Once they were out of sight he continued on, not wanting to stop anywhere close to the animals while he looked for a decent bathroom.

Toward the end of town on the right was the Carnation Elementary School. Nothing but farm fields were farther down the street. He assumed the school doors were locked but pulled into the circular parking lot and got as close as possible to the front doors, providing for an easy getaway if they needed it. Part of him felt he was being paranoid, thinking of every contingency, but after the events of the past two days he just could not be too safe.

Graham put the truck in park, and Bang woke up and looked around, stretching. “Is this a school?” he asked as Macy woke her sister and even Sheriff popped his head up in back cargo area.

“Yep, but don’t worry, we’re just here to use the restrooms,” Graham said. “If we can, that is.” He looked around for any dangers that might lurk before he grabbed his rifle and opened the door. “You guys stay right here until I call you, and keep the doors closed.”

They all looked around through their windows for any signs of life as Graham approached the double glass doors. He was certain they’d be locked, but when he reached to try the right-hand door, it opened freely. Thank God, I don’t have to shoot my way in, he thought, and turned back to the kids, who watched him expectantly. He held up his hand to tell them to stay until he checked the inside of the school.

He walked in onto the blue rubber flooring. Hardly making a noise, he peered around the foyer, beyond what must be the office window, for the closest possible bathroom. The hall was a cheery place, with lots of natural light coming in the windows and had probably been remodeled recently. It smelled like crayons and disinfectant, like any elementary school. Graham knew the schools were shut down early in an effort to prevent the spread of the virus, but could not figure out why the doors had been left open. He listened intently and looked up and down the halls but did not leave the sight of the kids beyond the doorway. He noticed boys’ and girls’ bathrooms signs near the office, along the wall next to a water fountain, and walked back out to the truck after surveying the landscape for any possible dangers.

The coast appeared to be clear, so Graham opened Macy’s door and motioned to Bang to follow. “Close it lightly, and be quiet. We don’t want to attract any attention,” he said. Macy grabbed the first aid supplies for Marcy, as well as the empty water bottles. Bang took his bow and arrow, as always. Graham reached in, picked up Marcy, and called Sheriff out over the seat. Again, the dog did not respond and just looked up at him confused.

Macy patted her side and said, “Come, Sheriff.” He jumped quickly out of the back and onto the pavement.

Graham shook his head, confounded as to why the police dog didn’t know common commands. “Bang, lead him into the building,” he said.

The dog happily trailed the boy, sniffing at the new surroundings as Macy followed along.

“The bathrooms are right over there. Let’s get in and out and be quiet about it,” Graham said.

He could tell from their expressions that the kids felt as out of place as he did, sensed a wrongness. The need to be cautious in such a pleasant room, untouched by their new circumstances, went against the grain; it just did not seem right, juxtaposed as it was to the happy, colored balloons and the laminated cutouts of brown squirrels that were stapled to the walls. Marcy huffed a little, but no one said anything about it.

Sheriff sniffed the hallway from side to side but stayed close by the others. Graham took Marcy into the girls’ bathroom. He opened the swinging door and peered inside. There were two white wall-mounted sinks to the left and three stalls behind them; all appeared safe. He put Marcy down on her good leg and helped her over to the first stall. Macy came in right behind him. “When you’re done, let me know and I’ll come back in and change the dressing by the sink,” he said, letting the door close behind him. He and Bang went into the boys’ bathroom and did their business, leaving Sheriff out in the hallway. After they had washed up, Graham went over to the girls’ door and knocked lightly. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, you can come in,” said Macy.

She was getting the first aid supplies out of the bag as Graham pushed a rubber doorstop under the door to prop it open. “Macy, you and Bang refill those water bottles while I do this,” he said.

He took a deep breath and walked over to Marcy, who hopped on one leg over to the sink. “How’s it feeling?” Graham asked.

“The cut throbs some, but not as bad as before,” she said.

“Well, face the wall. I’ll try to be as gentle as I can,” he said as he washed and dried his hands. He started to peel away the soaked dressing.

She cringed a bit, so he stopped. “It’s okay, Graham, just go ahead and do it,” Marcy said.

Graham exposed the raw looking flesh. He gently dabbed at it with sterile gauze and washed it with more sterile saline. Then he dried it by patting lightly. He applied new ointment and recovered it with a clean bandage.

“I think we should just use the gauze to cover it after we get to the cabin to let more air get to it. Now, let’s get more meds into you and get going,” he said. Graham repacked their supplies and threw the bloody dressing in the nearby gray trashcan. At this point, that will probably stay there for eternity, he thought. Then he looped one arm around Marcy’s waist while toting his rifle with the other.

“Graham!” Macy called from the hallway, a little alarmed.

“What?” he said as he turned into the hall.

“Sheriff’s growling at something down the hall.” Sheriff was crouched in front of them in the middle of the hallway, warning them of something beyond, down past the cheerful squirrel cutouts.

“It’s probably a dog, so come on, it’s time to go,” Graham said as he ushered them all to the doorway. Looking to make sure the coast was clear, he opened the door and shepherded them all back to the truck. He held Marcy up with one arm as she hopped on one leg.

“Come on, Sheriff!” he yelled. The dog dropped his warning growl and ran out, but instead of getting back into the truck right away, he ran over to the left of the door and lifted his leg at the nearest bush, all the while looking around for enemies.

Graham shook his head, but got the kids into their seats quickly and then called the dog over. Sheriff jumped into the back as before. Graham held up his rifle and scanned the outside of the building while he edged closer to his own car door.

As they drove away Graham noticed movement in his rearview mirror; someone was running across the street behind them. He stopped, rolled down his window, and yelled, “Hey!”

The young man stopped. Sheriff started barking and the girls panicked. “No, Graham, keep going, please keep going!” they yelled.

“Shhh, he’s just a kid,” he said back to them.

The six-foot figure turned out to be a teen—Graham guessed about eighteen or so. He wore a blue plaid flannel shirt over ratty denim jeans and boots. The boy stared at him through suspicious eyes and dark brown, unkempt hair. Graham started to back up the truck, but the boy ran again. Graham put on the brakes. “Wait!”

The kid stopped once more, but Graham could tell he was ready to bolt at any time.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Graham said. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t need your help.” The kid looked distraught.

“Okay, that’s good,” Graham responded, then after a few moments of silence with just the sound of the truck’s engine running he added, “We’re going up to Cascade. Do you know where that is?”

The boy paused in thought, then nodded that he did.

“If you want to, you can come up there when you’re ready. Leave me a note at the Cascade post office and I’ll check it when I come into town, once a week or so. Do you understand?” Graham asked him.

“Yeah, but I don’t want to leave them just yet.” For the first time, Graham noticed the boy was armed as he pointed toward his home with a pistol that he’d had hidden behind his back.

“It’s all right, I understand. When you’re ready, you’re welcome. Leave me a note, and stay somewhere safe in town. I’ll check for it.” He did not know why, but he trusted the kid.

He watched the teenager’s eyes light up with momentary interest and turned to see Macy staring out at him from the backseat window. Again, the youth hesitated, looking undecided. “Okay, I’ll probably come, but not yet,” he said, jogging away down a side street.

“Whew!” Macy said.

Graham rolled up his window and moved on down the road. “That was weird,” said Marcy.

“He’s all right,” Graham said. “He’s just scared. Maybe he’ll meet up with us after a while.”

“He had a gun,” Bang pointed out.

“He sure did. I think we’ll see a lot of that now, people carrying guns.” Graham stepped on the gas and the truck moved on. He reminded the kids to find something to eat in the back, and Macy pulled out a package of cheese and peanut butter sandwich crackers and began passing them around. They each had their own refilled water bottle, and Graham reminded Macy to give her sister more medicine. Soon they were silent again, having finished off their light meal and drifting off to their own thoughts without having much to say to one another. The drive made things seem too normal, but at least it gave them time to consider things as they were now.

25 The Journey to the Cabin

Night was descending as Graham pulled up to the narrow dirt road turnoff that led to the cabin. He was a little saddened and surprised that he’d gotten this far and only run into the one young man and no other living souls. He felt a little less optimistic about the future.

Graham came to a complete stop and turned on the overhead light to see just how to put this unfamiliar truck into four-wheel drive. This caused the sleeping occupants to stir.

“Where are we?” asked Bang.

“We’re almost there. I have to get this thing in four-wheel drive. The road is always a bit muddy up there. I hope there are no downed trees in the way. If there are, we’ll have to get out and walk,” Graham said. He turned off the obtrusive light and drove slowly on the single-lane dirt path leading up to the family cabin; the truck bounced up and down over unseen dips in the road.

The long day had been difficult. Graham held back the memory of killing a man and having to perform crude surgery to save a life. He never thought he was capable of doing either, nor did he ever want to again have the responsibility of such actions any time soon. His father had been that man, not him. Graham was a math professor—or had been. His father was the brave one, a soldier who’d fought in Vietnam and Korea. Reluctantly, he realized that he was his father’s son after all, and it was a good thing he knew it now because their lives depended on it.

Graham peered through the light beams and saw a few brown deer that stared back at him before leaping away through the ferns and pines. He looked up ahead, noticed a faint light, and had a sinking feeling. He killed the truck’s headlights and, by memory, drove closer. Soon it became apparent that someone was already in the cabin; there was flickering light gleaming through the windows.

He pulled up slowly into the clearing and saw a little red Ford Escort under the brush on the left side of the cabin. “Damn, someone’s here,” he said as he turned off the engine. “I’m going to check it out,” Graham said as he pulled out his rifle. “You guys lock the doors. Macy, can you drive?” he asked.

“Sorta,” she said.

“Good enough. Anything happens to me, you get the hell out of here and go back to that boy we saw today, all right?” Once again he couldn’t explain his trust in the boy.

Sounding confused and scared by his tone, Macy answered, “Okay.”

Graham quietly pushed the door closed and Macy climbed over into the driver’s seat while Bang reached around and locked all the doors manually.

Graham moved around to the side window to peek inside. Through the wavy, dirty glass he could see that someone had started a fire in the woodstove that he and his dad had installed not so long ago. Flames could be seen behind the stove’s glass and ceramic door. No one was walking around in the main room, so he assumed the trespassers were asleep. Quietly and slowly Graham went up the wooden steps so as to not alert whoever might be inside. He tried the front door and found that the lock had been busted, so he pushed it in gently.

Once inside he saw what he couldn’t have seen from out in the yard: the firelight danced on a woman who lay on the couch, sweating and shivering at the same time. She looked to be at least part American Indian and was obviously suffering from the virus—or something similar.

Graham stepped halfway into the cabin, then stopped abruptly at the sound of a rifle bolt clicking back to his right.

“Hold it right there, buddy,” a gravelly voice commanded. Graham remained frozen in place; he couldn’t believe he’d been through this horrible day, only to be murdered at the very end of it in his family’s own cabin.

“Who the hell are you?” the stranger said, coming into view. An ancient man stood before Graham, probably the oldest man he’d ever laid eyes on. His sparse white hair was a striking contrast to his black skin. Graham pulled his right hand up, then lowered his own rifle with his left hand but didn’t drop it entirely.

“It’s all right,” he said calmly as he tried to reassure the old man. “My name’s Graham Morgan, and this is my cabin. My family’s cabin, that is.”

“So you say,” the old man retorted.

“Really, it is. I’ve been coming up here every summer, my whole life. Now please lower that gun, before you hurt someone.”

The old man complied, then Graham asked, pointing to the woman, “Does she have the virus?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Don’t think so. She kidnapped me and took me here,” he said, complaining.

Graham walked over to the woman. Beads of sweat covered her exposed face, and he pulled back the covers a little and saw that she was armed with a handy pistol at her stomach. She was unconscious, so Graham removed the pistol just so there weren’t any accidents and placed it on the floor under couch.

Listening to her breathing, Graham said, “Something’s not right. Her breathing is too clear for this to be the virus. It’s some other infection,” he said.

“I could’ve told you that, dummy,” the old man said.

Graham looked at the old man, irritated. “Do you know her name?” he asked.

“No. Dumb girl said I had to come with her, is all. I don’t know her. She said I had to come on account I wasn’t dying. I told her I couldn’t help it and she dragged me out here anyway.” The old man opened his arms wide, still holding onto the rifle.

“Put that gun down now,” Graham said and realized the old man was short a cell or two and couldn’t be trusted with a weapon.

“It’s not loaded,” the woman said quietly.

Graham looked back at her, surprised by her soft voice.

“Hi, I’m Graham. I can see you’re sick. Is it the virus?” he asked.

She swallowed and looked at him, “No, I had a miscarriage yesterday, and I think there’s some kind of infection,” she said, tears flooding her eyes.

This news hit Graham in the gut. “I’m really sorry to hear that” was all he could think to say. “Do you have any water?” he asked.

“There’s some in my car. I just couldn’t make it back out there after getting him in here,” she said.

“All right, I’ll get you some. Listen,” he said to both of them, “This is my family’s cabin. It’s fine if you stay here, but I want you to know I’ve got kids out in my truck and I need to bring them in here.” Then he added, “I’ll be right back.”

Before he reached the door, though, he strode over to the old man and grabbed the gun, pointing it at him. “You behave, mister,” he said, guiding the cranky geriatric to a nearby chair.

Back at the truck Graham informed the kids of the situation in the cabin. “Don’t be offended by the old man. He’s just cranky,” he said to them. “The lady’s really sick so we need to give her some of our antibiotics,” he said.

When the children finally stepped out into the cool night air, they carried what they could and walked through the tall, dewy grass to the cabin. Macy helped her sister, and Sheriff walked along with Graham and Bang, nose twitching in response to the new smells along the way. The girls stopped at the porch, and Graham handed what he carried to Bang and lifted Marcy into his arms to climb the steps.

By the time they entered, the lady was asleep again. The old man silently beheld the new intruders.

“Them’s just children,” the old man said, a little disgusted, and pointed at them as if Graham promised him something else.

“That’s right, they’re children. And you be nice to them,” Graham warned.

“They can’t fight,” he said.

“Fight what?” Graham asked him.

“This war!” the old man said indignantly.

Macy and Bang stopped behind Graham and stared, astonished.

“There’s no war right now,” Graham said.

“Dat’s what you think,” the old man said, rising on his old bowed legs and making his way slowly to the bunkroom at the back of the cabin.

The kids clearly didn’t know what to make of all this and looked at Graham for an answer. He just shook his head with a little smile.

“Man, this has been the longest day ever,” Graham said, realizing he still had Marcy in his arms. He put her down in the chair the old man just vacated.

Sheriff walked over to the sleeping woman, sniffed at her, and looked up at Graham. “I know, buddy, she’s sick,” Graham said. “Marcy, let’s get your leg taken care of first. There’s a bathroom over here to the right.” Graham quickly redressed her wound, which didn’t look any different from that afternoon.

Back in the kitchen, he asked them if they were hungry, but all three said they simply wanted to know where they could sleep. Graham walked them into the back room, where four hefty double-decker bunk beds stood like sentinels on guard. The old man appeared as a lump on the farthest one back on the right. They quietly tiptoed over to the other side, and Macy pulled back the covers on the bottom at the front end of the row, nearest the doorway, and motioned for Marcy to lie down. Graham helped Marcy onto the mattress, and Macy covered her up with a soft blanket he handed her from the stack that he pulled from a big, cedar chest at the end of the room.

Bang climbed the ladder at the end of Marcy’s bed and settled down above her. Macy stood on the edge of Marcy’s bunk for a moment and covered up the boy. “Goodnight, Bang,” she said, and he smiled at her. Graham could tell Macy was the mothering type.

She tucked her sister in again and brushed back her hair, “Goodnight, Marcy,” she said.

“Goodnight, sis,” Marcy murmured sleepily.

Macy got into a lower bunk near her sister, nearest the doorway on the left, and waved goodnight to Graham, who watched all of this from the doorway, wondering how they could perform such a normal ritual after such a hellacious day. They’d lost so much, and yet life went on. Graham walked away, amazed, and into the living area, where another life lay in harm’s way.

26 New Introductions

As Graham entered the main room he saw Sheriff waiting by the front door. “You got to go out, boy?” he asked. He opened the door, adding, “Don’t go far, Sheriff.” He shut it lightly, walked over to the fire, and added a log, which cast an ambient glow on the woman behind him.

He heard the dog pad up the wooden porch steps and walked over to open the door. Sheriff trotted right past him and into the bunkroom like he knew where he was going, so Graham shut the door and reached up to lower the original locking lever, which the others had neglected to notice before, guarding against any nighttime intruders.

Graham felt the woman’s forehead, and noticed her fever was dangerously high at this point. He removed her covers and saw that she visibly shook. “We’ve got to get you cooled off,” he said, not knowing if she could hear him.

She wore a lacy white button-up blouse that was soaked through with sweat, along with denim jeans and cowboy boots. She must have had a difficult time getting herself and that cranky old man into the locked cabin, Graham thought.

He grabbed water and a washcloth from the bathroom and wiped the woman’s forehead, face, and neck to cool her off. She woke and stared wildly at him with deep brown eyes. “I’m so cold,” she said.

“Here, drink this,” Graham said, holding a glass of water up to her chapped lips and supporting her damp head. He gave her a doxycycline pill and two Ibuprofen to lower her temperature.

“I know you’re cold, but we need to get you cooled off more. Your fever’s too high,” he said.

She nodded her head, but he wasn’t sure if she recognized him from earlier or if she might be hallucinating now. Graham began removing her boots and socks. “I’ve got to take off your pants. Are you okay with that?” he asked.

She was shaking, but she looked up at him, nodding. He unfastened the zipper on her denim jeans, reached behind her, and tugged them down. She tried to lift her body to help him but was clearly too weak to offer any real assistance.

In the process, Graham tugged her pale pink panties down partially, exposing a bloody pad and a foul smell. He reached over and pulled them back into place. “Sorry,” he said, but he wasn’t sure if she was even aware of what had happened.

Once he got the jeans down to her knees, she curled up her long creamy legs and rolled to her side, trying to warm herself. Through chattering teeth, she said, trying to smile, “You’ve done that before, I think.”

Graham looked at her, a little embarrassed. “I’m married. I mean, I was married. She’s gone now,” he said.

“Me too,” she said.

“You said you miscarried. How far along were you?”

“About six weeks,” she said, and a tear ran down her face. He wiped it away and tried to comfort this stranger who was in such private pain.

“My wife was pregnant too,” he said. He didn’t need to say any more than that; she understood “I’m so sorry,” she said.

“What’s your name?”

“Tala.”

“Tala,” he repeated. “Doesn’t that mean wolf?”

Surprised, she looked at him. “Yes, it does,” she said. “You obviously know a little about Native American culture.”

“Yep,” he said, covering her lower half lightly with the blanket and seeing that her shaking had subsided a little.

“So tell me how you made it here?” he asked.

“Well, I came from around Sedro-Woolley. There were a few looters going house to house. It just became too dangerous for me to stay. So, I got into my car and went to check on my nana at the home and found him, instead.” She smirked. “I just couldn’t leave him there in the stench. I had driven as far as my tank would allow, before the gas light came on, and then I found the dirt driveway, so I followed it and made it here. I hope you don’t mind. Maybe we can find another place to stay in the morning,” she said.

“I’m not going to kick out a sick lady and an old man, Tala. We’ll see how things work out. For now, let’s just get you better. I’m not sure about the grouchy old man, but we’ll give it some time,” Graham said.

He felt her forehead and it seemed to be a little less searing than before. “I’ll be right back,” he said, heading to the bunkroom, where he picked up two extra pillows and a few blankets.

He lifted up her head so that he could put a clean pillow under it and made himself a pallet next to her on the floor by the fire.

She began to protest, “You should go sleep on a bed in there.”

“Shhh, Tala, get some sleep. I’ll be fine, and I need to keep the fire going anyway. We’ll talk more in the morning,” he said, justifying his intentions.

Tala allowed herself to slip off to sleep, and Graham checked her fever once more to make sure it was continuing to subside before he finally closed his eyes on this day.

27 Getting Things Straight

In Graham’s dream, Campos was the one pushing the rifle down on his neck, squeezing the life out of him. Campos was sneering and shaking above him with a reddened mad expression, and then Graham could hear Marcy’s screams from beyond, but this time he could not help her.

He woke on the hard wood floor and sat up with a start as the old man kicked his boot again and pointed to the bunkroom.

“She’s having a damn nightmare. You going to do something? She scarin’ me in there.”

Graham scrambled up, threw his blanket off, and grabbed his rifle. He ran to the bunkroom.

“Marcy, it’s okay. You’re fine,” Macy said to her sister as Graham rounded the corner. Bang sat atop his mattress and leaned down from above, trying to see Marcy. Sheriff stood on top of Macy’s bunk, whining, not knowing what to do about the girl’s crying.

Macy held her sister, sobbing.

“Marcy?” Graham called from the doorway and his voice seemed to get through to her where her sister’s hadn’t. She stopped shrieking. “Marcy,” he said again.

Marcy drew in several ragged breaths and finally focused. “S-s-sorry,” she said, out of breath.

Graham squatted beside her. “Don’t be sorry. It was just a nightmare.” He patted her golden locks and felt her for a fever, but there was none. One side of her forehead was black and blue now. He knew it would turn many shades in days to come. Hopefully, her scars inside would heal soon too. “This is hard for all of us, but at least we can stay here for a while.” He didn’t know what else he could say to comfort her.

“Thanks, Graham,” Marcy said.

“Hi there, Bang, you sleep well?” he said to change the subject.

He laid the rifle up against the bed and reached to pick the boy up. Then he took Bang and the rifle back into the main room to give the girls some privacy. Sheriff followed along.

“She woke me up with that racket,” the old man said to Graham.

“Be nice, Ennis,” said Tala, who sat with the blanket wrapped around her.

Graham watched Tala. She looked better, but she was not out of the woods yet. Her long glossy hair had come loose from the ribbon she’d had it tied in and hung loosely in waves well past her shoulders, giving her a wild look. Graham walked over to her and put Bang down beside her.

“This is Bang. Bang, this is Tala.” Tala put her hand on the boy’s head.

“Hi, Tala,” Bang said, and Sheriff nosed his head between them to sniff her out.

“Be a gentleman, Sheriff,” Graham said.

“Sheriff?” the old man asked.

Bang pulled Sheriff’s collar around and showed Ennis the star. “He’s a police dog, see?” Bang said.

“He’s a cop dog. Takes one to know one,” Ennis said and walked over to pet the dog.

“You were a policeman?” asked Graham.

“Yep. I’m retired now,” Ennis said.

Graham chuckled to himself, and Tala caught on and tried to suppress her own laugh.

“Do police dogs have special commands?” Graham asked. “He doesn’t answer to ‘come.’”

“Police canines are often taught in languages other than English. The ones we had were taught commands in Hebrew, believe it or not.” Ennis tried out several words to see if the dog reacted to any of them, but no luck.

“Tell me again. How’d you find him?” Graham asked Tala.

“I went to check on my nana at the nursing home, but she’d passed away. They were all gone. It was terrible. Then I noticed several were covered in white sheets. Except him,” she said, pointing at Ennis. “He was the one who covered them up after they’d died—even the nurses,” she said.

Graham looked at the man for some explanation. “You can’t just leave them like that, starin’ at you. It ain’t right,” Ennis said.

Graham felt Tala’s forehead again and said, “You still have a fever, but it’s not as bad as last night. Let’s get some breakfast into you, and you and Marcy both need to take more meds.”

“Is that one of the girls?” she asked.

“Yeah, Macy and Marcy. We ran into some trouble yesterday and Marcy got hurt,” he said. “She’s fine, but she has a deep cut and we’re trying to keep it clean,” he added.

“They’re twins?” she asked, surprised. She realized now she’d not really gotten a look at them the night before.

“Yeah, Bang and I found them walking up the highway with Sheriff here,” Graham said.

“He was keeping them girls safe,” Ennis speculated as he peered into the dog’s soulful eyes.

“Yeah, well, it’s a long story,” Graham said. He didn’t want to go into it. He walked over to peer out the front window, and after being sure that everything was safe, he opened the front door for Sheriff to trot out and relieve himself.

The cool morning air spilled into the cabin, releasing the stuffy sour smells trapped inside. Graham scanned the area for any signs of life. The cabin was circled by tall old-growth evergreens. They had been here even back when his second great-grandfather had bought the three hundred acres it was more or less centered on.

Graham saw the familiar dark trail leading from the west side, meandering down to the lake below where they could fish for their dinner later today. He descended the porch steps and walked over to their newly acquired truck to bring in the supplies they’d brought.

Bang showed up beside him, so he handed the boy as much as he thought he could carry into their new home. With six people, this meant that Graham would need to spread their food plan thinner and get busy hunting. It also meant he’d have to change out the composting toilet at least once a month. Although Graham had resented the extra work it took away from his fishing the previous summer, the facilities upgrade was worth it—no more walking outside in the weather to use the john.

Graham heard a rustling in the brush behind him and went to bring his rifle up when he saw Sheriff dart out after a hapless brown squirrel. “Well, at least you hunt for yourself,” he said to the dog.

Graham packed up as much as he could carry into the cabin, and as he entered the front room, all eyes were on him as if to ask a question. “What?” he asked.

“How do you use the bathroom?” Macy asked.

“Oh!” He sat the supplies down on the rustic dining table and addressed them all. “It’s a composting toilet, designed so the liquids are filtered up front and the solids go toward the back,” he said tactfully. “Then, there’s a canister next to the toilet and you scoop a layer of sawdust over it. There’s no flushing, it just drops down into a tank that I have to change out once a month or so. It’s pretty simple, really, and the venting system keep the air smelling fresh.”

“Mystery solved,” Macy said as she guided Marcy toward the bathroom.

Graham and Bang separated the food supplies on the dining table to take inventory. With six people, this wouldn’t last them more than a few weeks. In addition to hunting, he knew he’d have to make a trip into town to scout out more supplies.

“How many days do you think we have?” Tala asked. Graham thought she must have read the concern in his expression.

“About a week, I’d say, if we cut down to two meals a day,” he said, “for adults anyway. The kids can have a snack in between.”

Then he heard the girls come out of the bathroom.

“We need to have a group meeting after breakfast,” Graham said.

Tala started to get up, wrapping the blanket around her waist in modesty, but Graham noticed she tried to steady herself with one arm on the couch.

“Wait a second, there,” he said, walking over to her side.

“I just need to use the facilities,” she said.

“I’ll walk you over. You still have a fever, so take it easy,” he said, grabbing her jeans before he led her there.

Tala felt weak and defenseless, which scared her in this situation. Graham opened the door for her and she leaned against the bathroom sink as he reached in a long arm and laid her jeans on the counter. “I’ll be close by,” he said softly. “So just shout if you need anything.”

Tala swallowed hard. “Thank you. And . . . thank you for taking care of me last night too,” she said. She shut the door and took stock of herself in the little wall mirror. Her hair was a tangled mess, and her eyes looked dull and puffy and were marked by dark circles. Above all, she noted how gaunt her face looked. She was much paler than her typical pallor, but her appearance in comparison to the twin she knew as Marcy made her heart ache. The poor young girl must have gone through a rough experience to receive those kinds of injuries.

Tala had always been the strong one in her family. After her mother had died, Tala had helped raised her two younger brothers and made sure they attended college as her mother would have wanted.

Her father worked for the railroad and became quiet and distant after her mother’s death. He was the first in her family to succumb to the virus, followed by her two brothers and then Nathan, Tala’s husband, who worked for the postal service. They had only been married a year and Tala felt they’d finally turned the corner when they found out she was pregnant and told her father she was expecting. He was overjoyed at the prospect of having his first grandchild.

Tala looked down from her reflection. It was never meant to be, and in the end she’d even lost her baby. At the thought of her loss, tears came to her eyes once again.

She turned the tap on to a trickle and splashed cold water on her face, shocking the intrusive emotions out of her consciousness. This was a new day, and at least she didn’t have to take care of the old man by herself anymore. He’d been tough to handle on her own. She counted herself fortunate to have stumbled onto Graham’s cabin last night, not having any idea what she was going to do. It was a godsend that he wasn’t dangerous, as far as she could tell, because she had been completely defenseless the night before.

Tala used the toilet then took care to clean herself, wrapping her refuse in paper. She followed Graham’s directions to shovel a scoop of the sawdust and hoped it covered the foul smell of the stale blood her miscarriage had caused. She felt dirty, and wondered if she could take a shower. She wasn’t sure if there would be hot water. She poked her head out the door and asked Graham, “Is it possible to use the shower?”

He looked over at her and said, “Sorry, I don’t have it set up yet. I’ll get it going so we can have warm water later tonight. There are washcloths under the sink though, so you can at least rinse off.”

“That’s great. Thanks, Graham, I feel really lucky even to have a bathroom these days.”

“I’m the thankful one,” he said. “I think I’ll need all the help I can get, especially with two girls.” Tala smiled and closed the door.

~ ~ ~

Ennis walked into the kitchen, eyeing Graham. “Where’s breakfast?” he demanded.

Graham picked up a Snickers bar and thumped it against the old man’s chest. “Here you go.”

“I can’t eat that,” Ennis said. “Don’t you know how to make bacon and eggs? I don’t know what I’m doin’ here.”

“I don’t see any pigs or chickens around here—do you?” Graham was getting a little irritated with the old man.

“Boy, you are underprepared,” Ennis declared with a chuckle.

“Look, right now we’ll have to make do with what we have; after breakfast, let’s have a meeting to discuss our situation. If you have any constructive suggestions, I’m all ears,” Graham said.

The old man looked at him and shook his head. “This is a fine mess for sure,” he said.

“You got that right,’ said Graham. “Listen, Ennis, I know you’re playing the cranky old man bit, but you’re more with it than you let on. So cut the crap. I need your help. You have any suggestions, then make them. You might have gotten away with that in a nursing home, but not here.”

He heard a scratch at the door, so he opened it for Sheriff, who was waiting to come in. The dog sat on the porch with two dead squirrels at his paws and looked up at Graham with a silly grin. Graham reached down and petted the dog’s head. “Thanks, boy,” he said. He bent down, picked up the offerings and brought them into the kitchen.

“Well, I’ll be,” Ennis said, “that dog is something.”

Graham retrieved a knife and took the squirrels outside to the gutting log, where he and his dad had cleaned fish and game in the past. He made quick work of the two squirrels.

He knew the girls would probably be too squeamish at the prospect of eating squirrel, but Graham would just cut it up and pan fry it, making gravy with the drippings and the canned milk they had; he’d serve it over the box of instant grits he’d brought in earlier. He hoped they wouldn’t ask about the mystery meat, because they needed all the protein they could get right now. Satisfied with the idea, Graham set to work. He wasn’t a great cook, but his mom had taught him the basics, at least.

Tala had finished getting herself presentable, and as she emerged, passing Graham on his way to the kitchen, he thought she looked better, but still worn out. Ennis had nodded off in a chair, snoring loudly with the dog by his feet, and from the bunkroom came the voices of the three children.

“Sit down, Tala,” Graham said, noticing how frail she looked as she leaned against the dining table.

“I wish I could do something,” she said. “I should be cooking breakfast.”

“Another time; I’ve got it under control.” Graham filled a glass of water and took her some meds as well as a few crackers.

“Macy,” Tala said as the girl came into the kitchen area of the big room, “would you happen to have a hairband I could borrow?”

“Sure,” Macy said. She hurried away and returned with one, sweeping her gaze over Tala. “You look kind of weak. Want me to braid your hair for you?”

“Oh yes, that would be so nice. You’re a sweet girl to offer.” Tala’s relief and gratitude sounded genuine. She must be even in worse shape than he’d imagined, Graham thought, if even the effort of braiding her own hair was too great a task. He’d have to make sure she rested; he did not want her to get any sicker.

While Graham prepared breakfast he watched Macy separate Tala’s raven black tresses and begin the familiar ritual. He saw Tala close her eyes, obviously taking comfort and maybe even pleasure in the process. Macy tied the long braid off with a pink band she’d brought and said, “There you go. I love your hair.”

“Thank you, Macy.” Tala fingered the thick braid. “You did a nice job. How’s your sister doing?”

“She’s okay, it was just a nightmare. Our mom and dad both died.” Maybe saying it out loud would somehow make it real to her.

Tala reached out and held Macy’s hand. “I know, dear. All of my family died too. You’re lucky to have your sister, you know?”

Graham saw Macy’s chin tremble and quickly spoke. “Thankfully, we all have one another here,” he said, hoping to bring a bit of optimism into the room.

Tala pulled Macy close, hugging her. “Graham’s right. Just the smell of what he’s cooking makes me feel thankful.” The aroma from Graham’s creation brought the other children out of the bunkroom, and it seemed to wake Ennis.

“Macy, can you help me dish this up?” he asked, tapping the cupboard where the bowls and plates were kept. With his other hand, he reached into a drawer for cutlery.

They all dove into the hearty breakfast, commenting on how good it tasted, never asking what the mystery meat was, but when Tala gave Graham a little wink from across the table, he knew she’d guessed.

“All right, gang, before we clean up, let’s talk about a few things,” Graham said. “Tala, what was your job before the pandemic hit?”

“I taught first grade. Not a skill that will help us here, I’m afraid.”

“And Ennis, you were a policeman?”

“Yeah, but that was over twenty years ago, in Seattle,” Ennis said.

“Can you still shoot?” Graham asked him.

“Maybe,” Ennis answered doubtfully.

Tala spoke up. “I can shoot. My dad made sure we all knew how.” She issued a sad sigh.

Bang walked away from the table while the conversation continued and returned shortly after with his bow and arrow for all to see.

“Boy, can you shoot that little thing?” Ennis asked him.

Bang was a bit afraid of the old man and nodded, then looked down.

“He’s pretty good at it,” said Graham. “He got a coyote that tried to sneak up on us. The girls here were armed with a ruler and an ice scraper when we first met them,” he added, poking a little fun at them.

“We didn’t have anything else,” Marcy said tersely.

“Well, that’s the problem I’m getting to,” Graham said. “Rule number one: No one leaves the cabin unless they’re armed or accompanied by someone who is. Understood? Right now, we have five rifles and two pistols between us. Later, we’ll try to find more. Tala, you know how to fire your piece?”

“Yes, my husband bought it for me and we practiced at least one weekend every month,” she answered.

Graham nodded, and then looked over to Ennis. “Do you think you can handle her rifle?” he asked. “I mean, when it’s loaded?”

Tala spoke up. “I have shells for it. It was my husband’s rifle.” She sound a little embarrassed.

Graham looked over at the old man and repeated his earlier question, “Can you handle a rifle?” he asked.

“I can handle it.” Ennis spoke a little gruffly, making the girls jump.

“All right, then, I’ll get it ready for you. We can’t afford any accidents,” Graham said. “That leaves one pistol and three rifles.” He looked at the girls.

“I want the pistol,” Macy said.

“I don’t think you can handle the Garand, Marcy, so that leaves Campos’s rifle. Do you think you can work it? I’ll show you how.”

“I don’t want it. It was his,” Marcy said, remembering.

“Marcy, look at me,” Graham said. “It’s ours now, and you need to learn how to use it.

“I’m not touching it.” Her tone offered no possibility that she’d be persuaded otherwise.

“I’ll learn how, Graham, if you show me. Then she can have mine,” Macy said.

“No,” Marcy said to her sister.

“You have to learn how,” Graham said.

Tala reached over and placed her hand on Graham’s arm, quieting his next comment. “Marcy, how would you like it if I taught you how to use my pistol? It’s lighter. I’ll take the other rifle,” she said.

“That’s a good idea,” Ennis said, trying to put in his two cents.

Graham thought it was kind of Tala to offer and could see now she would be a great asset with the girls. They were fifteen, and though they’d gotten along fine so far, he knew Marcy’s attitude could be a problem.

The next subject he brought up was cabin security and daily routines, and who would be responsible for which daily chores to keep things livable. Someone would always remain behind in the cabin to guard their supplies. They also decided, as a group, that any thoughts or concerns would be discussed at the evening meal. When they both felt better, Tala and Marcy would be in charge of meal preparation and food rationing. The rest would go on daily hunts and scavenging trips. Graham expressed his concern for the need to get enough supplies in before the coming winter snow took hold. It could be a long and lean winter, he warned them all.

“What do we do if we see other people, and what about the boy we saw?” Macy asked.

“We shoot ’em,” Ennis said.

“No, listen,” Graham said with a quick shake of his head at Ennis. “That’s a good question, Macy, and it brings up another topic we should discuss. I heard a public service announcement on the radio on our way here last night. It seems there are possibly preppers who managed to stay away from the public and haven’t been exposed to the virus yet. If they are exposed to us, they will catch the virus and die. I don’t want to be responsible for that. So, I suggest if you come across anyone, you keep your distance—not only for their sake but also for your own. They might not be friendly. You just don’t know. Hide out, and let one of us know as soon as you can. Do not approach them. Is that understood?” Graham emulated his own father’s voice to get his point across, though he knew Marcy didn’t need to be told this.

“As for the teen we saw”—Graham explained to Tala and Ennis their encounter with the boy—“we never got that close to him, so I don’t know if he was part of a prepper group or not, but if I had to guess, he’s a carrier, like the rest of us. If he shows up, we will deal with it when the time comes.”

“Now, first things first. Medical care, and after that, you girls stock the pantry and Tala, lie down and rest. Ennis, Bang, and I will go down to the lake and see what the fishing is like. Hopefully we will catch a few for dinner. Then we need to get some target practice in,” Graham said.

“We also need to make a list of meals that we can create out of our supplies.” Tala said. “Graham, I think you and Ennis and I can do with two meals a day for now. Growing ones need a little more—or at least at more frequent intervals.”

“We can do with two a day,” Macy said. “Can’t we, Marce?”

“Sure.”

“You’re both underweight,” Tala objected.

Graham backed her up. “You two and Bang get three meals until we see how things go. Fine. Now, Tala, back to the couch. I’ll get you a paper and pencil and the girls can call out to you what supplies we have so you can start planning meals. We can do this if we work together.”

The twins looked eager to help out. “Make sure she doesn’t do too much and get that fever up again,” Graham added. “If you get too tired, take a nap, Tala. We’re going to need you healthy and well.”

They all got up from the old table and went about their plans for the day. None of them needed to be told that their days would be filled with work to survive—child or adult. Graham checked the woodpile on his way out to the shed for the fishing poles and realized he had a daily chore ahead of him each evening.

Graham decided that in a few days they’d try to go into town and scavenge for more winter clothing, food, and any other supplies they could find. Right now they all needed a break, including himself. Having them all walking around in a daze of exhaustion could only be dangerous. They needed a little time to get over the shock of the way things were now. But somehow Graham wasn’t sure he ever would.

He so very much wished his father were here to tell him what to do and alert him to dangers he could not foresee. He knew there were many, and he felt ill prepared with so much responsibility resting on his shoulders.

28 A Surprise Bounty

The ax fell again with another thud onto the pine log. Graham noticed a bead of sweat now dripped off the end of his nose. He removed his shirt to keep the laundry down. The afternoon had been warm for this time of year, but Graham preferred it to the chilly autumn winds that were the norm.

He took advantage of it from dawn to dusk to get as much outside work done as possible. He felt like he was in a race. Just as the squirrels were collecting nuts, Graham too was trying to outrun the coming winter.

They had fished for several days now, with a decent haul. They’d even shot a brown-eyed buck with chestnut fur. The ladies proved very efficient in breaking down the meat. Tala taught the girls everything from domestic affairs to proper handgun safety, and they were willing students.

She had drawn up a design for a smokehouse like the one her father had, and the men had made quick work out of the wood scraps to put it together. The meat that did not fit the tiny freezer made its way into the smoker.

Macy turned out to be quite a good shot with the pistol, and Ennis devised a harness out of the seatbelts in Tala’s Escort to fit the girl’s small frame, so she and Tala were armed wherever they went.

In fact, Ennis turned out to have quite a few useful skills. He could fish with the patience of a saint, when he finally made his way down the long narrow trail between the pines to the lake below, and often took Bang along to teach him all his tricks. Ennis carried a pocketknife and showed the boy how to whittle more arrows from soft pine branches and he made him a quiver to hold them all, since Graham’s childhood quiver was pretty beat up and wouldn’t last long. Bang used his newly acquired knife and watched the old man intently. In the evenings, Ennis was often observed sitting by the woodstove in what was now “his” chair, working on what Graham thought must be a larger bow for the boy.

Tala’s fever subsided, and her strength grew a little every day. She knew the children needed her, and she had found a new purpose in them. One day she told Graham quietly that if it had not been for them, she would not have made the effort. Marcy had told Tala about the events that took place with Campos, and though Tala was thankful nothing more happened to the girl, she understood why the child was so upset by the incident. Smiling, she explained to Graham that while the twins were physically identical, their expressions and natures revealed quite separate identities. Where Marcy was obstinate and bossy at times, Macy was obedient and brave. They each carried themselves differently, and because of that, they were easy to tell apart.

Bang, on the other hand, was very quiet and quite shy of Tala. Graham told her about how he came to be with the boy. “He feels closer to you, and for good reason,” she said during that conversation. “I might also remind him too much of his mother. Poor little guy. He’s lucky to have you.”

“I’m lucky to have him.”

“Even when you’re so exhausted you can hardly move?” Tala asked him. “You still feel like that when he nudges you to take the time to play with him?”

“Yeah.” Graham smiled. “Even then. Maybe especially then. It’s good to be reminded that kids haven’t changed their basic natures and their needs remain the same.”

No one ever made conditions on the bunkroom. They just naturally separated into the boys’ section on the right and the girls’ on the left. A similar tacit understanding came regarding the rest of the household chores; if something needed to be done, one of them would just pitch in without being asked.

Graham often wished Bang could grow up a few years, all of a sudden. Being the only abled-bodied male around, he found life difficult as the days went by. He finally decided that Macy would have to give up domestic life and help him chop wood.

Tonight he thought he would bring it up, along with their scavenging trip into town. He could hear old Ennis and the boy coming up the trail with Sheriff. Ennis was toting a string of what looked like perch and bass and, not surprisingly, Bang came running up holding a rabbit by the ears. Dinner would be good again tonight. It was nice that the old man could do the fishing right now, because come colder weather, Graham didn’t think Ennis would be able to stray far from the cabin’s warmth to hunt. And Ennis going fishing gave Graham more time to get things done around the cabin before the first snowfall.

“Looks like a nice haul, guys,” Graham said as he wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt. Bang beamed at the praise.

“He done it all. That boy’s a natural huntsman!” Ennis said.

“I only caught one of the fish,” Bang corrected.

Ennis stared at Graham. “You got to get some help with that,” he said, pointing at the woodpile. “You can’t do it all by yourself, you’ll kill yourself doin’ that. What good you be then?”

“I know, Ennis, I was just thinking the same thing,” Graham said, raising a sweaty hand to stop Ennis’s lecture. “We’ll talk about it at dinner.” Then he split the block of wood into two pieces and tossed them onto the pile behind him.

After Ennis and the boy went to clean their catch, Macy emerged from the doorway and brought a glass of water to Graham. “Tala said you need to drink this.”

“Thanks, Macy. What are you doing in there?”

“Tala and Marcy are doing the laundry and I just finished packing the last of the smoked deer meat, like you showed me.”

“That’s great, kiddo. Do you think you could work outside with me for a while?”

She looked at the woodpile. “Working inside all day drives me crazy. I’d love to help you.”

“Great. Help me stack this wood and I’ll even teach you how to handle the ax,” He pulled up several blocks he’d cut from a downed tree with a chainsaw from the shed. Graham showed her how to alternate the stacks, and though they didn’t have any gloves that would fit her small hands, she didn’t complain at the splinters she got.

As Macy tossed another chunk onto the pile, Graham heard the loud single shot from behind the cabin. He grabbed his weapon, Macy pulled hers, and they ran.

By the time they had arrived, they saw a cougar lying partly on the boy. Had Ennis hesitated, Bang would surely be dead now. The big cat had sprung on the boy and pinned him face forward to the ground. Ennis simply raised the rifle and shot it in the chest, dropping it instantly.

“Oh, shit!” Graham said, reaching down to pull Bang, who struggled from the weight of the cat, to climb out from beneath it.

“Damned cat. I hate cats,” said Ennis, spitting.

By that time the ladies in the house had come around the corner. Their eyes went wide as they saw for themselves what had taken place. Bang had several deep scratches on his back and skull, though nothing serious; he was scared more than anything. Graham pulled him up and the boy buried his head into Graham’s neck, trying not to cry. “It’s okay, Bang. You’re all right,” Graham said as he held him tightly, trying to convince himself as well. He and the boy had come a long way together.

Tala came up and patted him. “Let’s get you cleaned up, Bang.” Graham handed him over to her. Tala held the boy’s hand and took him inside to tend to his wounds—both inside and out.

The others stared down at the massive cat and Macy broke the silence first. “Can we eat it?” she asked.

Graham, who was holding his hand over his heart trying to calm its beating, burst into laughter at the practical question and, after a moment, so did the old man and girls.

“God, that was lucky, Ennis. Good shot. Thank you,” Graham said. He felt awful for not being there when it happened.

“It was so fast, I didn’t even think. I guess I still got what it takes,” Ennis said, looking up at Graham. They all laughed again at their near miss and good fortune.

“You girls go ahead and pull that cat over here,” Graham directed. “Macy, I’m real proud of you for whipping out your pistol like that,” he said, patting her on the head. “That was good. Now you girls can see why it’s so important to be cautious. Someone’s life could depend on it,” he added.

Marcy nodded solemnly and picked up one of the cat’s big paws, avoiding its claws, still warm from life. She helped Macy attempt to drag the heavy animal over to Graham’s ready butcher knife. Together they could barely budge it. Graham let them struggle with it a while and then jumped in to help them. This was real life now, and they needed to adjust to it.

Meanwhile, Tala washed the boy’s wounds with soap and water; though they weren’t too deep, she knew cat wounds could easily become infected. He was silent, but she talked to him anyway and tried to soothe his fears. She asked him about the medallion he wore around his neck. He didn’t answer her when she asked if it had been his mother’s.

After an awkward silence he finally asked her, “Did you have children before?”

She stopped her ministrations and looked at the boy. “No, but I was a teacher and I miss those children very much.” She patted the scratches dry and added antibiotic ointment to each one, all the while thinking how very lucky the boy had been. She looked at the torn green flannel shirt that he’d worn night and day since this all began and said, “We need to find you a new shirt.”

“I have another one in my backpack,” he said. She helped him down off the counter and he disappeared around the corner to the bunkroom.

Tala was glad to have made a little headway with him, and now that the ice was broken, she hoped they could talk more freely. She went back into the kitchen and began stirring the deer meat chili she was preparing for their dinner.

Soon Graham and the others brought in the cougar meat, ready to be processed.

“You know that predator animals have to be treated differently, right?” she asked Graham. By the look on his face, she didn’t think he knew what she was talking about. “They carry the trichinosis parasites, so we have to cook it thoroughly, with no pink center. We can slice it into steaks and freeze it for now,” she said loudly. Her intention was to educate them all about the danger.

It had been several days now since they had found themselves together at the cabin and they had already settled into an easy and predictable routine with one another. Without saying much, they each paired off and began slicing up the fresh cleaned cougar meat into piles as Ennis helped Bang put them into bags and wrap them tightly into bundles.

Once they were done, Graham guessed there were about sixty pounds of meat there. The small freezer was already full, so they made room in the little refrigerator that was mostly empty, turning down the temperature to accommodate the new load. Bang closed the door on the fridge. “It was going to eat me. Now, we’re going to eat it!”

Tala ruffled his straight, shiny hair. “Yes. Confusing, isn’t it? But that’s the way things are, Bang. I’d rather we eat the cougar than have to think about it eating you.”

Bang managed a wobbly smile at Tala’s words and sidled closer to Graham.

“Tomorrow,” Graham said, “we’re going on our first scavenger hunt. We need a deep freezer, if we can get our hands on one; ammo and winter clothing too.”

They cleaned up the mess they’d made, and then Tala served the chili. Since it was later than usual, and with the unexpected work on the cougar, they were hungrier than they normally would be. They continued to discuss the things they’d like to find the next day, creating a wish list. They agreed that Ennis and Sheriff would stay behind to keep an eye on the cabin since, Ennis was an old man and slow to get around. Ennis pretended to be offended, but he understood.

~ ~ ~

That night Graham tucked Bang into bed and hugged the boy. Graham’s guilt rose up again. He vowed once more to guard this little boy who’d been placed in his care.

As he snuggled Bang down and stroked his hair, Graham heard a soft sob come from the other end of the bunkroom and saw that Macy was sniffling. He said goodnight to Bang and walked over to the girls. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“It’s just . . . we’re being . . . too normal,” Macy said with tears running down her cheeks. A little confused by her statement, Graham looked over at her sister for an explanation.

Shaking her head, Marcy said, “She misses Mom and Dad, and this feels too much like summer camp to her. She sort of feels like maybe tomorrow we’ll go home.”

Graham sat on the edge of Macy’s bed and almost banged his head on the bunk above. He reached over, smoothed his hand over her back, and said, “I feel the same way, kid. We all do.” Both girls looked up at him. “I think any minute my dad is going to walk through the front door there with his red plaid shirt on, carrying in the trout he just plucked out of the lake, and ask if I want to have a beer with him out on the porch. We did that a lot when we were here. I miss him terribly.”

“Our mom and dad were divorced, but they talked about getting back together,” Marcy said. Graham remembered the grisly scene he had discovered in their dad’s apartment, and the woman who had perished with him. He doubted the girls’ hopes had been destined to come true, but he wasn’t about to say anything. Instead, he asked, “Did your dad ever take you girls fishing?”

“No, but Grandpa did,” Macy said. She was calm now, and Graham thought that perhaps they needed to remember those they’d lost. Maybe, after all, it was best to talk about them and remember their lives. Keeping it all bottled up was causing them more pain and suffering.

“You know what I think we should do?” Graham asked. The twin pairs of blue eyes were on him, questioning. “I think we should have a night after dinner around the woodstove once a week where we remember them all. Talk about what they did, stories we remember about them,” he said.

“I don’t even know what day of the week it is,” Marcy said. Graham agreed that that was a problem, and they vowed to add to their wish list a calendar when they went scavenging the next day. That way they could keep track of birthdays and holidays, too—especially in case Graham’s calendar watch quit working.

“Is there anything else I can do for you girls, besides making it all go away? I would if I could, you know that, but I can’t.”

“No, Graham, you’ve done so much for us already. Thank you for making me feel better,” Macy said.

Graham patted her shoulder and then Marcy’s. “Anytime, kiddos.” He turned to Marcy. “How’s your leg doing?”

“It’s much better. Tala’s been taking care of it and I’m still taking the antibiotic,” she said.

“Well, your face sure looks better now that you’re past the green phase, Graham teased. “In a few more days, no one will be able to tell the difference between you two and you’ll start playing tricks on us all.”

Marcy smiled, and Graham thought it was perhaps the first time he’d really seen her do it. Where smiling came easily to Macy, it did not to Marcy.

When Graham emerged from the bunkroom, Tala was drying the last dish from dinner. “Are all your children tucked in?” Tala asked him.

“Well, they’re yours too. I thought this was a group effort,” he said.

“Of course, I’m happy to help. You’re a kind man, Graham. I heard what you said to the girls, and I think it’s a good idea, what you suggested. You’d have made a wonderful father, just as you make a good leader for our little pack.” Tala smiled. “We’re lucky to have you.”

He saw her throat choke up as she swallowed. “I miss my husband terribly, and know if he’d survived, you two would have been great friends.”

Graham went to put another log into the woodstove. Tala finished cleaning up the kitchen and went into the living room to join him. She curled up on the couch with a cup of hot chamomile tea and watched Graham staring into the flames.

“You know, I was talking to the girls today, and we are going to need to find some feminine hygiene products, quickly,” she said in a whisper.

“Aw, man, that’s all we need,” Graham said. “That’s your department, by the way.” He leaned back against the couch and moved stiffly with his sore, overworked muscles. Tala put down her mug and asked him if she could massage his shoulders.

“Yeah, but only in the we-are-just-friends-in-a-postapocalyptic-world way,” he said.

Tala smiled at his joke and began kneading Graham’s sore muscles. “I miss him so much,” she confided.

“Your husband?”

“Yes, of course,” she said. “I would do this for him after dinner and he would moan and carry on—very silly. I miss that man.”

“I can see why he did,” Graham said, feeling her fingers work his tired muscles. “I’m stifling the moans.” After a few minutes, he couldn’t help it anymore. “God, that feels good,” he finally said. And then Nelly sprung into his mind. “I met Nelly in college. She was a teacher too,” he added.

“Oh, where did she attend?” she asked.

“Pacific Lutheran in Tacoma,” he said.

“I went there too and did my student teaching at Carver Elementary,” she said, and added, “I don’t remember a Nelly, though.”

“Actually, her name is—was—was Nelson,” Graham said, having a difficult time with the past tense.

Tala stopped massaging. “Did she have shoulder-length red hair?”

“Yes!” Graham twisted around and looked at her.

“Oh, my God! I knew her. We were in a few classes together. She was a year ahead of me.”

The amazement of sharing a link like this brought pain to Graham’s eyes, pain he saw reflected in hers.

“She was pregnant too, Tala,” he said, lowering his head to his knees, shutting his eyes, trying to erase his terrible last image of her—dying—from his mind. He replaced it with the one he cherished of her smiling, on one of the rare days in Seattle where the sun beamed and the evergreens gleamed an emerald shade. They had taken advantage of it, strolling to the park that day, her round tummy already disturbing her balance. Graham had spread a blanket down and they lay down reading and dozing all afternoon. He tried to keep that memory in the forefront.

“Tell me what you remember of her, please,” he said.

“Nelson was a wonderful person. I remember her infectious laugh so well. You always knew it was her if you heard it from a distance, and she loved the kids. Some people become teachers for all the time off. Everyone knew she did it for her love of the children. She was just that kind of person. Even the most difficult ones seemed to melt in her presence. She just had a way of getting through to them. I’m so sorry that you and the world lost her, Graham.”

The door creaked open and Ennis and Sheriff entered, letting some of the cool air seep into the room.

“Getting colder out there,” Ennis said as he carried his rifle and the bow he currently worked on.

“You making headway on that one?” Graham asked him.

“Yep, it’s for one of those girls in there,” Ennis said.

“I’m sure they’ll like it. Where did you learn to do that?” Tala asked.

“I didn’t. I just took that boy’s little bow and used it to model this one. Just made it bigger, that’s all,” Ennis said. “I’ve been carving, whittling something, mostly figurines, since my pa gave me a knife. He taught me how once, years ago,” Ennis added.

“You should teach Bang and the girls too,” Tala said.

“This boy already knows. He makes his own arrows now,” Ennis said.

“Yeah, we need to teach them everything we can,” Graham said. Who knows what will happen to them? I was thinking about that this afternoon before the cougar attack. Hell, we need to learn things ourselves, but this is an entirely new world for these kids.”

“Not only that, we all need to learn how to start growing a garden. I don’t think we’ll find too many vegetables through this winter that we got coming.”

Ennis was right. “That’s for sure. Maybe we’ll at least come across some canned vegetables tomorrow.” Graham added that to his mental wish list as Sheriff came over and sat next to him on the floor. “How you doing, boy?” he asked as he scratched the dog under the collar.

“That dog’s got it together more than we do,” Ennis said.

Tala nodded. “He sure started growling before Marcy and I ever heard the gunshot this afternoon.”

“He’s a keeper,” Ennis said. “Goodnight, kids, this old man gots to get some sleep.”

“I’m right behind you, Ennis,” said Graham.

29 The Scavenger Hunt

The next morning Ennis waved good-bye as the group left him and Sheriff behind. Sheriff moaned a little at their departure, clearly wanting to go along. “What’s the matter with you—I’m not good company?” Ennis asked the dog.

Sheriff stomped his front paws, agitated that he wasn’t invited on the ride.

“It’s all right, we’ll go get us some fish,” Ennis said, and they wandered off down the trail with Sheriff casting a look back to where the others had gone, clearly worried.

Ennis had already pulled in two trout when he saw the canoe. Like any old man who’d made it this far, even without an apocalypse to contend with his eyes weren’t very good. So he figured it’d been there for a while before he’d even noticed the thing, breaking its way across the far end of the lake. There were two men paddling. Both appeared bearded, which wasn’t unusual these days, but they also looked fat, and that was quite unusual. Not only that, but something about them triggered Ennis’s long-buried cop intuition. That was a bad thing.

Sheriff came up beside him and stared out into the distance as he tried to smell them. As if he sensed Ennis’s apprehension, the dog’s hackles rose and he growled low and ominously.

Sheriff looked up questioningly at Ennis, and Ennis knew he wanted an answer. “Those some bad guys.” As if they’d heard his conversation with the dog, one of the two occupants of the canoe raised his hand in recognition, like one would do in the old days. Ennis did not raise his hand back, hoping they’d get the message that they were unwelcome. He was uneasy about them, but couldn’t say just why. They continued on their route to the other end of the lake, but Ennis thought it wasn’t good, those guys knowing he and the rest were there. Still, he continued to bait his line and cast it out from his spot on the shore, tossing a too-small trout back into the water while Sheriff waded out to watch it squiggle under the water until it faded into the murky depths.

~ ~ ~

Graham stopped the Scout outside the post office and checked for predators before he got out. The door jingled from a bell attached to the handle, now a bygone symbol, alerting those no longer in the back to customers waiting for service. It sounded strangely out of place here in this time. Somehow, he still expected to hear a disembodied voice call out, “I’ll be right there.”

His boots made a foreign sound now on the tiled flooring. He looked at the wall of tiny brass mailbox doors and knew all the previous owners were gone now. He stood still and listened for a minute but heard nothing and smelled only a musty odor. He looked around for any sign of the boy from Carnation but found none. The main door to the postmaster’s counter was locked, and Graham didn’t see any reason to break it open. He could see through the glass, and what lay beyond held no use for them.

He walked out, having forgotten to check before he opened the door and saw Tala frantically pointing out the window, trying to get his attention. Before he turned his head, he heard what they were concerned about.

Graham could only later describe the sound as a “gruffling” for the loss of any better word. The sight was much more horrific than the sound though, which froze Graham in his spot. Hoping the bear was as unaware of him as he’d been of it, he moved slowly to his truck door, opened it quietly, and jumped in.

Tala had made Bang and the girls get down on the truck’s floorboards to stay out of sight. Graham caught her gaze and shared with her the horror of watching the carnage as the bear gnawed at a long dead human, pawing at the old corpse and spreading its spoiled entrails around the sidewalk. It apparently had dragged the individual out of what was once the corner market.

“Can we go?” Marcy asked in a small but clearly agitated voice. Graham suspected she’d looked, despite Tala’s attempt at protecting the kids.

“You bet,” he said, and made sure his door was locked before he started the engine, quickly putting it into reverse and moving on. The bear never looked in their direction, being too invested in his current prize.

Somehow, a week of the relative safety at the cabin had made them forget just how bad it was in the real world. They certainly had their own dangers there, like the prowling cougar, but having not encountered a dead body in more than a week, Graham had allowed himself to relax into a false sense of security on the issue of dead flesh and the creatures that desired it.

It didn’t take them long to get to the first house they were going to scavenge for useful things. Their earlier, jovial mood had been sunk by the bear incident, so now they were each a little on edge, but Graham had a feeling that it should be that way, anyway; too much complacency and they would slip up and lose someone through carelessness.

Cascade was a tiny town with only a market and a post office, surrounded by the downtrodden remnants of a long-gone logging industry. Its glory days had been way back during the gold rush and even then, due to the rough terrain, the town didn’t get much traffic. The last decade had brought in a little more wealth in terms of campers and nature seekers, but it remained nothing more than an insignificant town—town being the loosest of terms.

Graham had planned to take a look at the first house next to the post office and work his way around, but in light of this recent event he adjusted his tactic. Instead, they drove to the farthest point away from the bear and started at what was once the check-in office of the campground. They hoped to get hold of some first aid supplies, especially bandages, as theirs were dwindling.

The campground office door was clearly knocked off its hinges and hanging partway into the shabby building. Graham remembered attending summer camp here, swimming in the lake, and once or twice he’d come into this building as a boy with a scraped knee or some other ailment. He looked around for signs of danger, and then stepped out of the truck and over to the entrance. The smell hit him first, causing him to wince. Someone had been inside this place. That’s when he noticed the bloody handprints dried on the walls, as if someone had been clinging to the doorframe as he or she was dragged out by the feet. The hairs on the back of Graham’s neck stood on end. Someone had met a violent end here, and it gave the whole place a very creepy feeling.

He scouted around outside the small building and didn’t see a dead body anywhere, so he wondered where the horrid stench was coming from. He went back in and pushed the flimsy door in midway; it teetered at an odd angle, attached by only one hinge.

The place had already been ransacked. Papers and useless material cluttered the floor and counter. Then he heard a loud buzzing. Flies; a huge abundance of them. Though the weather had grown cooler, they’d certainly found a haven in here. He peeked in farther and saw what was left of a body. He couldn’t tell if it was male or female, but the thing he did know was that this was a recent kill. This person had been alive in the past week and had not likely died from the virus. It was obvious that animals had taken their share. If Graham hadn’t had already been unnerved, he certainly was now. He wheeled around and vomited at the side of the building and as quickly as possible went back to the truck.

The kids looked even more scared now, and Tala looked at him inquiringly. “There’s a dead body in there. It smells pretty bad and the place has already been ransacked,” Graham said.

“Do you think there’s someone else here?” Tala asked.

“If there is, I don’t want to meet him,” he said.

“There’s more, but I don’t think I should say. We’ll talk about it later,” he said, gesturing to the back. “I think we should make our way back and start closer to home.”

Tala nodded; the prior enthusiasm in the truck had already been diminished by the bear, and even more so with this incident.

Graham knew what his gut was telling him, but he wasn’t prepared for another Campos; that is what he feared most beyond wild animals.

They all kept a look out for anything unusual that lurked about, but everything about Cascade seemed much like the desolate towns they had driven through on their way here. Cascade had the dreaded bonus of bear activity, however.

They drove through the loop of the small town and looked at the houses along the way for signs of break-ins. A few stood with opened front doors that they hadn’t noticed before. They wouldn’t bother to check those, but drove farther out to the road by the turn-off, the way they’d come in.

Graham rolled down his window to listen as they slowly rolled up to a home on the outskirts of town. They drove along the graveled drive and parked behind a maroon Chevy truck. “If we can find the keys, it might be a useful truck to take back,” Graham said to Tala.

“Yeah, the open bed could come in handy to haul more. We have limited space in this thing,” she said.

Graham looked around for predators; this was becoming a much stronger habit now. The large house, set back at the end of the long driveway, was more secluded than most. The lime green exterior with white trim harked back a couple of decades or more, as did the split-level design. The place appeared to be well kept. The green front lawns and numerous trees, including a monkey tree located as a hallmark in the center of the front lawn, showed signs of someone who really enjoyed yard maintenance. He could see part of a swing set in the backyard, nicely maintained, with pea gravel bedding and railroad ties bordering the play area.

“Great—kids,” he said under his breath, and caught Tala’s look of sympathy.

“All right, guys, this is what we’re going to do. Tala, you cover me. I’ll go up to the door and try to peek in to see if everything looks okay, and then I’ll motion for you to come in,” Graham said. “Make sure you bring your weapons with you.” He thought for a second how ironic it was that in such a short time he’d begun urging children to use guns.

“Tala will walk you guys in. Bring the bags and boxes with you. If you see any people, hide and let me handle things. If you see any animals, yell. Understood?”

They all said that they did, and Graham looked around once more and wondered if this was such a good idea after all. Maybe they would just make do with what they had, because this wasn’t worth losing someone. He decided this would be the only house they checked out today because a suspicion that there were other people in town continued to prey on his nerves.

So far, this morning had carried a blanket of mist, which the lazy sun was just now beginning to burn off. There was a faint odor of what might be spoiled food inside the home and he guessed it would be stronger once the door was opened. He walked past the truck and tried the door handle just in case it was unlocked. It wasn’t.

Graham moved slowly up the stairs and knocked, feeling foolish, but in case someone was home he didn’t want to get shot at. No one answered, so he tried the door and found that it was locked too. He peered into the side window by the door and could see through the sheer drapes into the living area. From what he could see, it looked tidy enough. Across the room he spotted a sliding glass door through the dining area. He descended the steps and went around back, up a long wooden staircase, and onto the back porch. He looked inside the tidy and well-kept home and saw no living thing apparent. He tried the slider and it moved open a few inches, so he listened for any reaction and heard none as he continued to open it.

Graham walked onto the rug of the dining room and saw that not only was the kitchen sparkling clean, without a dish in the sink, but a dining table before him was laid out with dishes on placemats and cloth napkins artistically looped through rings. He closed the door and wiped his feet on the doormat, then thought himself foolish for being so polite as he stepped on the vinyl flooring.

With his rifle ready, Graham quietly looked around the wall that led to the living area, and then followed the hallway that led to the laundry and bathroom combo, where he found the keys to the truck and house neatly displayed on wooden pegs. Then he went out to the two-car garage. A man hung there, dangling from a rope tied to a rafter. There was a pool of liquid that had spread under the overturned stepladder the poor soul had kicked aside. He saw a note pinned to the fellow’s shirt. Holding his breath, he approached closer, pulled the note off the body, and took it back out with him into the light of the bathroom.

To whoever finds me:

My wife Camille, son Jacob, and daughter Emily died of the China Pandemic. I find I cannot live without them. Whoever finds me, please bury me with my family in the back. I already dug the hole, so just drop me in there. In exchange, please take whatever you need. May God be with you.

Marvin Chandler

Graham wondered how many other people had done the same. He himself had considered suicide after Nelly died, but his dad had made him promise. Now Graham thought that might have been too much to ask of a man, and he could see this fellow must have thought the same.

He closed the curtains on the sliding glass doors to block the view of the backyard, then walked over to the front door and left it open, letting the others know everything checked out. He motioned for them to come in and, after looking around for predators or other dangers, they closed the doors of the truck silently and moved toward the house.

“I have to do something in the garage and yard first, but you guys go ahead and start packing. Don’t come out there, though, and leave the curtains closed; we don’t want to attract any attention—from bears or anyone else. It’ll probably take me about twenty minutes, and then we need to get out of here.”

Tala didn’t question him and closed the door behind the kids. He headed out back to the garage and saw a big orange wheelbarrow loaded with a shovel, hacksaw, and gray tarp situated by the door leading to the backyard, all at the ready.

“Made it as easy as he could,” Graham muttered underneath his breath. He felt an obligation to honor the man’s wishes, and at least now it didn’t feel like he was stealing the man’s belongings.

He moved the wheelbarrow over to the body and righted the ladder, then unfolded the tarp under the body and grabbed the hacksaw. As best he could, he positioned the wheelbarrow beneath the hanging man and cut the rope; the corpse fell into the sturdy wheelbarrow in a heap. The stench of rotting flesh became overpowering and Graham rushed to the back door to let in some fresh air. He vomited again, then tried to take some of the unspoiled damp air into his lungs. As he was bent over he heard a meowing, and saw a thin and dirty white cat with blue eyes staring up at him.

Graham decided it must have belonged to the family. He scratched the cat behind the ears, but it continued to meow at him, clearly hungry. He left the door open to air the garage out and walked over to the stairs leading to the back porch to open the slider. The cat followed him and ran inside the house.

“Awww . . .” Marcy said and stopped taking cans out of the pantry to come over to the cat.

“We can’t keep it, so don’t even ask,” Graham said.

“Sheriff would eat it,” said Bang.

“Maybe not,” Marcy interjected.

“Look, see if there’s any cat food around. It must have been the owner’s. Feed it and let it back out. It’s a miracle it’s survived this long anyhow,” he said. Graham then whispered to Tala, “I have to bury someone out back. Keep the kids from looking if you can.”

“Sure, no problem. Can we start loading up the truck while you’re busy?” she asked.

“No, just start putting stuff inside the front door. I want to make sure the coast is clear,” he said.

Before he could go back to the garage to finish his task, Macy spoke up and said, “Check it out, Graham, I found a calendar!” She displayed it with a wave not unlike like Vanna White’s on Wheel of Fortune. He smiled and returned to his grim business.

Graham had his gun slung around his back as usual, and he wheeled the corpse out to where the open grave waited. He looked into the hole; other than rainwater and a few fallen leaves, it was clear. He really didn’t have time to make it a more noble procedure, and he didn’t think the guy expected that anyway. It wasn’t difficult. He tipped the corpse, tarp and all, into the grave and began shoveling the mound of dirt over the man.

Afterward he was sweaty, so Graham rubbed his shirtsleeve across his face. Somehow, the smell still lingered. He wondered when this would come to an end, this staring at graves.

He put the shovel back into the wheelbarrow and walked it back into the garage. He went inside, washed his soil-covered hands, and saw the water turn gray and then clear again.

As Graham went back into the garage he noticed a small white Kenmore freezer next to the door to the kitchen and was surprised he’d missed it, since he’d walked right by it when he first came in.

Bang, with big eyes, came out to the garage and wrinkled his nose at the smell, but all he said was, “There are lots of guns on the bed upstairs, with bullets too.”

Graham smiled at him and nodded. “That’s great. Good find, buddy. I’ll take a look at them, but there’s a freezer here I need to get loaded into the new truck. Tell Macy to come give me a hand.”

Tala came out to the garage to help Graham instead. Even though Graham had left the back door open, the smell caught her off guard and her eyes started to water.

They pulled the spoiled meat from inside the freezer. The power was currently on, but it must have gone off for a time because the food inside looked like it had thawed and refrozen. Ice cream had melted onto the bottom and mixed with crystallized meat blood. They began dumping the cargo into one of the empty trashcans in the garage. Once the freezer was empty, Graham pulled the loaded trashcan outside and farther away from the house into the trees. They cleaned out the bottom with shop rags and then Tala used bleach and hot water from the laundry room sink to melt the refrozen liquids coating the bottom of the freezer and to sanitize it.

“This will be great for the cougar we have in the fridge,” she said.

Graham began to laugh. “Did you ever think you’d hear yourself using that phrase?” Tala caught the absurdity of it, and they both laughed again.

They opened the garage door manually and manhandled the freezer, pushing and pulling it into the truck bed of the Chevy, then went back to shut and lock the garage doors.

Apparently, the now dead homeowners had been avid Costco shoppers, as were many who lived this far from a major city. There were several cases of canned green beans, corn, peaches, pears, and chili. They also found unopened twenty-five pound bags of flour, sugar, and cornmeal. This would keep them baking through the winter months, at least.

Upstairs it seemed the homeowner had thought ahead. He’d neatly laid out his two pistols and three hunting rifles onto the beige striped bedspread, along with boxes of ammunition. The walk-in closet held winter wear for both Tala and Graham. They left the pretty dresses and high heels, but took all that Tala and the girls could use, as well as all the men’s clothing and winter boots. In all, it was a great find, but it cast a dark pall on their mission. They had spoken openly downstairs, but upstairs they could only formulate whispers.

In one of the children’s rooms they found little girl’s clothes, though too small for the twins, in a room painted a soft pink hue, but took the hairbrush sitting on the dresser. None of them wanted to disturb the stuffed animals displayed atop the white canopy bed, but they did because the blankets and pillows suited their needs, then replaced the stuffed animals carefully.

In the boy’s blue room, they found several jackets, pairs of jeans, and shirts, as well as snow boots that both the twins and Bang could wear. There was a skateboard leaning against the wall, and a baseball bat and glove in the corner. They took the baseball bat—it might come in handy as a weapon—but as they had with the girl’s room, they left the other things as something of a memorial.

Tala and the girls also gathered all the razors, soap, shampoo, and feminine hygiene products they could find. These last items were in great need; they could bide some time before Tala would have to help prepare the girls for a more organic way of dealing with their periods.

“It’s too bad this place is too close to town, or we could just move here,” Tala said.

“Yeah, but it is just not defendable, being so much in the open. At least with the cabin we have some warning if someone tries to get to us.”

“We could hear them coming up the long drive,” said Macy. “Our tires crunched on the gravel. I bet footsteps would, too.”

“That’s good thinking, Macy,” Tala said, looking as impressed by the girl’s statement as Graham appeared to be. “Because, really, that’s what it’s going to take for us all to survive here now. Thinking ahead and being cautious.”

“Hurry up, now,” Graham said. “Let’s just take what we have and we’ll come back another time to get more if we need it. It looks like it’s going to rain, so let’s spread a tarp over the truck bed.” Graham went back into the garage, once again wincing at its powerful odor, in search of another sturdy tarp.

He found not only a tarp but also several tools he knew he’d need someday. He picked up the hacksaw he used earlier, as well as an ax, a sledgehammer, and a box of nails. Several bungee cords lay in a tangle on the work bench, and he took those too. He bypassed all the electrical tools but noticed a small metal fishing boat hanging on the wall. That’ll have to wait till later, he thought, and hoped the locked doors would protect it until they could make it back here.

He loaded the tools and fixed the tarp over the bed of the truck and then went back into the house and let the cat out. He locked all the doors and took the house keys with him.

By the time they were finished loading, a slight drizzle grew to a steadier rain. Graham drove the Chevy with Bang as passenger, and Tala drove the Scout with the girls.

When they pulled up to the cabin Graham let Tala drive in first so as not to scare Ennis with an unfamiliar vehicle. On their approach, Ennis waited on the porch chair, with Sheriff and his rifle beside him. Smoke rose from the chimney, and Graham thought it looked like a scene from a distant past: an old man and a dog on the front porch of a cabin in the woods.

30 New Plans

“Got a new truck, I see,” Ennis said as Graham stepped out.

“Yep, everything okay here?” Graham asked.

“Mostly,” Ennis said slowly, which caused Graham to raise his eyebrows.

“It can wait till later,” Ennis said.

Graham knew this wasn’t good news or Ennis would have spilled it right there.

They unloaded both vehicles, and Graham set up the freezer in the bunkroom, by the only other outlet in the cabin besides the one in the kitchen. He ran an extension cord under Tala’s bunk to plug it in.

His grandfather had run power to the cabin back in the 1950s when Graham’s dad was a boy, so the kitchen had power outlets for the refrigerator. In the past few years, his father had retrofitted the cabin with solar panels to augment the electricity and top up a large bank of storage batteries kept in a shed out back. Graham hoped the load of both appliances wouldn’t drain the reserve batteries too quickly. He still planned to drag the larger freezer outside during the winter.

Tala said that the inside of the freezer was cooling nicely, so she shut the lid to let it get down to a freezing temperature before they transferred the cougar meat.

With that settled, they filled every nook and cranny with the bounty they’d brought. The items of clothing was parceled out to those they most suited, with each person storing it under his or her bed. The extra coats went into a small hall closet, and the boots were lined up by the front door, largest to smallest.

These things really didn’t belong to any individual; rather, they went on an as-needed basis, and that is how things would continue to be from this time forward with the exception of a few personal mementos.

Graham could see the family photos he’d taken from the apartment for the twins nailed up between their beds. Bang kept his diary under his pillow. He’d seen the boy open it, looking intently at his mother’s reflection, touching her face with the pad of his small index finger. He wore his mother’s medallion around his neck at all times.

Graham kept the photos from his father’s house in a tote under his bed. He hadn’t looked at them yet. He just couldn’t bear to, though he wasn’t sure why.

Tala had a locket at the end of a leather cord around her neck with a picture of her husband on one side and her father on the other. As far as Graham knew, Ennis didn’t have any talisman from his past other than his pocketknife—and a handy tool it had turned out to be.

Graham could hear and smell venison strips being fried in the kitchen by Tala. The twins talked and clanked dishes as they set the table while Sheriff and Bang enjoyed a scuffle over a sock.

Anyone who looked in on this scene would believe this was a normal family drama played out daily in normal times. But these were not normal times, and they’d fallen into this routine much too easily. It worried Graham; his subconscious warned him of hidden dangers. We’re becoming too complacent. It’s a trap we must not fall into, because there is nothing normal about our situation.

“Mr. Graham,” Ennis called him from the front door.

“Mr. Ennis?” Graham answered back, amused at the formal tone.

“Get out here. I need to talk to you.”

Ennis’s tone was more serious than Graham first anticipated, and he knew something grim was about to be discussed.

Graham stepped through the doorway and leaned his rifle against the jamb, then stretched his arms toward for the blue sky above, glad the rain had ceased. Ennis sat in the old rocker he’d found in the house and had dragged outside so he could keep an eye on the world—for what that world was worth now.

“Close the door,” Ennis said, and Graham complied.

In addition to the chair, an old bench for taking off dirty boots leaned against the cabin wall. Graham planted his tired carcass upon it and leaned back.

“Something happened out by the lake while you were gone,” Ennis said.

“What?”

“There’s trouble across the lake.”

“What do you mean?”

“Saw two no-gooders earlier,” Ennis said.

Graham sat straighter, automatically checking the position of his gun. “Where’d you come across them?”

“At the lake. They went by in a canoe. Saw me, too, and waved like they were sayin’, ‘We know you’re there.’”

Graham leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “Well, did you wave back?”

“No! I ain’t no fool, you know!” Ennis glared at Graham.

Graham held up his hands. “I know, Ennis, I know. But tell me more. These two guys in a canoe paddled by and waved—to you, right?”

“Yep.”

“But you didn’t wave back because . . . ?”

“Because I figure they did it as a kind of warning. They mean trouble. I’m sure of it. Like sayin’, ‘Hey, we know you’re there, and we’ll be back,’”

“Could you tell where they were going?” Graham asked.

“They was coming from this side and going to the other, about midway in the lake, when I saw ’em.”

“Could have shot you from that distance?”

“Yeah, they could’ve,” Ennis said.

“But they just waved?” Graham asked a second time because it didn’t make sense to him.

“I already tol’ you that!” Ennis said, sounding more than a little annoyed. “After you been a cop for as long as I have, you learn to read folks. These guys, they’s up to no good.”

“I know, Ennis, I’m just trying to figure it out,” Graham said. “You think we’re going to see more of them, then?”

“We got things they would want, ya know? We got food, cars, fuel—and women, too,” Ennis said, looking more worried about the women than anything else.

The thought made Graham run his hands down his tired face. He scratched at his beard and said thoughtfully, “Inside earlier, I listened to the rest making a commotion getting dinner ready. It sounds like a real family in there. It worries me. We’ve adjusted well, but maybe not in the right way.”

“I know. We got a mom and dad with three kids, a pops, and a dog, too, though none of us is related except them twins.” Ennis let go a faintly amused smile, then added, “It could get us all killed, being too relaxed in these times, you know.”

Graham nodded. “That’s what I’ve been thinking. We need to start keeping watch. It’s probably good training for these kids anyway, to keep them a little on edge and more vigilant.”

“If it was me,” Ennis said, “I would put an adult with one of them kids on watch in rotation night and day. One at each entrance to this place, by the lake trail, and hidden down by the drive.”

Graham agreed. “It gets damn cold at night now. We should build a deer stand, hidden at each site to be safer from roaming predators, and come up with some warning calls.”

“We have any radios?” Ennis asked.

“No, and the last time I checked my cell phone, there was no signal so the towers must all be out by now.” Graham met Ennis’s gaze, and continued. “Something else happened when we were out. I didn’t tell the rest, but when we stopped at the campground building, the door had been kicked in. There were bloody handprints, like someone was dragged out of there. There was a dead body, too, but I don’t think it had been there very long.”

Ennis raised his shaggy white eyebrows at Graham. “That don’t sound too good. Hope these two things aren’t related.”

“No, it doesn’t sound good at all. As we drove away there were several more homes in succession that also had their doors kicked in.”

“Sure hope it ain’t them guys I saw.” Ennis’s brows drew together in a frown.

“Well, in any case, we are not alone here, that’s for sure,” Graham said. “So we need to take better precautions and stop treating this like a damn family vacation or we’ll get ourselves killed in our sleep.”

“Those children in there need a chance to grow up. We have to make it so they can,” Ennis said, and Graham was glad they agreed on the important things.

Bang opened the door and told the two men that dinner was ready. “I’ll keep watch,” Ennis said to Graham. “You already put in a hard day’s work, scavengin’ and unloadin’.”

Graham nodded. “I’ll eat quickly, relay the news to the others, and then come relieve you.”

“Sounds good to me.” Ennis pulled up his rifle and laid it across his knees. After seeing the cougar, Graham pitied anyone crossing Ennis’s barrel end.

Graham walked in and unconsciously stomped his boots off even though he’d not gotten them dirty. He smelled the aroma of chicken-fried venison strips, instant mashed potatoes with gravy, canned green beans, and biscuits. His stomach complained, as if to tell him to hurry the hell up to the table.

Macy passed him the biscuits, and even though they didn’t have butter they were good to dredge through the white pan gravy Tala had made. Graham had almost devoured one and reached for another when Macy asked, “Where’s Ennis?”

“He’s keeping watch. I’ll eat now and then he’ll come in after,” Graham said, “So let’s save him a plate and several of the biscuits too. He’ll like them. They’re really good.”

“Tala made them even though she didn’t have a recipe,” Macy said.

“Thank you, Graham, glad you like them.” Tala turned to Macy and added, “They’re not hard to make. I’ll show you how to do it. So we’re keeping watch now?” Tala asked, returning her gaze to Graham.

“Yes. Ennis saw two men cross the lake in a canoe today, and we don’t know if they are good or bad. Not only that, but we ourselves saw several doors kicked in back in town. We need to be more vigilant. We have food, cars, and fuel that other people might want to take from us by force, so we really need to start being more careful around here. And that means each of us is going to start keeping watch, night and day.”

They all stopped eating and stared at Graham with worried expressions.

“This is the way things are now. Two people will keep watch, in teams. One young person and one adult. We are going to build stands at the front and lake entrances. Understand?” he asked.

“All night, too?” Bang asked.

“Yes, even at night. Those who do the night watch will sleep during the day,” Graham said.

Marcy bit her bottom lip. “What if we see something?”

“Ennis and I are trying to come up with some kind of alert system. We don’t have cell phone use anymore, and so far we haven’t come across any two-way radios,” Graham said.

“There were some in that house, in the kitchen, above the fridge,” Macy said.

“There were? Why didn’t you say so?” Graham asked.

“I didn’t know we needed them.”

“These days those are a necessity. We’ll go back for them tomorrow.” Graham finished his hearty dinner so that he could switch off with Ennis before the old man’s food got too cold.

Graham rose from the table and grabbed another biscuit, stuffing it into his mouth. “You”—he pointed to Tala—“must make these every day now,” he said with a smile. He grabbed another, along with his rifle, and headed back to the porch.

Tala’s pleased laughter followed him. “Happy to provide some enjoyment.”

“You’re relieved, Ennis,” Graham said, opening the door.

The old man rose the way that old men rise—slowly, with soreness in their aged bones and muscles. Graham noticed the chill in the air and knew Ennis couldn’t handle the colder temperatures, and it wasn’t even winter yet.

He knew he’d have to take on the brunt of the night watches, but even the daytime watches would soon get unbearable for Ennis. He wished Bang were a bit older, then reminded himself he needed to stop thinking of the girls as useless when it came to outside work. Macy could be tough, and she’d proven to be a really good shot.

Graham settled down into the rocker and listened to the quiet around him. He could hear faint conversations at the dinner table. The deciduous trees scattered among the evergreens were turning brilliant shades of yellow, orange, and red. The wild grasses, having expended their chlorophyll for the season, now turned dry and brittle underfoot, paving the way for winter’s arrival. Soon the snow would cover this hidden oasis—or so Graham hoped.

Tomorrow he would take Macy with him back to the supply house and retrieve the radios. With them he hoped they’d be able to practice better vigilance.

That night, Graham and Macy took their first watch after Ennis and Bang took a shorter four-hour watch because he just didn’t think either could handle more than that. He positioned the girl behind the bushes, bundled her up in two coats. If she heard or saw anything alarming, she would sneak around to the cabin and alert the others. Graham positioned himself likewise and climbed up a scrawny tree to get a better view, and found watching to be boring and mundane at best but at least it gave him time to think.

~ ~ ~

In the morning, Graham watched as Macy high-fived Marcy before dragging her own tired butt up to the cabin door. He knew he wasn’t the only one exhausted. Ennis and Bang were still asleep, snoring softly as Graham and Macy made their way to their own beds, pulling the covers over their heads because the dawn was beginning to show already through the windows.

31 An Extra Setting

When Graham awoke a few hours later, he saw Macy still sleeping, so he slipped off to the shower. When he was done he woke her so they could get their errand underway. He wanted to get the platforms built before the day was over and the night watch began.

While Macy was in the shower, Graham wandered into the dining room, where Tala handed him a cup of steaming black coffee.

“This is going to be an adjustment for all of us,” she said.

“You don’t look so perky yourself,” he said.

“Well, Marcy scared me to death last night. I’m surprised you didn’t wake up. I heard her call out, and I ran over there to find her trying to climb up a madrone tree; a raccoon had scared her.” Graham choked a bit on his coffee at the thought.

They were both chuckling as Macy came out of the bathroom. “What’s so funny?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing much, but ask your sister about raccoons when you see her,” Graham said, then turned his attention back to Tala. “Who’s where right now?”

“Marcy is taking her turn fishing with Bang on watch there, and Ennis is by the entrance,” she said.

“Okay, that’s good.” Tala had made more biscuits, and Graham went to grab one. She wrapped several in a cloth napkin and handed it to him as Graham went out onto the porch to enjoy his breakfast, waiting for Macy to be ready.

The morning mist gave way to blue skies, just like the day before. They took the new truck and drove slowly with the windows down, listening and watching for anything to move as the dirt road gave way to pavement. At one point Macy held up her hand to alert Graham to stop as a parade of four turkeys crossed in front of them without any sense of haste, puffing their black and white feathers out and displaying their bright red neck waddles as they crossed to the other side and disappeared into the brush.

“Should we go after them?” Macy asked.

“Not today, but we will soon. A couple of turkeys could feed us for a week. My mother used to save the turkey carcasses after Thanksgiving and then boil them to make broth. We just have to be careful not to take too many of them at once.”

As he pulled up the long gravel driveway, Graham half expected the paperboy to pedal by and toss a bundle at his feet. That’s how normal everything felt here now, and he had to find a way to reconcile this vision with their current circumstances.

He listened for any potential danger, and then waved for Macy to join him. They unlocked the door and he had Macy keep watch at the window while he went into the kitchen to retrieve the two-way radios. It was quiet in there—too quiet, unlike the other day when they’d all been busy scavenging.

Graham opened the cupboard and saw the radios right away. These weren’t the cheap toy models either. Probably a Costco find. There were three units, perfect for their current needs. He also grabbed the charger base just as he heard Macy scream, “Graham!”

He dropped everything, pulled up his rifle, and ran for her. He found her staring out the corner of the window, trying to be inconspicuous, “Come here,” she waved frantically.

He looked out the window and saw an old camo-painted army jeep parked in the street at the end of the long driveway. One man dressed in a dark blue hazmat suit with a respirator got out of the driver’s seat and stood guard, while the passenger, also in a hazmat suit and respirator, exited and moved to the back gate of the vehicle.

“What the hell?”

As they watched through the window, the man in the back struggled with something. Macy turned the deadbolt, as if that would help against an intrusion. The driver could clearly see Graham and Macy, but made no motion to do anything but guard the jeep as the other man emerged from the back of it carrying a body, zip-tied at the hands and feet and with a black sack tied over its head. The captive person struggled.

“Shit!” Graham said.

“What are they doing?” Macy asked.

“I don’t know, honey,” he said.

The man carried the uncooperative body with some difficulty. He walked partway up the grassy yard and laid the body on its side while the driver aimed his weapon in their direction. The other man pulled out what looked like a note and held it up for Graham to see, then dropped it on the body and walked away. They sped off quickly. By the time Graham got down the long drive, there was no sign of them.

He knelt by the body and untied the black bag over the head, pulling it off, revealing a blond teenage boy struggling against the gag still in his mouth. When Graham tried to help him, the youth jerked away as much as the ties would let him. Fear flared in his brown eyes.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Graham said.

The boy shook his head violently from side to side and pulled back again, tears forming in his eyes.

Graham pulled out his pocketknife and grabbed the back of the boy’s head, shoving it forward to release the gag.

With bruising on his cheeks and bloodshot eyes, the young man had clearly been beaten.

“Are you a prepper?” he asked Graham as soon as he was able. His lips were cracked and bleeding, making it difficult for him to be understood. His mouth was probably dry as a bone, too.

“What? A prepper? No,” Graham said, reaching for the note when he heard Macy approaching.

“Stay back, Macy,” he said. “Just wait there.”

He opened the note and read it aloud:

We took this boy after accidently killing the man he was with. He’s a carrier, like you all. We cannot keep him with us, and are making a goodwill gesture by turning him over to you. In return, we expect you to adhere to the boundaries on the attached map marking our territories. One encounter will kill us all. We have voted to let you live, but one act of defiance and we will exterminate all of you.

D. H., President, Cascade Prepper Assoc.

Graham folded the note, put it into his jacket pocket, and reached for the boy’s hand with the pocketknife. When he flinched away again, Graham said, “Now look, I’m trying to untie you, all right?”

After the boy’s arms had been freed, Graham helped him bring them around to the front. He knew the boy’s muscles must ache from struggling against the restraints. He cut the ankle bindings.

“Can you stand?” he asked him.

“I don’t know. My legs are really weak.”

“What’s your name?”

“What’s yours?” the boy shot back.

Macy came around before Graham could answer and said, “Look, kid, he’s trying to help you. Don’t be such a loser.”

“It’s okay, Macy,” Graham said to her.

“Mark. My name’s Mark.”

“How old are you, Mark?”

“Sixteen.”

Graham touched his cheek. “Did those guys hurt you?”

“No, not really. I tried to untie myself and fell face first on the floor of the shack they had me in.”

“Did they feed you?” Graham asked while he and Macy helped Mark to the truck.

“Once a day they gave me an MRE. They said it was all they could spare,” Mark said.

“How’d they come across you?” Graham asked.

Mark lowered his head, breathing hard, and Graham saw that he was trying not to cry.

“Macy, go in the house and get those radios and the charger that goes with them,” Graham said.

When she’d run back up the drive, Graham gave the boy’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. Tears filled the kid’s eyes.

“Mr. Bishop was the only one left here, so I stayed with him after my folks died. We saw these guys coming door to door one night from across the street and they were wearing blue hazmat suits. Mr. Bishop, he shot at one of them but missed. I told him not to, but he didn’t listen. The one guy shot him. He was standing right beside me!” Graham watched with sympathy as Mark turned white at the recollection of the terrifying ordeal. Mark turned his face away.

“Was he the man I found dead in the campground office?” Graham asked.

“Yeah, that’s where I dragged him and he died there on me. There was blood everywhere. I tried to stop it with my hands, but I couldn’t. Then I heard the guys arguing, and they broke the door open and dragged me out of there. They blindfolded me, and the next thing I knew, was tied to a chair in a wood shack somewhere. That was at least two weeks ago. Two different people came in every day in those suits, blindfolded me, took me somewhere to do my business, and then took me back into the shack. They gave me water in a bag with a straw and an MRE thing. They made me eat all of it quick, tied me back up, put me on a cot, and left me till the next day. I heard one of them say I was a carrier and too dangerous to keep around,” Mark said.

It looked to Graham as if the boy’s statement drained everything out of him. It would be a while before Mark was healthy again, but he could see that he possessed an inner strength and was sure he’d be all right. He heard Macy coming up behind him. After she had put the equipment into the truck, she helped Graham walk Mark over to the cab. He practically lifted the emaciated boy into the seat and Macy stayed with him while Graham locked up the house again.

When he got back to the truck, Macy held the boy up; he was shaking from the cold. “Why’d they do this to him?” she nearly yelled.

“We are carriers of the virus, and some are still susceptible to it,” Graham explained.

“They almost killed me. I could hear them arguing about doing it,” Mark said through chattering teeth.

“That is the million-dollar question. Why didn’t they? You were a great threat to them,” Graham said as he put the truck in gear and headed back to the cabin.

~ ~ ~

They pulled up to the cabin and took the boy inside. Graham watched anger flare in Tala’s dark, expressive eyes as she treated the bloody marks on Mark’s wrists and ankles and expressed anger over his poor treatment. She gave him a glass of water, told him to sip it slowly. When it stayed down, she made him a cup of hot tea. A few minutes later she broke up a couple of leftover biscuits, moistened them, and fed them to him slowly. They sat him by the woodstove and piled extra blankets around him

Bang went up to him shyly and showed him his bow and arrow. Mark held it, felt the smooth wood, and smiled at the boy. He told him it was good and asked him to show him how to use it sometime.

Ennis called Graham outside to discuss the situation.

“What the hell happened to the new stray?” Ennis asked.

Graham explained in detail about the boy’s delivery and showed Ennis the note with the territory map.

Both men were breathing hard and angry. The old man had his hands on his hips and scuffed the ground with his boot. “This ain’t right,” he said after a bit.

“They should’ve killed him, and us too. Why didn’t they?” he asked Graham.

“I don’t know. They sure as hell have the equipment, and reason enough to do it. Why’d they keep the boy and go to the trouble to seek us out to keep him alive? We carry the virus that with one contact could wipe them out completely.”

“Do we know where their camp is?”

“I can only assume it’s somewhere in their territory.” Graham ran a finger around the edge of the map, “They kept the boy blindfolded, so he doesn’t know where their base is.”

“You think he’s the one that left the bloody handprints at the campground office?” Ennis asked.

“Yeah, the kid told me the guy he was with shot at one of them, and then they returned fire and killed him. They took him and kept him in a shed all this time, with these low temperatures at night. It’s a wonder he survived without even a blanket.”

“It just don’t make sense,” Ennis said.

“I know. For now, I say let’s just get that kid past the hypothermia stage and fatten him up a little. It’s going to snow soon, and getting through the winter might prove to be a bigger enemy than the preppers at this point.”

Graham started to walk toward the cabin when Ennis called out, “We only have room for this one Graham. No more strays.”

Graham nodded, then thought to ask, “Who’s on watch?”

“Me and Marcy.” Ennis shuffled off to his hideout at the entrance in the woods, while Graham pulled out the radios and connected the battery packs, testing them to see if they worked properly.

~ ~ ~

Tala kept pouring warm tea into Mark, worrying about dehydration. A bit later she gave him some of the dried venison and told him to eat it slowly. He tried to pull a chunk off with his teeth, winced, then tore it with his fingers into small pieces and chewed it with an expression on his face that made it clear he savored every bit of its sweet taste.

“When you want to, Mark, the bathroom is this way,” Tala pointed. “I’ve set out some clothing on the counter in there for you. You can take a warm shower if you like.”

The young man looked at Tala. “Thank you,” he said in a way that showed he truly meant it.

She could see the pain in his young eyes. Like the other survivors, Mark had suffered deeply, been through and witnessed too many things for a person of his age. For a person of any age, she thought. She stroked his head and, at first reluctant to receive caring of any sort, he pulled away. She murmured softly to him until he relaxed against her, allowing her to hug him. He was sixteen, still just a boy, as her brothers had been.

“You’re going to be fine here,” Tala said. “We all get along pretty well. You haven’t met Marcy yet. She’s Macy’s twin sister. She’s on watch right now, but she’ll be back here soon.

Graham came in the front door and the boy started to get up on shaky legs. Graham helped him to the bathroom and, smiling, the boy told him that he could handle it from there.

“Well, that’s a darn good thing,” said Graham, grinning at Mark.

“He’s been through a lot,” Tala remarked after the door was closed.

“Yeah, haven’t we all.” Graham then called to Macy. “Yes?” she answered from the bunkroom, zipping her jacket.

“We’re up, kiddo,” he said.

He gave her one of the radios and they first walked out to Ennis’s spot together to try them out. Macy used long strides to keep pace with Graham, crunching the autumn leaves and dry needles underfoot with her brown suede work boots.

He gave her one of the radios, having left one in the kitchen with Tala, who listened to their conversation from there. Ennis walked up to them and talked about police radio codes; he told them that 10-12 meant people were present and that 10-34 meant trouble at this station, but terms rather than numbered codes came to him more readily when Graham asked about them. Ennis couldn’t remember the code for “all clear,” so they decided that the phrase itself would suffice.

Marcy greeted her twin happily, admired the radio, quickly learned the code system, and then raced back to the cabin, ravenous for more of Tala’s cooking.

Inside she warmed her hands by the fire and removed the pistol from the holster Ennis had made for her, placing both on the table by the door. She then removed her coat and hung it on a peg and pulled off her boots and lined them up in their spot within the range of biggest to smallest.

She turned around to warm her backside in front of the stove. Tala smiled at her from the kitchen. “Is it getting cold out there?” she asked.

“Yeah, especially when you’re sitting up in a tree for hours freezing your buns off.” Marcy walked into the kitchen to wash her hands. “Do you want me to set the table?”

“Sure. We’re seven now, so add an extra place,” Tala said.

“What? Why do we have an extra?” Marcy asked as she pulled the right number of plates out of the cupboard.

“Didn’t Macy tell you?” Tala asked.

“No, who is it?” Marcy asked.

Mark opened the bathroom door, and warm mist spilled out. Dressed in gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt, he said hi to Marcy, then asked Tala, “Where do I put these?” He was holding a bundle of dirty clothes in one arm and the doorjamb with the other as he swayed, a bit unsteady.

Marcy put down the dishes and hurried over to help him. Mark acted kind of embarrassed to have her support, but he accepted it. She took the dirty clothes from under his arm, walked him over to a chair at the table, and shot Tala a questioning look.

“Marcy, meet Mark. Mark, this is Macy’s twin.”

He stared at her. “Wow! You and your sister . . .”

“Yeah. I know,” she said. “I’ll take these and put them with the others,” Marcy said.

“You might want to burn those,” Mark said.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Mark. Are you hungry?” Tala asked.

“Yes, thank you.”

Marcy returned to the stack of plates and began laying them out. Mark reached for one to put on his side of the table, trying to help her. Marcy could smell his shampooed hair, still wet from the shower. He looked pale against his bruised cheek, which had shades of deep purple spreading out to green.

As if her glances made him uncomfortable, he refused to meet Marcy’s eyes. “Tala,” he asked, “is there something I can do to help?”

“No, you need to rest and get better so that you can help us in lots of other ways later on. There is certainly plenty to do.”

Tonight they were having pinto beans and rice, like Graham’s mom always made. It was a nice break from all the strange types of meat they’d been eating. Tala managed to make a peach cobbler out of canned peaches as a surprise for after dinner, and though they now ate in shifts, there would be plenty for everyone. With two good meals a day, they were gaining back the weight they’d lost during the chaos. They were also gaining muscle as their work schedule demanded a lot of physical labor that none of them were used to.

Tala called Ennis and Bang to the old table and the five of them got to know one another over dinner. Marcy watched Mark’s eyelids drooping, and was glad when Tala saw it too and suggested that Ennis help him into one of the bunks.

“But . . .” Marcy whispered after peeking in, “Ennis is putting him in Graham’s bed.”

“Probably because Mark’s too weak to climb the ladder, just like you were at first,” Tala answered.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“I’ll check on him before I go to bed,” Tala said, “and make sure he’s okay. He’ll probably need a couple of extra blankets—tonight, at least.”

~ ~ ~

The next morning Marcy smiled as she awoke, hearing Mark tell Tala he wasn’t really sure where he was or if he was dreaming and the nightmare might come back. Marcy could relate to that.

32 The Preppers

When the carriers—at first just a woman and an old man—showed up and broke into a cabin near the lake, Dalton was about to initiate the original plan of action, which was to suit up, go in, and take them out. But while they were on their way through the forest, Graham arrived with the kids and a dog, leaving Dalton’s group with a hard decision to make. They aborted that mission and, though it took some planning and stealth, managed to infiltrate Graham’s camp that night and hid several motion-activated cameras among the trees to keep an eye on them. The cameras were linked via radio signals to a monitor back at the preppers’ camp; this would mean regular maintenance trips to refresh the cameras’ batteries, but it would be worth the effort.

Some thought they should follow the guidelines originally set in place and argued for taking out the whole crew of carriers because they were too close to the base camp. All it would take was one encounter to introduce the virus into their secure area, and the preppers would die, yet the thought of killing anyone in cold blood just seemed wrong and Dalton said so. Rick asked if there was any benefit to keeping carriers so close, and the only thing Dalton could come up with was that they posed no hostile threat and might act as a warning system for other intruders to the area.

They’d prepared for this scenario, and in theory the right thing to do was make every attempt to terminate the virus for the good of all, but Dalton couldn’t go through with it. For one thing, he recognized Graham, the guy who’d moved into the cabin. They’d gone to summer camp together when they were kids, even visited each other’s cabins, and had fished together and done the things twelve-year-old boys do. They’d only run into each other a few times as adults when Graham visited in town. They exchanged numbers once, and told each other they would get together with their wives to visit, but neither one ever did call. Something always came up, and now Dalton really regretted it because he’d always thought Graham was a great guy.

It was one thing to kill in defense of one’s family, but a managed risk with the carriers, with proper parameters, was another. They were not a threat to the prepper camp unless they got near.

The preppers knew Graham had weapons, but essentially, he was one man with one woman taking care of an old man and several children. Dalton had to respect him for taking them in.

Then one day he and Rick, while checking out the town, had spotted a man and a boy. The man had shot at them, and Dalton took him out before he recognized the boy as Mark, his own aunt’s youngest son, and shoved the barrel of Rick’s rifle aside so he wouldn’t kill the kid.

That night Rick argued, “Dalton, you know this goes against everything we’ve trained for. That kid could kill us all.”

“I know. But he’s my cousin, Rick.” We can’t kill him, and we can’t just leave him out there on his own. There’s no one left to help him.

“All right. It’s your call,” Rick said in a tone of disdain.

Dalton sometimes regretted not taking the action, but he also regretted not convincing the rest of his family to join the prepper group he’d founded just five years ago. Too much had happened in the world, and he’d seen firsthand, with five tours in Iraq and Afghanistan, what crazy crap people were capable of. He’d had his money on trouble coming from terrorist groups, not the Chinese. But that’s where the disease had come from and, while not exactly a planned attack, it had worked just as well as if it had been, leaving most of the world dead—even in China.

Dalton’s family chalked his prepper activity up to PTSD and kept quiet about it. He practiced every other weekend and prepared for the worst. Now he, his wife, and their two small sons were holed up in their hideout along with thirty other adults and their children.

Things had gone to plan after he initiated the alert to converge on the hidden location. They’d quarantined everyone who wanted in, and more than a few didn’t pass. It was too bad, but they’d incinerated the remains of those who died from the virus in quarantine. The name of the game was survival, and if they had to be ruthless and sometimes inhumane, they all knew it was necessary.

It shocked Dalton that the boy had made it. He’d assumed that his entire extended family had perished. Rick reluctantly agreed to risk capturing Mark, taking him back to camp and isolating him, but the kid’s residence there took a toll on Dalton’s conscience because the shelter they had to keep his young cousin in wasn’t sufficient for his survival through the winter. Not only that, but the boy continued trying to escape. It was only a matter of time before he would, and the possibility that he might expose one of them was just too much of a risk.

Finally Dalton made the decision to take Mark to Graham’s place. When the surveillance team radioed that Graham and just one girl were on the move toward town, he and Rick hauled Mark there, instead of the cabin, where the risk of exposure would be greater to them.

Now that the transfer was complete, they burned the shack they’d kept the boy in and sterilized their suits as well as the jeep compartment they’d used to transport him.

All in all, Dalton felt good about the situation but was still worried, so they doubled up on their surveillance to keep track of Graham’s group’s whereabouts at all times. As far as he knew, the kid didn’t know who had saved his ass, nor had Graham recognized him in the suit.

Dalton had thought about revealing himself, but if he did and had to exterminate Graham later it would be harder, so he thought he’d just keep his name secret for now.

It was a lucky thing they were monitoring them, too, because as they watched the old man by the lake, the surveillance team spotted the strange men in the canoe and realized there were more across the lake, though they didn’t seem to be associated with one another, nor had the old man waved back. That bothered Dalton.

If the canoe guys were hostiles, they would surely go after Graham’s people first, and that would give the preppers some warning.

Only after the men in the canoe had made themselves known had Graham’s little group begun to keep watch on their own camp. They really were vulnerable to anyone who came in, because they lacked a military mind-set.

Dalton’s team accepted this, and besides surveillance, they decided as a group they’d only step in to help if there were no risk to themselves in doing so. Now he just hoped Graham and his team, including his own young cousin, would follow the rules and not cause them to regret their mercy.

33 A Surprise Encounter

The next morning Mark was awakened by a rough tongue licking his face. He shouted when he realized it was a dog. Marcy came running around the corner, thinking Mark was having a bad dream, but then started laughing when she saw him cowering at the head of his bed. “It’s just Sheriff,” she said. “He won’t hurt you, he’s a police dog. He found Macy and me. He hasn’t turned wild like the others, and he even brings us food sometimes,” she said, reached for the dog and scratching just under his ears.

Mark reached out his hand, shaking with fear, and Sheriff smelled it, then walked out of the room to go about his own business for the day.

Later that day, because he was still so weak, Mark helped where he could. Bang took him outside to practice with the bow and arrow, and with each shot he took Mark got better at it. He was a little embarrassed to have a five-year-old teach him how to shoot straight but, like Graham said, “Might as well learn from the master.” Mark was surprised to learn that the girls had also learned from the little boy.

“That’s funny that your name is Bang and the dog’s name is Sheriff,” Mark said that night at the dinner table, but it seemed like no one else thought it was funny.

“Yeah, we know,” Macy said, breaking the awkward silence. “I guess it doesn’t really mean much anymore.”

The next day Mark got bored and asked Graham if he could take his turn on look out.

“I don’t know, son,” Graham said. “You’re still pretty badly bruised, and you look washed out. We can’t have you falling asleep on watch or not being able to react fast enough if there’s a problem. But I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you stack that wood over there and split five more blocks with the ax? If you do that for the rest of the week, it will help build up your strength.

So Mark set to work, and the first day he did split five logs and stacked all the wood, and the second day he split six. Each day he ramped up his efforts, and every night his muscles ached from the unaccustomed exercise, but he felt good about contributing, and he was getting stronger every day.

By the end of the week Ennis noticed the boy stretching before he got to work with the ax and said, “You gonna be Paul Bunyan before this is through.”

“Who’s Paul Bunyan?” Mark asked.

Ennis shook his head, muttering something about the state of the school system, then walked away with his fishing pole over his shoulder and Sheriff trotting along beside him.

After dinner that night, while Tala and Graham were on watch, Ennis called all the children into the living area and told them stories about Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox.

When she learned of his lessons, Tala scoffed and told them there was a lot more they all needed to learn than American folklore. Ennis just scoffed, and Mark was glad. He liked the old man and his tales. Later, out of earshot, Mark explained to a wide-eyed Bang that folklore meant a made-up story. He didn’t want the little guy scared witless of a giant man with an ax and a blue ox showing up when they were out in the woods working. Bang had already told them all about Korean folklore and how the Dokkaebi scared him, so Mark figured he’d also worry about this tall tale.

~ ~ ~

When he thought the boy was strong enough, Graham put Mark on his first night shift, and was damn glad he had. At Sheriff’s sharp bark, in response to the radio in the kitchen coming alive, he tumbled out of bed and asked Tala what was up.

Mark had reported seeing a canoe coming their way at two in the morning. He called in a 10-34, trouble at this station, and bypassed the 10-12, visitors present, because this late at night he figured these guys were up to no good anyway.

Graham thought the boy was maybe just seeing things or pulling a fast one, but he didn’t take Mark for a prankster and wouldn’t take chances either. He hurried and put on his coat and boots, grabbed his rifle, and exited the cabin to find Tala running in his direction. Together they went down the trail quietly until they heard unfamiliar voices.

As Tala had told him to, Mark stayed hidden in the tree stand. Graham’s heart nearly pounded out of his chest as the three men pulled up their canoe and silently moored it in the brush, out of sight but easy to get to. He and Tala crouched down and Mark could see the intruders were heavily armed and headed toward their camp. Graham heard the men coming up the trail, so he put his arm around Tala’s waist and pulled her deeper into the woods out of sight. He held up one of his fingers to his mouth to tell her to be quiet. He held her closer to his chest and could feel her pulse quicken to match his own. He didn’t hear Mark’s voice, so Graham figured he hadn’t been discovered. It was too risky to use the radios now; Graham didn’t dare make a noise that would expose Mark’s position with the strangers so close.

He aimed his weapon toward the men as they walked past on the trail, letting them think they were undetected. He wanted to stop them before they got too close to the cabin, but far enough from the lakeside in case they had reinforcements. One clumsy step in the brush at this distance would alert the intruders to their presence. After they’d passed, Tala reached up to whisper in Graham’s ear, “I don’t think they’re preppers.”

With the intruders safely out of earshot, Graham told Tala to go find Mark and to stay hidden unless he called her. Then he tightened his arm around her in a quick hug before releasing her, confused by why he felt the need to do that.

She touched his hand. “Stay safe,” she whispered, and walked through the woods quietly to find Mark.

Graham picked his way through the trees, keeping an eye through the forest for the two strange men. He stopped at the woods’ edge as the two got closer to the end of the trail.

“This was longer than I thought. Let’s just grab one of the girls and get the hell out of here,” one of the strangers said.

Knowing their intent now made Graham’s heart beat even faster, and rage led to an adrenaline surge. Just as Graham lined the nearest one up in his sights, he heard Sheriff growl. One of the guys aimed his rifle at the dog and Graham changed his aim quickly and shot the man. He dropped, but the other two now knew his approximate location and began shooting into the woods blindly.

Suddenly Ennis appeared and began shooting at the two remaining men, who made a hasty retreat back toward their canoe, continued to shoot behind them as they ran. Sheriff was hot on their heels. Graham ran through the woods, worried that Tala and Mark might be in the crossfire. The two strangers were long gone when they heard another shot coming from Ennis’s location. Graham startled Tala and Mark from behind, making Mark yell out, but no one heard him.

They watched the men paddle away toward the other end of the lake, silhouetted between dark water and a dim light from a sickle of waning moon. Sheriff barked his deep-throated warning from the shore. Graham walked Mark and Tala through the woods back to Ennis’s location, where they saw him standing over the twice-shot intruder. Sheriff sniffed the dead body. “You two, go inside. I’ll be there in a minute,” Graham said; he wanted to have a word with Ennis alone.

At least now, they knew where the enemy was coming from.

“He’s really dead now,” Graham said.

“He was still breathin’, but not no more,” Ennis shot back.

“I heard them talking. They were coming for one of the girls,” Graham said; he tried to register disgust in his voice.

“That’s not going to happen,” Ennis growled through clenched teeth. He looked as furious as Graham felt. “You shouldn’t have let them get so far in,” he said.

“I had Tala in front of me, and they were too close,” Graham said in defense.

“We have to come up with a better plan, Graham. They’ll be back for revenge now that we got one of theirs. I know how dangerous some of these guys can be. I was a cop, after all.”

“What the hell do we do with the body?” Graham asked, looking over the dead man. He bent to retrieve the man’s rifle and noticed that he showed no signs of starvation but smelled pretty bad.

Ennis kicked the body. “I say we chop off his . . .”

Graham stopped where this was going. “No, we’re not like them. Help me load him into the truck. I’ll dump him in the woods, far away from camp, later.”

Once they’d loaded the intruder’s body into the truck, Graham and Sheriff went into the cabin, but Ennis stood guard outside. With all the commotion, Graham found everyone awake. Marcy was softly whimpering, scared to death, while Macy tried to reassure her.

“Good job, Mark,” Graham said when he came in. He patted the young man on his shoulder. “That was exactly the right thing to do.”

“I should have shot them when I saw them coming,” Mark said, his frustration clear in his voice.

“There were three of them and one of you. They would have killed you and then Tala before we had a chance to get into position. You did exactly the right thing here.”

Graham knew the remaining intruders would be back. He was angrier for the fact that they’d been watching them and they’d had the audacity to try to take one of the girls by force.

“Listen up, everyone. We got lucky just now. That was a close call. They’ll be back, though. Let’s get one thing straight right away. I made a mistake once before in not shooting a dangerous man and it cost us”—he nodded at Marcy—“a lot more headaches later. If you have to shoot someone, shoot to kill. I should have already made that clear a long time ago.

“We’ve been too complacent, and this proves it. Those men have been watching us. Hopefully now they realize we aren’t easy to tangle with, but I have no doubt they will be back. We have something they want, and now they’re angry because they didn’t get it and they lost one of their men. We need to keep watching and change our locations so that they can’t detect us. For now, go back to bed and get some sleep, Tala, you too. I’ll handle the watch for the rest of tonight. I just want everyone inside, behind locked doors.”

~ ~ ~

Sitting in a chair in the living area, Graham looked out the window and saw the first snowflakes drifting down as rays of morning sunshine slid over the horizon, lighting the area in a dusky blue. Several deer munched on frozen greenery, which the snow was quickly covering.

Nothing further had happened in the last few days, but Graham was pretty sure those men encamped across the lake hadn’t given up. Ennis was on watch from the blind by the water, and Marcy in the one near the road. Graham knew he should be sleeping, having just come in from his own shift, but rest eluded him. He felt he had to stay here near the door, just in case.

Having the skittish deer there helped ease his fear that the intruders weren’t in the area at the moment. It gave him time to think, not only about recent events but also about his reaction to Tala while they had hidden in the dark a few nights earlier.

Graham felt utterly ill-equipped to protect these people he’d somehow become responsible for, and his attraction to Tala was making things worse. He still loved his departed wife, and he couldn’t fathom these feelings for Tala. He hung his head with the weight of his thoughts.

Graham never heard Tala coming unless she wanted to be heard. She was talented like that. Now he smelled her before he felt her hands wrap around his tired shoulders and began to massage his tight muscles. Tala bent down and whispered, “I’ll take over now. You go to bed.”

He stopped the massage with his one free hand and gripped her, pulling her in front of him. He sat her on his lap and hugged her, burying his head into her thigh. She held him. He just needed to hold onto someone and told himself that it didn’t have to be Tala, that it could be any one of them—except, maybe, for Ennis. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. He missed his wife, who’d only died a few months earlier, and he was ashamed of his reaction to Tala. It made him question the love he’d had for Nelly, and that scared him, along with everything else these days.

“It’s all right, Graham. You’re just tired,” she said. In the morning light, just peeking into the windows through the snow, she stroked his back and drew her hand through his thick hair, from the bottom of his neck up, making him sleepy. He wanted nothing more to than to stay like this for a long time.

Graham lifted his head and avoided her gaze. “I’m okay,” he said. “Thanks.”

Tala got up and walked over to retrieve her weapon. He walked past her into the bunkroom to rest while the others started a new day. She smiled at him as they passed and suddenly he knew she shared his feelings. He didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

~ ~ ~

Graham wasn’t sure what the smell from the kitchen was, but it was good and his stomach growled to let him know it felt neglected. He climbed down from his bunk.

Graham went through his clothes and decide he needed to switch these out. Unlike the old days, they changed clothing only once or twice a week. Tala had had a long conversation with the twins on the necessity of conserving water; getting teenage girls to wear dirty clothes and shower less was a challenge. Graham and Tala had the opposite conversation with Bang and Ennis, trying to coerce them into taking a shower once a week because they both became ripe quite quickly. Graham smelled his underarm and made a face to himself, deciding it was time for him to get cleaned up. He gathered his change of clothes and headed to the bathroom, only to find it occupied.

He wandered into the open dining area, where whatever Tala was frying proved to be the source of the tempting aroma. “What is that you’re cooking?” he asked. “It smells great, and woke me out of a deep sleep.”

“It’s fried mystery meat,” she said with a quick, concerned look.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s the cougar meat. I think Bang will have a problem eating it,” she whispered.

“We should just be honest with him, Graham said. “If he doesn’t want it, he doesn’t have to eat it, but we don’t waste food—ever.”

“That’s probably for the best,” Tala agreed.

Graham saw that she had her hair hanging loosely in long glossy waves without the braid she usually wore. He wondered what it would be like to run his fingers through the soft strands. Tala noticed Graham’s intent gaze and went back to tending the skillet. She wore the white peasant blouse, tied with thin straps at her back. He had seen her in that on the night he first discovered her.

Crimson flushed her cheeks. At first Graham thought the heat from the cooking caused it, but then he realized he’d been staring too long, probably making her uncomfortable.

“Who’s on watch?” he asked, trying to ease Tala’s discomfort while he waited for the bathroom.

“Marcy and Mark at the lake, and Macy and Bang at the entrance,” she answered.

“Well, that explains who’s in the bathroom, and why it’s taking so long.” After thinking about it, Graham asked, “Are you sure it’s okay to have those two on watch together? Mark and Marcy, I mean?”

“They’re fifteen and sixteen, Graham. They’re good kids.”

“You taught second grade, right?” he asked, doubting her logic.

“Yeah, what’s your point?”

“I’ve been a sixteen-year-old boy. I think I’ll have a talk with Mark, just in case,” he said.

“That’s probably a good idea. It can’t hurt,” she said with a smile.

The bathroom door opened and out wafted a foul stench, along with Ennis. Graham grumbled at the old man, waved his arm up and down, and made a show of holding his breath as he puffed his cheeks out. “What did you do in there?” Graham asked him.

“None of your business. Wait till you get old,” Ennis said, frowning. “Then you’ll understand.”

Graham looked at Tala and made a big show of holding his breath again before entering the bathroom, causing her to laugh, which he liked the sound of. He turned on the hot water to help disguise the stink he was trapped in.

“Are you feeling all right, Ennis?” Tala asked in all seriousness.

“Yeah, I’m a tough old bird.” Ennis pulled out his whittling knife and picked up his current project, taking it into the living room to work on, dropping the shavings into a bucket. They’d later be put to good use.

Tala watched him from the kitchen. She knew the cold was getting to the old man, and instead of working on the porch where he had more light, she’s noticed him hanging around the woodstove more often. She would have to mention something to Graham about relieving Ennis from watch duty; it wouldn’t be good for him to get pneumonia from being outdoors. He was clearly into his late seventies or early eighties. She wasn’t sure which, but knew he couldn’t regulate his temperature like the rest of them. She hoped he would make it through the winter, but noting how he moved through the room, in pain from arthritis, she knew the freezing temperatures would not help.

Graham emerged from the shower with business on his mind. He’d decided, he announce, that it was really too risky to have the girls on watch by the lake. He and the boys would have to take turns there. He’d also stored extra ammo down there in case there was ever an instance when they’d need to engage intruders for an extended period.

Tala watched him tug on his boots after he piled his dirty clothes in the area she’d designated for that. In answer to the question she hadn’t asked, he said, “Going to make a patrol of the perimeter, then along the road a bit, looking for tracks in the snow. I’ll take the Scout.”

“Are you going to scavenge while you’re out?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it. I don’t want to leave camp for long. Why, do you need anything?” he asked her.

“I was just thinking we really need to find vegetable seeds at some point. We’re going to need to start some come February,” she said.

“That is a good idea. Let’s write a list and make a plan, but today I want to stick close to home. I’m taking Bang with me on my way out,” Graham said.

~ ~ ~

Graham and Bang drove down the icy drive, and the Scout slid briefly as they turned onto the main road. Graham put the truck into four-wheel drive.

Farther down the street he pulled off to the side of the road where a few homes were. This was near where he’d pulled the dead guy out of the back of the bed by sliding him along on the top of the tarp. Bang had been with him then, too. Graham had been careful to explain to Bang what had taken place and what they were doing with the body then.

Now with the Scout pulled over near that spot, more to check and see if animals had continued the disposal than for any other reason, Bang looked a little apprehensive. Maybe it was because the child’s nerves were on edge, but suddenly he snapped his bow into place and was about to loose an arrow when Graham stopped him. Bang was about to shoot a real chicken—a hen, to be exact. After a stealthy search, they found several more chickens taking refuge on the forest floor, pecking for grubs and grains. They captured five of them, stuffing them into the cab of the truck. It was an interesting drive back home with five unruly chickens squawking for their lives, and it proved to be great entertainment for the boy.

Once they got back, Tala was delighted at the prospect of future eggs, and she sat the guys down for dinner. As the chicken-fried cougar meat was passed to Bang, he looked at it suspiciously. Graham looked at the boy and, though he was tempted to lie, he told him what it was but added that he didn’t have to eat it, though it would be good for him if he did. To Graham’s surprise, the boy stabbed the piece of meat with his fork, dragged it through his instant mashed potatoes, and bit into it. He chewed a few times, pronounced it good, and asked for seconds. Since there were none left, Graham gave him his last piece, knowing the boy deserved it.

~ ~ ~

When Graham and Tala resumed watch, Ennis and the others devised a chicken coop out of the old shed that sat upon concrete bricks which served no real purpose after his father had built a new one. The old shed used to house various kinds of tools useful in digging ditches and chopping trees. Graham’s dad once said it owed its existence as a compromise between his grandfather and grandmother. His grandmother had argued that, even though they were in a cabin, it wasn’t a barn and he couldn’t leave his axes in the kitchen. His aunt had accidently backed into one, slicing her heel wide open on the blade. This incident resulted in a trip for several stitches into the next town, where there was a resident doctor, late one dark and windy night.

To make the chicken coop secure, Ennis had the boys prop it up and brace it on the side that leaned. They swept it out and wiped out the cobwebs surrounding the two small windows that let in light, then cut a hole in the door and made a little ramp that led to it. Then they installed three branches to use as perches, setting them at varying heights for the birds to roost on at night. At the far end they put wood shavings down for bedding, which they had plenty of thanks to Ennis’s whittling. On the shelves and floor they put more, hoping the chickens would lay eggs there.

The lack of heat was an issue. Although there were two old weathered windows of ancient wavy glass on each side for plenty of sunshine to enter, they needed heat or the low temperatures would surely freeze the birds. They couldn’t run electricity out to them, so keeping the hens warm became a topic of concern until Ennis came up with a solution.

As a boy, it had been his job each winter morning to bring the “chicken brick” out to the coop each night as he closed up the hens. It would become a daily and nightly chore here, since the weather was even colder. They would alternate two cinder blocks, heating them on the woodstove morning and night to take them out to the chicken coop to keep them from freezing.

Predators were the next issue. Although they were perfectly safe from them at night, during the day they needed to peck at the ground and forage, as chickens do. There was no way they could run loose or their five chickens would end up being three—or none—in no time.

Without chicken wire around, Graham and the boys went on a mission to find some elsewhere the next day. Mark knew of an older, run-down cabin about two miles east into the forest as the crow flies. He and his dad had sometimes ventured there when hunting.

The next afternoon, after letting Tala and Ennis know, Graham and the two boys left the others on watch and trudged through the woods to find the old cabin. On the way, Graham took the time to talk to Mark about getting too close to Marcy. Once Mark realized where Graham’s lecture was going, he quickly became embarrassed and reassured Graham that he wasn’t going to “do” anything to Marcy.

They found the small cabin, which was slowly becoming a part of the forest itself. A spindly pine tree that lost its battle reaching for the light had crashed over the back corner of the small shack. They marveled at the cabin’s diminutive proportions. “It’s just your size,” Mark kidded Bang.

Graham wouldn’t let the boys go inside because as he pushed hard on the corner of the building, the whole thing began to sway. So he went in, bent over so he wouldn’t disturb the ceiling, and started to swipe at the leaf-covered floor. He revealed a few treasures forgotten to the past world: a rusty pie tin, a hole-riddled green wool army coat, an old wood carving of a whale, an ivory stoneware coffee mug monogrammed with an S, a thick piece of wood that looked like it had once been a butcher block, a pair of old rusty bear traps, and an old metal serving spoon. Graham collected the items and handed them to the boys through the tiny door. There were probably smaller things hidden under the brush, but Graham started feeling like spiders were making nests in his hair. Nothing more important for their needs was to be found today.

Outside, they nearly tripped over a small rusty fishing boat lying on the ground, top side up. Graham lifted it and all manner of creepy forest crawlers began to squirm around. Underneath, they discovered a roll of rusty chicken wire and an oar. Jubilant with their find, they piled the smaller things into the boat and headed back home, dragging it behind them.

With Graham pulling in the front and Mark and Bang pushing from the back, they began their trek toward home. It took them about an hour to get most of the way back, taking several breaks along the way. Being patient with the boys came easy to Graham; he drew on his own father’s treatment of him over the years. He paid close attention to the boys, and made them stop right before he suspected they needed to take a rest.

During one break they stood silently in the forest and could hear many creatures. A brown rabbit scurried through the brush and stopped just in front of their little metal boat, startling them as much as they startled it. The rabbit froze for a moment and then jumped right over the boat, continuing its retreat. Bang giggled.

Then a light rustling snapped Graham’s attention in the direction the rabbit had come from, sending shivers up his spine. It grew louder and Graham instinctively pulled his weapon, surprised to see the boys do the same with theirs. He saw it coming and just had enough time to aim and shoot as the two gleaming wolf eyes shone through the greenery. He knew at once he hadn’t hit it. Options raced through his head like a mathematician going through known formulas, but nothing fit the equation. He believed the wolf was biding his time before attacking them. Should they run back to the abandoned cabin, or try to make it to their own? He couldn’t risk the wolf tracking them back to their place and possibly try to pick off one of them.

Spotting a tree with low enough branches for climbing, he shoved both boys toward it. Mark lifted Bang up, then followed him, shoving the smaller child ahead, higher and higher. The whole time Graham kept track of the dangerous creature.

“Be careful, Graham,” Mark said. With both boys up and out of danger, Graham crouched down and walked toward the foe, armed and ready. He wasn’t about to take a chance with his boys. Indecision had caused him anguish in the past, and he wasn’t going to let that happen again. Any present danger had to be dealt with immediately.

As Graham got closer the gray wolf turned his head, looking behind, then looked back at Graham and lifted his head to howl. The eerie call made every hair on Graham’s head stand up. He took that moment of clear view, aimed, and shot the wolf, which slumped to the ground.

Graham took several more steps toward it on the ground and heard something coming out of the brush ahead. “Shit,” was all Graham could say as another, bigger wolf came growling out of the woods into view. He could hear the boys yelling behind him, and then everything happened in slow motion.

The wolf lunged at him, springing itself on its hind legs from a fallen log as Graham aimed and fired but missed again. Then out of his left peripheral vision, he saw Sheriff come flying to intercept the wolf, hitting him just as the wolf impacted Graham’s chest, sending him tumbling backward to the ground.

The German shepherd took the wolf completely by surprise. It turned from attacking Graham to vent its fury on the dog instead. The fearsome sounds of the two animals, each one fighting for his life, chilled Graham’s blood. He found himself lying on his back with his weapon knocked from his grasp. Not certain it was a good idea when he thought of it, he reached out and grabbed Sheriff by the flank and hauled him toward his chest to get a clear shot at the wolf. Graham aimed and fired but just grazed the wolf. But it was enough: the wolf ran off, but not before stopping at the edge of the brush to look back at them as if to get one last good impression. It then entered the dark forest and was out of sight. Graham, breathless from the struggle, looked up at Sheriff. “Thanks, buddy.” Sheriff licked his face, then continued panting.

Both boys were still screaming, not sure if Graham had been injured in the melee. Mark was trying to convince Bang to stay up in the tree while he went to check. Graham stood and motioned for them to calm down and stay in the tree, not trusting yet if the coast was clear. He continued to check behind him as he carefully walked around the downed wolf as Sheriff sniffed the carcass.

He and the dog returned to the boys, and Graham saw Bang’s snotty and tear-streaked face; he even caught a stray streak of moisture on Mark’s face, which he pretended not to notice. He held his arms up so that Mark could lower Bang to him, and caught the little boy close in a comforting hug before putting him on his feet. Then Mark turned around and Graham caught his sneaker to help lower him down. He gave Mark a hug like a father would give to his teenage son. “I’m okay. It’s all right,” he said to them both. Bang grabbed Graham’s leg, wiping his tears on his jeans. “It’s okay, guys, we have to get through things like this,” he said to them.

“Thank God for Sheriff,” said Macy behind them, startling all three. Mark turned his head to wipe his eyes. “Did you trail him?” Graham asked her.

“Yeah, we heard a shot and Sheriff was acting funny and ran like a dart in this direction. I ran after him and heard the commotion. When he stopped, I stopped, and I heard the growling. He moved so fast that I couldn’t keep up, then I heard it before I saw what was going on. The next thing I knew, Sheriff was attacking a wolf and you were on the ground. I yelled, but I don’t think you heard me,” she said.

“No, I didn’t hear anything else. It was all in slow motion for me. All right, party’s over,” Graham said, clapping his hands. “Let’s get this stuff back to camp and then we need to check out our hero there and make sure he doesn’t have any injuries.”

Macy kept her pistol ready; she and Sheriff guarded the party as they made their way back to camp.

Once there, they were greeted by a very concerned Tala and Ennis. They put the boat down, and Mark was welcomed by Marcy as she came up and hugged him, kissing him on the cheek. “I was so scared,” she said.

Mark looked a bit embarrassed and said, “Graham put me and Bang up a tree. So, no heroics here.”

Graham tried to ease the moment by saying, “Actually, if it hadn’t been for Sheriff, I don’t think we’d be talking right now.”

“Sheriff jumped right at the wolf before it got Graham,” Bang said, choking a little on the last word, motioning with his hands as he remembered the action occurring just minutes before. They were all a little surprised when the boy spoke up. Tala hugged Graham, and he pulled her close as Bang hugged his leg again. “I’m all right,” he said, just for her, but let’s see if Sheriff has any bites or scratches that we need to treat.” He started running his hands through the dog’s fur.

Sheriff was pumped up, thinking he was receiving much needed attention, and began licking Graham’s hand in gratitude. Then he returned his attention toward the dangers of the forest, his ears twitching and turning for any indication of danger.

They were all getting a little cold standing out in the open in two inches of glistening snow. After they put the small boat away and removed the contents, Tala hurried those not on guard duty indoors, where they removed their boots and put them all along the wall. She made them hot tea and cocoa, and they all warmed up from the steaming cups—and more so from being together after coming so close to tragedy. Other than a few scratches around Sheriff’s muzzle he seemed unharmed, and for that they were all grateful. Graham suspected he would encounter the wolf again and he would need the dog and any other help he could get next time.

34 An Observation

Dalton got the surveillance report of action in Graham’s camp. A commotion of some sort had happened, but it appeared that all the occupants were accounted for and none of them looked injured, including their pet dog.

When the previous report had come in about the three men in the canoe approaching Graham’s camp at night, Dalton and several of the other preppers crowded into the small observation room. They held their breath while watching the video of Graham and Tala slinking into the woods just before the men came walking into the camp. They could just barely make out and piece together what happened next. Though there was no audio, it was clear one guy was down and the other two made their way back to the canoe in haste with the dog after them.

“This guy doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing,” Dalton remembered Rick, their technology specialist, saying at the time. “He should have dropped all three already.”

In Graham’s defense, Dalton said “He’s a math professor, not military—remember? He doesn’t think like us, but you’re right, he should never have let them get that far in. Now they’ve got a better layout of the camp.” Dalton knew those guys would be back.

Since then he’d felt edgy and helpless. If something were to happen to Graham’s crew, he knew he shouldn’t act. It would be too dangerous, exposing himself and the others. But he couldn’t stop his emotions; he owed Graham for caring for his young cousin, and he liked the man, for that matter.

What made things harder was the rest of the team becoming more attached to the carriers. Graham’s camp became a sort of soap opera for them. Rick started it all one evening at dinner as a source of entertainment that he often recalled during their evening meal for the other members to enjoy. Rick suspected that Graham and Tala were getting “better acquainted,” as he put it. He regaled the other preppers with the humorous chicken story: Bang pulling the birds out of the truck cab, and when one got away how the boy finally pinned it down with its wings flapping in his face. He told them about how Macy and Marcy were very different twins. Macy often helped Graham and Mark with splitting wood and other outdoor chores, and Marcy aided Tala in all things domestic.

Theirs was a boring life, and these little entertainments of human activity kept the preppers looking forward to the next day. They’d been sheltered since the beginning in the safety of their haven. Occasional hunting groups allowed the men to venture out a little now. Planning for next year’s vegetable gardens and the care and keeping of tools and equipment became mundane.

So the news from Graham’s camp each evening provided something to look forward to and helped keep them from dwelling on their recent past and the losses all had endured. This practice wasn’t unlike “television in the old days, after a hellacious day on the job,” Rick said.

Concern about the safety of Graham’s camp due to the invaders occupied Dalton and Rick’s conversations lately. Rick had become enamored of Graham’s camp because of his daily surveillance of them.

Rick wanted to talk to Dalton about reaching out to Graham to help him secure his camp more efficiently. He was sure Dalton wouldn’t go for it, but since they were now all involved in their story, he might entertain the idea, even though he knew logically they shouldn’t do it. If they didn’t do something soon to help, Rick felt certain the invaders would attack Graham’s camp and its residents would be wide open for slaughter. Of course, in doing so, they risked revealing to Graham that they were watching them.

The people in the small cabin had suffered much more than any of those in the prepper compound. Somehow these few had found one another after losing their entire families and realizing their immunity to the virus made them a much hated minority, endangered by the fact that they were known to carry the virus.

They could see Graham had somehow picked up foundlings whom he might have determined as being of no concern to him, but despite that he’d collected them and brought them to safety. They knew he’d just stumbled onto Tala and the old man, but even they had been accepted. Graham’s kindness in taking in Dalton’s young cousin without question had earned him a great deal of respect from all the preppers. They felt they owed him, in a way, and maybe that’s why they’d all become emotionally involved and were cheering the carriers on. It was not just that Graham was Dalton’s boyhood friend; he’d taken these others in without question, in these horrible times, and the preppers couldn’t help but feel admiration for the man.

~ ~ ~

Dalton walked into the dining tent, where his wife Kim and another woman, Tammy, were making lunch for the children, who were watching the cartoon version of Pocahontas in the underground shelter.

They’d established a strict rule about what they could bring into the compound when an emergency hit, but one of the other dads had smuggled a DVD player into the shelter. When they found out, he argued it was necessary to keep the kids safe and occupied. They continued to argue about it until he revealed his collection of DVDs with all the Disney movies in addition to most of Clint Eastwood’s films. After the rest of them saw that, they voted that it was actually a good idea and then started having a weekly movie night for both the children and adults, using a wide-screen computer monitor. All in all it became an escape for them from the reality and dangers the carriers posed.

“Whatcha ladies making today?” Dalton asked Kim, planting a kiss on the top of her head.

“Tuna sandwiches and dehydrated apple rings.” Then she renamed them. “Otherwise known as tuna triangles and apple snacks,” she said and laughed when Dalton tickled her neck with his kiss.

“Stop that, mister, we’re working here,” Tammy butted in, amused at the two’s little love scene.

Dalton loved Kim’s smile. Actually, he loved everything about her, from her strawberry blond hair to her slim figure to her perfect, unpainted toes. Dalton had been terrified when the chaos broke out; he couldn’t get Kim and the boys to safety fast enough. Now the challenge was to keep them safe.

When everyone first gathered, they ate only MREs and stayed locked up in the underground shelter they’d built in secret over the years. Then, when things settled down—or, more precisely, when most of humanity had perished—they opened the doors, pulled out the military tents, and established new rules.

They began cooking with what supplies they had and the meat they’d hunted, saving the MREs for leaner times. Kim and Tammy also started baking bread, more out of a need for comfort than anything else. Tammy had always made their own bread at home, and now she was doing it on a larger scale for the rest of the group; it was something everyone appreciated. They were now able to make sandwiches out of peanut butter and jelly, or tuna, or even canned chicken. One night she caught Rick making one out of some cold roast venison and he swore it was the best thing he ever had. The only thing it was missing was the fresh tomato and lettuce.

They had yet to see the really cold snows of winter, but were already dreaming of tender green onions, crisp red radishes, heads of romaine, and peas tucked in their jade-green pods. This pastime, not unlike the drama of Graham’s camp, came a close second in the evening conversations. So much so that they would begin salivating until someone would put a stop to it by asking for mercy. Spring could not come fast enough. Even though it was way too early, they’d already set up the tables and hung the grow lights in anticipation of next February.

Tammy had the most knowledge of this, having worked in a nursery. She even knew how to spot plants in the wild that were either medicinal or edible if it came down to it.

One of the first outdoor projects that Dalton and the other men got busy on, besides putting up the tents, was fencing in their immediate compound. They’d stored the metal fencing in a buried bunker, complete with chain link pullers, posthole diggers, sledgehammers, and bags of concrete, and they worked quickly and efficiently. Since they’d spent so many weekends working together, they had already worked out the kinks in their relationships. Where Rick was bossy, Sam was contemplative, but they all figured out a way to work together and, surprisingly, there were few arguments. They depended on one another, and this was crucial in their situation. Above all they respected Dalton’s final word on any debate. He’d gotten them this far, and they owed him a lot.

With the perimeter up they were safer from wild animals and the occasional human who might stumble onto their camp, though that was unlikely these days. At first, after Graham’s camp established itself, exposure became their major concern. Now they realized they needed to keep an eye on his camp to keep its residents out of danger.

After the women had kicked Dalton out of the kitchen, he wandered over to check out Sam’s work on the deer hides. This man knew how to utilize every part of any catch. No one else had ever learned the art of tanning, but Sam had it down to a science. With the colder temperatures, there were fewer flies to contend with, even though he worked with a smoke fire nearby to keep the pests away.

“How’s it going, Sam?” Dalton asked.

“Good, and you?”

Dalton watched as Sam never broke the rhythm of rubbing the fat off the flesh side of the deer pelt during their conversation. After that, he knew Sam would layer plain salt over every inch of it, flat out. Sam had explained once that it drew the moisture out and helped keep the fur from falling out or decomposing. Because of the moisture in the air there, he often kept smoky fires nearby the pelts in progress and covered them loosely at night with tarps. After this procedure, Sam would soak the stiff pelts in cold water for a few hours, making them soft before the tanning process, which involved boiling a concoction. When it cooled he added volatile battery acid to it.

Sam did not permit any observers nearby during this process, not because he wanted to hide a secret ingredient but because of the danger it imposed. Submerging and soaking the skins in the solution became the next step. Then the extensive rinsing process, and then hanging to let the pelt drain. Finally, he would add oil to the skin inside with a sponge and put it on a frame stretcher.

Sam always made a point to neutralize the barrel of tanning solution with baking soda, keeping everyone far away, including himself, due to the toxic gas it emitted. Afterward he poured it over the gravel drive; it was no longer toxic to humans, but it kept some of the weeds down.

He would check on the hides daily, and when they were dry in the center he’d take them down and rub them with a wire brush on the skin side, softening and fluffing it a bit so that it would be workable. Then he’d dry it even more. So far these tanned pelts occupied a small corner of the compound building in increasing quantities, waiting for their final use.

Dalton knew Sam had never spent time in the military, but the experience would have been lost on the man. Sam said he’d learned everything he knew by being raised by his grandfather deep in the Montana forest. Dalton stipulated in the initial rules that all members must have spent some time in the discipline of the US military to join their group. After seeing what Sam could do, however, they made an exception.

Tanning hides, hunting, tracking, snaring, fishing, knife fighting, bow making, and beer brewing were only a few of the man’s many talents. Not only that, but Dalton liked the man because he didn’t talk too much. They got along well and would often have a beer, sitting in lawn chairs at night, with little pressure to talk, and Dalton liked it that way.

Sam’s sinewy frame, deeply tanned skin, and thick dark hair revealed him to be a true woodsman. Dalton guessed his height to be about five eleven. He’d never seen a man tread through the forest as quietly as Sam did, and he liked to go on hunts with him just to watch the way Sam manipulated various natural obstacles without a sound.

Often the group would debate different decisions they needed to make, since Dalton required everyone to have a voice. This became the only cultural difference in the group, as Sam would often just act on his own expertise without consulting the others. It was automatic for him. It always ended up being the right decision anyway, but Dalton explained to Sam that he needed to consult them first before acting on something that affected them all.

Sam didn’t have a problem adjusting to this. He wanted to get along, so when the issue came up for building the outdoor bathroom facilities, Sam waited patiently for all in the committee to have their say, adding to the design.

Then he said, “You could put it there and do it that way if you want to breathe in the aroma right around supper time as the cool evening breeze floats this way. But I’d suggest you move it down the natural slope of the land here.” He pointed his worn index finger to the corner at the back of the sketch. “Dig two fifteen-foot holes to put the outhouses over, keep plenty of ash and wood chips to spread after use. Also, I suggest each father teach his boys to piss out behind it through the fence into the brush to help keep the deer and their predators away. But that’s what I’d do. Otherwise, you’re going to have a line forming in the morning with this many people and we’ll have to fill in the shit-Popsicle holes in the middle of winter when the ground is too frozen to dig new ones.”

After Sam’s rare monologue, he walked off to work. They were all silent, imagining what a year’s worth of “shit Popsicles” would look like. Rick broke the silence by laughing, and then said, “Sounds good to me; let’s do it his way.” The others emphatically agreed right away without further comment and walked away to get two outhouses built in the newly designated location.

Sadly, when Sam had arrived at the camp, he revealed his wife had died three months earlier of breast cancer. He and his seven-year-old daughter had stayed in quarantine together, and never showed any sign of the virus. It was tragic for the two in quarantine to suffer such a personal loss as they were observed and tested. Dalton attributed much of Sam’s quietness to mourning, though they never talked about it.

Anyone could see that Sam had once been a very happy man. His daughter Adelaide—Addy, for short—greeted him each evening by jumping into his strong outstretched arms, her dark ponytail swinging as he carried her to bed. She often fell asleep with him sitting at the edge of her bed. Dalton had seen Sam carry Addy to their quarters, walking in that same soundless way of his, many times.

Dalton left Sam to his work and went back to what occupied most of his time: planning for the safety of these people. Rick was where he’d left him, watching The Days of Graham’s Camp, which was the soap opera name the preppers had given the surveillance videos. “Anything up?” he asked.

“Nope, nothing but watching mud dry here,” Rick answered, leaning back in his office chair. “Something must have happened, though, to cause that dog to run off into the woods like that with Twin Number Two right behind him, her weapon at the ready,” Rick speculated. “What do you think about putting up a few more cameras out there?”

“Is it integral to our safety, Rick?” Dalton asked, “or simply for our entertainment?”

“I know we have to draw the line at what makes sense for us, but let’s say something happened to one of them out there and we couldn’t see it and the person died as a result. Wouldn’t you want to know how it happened, and if it could have been prevented?”

“We’re not God, Rick. We can’t save them every time. I agree we should try to prevent any danger that comes to them that could also jeopardize us, like the men that came in the other night. But if Graham gets taken down by some wild animal, the lady will just have to take over. She’s capable. We can’t step in for stuff like that,” Dalton said, trying to convince himself in the process.

Rick sat up in his chair. “All right, look. If the little guy was running for his life from that cougar in our direction, you can’t tell me you wouldn’t throw on your hazmat suit, grab your gun, and go running if you knew Camp Graham wasn’t aware of it. We are involved now, since that first night we let them live. If it weren’t for the virus, we would have already brought them in. They’re good people and mostly children.”

“Deadly children, and that’s why we monitor them. You were the first one to argue against picking up Mark when this all started, and rightly so. It’s just because of boredom and you watching them that you’ve become so soft, Rick. If one of those kids comes wandering into our camp, no matter how innocent, we’ll all die. Are you willing to risk Bethany for that?”

“No, of course not. I just think it can be managed.”

“They need to learn about us so that doesn’t happen. These kids are going to grow up. Theirs and ours. They need to know about the dangers.” Rick pointed at the monitor. “We need to teach them how to live with us, apart and together, if that makes sense. We can help each other.”

“Look, for now I don’t see the real need to put cameras on the east side of their camp. We can debate the rest later with the council. Is the hunt group back yet?” Dalton was changing the subject.

“Naw, they’ll be checking in soon though.”

Dalton began looking over plans for the aquifer for the garden when he heard Rick say, “What the hell? Look, camera five!” he shouted.

Dalton came up behind Rick’s chair and focused on display five as he watched the two previous men in the forest on the lake side hiding behind brush watching as Tala and the girls were hanging clean sheets up to dry on the outside line. “Go to camera three. Can you turn it along the shoreline? See, there.” He pointed to brush lying over their canoe, half concealing it. Going back to camera five, they watched as the men backtracked to their canoe. They quietly slipped away through the water without detection in the late afternoon.

“Dammit, if someone had been on watch south of there, they would have shot the bastards,” Rick said. Then they saw Bang running from the forest line, as fast as his little legs would go, up to Tala.

There had been a witness after all.

35 On Watch

“So they were watching the girls? Then what happened?” Graham asked, trying to remain calm. He held Bang out in front of him. The panic-stricken boy was breathing hard and trying to catch his breath. Mark had found him first and taken him to Graham right away.

Bang looked at Graham, and then up at Tala and shook his head, like he wasn’t going to say more with her standing there. Graham picked up on it and asked, “Tala, can you leave us alone for a minute?”

“Sure,” she said, leaving the men to decipher the issue at hand.

“All right, go on,” Graham said.

Bang made a confused face. He knew it was bad, but didn’t know why exactly or what it meant and then said, “Those bad guys said, ‘They have too many women.’ Then the other one said that the younger two wouldn’t hold up, so it would be better to take the mom. They think Tala’s our mom?”

Graham stood up and called, “Tala, where are the girls?”

“They’re on watch,” she said.

Both Graham and Mark raced out the door without saying a word. Each headed in the opposite direction to secure the girls as fast as possible, without having to mention who would go where. Graham came up on Macy’s back, startling her from behind.

“What? Graham, you scared me!”

“Nothing, I just want you to come back to the cabin.” Graham was pointing, and Macy noticed that his finger was shaking. Then, out of breath, he rubbed the side of his bearded face and neck.

“What’s wrong with you? Do you always do that when you’re nervous?” Macy asked. He only pointed, indicating that Macy get back to the cabin.

“Did I do something wrong?” she asked him as they walked, with Macy marching in front of Graham.

“No, Macy, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He stopped and hugged the girl into his side and looked behind him as he took her back to the cabin. Once they hit the clearing, he saw Mark dragging a disgruntled Marcy behind him.

“I can’t believe this!” Marcy said, outraged.

“What?” Macy demanded “What’s with you guys? Now there’s nobody on watch.”

“Get in the cabin,” Graham nearly yelled at them. “We’ll talk about it in there,” he said in a slightly lower tone.

Graham held the door open for all of them to enter.

“Look, gang, we have a serious threat. I had hoped they’d given up after we took down one of them, but it looks like I was wrong. My first thought is that no females should do watch,” Graham said.

“That’s crazy. You can’t keep watch with just you and the boys,” Marcy said.

“I said it was my first thought, Marcy.”

“What exactly happened?” Macy emphasized the word exactly with her hands out.

Graham looked her in the eye and said, “Basically, Bang saw the two men that escaped from here the other night spying on you ladies putting the laundry up on the line. They said something indicating that they wanted to take one of you. So, that makes it a threat—to you. Understand now?”

Macy looked a little white, because she understood exactly what he meant then.

“I knew those jokers were up to no good the moment I spied them,” Ennis said.

“Yes, you did,” Graham said.

Tala spoke up, “Marcy’s right, though. You guys can’t do the watch work all on your own. What are we going to do?”

“I think we should block the lake entrance,” Mark said.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Ennis said. “But how?”

After a few seconds of silence, no one had an answer for the situation.

“Ennis, what do you think?” Graham asked.

“Well, we know they’re coming by canoe from the southeast, across the lake. We’ve only seen the three men, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have more at their base. And they want to take one of ours by force, and they’re planning to do it soon,” Ennis said, his angry voice increasing in volume.

“What we don’t know,” Ennis continued, “is when they will act on this threat. But they will act on it, and we need to be ready for them.”

“They’d have to drive a long way, and we’d hear them coming if they came down the driveway. So don’t you think we can still keep watch there?” Tala asked.

“I don’t want to chance it, Tala. They could just as easily go through the east side of the forest, grab you or one of the girls, and haul you back through to their canoe in the middle of the night and we’d never know it,” Graham said, shaking his head as the image of Campos carrying off Marcy popped into his head.

“There are just not enough of us,” Mark said, putting his arm around Marcy’s shoulders. She dropped her gaze; obviously she was thinking about the scenario Graham had just presented.

“I agree,” Graham said aloud. “We’ll run ourselves ragged just on watch patrol and not get the things we need to get done daily. So, we only watch from the lakeside during the day, with two on, and at night we keep sentry up in here.” Graham nodded. They’d already started doing that when it really became too cold to ask anyone to stay outside at night.

“When any of the ladies goes outside, we always have them under guard,” Ennis said.

“We could set up a trap for them,” Bang said. They all looked at him now, not having noticed him before because he was so quiet. But Bang had come up with something brilliant.

“Yeah, we could booby trap the shoreline with those bear traps we found. Too bad we only have two. Some hidden cameras would be nice,” Mark said.

“That’s not a bad idea, boy,” Ennis agreed.

“We have to be careful one of us doesn’t accidently fall into the traps, though, especially Sheriff. That’s all we need—someone getting their leg clinched by a rusty bear trap,” Tala said.

“No one goes near the shoreline then. We’ll set it up. The trail leading down is off limits for now,” Mark said, as if making up rules as they went along.

Then Graham remembered his days from camp and how they pranked one another. Those were the good old days. His mind switched back to planning exactly how they could maintain their perimeter with a few well-placed traps. Perhaps they didn’t need greater numbers after all. Graham got to work, taking the boys with him and confining the girls to the cabin for now, just to be safe.

36 A Decision

“Dammit, I wish we’d put cameras in the cabin now!” Dalton could hear Rick yell through to the mess tent.

He smiled to himself as he stirred his coffee. “What the hell are we going to do without nondairy creamer?” he muttered absentmindedly. These odd things continually went through everyone’s minds. The “what happens when?” scenarios seemed like a game they played in the evenings now, right after The Days of Graham’s Camp spiel.

As Dalton walked back into their tent, he knew his friend was running various scenarios through his well-trained military mind. He was the technology equipment expert and, frankly, Dalton could count on his right hand how many times Rick had saved his life with that blessed orb of his. Dalton came through the opening, ducking his head under the frame, and could see Rick as he’d expected to find him, leaning back in his swivel chair, fingers intertwined over his balding scalp, thumping them. It was Rick’s thinking pose.

“Stop it,” Dalton said.

“What? I’m just thinking it through,” Rick said.

“I know, that’s the problem,” Dalton said, pulling up his chair.

“Just hear me out.”

Dalton wanted to tell him they couldn’t get involved again, but he knew the man wouldn’t stop until he had his say. Rick turned in his swivel chair and lifted his hands. He was a hand talker, and Dalton often wondered, if they were to literally tie Rick’s hands behind his back, would he be able to say a word?

“Let’s say these are really, really bad guys,” Rick began. “We don’t have audio, but we know they were spying on the girls. It’s highly possible that they’re up to something and plotting a dastardly deed as we speak. The boys and the old man are not enough to help Graham protect that camp.

“These bad guys want something, and they’re going to take it if there are no obvious consequences. If they come in and kidnap Tala, or one of the kids, Graham will go after them and probably get himself killed in the process. Then what? The kids are left with an old man, who probably won’t make it through the winter and then we”—he pointed around—“will have to intervene anyway. Those kids won’t make it on their own. We all know that,” he added, spreading his hands wide for emphasis.

“Let’s just say we give them a few supplies,” Rick continued. “Or better yet, we set the cameras up for them covertly and leave them a note.”

Dalton shook his head. “Too risky. They’re expecting the bad guys to invade, and we walk in? They’d probably shoot one of us. You have to remember that, in their minds, we’re the bad guys too. They don’t know we’re watching them or looking out for their best interest. They just know that we dropped off a boy, tied up and suffering from starvation, dehydration, and hypothermia, and they had to nurse him back to health. Not only that, but we threatened to exterminate them if they didn’t stay to their own areas.

“I’m pretty sure Graham would do anything he could to protect those kids and the others, and if he perceived us as a threat, he’d shoot. They’re armed. Don’t forget that. You’re getting too wrapped up to see the real risk here.” Dalton fell into thoughtful silence, frowning. And, because this had been Rick’s plan all along, he waited with bated breath to see what Dalton had to say.

Finally Dalton spoke again. “But, you know, if we were to go in, two men, use the mist gas. Knock them all out and then put up the cameras with audio. Take them a few gifts so that they’re not too pissed off when they wake up . . .”

Rick nodded, hiding his triumphant smile. He knew from experience that the lure had worked again.

“What do they need, and what can we spare?” Dalton asked.

Rick grinned, but not for long, because he knew better. Dalton recognized he’d been played, but it was a game of theirs initiated many times in the past. Rick called it the Make It Dalton’s Idea Game and said it worked on his wife too, but she was harder to deceive than Dalton—if one could call it deception.

Rick pulled a prewritten list out of his pocket and began to read:

“A generator; motion detector lights; shots for Fido; tetanus and flu shots for the rest, and a pneumonia shot for the old man; a water pump, a can of garden seeds; multivitamins; a radio unit with our call sign in case Graham needs our help.”

“You think you’re pretty swift, don’t you?” Dalton asked rhetorically, then rose from his chair, put on his hat, and said “Get it ready” as he left the tent.

Rick did a silent little happy dance in his chair and started making the arrangements. Secretly, most of it was already figured out. Since the Sterns family, unfortunately, hadn’t made it through quarantine, several immunizations were going to go to waste anyway. Why not use them on the carriers?

~ ~ ~

Later that evening Dalton addressed the council, which consisted of one member of each family. In most cases that was the husband, but in a few it was a wife. After Dalton had stated the affairs of Graham’s camp everyone agreed the best course of action would be to intervene now, knowing what the consequences would be if something were to happen to Graham. No one wanted to see the children suffer more, even if they were carriers.

It was decided that Rick and Steven would go since Rick was the tech specialist and Steven the paramedic and could perform the immunizations on the sleeping carriers.

“It should take them no more than ten minutes to pull this off,” Dalton said.

“As long as there is no risk of exposure to us,” Steven said.

“There’s always a risk of exposure, and that’s why they will both go directly into quarantine again on their way back. We can’t take any chances. That’s our protocol anyway. Questions?” Dalton asked.

Nancy raised her hand. “If Rick’s in quarantine, who’s going to monitor Graham’s camp?” she asked.

A few snickers came from the group. Dalton rolled his eyes and said, smiling, “I will, in rotation with others. Look folks, I know they’re our only form of entertainment these days, but let’s keep in mind that one encounter with them in person could kill us all. It’s that dangerous. We’ve gotten this far together; let’s be smart about this. Rick’s right about intervening at this point, but we can’t keep doing it.” Dalton hadn’t forgotten, though, that he’d been the one to insist on bringing in his young cousin, then finding a home for him, so in a way, he was the one who’d started breaking the rules. Shoving that thought aside, he added, “Those people have to take care of themselves, just as we do.”

Dalton always hated being the voice of reason, but he could see that if they kept down this road they might become too lax in their vigilance against the virus, and none of them could afford that.

37 Trick or Treat

In the dim evening light, Graham, Ennis, and the boys went down through the snow to the lake, the younger ones making use of their tactical maneuvers. Ennis walked with cautious steps. He wasn’t complaining, but Graham knew he was in pain. As he watched the boys, armed with their bows and acting quite serious, he still only saw boys in pretend mode.

“For the end of the world it sure is getting crowded around here,” Ennis said and Graham had to chuckle at the old man because he was right—cranky, but right.

For some damn reason, those that were left all headed for the woods. Graham wondered if there was something to human nature that embedded a survival instinct to do just that. Like the monarch butterfly, flying from Canada to Mexico every year of its life. Perhaps humans have a natural instinct telling them that when the world goes to hell, head for the trees.

Ennis had scrubbed the rusty bear traps and Mark helped test them to be sure they worked properly. After setting them, they had Sheriff watch, while Graham used a stick to set the traps off several times. The dog jumped back and learned the danger. They hoped that would be enough to keep him from injury. They found a few obvious places a man would have to step in trying to come up to the camp, and they placed the traps in these likely places, covering them lightly with shoreline debris to disguise them. This only worked if the intruder stepped in exactly the right spot and, of course, there was no reliable way to make that happen.

“More than likely we’ll see a deer running like hell, with one of these caught on its hoof,” Ennis said.

“Uh, I don’t want that to happen,” Bang said, because he was partial to the animals.

Ennis shook his head. “It can’t be helped.”

Graham found a black permanent marker in the glove box of Tala’s car, took a piece of scrap plywood, and wrote trespassers will be shot. He nailed it to a tree so it couldn’t be missed on approach to their lake entry. It wasn’t lost on him, the irony that Campos had also posted such signs. It disturbed him, but he didn’t know what else to do.

Though it wasn’t a perfect plan, he lacked supplies and better ideas. The men began to pull back strategic tree limbs that would flip loose at the slightest jolt and startle a person sneaking in at night up the trail. They also camouflaged boards with upturned nails in them along the meandering path.

After they were done, the four of them gazed down at their handiwork and Mark said, “Too bad they’re not lasers.”

The two older men chuckled at that. “Yeah. If they were, they’d have a hell of a time getting through in one piece,” Ennis said.

“Well, I think that’s good for now,” said Graham “I’ll stay up tonight. Ennis, you can take over around three,” Graham said.

Graham held the cabin door open for the others to enter, and then whistled for Sheriff to come in. Soon the dog appeared at the edge of the forest and trotted in for the night. Graham took one last look at the bright, moonlit clearing, and then closed the cabin door to the outside dangers for the night. He smelled the wonderful barley and cougar stew Tala had created, along with the pinewood scent in the crisp air from the woodstove.

After Tala’s wonderful dinner, Graham took his post as the rest wandered off to bed. Unlike the world of the past, there was seldom idle time. You woke with the light of dawn, and then crashed at night as soon as permitted, only to do it all over again the next day. Actually, he thought it was good for the kids. They all seemed to be doing well, considering what they’d been through, and for Graham, at least, that said something.

As for the adults—well, he missed his family and work. Tala had pretty much replaced one family for another in terms of caring for them. Sure, she missed her family terribly but you wouldn’t know it, watching as she cared for this bunch. Old Ennis had been written off by relatives who felt he wasn’t worth anything any longer. Boy, if they could see him now! Graham wasn’t sure what he’d do without the old guy’s advice and company, even as cranky as he was.

Graham kept watch with Sheriff by his side. This dog was another family member to him, really. Sheriff had saved his ass once and warned them of danger countless other times. In the past Graham had often said he preferred cats to dogs. What a ridiculous notion that seemed to him now; in this world a dog like Sheriff was essential, and now he understood the classic novels like Old Yeller more than ever before.

He sat in the quiet room draped in darkness, listening to the soft snores from the bunkroom. He wondered about Tala and knew something had begun to grow between them, but he wasn’t ready to give it a name just yet. Something still held him back, even though he could smell her across the room at night. Their eyes often locked randomly during odd moments during the day, and that night when he’d held her close in the forest as the invaders came in, his instinctive protectiveness had surprised him in its intensity.

After that he’d noticed she did little things for him too. Even though she didn’t drink coffee, she made the brew and presented it to him every morning just the way he liked it. Nelly had done that too. Though he appreciated Tala’s effort, it was a painful reminder of the past, as if his gratitude toward Tala was somehow dishonoring Nelly. This had the effect of making him feel a bit jaded about the feelings he knew were developing. He thought it might be mutual, but he wasn’t certain if she just enjoyed playing house or if she really sensed the same thing.

Graham looked out the window and up toward the bright moon. You could always tell when things were going to get chilly: when the moon was especially clear on a winter night, it was going to be extra frosty the next day. He got up and added another log to the fire, disturbing Sheriff in the process. The dog jerked and settled down again after watching to see what Graham was doing. Then his ears went on radar patrol again. It was funny to watch the dog do that. His eyes would slowly close and then his ears would continue to pivot like some sort of radar detection device put on autopilot when the dog slept. Graham ran a hand down his furry back. “Dude, you smell like bad Cheetos,” he whispered.

Graham once again scanned the perimeter and noticed a doe walking into the snow-covered clearing, followed by two smaller deer munching on the dry, telescoping grass near the tree line. They knew he had his eyes on them, but seemed not to care enough to leave. Graham liked to watch them, especially during the silence of the night. He wanted to go wake Bang up to show him what they looked like in the early morning blueness, but he resisted the temptation.

Of all the kids, Bang seemed to be closest to him, perhaps because he was the first of the immune that Graham had encountered or maybe it was because the boy was completely dependent on him and had been entrusted to him by his brave mother. Whatever the reason, he could say with full honesty that he loved Bang as his own now. Graham knew that if something were to happen to the boy, he’d grieve as if he were his own flesh and blood—and maybe that had been Hyun-Ok’s intention all along. He was honored now that she’d chosen him for the boy.

Graham could hear footsteps shuffling his way. The old man couldn’t sleep past three in the morning anyway, so that seemed a good time to change watchman. “Hey, Ennis, sleep well?” Graham asked.

“As well as an old man can after the apocalypse,” Ennis said, then asked, “anything happen?”

“Only intruders are those deer,” Graham said, motioning to the window.

“It’s too light with a bright moon for some fool to come to try something stupid,” Ennis said.

“Sure is, but I’m off to sleep right now, Mr. Ennis,” Graham said, and as he got up, Sheriff followed him into the bunkroom, climbing on Macy’s bed as usual. It seemed to Graham that, even though Sheriff was a family dog, he was ultimately locked to Macy. If it came down to it, he’d abandon them all for her alone. He didn’t blame the dog; she was a good girl.

Graham fell fast asleep thinking of this new family unit and the events that had brought them together, meeting here in his grandfather’s cabin after the end of most of humanity. His next conscious memory that night sounded very far away, like a glass breaking and then a bark out of Sheriff, warning him. Sudden dread raced through him, but he could do nothing about it.

38 The Debriefing

They worked without even hand signals. Though the light outside was bright for the dead of night, they were able to put up all the exterior cameras without a hitch. Many of them were disguised as natural evergreen items you’d find in any garden variety forest, so their detection was unlikely. With that done, they headed for the main event. It was a little risky, mostly because of the dog.

They had to plan it right. There was no better detector than a family police dog, so charming Sheriff was essential. Since that was impossible, the next best thing was to put the dog under as quickly as possible.

The first windowpane came out fairly quietly but the second one shattered in with the cold temperatures. It couldn’t be helped, and with the noise there was no turning back now.

Rick already had the canister ready and simply pulled the fuse. Instead of tossing it in willy-nilly, he sprayed the stream directly at the dog first, which put him out fast, then tossed it into the cabin. At least they wouldn’t have any accidents now, and knowing that relief, they were able to pull the old window open without incident. They’d already loosened one pane close to the old man by the front door, sending him to sleep right away.

Rick was a little concerned for the small boy. The amount of gas that he would inhale could result in a respiratory issue for him. But, as luck would have it, he slept in the farthest bunk and received less of the gas. Once they were in, Rick blew a sigh of relief when he realized Graham had his hand around the trigger of his shotgun and one foot off the bed. He wasn’t sure if the man actually slept that way or if he’d had a chance to react. In any event, Rick quickly pulled out the prefilled needles for the man and popped the common flu shot into his right shoulder. The next, larger one, he slid under his right arm’s back fat. That one was special and they all got it. He and Steven kept it a secret, and when Dalton found out, Rick hoped he wouldn’t be too angry. Then Rick quickly gave Graham a tetanus shot.

Each man, contained in his hazmat gear, carefully and quickly went from person to person. Rick then wandered into the living area to get the old man by the door. He had four shots coming. “Poor sucker,” Rick whispered, “got to get you through the winter, Pops.” After he finished administering the shots, he put up the tiny hidden cameras in several spots throughout the cabin living space, and on his way back to the bunkroom, he continued to plant a few more, adjusting their view as he went.

By the time Rick finished, Steven had completed the dog’s inoculations too. Then Steven reached through the open window and pulled in the gifts, handing the contents to Rick one by one. Rick put them ceremoniously in the middle of the living area floor, so the residents of Graham’s camp would know it was intentional, like Christmas morning. He laid a note from Dalton on the very top.

Having completed their tasks without incident, the two men exited the window once more and replaced the glass panes with ones they’d brought along for the occasion, quickly piping the sealant into place. They knew the mystery of how they entered the cabin would be revealed in time, but in their thinking, they were keeping the heat in on this family that they had come to care for during their evening entertainment.

With moonlight guiding their way back, they needed no artificial lighting. It seemed like the old days to them, and somehow they felt gleeful to be back in action again. When would they have the chance to do something like this again? Unfortunately, Rick and Steven now had to go into quarantine on their arrival back at their own camp, but the mission had gone off without a hitch and they felt good about it.

Joking while they ran through the night, Rick said, “I can’t wait to see Graham’s face in the morning,” as a parent would say in anticipation of Christmas morning.

Steven looked at his comrade through his suit’s clear safety casing and laughed aloud, but both became solemn when they heard Dalton’s voice saying, “Cut the crap and get back to camp.” Rick had a strong suspicion Dalton was smiling, too, as he stood watching them on his computer screen, though he didn’t let it come through in his voice.

As the men got closer they scared a few unsuspecting deer away and the deer scared them back in turn when several the men hadn’t detected rushed past them.

Knowing the procedure, they entered the wash chamber camouflaged outside the security area of the preppers’ campgrounds in the forest. As they stood in their suits, chemicals sprayed them as they turned around. They danced the Hokey Pokey for the cameras, complete with singing. Both men were feeling a little goofy after all the seriousness they had been through. They’d started doing this Hokey Pokey business a while back, and now it was an established ritual to break up the gravity of the situation as they entered quarantine.

Both men finished their last twirl, and the next set of doors opened for them. They stood in place, removed the hazmat gear, and stepped into the new sterile environment. Then the doors behind them closed, and they were again misted. With closed eyes they twirled like airplanes in a tailspin, but there was no singing this time, as they had to hold their breath for too long. The final set of doors opened and then they entered another room set up with two cots beside monitors that they needed to hook up to one another. A small refrigerator with a microwave on top and a toilet behind a screen were positioned in the far corner.

A disembodied voice broke the silence: “We loaded a little surprise this time. Check the play list on your iPad, Rick.”

Rick walked over to the digital read and saw that all the episodes of Seinfeld were listed. “All right! Thanks, guys!” he said.

Steven said, “Shit, seriously?” and picked up his own iPad to see what awaited him. “House and The Walking Dead. Very funny,” he said to the voice known as Clarisse, the Quarantine Queen.

“Your families are waiting to hear from you, of course, but have already been notified of the mission’s success. You’ve both been here before and know what to do. This is the first hour, so get started. We have to treat this just like the first time,” Clarisse said.

Both men unzipped their disposable Tyvek suits at the same time, stepping out of them and tossing them into the chute that extended to the instant incinerator. They could hear the first chamber going through the incineration process on the front part of the building. In a kind of silent ballet both men, wearing standard issue boxer shorts and white T-shirts, walked over to their separate sides and inserted needles into the ports that were had been placed in their arms ahead of time for the continuous blood draws the quarantine procedures demanded. They withdrew their own blood with use of the ports, and put the samples in airlock chambers on each side that would be tested the first hour, second hour, sixth hour, twelfth hour, and so on and so forth, to make sure the probability of the virus detection maintained the predicted outcome.

This was not the fun part. If the virus was present, you were given the choice to use the red injection syringe which you could take with you to the incinerator portal to make things easier for the living. Simply inject it into the port, fall asleep, and never wake up. When no vital signs were detected after a certain amount of time, the portal would simply incinerate the remains and the virus along with it. Or, as some of the arrivals found, they could spend the last of their days in the comfortable bedroom chamber until nature took its course and then the whole room could be set to incineration to keep the virus from spreading.

This is what they’d had to do with the Carsons. Each and every member of the team watched as first the son and then the daughter, followed by the father and then finally the mother, all succumbed to the virus. The mother cared for each of them until she no longer could. A wonderful mother and wife to the very end, she saw them through. It tortured the preppers to watch it all, and it came as a relief to see the last vital sign finally go flat. Then, of course, they felt guilty for feeling the relief. Since then, all who had to go through quarantine tried to inject some humor as armor when entering the chamber. The reality of what might be required of them was too damn hard.

After the two guys had finished their blood withdrawals, they put on the vitals monitors, expertly attaching them where they needed to go, and then pulled back the covers to their cots. Once comfortable, they used the radio system to check in with their families. Both chatted with their loved ones only briefly because it was late; better coherence would come in the light of day. They were too punch-drunk to go to sleep just yet, so Steven got up and checked his little refrigerator, stocked with the things he favored. For now he pulled out a bottle of water and drank that down.

Rick asked because he wanted to know and because he knew they would always be listening: “Are the cameras up and ready? Camp still asleep?” he asked the disembodied voice.

Dalton answered, “Yes, Rick, they’re still asleep. I’m zooming in on the boy right now. He’s on his side, so I can’t tell much other than his chest is rising and falling, but that’s a good sign. Did Graham have any reaction time?” Dalton asked.

Rick lay in bed looking up at the wall with his arms crossed behind his head, tapping his fingers and making the wires jiggle in the process. “His trigger finger was happy, with one leg ready to go, but that was as far as he got,” Rick said.

“I have something to tell you, Dalton,” Rick said after a moment of silence, feeling guilty about his omission already. Dalton let it hang in the air a moment as he wrote down notes, observing the sleeping members of Graham’s camp.

“Save it, Rick. I already know,” Dalton said grouchily.

Rick winced.

“Wished I’d thought of it first,” Dalton said, knowing Rick felt guilty about implanting the trackers without his permission.

“They’re all going to be pretty pissed in the morning, including that dog,” Rick said looking over at Steven, who just shrugged his shoulders. Somehow, this thought just now occurred to Rick.

“Don’t worry, I told them it was all your idea in the note,” Dalton said.

“Goodnight, jerkwad.” Rick rolled over, taking his covers and wires with him.

“Goodnight, princess,” Dalton said.

~ ~ ~

Dalton continued to monitor Graham’s group from the cameras. Soft snoring sounds crept through the microphones and not-so-soft snoring sounds invaded the one in the living room. Everything seemed fine as Dalton paid close attention to the lakeside and front perimeter cameras at the same time. One risk was having the carriers off sentry duty, making them defenseless. Dalton risked the chances that the intruders wouldn’t attack during such a bright moonlit night, and this had paved the way for the preppers’ own shenanigans. They had to do this now to give the members of Graham’s camp the things they needed to protect themselves better—and sooner, so they would be prepared for the next night attack.

It was quite something as he watched them get through the lake trail without falling victim to one of their primitive booby-traps. The ambient light of the moon cast down on them and the intricacy of the traps challenging as they maneuvered through the maze, often tripping, which caused the other men watching the monitors to hold their breath.

At the second hour, both men in quarantine were prompted to get up and do the second blood withdrawal. After that, they could each sleep for four hours until prompted again. “So far so good,” came Clarisse’s soft voice.

“Goodnight, Clarisse,” both men said in unison. It somehow was reminiscent of a bygone cartoon involving two chipmunks.

The voice laughed and said nicely to them, “Goodnight, boys.”

The lights went off, and the two men drifted off finally as infrared lighting watched their every breath and pulse for the first of the ten-day observation.

39 A Sigh of Relief

It was Sam who first detected movement. It was pretty damn cold outside, so he’d come in for another cup of coffee to warm up between projects. He’d passed by Dalton, who was asleep with his head down on his arm in front of the monitors, drooling on himself.

Sam filled his mug, walked up behind Dalton’s chair, and observed the screens. “Hey, Dalton,” Sam said quietly, tapping him on the shoulder. “I think one of them is up.”

Dalton lifted his head and tried to focus on the screen Sam pointed to. It was the little boy moving. Dalton watched and then refocused the hidden camera closer. He said a quick thank-you to Rick for instinctively knowing the exact spot to place the concealed cameras. On the top of the last bunk, he saw the boy’s leg pull up; then the boy pushed up on his hands.

“Oh, thank God,” Dalton said under his breath, releasing his fear as he emptied his lungs. Of all the carriers, the boy was the one at greatest risk of overdose by the sleeping vapor they had used. They had no way to calculate where he slept in the room, so this was the biggest hazard. The vapor gas was good, but had been known to have a 15 percent chance of death, especially in small children.

Dalton and Sam watched and were able to tell by the look on his face that the sleepy boy, looking around, was coming to the conclusion that something wasn’t right. It was clearly daylight and everyone remained in their bunks. The two men watched as Bang climbed down the ladder, looking confused. He jumped the remaining two rungs without making much of a sound. The microphones were working well; Dalton could even hear the blankets as they moved about.

The boy walked up to Graham’s sleeping form.

“Oh, here we go,” Sam said.

Bang shook Graham’s shoulder. No response.

“Graham, wake up,” Bang said, whispering at first.

Graham showed no signs of life. Bang tried again with more force, using both of his hands and his weight as he pushed on Graham’s chest.

“Graham, wake up,” Bang said again, a little louder this time.

Getting no reaction, the boy started to look around. It appeared to Dalton that the boy was on the verge of panic.

“Calm down, buddy, they’ll be fine,” Dalton said out loud to himself and Sam, but wished he could reassure the boy himself.

Bang returned his attention to Graham and put his ear on Graham’s chest, presumably to hear his heartbeat. He lifted his head, patted Graham twice lightly on his chest, and looked around at the others.

“Crap, poor kid,” Sam said, making Dalton feel even more guilty.

Bang walked over to the girls’ side of the room and slid his hand down Sheriff’s furry side without getting a reaction. He laid his head down on the dog’s side too, and must have heard the rhythm he needed to because he stood up again.

“Smart kid,” Dalton said.

He pushed roughly on Macy’s back, moving the whole mattress with both her and the dog, but neither stirred. Then, as if it just occurred to him, Bang ran around Macy’s bunk to Tala’s against the wall and saw that her long black hair fell over her face. He gently moved it away and then said, “Tala, wake up” as he shook her shoulder. He put his small hand up to her mouth and nose. Feeling for breath? Yes. Of course.

“Uh, this is hard to watch,” Sam said.

“He’ll be fine. At the back of the room, he was the least affected by the gas, so it’s likely that either Mark or Graham will wake up next,” Dalton speculated.

As if the boy read Dalton’s mind, he ran from the girls’ side and climbed the ladder over Graham to investigate Mark. This time, he climbed up right over Mark’s legs and up to his chest, shoving the older boy hard and saying in a loud voice, “Mark, wake up.”

“Stop it, kid!” Mark yelled, scaring Bang and causing him to jump back.

Sam sloshed his coffee in reaction to the surprised response. Dalton also jumped back.

“Whew!” Dalton said and grabbed his chest as he saw his young cousin alive and pissed off. Sam slapped Dalton on the back, knowing it was important to Dalton that the boy be cared for.

Bang leaned down and whispered to Mark, “Something’s wrong. Everyone’s still asleep.”

Even though the boy whispered, all Dalton had to do was turn up the volume to hear the conversation. Sam was surprised and a bit concerned such technology existed.

“That’s not right,” Sam said, and took a sip of his cooling coffee.

“Yeah, well, I wish we’d had these in China before everything went to shit,” Dalton said. He turned the volume back down to a normal level. Dalton started noting the time each boy woke up on the log he had in front of him. If there were problems with the others, they could at least read the data and try to gauge what the likely waking time should be based on location and weight.

They could see Mark struggle to come around. He put his hand blindly on Bang’s shoulder and tried to reassure the younger boy. Even though it was fully bright in the bunkroom, Mark said, “It’s okay, Bang, it’s just too early yet. Go back to bed.”

Bang nudged him again. “It’s daytime, Mark. Even Sheriff won’t wake up, or Graham or Marcy.” It was as if his using Marcy’s name triggered some automatic reflex; Mark elbowed himself up, squinted, blinked several times, and stared across the bunkroom at Marcy. “Crap, you’re right,” he said, rubbing his eyes. He sat up quickly, swayed, then asked, “What is going on? Ohh, the room’s spinning.”

He made his way down the ladder, then stumbled across the room. “Marcy? Marcy!” Mark yelled over to her, but there was no response. Dalton saw panic in his eyes, terror. Mark reached out to touch her, and winced. “Crap, my arm hurts,” he complained, rubbing the sore area.

“Mine too,” Bang said.

“Whiners,” Dalton kidded as he observed the scene.

Bang shimmied down the ladder after Mark and tried to push on Graham a few more times.

“Graham!” Bang said again, a panicky pleading in his voice. “Wake up, please wake up!”

Bang wiggled Graham’s bearded chin, causing his mouth to open slightly. Mark came and tried to help Bang. “Graham, wake up, something’s wrong!” he yelled.

“Wake up, something’s wrong, Graham. We need you!” the boys said again.

Dalton met Sam’s eyes and saw a reflection of his own feelings of culpability as they watched this unfold. “It’ll be okay,” Sam said, but didn’t sound so sure.

“Yeah,” Dalton answered. He didn’t feel all that certain, either.

~ ~ ~

Graham started moving reluctantly. He muttered, “Lea’ me ’lone,” and tried to roll back into the dream where Nelly and he lay on a blanket under the warm sun as he ran his hand over the life within her that they had created. Nelson for a boy, they’d decided, and Grace for a girl. The sunlight sparkled on her red hair and she laughed . . .

“Graham! Please! We need you!”

The boys? Yes. Both boys. Bang and Mark were shaking him, insisting something was wrong. Right, the boys needed him. He needed to help them. “Okay, I’m coming,” Graham murmured.

His eyes were still closed as he moved his legs around. Mark moved the gun away until Graham awakened fully. “I’m coming,” Graham repeated, but he dozed off again, so Mark tugged on his shoulder once more.

“I’m coming,” Graham said again.

He opened his eyes a slit and saw both boys looking at him with concern. “Wake up, Graham. Please!” Bang’s small voice trembled.

“I am,” Graham said.

He blinked his eyes a few times and then shook his head, trying to break free of the sleep that held him down.

“What’s going on?” he asked and felt a deep stab of pain in his right arm, like he’d been slugged, or maybe he’d pulled a muscle.

“We don’t know yet,” Mark said, and left his side to go over to look at Macy and Sheriff, who were in the same state as Graham, half awake, just beginning to stir. Mark climbed the ladder to Marcy and pushed her legs over. “Marcy,” he called to her again.

She lay on her left side. As the boy shook her back and forth, she became annoyed at the motion and lamely swiped her hand at whoever was pestering her.

Graham watched the commotion as Bang trying to help him stand. Not seeing Sheriff in motion concerned him right away. He squinted at the dog and then looked beyond him to Tala. “She’s still sleeping too,” Bang said, and Graham looked up at Bang, not certain how he knew that Graham’s concern was more for Tala than the others.

“Where’s Ennis?” asked Graham as Mark jumped down from Marcy’s bunk. Both boys looked at him like they didn’t know.

Graham swung both feet to the floor, hoping the room would stop moving if he planted them there. He rubbed the sides of his face and looked blearily at the floor in front of him, then stumbled toward the living area to check on Ennis.

“What’s all this?” Graham motioned with his opened hands to the pile of stuff lying on the floor of the living area.

“I don’t know,” Mark said. “We never left the bunkroom. We were too worried about you.” Graham shook his groggy head. He willed his legs to work, and walked around the pile of stuff, not even trying to inventory it yet, even though there was a big generator sitting there. Then he returned to the bunkroom and made it to Macy’s bunk first.

“Hey, Macy girl, wake up,” Graham said, shaking her slight body. When she only peered at him, confused, he grabbed her chin and shook it sideways a few times to bring her out of her stupor. She started to stir on her own and then Graham walked around to Tala.

“Tala,” he said. She lay on her side facing him. He completed what Bang had started and pushed the rest of Tala’s black raven hair over one ear, out of her face, and then sat on her mattress. “Tala, wake up,” he said again.

“What in the hell is going on in here with all this yellin’?” Ennis asked from where he stood in the doorway.

“Something’s wrong with people,” Bang said. “I don’t feel good, and no one wants to get up.”

Graham looked back down at Tala, who had opened her eyes at hearing Ennis gripe. “What’s the matter?” she asked him. “What’s Bang talking about?”

“Just try to wake up,” Graham said, and found himself stroking her long silky hair.

Mark got Marcy to sit up and she tried her best to stay that way, but her eyes closed again. She fought to stay awake, but wanted nothing more than to slide back to her pillow.

Bang tried to wake Macy up, but she was having none of it.

All at once, the four males seemed to notice, during all the commotion, that Sheriff had not budged at all. Nor was his chest rising, as it had earlier. His ears were not rotating to the obvious noises.

“Oh, no,” Graham said and pushed his weight over the edge of Tala’s bed.

The dog’s dead weight held Macy’s legs down under the covers. She wasn’t fully awake yet to comprehend what was really going on. She could only tell that everyone insisted she get up because she obviously had forgotten something important, though the group had not told her what that was yet, and she was annoyed by their demands.

Graham stroked the dog’s fur and reached his head down to listen to the dog’s heart. “He’s alive. He’s got a heartbeat. Let’s just give him time,” Graham said.

Then, looking from one to the other, he said “Does anyone know what happened?” He got nothing but negative head shaking. When he came back to Tala, she’d begun fading again, so he wrapped his arm around her waist and hauled her over to him. Ennis walked in and sat down behind Macy to help sit her up with Bang’s assistance.

“Maybe we’re getting it,” Bang said, and everyone knew what he meant but didn’t want to acknowledge it.

“Bang, you go get some water for the girls,” Ennis ordered.

Bang ran off, and Graham heard him shove a chair across the floor, then heard the water running.

Ennis felt Macy’s forehead. “She’s not feverish,” he said.

“How are you feeling, Ennis?” Graham asked while he rubbed his hands up and down Tala’s arms to help rouse her.

“Drugged up is the best way I can describe it,” Ennis said.

“Nothing happened last night? You didn’t see anything?” Graham asked him.

“No, I watched those deer in the yard and I don’t ’member much after that. Musta fell asleep,” he said.

Bang handed him a glass of water, and Ennis put the rim under Macy’s lips. “Take a sip, girl.”

She did, and then opened her eyes a little, but closed them just as quickly.

Macy was able to blink her eyes more now, so Mark reached down for the glass and Ennis handed it to him to do the same for Marcy.

Graham continued to rub Tala’s arms to keep her awake, but she just leaned against his chest, eyes closed.

“Tala, look at me,” Graham said, raising her chin. “You have to stay awake now, okay?” She nodded and tried to stand unsupported, but slumped. He grabbed her and thrust her toward the living area. “Walk,” he said. “We all need to move around more. That’ll help us, throw off the sleepiness we’re all feeling.”

“Ugh, what’s wrong with me?” Tala asked, stumbling forward as Graham propelled her into motion.

“I don’t know. We haven’t figured it out yet.” Graham guided her around the stuff on the floor. “Ennis, Mark—get those girls up and moving.”

Graham took Tala into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for her to sit in. He then went back into the bunkroom and grabbed the note off the pile of stuff. Ennis had Macy mostly mobile, and Graham just picked her up and carried her into the kitchen. Tala pulled the chair out for Macy and when Graham put her down, she held the girl upright.

“Bang,” Tala called. “Can you make some coffee, like I showed you?”

He nodded and began the work, carefully measuring coffee.

Mark and Ennis helped Marcy down the ladder, and they joined the others. Marcy sat in a chair beside Mark and put her head on the table, falling asleep again. Mark pulled her up and slid her over to lean upright against his chest.

The coffee aroma filled the small space, perking them all up, as Graham read the note to himself, then read it again and said, “Son of a bitch!” Hell, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but it sure caught everyone’s attention.

The letter shook in Graham’s hands. “They drugged us. That’s what this is. So they could break in here and give us this.” He motioned to the items on the floor.

“Your arms are sore, right?” He turned to address the rest of them. “They gave us all flu and tetanus shots and Ennis, you also got a pneumonia shot,” he added and shook his head in disbelief.

“That would explain why my arm stings,” Ennis said.

“I don’t know how to feel about this,” Graham said with indignation.

“Who did it?” Mark asked.

“The preppers, the people who had you,” Graham said.

Graham walked back into the bunkroom and looked at the stuff in the middle of the floor, then walked over to Sheriff and ran his concerned hand down the fur of the animal again. Sheriff felt warm and Graham could feel the dog’s pulse. He scanned the room and looked for any sign of forced entrance.

“Is the front door locked, Ennis?” Graham asked.

“Yep, been locked,” he said.

“The only other way in would be through the windows, then,” Graham tried to open the one closest to Tala’s bunk. The lock from the inside appeared in place. He opened it, letting in some of the cold air along with its moisture. Graham reclosed it and snapped the lock tight.

“How in the hell—?” he said under his breath as he strode back to the pile of items and knelt. Something about the window caught his eye again, and then he knew what he hadn’t seen before. From this low view, he caught on right away. He got up quickly and examined the panes. Clearly they were replacements, because the two on the bottom were newer, not with the wavy flaws of old glass and with a new bead of off-white caulking, unlike the rest.

“Too simple,” Graham said. Then he turned his back to the window and tried to see what the intruders would have seen in the same position.

“They got Sheriff first, and probably with the strongest hit. I’ll bet that’s why he’s still knocked out. He damn well better be okay,” Graham said with an ominous warning.

Still holding the letter, he watched as Ennis and Bang carefully handed out cups of coffee. Coming out of the sleepy stupor proved a challenge, especially for Macy, whom Tala kept jiggling, as much to snap herself out of it as to rouse Macy.

“I’m trying,” Macy said, grumbling.

“I know, dear. Here, try this.” Tala held a coffee mug to Macy’s lips. She looked as worried about the girls as their own mother would have been.

Graham watched them recover, trying to make sense of the situation. “I think they meant well,” he said with reluctance. “If they get exposed to us as carriers, they’re dead. I guess I can understand, but jeez . . . So they broke two panes out of the window. Used something to put us all to sleep. Opened the window and climbed in. Gave us all immunizations and dropped off some supplies for us to combat the intruders,” Graham said, trying to make sense of it all.

“The shot fairy and Santa Claus, all in one,” Macy said, swaying back and forth with her eyes barely open. They all snickered a little and Graham put his hand on Macy’s shoulder to steady her.

“Yeah, the prepper elves,” Mark said. “What’d they bring?” he asked. “Can we trust them?”

Graham turned around. “Well, there’s a generator,” which was the first, most obvious thing to mention. He left Macy’s side, knelt in front of the pile, and rummaged through it. “There’s a water pump, what looks like a large can of something,” he picked it up and almost dropped it, surprised by the lightness of it. He turned it over to read the label. “Vegetable seeds, so I guess we don’t have to worry about that now,” he said.

“Yay!” exclaimed Tala, suddenly more awake.

Graham picked up two large bottles. “Multivitamins for adults and children,” he said. Then he noticed three large boxes. “Motion detector lights, surveillance kit with cameras, radio,” Graham said, in a reluctant manner, “and a first aid kit.” He moved the kit aside to find, last but not least, a large package of Oreos hidden beneath it; he took it over to the others. “And—Oreos,” he said, prompting them all to cheer.

They tore open the package and shared the rare treat with one another, dipping them into their black coffee. The sugar rush helped exterminate the last fleeting grogginess left behind by the injections and sleep mist.

“Look, he’s moving,” Bang said with a mouthful of cookie. “Sheriff!”

They all turned around to look at the beloved dog. “Let’s give him space to come out of it on his own,” Graham said. “I think if we’re hovering, he might get defensive,” he added.

“What did the letter say exactly?” Tala asked.

“Oh, here.” Graham handed Tala the letter while he stood Macy up. He wrapped one of her slender arms around his waist and held her close as he walked her around the living area, trying to help the girl to fully come to as Tala read the letter out loud.

To: Graham’s Camp

We wanted to extend our hand of friendship in these dark times. We’ve observed your camp and know you recently encountered a potential threat. Please accept these gifts to help defend your camp and yourselves. We suggest you use these cameras and motion detectors to help provide surveillance. We’ve also inoculated all of you from the standard flu virus, tetanus, and the elderly gent from pneumonia as well as your pet against rabies. Sorry about the sleeping gas. Because you are all carriers of the virus, we had to take certain precautions to protect ourselves. We hope you can understand the risk our community is under and the necessity of these actions.

It’s in our best interest to help, since we are neighbors of sorts and we would not want to see a camp of children on their own in this unforgiving environment. We commend you for taking them all on and are grateful you accepted the boy we brought to you.

Stay well,

Cascade Prepper Group

“They’ve been watching us,” Tala said, though not in a surprised way.

Smiling up at him sweetly, Macy said to Graham, “I think I’m okay now, Graham, you can let me go.”

“You’re just saying that so you can curl up somewhere. I know you. You’re sneaky,” Graham teased.

He let her go anyway when Tala stood up to start their day.

“I call the bathroom,” Graham announced, and the rest of them moaned. Living with three teenagers proved a challenge mostly with bathroom use. He’d learned this new maneuver from Mark, who had previously lived with two sisters. So after he observed this practice, as soon as the urge hit him, he started “calling it.”

“Well, girls, we have more meat to dry and laundry to do today,” Tala said, then added, “Ennis, can you run down to the store and pick up more detergent?”

Laughter ensued when he said in all seriousness, “Yessum, what brand? You kids want anything else?”

These little joking moments kept their lives sane, but they couldn’t be used more than once without falling flat. It kept the kids from dwelling on the past and the pain. They had to move forward, and Graham and Tala, without ever having discussed it, tried in little ways to keep their focus on the kids, helping to shape them into the people they needed to be now to survive this world.

Before the laughter faded, Graham heard Sheriff’s claws tapping on the wood floor. The dog trotted out into the middle of the living room, and then let out a big sneeze followed by three more.

Though this caused another gale of laughter, Graham saw relief in everyone’s eyes. Like him, they’d been worried about their comrade too. He’d become more than a family pet to them. Once he finished sneezing, Sheriff leaned back and stretched his front paws, splaying his long claws out in front of him. It was his way of dealing with the lethargy that they all still fought. He walked closer to the door, and Bang opened it for him to go do his business.

40 Containment

Within the prepper camp, Dalton and Sam watched the awakening of the carriers. “Graham’s going to be pissed off when he figures this out,” Sam said, stating the obvious. Dalton had to agree; he would be angry too, in the same circumstances.

“Yeah, if I ever get to talk to him, I’m going to tell him it was all Rick’s idea,” he said, only half joking.

When everyone was awake and more or less functional, Dalton focused his worried gaze on the big German shepherd. “Dammit, come on, dog,” he urged.

“You guys calculated the effects on the dog, right?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, but there’s always a risk,” Dalton said. “The girls and the dog got the brunt of the mist, so it’s going to be harder for them to come out of it.”

Dalton changed to a different camera feed and adjusted the audio so that he could hear and see what exactly was going on. Even now he wondered if it was right to have put snooping cameras inside their dwelling. It was necessary, he told himself. Our own lives depend on knowing what’s going on with this group.

When the dog staggered out, huffed, sneezed, then went to the door to be released, Dalton felt released, too. He breathed a sigh of relief and switched to the outdoor feed. “Glad that’s over.”

“Yep.” Sam got up to go back and finish his current project while Dalton stretched back in the swivel chair, stretching his hands toward the roof of the tent. He checked the time and figured the guys in quarantine were up for their next blood withdrawals, so he would go over there to give them the updates he knew they were waiting for, as soon as Reuben showed up to relieve him. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the man appeared with his coffee and toast in hand. Reuben had obviously stopped at the mess tent on his way over to relieve Dalton.

“Hey, man, how’d it go?” he asked in his deep voice.

“About as expected, really,” Dalton said.

Reuben gave him a once-over. “You look spent, man,”

“Thanks.”

“Everyone’s upbeat and buzzed, waiting for the details.”

“They’ll just have to wait till Graham’s Camp Hour,” Dalton said, smiling.

“Okay, update me, then,” Reuben said.

Dalton liked Reuben. He was a tall and imposing guy of few words. He’d always chitchat a little, and then get right down to business, as he had just now.

He’d served with the man in Afghanistan and had come to respect his quiet, deliberate ways. Reuben often noticed small details others missed, things that would help keep them all alive. Dalton and some of the others called him Spock behind his back. Truth was, he wrote passionate prose and other works, but he just didn’t verbalize much.

Reuben’s dark skin had saved their asses one night when they were trapped between two clusters of enemy forces and forced to hide in the not-so-abundant desert brush. The only way out was to set off a radio beacon, but their low altitude disallowed the connection. In the dead of night Rueben calculated the risks, and before anyone else could come up with a better solution, he removed his gear and his shirt. He climbed up onto the top of their enclosure with the enemy in plain sight. He was able to make contact, saving them by calling in an air strike. It worked and Dalton often wondered if someone as lily white as he was could have done the same. He would have lit up like a Christmas tree—in more ways than one.

Dalton started on his report, reading it to Reuben: “Carrier subjects woke within safety limit allotment without incident. Graham read the letter with the anticipated result. They’re getting on with their day. No intruders spotted. So far, no sign of the China virus within our men.”

“Sounds good, man, get some sleep,” Reuben said.

“I will, after I go see the ladies.” said Dalton, and Reuben knew that he meant Rick and Steven.

Dalton got up, ran both hands through his already disheveled hair, and took his time walking through the camp, waving at those just rising to meet the day. He saw anticipation in their eyes.

In the mess tent, Kim met him with a kiss and hug. She smelled of coffee and bacon already. Everyone knew not to ask what had happened. They would all find out that evening.

“You’re sleepy,” Kim said, “and you look both stressed and relieved, too.” She held up her hands. “No, no. I’m not asking. I don’t have to,” she added with a grin. “I know your expressions, and I can see it all worked out. I’ll wait like the others for details tonight. You get off to bed.”

“I’ll see you later. I’m going over to quarantine, and then I’ll hit the sack,” Dalton told her. He left her with a discreet tweak and grabbed the piece of buttered homemade toast that she handed him. He savored it as he walked. Years ago he had wondered why in the world they’d bought so much butter in the stores and stockpiled it in their freezers; it had seemed like an unnecessary luxury then, but Dalton certainly did appreciate it now. Once gone, it would be the powdered stuff or none at all.

The gravel crunched under his boots as Dalton walked out in the morning light. He saw Sam already hard at work, with beads of sweat dripping off his forehead even though it was chilly out. He knew the man worked hard every day. He didn’t want to disturb him, so he just raised his hand and Sam nodded back without breaking his momentum.

Dalton continued on to the guarded entrance where someone was always in the sentry post. Even though they had the whole place monitored, a real eye gave them extra insurance, and it kept them in practice in terms of vigilance. Everyone took their turn, even the women and children. Kids over ten years of age were matched with an adult until they were fourteen and trained in all security protocols. So far, the plan had worked well for them.

The sentry for the day buzzed the gate open for Dalton and then reengaged the magnetic lock behind him. Dalton waved at the guard and then continued on to the hidden quarantine bunker. Finished with his toast, he marched, swinging his arms smartly, an old habit from military training.

He heard an eagle call, looked up, and saw the majestic bird circling with obvious hunting intent. The birds of prey had ample feeding grounds, like most other wild carnivores. He imagined their numbers would also rise like those of the other natural predators. He definitely smelled something decaying in the area, but that wasn’t unusual these days.

Snow lay in spots where the tree clearings allowed it to fall and its frozen crust crunched beneath his boots along with the fallen pinecones and needles. Dalton recalled when this path was muddied and slippery from frequent traffic, in the days when more people had to be quarantined. They finally had to resort to the use of galoshes they kept at the gate to reduce the mess. Now, the path was frozen hard and much less traveled. Those early days had been hard for everyone.

These days the quarantine building stood mostly as a grim reminder of what they’d gone through to get to where they were now. Many hadn’t made it from this place, leaving it embedded with troubled emotions he thought he could feel it as he got nearer. Family after family had been admitted through the process, desperate to make it clear of the facility.

Most of those who developed the China virus accepted their fate, but one man that Dalton remembered did not. As soon as Clarisse whispered the news that only he was positive, both she and Dalton watched in horror as he calmly approached his wife and baby, who were sitting on the other end of the room, and shot them both dead. He decided to end it immediately for the three of them, not just himself. He smiled at them through the observation glass as if he’d won some prize, and then shot himself. The whole time Dalton and Clarisse were begging and screaming, but there was nothing they could do. That was the day Dalton had held Clarisse back from the entry door. Mostly because of that man, Dalton felt this angst whenever he approached the quarantine area.

Dalton shook the awful memory from his mind. It was time now to focus on his friends who, having taken the risk for the carriers, were locked inside—temporarily, he hoped—and he needed to be upbeat for them.

The guard greeted Dalton casually, having been alerted to his approach ahead of time. “Morning, sir,” he said, smiling.

“Morning. Any news?” Dalton asked.

“No, they don’t tell me anything,” he said, joking.

“Clarisse inside?”

“Yes, of course. She never leaves this place.” The guard typed the code into the door’s keypad. Dalton ducked his head under the doorway of the domed building and walked down the darkened hallway toward the light that shone through from the observation room.

He found Clarisse looking at the slides on the miniature projector. She looked up at him through her dark framed glasses as he entered. Her chestnut hair was up in its tight bun, as always. As the camp scientist, Clarisse, took care of all quarantine procedures as well as medical care, both major and minor. She wasn’t known to socialize much with the men because she didn’t want to be responsible for gossip or fear among the wives. Everyone highly respected her opinion and willingness to work with dangerous subjects.

Dalton’s only concern for Clarisse was that she didn’t have anyone in her personal life and he wasn’t sure how she coped through all the stress without the relief valve of a personal connection. When the families were going through the quarantine process, she’d held steadfast through it all, often sleeping on her cot right in the observation room to help provide them and herself with a sense of security. She reran positive tests multiple times, fully knowing what their outcomes would be but wanting to be sure nonetheless.

“Good morning, Clarisse. How are the boys?” Dalton asked.

“I’ll tell you in just a second. They just finished the third draw and so far, as of now, they’re negative.” She peered into the microscope without looking up at Dalton, and then dropped the slide securely into the trash receptacle.

“That’s good news, so far. Are they still awake?” Dalton asked.

“Yeah, they were just giving me a hard time for not including Twinkies in their rations,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Those bastards!” His mock indignation brought a bit of a smile to her face.

“Now they’re in for the twelve, so I imagine they’ll go back to sleep in a while. If you want to talk to them, go right ahead. I have their com off in protest of the Twinkie remarks, but you can turn it back on,” she said.

Clarisse had a gorgeous smile, and Dalton thought she would make any man blissfully happy. He never asked her why she kept to herself. It just wasn’t his business, being a married man.

He looked at the pair on the monitor. It was like observing an old married couple arguing with one another. Rick motioned with his hands as always, and from the looks of things, the argument was getting heated.

“God, they’re already fighting, and it’s only the first day,” Dalton said. He flipped the audio on, but kept silent until he could figure out what the two were debating.

Clarisse came over behind him to see what was going on in case it appeared to be something medical. After a second of observance, she shrugged. “Just chalk it up to their flawed personalities, Dalton.” She returned to work on her logs.

Rick’s arms were going up and down now in parallel motion as Steven shook his head back and forth. Each was on his own side of the room.

“You know I’m right, you asshole, you just won’t admit it. Batman has the Batmobile, the guns and, for crying out loud, he owns his own company. What the hell does Spider-Man have? All he does is shoot silly string, and he’s a goddamn reporter!” Rick spewed with mock venom.

“All right, ladies,” Dalton said, cutting off Steven’s retort.

“Morning, boss.” Rick’s furious expression changed in an instant, as if the heated argument had never taken place.

“Hey, Dalton,” Steven said.

Dalton secretly got a kick out of the two guys’ antics. They could appear about ready to strangle one another but were the best of friends. This was just their way of dealing with stress.

“Any afterthoughts?” Dalton asked them.

“No. Yes, is the dog okay?” Rick said. “I had to blast him first. He might have gotten a little too much.”

Dalton figured the dog would be the one they were most worried about. “He’s fine. They all are, in fact. That’s why I came by. I just wanted you to know, they all woke up. They were pissed, as we predicted, until they settled down and saw the gifts. The Oreos went over really well, too. That was a nice touch, putting them on the bottom.”

“How’s the little kid?” Steven asked. “I was more concerned about him getting too much.”

“He’s fine. First one up, in fact. Good job,” Dalton said, then added, “He freaked out a little bit trying to wake the others, but then Mark was up soon after. Oh, and Graham has already figured out how you guys got in.”

“Figures. Smart fella,” Rick said with admiration.

“He’s a good guy. All this time we’ve been watching them, but now, after this, they’re more real to me. Those kids really do need him,” Steven said.

Changing the subject, Dalton said, “Well, it looks like so far you two are clear, but we all know the rules. Try not to kill each other. It’s only the first day.”

Both men started wrestling, just for Dalton. They pretended to punch each other and fell over on the beds in slow motion.

“See what I have to contend with?” Clarisse said behind Dalton as she motioned toward the two beyond the glass window.

“Good luck,” he told her, walking toward the exit, “I’ve got a date with my pillow.”

“Sleep well, Dalton. See you later.”

Turning her attention back to Rick and Steven, she said, “All right, you two, you’ve got five and half now.” Looking at the log clock and before she turned off the microphone, she added, “Catwoman could kick both their asses.” She hung up before they could react.

The guys looked at each other.

“She’s right,” Steven said.

Rick had to agree.

41 New Signs

“Oh, man,” Mark said, having gone outside. He saw the young doe struggling, having caught her hoof on one of the nail boards, and was caught between two trees. He could see the cuts in her hide, and blood seeping out. Now that she saw him, she scampered, trying to free herself, but only managed to twist her limbs even more.

He and Bang approached her from two different sides. Bang held her attention while Mark snuck around behind the doe, trying to free her from the trap, and at the same time, trying to stay clear of her other hooves as they flailed about.

“This was a bad idea,” Bang said.

Mark wrenched the nail that tethered her, setting her free. He strategically left his hand around her ankle, a few seconds longer, until Bang cleared her path. She stood still for a few hushed seconds, watching them, until Bang raised his arms, shooing her to freedom. She was off like a flash through the greenery.

With that done they began pulling up every last hidden trap so that wouldn’t happen again. They had the security cameras now.

Graham climbed the makeshift ladder and secured the last camera at the front entrance with Ennis’s help. As the sharp bitter wind seeped into his own jacket, Graham knew the old man couldn’t handle much more, even with gloves on.

“That’s it,” he said. “Let’s get back inside.”

He helped Ennis walk, though the old man protested. “What are we going to do if you break a hip?” Graham asked him.

“You’ll have one less mouth to hunt for,” Ennis said.

“We need you, Ennis. Even if you don’t realize it.” Graham searched for the boys as they headed up to the cabin. “Here, you get inside. This wind’s picking up. I’ll get the boys. It looks like a storm is coming on.”

Gone were the days of TV and radio station weather reports, gone the cheerful reports of “cloudy with a chance of sprinkles” or “duck and cover, a category five is headed your way.” It was back to primal instincts only, and Graham could tell from the sky that something big was on the way. It looked blizzard time.

He picked up his pace on the cleared trail to find the boys. He’d seen them earlier, working their way through collecting the nailed boards that they’d all deemed a bad idea. He called to them.

“Over here!” Mark’s voice rose over the wind. They were both kneeling down, looking at something in the rocky shoreline.

“What’s up?” Graham asked.

“The bear traps are missing,” Mark said.

“And there are more footprints,” Bang added.

“Graham, the sign is gone too,” Mark said, pointing behind him.

“All right, let’s get to the cabin. There’s a storm coming,” Graham said.

The previous light mood had turned dark. The boys were worried now. Graham thought at first that any animal could have come along and maybe moved the traps but with the sign clearly torn free, it was undeniable that the intruders were sending a message. This was not good.

He looked around at the waves lapping at the shore under tumultuous layers of clouds above, warring in the sky. It sent a chill through to his spine. He looked toward the intruders’ general vicinity and couldn’t imagine why they’d want to bother with Graham and his newfound family. Why would any human fathom committing a crime like this? Hadn’t they all been through enough? He knew he had to be even more vigilant now. He wouldn’t let it happen again. He’d shoot them on sight, one at a time if he had to. Ennis was right; all along, the old man had echoed Graham’s dad’s attitude. So now, they had been warned. If he saw them once more, he would shoot to kill them all.

Turning his back to the lake, Graham had to pull up the collar of his coat as the wind started pelting his back with sleet, a prelude to the snow he’d predicted.

Once in the clearing he could see Tala standing on the porch waiting for him. He thought she looked lovely in an old gray sweater she’d pulled tightly around her waist, watching his approach through the swirling snow, some of which stuck to her long raven hair. She was beautiful, he could see that—and he could feel it too.

Her kind eyes watched him. Covered in snow, he started up the stairs to the porch, and stopping right in front of her without losing stride, he pulled her to him. She looked up into his eyes. That was all he needed to bring his lips down onto hers, kissing her. She opened her dark eyes, questioning, and he said in a low, husky voice, “There’s a storm coming.”

Tala nodded, uncertain what to say. Graham turned her around and opened the cabin door. “Everyone in the cabin?” he asked.

“All except Sheriff.”

Graham opened the door again and whistled. Seconds later the dog appeared with his brown fur turned white from the snow.

“Get in here, pal,” Graham said.

Tala grabbed a spare towel and wiped down the dog before he started to stink up the place. Still a bit groggy, Sheriff lay down by the fire and quickly fell into a deep slumber.

Graham could hear the kids gathered in the bunkroom talking among themselves, and Ennis was asleep in his chair already. He took it all in, and wished there was a separate room built off the living area; he really wanted to have some private time with Tala. No, stop thinking that way. It was confusing. He felt deeply for Tala, more than he’d cared to admit so soon after the death of his wife. Something about being cooped up at the world’s end made one feel the urge to mate, and that is why the thought of one of those men getting their hands on Tala or one of the twins made Graham crazy.

He reached over at the door and locked it tight to the outside world as Tala looked up at him from the kitchen with a little smile on her face.

He took off his boots and put them by the wall, then hung up his coat so that it wouldn’t drip on the floor. With his rifle slung over his shoulder he walked into the kitchen where no one could see them and put his hand on Tala’s waist.

“Tala, are you okay?” he whispered.

“Yes, are you?” she asked and turned to face him full on. “Regrets?”

He answered her by brushing his lips across hers lightly. He reached his hand up to the back of her slender neck, feeling her silky hair and tangling his fingers in it. He felt her warm breath on his face and watched as she closed her eyes.

A soft snoring sound came from the living area and the children’s voices in the bunkroom sounded like they’d opted for a game of Monopoly. This was all the privacy the two shared, standing in the kitchen. Graham briefly thought of pulling her into the bathroom and then felt ashamed at the idea.

Tala parted her lips, and then he couldn’t help it. Graham pulled her by the hips closer to him, wrapping his arms around her slender waist and ran his hand up her side, feeling the length of her, the shape of her before he kissed her. He felt a shudder of pleasure run through her muscles. It sent shock waves down to his toes.

Moments later, he heard Bang speak his name.

He pulled back from Tala’s embrace. “Yeah, buddy, whatcha need?” He thought he must look guilty as hell, acting as if he’d not just been making out with Tala in the kitchen.

The boy looked confused but then said, “Do you want to play Monopoly with us?” Though it was about the last thing he wanted to do right about then, Graham said, “Sure, give me a minute.”

After Bang had gone back into the other room, feeling like a heel, Graham sank onto a kitchen chair and lowered his head.

Tala massaged his shoulders. “It’s all right, he doesn’t know what he saw,” she whispered.

“I promised his mother I’d take care of him. I just hope I’m not screwing up already,” Graham said.

“Graham, she could not have chosen a better guardian than you.”

He stood, turned, and faced her. “We’ll talk about this another time,” he said, pressing a quick kiss on her forehead. He told himself it was right that he spent a little time with the kids anyway. As Marcy dealt him the phony money, he could hear Tala working in the kitchen and knew they’d soon be breathing in the good aromas of her cooking. At least this storm gave them all a chance to be together, and he didn’t have to worry about one of the girls being snatched.

42 An Urgent Call

Checking each monitor and writing in the events logs, Reuben did a double take when he saw Graham and Tala in the kitchen. “Oh, Lord,” he said under his breath, then turned away out of some sense of respect. All he wrote in the log was, AIW: “All is well.” It is, isn’t it? he reasoned.

Then the quarantine line flashed, indicating an incoming call. Reuben picked up, and Clarisse said, “We’ve got a temp.”

Reuben’s heart jumped. “Who?”

“Steven.”

“What is it?”

“Hundred and four point three.”

“Is it . . . ?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet. Rick’s in there, too, and he’s fine right now. It’s just Steven,” she said.

“Maybe it’s something else, Clarisse.”

“Yeah, Reuben, let’s hope so.”

“I’ll let Dalton know.”

“Okay, I’ll give an update in twenty minutes, when my scan’s over,” she said, sounding nervous.

“Deal.”

Reuben buzzed Dalton. “Sorry to wake you, man, but we have a probable positive.”

“What is it?” Dalton asked, waking up out of a light sleep.

“It’s Steven, he’s showing an elevated temperature.”

“What does Clarisse say?”

“Twenty minutes and she’ll know more.”

“And Rick?”

“Fine, so far.”

“I’m coming in,” Dalton said, and he hung up.

Reuben liked Steven. The man was quiet but amicable, and he was the only one who could put up with Rick’s constant bullshit and then simply sit quietly, like Sam did, without the need for conversation.

Looking up at the screen again, he noticed the little boy had caught the pair making out in the kitchen. “Oh, man,” he murmured, “better you than me.” Then he thought of why he’d been able to capture that little scene. “I sure hope this scheme didn’t cost us.”

~ ~ ~

Dalton went directly to quarantine through the blizzard. In his mind, if this were the virus, it would all be his fault; he’d never forgive himself. He brushed off the accumulated snow and stomped is boots as he entered the building.

“What do you have, Clarisse?” he asked, barging in without the usual pleasantries.

“Give me five more minutes,” she answered.

He walked over to the observation window. Steven lay back against his pile of crisp, white, sterile pillows, watching Rick’s Seinfeld reruns, occasionally laughing. When he saw Dalton standing in the window, Steven waved an arm wide in a dismissive gesture. “I’m fine, it’s just a little fever.”

Rick lowered his comic book and gave an “I don’t know” face.

Dalton knew they were aware of the risks. This was their way of dealing with the danger. He looked at the screen monitoring Rick’s vitals and they appeared fine. Steven’s temperature was now 104.4. The man looked a little glassy-eyed, but other than that he seemed fine.

“Diarrhea? Anything like that?” Dalton asked Clarisse.

“Not so far. It’s just a fever,” she said.

The buzzer went off, breaking the trance.

She read the data.

“I don’t think that’s it,” she said after reading the printout. “It’s not viral. It’s some kind of bacterial infection!” She almost shouted for joy.

“I don’t know without examining him, but it isn’t viral,” she said again. She went over to the microphone. “Steven, the results are in. It’s not viral. It’s an infection. Do you have any pain, anywhere? Cuts, a toothache, a stomachache?”

Steven sat up. “I don’t think so. I feel kind of crummy all over though,” he said.

“Rick, get up off your ass,” Clarisse demanded. “I’m going to need your help. I know you’re not trained, but I need you to examine him.”

“Does this involve touching him?” He waved his hands. “Ooooh, ick!”

“Yes. Now knock it off,” Clarisse said in all seriousness. “Go wash your hands. With soap and hot water.”

Rick washed his hands in the steaming hot water singing “Happy Birthday to Me,” aloud, twice, just as his wife had taught their kids to do. Apparently, two runs through the song was a sufficient allotment of time to kill germs while washing.

“Okay, boss, now what?” he said, holding up his clean, hairy hands.

“Strip, Steven,” Clarisse said.

“Really!” Steven said, acting happy.

“Yes, and do it now. No more bullshit, you guys. Get serious, because this is serious.”

“Ah, Jesus,” Steven said, and began pulling off his T-shirt and boxers.

Steven stood there in the nude and Dalton took note as Clarisse lowered her gaze, trying to provide the man’s privacy but needing to do her job.

“All right, Rick, start with his head,” she said.

They both looked at her, not willing to let it go.

“You know what I mean, goddammit,” she admonished.

Steven bent down to let Rick go through his hair, touching his scalp.

“Rick, you’re looking for any kind of sore or inflammation. Does he have any bumps anywhere?” she asked as he ran his hands through Steven’s light hair.

“I don’t see or feel anything,” Rick said.

“Okay, check behind his ears, and then look down his back,” she said.

“Sorry, dude, turn around,” Rick said to him.

“I do have a headache,” Steven complained.

“Okay, but that’s not enough to go on,” Clarisse said.

“Steven, now raise your arms. Rick, look carefully,” she said.

Steven did so with reluctance, but when he raised his left arm, it took only a second for Rick to say, “There it is. It’s a tick.” He pointed at it.

Steven tried to see what the hell Rick was pointing at, but it was out of his range of view. “What the hell?” he asked Clarisse, turning to face the window at the same time as he tried to probe his armpit.

“It’s behind your armpit, at the base of your shoulder blade; you can’t see it, dude,” Rick said.

“Oh, thank God; tick fever.” Clarisse couldn’t have sounded happier.

“It’s red and swollen, with a damn tick right in the center. Could have been there for days,” Rick said.

“Come over to the lab table, Steven,” Clarisse said.

He started to walk that way, but then doubled back to put his boxers back on. Clarisse stopped him.

“Um, you could have more ticks. Rick, check out the rest of his backside, the areas he can’t see.”

Rick gave Steven a quick but thorough once-over, then proclaimed, “All clear! Just that one.”

“Steven, can you do the rest of the examination yourself?” Clarisse asked.

“Yep.”

She gave him a minute to perform the procedure. Meanwhile, Rick washed his hands again, with added drama and louder birthday greetings to himself. When Steven was through with his self-examination he put on his briefs on and moved to the examination area.

“I love you, dude, but not in that way,” Rick said, steam rising over the sink.

Steven lay down on the partitioned lab table. Clarisse put her hands through the gloves in the wall and prepared the instruments she needed to extract the entire parasite.

“Okay, lift your arm a bit, let’s see it,” she said, stepping closer so she could examine it. Clarisse quickly removed the parasite, cleaned the wound and gave him a fast acting antibiotic injection and a few oral anti-inflammatories for swelling and his headache.

The four of them blew huge sighs of relief, knowing in these days what a fever could mean and the catastrophic consequences it could bring.

Steven went back to his cot and soon later drifted off to sleep.

43 Cabin Fever

Four days passed with little to do other than watch the snow fall, layer upon layer as it drifted downward, magnificent in its scope. When it stopped, the sun rose high, making the ice crystals sparkle brightly. Deer, moose, rabbit, and wolf had left their tracks everywhere. The evergreen boughs bent low under their frozen loads, highlighting their beauty. Both treacherous and elegant, quiet tranquility abounded for those who ventured out bundled from head to toe.

Graham shoveled off the porch once again. He didn’t need anyone slipping—especially not Ennis. The kids were busily rolling enormous snowballs to conjure up a man as round as he would be tall. Graham delighted in their activity, with Sheriff jumping up and down, running alongside them. That sight itself evoked both sadness and joy; it wasn’t that he wanted them depressed, but Graham felt they had no real reason to be happy. Yet they were, in spite of it all.

Tala walked out with a cup of piping hot cocoa and handed it to Graham. There remained tension between them, with neither of them certain of where things between them might go. Graham identified his own emotions as guilt laced with grief and a touch of madness. They held him back, though at night he couldn’t help but look at Tala’s sleeping form, wishing her body lay next to his.

He realized that Ennis had sensed this all, maybe before they knew it themselves. He often said to Graham, “Why don’t you two take a walk. I’ll watch the kids,” as if he were the grandfather of their large brood. But Graham always ignored the offer and went about his day. He didn’t think she would oblige him anyway, other than the occasional touch or hand-holding throughout their days. They were held captive in the cabin, so Graham tried to ignore these insistent feelings.

“County roads plowed yet?” Ennis asked. He took great amusement making these kinds of jokes.

“Naw, you know it takes them forever to get to these backcountry lanes,” Graham said, playing along.

“It’s too cold for an old man out here,” Ennis said, watching the children playing in the snow.

“Go inside. I’ll make you some cocoa,” Tala said, putting her arm around Ennis.

“Stop bossing me around, woman,” he griped playfully.

Truly, the old man had become a treasure to them all. Even when he was cranky he was adorable.

As far as supplies were concerned they were doing fine; they had stored enough to feed themselves two meals a day, with a bit extra for the growing young minds and bodies that needed more. With Tala’s vigilance in the pantry, they wouldn’t starve; she kept precise records. The only things they really yearned for were butter, potatoes, and fresh milk.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t likely for them to come across a cow during the winter, but dry and canned milk seemed to be getting them by. They’d even adjusted to drinking the powdered stuff now without too much complaint. Graham vowed to find a dairy cow as soon as possible come spring, even if it killed him.

The multivitamins the preppers had provided helped a lot as well. As a result of the immunizations, they had felt groggy and sore for a few days but fortunately, the snowstorm gave them time to rest and recover.

Ennis went back inside, and Tala followed him in to check on dinner. The days were short this time of year, and Graham could already see the light fading from the bitterly cold sky. One by one, the kids came in, having succeeded in making their snowman. They climbed the steps with rosy cheeks and drenched with melting snow. They knew the drill at the door by now, and Tala didn’t have to mention it to them again: boots in a row and all.

Having finally run off pent-up energy, they welcomed the warm minestrone soup Tala put together along with her now famous warm biscuits. She even made soft molasses cookies, surprising them all after dinner. Though the chickens did not produce many eggs this time of year, they managed to get two before they ceased laying for the winter. Tala decided to use eggs in baking so they could all enjoy them together.

“Bang, let’s you and I go feed the chickens and make sure they’re put up tight for the night,” Graham said.

They rounded up the chickens and took them their warmed brick. They also fed them what few scraps and biscuits Tala saved for them. They kept fresh water and bedding for the birds, and hoped eggs would be plentiful in the spring with higher temperatures and more daylight.

~ ~ ~

The next day brought a surprise warming trend, and the snow turned to a soupy melting mess outside. Tala threatened to have everyone start lining their boots up outside now, since she was constantly wiping up the melting snow in the cabin.

For the lack of anything better to do and a good case of cabin fever, Graham and the boys began shoveling a trail through the melting mess to both the lake side and driveway entrances, so that when the slush refroze, they would at least have access to each.

The snowman that the kids had built leaned at an angle now. They all gazed at it sadly, knowing its hours were numbered. After a while, the sun beamed down on them, warming their shoulders through heavy jackets. They began to sweat with the work, feeling invigorated with each heft of the shovel.

The girls watched them from the porch. Since the guys were finished with the driveway side, Tala and the twins decided to take a walk. They waved to the guys as they made their way up the lane. Graham watched them and thought the only thing abnormal about the bucolic scene was seeing that all three were armed.

He’d warned them about the wolves, and they promised to return in twenty minutes, timing it to ten minutes up the road and ten back. He relented and let them go, knowing they must be bored having stayed inside too long. He would have gone with them, but really wanted to help the boys finish the almost complete task of trail clearing.

Trudging through the melting snow helped the women work their leg muscles. It was a joy to breathe the fresh air and get away from the cabin for a short while.

~ ~ ~

Graham heard the engine and the shots at the same time. A chill ran up his spine before he even heard the screams. He grabbed his rifle and ran through the forest to where he thought Tala and the girls might be, jumping over fallen logs carelessly as fast as his might would carry him.

Only eight minutes out, the dread fell over him. The intruders were coming for them by land, not lake. The girls ran as fast as they could, but with sinister intentions and stronger bodies, the intruders would win. Marcy raced for the tree line with Tala and Macy right behind. They might have made it had Macy not tripped over a chunk of ice. One of the intruders grabbed her easily. Then Tala turned and pulled on the girl, clenching Macy as the intruder yanked Macy’s pistol from her chest harness and aimed it at Macy’s temple.

“Let her go!” Tala screamed.

“We just want one of you, darlin’,” he said, making her skin crawl.

He had his thick fat fingers entwined in Macy’s hair.

“She’s a child. Take me,” Tala said, lowering her rifle.

“No, Tala!” Macy screamed.

The man pushed the girl down hard into the road in time to grab Tala harshly before she could fight back. Tala dropped her weapon to Macy’s side as he dragged her to their jeep. The intruders planned a quick getaway. Having already heard a vehicle breaking the silence, they made their escape.

Their mission was simple: to pick up one of the three and get back to camp without any trouble. They didn’t care which, but the woman would be better than one of those scrawny girls. They needed someone to cook and clean for them and to take care of their “other needs,” as they had put it between themselves.

“No!” Macy screamed again.

“Run, Macy!” Tala cried out before her captor covered her mouth with one hand and pulled her onto him in the passenger’s seat of their jeep, which then sped away.

Macy did run. She grabbed the extra rifle and took off following the jeep as far as she could when she heard Graham behind her, yelling, with Marcy following him.

He knew he’d failed. He wanted to shoot at the vehicle speeding away in the distance but couldn’t risk hitting Tala. The next thing he knew, Mark pulled up, driving the truck from the opposite direction, “Get in,” Mark yelled when he pulled up to Graham and the girls.

“No, you get out,” Graham said. The boy began to protest, and Graham reached in and yanked him out of the driver’s seat.

“I need you here,” Graham said, throwing the truck into gear and taking off after Tala.

“Come on, he’s right. Let’s get back,” Mark said. Both girls were crying, and he embraced them, hurrying them back to the cabin.

44 A Walk in the Snow

Reuben switched from one camera to another. One minute all was well, the next it was not. The women went for a walk and the guys were working outside, maintaining trails. Ennis did what old men do on cold winter days; he napped. The scene was like something out of Little Women, which Reuben had read to his daughters.

After he had seen the girls leave on the north camera, he watched as they faded into the distance. He was happy for them to get some fresh air for a change. The south side camera showed the guys working and joking together.

Then he heard the shots on the audio and looked at the screens frantically to find where it had come from. The boys stood momentarily frozen, but Graham had already sped off toward the sound.

“Something’s up,” Reuben said.

He started switching through cameras and found Mark running into the cabin and retrieving keys.

Reuben radioed Dalton, “The girls and Graham are off camera to the north. It looks like Mark’s going for a drive, speeding north in the truck.”

“Coming in,” Dalton said.

Reuben turned up the volume when Bang and Sheriff stormed into the cabin and Bang called for Ennis.

“What’s up, lad?” Ennis asked.

“Someone’s shooting. Tala and the twins went for a walk. Graham ran after them, and then Mark drove the truck. I don’t know where Graham is,” Bang said, clearly scared.

Ennis patted the boy, knowing he and Graham had a special bond. To reassure him, he said, “Graham will be all right. I’m sure whatever it is, he’ll be right back.”

Bang’s lower lip trembled. “You come warm up by the fire, boy,” Ennis said. You’re too cold.”

“No! We need to help them!” Bang urged.

“Sounds like Mark has it all under control. I think we should stay here. If everyone goes off, no one will be watching the cabin and I know Graham would want you to keep an eye on it. I can’t do it all by myself anymore,” Ennis said, hoping that would keep the boy from worrying.

They heard footsteps running through the snow and coming to the door, so Ennis grabbed his shotgun and peered out the window before he opened the door. He saw the twins with Mark, so he let them in.

“What’s going on, son?” Ennis asked Mark.

“The intruders from the lake took Tala!”

The girls were sniffling, and now that Bang knew he blubbered too. “Where’s Graham?”

“He went after them. He wouldn’t let me go with him. He said he needed me here.” Ennis could see that the teenager felt like he’d somehow failed Graham.

Ennis was at a loss in a situation like this. He knew there was nothing he could do to help Graham. The only thing he could think of was to try to keep the children calm and stop them from doing something stupid.

“Graham’s right,” he said to Mark, “you need to be here. I can’t take care of them on my own. I’m an old man. Graham can take care of himself. He’ll get Tala and come back, don’t you all worry. You girls come dry off by the fire. Warm up your hands. You’re shivering.”

The girls were still sniffling. Ennis could see that Mark’s internal wheels were spinning, and he tried to comfort him. “Son, there’s nothing you can do but wait. Have faith in Graham; he’s a smart man.”

“Are they going to hurt Tala?” Bang asked.

Macy was the first to snap out of it. Kneeling, she hugged the little guy. “I don’t know. Hopefully Graham will get her back. She saved me,” Macy said, and instead of comforting Bang, she burst into tears again.

He hugged her back and said, “Don’t cry, Macy. Graham won’t let them hurt Tala. He loves her. He kisses her.”

Ennis looked at the back of Macy’s bent head as she wept on the little boy’s shoulder. Blood dripped down her back and stained her long blond hair. Ennis pointed, and Mark jumped forward.

“Macy, you’re hurt,” he said, reaching for her.

She stood up too fast and swayed, her knees buckling, tilting her dangerously toward the woodstove. Mark pulled her away from the fire, and half carried her to the kitchen table, where he propped her up on a chair. Marcy took off her coat to search for the source of the blood. They found a handful of hair falling away as they searched her head. A part of her scalp was ripped up, with rivulets of blood pooling into a stream down to the floor.

“Ennis! What should we do?” Marcy cried as she snatched a clean dish towel and placed it against her sister’s head. Ennis helped lay Macy across Mark’s knees, then cut away the hair still hanging on the tab of torn scalp. “Those sons of bitches! Press down on that bleeding spot again,” he instructed Marcy.

Bang pulled off Macy’s wet boots. Marcy wiped away the blood and pressed on the wound again, holding it still.

Macy tried to sit up. “What is it?” she asked. “What’s happening?”

“You have a cut on your head,” Marcy said. “We’re just trying to stop the bleeding. Then we’ll put some ointment on it and give you something for the pain.”

Hearing this as he returned with the new first aid kit from the preppers, Ennis thought she sounded a lot like Tala would have in the same circumstances. “He has to get that woman back safe,” he muttered, and Mark nodded.

The men must be real brutes to have pulled Macy so hard by the hair that they had yanked out a fistful of her lovely curls and hurt her so badly. It only made Ennis more worried for Tala’s safety.

“I want to kill them.” Mark’s low comment sounded like a growl. “How could anyone hurt a girl like that?”

“There are plenty of bad people in the world, still, I guess,” Ennis said as he handed Marcy a tube of antibiotic cream. When she’d applied that, he passed her a sterile dressing and some short strips of tape. His police first aid training was coming back, but his hands weren’t steady enough for this kind of work.

“It’s okay, Macy, I’m sure Graham will get Tala back and make those guys pay,” Mark said as he and Ennis helped Macy up and steadied her. They walked her to the front room and Bang took her a cup of cocoa, as Tala would have done.

“The only thing we can do now is sit and wait,” Ennis said, dragging his chair closer to the door with his rifle ready, just in case.

Mark checked the monitors, but he knew the intruders were long gone by now. “Ennis, what if I were to take the other truck and go see if I can help Graham?” Mark whispered.

Ennis didn’t want to tell the young man what to do. He just said, “If you did and something was to happen to you, what would become of these guys?” Ennis said as he pointed to the three. “Graham wanted you to stay here for a reason, Mark.”

“You’re right, I know. I just want to do something. I hate not knowing,” Mark said in frustration.

“You are doing something. You’re keeping them safe. He needs you to do that,” Ennis said, then added, “I’m an old man. I can’t chase bad guys. I can only watch the door.”

Mark paced in front of the woodstove with his hands braced behind his head.

Bang sat down by Sheriff on the floor and picked up one of the many sticks he was carving into arrows after Ennis showed him how it was done.

“That’s a good idea, Bang,” Mark said, and continued to work on his own since they might need them.

45 A Plan

“What the hell happened?” Dalton asked Reuben.

“The girls went for a walk up the drive. Said they’d be back in twenty minutes. They were armed. They went off camera to the north. Everything was fine. The guys were shoveling the south trails and the old man was in the cabin. Shots were fired, and Graham took off through the west forest toward the north drive and off camera. Mark ran in the cabin and grabbed the truck keys and drove—I presume toward the shots. Then the next thing I saw was the twins and Mark return on foot,” Reuben said, taking a breath.

“In the cabin, they said something about the lake men taking Tala. I figure Graham must have taken the truck from Mark and gone after her. Macy’s injured, but she seems okay,” Reuben said.

“She get shot?” Dalton asked.

“No, it looks like the intruders manhandled her a bit, nothing too serious,” Reuben said.

“So the rest are in the cabin but, as we predicted, the intruders took Tala and now Graham’s in pursuit?” Dalton asked.

“That’s right. It’s just what we predicted and tried to prevent,” Reuben said.

“All right, dammit, what can we do?” Dalton was asking himself the question more than Reuben.

“Logically, we shouldn’t do anything,” Reuben said, then they both looked at the cabin screen, seeing the old man and four anxious kids waiting for news.

“Did you pull up the tracker?” Dalton asked.

“Not yet, I thought I’d wait for you. Plus, this is Rick’s department; I’m not fluent in human tracking devices.”

“Shit, he has three more days in the box,” Dalton said, and then added, “Patch in Clarisse.”

One moment later, Clarisse rigged in a patch for Rick to walk them through activating the trackers on Tala and Graham. Rick hadn’t a chance to activate them yet, thinking he’d have time once he was sprung from quarantine.

Three minutes after Rick told them how to activate the tracking, they could track the series of numbers on the screen indicating Tala being sped away, presumably to the intruders’ base camp, while Graham’s icon followed more slowly. Dalton knew Graham would follow the tracks to locate them. At least there would be a trail. But night was descending fast, and it would hinder his progress.

“Dammit,” Dalton said.

“What? What’s going on?” Rick demanded to know. His disembodied voice resounded through the tent. “God dammit, what’s happening?” he yelled again when no one responded.

As news got out about the situation, several of the preppers now hung in the background watching the situation unfold. For once, Rick wasn’t the one in the know, and it drove him crazy.

“They got Tala, and Graham’s in pursuit,” Dalton said.

“Kids all right?” Rick asked.

“Yeah,” Dalton answered.

“You got to go help him, Dalton. They won’t make it. You know that.”

“The risk of exposure is way too high at this point,” Reuben interjected.

“You look at those kids and tell me that,” Rick shouted back to Reuben.

“I am looking at them, and I’m looking at mine too, Rick. You know the rules, man,” Reuben said.

“Let me out, I’ll go,” Rick said after a pause.

“No. Dammit, Rick. No way!” Dalton said.

“Well, someone’s got to go. What’d we do all this for? You’re wasting time!” Rick yelled.

“I’ll go.” A determined voice spoke from the back and when Dalton looked behind him, he saw Sam already heading for the door.

Two minutes later, Dalton and Sam were suited up with Reuben’s help. They would intercept Graham and converge on the enemy camp, retrieve Tala, and be on their way. It was that simple—or so they hoped.

46 A Violation

Tala fought the man holding her. They hadn’t slowed since they’d left and drove at breakneck speed along the slushy road in a small jeep. She was terrified, but thought that perhaps if they did crash it might be a better fate than what she knew awaited her.

Already the man holding her, grabbed her through her jeans and sweater. When she resisted him, he’d punched her from the left so hard that her lip bled freely down her chin. Tala tried to wriggle free from the beefy monster. “Please don’t,” she pleaded, but it was no use.

“Don’t let her freeze. Remember, I’m first,” the driver yelled to the bigger man. Tala shivered and cried, but he wouldn’t stop.

“I think we’re good. No one’s following us,” the driver said and reached one hand under her sweater.

She knew what was coming and could only take solace in knowing she’d saved Macy from these horrible beasts. Somehow she had to start calculating how she could escape—or kill these bastards. Tala closed her eyes and tried to detach herself from her body, thinking instead of the eagles she loved to watch, soaring over land and sea.

47 The Chase

Graham raced, stopping every now and then to make sure he was on the right path. Thank God the icy snow tracks left an undeniable trail. With so few vehicles these days, he knew this was the right trail to follow and they did indeed go in the direction of the other side of the lake.

It was pitch dark now, and even though he had to stop occasionally to check to make sure he was still on course, he made progress, but too slowly. He pushed away his despair, and the anger over what he knew they’d do to Tala.

Just as he began to pick up speed, bright headlights dawned in his rearview mirror, flashing at him. They must have had their headlights off and only then flashed him, creeping up in the distance. It was too late for Graham to make a defensive move as the vehicle pulled around him, cutting him off. Graham grabbed his rifle, ready to shoot, when he realized it was the preppers, suited up, driving a Humvee. Dalton put up his hand in what he hoped Graham would take as a sign of peace.

“Get out of my way!” Graham yelled.

“We’re trying to help you!” the prepper in the passenger seat yelled back. Though the voice came distorted through the suit, Graham thought he recognized it. “Dalton?” he said, confused.

“Yes, it’s me. Get in the back. Hurry, there’s little time.”

Graham grabbed his rifle and ran over to the other vehicle. Some of the pieces of the mysterious prepper community were falling into place, but he didn’t have time to reflect on it now. He jumped into the backseat of the Humvee and they sped off into the distance without their lights on.

“I think I saw their taillights up ahead. You know they have Tala, right?” Graham asked.

“Yes. We’re tracking her now, so try to stay calm. We’ll get Tala back, but you need to let us help you. This is Sam, and—well, you know me,” Dalton said.

“Yes, I do, and later we will talk about why you didn’t say it was you in the first place,” Graham said, clearly upset. “Those fuckers grabbed one of the twins first. Tala traded herself,” he added, continuing to curse the situation.

“We’ll do what we can. You have to keep in mind, we’re still susceptible to the virus you carry so if something happens to either of our suits, do not approach us, all right?” Dalton said.

“All right.”

“Are there just the two men?” Sam asked.

“As far as I know. I don’t know if there are any more in their camp. Three came by canoe from across the lake one night, but we took one out. It seems you already know that though. Son of a bitch! This is my fault. I should have wasted all of them that night,” Graham said.

“Stop it, Graham. We’ve watched it all. This isn’t your fault,” Dalton said.

Graham went on torturing himself. “I should have kept them in the damn cabin!”

Sam spoke up then. “Look, Graham, can you see this screen?” He tapped a gloved finger on a glowing device on the front seat.

“Yeah?” Graham said as he watched two little sets of numbers moving forward, one gaining on the other.

“This one is Tala,” Sam said, indicating the farthest one out.

“And the other one is me? You shits!” Graham said incredulously. “You can’t just fucking tag someone just because you can,” he added.

“The point is, this one is Tala,” Sam said, and Graham was relieved to see some connection to her there.

“Here’s the plan,” Dalton said.

48 The Accident

“Stop fighting me, bitch,” the big one said, as he tried to shove his hand down the front of Tala’s pants. Clearly frustrated, he yelled to the driver, “Hurry up, man.”

“I told you, she’s mine first,” the driver said, and shoved him to make his point, knocking Tala along with him. She leaned forward, grabbing the dashboard, trying to get away from the shoving match as the driver swerved and then overcorrected as they slid in the snow, causing the jeep to tip sideways as it careened off the road. It flipped over twice before coming to a complete stop, throwing all three occupants free. When it landed it caught fire.

~ ~ ~

Graham and the preppers saw the fire from a distance and sped faster over the snowy road, almost to the point of recklessness, saying nothing to one another. They didn’t know what to make of the scene before them, lit by the jeep fire when the three exited the Humvee. Tala lay face down in the center of the road, not moving. Her left leg was at an odd angle, definitely broken in the crash. Graham rushed toward her as Sam yelled, “Wait!”

They scanned the area and detected no movement. One man lay half under the burning jeep. On further inspection, he clearly proved to have died on impact, with his head gashed open and his brains exposed. There was no sign of the other. Dalton nodded for Graham to go to Tala’s aid, and Graham checked her pulse and found that she was breathing, but she had obviously been knocked unconscious from the accident. Graham was afraid to move her.

It was pitch dark in the perimeter around the burning jeep and headlights of the Humvee, so Sam stood guard. Dalton checked Tala out and decided it just couldn’t be helped. They needed to just lift her, despite the badly broken leg, and get her into the Humvee before she died right there.

Graham put his arm under her, and Dalton helped flip her over so that Graham could pick her up. She had a bad gash on her forehead that was bleeding copiously.

They started for the Humvee when the hair on the back of Sam’s neck started to rise. He turned around quickly and saw the second intruder pulling himself up, aiming at Dalton and Graham. Sam fired but not before the man also fired off a round, aiming at the last second for Sam.

“Sam!” Dalton yelled as he watched the man recoil from the hit. Graham saw the intruder aim yet again, but at Dalton this time. Graham dropped to one knee, with Tala to his left, and pulled his rifle up. He shot the other man squarely between the eyes, leaving no question of his death.

“I think I’m okay,” Sam said. Dalton looked at his side; the shot had clearly shredded his hazmat suit but hadn’t come into contact with Sam himself. “That’s a fucking miracle,” Dalton said, feeling pretty damn lucky. But before he got back into the truck, Dalton got the emergency tape to patch up the suit to decrease Sam’s risk of contamination.

Dalton drove quickly back to the preppers’ camp. They needed to assess Tala’s injuries and at least set her leg in a cast before they took her and Graham back to Graham’s camp.

“We have a decision to make,” Dalton said, looking at Graham in the rearview mirror. “We don’t take carriers into our camp because it’s too risky. I hope you can understand that.”

Graham just looked at the man through the rearview mirror. Cradling Tala in his lap, he’d managed to straighten up her clothes as best he could, anger curdling in his veins as he did. The swelling in her leg remained a problem, and she clearly had a concussion.

“Look, she’s hurt really bad. She might even have internal injuries. Is there someone you have who can look at her?” Graham asked.

Dalton looked at Sam. “Call Clarisse, Sam. Maybe she’s got a suggestion.”

“Hi, Dalton, what is it?” Clarisse asked urgently, knowing that if he summoned her it was a medical emergency.

“We’re going to need another quarantine room. Sam’s suit was compromised, but we don’t think he was exposed. It’s taped now, and the female has several injuries. She has a leg fracture, concussion, and possible internal injuries from a car accident,” Dalton said.

“Dalton,” she said in a soothing voice, feeling his desperation through the line. “You know we made rules against bringing them here. I’m not against it, but you know you’re risking direct exposure to us all. As it is, we only have three rooms. I’ll have to let the guys out early. You and Sam will need to have separate ones since he’s at risk. Then, she will need the last one. I don’t think that’s a problem, but where do we stop breaking the protocols we set in place for the carriers? Again, I’m not against this, I just want you to be certain that this is what you want.”

“I hear you, and I understand.” Dalton glanced back at Tala in the backseat. “Get it ready, please—and thank you, Clarisse.”

49 Bad News

She ran the test again and again. Clarisse knew it wouldn’t come back any differently than the seven times before. She had to tell him now. She’d gone through every scenario, and there was just no other way. Dalton lay staring up at the ceiling. “Yes, Clarisse,” he said, knowing she was staring at him. He could always feel her presence, no matter where she was. He didn’t understand this, since he was a happily married man, but there it was.

“There’s news,” Clarisse said.

He knew something was wrong. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, even though she was in quarantine herself. Having operated on Tala, she confined herself to the lab. Her chestnut hair hung loose down around her shoulders. He’d never seen it out of its tight bun.

“What is it?” Dalton said as he came to the window.

“Sam. He’s been exposed.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not showing symptoms, but he’s a carrier now,” she said.

“Are you sure?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes!” she said, and broke down. He’d never seen that happen before.

“God dammit!” Dalton yelled, thinking of Sam’s now orphaned daughter.

“Does he know?”

Clarisse was still crying.

“Clarisse, does he know?” Dalton asked again.

“No,” she answered, shaking her head. “I thought I should tell you first.”

50 Reunited

Graham carried Tala into the cabin carefully. They’d spent five days at the preppers’ camp while Tala recovered from her injuries and the horrific ordeal. When she came to, Graham held her close while she cried.

He kissed her, “I love you, Tala. I’m so sorry this happened,” he said. She held onto him, crying into his shoulder.

She had a fractured leg, and her right shoulder had been dislocated. Clarisse had examined her fully and then had a frank talk with her about how lucky she’d been in spite of what she went through.

The two women hit it off, and Clarisse said that she wished Tala had not been a carrier because she was someone she felt she could be real friends with. Tala felt the same, but was happy when they said it was time for them to go back, because she missed the children—and even Ennis.

Graham laid her down on the bunk, taking extra care to arrange her leg and arm, both in casts, carefully. Fully medicated against the pain, Tala smiled up at him. “I’m okay,” she said.

He moved some of her hair out of her face. Then a very concerned Macy brought Tala a glass of water, pushing Graham out of the way. He gave the two some privacy, knowing Macy wanted to thank Tala for what she’d done for her. Tala hugged the girl, whose tears were streaming down her cheeks, then wiped them away for her and said to her in a strong voice, while holding her chin up, “I’m fine, Macy—really.”

“I know they hurt you,” Macy said as she began to sob even more.

Tala held the girl to herself, letting her cry. “Yes, they did, but there was no way I was going to let them take you, Macy, and no matter what they did to me, I know I did the right thing. Do you hear me? I love you as if you were my own child.” Tala pulled Macy up to look her in the eyes again. “It doesn’t matter what happened. What matters is that you were safe from them. You are the one who needs to go on. That’s what is important to me.”

“Thank you, Tala,” Macy said.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Tala smiled at the girl and kissed her on her cheek.

51 The Cost

Two weeks later, Sam and Graham tracked down two does through the deep snow in the east forest. Sam showed Graham how to rig up a carrier sled using boughs from the pine trees so they could easily pull the two kills along behind them, making it a lot easier than carting them manually back to camp.

“I’ve got a date in fifteen minutes, Graham,” Sam said.

“Okay, Sam, see you back at the cabin.” Graham watched as the quiet man went on his way.

Sam walked quietly across the frozen forest floor, breaking a deep snow path as it became necessary until he came to the rendezvous spot alongside the Skagit River, partly covered in ice. The sound of the rushing water was almost overpowering this time of year. He brushed the ice off a boulder and sat, waiting. He removed the small wood carving of the fawn he’d made for her this time, tossing it skillfully to land at the base of the pine across the river.

Soon he saw her coming, riding on Dalton’s shoulders. Dalton had promised to take care of the girl as if she were his own. He sat Addy down on her feet, dressed in a pink snowsuit with her hands in gloves and her hat pulled down. She was well cared for, and Sam waved at his daughter as she waved back.

“Hi, Daddy,” she said, shouting over the rushing water.

“Hi, darlin’,” he said, wishing he could hold her in his arms; the ache was never ending. “I put a present by the tree,” he said. Dalton pulled out the baggie and gave it to her, as usual. She ran over, excited to retrieve the gift. She knew to grab it through the baggie so Dalton could sterilize it before she could have it. The process would make the blond wood turn darker, but she didn’t mind. She loved all the little creatures he made for her woodland collection.

“How was school today?” he asked her.

“It was good. I drew you a picture. I sent it to you,” she said.

“I bet it’s real pretty. I’ll be sure to look at it as soon as I get back,” Sam assured her.

“I love you, Daddy,” Addy said.

“I love you too, baby. See you tomorrow.”

Addy turned around, reaching for Dalton’s outstretched hand. Dalton waved at Sam and he waved back, then Sam watched as they retreated back the way they came. When Sam could no longer see the pair, he turned and walked back to Graham’s camp.

~ ~ ~

The Cascade Preppers

~ ~ ~

1 The Trail between the Trees

The early winter sky was cast in a vibrant lavender that led to piercing blue above the horizon. It was as cold as hell is hot, if one can imagine the heat of hell as freezing. Graham pulled in the weighted line, hand over hand. He wrapped the twine from hand to elbow while staring down the murky blue ice hole of the frozen lake. The brown trout came squirming its way up the ice tunnel toward him to meet its fate.

Sam reached out and grabbed the greedy guy that currently hung midair. Removing the hook from its mouth, he dropped the frigid fish into a pail with its brothers. Sam and Graham were going for quantity over size when fishing in the shallow waters beneath the ice, but the chore of getting enough to feed everyone in their group had taken a little longer than usual this morning. In a matter of minutes the sky had gone from the deep blue, with a moon encircled in a fine mist to daylight so intense that eye protection was needed. Despite the warmth of the sunlight, extra layers of fur were still a necessity.

Once they’d caught enough for everyone’s breakfast, they silently gathered their gear to make their way back up the trail to camp. Like any two men who’d worked the same routine, they would perform their job without uttering a single word with regard to the task. “Get your nose out of there, Sheriff,” Graham gently warned the dog in a worn, low voice as he caught him peering into the bucket. “You’ll get your share.” He patted the dog’s head, tousling his fur, and picked up their morning haul. Sam came up behind him with the other lines after he’d covered the ice holes with spare plywood to keep them from freezing over too much.

“Ready?” Sam asked.

“Yeah.”

They crunched along the reliable crust as their boots echoed in the vast open until they met the trail between the trees. Mark had recently finished clearing the paths from that night’s continuous onslaught of snow.

As they walked up into the clearing, Bang, dressed in his snow gear from head to toe, tossed scraps to the chickens as they scampered all around him, eager for the meager delicacies. Sheriff ran up ahead to help out his young friend. Amused that the dog didn’t understand why they kept the birds caged, nor why he wasn’t allowed to visit with them inside the coop, Graham laughed. The hens often ran away and rudely, collectively, scurried to the other end of their enclosure when Sheriff came to greet them each morning.

Graham called out to Bang, “Make sure you give them fresh water.”

“I always do,” Bang replied, looking put out by the unnecessary reminder, but then his expression changed. “Mark told me to tell you Ennis isn’t up yet.”

“All right, thanks. I’ll give him a hand.” Graham and Sam walked in silence past the front of the cabin. Sam seemed to be pondering something, which wasn’t unusual for the man. One could spend the entire day with him and, other than a nod or an occasional word, he wouldn’t say much, but Graham always suspected Sam was either thinking ahead or mourning the separation from his daughter Addy. Whether he’d ever let another in on his thoughts was anyone’s guess, so it surprised Graham when Sam spoke up.

“You know, Ennis won’t see another winter. You might want to be prepared for that, Graham.”

Graham spoke softly. “Yeah, I’ve pretty much figured that out. We’re losing him a little each day. He rarely talks, but when he does, it’s always warnings. Like, he’s trying to give us as much as he can before he goes.” Graham stopped midstride and scuffed his boot into the ice, sending crystals a few feet forward. “I’m thankful we’ve had him for as long as we have.”

Sam clapped him on the back. He liked Ennis too. The old man had even shown Sam a thing or two about carving the little wooden figurines he made for Addy, the daughter he could see and hear but never again touch. If a man taught you something useful in life, he was a keeper in Sam’s book. Too bad they had to witness Ennis fade away so soon after coming to love and respect him so much.

“Hey, I’ll clean the trout and gear. You go ahead and help Tala with Ennis,” Sam said.

“Thanks, Sam.” Graham handed off the gear to him, then noticed Sheriff trotting behind Sam in high hopes of a fish head or two. The dog easily shifted his daytime alliances based on who had the better treats. This morning Sam was the man, but by nightfall he’d no doubt shift his loyalty back to Macy.

Graham walked back toward the cabin, took the stairs two at a time, and thudded onto the porch. The cabin door swung open. Tala greeted him with a fretful expression.

“There you are! I need your help; he’s not doing well,” she said. The worry lines on her forehead became clenched as she fought back tears. Graham reached for her. “Shhh, don’t worry,” he said, soothing her as best he could. Not often one for anxiety, Tala had proven herself to be levelheaded, more so than most of the women Graham had ever encountered. Everyone silently predicted and dreaded the upcoming loss of Ennis. Yet, Tala’s evident anxiety worried Graham and made him fear the end was near.

“Mark and I tried to help him up, but he said he’d wait for you. Sometimes I think he doesn’t recognize us.”

“I’ll go check on him. Has he eaten or drunk anything yet?”

“I brought him some water earlier. I don’t think he’s had any yet.” Then, lowering her voice even more, she whispered, “Graham, what are we going to do? He’s getting worse every day, and he’s avoiding water and other drinks. I think he’s got an infection, and he doesn’t want us to catch on to how much pain he’s in.”

“We’ve been lucky to have him this long,” Graham said and pulled her toward him. She looked pale. He caressed the side of her face with the back of his hand. Looking into her eyes, he saw a flash of fear and wondered what scared her. Before he could ask, his attention was diverted by footsteps behind him. Macy stepped out of the bathroom, getting a clear view of their embrace.

“Can’t you guys do that somewhere else?” she said, stomping with frustration out the door.

Graham and Tala both laughed. “Poor girl,” Tala said, returning to the subject of the ailing old man. “I think Ennis needs antibiotics and phenazopyridine hydrochloride.”

“Phenazo-what?” Graham asked.

“Phenazopyridine. Numbs the urinary tract. Don’t ask me how I know. The antibiotics we have, but none of the other. I hate to think of him in constant pain.”

Graham nodded. Hugging her close, he kissed her on the forehead, then released her. “Let’s keep him as comfortable as we can until we know for sure.”

Tala closed her eyes and nodded, unleashing quiet streams down her cheeks.

Graham took off his coat and he left her there. His shadow preceded him toward the bunkroom, gliding across the golden gleams of the formidably cold morning light as it spilled onto the worn, weathered flooring.

He strolled into the bunkroom to find Ennis asleep on his side; still and quiet, snoring with a whistling Graham had become accustomed to over the last few months. He straightened the covers a little and felt the old man’s forehead for any trace of fever. Finding none, he left him alone to rest and closed the bunkroom door behind him to keep out the noise of the living, going about their morning routines.

“He’s sound asleep right now,” he whispered to Tala, not wanting to break the peace within the cabin. Best to keep things quiet for a little while longer before the others returned. “After breakfast, I’ll try again. When’s your next call into Clarisse? Maybe she can give us some pointers.”

“We’re scheduled to talk tomorrow afternoon.” Tala still looked tense and, as Graham peered into her brown eyes, he saw something more concerning in there, in fact, on further inspection, she looked quite pale for someone with her American Indian heritage and skin tone. “Are you sick?”

“I’m fine. Just a little worried.”

Tala quickly went off into the kitchen to get things prepared for breakfast. Graham wanted to press her for a better answer, but the door opened. Sam entered, with the kids and Sheriff in tow. Graham and Tala hardly ever had a moment of privacy, living in such close quarters with four kids, two additional adults, and Sheriff.

Sam handed the cleaned fish off to Tala for her to make quick work of pan-frying them; they were all starving from the morning tasks. While everyone else cleaned up and set the table, Graham reloaded the woodstove to fend off the persistent cold that seeped through the cracks in the old cabin.

Soon the sounds and aroma of fried fish fillets held promise for hunger, and a familiar line formed by the bathroom door to clean up before breakfast. Just as quickly, they finished their meal of cornmeal pan-fried trout, creamy grits, and biscuits without much conversation beyond the uttered gratitude. To keep their rations plentiful they didn’t eat a formal lunch, so they’d learned to eat well at breakfast and dinner. If they were starving in between from the hard labor their days demanded, they partook of the extra baked goods Tala kept available.

Graham finished eating and looked up, expecting to meet eyes with Tala, as usual, but she purposely looked down as if in deep thought. He knew she was worried about Ennis, but he missed her usual cheerfulness. She seemed unnaturally quiet this morning. “Good breakfast, Tala,” He said. “Thanks.”

She glanced up at him and flashed a small smile, then went back to contemplating her meal, barely eating anything at all. He was about to ask her more when Sam piped up. Since Sam didn’t waste words, Graham gave the man his full attention, while Tala and the rest of the gang began to clear the table.

“Hey, Graham, before you go…” Sam leaned one elbow on the table. “I want to propose another hunt. Mark and Marcy want to go out this time.” He gestured toward the two teens, who scuttled out the door to stand their watch.

The noticeable pause after his statement told Sam that Graham had some reservations. “I don’t know,” Graham finally said. “I haven’t seen a winter as cold as this in several years.”

Sam knew that was true. The outside temperatures had ranged in the low single digits these last few weeks. It was February now, and they all yearned for warmer weather. As if the earth itself mourned the massive loss of human life, Mother Nature expressed her grief with a desolate landscape, draped in white. Still, Sam tried to convince Graham it was necessary to go out in the deep of winter yet again. “We need more meat to preserve for later, and the two kids should come along. They need to learn how to safely go on their own hunt next year.”

Graham looked thoughtful, and Sam waited. He and Graham needed to teach them things for their own survival. In this life they now lived, one never knew if they’d see the next sharp cold days of winter, let alone the hopeful blooms of the coming spring.

Experience told Sam this hunt would be the last of the season before things got too muddy and dangerous to travel far enough to make the expedition worth it. He hoped Graham would see it his way.

“Can you wait another week?” Tala asked, breaking up the uncomfortable silence. “Maybe the temperature won’t be so cold by then.”

“If we wait any longer, things will start to thaw and the environment will be worse. Camping in wet snow is no fun, and it’s much more dangerous hiking through the mountain passes, risking slides. This is the last safe time to go till later in the season. I wouldn’t offer to take them out if conditions were too dangerous.”

“Of course not, Sam. I think taking them out when things are at their worst is probably a beneficial learning opportunity for them. Marcy, for one, hasn’t asked to go on a hunt until now, and this will be a good chance to improve her survival skills.”

“Well, she might have ulterior motives.” Tala voiced her suspicions with significant, feminine perception.

“There won’t be any of that.” Graham pulled a tired hand down his whiskered face. “If you go, just make sure the lovebirds stay busy.” He sighed. “I don’t know how much longer we can keep Marcy and Mark apart though. All of a sudden, I’ve been strapped with two teenage daughters, and they’re driving me insane.”

Tala darted a quick glance at him and then flicked it toward Sam as she leaned against the kitchen counter.

Graham caught on at once. “I’m sorry, Sam. Feel free to give me a swift kick.”

Sam raised his hands up as if to physically keep the apology at bay. Yes, his pain at being separated from his own daughter was still raw, but sympathy didn’t help ease it.

“Graham, I’ve accepted the way things are, for now. She’s fine, and I still get to visit and talk to her. I can’t be with her but, she’s healthy and well cared for. Being apart from her kills me, but Clarisse said she’d keep researching a cure for the virus. I can only hope that one day she’ll come up with something that will cure all of us. In the meantime, I’m stuck with you guys. No offense.” Despite the way Sam had worded it, Graham knew he still felt a certain resentment toward the carriers. The consequence of his sacrifice even strained relationships between them and the preppers at times.

Tala smiled. “No offense taken at all; we’re happy you’re here with us. We only wish the circumstances were different.” Graham’s nod of agreement looked as genuine to Sam as his contrition at having spoken carelessly.

Sam huffed out a breath that could have covered a sob. Even he wasn’t sure which directions his emotions might go. “Me too. Even after months of this, the pain is still as strong as the day I left her behind with the preppers. I feel like a divorced parent, and Dalton’s got custody of her. I love the guy, but hate him too. Does that make sense?”

“It makes a lot of sense,” Tala assured him.

Though Graham and Tala had always encouraged him to talk about the situation, Sam seldom did. When he’d first arrived to live with them, he was too grief stricken to utter a single word out loud for fear he would release more than he could handle. Instead of gut-wrenching weeping, he kept to himself. He would leave early in the morning to hike through the woods. No one asked him what he was doing with his time. He’d overheard some of the kids ask questions, and when Graham told them to give him some time to deal with his torment, he knew the other man understood. The pain Sam endured was a living hell. Once—only once—Graham had commended him for not taking his anguish out on him and his little group of carriers. Sam knew he certainly felt guilt over the situation and wished there was something they could do to alleviate the circumstances.

The weight of Sam’s grief sometimes came close to overwhelming him, but out there among the stoic trees, desolate mountains, and endless snow, he’d finally come to accept what he couldn’t change.

Now that he carried the China virus, he had had no choice but to join Graham’s camp. At least he still spoke with his daughter Addy over the radio, and every few days Dalton would bring her to the Skagit River rendezvous spot where, at a safe distance, Sam could lay his eyes on her. Somehow things had normalized, or at least worked in the only way possible given their situation.

It took time, but Sam adapted. Every day at dinnertime a place had been set for him at the table whether he was around the cabin or not. He always returned to settle in with them for the night, and then, slowly he began sticking around more and taking part in their daily lives. Now he felt like part of the family.

“I hear Addy has been spending a lot of time with Clarisse lately.” Tala said. “We talk on the radio at least once a week. She enjoys having Addy in the lab, where she’s taught her how to identify different elements through the microscope. She’s even found a lab coat to fit her.”

A prideful smile crept over Sam’s face. “Dalton told me Addy would rather spend her time with Clarisse in the lab than at the day school. Said you gave her some tips on teaching Addy advanced math?” Sam asked.

“I did. I think this is the best arrangement for her. She’s very shy, from what I hear. If she were to stay in the school with the other kids, she wouldn’t progress as much as if Clarisse taught her. Clarisse is kind of a loner anyway. This arrangement is suitable for both of them.”

“Dalton said Clarisse still blames herself somehow,” Graham said. “She rarely leaves the quarantine building and sends the guard back to camp so she can sleep in her lab.”

“What happened wasn’t her fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. What happened happened. I’m a carrier now. At least I didn’t die,” Sam said in practiced resignation, then tried to change the subject. “So we’re good with the three-day hunt? I can take the two lovebirds tomorrow?”

“Yeah, at least Macy can catch a break from their antics for a few days. She’s getting pretty fed up, and she’s armed. It worries me, man,” Graham said, joking.

“All right, I’ll get them geared up,” Sam said and rose from the table.

“And I’ll pack up the food supply,” Tala said.

Each morning in this desolate life after death they rose and began the day’s never-ending tasks together, each going their own way as cogs in a wheel; without one the others soon tired, and this jeopardized the whole bunch.

2 Daily Routines

Graham went to put another log on the fire in an attempt to chase the persistent chill away. Afterward, he checked on Ennis once more, and found him sitting up and leaning against his pillow, whittling a potential arrow and dropping wood shavings on the blanket in front of him without a care. Noticing how Ennis shivered, Graham became concerned with him handling the sharp blade against the soft wood with his hands trembling so.

“Are you cold?” Graham asked him, but not only did he not acknowledge the question, he stared ahead and blindly slashed at the wooden arrow. Graham placed his hand on Ennis’s shoulder, getting his attention. At first, his eyes looked as if he saw only a stranger but, after a second beat, a spark of knowing flashed. “Are you cold?” Graham repeated, trying not to startle him with a blade in his hand.

Ennis stopped and lowered the arrow and knife to his lap, as if he needed a moment to ascertain whether or not the shaking meant the cold had overtaken him or if the constant, burning pain caused the trembling. “No,” came his words gravely and slow.

“Do you want to go sit in the living room by the fire? I’ll help you.”

“I can do it, but you can help.” Ennis’s old gnarled hands closed his knife with care, as they’d done countless times in his long life. Graham blew a silent breath of relief. He didn’t want to hurt the older man’s pride by taking the blade away from him. He peeled the littered blanket up and away and held out his arms to help Ennis up.

“I gotta go,” Ennis said. So Graham helped him slowly shuffle his way to the bathroom. Reluctant to leave him alone, he stood close by after Ennis motioned for him to close the door. Graham left him to have his own way. Hell, I won’t want anyone to help me go when I'm an old man, either. Still, Graham waited by the door. As a second thought, Graham peered around the corner to check if Ennis had drunk the glass of water offered to him earlier. The glass stood full to the rim on the nightstand. Oh crap. With the man shivering and not drinking, Graham began to worry he might be not only sick but also dehydrated. He’s probably got a bladder infection.

Standing there adjacent to the clean and shiny kitchen, Graham noticed that Tala had already taken off to the greenhouse to work on the spring seedlings. Is she avoiding me? She loved spending time out in the greenhouse—they all did. The hopeful sprouts represented, somehow, a promised achievement, a milestone at long last. If only the damn snow would melt and go away for good, allowing them to line out the new garden and get things ready. The sooner, the better. They needed to enjoy a triumph in survival.

The greenhouse they’d found on one of their many scavenging hunts stood resurrected between the cabin and the lake entrance as a welcome addition and a harbinger of good things to come. Tala, so excited when they showed up with the deconstructed load, divided her day job between the care and keeping of the cabin, food preparation, and seed starting. She’d spent several days scrubbing down and sanitizing the inside of the building, piece by piece. Once the guys cleared the snow from a large enough area to erect the greenhouse, everyone pitched in to put the contraption back together like some giant jigsaw puzzle.

Now she used every possible spare container to start the seedlings, and, as his mother had taught him each spring back in Issaquah, Graham scavenged newspaper from the abandoned homes to craft spherical pots.

They set up tables with scavenged grow lights, and Tala emphatically threatened anyone who even considered touching the emerging tender sprouts. Mold and bacteria posed the greatest threats, and she kept as watchful an eye over the plants as she did her newly acquired family.

Graham chuckled to himself as he thought of Tala threatening Sheriff for sniffing at the seedlings the first and only time. She’d shaken her head at the beloved dog and pointed her finger at him. Sheriff had tilted his head to one side, perplexed by her peculiar actions. His big brown eyes conveyed his concern to Graham. Has she lost her mind? She’d made her point over the plants, though, and now Sheriff didn’t even get close to the tables.

These days no one acknowledged the scars Tala had suffered at the hands of her two horrible kidnappers. Graham had happily cut the cast off her leg after Clarisse pronounced the bone healed enough. They made a grand production of cast-break day, turning it into a celebration of sorts; they needed all the celebrations, both minute and grand. Tala limped about gingerly for a week or two, and Graham helped her stretch out her calf muscles, but soon she walked perfectly fine on her own. Her outside scars had healed well.

But Graham growled to himself when his mind drifted to the thought of Tala’s inside scars. In truth, she’d lucked out with the incident and refused to admit—to him or anyone else—the terror he knew she’d felt. If it hadn’t been for Dalton’s and Rick’s invasive tactics, Tala’s fate would have been much worse. Regretting Sam’s fate beat out the fact that he didn’t die of the virus and instead became a carrier. His suffering from being separated from his daughter because of this sacrifice was hard to bear.

Graham’s mind drifted now. He and Tala had become close, in some ways closer than he and his wife had ever been, because of their recently shared circumstances. Tala’s sudden distance told him something bothered her, something beyond Ennis’s deteriorating condition. Her silence worried him because he knew her well enough to come easily to the conclusion that, for some reason, she now kept something from him—something important.

Ennis turned the knob of the door, signaling Graham to open it for him. The old man had neglected to tuck in his shirttails, like he usually did, but he had no one to impress these days. They all looked more unkempt as the winter wore on. Ennis seemed exhausted from this little journey to the bathroom. He leaned on Graham’s arm.

“Do you want to sit by the fire?” Graham asked again. The old man’s frail hands continued to shake, and the draft seeping through the cracks had them all wearing double layers.

“Yeah, I’ll sit in there.” It was good to hear a bit of strength in his gravelly voice. “Where’s my girl?”

Happy for the first real sign of clarity, Graham asked, “You mean Macy?”

“Yeah, Macy. Where’s she at?”

“She’s coming. Don’t worry, she’ll be here soon.” Graham guided him to the rocker by the woodstove in the living room. He settled Ennis down into the chair and grabbed the blanket draped over the back, tucking it around him. He added another log to the fire, then poked at the embers a bit, sending sparks flying within the enameled cast iron hold. After he had closed the latch, he asked Ennis, “Are you in any pain?”

“Nah, I’m all right.”

Graham doubted this; he’d seen Ennis become punier over the passing weeks. He wished he had a cure to keep the old man with them longer, especially for Macy’s sake. She’d become especially close to Ennis in recent months and would often read to him in the evenings after dinner from the various books Graham managed to scavenge. Macy would finish one chapter each evening, and shortly after, Ennis would rise and Graham would help him to his bunk for the night.

In the early morning Sam rose first and would assist Ennis into his chair by the fire and set him up with his coffee before heading out for the day. They’d all come to love Ennis so much, and Graham feared his inevitable death would be a real blow to the group.

They both looked up as Tala came through the front door, closing it quickly to preserve the warmth inside the cabin. Her earlier frown lines disappeared suddenly at the sight of Ennis up and about, and she flashed a thankful smile toward Graham. It removed all his doubts about secrets being kept.

“Good morning, Ennis. You ready for coffee?” Tala removed her outerwear and quickly reached down to hug the old man.

“No. You two gotta stop fussin’ over me,” Ennis said.

“We’re not fussing. We’re trying to care for you. You’d do the same for us,” Graham told him.

“No, I would not! You’re too much trouble to fuss over,” Ennis said to fluster them. He seemed proud of himself for the dig and laughed out loud.

Tala smiled at Graham and murmured, “At least he still cracks jokes.” Out of the old man’s sight, Graham shook his head.

“I’ll bring your coffee in a minute,” Tala said, raising her voice a bit so he could hear her. She bent down to kiss him. Graham motioned for her to leave them alone to talk, in an effort to preserve Ennis’s dignity.

“I could use some banana bread,” Ennis called after her. “I miss banana bread.” He held out both of his old gnarled hands, shaking as he formed a rectangle shape.

“I doubt we’ll have any bananas around here for a long time,” Graham said. He felt the old man’s head for any sign of fever again. “In all seriousness, Ennis, you have a fever. I think you’re in pain and keeping it to yourself. You’re also not drinking anything. Do you have an infection?”

The old man huffed and looked down into his lap. “I do not want you to waste your medicine on me. I’m on my way out, Graham. Them kids, Tala, they might need them more—later. They do not make them anymore, you know that?”

The admission shocked and angered Graham. “How long’s this been going on, Ennis? Hell, we can get more meds. Yeah, they don’t make them anymore but there are sure as hell more supplies nearby. You cannot sacrifice yourself like this for us. Jesus, Ennis.” He reached for the old man’s face again, but Ennis tried to bat his hand away. “No, Ennis, knock it off, man. Are you even going? You know what I mean.” He tried to whisper it.

“No, not much. Hurts to go,” he admitted.

“God dammit! Tala, get him some water and the antibiotics,” he yelled, ignoring Ennis’s protests as he rose to take what Tala brought in.

She handed him the water glass and meds. “Go easy on him, please, or he’ll shut down altogether. We do not have any painkillers for this and these antibiotics will take a few days to work.”

“The old doc’s house probably has those pain meds,” Graham said as he handed the two capsules to the stubborn old man along with the water. “Take these and drink this,” he ordered, then remembered Tala’s words of caution. “Please.”

Ennis accepted them both, looked up at Graham, and said stubbornly, “You’re not the boss of me.” He shook his head, but he took the medicine all the same. While he drank, Graham told him, “I am your boss right now, and that’s okay. We’ll trade, and you can be the boss of me later.”

Graham looked behind him as Macy came in with cold rosy cheeks, “Tala, I’m ready to call in. Any news to report?”

“Yeah, tell them Sam, Mark, and Marcy are leaving in the morning on our last hunt for mule deer this season,” Tala said. Graham was grateful she didn’t mention Ennis’s condition; best they keep it to themselves for the time being.

“All right, Macy said, rolling her eyes. “Not having them around for a while will be nice.” She went into the bunkroom and sat at the table set up with the radio to the prepper camp. Communicating daily became her routine chore now—to make a check and relay news each morning.

Macy depressed the microphone’s button. “Hi, Rick, Macy here,” she said.

“No, no, no, you’re doing the entry all wrong,” Rick said.

“Why do I have to use the Twin Two call sign? You don’t use a call sign,” Macy complained emphatically.

“Rick is my call sign. I don’t make up the rules, I just enforce them,” he said, kidding her with the old cliché.

“Fine. Twin Two here,” Macy said with as much mustered sarcasm as the occasion called for.

“Much better,” Rick said. “Whatcha got this morning?”

“All is well. Sam, Mark, and Marcy are leaving on a three-day hunt, going north for mule deer tomorrow morning,” she said.

“Okay, sounds good. We’ll be free of the north exit by 0800. All is quiet here, except we’re having a banjo tournament. We discovered there really is a Bigfoot, and we’re having a pizza party. Sorry, you guys aren’t invited,” he said teasing her.

Macy didn’t bite; she used her deadpan voice instead. “I’ll share the good news. Have a spectacular day, Rick; Twin Two out,” she said, barely acknowledging Rick’s exit call before she hung up.

Macy often found Rick exasperating. Why they still went by what she considered an expired procedure mystified her. She liked that term, expired procedure, and always used it in references to school, politics, and braces. Only 2 percent of the population still alive meant the chance of an unknown tapping into their radio frequency was highly unlikely. Still, she enjoyed having a camp job that gave her an important responsibility, and she’d volunteered for it willingly. After the call ended, she wrote in the log, noting the time and response, leaving out the banter part, and went back into the kitchen to check in with Tala.

“I’m headed out for watch now,” Macy said as she passed through, only to find Tala leaning over the sink, with her eyes closed, and breathing deeply. “Are you okay?” Macy asked, alarmed.

Tala quickly put her hand up behind her to ward Macy off. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I think I didn’t get enough sleep, is all.”

“Yeah, I heard you up early this morning. Did you eat something that was past its prime?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’ll be fine, go ahead to guard duty.”

“Okay,” Macy muttered, still concerned. She hadn’t seen Tala this way before. Anyone coming down with an illness concerned them all. Naturally, fearing sickness after the pandemic came easily. For now Macy let her suspicions go, but she vowed to herself to keep an extra eye on Tala all the same.

On her way to gear up for the outdoors, Macy stopped to see Ennis. He gazed up at her, and when she smiled at him he reached up and patted her on the arm as if to affirm her existence, but no words trailed behind the effort. He absently returned his attention to the blaze of the woodstove, as Macy readjusted the blanket around him and donned her jacket, which Sam had lined with wolf fur to keep her warmed through in this prolonged, frigid winter. She holstered her pistol and slung her bow and quiver around her back.

She kissed him on the cheek. “Bye, mister.”

Ennis peered up into her blue eyes again. “Yep. You be careful, girl. Keep your ears open, your eyes steady, and trust your instincts. Always trust your instincts out there. They’ll save your life.”

“I will, Ennis.” She patted him, and he held her hand a moment too long. She smiled at him and pulled away.

~ ~ ~

Macy had to blink to let her eyes adjust to the bright morning light reflecting off the snow. The quick rhythm of Bang shoveling a trail to the chicken coop with his little shovel greeted her as she put on her gloves. Graham tinkered under the hood of the Scout, topping off fluids for the hunting party. “We’re up, Bang,” she shouted. “Guard duty!”

“Did you call in?” Graham asked.

“Yes, Graham. It’s all good.”

“Did he ask about the cameras again?”

“No, I think he’s given up on that one.”

“Last time I talked to him, he brought the subject up and griped about the injustice. I told him to take it up with Sam. Rick’s not often without something to say,” Graham chuckled, lowering the hood with a clank.

“Too bad. I can’t believe they spied on us for so long.”

“Well, it’s a good thing, considering what happened.”

“He still insists I use Twin Two,” Macy said dryly.

Graham laughed out loud while Bang ran up to Macy, ready to go on duty.

“Any eggs yet?” she asked Bang.

“Nope, not yet. I think the weather is still too cold for them.”

Macy handed him a hand warmer Tala had made with rice sewn into little flannel bags warmed in the oven right alongside breakfast. She kept them by the door in the morning so the watchers’ hands wouldn’t freeze. Macy put one in each of Bang’s pockets and helped him to zip up his jacket.

“I get the lake today,” she told him with a smile.

“I know. See ya,” Bang said, and skipped away toward the driveway with Sheriff giving chase behind him. The lakeside provided more entertainment with wildlife than did driveway duty.

Macy waved at Graham, who waved back as she walked down the shoveled trail to the lake. The snow crunched and compressed beneath her boots as she walked. She squinted her eyes at the overwhelming brightness, the sun reflecting off the white snow in the clearing. Down the trail and in the shade, the temperature dropped further. Rick had an outside camera on her, though she’d forgotten exactly where, and she waved a greeting blindly toward its general area. It was all in the name of security, but having eyes everywhere still gave Macy the creeps. She didn’t like always being spied on.

Hearing her twin, Marcy, stirring in the deer blind, she buffered herself for the possible quarrel she had come to expect these days.

“You’re late again,” Marcy accused.

“I am not. Get off your high horse, Marcy. I just got here.”

“Remember, girls—no arguing!” Graham’s voice came over the handheld radio, warning them both.

Marcy thrust the radio into her sister’s hand. “You started it.”

“Stop doing this, Marcy. I don’t want to clean out the waste box again, do you?” Macy whispered sternly while holding the radio muffled against her jacket.

Marcy stomped off up the trail without another word, and Macy wondered why her sister had a need to drive a wedge of discontent between them every chance she got. She huffed out a breath, then braced her boot toe on the first step of the deer stand as she climbed up into position. She checked the perimeter with the binoculars they kept in the stand. Other than a small gray deer trying to sip from the frozen shoreline to the west of the lake, isolation reigned. She called in her report to Graham, knowing he would be expecting it on time. Afterward, she sat back and reflected on her troubled relationship with her twin.

Happy that Marcy would be gone for a few days, Macy couldn’t understand her sister took every opportunity to needle her about something, anything. They were turning sixteen next month, and Tala planned to make a real cake for them—if one of the chickens laid an egg. Macy scoffed at herself. Last year at this time, she’d selfishly begged her mom and dad for an iPod, and now she looked forward to a chicken laying an egg so a simple cake might commemorate her and her sister’s day of birth. They had lived on, despite the fall. So much had changed in only a few months.

A tear slid down her cheek anyway. She missed her mom and dad more than anything. She’d almost trade Marcy for either one of them right now. Almost.

The honking of approaching geese alerted Macy before she could see them, circling around and landing on the frozen lake. “Noisy birds,” she said to herself. They reminded her of SeaTac Airport, where the planes would arc around as they lined up to come in for a landing; that seemed so distant now.

Her melancholy was broken by a gray shape darting out from the opposite end of the lake, chasing one of the waterfowl and sliding on the ice. Her heartbeat hastened until she felt the pounding even in her slim wrists. She drew icy air sharply into her lungs, depressed the microphone on the radio, and repeated in an intentionally calm voice three times, the way Rick had trained her, “Wolf on the lake, wolf on the lake, wolf on the lake.”

Almost instantly, Graham, Sam, and Mark charged down the trail. Always armed and ready, the men were a formidable crew in any contingency. A wolf or bear sighting always meant serious business: the potential for meat and fur.

As Macy watched, two more of the dark animals raced onto the ice, but she didn’t even try to aim at the creatures with her pistol or bow. The three men rushed past her and got into position. The three wolves were within sight, and if there wasn’t a potential for a good hunt, the scene would have been comical: the wolves slipped and slid on the ice as the geese easily flapped and flew away.

Graham aimed and shot one wolf, dropping it quickly; the others aimed for the two fleeing toward the tree line. The remaining geese took flight in a rush as the booming gunfire resounded.

Mark took down his mark, but Sam didn’t, and everyone sucked in a breath at this rare miss as the lone wolf took off. Still, they counted themselves lucky to have nabbed two.

“Good job, Macy girl,” Graham said while the other two men went out to retrieve the kills. “It’s a good thing I got the truck ready for the trip this morning. Looks like I’ll be skinning in the greenhouse the rest of the day.”

Graham had learned to skin animals from his father, but Sam had taught him several new tips and tricks for preserving the pelts so nothing was wasted. Everything would eventually be made into warm coats, blankets, or mittens. Macy knew Graham didn’t enjoy the tedious skinning process any more than he or the rest of them had enjoyed the rift that processing the kills caused between Tala and Sam.

Graham mused over how, even now, the great wolf debate raged on. Thankfully they’d all came to an agreement over their first debate. Sam wisely never wasted anything from various hunts of deer or even bear. Tala, always accommodating, dried and preserved all cuts of game. However, when it came to wolf, she put her foot down. Tala’s Indian heritage held her back from eating wolf meat. She refused to even handle the meat or the pelts since her traditions forbid consumption of wolf flesh.

Her grandparents had taught her this traditional taboo. Though she couldn’t explain why, she said the ritual had something to do with the animal’s soul. Sam agreed, instead of poking fun at her as she expected. Each of them held something sacred, and this was hers. After all, Tala meant “wolf.”

The prospect of starvation had changed things, though, so they had made a contingency compromise: they would forgo eating the meat unless starvation became a factor. If or when food became short, all bets were off, and Graham said he’d personally make smoked wolf sausage if Tala didn’t want to handle the kills herself. So, for now, they consumed all food except wolf meat.

Tala, typically easygoing and sensible, had surprised them when she’d adamantly spoken up about her aversion to the meat. But they’d all listened, and they granted her this one; Tala made few demands.

Even Sam admitted later that he’d never liked the taste of the gamey meat. Wolf meat tasted surprisingly too much like chicken, and it felt too close to eating your own dog. Since they all loved and admired Sheriff, eating wolf would be a particular turnoff.

For now Graham surveyed the ice as the guys slid the gray wolves to shore. Mark dropped his and ran up the trail to grab a sled, huffing and puffing, his breath in clouds.

At the same time, Tala’s voice crackled over the radio clipped to Graham’s belt, telling him she called in the disturbance to the preppers’ camp so they wouldn’t worry over hearing the commotion coming from their direction. “Thanks, babe,” he said.

Sheriff came up to inspect Mark’s kill, sniffing the large wolf, then trotting on to sniff the next one, only four feet away.

“Macy, can you call in to Tala and have her radio Rick? I need a child visitation tonight before dark please. I’ll be gone for a few days, so I’d like to lay eyes on Addy before we head out,” Sam asked.

“Sure, Sam. I should have requested the visit earlier.” Macy relayed the message right away.

“I’ll help you get these hung before I head out,” Sam said to Graham.

Graham shook his head. “No need. Macy and I can handle it. She has muscles. You go spend time with Addy before you go.”

“I just want to see her for a moment or two,” Sam said.

Soon the sound of Mark and the sled dragging behind him drew closer. The boy did everything in fast motion these days. They were amazed at how well he had fully recovered from his unfortunate experience with the preppers. Though they’d had their reasons, it had been tough on the kid. When they’d first found him, he was a wreck, and now the young man could outdo both Graham and Sam at most any task.

“All right, let’s get these up to the greenhouse,” Graham said.

“I’ve got to finish packing,” Sam said. He headed back to camp, closely followed by Graham and Mark dragging the sled with the two wolves piled on it.

Macy waved good-bye to them as they trudged back up the trail. Again she lifted her binoculars and checked all corners in her view and, after a moment, listened again to the lonely silence wafting across the frozen lake before her.

3 His Best Girl

“All right, let’s try this again,” Graham said, “you two hold him by the shoulders and, on my count of three, we’ll heave him upward, and I’ll slide his”—he took a breath and wiped the sweat from his brow with his shirtsleeve—“back leg onto the hook. Ready?” Another deep breath. “One, two, heave.”

As Graham lifted the tail end of the wolf, Macy and Bang attempted to heft the rest of the weight high enough for Graham to slip one back leg over the hook by the sliced opening between the bone and tendon.

Graham’s arms and shoulders shook from the effort of maintaining a steady hold on the animal. Macy and Bang grunted right along with him as they hoisted the animal into position. Triumphantly, Graham pulled the catch through the slice, and they slowly let go of the weight, releasing the breaths they’d held during the task.

“Whew, big guy! He must weigh close to a hundred and fifty pounds,” Graham panted.

Bang laughed. “He’s as big as you!”

Sam walked into the greenhouse, “Hey, I said I’d give you a hand with that.” He strode to the smaller wolf, still lying on the sled, and lifted one back leg, shoving his thumb through the skin at the right place between tendon and bone. Then, he pulled the hook down, while at the same time hoisting the leg up. He slipped the hook through the slot in the animal’s leg and hauled it aloft. He struggled a little, but his long sinewy muscles, accustomed to this type of work, proved their worth, and he let out a steady breath; it was nothing compared to Graham’s exertion.

“How the heck did you do that?” Graham asked incredulously while Macy and Bang laughed.

Sam, never one to show up another man, said simply, “This one weighs less. I’m off to visit Addy. Be back later.”

~ ~ ~

Sam busted through the layered snow, breaking a new path. It had snowed since the last time he’d traveled the trail to where the Skagit River bordered the prepper camp. The sun hung lower with midafternoon, behind the evergreen treetops, though you couldn’t tell through the darkness of the thick forest; it might as well be late evening. Sam came closer to the rendezvous spot, thinking how the tinkling sound of the frozen river would soon become a roar as the spring snowmelt came from high in the Cascades. He walked into the clearing and brushed the weightless sugar snow off the boulder that he’d come to use as a waiting stool.

He fished the latest carving out of his jacket pocket and sat. This one was a gray wolf, like the one he’d shot at today and missed. He took out his knife and made a few detailed curving cuts along the chest of the animal to highlight the wolf’s furry mane. Finally he scraped the soft wood smooth with the edge of the blade to finish the carving off.

Pretty soon his girl wended her way through the long, desiccated brush with Clarisse right beside her. Addy waved, her face lighting up when she spotted him. “Hi, Daddy!” she hollered across the river distance to Sam.

“Hi, darlin’!” Sam yelled back. How he masked his pain remained a mystery to him, but he was still glad he had the strength to shield her from the wretchedness within himself.

“Look at my hair, Daddy,” Addy said and pulled her knit hat off. Sam’s heart sank at the sight. His dismay must have showed because Clarisse turned the child to show him the back of her head.

“She wanted to try my hairstyle!” Clarisse shouted. “She still has all her beautiful long hair, Sam.”

“It’s beautiful, baby.”

He remembered many evenings watching his little girl sitting on her mother’s lap as she pulled the boar bristle hairbrush through her locks, singing a lyrical tune. He missed brushing Addy’s hair himself, like he’d done after her mother’s death, smelling the sweetness of her, rosy cheeked in clean pajamas fresh after her bath. Missing Addy and her mother kept him in a state of constant agony. “Thank you, Clarisse, for watching out for her,” he said.

“Oh, no problem, Sam. We get along quite well.” Clarisse hugged the girl to her side.

“I brought you a new one, Addy,” he said, getting ready to toss the wolf carving overhand to the pine trunk, as always.

Clarisse took a baggie out of her pocket and handed it to Addy, who ran over to retrieve the figurine. There was little risk she would contract the virus from something Sam had handled, but they guarded against it anyway.

“Thank you, Daddy! It’s beautiful,” Addy said, examining the wolf carving through the plastic of the bag.

“You’re welcome,” Sam said, “Addy, I have to go on a hunt for a few days, but I’ll be back soon, okay?”

“Okay, Daddy.” She frowned as a thought crossed her mind. “But you will come back, right?”

“Yes, Addy. I’ll always come back to you. I won’t ever leave you, baby.”

“Daddy, I miss you,” Addy said loud enough for Sam to catch the disappointment in her voice, over the expanse; more of a confused question than a statement. She didn’t understand their circumstances. How could she, when even he walked around in a half-life, constantly bargaining for any remedy in silence?

“I miss you more, sweetheart.” Sam’s own voice fractured. “I won’t be gone more than three days. Draw me pictures, okay?”

“Okay, I will. I love you, Daddy. Be careful on your hunt,” Addy said, waving her little left hand while she held the beloved wood carving to her chest with the right. She blew her dad a kiss over the void, and Sam caught it and sent another back to her, not at all worried how foolish the ritual might seem to Clarisse.

“Bye, Clarisse,” Sam said, but he suspected she didn’t trust her voice to say it back. She simply waved good-bye to Sam, as he visually guarded them, watching them walk back into the forest and out of sight.

Sam’s heartache made him tremble. “Dammit,” he said under his breath as he placed both hands above his knees and doubled over, facing the snowy ground below.

The merciless sorrow infiltrated his soul with an agony as incessant as he imagined a crucifixion must produce. He awoke each morning and met the day filled with the knowledge of where he was, and why, and what he’d left behind, then carried the same pain with him into sleep. Sometimes his visits with Addy sustained him enough to subsist, but others, like this one, left him feeling like a prisoner, powerless to protect himself and his daughter from the madness.

“I will never leave you,” Sam whispered the vow. He took his time getting back to Graham’s camp.

4 Addy at Heart

Clarisse held Addy’s hand as they walked back to camp. “How about you and I go to the mess hall and grab dinner before they eat all the barbecue TVP chicken?” Clarisse suggested in an attempt to break Addy’s glum silence. Most people in camp liked the chicken flavored textured vegetable protein, and it usually went fast. The girl hadn’t said much, and Clarisse sensed the wheels turning as Addy’s young mind sought a solution to the problem. She was that kind of child, and Clarisse sympathized, but too much reasoning and plotting could lead her into trouble. If Addy was working on a way to be with her father, Clarisse would need to head her off at the pass, to keep her safe in spite of herself. Addy was looking for a solution instead of thinking about chicken TVP.

“Clarisse, Dad stays away from me so I don’t get the virus. But can’t you figure out a way for me to get it, so I can go stay with him? I think he’s lonely.” In genuine concern, little lines etched on her forehead.

Clarisse knelt down by the child’s side on the snowy path. “Sweetheart, every spare moment I’m working on this.” She tucked a wayward strand of the girl’s locks behind her ear. “Nothing would make me happier than you and your dad being back together, but I can’t give you the virus. Do you understand that if you get it, you might die?”

“Daddy didn’t. He got better.”

“Most people don’t. If I let you die, your daddy would be very, very unhappy. I know he’s unhappy now, and you are too, but you’re both alive and can see each other, talk to each other. You just can’t touch, because it’s dangerous to you. I promise you I’m working hard to find a vaccine, but I don’t know if it’s even possible. Please understand, I’m trying everything I can, but I don’t want you to get your hopes up, dear.” She hugged the girl again, as much to hide her own anguish over the situation as to comfort Addy.

“Now, come on, let’s go get dinner, and you can show Dalton your new animal.”

~ ~ ~

The guard buzzed Clarisse and Addy into the main camp, and they made their way over to the mess tent where the preppers caught up with one another toward the day’s end. Dalton waited with open arms to greet the girl. Addy didn’t run into his embrace like she would her father’s, but leaned into him for a long hug, frowning.

Right off Dalton sensed melancholy in both Clarisse and Addy. He shot Clarisse a questioning look. She smiled sadly and shrugged in answer, as if to say, What else can we expect from this situation but a sad little girl?

“Hey, Addy, what did your dad make you this time?” Dalton asked. Addy held up the baggie displaying the wolf carving. When her sad brown eyes met his, he said, “Wow, I like how the fluffy tail came out. He’s getting better and better at carving. Do you want to show the boys?”

She shook her head and pulled the baggie closer to her chest. Her reaction, and the reason for it, brought a hard lump to Dalton’s throat. He wrapped her up in his arms again, trying to dispel the feelings of unwantedness, unwelcome in his family, that he was pretty sure she held; he lifted her and sat her on his knees on one of the dining table benches.

Clarisse went to get Addy’s dinner. Dalton smiled as he watched her. Being a picky eater herself, Clarisse would select Addy’s meal with care. The child always wanted things simple on her plate, predictable, exactly as she did with other things in life—facts laid bare, not dressed up, no trying to make something of it that it wasn’t.

Just like Kim, Dalton thought as he stood to set Addy down on a bench to await her food. He went to get his own dinner. The line was longer now, moving slowly, but he was in no hurry. As he stood waiting for his turn to be served, he thought about how his wife had reacted to the idea of caring for Addy.

~ ~ ~

Without ever really trying, Kim had quickly given up even the pretense of trying to communicate with the girl, and the whole situation had put a strain on their marriage. In public, Kim said the things she should have, but in private she remained stone cold to the task. She had her boys to prove her capable of motherly love. This devastated, quiet little girl with great but unspoken neediness was too foreign to her; beneath her, she said.

She excused herself to Dalton by telling him of all the time and effort she’d spent trying unsuccessfully to reach the girl, and revealed regretfully that they just “never clicked” despite her efforts. As Kim would say to anyone who asked about the situation, “I just don’t get her,” as if Addy were the one at fault.

One day Kim had discovered Addy hiding in the latrine during school hours. She yelled at the despondent little girl, who’d escaped there to cry in privacy; the other kids always made fun of her for crying.

Later that night Dalton found Addy up in the dark of night, packing her own backpack to leave camp. Something had to give, or the girl would end up hurting herself. He argued with his wife to accept her because he owed this debt to Sam. He couldn’t understand why Kim held such animosity toward the orphaned girl; it made no sense to him. How could she be so hard as to let a harmless child sense she wasn’t wanted? Besides, what other options were there?

That same day, he later learned, Kim had made a rare appearance at the quarantine building expressly to speak with Clarisse. Kim had concluded that, of all the females in the camp, Clarisse—another person she didn’t get—would have the best chance of becoming a guardian for Addy. As Kim explained it to Dalton that evening in bed after a quiet but intense session of lovemaking, Addy was just like the antisocial, brainy, outcast doctor, only in a younger form. Pawning the girl off on Clarisse was the best way. End of all the troubles; end of story.

That night Dalton stroked the soft, pale skin of her exposed hip. She lay on her side, curves highlighted by the glow of a flickering lantern. Kim knew her value and always used it to her advantage. She whispered sweetly, “Dalton, about Sam’s kid. She does not belong with us. She doesn’t fit in. She’ll have to go.”

He lifted his hand, stopped the caressing. Kim turned to face the wall, obviously uncaring what his opinion might be on the subject. She always left him to view the good parts instead of her flaws. The lantern light danced on the exposed crack of her bare ass, her lower back, the dipping curve of her waist, her slender shoulder. He loved her even though he feared her inner soul contained nothing more than frost.

“Go?” he echoed, turning her back to face him. Her expression was guileless. “Go where?”

“Clarisse will take her. I’ve already fixed it. You’ll see I’m right; it’s for the best.” Again, she turned her back, pulled the covers over her shoulder and burrowed into the covers.

Dalton lay staring at his wife’s form for a long time. Then, without a word, he rose from their double camp cot. He pulled his mottled green camo pants up over his naked hips. His dog tags jangled away from his chest as he bent over, slipped on his boots, and lifted the lantern. As he left their tented room, he peered in on his boys’ partition, watching their little chests rise and fall. He turned again to the next section and sought out Addy’s form, only to catch her up on her knees at the end of her cot gazing up through the small plastic window at the moon. She detected his presence as he stood silently looking at her. She half turned. “Do you think Clarisse will like me?”

It disturbed him that Addy had heard. He and Kim had learned to be quiet in lovemaking as well as in private discussions. Not wanting to address Addy’s question he said, “Why aren’t you sleeping, sweetheart? It’s late.” The moonlight cast a glow on her profile.

“Not sleepy.” Addy fingered the fabric of her nightgown, pleating the hem, squeezing it tightly then smoothing it out. She looked at him. “Can Daddy see the moon, too?”

Dalton swallowed hard. “Yes. Yes, he can.” He pulled a chair over to her so he could gaze upon the moonlight too, both of them in on this wondrous event; Addy turned back to face the bright orb with something of a smile on her crimson lips. The full, bright moon obviated the need for the lantern he held.

After turning the wick down, he said, “You’re never far from your daddy. He can see the same moon you do—the very same. Now try to sleep, sweet girl. I’ll stay right here with you.” He held the covers open so she could snuggle down beneath. After tucking Addy in, he patted her back. Closing her eyes, she held the contented smile. Placing a light kiss on her temple, Dalton sat back in the chair next to her bed and gazed at the moonlight.

Kim’s attitude toward Addy wasn’t going to change. Dalton knew that, though he didn’t like it. But if it had to be done, it was best to get it done at once. As the sun rose, its light replacing the moon’s, he waited for the sleeping child to stir. She blinked up at him, bringing an automatic, if reluctant, curve to his lips. He didn’t feel particularly happy. He felt as if he was betraying Sam as well as Addy.

“Good morning, dove.” He brought a finger to his lips. “Let’s go for a walk,” he whispered. He’d already gathered her knapsack as she lay sleeping through the wee hours and he sat sleepless, thinking. Slinging the pack over his shoulder, he reached for Addy. She smiled, he knew she knew. She stood barefoot on her cot while he wrapped her up in the blanket, keeping her warmth to go out into the cold.

At the crack of dawn in the prepper camp, few wanted to meet the day so early. Clarisse was one of those, rarely spotted coming and going from the quarantine building, if she left it at all. That would have to change, Dalton knew.

Keeping Addy warm in his arms, he buzzed the gate and nodded to the sentry. Addy smiled a hello. The hush of the cold morning had her snuggling closer in, tucking her legs up close, leaning against Dalton’s chest.

“S’okay, Addy. I’m taking you to Clarisse. To stay with her from now on. Do you understand?”

She nodded.

“She will take good care of you. I’ll visit every day, sweetheart.” He tightened his arm around her. He tried his best to keep the pain and resentment out of his voice.

“Clarisse is lonely too. I like her,” Addy whispered.

“I do too,” Dalton said as his boots crunched on the snow-covered gravel. Then Addy pointed up with a small finger. Swooshing wings beat the air in near silence. He stopped and they both looked upward at the gray morning sky to see geese flying in V formation—flocking toward the lake, Dalton guessed, near Graham’s camp.

Dalton smiled at Addy, and her at him, sharing another special event. They reached the quarantine building in a happier mood, having enjoyed the sight of creatures parting air, still prevalent and unchanged despite the catastrophe that had befallen the world.

Dalton, still carrying the girl, nodded to the security guard who buzzed him in.

“She’s in the lab.”

“Thanks.”

Clarisse looked up as he entered the room. She met his gaze before the child’s. “Hi,” she said, putting on a bright smile for Addy’s sake. “You two are out bright and early this morning. Come on in. Addy, I’m so glad you’re here,” she added, dispelling Dalton’s doubts in that instant. “I hear you’re going to be my new lab assistant.”

He put the girl down. The blanket fell about her bare feet. Her flannel nightgown hung down. Her brown hair stuck out, wild and unkempt as Addy embraced Clarisse’s waist.

Dalton watched for it, for the acceptance of this precious girl. On reflex, Clarisse hugged her back and pulled her hand over the girl’s tangled locks. She glanced quickly at Dalton, and he got the silent message she sent. She knew Dalton needed her to love the child, not just keep her. But she would have without question, without him needing her to. To Clarisse, Addy was a gift, never a question.

She knelt down to Addy’s level and smiled brightly. “Let’s get you cleaned up and fed.”

“Do we have to go back to camp to eat?” Addy asked.

“Nope. I have enough snacks here,” Clarisse replied.

Clarisse adored her already.

Clarisse reached for Addy’s backpack. Dalton forgot he’d borne the weight of it all the way from his tent, as he had the child. He’d also carried a much greater weight, the one in his heart. It lifted as he watched the scene play out.

“Thank you, Dalton, for bringing Addy to me,” Clarisse said.

He knew she meant it, knew for certain she saw the child as a gift, not a burden.

Dalton swallowed and bent down to bid Addy good-bye. He held her soft hands, and she leaned into him. “I’ll visit with you at dinner tonight, Miss Addy.”

She kissed him lightly on his roughened cheek, a sweet little brush. “Thank you for bringing me to Clarisse, Dalton.” He kissed her on the forehead and stood. Addy placed her hand inside Clarisse’s, and they waved good-bye to him.

As Dalton turned to head down the hall his heart ripped, but he knew Addy was where she needed to be. When he arrived back in the camp, he let Kim know he’d done it for the child’s sake, not for hers.

Some time before, Dalton had expressed his concern to Clarisse about her spending nights alone in the quarantine building instead of within the prepper camp compound. But this arrangement killed two birds with one stone: Clarisse and Addy would come back each evening so that they would be in the safe confines of Clarisse’s sleeping quarters and within the boundaries of the prepper camp. She was wanted, and both she and Clarisse were safe at night. Dalton felt like he’d failed the child, but he knew he’d still get to visit Addy every day.

~ ~ ~

Clarisse’s passing by him as he neared the serving table brought Dalton back to the present. He smiled at her as she walked past, a smile she returned. He was glad he’d made two people happy. Well, three, if he included his wife, though that fact was a mere by-product.

Clarisse brought Addy’s tray to her. While the others were having barbecue TVP chicken over rice, Clarisse opted to bring Addy her rice dressed with faux butter spread and a dash of salt and pepper, knowing the girl would not care for the rich barbecue sauce mixed in. She spooned a little of the main course on the side along with her reconstituted mixed vegetables. A slice of homemade bread and canned mandarin oranges rounded out the meal.

Clarisse always made a point of effort to converse with Kim at dinner now in an effort to ease the tension. She liked to think Kim had felt overwhelmed by all her diverse tasks in the camp and had acted in Addy’s best interest. While she knew it had been against Dalton’s wishes for Addy to move in with her, she had no complaints. Addy made her life complete. Well, almost.

As she went back for her own tray, Clarisse made a point of complimenting Kim on her cooking skills. “I don’t know how you do it. You’ve managed to make something different every evening, giving everyone something to look forward to.” Though she said it with effort and a forced smile, she hoped Kim would believe she meant it. In truth, Clarisse didn’t care much for the woman. She felt Kim didn’t appreciate her own husband and acted as the camp socialite, but she kept that slight contempt to herself, all the same.

“Well, we all have our jobs. I’m thankful I can bring a smile to most folks,” Kim said in her singsong drawl with a little dig toward Addy. Then, as if she remembered a question for Clarisse, or perhaps just wanted to keep a dialogue going with her for Dalton’s sake, she said, “Clarisse? Tammy and I were working in the greenhouse, and we had a question about cross-pollinating. Tammy says that you cannot plant pumpkins next to other squash but, I remembered planting them next to zucchini without any problems. Do you know what she’s talking about?”

“It’s a bit tricky,” Clarisse informed her. “Pumpkins can cross with other squash, and different kinds of squash can cross with each other. But you will not see the results in the crop that year; you’ll still get what you planted. It’s the seeds inside the fruits that are affected, so if you take those seeds and plant them the following year the fruits you get then will be a cross. Sometimes they’re quite strange looking—exotic—but often they’re inedible. So if you intend to save the seeds for the next year’s crop, which obviously you do in our circumstances, then you want to keep them separate to avoid cross-pollination.”

“Okay, we’re starting some of the seedlings now and planning the garden layout at the same time.”

Clarisse said, “That’s good news. We’re all very excited about eating fresh vegetables. Let me know if you need any help. I’m sure Addy would love to work in the greenhouse,” she added, then immediately regretted her words.

“That’s a great idea.” Kim lit up like a Christmas tree at the prospect. “We should get all the children involved. We’ll have a sign-up sheet!”

At the mere mention of a sign-up sheet Clarisse smiled and nodded, figuring that was all she could take. She backed away with her tray, nodding and smiling until she thought it might be safe enough to turn around and escape. She sat next to Addy, feeling as though she’d completed her quota of required socializing for the day and then some.

Clarisse watched as Addy finished her rice and worked on her oranges, giggling and listening as Dalton retold the story about how her dad had snuck up behind a moose so quietly last fall that the massive beast jumped when it realized a human had come that close. “Just like a scared cat.” The little girl laughed at the thought of her dad besting a moose. In Addy’s mind, there wasn’t a thing her dad couldn’t do.

Clarisse watched as Addy climbed onto Dalton’s lap and nestled into his arms while begging for another story about her dad. She ached to keep that happiness on the girl’s face. When Addy turned to tell one of the other children that what Dalton said about her dad “was so true,” Clarisse met Dalton’s eyes and mouthed, Thank you.

He smiled and mouthed back, Anytime.

5 Skinning Wolves

The inside of the greenhouse smelled of the loamy peat starter mix they used to encourage the new seeds to germinate. Graham associated the strong odor with the Easter holiday and with digging graves. More disconcerting was having the two memories mesh together—chocolate bunnies with pastel bowties and factory-produced yellow marshmallow chicks next to visions of him covering his father’s face with dirt. Every time he set foot in the building these pictures flashed before his eyes, but that’s the way it was. He would shake his head and exhale at the absurdity of his reactions. The others had similar triggers to past memories, both good and bad; you never knew what would prompt a reaction to the old in this new world.

He and Sam had erected two temporary posts for the purposes of hanging kills, to bleed them in the greenhouse. This temporary arrangement was agreed upon by the greenhouse boss—namely, Tala. They’d reserved enough space in the front to hang two kills at a time. As long as they promised not to disturb the greenery, Tala wouldn’t deprive them of coffee.

Skinning for actual taxidermy purposes would take a lot more attention to detail than their needs called for. They only wanted the most intact fur from the beasts, so Graham didn’t bother skinning out the paws or the head, which would take him an additional two to four hours sitting on an overturned bucket with a spotlight and visions of brightly colored jellybeans and pastel Easter eggs to contend with. He ran the small sharp skinning knife down the inside of the wolf’s paw up to the inside elbow and then up the inside shoulder, with the blade tip right under the skin. Then he made similar cuts for the other limbs, after first using a lateral cut to start pulling the hide back. Afterward he ran the sharp blade from the inside back leg, up to and around the anus.

Next he sat on the bucket and scraped back any tendons or tough tissue patches as he pulled the skin down toward the skull. Skinning wolves meant stinky work, but once you got the hang of the task, you ignored the musk and pushed forward. Some of the silly visions dispersed as the odor took over.

When he got to the line around the neck he continued to finish out the forelegs. The tedious task would take most of the evening to complete both beasts, but, if not done properly, the hair would fall out of the hide. If that happened, all the effort and benefit of the task would be lost.

Graham had learned the skinning process from his dad many years ago, never realizing he would come to depend on the skill. So now, when he picked up the knife, memories flooded in a rush. Each time grew easier, and now he appreciated the memories even though, in the beginning, they nearly drove him mad.

With several building projects planned once the warm weather took hold, he’d hoped to add two more bedrooms onto the cabin; one for him and Tala and one for the twins to share. Afterward he and Sam would begin working on a better barn structure. They wanted to get a hold of a few beef and dairy cows to help supplement their diet, and possibly start a small herd.

He was nearly down to the tail when Marcy came through the entrance, bearing a welcome cup of hot coffee.

“Hey, Tala said you needed this,” she said, presenting the steaming cup.

So far they’d managed to find coffee out on their scavenging trips, but Graham dreaded the day the coffee ran out.

“Give me a second,” he said as he stood up, put the knife away, and removed his gloves. As he pulled the fingers of the glove off one by one, he came to the conclusion that Marcy didn’t usually come around bearing gifts, and Graham suspected more to the delivery than mere coffee.

Marcy settled the warm cup in his cold hands.

“So, are you packed up for the hunt?” he asked her, knowing he’d better lead the conversation.

“Yeah, I’m ready.” She lingered, passively studying the raw flesh with barely the tip of her finger.

“You cleaned your gun?”

“Yes. As you showed me, Graham.”

She rolled her eyes, strolled away from the kill, and wandered behind Graham toward the seedling tables. He remembered his father telling a neighbor once, “You always have to stay at least one step ahead of teenagers to keep them from killing themselves.” Great advice, if you weren’t already three steps behind them to begin with, Graham thought.

She wanted something. Hope thickened the air they breathed. He took another sip of his coffee and vowed he wouldn’t make it easy for her.

“So, what were you and Macy starting to argue about earlier?”

“Nothing, Graham.” This wasn’t going the way she wanted it to, and he was glad for that. “I just thought she ran behind, but we worked it out. Like you told us to,” she added.

“Good. You two are sisters, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what the heck you’d have to argue about. You’re the luckiest set of carrier siblings here. In fact, you’re the only set of carrier siblings I know of, so far, so be thankful.” He wondered what else he could yammer on about to keep her true intentions at bay.

“The only other carrier blood relatives we’re familiar with are Dalton and Mark. They’re cousins and, of course, Dalton isn’t a carrier,” he rambled on. He wasn’t ready for the conversation he knew she was coming to talk about. The longer he held her off, the better.

She rolled her eyes finally and said, “I know, Graham! I’ll talk to you later,” and then stomped back to the cabin.

Graham took another sip and couldn’t help but chuckle. This parenting thing was a pain in the ass, with fifteen- going on sixteen-year-old twin girls. At least he’d managed to hold her off one more time.

After mooning eyes at one another for months now, he suspected she and Mark were getting closer each day, but Graham and Tala felt they needed to wait at least another two years. At only sixteen going on seventeen, Mark had a lot to learn before he became a husband.

Ennis looked at it differently; he’d lived in an era when early marriage was commonplace, and to see fifteen-year-olds married off wasn’t unusual. He argued that these were strange times, and if they were committed to one another, then that was fine with him. Graham and Tala decided Mark and Marcy could wait until she was at least eighteen. This would give them enough time to teach the two as much as they could.

Pregnancy presented another problem altogether. Clarisse warned them all about the possible risk of the virus affecting a fetus and mother. So far, none of the prepper community had become pregnant, so Clarisse hadn’t been faced with the issue head-on. Graham and Tala took precautions on the few times they managed to be intimate, purely because they were scared of the outcome. Tala had already miscarried once, and Graham wasn’t about to put her through that again since there was no assurance that a child would make it to term. There was no way of knowing the virus’s effects until afterward.

Graham finished his cup, pulled on his gloves, and went back to work. By the time he pulled the second hide free, the sun had long deserted him, and he had managed by spotlight alone. A moment later, Tala called him in for supper. “Give me a little more time to put this on the frame. I’ll be in soon,” he called to her.

Stretching the hides over the frames didn’t take him long to complete, especially with his stomach growling after a hard day’s work.

6 Going on the Hunt

Early the next morning Sam woke Mark, who in turn roused Marcy. Everyone spoke in hushed tones to keep from waking the sleeping ones.

After dressing quickly, Marcy gazed over at her sister’s sleeping form. She contemplated saying good-bye, but somehow her pride kept her from giving into the urge. She didn’t want to be only Macy’s twin sister anymore. She thought of herself as more than just someone’s sister. In Mark’s eyes she was more than that; with him, Marcy—for the first time in her life—became separate from Macy. Finally, she thought.

Marcy met Tala in the small kitchen, lit only by the kerosene lantern they used in the dark to help conserve the solar-powered electricity, where they packed the food the hunting trio would need. Tala gave Marcy a hug, and then a well-meant warning: “Marcy, listen to Sam and Mark. Keep yourself safe, and don’t take any risks.” There was an emphasis on the word risks; Tala was hoping to get a point across to the girl.

“I won’t,” Marcy said with an incredulous smile. “I’m not a baby. Honestly, you guys treat me like I’m a fragile child.”

“Marcy, we’re all fragile right now,” Tala said. “Please, mind Sam and don’t give him any trouble,” she repeated.

“I won’t,” Marcy promised, remembering how “not fragile” meant “whole,” and to become less than whole, or dead, happened too easily now. Sifting through the events that had led them to this spot became harder as the months passed by. Trying to keep the right memories in place and let the others slip away, while at the same time trying to grow up, was a continuous task.

Mark and Sam met Graham out by the Scout, which was already idling, and helped them load the equipment. When Sam went in to grab another load, Graham pulled Mark to the side and issued a warning, not unlike the one Tala had given Marcy. “Mark, listen to everything Sam tells you to do, and don’t let Marcy take advantage of you.”

Mark began a mock coughing. He hadn’t expected Graham to come right out with it in this way.

Graham smiled while Mark recovered, and with a grin Mark said, “Graham, Marcy and I have an understanding. I promised you I wouldn’t let her ‘take advantage of me,’ as you put it, until she’s eighteen. I plan to keep that promise, but only until then.”

“If anyone else said that to me, I’d strangle him, but Mark, you’re just as important to me as she is. I’ll even give you away on your wedding day, as long as you keep your promise,” Graham said, still smiling. “In all seriousness, you guys listen to Sam, and be careful.” He hugged the young man.

Sam, Marcy, and Tala came out, followed by Sheriff, who came to see what the commotion was at this early hour. Sam got behind the steering wheel and Marcy climbed in the backseat, claiming she hoped she could get a little more sleep as they drove.

The sky began to hint at a purple hazy sunrise. With Tala at Graham’s side, they waved good-bye as family members would when leaving on a long journey. And that is what they’d become over this time—a family of sorts.

As the engine noise dissipated in the cold morning silence, Graham led Tala back into the cabin, and Sheriff decided he wasn’t ready for this day either, so he trotted along inside as well and camped beside the warmth of the woodstove instead of returning to Macy’s bed.

Graham halted Tala in the living room and contemplated “taking advantage” of her in the semiprivacy of the quiet early hour, but Macy or Bang would, more than likely, wander in. I can’t wait for spring building, he thought. He settled for wrapping her up in his arms and falling back to sleep on the couch instead. She still looked pale to him, and he questioned her insistence that nothing was wrong.

~ ~ ~

No more than an hour later, Graham woke and reached over to stroke Tala’s long dark hair as she lay sleeping on his chest. Sensing something out of place, Graham opened his eyes to find Ennis sitting in his rocking chair, staring blankly at the flames inside the woodstove. Graham hadn’t heard him come into the room.

“We’re not supposed to be here,” the old man muttered to himself or to a ghost; Graham didn’t know.

Not wanting to wake Tala, Graham lay still and observed Ennis for a while. If he could figure out his curious behavior, he might be able to help him. It worried him that he’d walked the distance by himself from the bunkroom. Somehow, in Graham’s mind, the longer the old man was spared for them, the safer they’d all be. He just hoped he’d learned as much as he needed to from Ennis and, at the same time, hoped Ennis realized how much they’d all come to love and appreciate him.

“Storm brewin’ an’ we’s in for some trouble, now,” Ennis muttered, nodding his head up and down. This time the old man looked directly at Graham.

“What trouble, Ennis?” Graham whispered. He knew Tala would wake, but he didn’t want to startle her.

“Them, over the river,” Ennis said and gestured with a raise of his hand toward the prepper camp.

The old man’s eyes wept. Graham didn’t know if old men’s eyes just did that or if Ennis meant the tears. “The preppers are in for trouble?” Graham asked him. He could understand where Ennis would come to this conclusion since the death sentence of H5N1 still loomed over everything and everyone.

“Yeah, they’re in for some trouble,” Ennis repeated, nodding again, then returned his milky stare to the woodstove’s lingering flames. Eventually he nodded off slumping, his head lolling over toward one shoulder.

When Graham had first come across Ennis here in the cabin, the old guy frequently tossed out some eerie phrases. Some people might have thought they were premonitions, but at the time, Graham suspected the old man was putting on a show for them. Now, with Ennis slowly slipping away from them, the unfathomable warnings had returned. As before, Graham took them as the mere wanderings of a tired mind.

Tala rose from her comfortable position and sat up, smiling at Graham. “Did we have an audience?” she asked.

“For a while. He’s fallen back to sleep, I think,” Graham whispered. Pulling herself away, she went to check on Ennis. He had drooled on himself, so she retrieved a clean rag and gently wiped his face. After touching his cold hands, she decided he needed a blanket. Graham handed her the one they shared, and as she tucked it around him, she looked up, frowning. “Something’s wrong, Graham. He doesn’t seem right.”

Graham stretched his tall frame and widened his eyes in an effort to wake up, having had too little sleep lately. “Yeah, he mumbled something about a storm brewing and the preppers being in trouble,” Graham said.

“I’ll be talking to Clarisse today. Maybe she can give us some tips to help his pain,” she said concerned. Graham saw fright in Tala’s eyes, and he reached out to hold her. “He was just a gift for a short time, but we both know he won’t be with us for much longer. We were lucky to have him to begin with.”

A scuffling sound came from Sheriff. He was having his “chase the squirrel” dream again. Both of his front and back legs moved as he lay on his side in front of the woodstove with an occasional grunt exerted toward the hunt. With this distraction, both Graham and Tala relaxed a little.

“I hope he gets it this time,” Graham mused, and Tala laughed quietly.

“Me too, poor guy,” Tala said and slipped away to make the first pot of coffee of the day, patting Ennis’s shoulder along the way.

7 A Call In

“Has he taken in fluids in the last twenty-four hours?” Clarisse asked after Tala relayed their concerns over Ennis.

“Yes, he had a glass of water, but not much more. He had a little fish and grits this morning, and biscuits and gravy for dinner last night,” Tala explained.

“Has he used the facilities?” Clarisse asked tactfully.

“Um, he goes in the bathroom, but I don’t think he’s passing much, if any. He’s admitted to being in some pain. We’ve given him antibiotics, but we don’t have the numbing pain meds for this. Do you think there’s some locally?” Tala said.

Asking for pain meds from the preppers would be no use since they probably didn’t have enough to spare. Instead Tala hoped to be able to find them somewhere in town.

“The antibiotics won’t kick in for a few days. The elderly seldom show urinary tract pain symptoms unless the infection is quite severe, so the fact he’s in pain concerns me. He’s admitted to being in pain, he’s running a fever, and is probably holding back. Yes, I believe he needs phenazopyridine and cranberry juice, which will limit the amount of bacteria able to adhere to the bladder wall. You can also give him a hot water bottle to ease the pain. An anti-inflammatory would help a little. If you found the numbing meds, that would be best. I hate for him to suffer from the pain for so long.”

“Clarisse, my grandmother used a tea of sage and bearberry for urinary tract infections. Every time she fed me the stuff as a girl, I’d gag. I never thought I’d revert back to the old days, but do you think the medicinal teas would be safe to use?”

“Both ingredients contain proven scientific antiviral properties, so yes. If you get a hold of clean, dried ingredients, then use them. As time goes on, I believe we’ll need all of your grandmother’s medicinal recipes. Try to remember them, and write them down. All the major med producers are gone these days.” She added, “I wish I could give you the meds, but our supply is very limited, and there are a lot of us here. The rules are, unfortunately, the rules, and I have to abide by them. Graham may need to run into town. I’m sure the meds would be at the old doc’s house. I’m sorry, I wish I could be of more help.”

“I want to do something for him to make him more comfortable. Last night his fever seemed to cause him some delusions, and he warned us trouble was coming to the prepper camp. Of course, he also keeps asking me for banana bread. I wish I could make some for him as a treat.” Tala laughed, but began to cry at the same time.

Clarisse tried to comfort her. “Aw, Tala, you guys gave him a life to live, a life with purpose. At least he hasn’t been wasting away in a nursing facility. Don’t feel bad.”

“I know. It’s just that we’ve all come to love him in such a short time. He’s a part of us here. Even Sam will sit with him for hours, talking on occasion and whittling little animals for Addy. How is she, by the way?”

“She’s better, and with Dalton right now. It breaks my heart that she can’t be with Sam. I’ve got an experimental vaccine in the works, but it’s not tested yet. Unlike all the others before, this one shows some promise. I’ll be able to determine whether or not it will be useful soon, but I don’t want to get her hopes up. I know the separation is hard on Sam, but for a seven-year-old-girl to be indefinitely kept away from her own father has to be worse.”

Tala heard tears clog Clarisse’s voice too.

“Well, for now, she’s loved and cared for, and Sam is doing okay here. We know the situation with the cameras upset Rick, but I think it gave Sam a little release on his anger to take them all down. Seeing him do that, Macy thought he was crazy until he explained to her we were all on camera,” Tala said.

“Yeah, Rick’s that kind of guy. He cares deeply and has a scorched-earth mentality when it comes to those he cares about, but no regard to personal privacy,” Clarisse explained. “He’d rather forgo some liberties to be safe.”

“He sure has Macy trained on the radio,” Tala said, then remembered a personal question she’d meant to ask Clarisse earlier. “Hey, before you go, I wanted your advice on our young romance here.”

“They’re not doing that already, are they?” Clarisse asked.

“Um, I don’t think so, but I want Marcy to be safe when the time comes,” Tala said.

“Well, coupling is perfectly normal for human nature during a crisis. Couples pair up and mate out of a need to procreate. The term is biological imperative. But I’d be concerned about the effects of the virus on a fetus. I’m not certain if a pregnancy would carry to term. At birth, will the fetus be born with immunity or a half chance at immunity? Or will the baby be born without any immunity? There are many unanswered questions. So let’s think about putting her on birth control for now as a precaution.”

Tala was quiet for a moment, and Clarisse thought perhaps they’d lost the connection. But then Tala said, with some concern, “She’s only fifteen.”

“Yes, precisely. In fact, both girls are fifteen. They’re at a young but reproductive age, which means if they, by chance, run into the wrong fellow, the consequences would be terrible for them. I’d like to recommend you pull the pill packets out of the med kit we sent back with you. I added several, enough for you and the girls for at least three years. I also included quite a few pregnancy test kits. Hopefully we will not need those for a while. Good luck getting Macy to take them. She seems like my kind of gal.” Clarisse chuckled.

Inadvertently Clarisse had already answered one of Tala’s pressing questions. She was relieved she didn’t have to try and weasel a fake question for her deepest concern.

“Yeah, but I think if I explained the consequences to her, she might be willing to take them. She’s a sensible sort,” Tala said.

“Well, you’ve got your hands full, that’s for sure. I’ve just had a sweet seven-year-old girl fall into my lap, and I’m loving every minute of the time she’s with me. She’s given me a greater purpose.”

“The twins can be a challenge at times, but more than anything the bickering between them bugs us,” Tala said.

“Yes. That is them, pulling away from one another and becoming individuals. That’s normal at this age. The behavior will pass in time. Just make sure they don’t get physically combative with one another.” Clarisse chuckled again.

“There are days . . .” Tala said, now laughing. She was about to come clean with her friend, right there, but was too reticent to admit her suspicion out loud just yet. Instead, she let the conversation end and said, “Well, I’ve got to run now. Good luck with Addy.”

“Oh, thank you. Let me know how the pill goes with the girls. I’ll call in next week and see how the introduction went. Bye for now; Clarisse out.”

“Tala out.”

Tala sat there, a bit stunned, knowing the thing she had to do and afraid of the confrontation. The unknown and possible risks to an unborn child lingered in her mind. She stared out the window of the bunkroom, watching the way the snow blew from one direction to another. The trees were swaying in a heavier breeze than before, and she knew what Ennis warned was true: there was a storm coming.

8 Hunting

Sam pulled the Scout into a draw between the snow-loaded trees on an old logging road. The condition of the cypress boughs indicated the path hadn’t been used in recent years. He crept along so slowly he’d lose the race to a slug, then came to a stop and put the truck noiselessly into park. To quiet the innocuous jingle of keys as he turned off the ignition, he cupped them in this fist. This would be the first spot they’d try for a few hours, and then later, farther down the snow-covered highway if they found nothing here. He and Graham had had good luck in this area the last time they’d tried. He told Mark and Marcy to disembark without a sound, and they made less than a click closing their doors. Sam did everything mute.

Going to the back of the truck, he lifted the gate, which used to have a little hydraulic hinge. He’d dismantled that on an earlier trip because it made a sound he didn’t want scaring off the game. One by one, he pulled out the rifles—a bolt action .30-06, a seven-millimeter magnum with thirty inch barrels of various brands, scavenged at various times in the past months. The two teens were giggling at the side of the truck. Before they had an opportunity to get louder, Sam admonished them in a deep, hushed warning. “Knock it off, or you’ll scare them all away. They’re listening to you. They’re keener than you, and you’ll starve; and your babies will starve too unless you learn to be more clever than them.”

That got their attention.

Sam handed them their gear and repeated, “Remember the rules—don’t get smelled; make sure you’re downwind at all times. Don’t get heard; take ten-second steps. Always keep the wind in your face, Marcy. Got it?” He directed his question mostly at her, since he had already taught Mark much of the hunting lore.

“Wind in the face, check.” Marcy repeated in a whisper, “but the ten-second steps look pretty stupid.”

“If you want to eat, ten-second steps are worth it,” Mark reminded her.

Sam pulled out several sets of snowshoes that he and Graham had made; they were a necessity in this terrain. He’d always used the commercial aluminum-framed variety, available at any sporting goods store, but as they’d learned time and again, tricks and crafts long forgotten now needed to be relearned. One day there would be no foraging for things like snowshoes; they’d all be gone. Graham’s father had taught him the art of willow drying and weaving the pliable strips into snowshoe form when he was a boy. Sam and Graham had spent many evenings by the fire this winter weaving and teaching the kids this lost craft. Now Sam, Marcy, and Mark pulled the straps over their hiking boots and took a few steps to make sure the snowshoes were on tight.

Next, Sam checked the wind direction by lifting the end of his gun barrel into the air. The thread tied to the end of his gun floated up and slightly behind them. Perfect, he thought, and hoped the breeze would maintain that direction. They’d make their way down a narrow valley surrounded by tall Chuckanut sandstone cliffs.

For Marcy, walking with snowshoes took some getting used to; she found the waddling gait awkward, but she soon got used to the longer and wider steps needed to keep balance and move efficiently. With her rifle slung over her shoulder and her pistol strapped to her chest she was ready for action.

She’d hoped to get a deer to prove to Mark she was capable of hunting and helping him in the event that someday they started off on their own; she wanted to prove she was strong enough to live alone with him. So far, of the two girls Macy had proven herself the stronger hunter, the better defender, and more worthy at almost everything. She would not be outdone by her twin.

Sam broke into her thoughts. “Let’s not waste time, guys. I’ll lead in. Marcy, you stay between me and Mark. Remember, no noise, and follow my lead once we get into the clearing. I’ll signal for you two to head out separately. Remember each other’s location. I do not want any accidents. Long, slow, ten-second steps, then stillness; be observant. If the coast is clear, keep your eyes peeled, and wait for a clean shot. Once you shoot they’ll scatter, and that will be the end of the hunt here for the rest of us. Any questions before we start?”

Marcy and Mark shook their heads. Marcy’s excitement level grew. Let the hunt begin.

They made their way down the draw with the wind in their faces and slowly crept into the clearing of a snow-covered valley where spiked sprigs of native grasses held bravest and strong through many layers of snow. This is where the deer would come: their hunger would bring them to these few remaining grasses.

Sam turned and motioned with his left hand to his chin, up and down. Marcy remembered that meant for each of them to move at a different angle. This way the three of them each took a separate route into the valley. In their camouflage gear they headed forward at a slow, careful pace. So as not to alert the deer’s sense of movement, never did two of them take their ten-second pace at the same time. All three moved forward with the keenly heightened sense of a hunter.

The snow made the hush of the valley nearly unbearable to Marcy. Her breath vaporized in front of her and then trailed backward. She perceived most strongly the beat of her own heart pounding in her chest. Her steps were clean and guided. She looked to Mark, a few yards away, for encouragement; he nodded gently in approval as she finished bringing her foot down slowly and without a sound. Next it was his turn to move. Her eyes scanned the valley, the hidden dark brush against the contrasting white, looking for any hint of brown or movement of a tail or twitch of an ear.

Getting used to wearing the gear was difficult; Marcy thought Sam had gone a little too far with his requirements for hunting. She wasn’t allowed to use scented soaps, deodorant, or anything even remotely perfumed; even lip balm and lotion were forbidden. Not only that, but Sam claimed the deer could detect the color blue, so she was forced to wear brown canvas pants. They weren’t nearly as soft as her worn denim jeans, and her left upper thigh itched terribly as she stood still, resisting the urge to scratch. She didn’t want to be the cause of a lost hunt by triggering the prey to scatter.

In her peripheral vision, Marcy saw Sam make this careful move. Mark nodded slightly again, signaling her to begin her next step. She’d already planned to maneuver around a clump of desiccated brush that would separate her farther from the group. As she began the careful process of lifting her right leg, she saw a twitch far out to her left side and froze.

Macy’s heart began to pound even faster. She knew this was it. Turning her head very slightly toward Mark she could see that his mouth was a tight thin line, and he tipped his head down to encourage her to take the shot.

Both terrified and intent, she glided her eyes ever so slightly toward her target. A doe with warm brown eyes stood with her head down, munching her way through the sparse grass, and her breath snorted out in little whips about her. The doe was beautiful, yet Marcy knew what she must do.

She swallowed and slowly brought her rifle down into position. Her hands shook from both the adrenaline rush and the regret racing through her veins. She sighted the deer, aiming for her heart, hoping to end it as painlessly as possible, not wanting to cause her to suffer. She knew Mark was getting impatient with the time she was taking. Before she let too much regret take her over, she pulled the trigger with measured determination. All erupted around her. Unseen birds took flight, and hidden deer startled well before she heard the explosion erupt near her ear, sending it ringing.

In horror, she saw the doe leap with a graceful motion as the bullet hit its side, but then it fell to a heap on the frozen ground. What once was beautiful now was gone, and Marcy fell to her knees, heedless of the idea of cautious motion, profoundly weeping for herself and the doe.

Mark took paces to comfort her. “You did what was needed, Marcy. Remember what Graham says: don’t regret.”

Macy nodded, wiping away her tears.

Sam passed by them on his way to the doe, then stooped to survey her kill. “Good girl, Marcy. It’s a clean shot.”

Marcy chalked it up as a lucky first strike. If anything, she hadn’t wanted it to suffer and thus to force her into tracking it down to finish it off; she’d been warned beforehand that might be necessary. This way she’d proved she could do it once, and cleanly.

Feeling the cold sting of snow melting into the knees of her pants, she rose and Mark led her to the downed deer, holding her gently by the hand. She held her other hand over her mouth and nose, hoping to stifle her emotions. Her chest still shook as she breathed in and her throat locked.

The brown doe’s eyes were open as if she were still alive. Marcy wanted the doe to think she had made her free and wished she could believe the doe’s soul was in a peaceful spring green meadow.

She knelt down next to Sam and removed her glove. As a mule deer, the doe was larger than a whitetail, and her ears were so large they looked out of proportion to her head. Underneath her neck was a lighter patch of fur. Marcy ran her fingers from there down her sleek neck, fading to grayish brown. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, tears still streaming.

Sam patted her on the back.

“I’m sorry I’m upset. It’s just harder than I thought,” she tried to explain.

“It shows you’re human, Marcy. A kill should never be wasted. You’ve done a good thing here. You’ve provided meat to stave off hunger for our family this winter.” He patted her again. “Why don’t you stand back this time and watch how to field dress? Mark will do most of it.”

She gladly stepped back several paces, being careful not to trip over her snowshoes while Mark took out a Ziploc bag and a shoestring. He stood over the deer as Marcy watched with her arms crossed over her chest. He seemed to be contemplating something. “Marcy, you’re not going to hold this against me, right?”

“Field dressing the deer? No, of course not.”

Mark blew a sigh of relief. “Okay, I just wanted to make sure before I started.”

Sam chuckled at the exchange.

“Go ahead,” she reassured Mark, wiping her tears away. She wanted him to see she could be strong.

Blood already seeped down from the chest wound into the surrounding snow, turning white to scarlet. A little also trickled out of the doe’s mouth.

Mark readied the tip of his knife, stood on the doe’s leg with his back to her head, and rested the right hoof on his right knee. He bent down and pulled up on the doe’s teat, lifting the fur and skin away from the insides. He slid the tip below the skin and sliced her down through the belly, being extra careful not to nick any of the intestines.

As he came to the rear, he reached in and closed off the bowel with the shoestring. He cut around the anus on the outside, then tipped the guts out of the deer’s cavity by running his hand through the warm mass. Steam rose, and again, Marcy cupped her mouth and nose; nothing smelled, but the bloody sight alarmed her. Mark then separated the liver and the heart and placed them into the Ziploc bag. The rest of the guts would be a treat for any animals nearby—a steaming present for them to enjoy.

He handed the bag off to Marcy, who held it and felt the warmth of the animal through the plastic.

After Mark hoisted the doe over his shoulders, Sam said, “Great job, crew. Let’s move on.”

They headed back to the truck, this time taking fluid steps with the snowshoes on. As the two men headed out in front of her, Marcy stopped before they left the valley and looked back across the snowy meadow where now the pristine whiteness was stained by a scarlet mound in the distance. The cold wind changed direction and blew the grass stalks south, chilling her. She blinked back falling snowflakes. What was once peaceful now seemed foreboding.

9 Whiteout

Hitting the windshield faster than the wipers kept up, the snowfall came down like a cascading tatted drape. Sam, nearly unable to get a glimpse through the veil, cursed the storm. He knew it wouldn’t let up anytime soon. The tires struggled through the deepening snow, though the Scout was in four-wheel drive.

“We’re going to have to stop,” Mark concluded.

Sam nodded. They had no other choice. Since they’d left the first hunting spot, the weather had grown increasingly bad. Not only that, the wind was picking up past a howl. Yesterday morning’s clear sky had given no warning of these formidable conditions to come. They’d have to find a place out of the freezing temperatures and hole up through the storm.

“Yeah, I’m trying to drive over to that house there. Can you make out the structure now?” Sam said, pointing.

“Barely.” Mark leaned forward to gain a better view through the vertical blanket of snow.

“At least we won’t freeze to death inside,” Sam said as he headed down to where he hoped the driveway led to the farmhouse, which sat in the middle of an open snow-covered field.

Marcy had fallen asleep after shooting her first kill. In the mirror, Sam saw a flicker of motion as she sat up.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Sam glanced at Mark, saw him clench his jaw and draw in his eyebrows, frowning as if in contemplation of how much to reveal to her. He nodded to the youth. They were in this together. All of them. Marcy had a right to know.

Mark still tried to downplay the danger. “We’ve hit a little snowstorm,” he said. “We’re going to hide out until the blizzard passes, in a house down here.”

Mark glanced briefly at Sam as if to say, She doesn’t need the full extent of this. Though he didn’t fully agree, Sam gave him a subtle nod. He’d probably have done the same thing if it was his wife involved; momentarily it caused him to think back to the time before she died.

Marcy sat up and immediately looked out—all around, front to back, side to side. The view out each window of the Scout was completely opaque. The snow crunching below the tires was audible even over the vicious sound of the wind against the side of the truck, shaking the vehicle from side to side with a terrible force. From the worried look on her face, Sam knew Mark’s calling it “a little snowstorm” hadn’t really fooled Marcy.

“What if we can’t get to the house?” He heard her breathing rasp in and out, too quickly. Was Marcy claustrophobic?

“Don’t worry, girl. We’ll be fine in the truck,” Sam said. “A bit colder, but fine.” The temperature dropped quickly, and he knew they’d have a hard time staying warm in the truck cab, but Mark’s idea of soft-pedaling the danger might not be so wrong. Marcy didn’t need to be aware of the precariousness of their situation yet.

The harshness of the season made no sense. As the pandemic affected human life, so too did the weather seem hell-bent on damning the earth.

“Are we going to be able to drive over there?” Marcy asked.

Sam leaned into the windshield, trying to maneuver in the direction of the house. At the same time he fought unpredictable wind gusts blowing him first one way and then the other, banking the truck rudely to either side. “Too early to say yet,” he replied after an anxious moment that lingered too long.

As he got even closer, the snow seemed to increase even more, if that were possible. “I’m worried about running into a ditch,” he said. “Mark, open your door and see if you can detect anything, like an indentation where a drainage ditch might be. I think we’re on the driveway, but I can’t tell.”

Mark opened his door about five inches, but just then the wind shifted and blew an opaque stream of snow into the cab. That blinded Sam even more and he hollered, “Okay, shut the door!”

Mark slammed it, straining hard against the wind. “I can’t tell. Everything is so white. I’ve never seen winter conditions this bad. I’ve lived in this area all my life.”

Sam saw an expression of terror on Marcy’s face as she leaned forward from the backseat, between him and Mark. “It’s okay,” he told her. “We’ll be fine. Once we get into that house, we’ll start a fire and warm up.” They sat silently, listening to the raging storm with eerie contemplation as the truck crept along.

“I thought you said this would be the last safe time to go on a hunt,” Marcy said, her tone accusatory.

“Marcy!” Mark snapped. “The weather is not Sam’s fault.”

“It’s all right, Mark,” Sam said. “She’s just scared.”

As he said the words meant to calm the both of them, the truck slid and then dipped down on the driver’s side. After letting up off the gas, Sam put his foot on the brake. He stopped and tried reverse, hoping to gain some traction but, it was no use. He gave the gas pedal a tentative push, but the wheel only spun, then the whole tire dipped down into an invisible gully. He knew not to try again; it would risked digging the truck’s tires in deeper.

After turning off the engine and shifting into park, he cut the headlights. “No sense in draining the battery. Mark, hand me the spotlight,” Sam said in the pitch dark as blasts of wind rocked the truck. They could only sit, a captive audience to the weather’s tantrum.

Mark got the battery-powered spotlight going, but all it did was reflect its light back against the snow. However hard Sam tried, he couldn’t make out a damn thing ahead of them. The last time he’d glimpsed the house, he’d guessed they were about a quarter of a mile away, but now it couldn’t be more than a hundred feet in the distance. Yet there was no way he trusted walking that far without the risk of getting lost in the snow and freezing temperatures and missing their salvation all together.

“Well, hell,” Sam said, when nothing better came to mind. He shut off the spotlight, and the three of them let the sound of the wind settle around them for a time.

“We can’t even spot the house from here?” Marcy asked.

“Barely, but I don’t know if we should risk taking a chance on foot in these conditions,” Sam said.

“Do we have more rope?” Mark asked.

“Yeah. I know what you’re thinkin,’ but I’m not so sure blindly going out there, even tethered with a rope, is a good idea right now,” Sam warned.

“Look. I can run a line from the truck and make my way to the house. If I can’t find the house, I’ll just walk back,” Mark argued. By this time the howling wind had picked up even more and they were nearly shouting to one another, to be heard.

“Let’s wait a while. The storm might die down some,” Sam advised; he silently cursed himself, knowing they were now stuck in a snowstorm. He looked out his side window into the blizzard and thought of Addy and his promise to her—knowing, no matter what the cost, he would keep his word.

10 Precautions

After signing off the radio, Tala checked on Ennis. His heavy lids blinked as he stared into the woodstove, and his expression bore the look of pained frustration. In any event, he hadn’t moved much. She knelt down beside him and felt his shins, to make sure he wasn’t getting too much radiant heat from the fire. When he noticed her, she smiled at him in response.

“Are you in terrible pain? Would you like to go lie down, sleep a little and let the meds work?”

He nodded, so she helped him up and guided him into the bunkroom and told him when to sit down as she backed him into the bunk mattress. He did so willingly, like a child being led by his mother, and chuckled at her attentiveness. Then she helped him lie down and covered him up with his blanket, then added another one since the bunkroom felt cold and drafty. He looked up at her with worry in his eyes. He whispered, “Whatever is bothering you, missy, trust Graham to do the right thing with your worries.” His eyelids fluttered closed. She suspected he might be worn out from fighting the pain for so long. He couldn’t possibly know what troubled her, and she shut the bunkroom door to let him rest.

When her tears started to fall, she brushed them away and hurried into the bathroom to find the medical kit she and Clarisse had talked about earlier. She willed each step closer by consolation and a little bit of self-bargaining. The med kit from the preppers included almost everything they needed except for the one thing Ennis needed.

After first putting aside a large tome of medication definitions Graham had found somewhere on his journey here, she pulled the kit out from under the sink. It was an olive drab nylon backpack that strapped on at a moment’s notice if they needed to bug out. She brushed over the various paper-wrapped bandages, pain medication packs, vials of ointment, and prefilled Epi pens until she found the packets of birth control pills rubber-banded together toward the back. She took out two one-month packs for the girls and set them on the counter. Then she looked for the pregnancy test wands.

She hadn’t told Clarisse what she suspected. The given advice would be to terminate, because they just weren’t sure what would happen to a new life.

She and Clarisse had talked openly about most things over the past several months, but Tala just couldn’t part with this suspicion—not yet. Her cycle hadn’t regulated since her miscarriage. It had come and gone, but never regulated as in normal times. Stress made cycles irregular, but a late period coupled with morning nausea reminded her of her previous pregnancy and the devastating loss.

She had been taking the pills Clarisse gave to her, but she had also been intimate with Graham on more than one occasion. She loved him, and they needed each other, especially now.

Her hand brushed over a few paper-wrapped sticks standing upright. She read the black military lettering and pulled one out. As she held the test kit before her, the package vibrated as her hands trembled. The answers and implications were within reach; all the decisions she’d have to face, flashed before her. With a small window of privacy, with only Ennis resting in the cabin, she thought now would be the best time to go ahead and get the procedure over with so she’d know for sure. She quickly zipped up the medical kit and returned it to its place under the sink.

She closed the door quietly, tore open the test kit and began the procedure, remembering the first time she’d gone through this routine. All the while, she couldn’t keep her hands from shaking with fear of the results. “Please no, please no,” she chanted to herself over and over, quietly sobbing. She finally pulled the wand up, braving a peek . . . and now she knew. No more waiting. No more uncertainty.

The pit of her stomach tightened, and her widened eyes flooded with tears from shock of the affirmation. Both happy and horrified, as she began to allow herself to sob, a loud commotion sounded from the living room. She quickly pocketed the supplies into her gray cable sweater and wiped away the tears as Bang’s small footsteps came toward the bathroom door.

He had nearly bumped into her as he rounded the corner with reddened cheeks and freezing, chapped hands. His ear-to-ear grin told her he’d been having fun with Graham and Macy outside. Their loud talking and boisterous mood cut through her desperation, the fear she’d created for herself there in the small bathroom as she contemplated the possibility of a new life in their midst, and the equally frightening possibility of having to end it.

“You guys sound happy,” she heard herself say.

“Graham raced me to the door, but he tripped and fell,” Bang said.

“I didn’t fall. Macy shoved me,” Graham defended himself, making Macy laugh maniacally and chase him.

Graham, continuing the game, turned on Macy. She emitted a piercing scream and ran in mock terror for the door. He caught up to her in easy strides.

When Tala came around the corner again and raised one eyebrow at them, pointed her motherly finger toward the bunkroom door, and raised her finger to her lips, Graham sat Macy on her feet, and they both stifled their mirth and sobered up.

What an amazing father Graham has become to these children. What a wonderful one he’d be to mine—if either of us dares let it be born.

Macy brushed past Tala and barged into the bathroom, pushing Bang out of the way so she could wash up too, while Tala went into the kitchen and stirred the dinner while she tried to remain calm.

Tonight they were having a scavenged can of potato and corned beef hash that Tala combined to make into a creamy potato chowder by adding reconstituted milk. With just enough to feed the five of them, this would be a welcome change. Looking into the pot of creamy soup made Tala wanted to flee, but she pushed through the nausea and tried to act normal until she could come up with a plan or at least until she had some time to think about what she would tell Graham. He would want to save her and discard the child out of fear of losing them both. They’d discussed the dilemma in a “what-if” manner a time or two, but hadn’t yet been forced to deal with the reality.

While the kids set the table for dinner, Tala whispered to Graham, “We need to talk tonight, after the kids are in bed.”

Graham said nothing, but the expression on his face signaled his apprehension. She patted his cheek and smiled, hoping he’d smile back; those sharp-eyed kids would notice he was worried.

While Tala dished up the food, Graham went into the bunkroom to rouse Ennis for dinner. He returned to report that the old man didn’t want to wake up.

“Let’s leave him alone then; I only put him down to rest a few minutes ago,” Tala said. “Maybe the antibiotics will do their thing better if he’s resting.”

Graham nodded agreement. “I can always take him a cup of soup later.”

With only four gathered around the table for the first time, Tala realized how attached they’d become to one another. The cabin was too quiet with the others gone. The family atmosphere she knew Graham had come to accept after his initial resistance had become official. Perhaps that was the best thing for them after all.

In an effort to break the quiet, she asked Graham, “Wolves skinned?”

“Yes, and bodies already disposed of.”

“Good. If I can get away tomorrow, I’ll help with the scraping,” she offered.

With her attention to detail, she’d proven herself an expert at getting even the tiniest of particles lifted off the skins, but the idea of the project wasn’t appealing to her in her current condition.

“Can we talk about something else at the table, please?” Macy requested.

“Sure, how was school today?” Graham asked.

“Oh, that’s funny. You’re such a comedian,” Macy said back while Bang sat there laughing as little boys do, filling the cabin with a merry amusement that almost made Tala forget the anguish to come.

Even though she dreaded Graham’s reaction to the news about her surprise, she enjoyed every minute of their happy circumstances at the moment. If Ennis were not ill, the current condition of their lives would finally make sense. Even with the death of man, they had to find joy and peace in their existence, or there was no point in going on at all.

After they had cleaned up, Graham heard Ennis stirring, so he took him a mug of the thick soup and a glass of cranberry juice.

“Hey, think you can eat a little?” he asked as he opened the door. He turned on the bedside lamp and slid a chair close beside Ennis.

“Yeah, I think I might. Where’s them kids?”

Graham helped him sit up and had propped another pillow behind him.

“They’re taking care of the chickens, and Tala’s in the greenhouse.”

“Good. Listen, before you start feeding me against my will, we need to talk about somethin’ I’ve been thinkin’ on.”

“Take a drink first, Ennis,” Graham said, handing him the cranberry juice.

“I hate this stuff.”

“Drink it anyway.”

Ennis glared at him while he took a sip with mock hatred.

“You give any thought to going back this spring?”

“Going back to Seattle?”

“Yeah. Take a truck. Pick up more supplies to bring back here. You need more ammunition for defense and hunting, and we need to know what’s going on out there. A scouting trip would tell us a lot.”

Graham handed him the soup and leaned back in his chair, thinking. “I’ve thought about going back. Problem is, someone could follow me back here, and I’d expose our camp—and the prepper’s camp. I don’t want to put us in any jeopardy. And what if something happens to me?”

“You gotta do something, Graham. You think these kids are going to stay put? We need to find out how things have gotten out there. These little homes here have already been scavenged by our two camps. Sure, we have enough food for now, but the ammo is running short already.”

Graham nodded. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t already stay up at night worried about, Ennis.”

“I know you want to stay here and garden, and hunt, but I’m tellin’ you, Graham, turning into a hippie is not enough.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Don’t ignore the outside. These kids are going out there at some point. If you’re not preparing them for the dangers they’ll need to survive out there, you might as well bury ’em now. The preppers are good folks right now, but they’re using us for their own protection. Nothin’ wrong with that, but what happens when they run low of supplies too?”

“They’re not like that. Dalton risked a lot, and paid a lot, to help us the last time. Too much in fact.”

“Graham, when you need to feed your own child, you’d kill your own brother for his food. Don’t make the mistake of trustin’ them too much. I’m saying, you need to think long-term now, and you need to see what’s out there. What dangers exist by other men.”

Graham took a big breath and let air out slowly. Though he didn’t believe the preppers would ever turn on them, he couldn’t ignore the warnings. “I’ll think about it, Ennis.”

After Ennis had finished off his meal, Graham bullied him into going back to the bathroom. The effort was painful for the old man, but he needed him to recover. Afterward, Graham heard the snoring sounds he’d come to get used to, indicating Ennis was fast asleep.

With the others down for the night, Graham tended the woodstove as he tried to build an emotional barrier for whatever Tala might convey. She curled her legs under herself while she waited for him on the couch. He approached her slowly with only the firelight gleaming, his feelings of dread increasing with each moment he delayed.

Tala knew Graham was procrastinating as she watched him putter around. Determinedly, she willed away the coming tears and waited for him to be ready for her news, then broached the first of the two subjects she wished she could avoid.

Carefully she began with Clarisse’s recommendations regarding the girls, to get it out of the way. She told him why she and Clarisse both agreed it was a good idea for them to be put on the pill. Of course, as Tala suspected, Graham didn’t take it too well.

“No way!” he said after Tala explained the situation twice. “They’re only fifteen!”

“Graham, what if something happens to them? What if Marcy and Mark take their affections too far? Or, God forbid, someone attacks one of them. It’s a simple solution.” She realized the irony of her own statement.

That was enough to get him to think seriously about the recommendation, considering what had almost happened to Tala the previous fall.

He leaned forward and rubbed his beard. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Maybe you and Clarisse are right at that. I remember how difficult the loss was for you to recover from when you miscarried.”

She met his gaze, remembering. That was how he found her here. She could have died from complications and they’d never been sure if the miscarriage was due to the stress of the pandemic or if the fetus contracted the virus within and died from it.

“That would be horrible for them. We’d have to give them the medical abortion pills. There’s some at the doctor’s house. I saw them there but left them. I didn’t think we’d need them.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, I can see how putting them on the pill makes sense for Marcy but I do not think Macy would be willing to take them, nor do I think she should be forced into taking them. I’m not holding her down for that and good luck to anyone who tries.” Tala didn’t think he was joking.

“The decision should be hers,” Graham continued. “So yeah, I think you’re right. Let’s do it, but I’m going to pick up the other pills and bring them here tomorrow when I go into town to find the painkillers for Ennis. Just so we have them. Just in case,” he said with a sigh. “So, is that the problem that’s been weighing you down, babe? Worrying about how I’d react to the idea?” He leaned back and pulled her to him, cradling her against his chest.

Tala’s pulse quickened and panic set in as she realized he saw termination as the only possible solution to pregnancy. She tried to relax, knowing she couldn’t tell him her secret now, knowing what his immediate response would be. She willed herself to calm down further and melted against his hard chest so Graham wouldn’t suspect there was more.

“Okay, let’s talk to them both about the option when Marcy gets back,” Tala said.

“Oh no. This was your idea, and it’s your department,” Graham said, making the sign of the cross. “They’re girls, you’re a girl; and therefore talking to them about this stuff is your job.”

“You are the bravest man I know, and yet you can’t face girl issues?” Tala mocked him, trying on a smile. She shook her head, hoping she was masking her true feelings.

“Hey, I would if I had to, but you’re here and so it falls to you. When Bang starts to have boy issues when he’s older, I will handle it. You won’t have to explain the urges, et cetera. I think that’s fair,” Graham reasoned.

Tala played along, and let out a breath, agreeing with the arrangement. Neither of them had ever been a parent before the pandemic, and they were winging this thing, at best. Though Tala knew those days were numbered—at least for her.

11 A Sleep Over

Clarisse had been through this so many times before; disappointment after devastating disappointment had become the norm. This time, however, a shred of hope proved the answers to her research. The girls played in the hallway and their laughter echoed into her office. Their voices distracted her work, but in a good way until the disorderly fracas came from the main door as Rick and Steven entered the building.

Out of defeat, she gave up any further efforts in her observation through a microscope and directed her attention to the men who’d arrived.

“What’s up, guys?” she managed to say without any annoyance in her greeting.

“There’s a storm coming. Rick and I got the generator set up for you in case the power goes out. I’ll set up a rope line to camp, in case the snow gets as bad as we think.”

“Oh, thanks. I had no idea the weather was getting worse,” she said, glancing down at Addy on the floor in the doorway. “I guess I should probably quit now, then, and get us back to camp.” She hoped her reluctance to leave her work didn’t show. She never stopped marveling at how quickly she’d come to think of Addy as her own child, and the girl’s safety demanded Clarisse put her first—even ahead of research.

On his knees, Rick, always up for anything juvenile, joined in the girls’ game of jacks. As if he understood, he said, “Why don’t I take Addy back with Bethany? She can spend the night with us too. That way you can work as long as you like.”

Clarisse eyed Addy. “Would you like to spend the night with Bethany? The decision is totally up to you. Or I can pack up right now and we can go if you’d like.”

Rick’s daughter Bethany, was about the same age and the only other child Addy had formed a friendly bond with. She was much more outgoing, but she enjoyed Addy’s company in small visits.

“Oh, please stay the night,” Bethany begged.

Addy paused a moment and, casting a look to Clarisse that said she wasn’t too sure about the arrangement, said, “Okay.”

Rick apparently caught on to the look and tried to persuade her. “We’ll make the night fun, Addy; I’ll set up a movie, and we can make popcorn, like in the old days.”

Clarisse added, “If you’re okay with staying the night, I’ll check in on you first thing in the morning.”

“You’ll be fine out here, by yourself?” Addy asked Clarisse. At times she seemed much too mature for a seven-year-old, but under the circumstances, it was probably understandable for a child who had essentially lost both parents to worry about the one sure substitute she had.

“Of course. You don’t need to worry about me, Addy.”

With a smile Addy ran over to embrace Clarisse. The child smelled of crayons and soap as she held her close, and Clarisse wondered why she had never thought to become a mother before. She wouldn’t trade the experience for anything now and knew she’d do anything for Addy to keep her safe from harm. What a liability a child is to a mother. She certainly loved the girl, and knew Addy loved her in return. The emotion tugged at her heart even more.

Overjoyed at the prospect of a playmate staying with her the whole night, Bethany cheered.

To the kids, something as simple as a sleepover must have been like stepping back into the past, a reminder of something they’d done in the days before the end of school, before the escape from their neighborhoods, before they left family and friends behind, and before quarantine.

“Okay, girls, let’s get your coats on,” Rick said as he corralled them toward the door.

When they were out of earshot, Steven said, “The Quarantine Queen has become a mommy? When did that happen?”

Clarisse smiled at him and swiveled around in her office chair ignoring him. She knew he was ribbing her, but in a kind way. “Who could help but love that little girl?” was the only thing she would allow herself to say for fear she would start to cry.

Steven patted her on the back and said, “Don’t stay too late. I’ll set up the line, just in case, on my way out. The snow’s already coming down steadily, and the sky is starting to look ugly out there.”

She heard the wind creaking the metal siding as it came in hard gusts. It was starting to howl, and she knew what Steven said was true.

“Thank you. I’ll be fine here.”

With the whole evening ahead of her, Clarisse felt recharged in her efforts to make sure the data was true. She returned to her work, knowing she had a promise to keep, and she would work on it for as long as it took.

12 Mark Takes a Walk

Sam knew a young man needed to prove himself in life. After waiting through the snowstorm a while longer, as the temperature continued to drop, he decided now would be the best time for Mark to make a break for the house. The temperature could drop again in the next hour, but how much they had no way of knowing. He would lead a guide rope over to the house about eighty yards in front of their position.

“All right, kid, let’s get this done; the storm is getting worse, not better. I don’t think waiting it out will do us any good.” Sam shivered a bit. Mark climbed back into the rear of the truck to retrieve the two-hundred-foot length of nylon line.

“You’re going to let him go out there alone?” Marcy protested when she caught on to the plan. The idea scared her. It scared Sam, too, but not as much as trying to keep the kids alive in the truck all night and for however much longer the storm might last, but he didn’t answer her plea.

Instead, he cautioned Mark, “Tie one end to the bumper. Take the spotlight. Keep your eyes open and go in as straight a line as you can. If you get to the end and find you’re in open space, get your ass back here. Don’t screw around with this, and whatever you do, don’t leave the rope. Tie the line off to the first thing you can find when you reach the end, and follow it back here. If you leave the line, you’re toast. I won’t be able to find you in time before the cold has its way with you. Do you hear me?” Sam he stared deeply into Mark’s eyes to let the young man realize he was dead serious and to make sure Mark understood the gravity of the situation.

“I got it, Sam.”

Sam nodded and did a once-over of Mark’s gear. The boy might need another hat. He took off his own wolf fur–lined hat and shoved it over the knit one already on Mark’s head. “We can’t have your ears freezing off; Marcy might not think you’re too pretty without ears.” Mark clipped the spotlight handle to his belt loop and looped the rope bundle over his right shoulder.

“Pay the line out slowly. Try not to let it hang up on bushes or anything.”

Mark nodded, his face sober.

“All right. Take the line and tie it off to the front bumper and head out.”

“Wait!” Marcy yelled. Mark was getting ready to leave way too fast when she realized he wasn’t going to say good-bye to her. She pulled herself up and reached over the seat. Sam turned away to give them some privacy, while Marcy planted a kiss on Mark’s lips.

“I’ll be fine, Marcy.” He sounded a little embarrassed. “I’ll be right back.”

Mark stepped out of the truck and shut the door quickly. The first sound that registered, besides the howling wind, was his own boots crunching into the deep snow, followed closely by the persistent wind that whipped snow viciously from one direction into the next. The changing directions created confusion; he was glad he already knew where he should head.

He heaved the coiled rope line again and walked quickly to the front of the Scout. The swirly snow made the simple expedition difficult; it was hard to see even a foot in front of his own face. He knew it was late in the evening, but because of the darkness the time might as well have been midnight, with the blackness beyond the fluttering white. He held his left hand against the cold metal of the frozen truck to help keep his position as he stepped blindly, one foot in front of the next. Once he found the bumper, he quickly wiped away the accumulated snow and tied off one end of the looped rope and tapped the hood twice, indicating he was on his way to the house, somewhere in the whiteout beyond their vision. Temporarily blinded by the headlights, he began to break a path ahead of him while unfurling the line.

Marcy and Sam felt the vibrations as Mark tied off the rope, even though the unceasing gusts increased in their erratic cadence. When Mark tapped the hood twice, Marcy took a deep breath while Sam pulled out a small flashlight and checked his watch, then started counting the minutes. For a short time the spotlight beam remained visible, but soon the swirling whiteness enveloped even Mark’s light, leaving only the surrounding darkness.

Soon the darkness and awkward silence took over between the two occupants left in the cab of the truck. The quiet tension was too much for Marcy. “Sam, I’m sorry I yelled at you earlier.”

“It’s okay, Marcy, don’t give it another thought.” Sam drew his words out slow, to calm her nerves, and patted her gloved hand as she gripped the back of the seat near his shoulder. He kept his eyes scanning the windshield, but beyond the gleam of the headlights flaring back from the whiteout, nothing else was visible.

Then the silence took over again. Except for the occasional sound of a slight vibration tremor, Sam couldn’t tell where Mark might be as he strung out the line. He figured the boy had about two more minutes before he encountered the house, which Sam guessed was about eighty or so feet from the truck. The rope was just over two hundred feet, so there should be plenty of slack, he guessed.

Then the sound stopped. Marcy let out her breath believing that Mark had successfully found something to tie onto. The violent squall seemed to increase even more in intensity, and she was glad he was on his way back now.

Sam tried to picture what Mark was doing, and he knew by experience that the boy would probably double-time it back to the truck once he completed his task. The problem was, the task was taking way too long. Sam didn’t let on in the ensuing silence that he was beginning to worry, but he was. He would give Mark another few minutes. Maybe something reasonable had happened, but Sam couldn’t think of what it might have been to take this long. Unless he let go of the damn rope, Sam thought and sat up, suddenly ready to take action.

He tried not to scare the girl, but if something had happened out there in these temperatures, he had precious little time to find the young man before frostbite would set in, causing injury. Then the killing hypothermia would come.

“Marcy, darlin’, he’s taking a little too long.”

“No. No, he’s fine, he’s coming right back. He said he’d be right back.” She sounded as if she was trying to convince herself as much as Sam.

Sam put his hand over hers again, resting on the back of his seat. “I’m going out for him now.”

“No, don’t leave me here by myself, Sam,” she protested.

He didn’t have time for this, and he sure as hell didn’t like whiny girls. “Climb over here,” he said, but she didn’t move. “Get up here right now, God dammit! Honk the horn three times, and then wait to a count of ten, and repeat the sequence three more times. Keep repeating that. Do you understand me?” he said in a cold, deliberate tone to get through to her.

“Yes,” she said, scowling at him.

“Good girl. I’ll go get him, and I’ll be right back. Do not lose your head, Marcy, and whatever you do, do not leave this truck.”

“I won’t. I’m scared, but I’m not stupid!” she yelled.

Good. Mad, she’d be less likely to curl up in a corner and give in.

He stepped out into the snow, narrowing his eyes, searching for the glimmer of Mark’s flashlight, for his shadowy form to appear before him.

He found the line tied to the bumper and headed out, sure he’d find the boy at any moment.

He did not.

.

13 Frayed Ends

Sam didn’t have his hat, but he couldn’t worry about freezing ears at a time like this. Ice started to collect into his dark mustache and around his long eyelashes, threatening to clog his vision almost immediately. He held his arm up in defense of the soft onslaught and grasped the line, following it as he trudged forward, nearly blind. He yelled out several times, “Mark! Mark! Where are you?”

After a few steps, he cupped one hand around his mouth to formulate a loud yell again. As he let out the accumulated energy, Marcy began the honking routine, eliminating his effort to yell and startling him at the same time. Sam shook his head after his ears stopped ringing but strained his vision all the same for any sign of the boy.

He detected nothing but white as he squinted to keep the flakes out of his eyes. He held the line and trudged farther ahead, keeping the small flashlight by his side. To his dismay, the rope didn’t hold tension as he went on, leading him to come to a frustrating conclusion: Mark hadn’t tied the lifeline off, nor did he have a hold of the line. “God dammit!” Sam said to no one but the wind.

Out of fear he quickened his pace, hoping to find the kid sooner. Behind him Marcy begin the honking series again, and Sam strained to find any sign of footprints, but with the blowing snow, he couldn’t detect anything.

When the sequence started again, the sound came sooner than ten seconds. Afraid the girl might lose her wits soon, he hoped to hell she had the sense to stay within the safety of the truck if she lost them.

Double-timing ahead, he hoped to find Mark but what he found instead sent his heart plummeting; the frayed end of the rope line. “Mark! Mark! Where the hell are you?” He squatted down to examine the snow for any signs of tracks. He finally detected a low depression in the snow, but it led farther on into frozen nothingness. Not a footprint, but something larger. He tried to discern any reason the boy would have left the rope line. Perhaps a house mere feet away, or a light—anything that would make him ignore the warnings Sam had issued.

Sam turned back toward Marcy, who was blasting again too soon. At least he knew she was still in the truck. “I shouldn’t have left her there,” he said as he contemplated searching farther into the unknown or heading back to the truck. That was when he sensed someone nearby. The whisper of a presence of someone else taking up space nearby and nothing more. He began to turn around hoping to find Mark coming toward him, but what happened next took him by surprise. He only glanced for a second before the impact connected with the base of his skull, laying him out on the snow, stunned. He tried to get up, but was struck again and then again until he no longer saw white but only darkness. He felt his body being dragged seconds later, and blacked out altogether.

~ ~ ~

A distant and nagging sound pushed through the veil. The disruption came in threes and sometimes fours; then the series started all over again. Who’s making that damn noise? The pounding pain in the back of Sam’s head didn’t help matters. Then he started to recall what had taken place and the panicked need to open his eyes set in, but confusion clouded his mind. The effort to fall into the silent abyss tempted him. Only his promise to Addy gave him any encouragement to climb out.

Finally he convinced himself to try to open his eyes a slit, though the effort hurt like hell. A ragged figure turned to face him: an older woman with a wild head of hair, long and silver-gray, stood over him. Her crazed eyes were of the lightest green, almost golden in color. Without ever hearing her speak, he held no doubt they were all in grave danger now.

He tried to move his head, but even the smallest effort sent pain rocketing through him. His arms were bound as well as his legs. What happened next he couldn’t anticipate. She surveyed him with those strange eyes, watching every movement he made as he regained consciousness.

“What are you doing here? Who sent you?” she said as she crossed her arms in front of her, revealing a long butcher knife in one hand.

Sam licked his chapped lips as he realized his hands and feet were bound, yet shaking from the cold. He lay in a puddle of water on a cold wood floor, littered with debris. The base of a wooden dining room chair sat dismantled before the stone fireplace, along with a disembodied accordion lampshade, appearing as if she used parts of the stiff fabric for kindling. He cleared his throat with a raspy sound. “Where’s my friend? What did you do with him?”

“I’m asking the questions here. This is my house. You were on my property. Tell me why. You’re from the gang that came here before, the one that took everything!” she screamed madly.

“I . . . I . . . didn’t. I don’t know what you’re talking about, ma’am. Can’t you see there’s a storm?” Even speaking sent shooting pains through his injured skull. The effort to reason with her was killing him. His head hurt like hell, and his vision kept doubling as he tried to focus on her. She had done a number on his head, and he tasted the resulting blood on his lips.

“We were just driving through,” he continued. “The storm caught us, and our truck was stuck. There was no crime against you, ma’am. We thought this house was deserted. We just needed shelter from the storm.”

She skirted around him, taking a few steps but kept clear of him in case he tried something. He wasn’t sure what she might do. Deranged, she had obviously been the victim of a previous attack, so she suspected everyone of doing her harm.

“You’re here to steal from me again. Didn’t you get enough the first time? I won’t let you do this to me a second time. I can barely eat.”

The honking began to distract her, “Someone else is out there honking that obnoxious horn. How many are there?” She kicked his legs. “Tell me now, or I’ll hurt him—the other one botherin’ me tonight.” She took out a cigarette and a lighter from somewhere in the folds of the worn and tattered rags she wore. She lit it with ease and flair, puffing hard, brightening the tip. She wanted him to know without saying that she meant to torture Mark.

Sam lay silent as he gathered clues from the situation. She didn’t seem to have a firearm, but he didn’t have his, either. She had to have hit him with something heavy and hard. But she might have as easily shot him dead with his own gun or Mark’s, for that matter.

She must have lost them in the struggle outside. Her lack of a firearm didn’t make sense, but there she stood with a lit cigarette, threatening to hurt them. Despite that, Sam twisted his head and looked around to catch sight of the boy or their own weapons.

“He’s not in here. I’m not stupid,” she spit out.

“He’s only a kid. Please don’t hurt him.”

She stopped for a minute, with her lit intention glowing between her fingers. She exhaled the smoke slowly as Sam watched her look up and around the room they were in. She took another drag and stared back down at him, causing the tip to brighten fire-red again. He did not like the look in her eyes. He knew right away what Graham would do. Then he heard the persistent sounds again in the distance, coming in a series of three.

He could see that the sound agitated her. To his horror, the woman snuffed out the cigarette in frustration and warned him, “I’ll be right back to deal with you after I take care of that blasted noise.” She picked up a club by the door and rushed out into the storm.

“No! You leave her alone. She’s a kid,” Sam yelled and kicked out, trying to follow, but with both of his feet tied, there wasn’t anything he could do. She had already slammed the door. His head ached in ravaged pain.

14 Tended

Dalton pounded on the quarantine lab door, trying to send the sound all the way to the lab over the raging snowstorm. The hour was late, and he was pissed. Yet again, after completing his rounds, he’d discovered Clarisse not where she was supposed to be, forcing him to hunt her down.

“What are you doing here?” Clarisse said, surprised, when she answered the door. She quickly ushered him in, closed the door, and brushed the accumulated snow off his shoulders.

Dalton glowered at her. “That’s what I’m asking you.” He wasn’t prepared to listen to whatever excuse she might try this time.

Clarisse glared back at him. “Addy’s spending the night at Rick’s with Bethany. I didn’t need to come back to camp, and you have no right to take that tone with me.” She turned and went back to the lab office.

Dalton blew out a breath of frustration as she walked away from him. “We had an agreement, Clarisse. You shouldn’t be out here by yourself.”

“I have work to do. I’m close this time. I need every minute I can get.”

The toll the work had taken on her showed. There were dark circles under her eyes, and she’d even lost more weight, leaving her almost gaunt. She took off her glasses for a minute to rub at her tired eyes. “I’m fine, Dalton. I’m just as safe here.”

“No you’re not, Clarisse. Anything could happen to you out here all alone.”

“I’m comfortable being alone, Dalton. Steven put up a rope line before he left. I’m sure you saw it on the way in here. I have plenty of provisions and water. If I got snowed in, there’s enough for thirty people for a month. There’s no reason I can’t stay,” she argued.

“That’s where you’re wrong. Because of those provisions and gear stored here, you’re in jeopardy. You’re a mark. If someone were to stumble on this cache, they’d kill you in a second and take it all.” He paused, hoping he’d said enough to convince her. Knowing he was hitting below the belt, he added, “What would happen to Addy if she lost you, too, Clarisse?”

“That’s not playing fair, Dalton.” Her smile, though crooked, told him she knew he hadn’t meant to hurt her. She adjusted her eyeglasses.

Dalton calmed down a bit. She had a rare captivating smile, and he loved to coax it out of her, but when she showed it, the jolt of need within him made him guilty for the effort. “I know, but I’ll try anything to get you to listen to me. I’d hate for something to happen to you here by yourself. Please, let me walk you back to camp.”

“No. I told you; I’m working on something important. I’m getting closer, I know I’m close.” She walked out of the darkened hallway and into the dimly lit lab, and Dalton followed her.

“You can save us all tomorrow. Come on, you need to sleep, Clarisse. You’re worn out,” he said as he leaned against the door frame, exhausted himself.

She ignored his suggestion. “You know; I’ve been working on this from two different angles. I’ve had no success with the new antivirals, but something Addy said to me the other day made me reconsider my ideas, to look at it all again.”

“What? You’re saying you’ve been working on another vaccine?” He didn’t shout, but raised his voice enough to let Clarisse know his feelings on that issue. No one had been able to come up with a vaccine, and he doubted, at this point, that anyone ever would. Surviving in the world they now found themselves in made more sense to him.

“Don’t you think you should give up by now, Clarisse? We both remember the useless antivirals the government stockpiled. There was the barely effective vaccine and one that induced narcolepsy in some people. Remember?” he ranted, shaking his head. “People killed one another to get into long lines for those injections. They exposed themselves and their children to the virus, just to get an ineffective and potentially dangerous shot.”

She remained silent while he remembered those awful days. When society had begun to go mad, Dalton had sounded the alert; the one that she had provoked. The approved members came like ghosts, never exposing themselves to others except those in their own family.

Thankfully, the triggers for such an event were clear early on. She was employed by a private research lab near Seattle as a virologist after working first in the U.S. Air Force and then with the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. When she reviewed the reports coming in, with stats increasing rapidly, she removed her lab coat, grabbed her keys, and quietly walked out the door while her coworkers were scrambling. With all the excitement, no one detected her departure, and that’s exactly the way the plan was supposed to work.

After trashing her phone, she pulled out the one only Dalton and Rick knew of. She had quickly called Dalton and relayed the urgent information to him. He sounded the alert and set their plan into action; everything worked as he’d meant it to. Everyone dropped their daily lives, avoided all contact with the public, and made their way to the predetermined entry site.

Clarisse remembered too. She’d already stockpiled all the necessary equipment to continue her research and stored all the equipment safely away in an unassuming van parked in a storage facility that was along her way to the secret destination. She simply pulled up and typed her code into the keypad of the storage facility gate, like so many times before, only this time her fingers shook out of nervous anticipation. They had practiced this many times, but this time their actions were for real.

She drove her little car up to unit 124 and unlocked the roll-up door with her thumbprint scan; she opened the van door the same way and drove the vehicle out of the unit. Following that, she drove her little car into the empty space and lowered the metal door. After she reentered the van and drove to the exit gate, she stopped only to key in the exit code, which she fumbled the first time. While she waited for the gate to lift, a little sign in the shape of a penguin waved a cheerful good-bye. Now, when she thought back to that moment, she wasn’t sure why she’d cried, but she had.

Afterward she never looked back and stuck to the predetermined route of back roads. Though the trip took her a little longer, she wanted to avoid any suspicion. Not that anyone would likely take notice of her activities in such chaos. Rick kept her on his radar the whole time in case she ran into any trouble.

Now, even after society had fallen, she continued to work on something that would save them; these few people who had hidden from death. The colossal pressure of such a deed weighed heavily on her every waking moment as well as her darkest of nights.

“Yes, I remember,” she said softly now in answer to Dalton’s question, “We were very lucky, Dalton, but I can’t give up now because you don’t have faith in a vaccine. There has to be an answer somewhere.”

He stepped close to her. His musky breath blew a few wisps of the dark hair escaping from her tight bun when he spoke. “You can waste your time tomorrow. Get your coat. Let’s go.” She took a step back and considered him. His expression remained grim.

“I’m not going, Dalton.”

“Clarisse, if you don’t come with me, I’ll have to stay here. With you.”

The way he said, “with you,” sent tingles up her spine, and her eyes widened behind her dark-framed glasses. She wouldn’t meet his gaze, and instead found the flooring below her quite interesting.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered as her heart began beating faster. She hoped he didn’t notice the way her lab coat collar vibrated because of her rapid pulse rate. She turned her back on him before he could see the color rising to her cheeks.

Dalton had to swallow twice before he could answer. “Because it’s my job, Clarisse.” His voice came out low and raspy. He hadn’t meant for it to be this way; he couldn’t help his feelings toward her. He was here to make sure she got her ass back to camp. That was what he was supposed to do, dammit. The rest was something that would never be, but he had no control of the first part. He’d never do anything about his attraction for her, but he would keep her safe.

Searching for her parka, he saw it hung by the door. He looked back at her . . . at the back of her long, slender neck, just exposed above her lab coat, with wisps of chestnut hair curling under the usual bun he had more than once imagined taking down.

Speaking now was impossible, so he tugged her by her left arm and started to drag her lightly to the doorway.

“Come with me.” He dared utter only those few words finally and even they came out all wrong for a married man.

Clarissa stiffened as his long, strong fingers wrapped around her upper arm. “Dalton, let go of me.” She couldn’t bear him touching her, was too aware of his heat through her sleeve. She turned. He stopped and stared into her brown eyes. She immediately dropped her gaze and reached up with her right hand to gently peel his fingers from around her arm.

He picked up her parka and held it open for her without another word. She glanced at him briefly and knew by the way he clenched his jaw he wasn’t going to let her stay in the quarantine lab. There was no arguing with the man, and no way would she let him stay here with her overnight. Without trying to hide her frustration and irritation, she took off her lab coat, never speaking a word. She turned and slid into her parka as he slowly pulled the collar up and around her neck. The gesture was way too familiar. She zipped up the front and turned to grab her gloves, then found Dalton holding one open for her. She slid her hands in, first one and then the other, while she avoided his intent stare.

She’d taken a step toward the door when he edged in front of her. She was afraid he was finally going to say something about what they both had been denying, but all he did was reach up and pull her fur hat over her head. For a second their gazes met and held as he drew the strings tight to ensure that she was well shielded against the blizzard they were both about to enter.

When Dalton ushered her out the door, the cold took her breath away. He grabbed the lead line and began striding toward the camp. Clarisse followed, but the swirling snow pelted against her glasses, nearly blinding her. As she stumbled, struggling with the depths of a snowdrift, he returned and grabbed her around the waist and behind her knees, hauling her up into his arms. She realized he intended to carry her the distance, and she protested.

“Put me down, Dalton,” she said, but her request was lost to the howling wind. She wondered if, in truth, he’d heard her but chosen to hold her despite her protest. He carried her through the blizzard and she knew he couldn’t hold her and the rope both at the same time. She felt him stumble at times as the wind buffeted them but knew he’d walked this route many times. He wouldn’t get lost. She rested her head on his shoulder, exhausted from her research and the lost sleep, all brought on by what she knew he’d call “her own damned stubbornness.”

Just before they came into clear view of the camp, he stopped and placed her down in the snow in front of him. He took her by the shoulders and turned her to face the camp. She walked on with Dalton right behind her. After the guard buzzed them through, Dalton tried to talk to her, to warn her again to stay at camp at night, or he would be forced to take the same actions. She had already anticipated this, and instead of hearing him out, she headed forward hurriedly to her own tent.

Dalton knew Clarisse was angry with him and decided her irritation was for the best. He went in the opposite direction, to the family quarters, where Kim and his boys lay sleeping.

As he passed the greenhouse tent, he saw Tammy busy inside setting up heaters to guard against the freezing overnight temperatures, doing her best to keep their precious seedlings alive. She waved at him as he approached.

He opened and closed the entry door quickly, only to be met with a slight burning odor. “Hey, you’re up late. What’s that smell? Do you need help?”

“One of the other heaters crapped out on me earlier, so I’m rigging this one up with another extension. I think it’s paint burn-off. We can’t afford to lose any of these guys,” she said while squatting down to plug in the cord. She seemed to have it all under control.

“Do you want me to take the old heater out of here for you?”

“No, that one is unplugged,” she answered, her voice nearly lost to the howling wind outside. “This new unit is working fine. I’m camping in here tonight to keep an eye on things.”

“Okay, goodnight.” He waved and finally walked on to his own quarters, thinking about Tammy as one of those women that men didn’t often cross. She could lead a whole platoon if the need arose.

When Dalton entered his own tent, only a nightlight had been left on for him, casting distorted shadows along the walls. He turned it off and listened to the storm outside. At least now he could sleep knowing that all were where they needed to be, safely within camp.

He checked in on his two boys, looking innocent as the ambient light cast a glow over their flannel pajamas. How lucky they all were. If it hadn’t been for Clarisse’s warning, they might not have been spared.

Why couldn’t she understand? She’d already saved them all.

15 Not This Time

Marcy stared out the windshield as the storm blew around her. She chanted, “Seven, eight, nine, ten,” then honked the horn once, twice, and a third time. A desperation overtook her; her pulse accelerated. “Where the hell are they?” she yelled. Alone and terrified, she’d gone through the honking routine just like Sam said to, at least fifteen times now.

She shivered in the decreasing temperature, the vinyl seating crunching awkwardly as she adjusted her position. She considered going against all of Sam’s warnings about leaving the confines of the truck. “They’re probably already in the house, lighting a fire by now,” she reasoned aloud, aware of the tremor of fear in her own voice. But no. They’d never do that, leave me here alone one second longer than necessary.

She’d scarcely formed the thought when the glass at her left shoulder caved in, small particles glittering in the glow of headlights reflecting back from the snow. Marcy ducked instinctively, rolled to the right, feeling the fury of the storm as it shrieked through the hole in the driver’s-side window.

In the months before—before the end—Marcy would have sat there stunned, immobilized in shock. But not now. Her response was automatic. She drew her weapon without conscious thought, continuing her roll toward the right side door, grabbing for the handle as snow and a rag-covered hand wielding a club invaded the break in the window.

Even as it swept toward her, she flung open the door and rolled out into the fury of the storm. She clawed her way to her feet and took aim. She didn’t scream. She didn’t warn. She fired. Once, twice, a third time. Just like Graham taught her. She heard a howl over the scream of the wind. Her attacker’s arm and club disappeared. He was either injured or dead. She was certain she’d hit him, but she wasn’t through with him yet. She had to be sure.

She kept to the side of the truck and edged her way around the back, not wanting to be outlined against the headlights. Damn! She saw her assailant fleeing across the blinding light and vanishing abruptly into darkness.

Marcy shook from adrenaline as much as cold. Anger flared through her. How dare someone harm my family! She had no doubt her attacker had hurt them before coming after her.

She ducked down to stay under the lights and felt along the front bumper for the rope. Letting it slide through her gloved hand, she waded blindly ahead, knowing the monster was out there, still alive and knowing the territory better than she did. She had to find the men. She had to get there before the killer. They might still be alive. If the killer’s only weapon was the club, they could just be unconscious, lying somewhere out here in the snow. She had to find them, so she forced herself forward blindly. Every few difficult paces, she stopped to listen for anything besides the howling wind, to search for dark movement against the swirling blizzard. Discerning nothing, she struggled on, then stopped when her boot hit something hard. She searched with both hands. A rifle! She swept through the snow, searching, hoping, but found no unconscious man.

Up again, she lumbered on with the rifle slung over her shoulder.

When the rope end disappeared from her hand, she stood suspended for a second in disbelief. She felt as if she’d been flying high above the storm and, all at once, stood untethered in midair, in the pitch black of night, all alone. Then, some instinct told her she wasn’t alone. Intuition made her whirl and jerk sideways as the club careened toward her face.

She lunged at the enemy. Hands smacking against a chest, sending the attacker sprawling backward to the ground. Pissed and frightened, Marcy would fight this person or die trying. She whaled at the attacker with the butt of her pistol, striking out again and again as long, cold fingernails grabbed at her in the darkness, tearing at her sleeves. A skinny, ungloved hand lifted the club. Marcy snatched it free, flung it away. A high, feminine screech rang through the air. “No! No! That’s mine!”

Then the woman scrambled up and darted away, and Marcy followed close enough to hear the grunts and cries of her attacker as she stalked her through the night.

“Where are you?” the woman screamed. Marcy crouched down and kept her eyes on the shapeless bundle of rags as the woman searched. For Marcy? For the club? Muttering as she moved in an aimless circle, quickly gathering snow.

Marcy kept her pistol ready in front of her, but soon the woman seemed to get her bearings and scurried off to the right. She followed as closely as possible, keeping the unkempt shape in sight until finally the house appeared dimly ahead of her. The house that first seemed a safe haven from the storm now appeared a malevolent hovel.

The raging woman screamed and mumbled words Marcy couldn’t understand as she ascended rickety stairs and crossed the porch. Faint candlelight glowed as the door opened into the lunatic’s lair. Marcy ran toward it, crept up the steps, hearing more incoherent ranting from inside. She crouched, weapon drawn, and kicked opened the weathered door of the madhouse.

The woman straddled Sam’s waist, about to plunge a large kitchen knife into his chest, and Marcy pulled the trigger.

The shot hit the woman in the back of her head. Blood sprayed—over the wall, all over Sam. Marcy took two long strides and kicked the woman off Sam’s chest and shot her again at point blank range, then a third time and then a fourth.

Sam moaned and Marcy turned. When the woman fell, the knife had continued, slicing into Sam’s chest. As she stared, it fell over and clattered onto the wooden floor. Sam’s eyes were wide open. He stared at her in amazement. “Nice shots,” he said. “Now untie me.”

“Where’s Mark?” she demanded.

“I don’t know, Marcy. Untie me.”

“Where is he?” Her voice went high.

“Marcy! Marcy, use the knife and untie me.” Sam rolled to his side, bringing his knees up to his chest.

“Mark!” she yelled.

“Marcy! Untie me, God dammit!” Sam yelled, then gasped as he moved, and she came out of it enough to listen to him. She found the blood-drenched knife next to Sam’s curled body and hacked into the tight bindings. Then, she went in search of Mark in the depths of the eerie, darkened rooms filled with litter.

She rushed past broken wooden chairs and couch cushions with their stuffing emptied all over the living room, past rat carcasses and parts of deer flesh, long spoiled, lying by the open fireplace.

She scuffed through litter into what had been a kitchen, then a bathroom, toilet broken, but the stench said the woman had continued to use it anyway. She ducked out of there quickly, then continued into a back bedroom, saw Mark, and screamed.

When Marcy screamed, Sam ripped at the ropes still tangling his feet. Blood poured from his chest. The room spun, but Marcy needed him. He got to his feet, balancing himself on a wall of the hallway, his shirt and coat quickly blooming with bloodstains. Dizziness sent him reeling. His hand came away from the back of his head wet and warm with crimson blood from the injury. Marcy continued yelling Mark’s name. The sound of her distress echoed loudly in his cranium. He squinted from the pain.

“Marcy, where are you?” he shouted.

“Back here! Hurry, Sam, I need your help!” Her high-pitched cry dropped down to horrible, hoarse sobbing.

“Marcy, I’m coming! Where are you?” He yelled it, trying to find her as he stumbled alongside a wall that defied its true angle. He braced himself against the illusion, as the rest of the room spun. He closed his eyes and tried to follow the sound of her voice because his eyes couldn’t pick a worthy direction. As he trailed her voice, his blood smeared along the dirty wall, trailing crimson waves.

“We’re in here!” she called.

When Sam finally found them, with difficulty, he blinked and shook his head to make the two images become one. Marcy crouched, untying Mark as he lay motionless on his stomach, his head in a puddle of blood. Marcy rolled him over, and his injuries were immediately evident. His nose lay at an unnatural angle, one eye was swollen shut, and blood drained out of his ear. Clearly, the crazed woman had clubbed him across the face.

“Mark, can you hear me?” Marcy sobbed, clutching at him, rocking back and forth on her haunches. “Mark!”

Sam staggered to them and dropped to the boy’s side. He reached for his neck to check his pulse, afraid of what he might find. Blinking his eyes several times, he tried to ignore the spinning and focused on the task at hand. Finally he was able to determine a faint thumping. “He’s alive,” Sam whispered hoarsely.

Marcy cried tears of relief. Sam patted her on the back and she leaned against him, pressing her cheek against his blooming blood-soaked shirt.

“She stabbed you,” she said, pulling away. Shock glazed her eyes.

Sam had to keep her with him. Though she’d just saved them all, she still had more to do, or they might yet die.

“I know, Marcy, but I’m okay. You need to listen to me now. Can you do that?” He held her by the forearms and shook her until she looked at him.

“Yeah.”

“We need to get Mark back to camp. The swelling in his neck could block his airway. Do you think you can drive? It sounds like most of the storm has passed.”

She nodded.

“Good girl. Let’s get Mark into the main room and get the truck up here.”

In no condition to help Marcy move Mark into the living room, Sam could only offer suggestions on how not to injure him further. She did the best she could as Sam followed, holding himself against the wall. She carefully laid Mark down on the floor in front of the entrance, putting a ratty cushion under his head for elevation.

As Sam passed the dead body of the woman, he could see with morbid clarity how she had died. When she’d returned to the house in a rage, she’d been bleeding from a chest wound. Then she’d attacked him with the knife, without thought to her own condition. Even if Marcy hadn’t shot her, she’d have died drowning in her own blood. He’d heard her wheezing, fighting for breath.

He worried about Marcy. She shot the woman at least once outside and then again in the house, but the third shot was unnecessary, as was the fourth. Now was not the time to ask her about her actions, but the effect worried him. She was functioning now, but he knew deeper shock would set in soon, and he needed to get her back before she had the opportunity to break down. He needed her to keep herself together long enough to get them home.

He peered at the front window and saw that the storm had calmed down enough for him to see the truck out in the frozen landscape. He tried to speak to Marcy, to tell her what to do, but the effort of walking had left him spent. Slowly, his back to the wall, he sank to the floor and realized he was passing out.

Dimly, he heard Marcy’s cry. “Sam!”

He had just enough strength to brush her hands away when she tried to apply pressure to the knife cut in his chest. “Sam, don’t . . . don’t leave me.”

“Girl, go get the truck. I’m fine. Dizzy as hell, but fine,” he said as he felt the shadows close in around him.

“Okay,” she said, and ran for the door.

He stopped her before she left and said with slow care, “Marcy, it’s stuck, remember. Put it back in four-wheel-drive, and follow the dropped wheel. Go straight into the ditch. Listen to me, go straight into the ditch and drive straight up and out to the curve in the road. Don’t turn the wheel or you’ll get stuck again. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, Sam. I’ll be right back.”

He nodded with his eyes half closed to keep the room from spinning. God, how he hoped she could do it. He didn’t want to be in that house a minute longer, and he really worried about the boy. Glancing in that direction, he could see Mark’s injuries were life-threatening. Even now his very breath seemed fleeting.

The warmth in the truck would also beat the drafty conditions in the shack. If they lost the boy, Marcy would be no good, and he needed to get her back to Graham in one piece. The fact that she’d killed the woman outright was impressive but a bit worrisome. He didn’t think she really knew she had committed the deed—not really, not yet. No doubt, the fact would hit her later. He needed Graham for that. It was only a matter of time before reality came to her.

16 Decided Chance

Early the next morning, Tala rose before the others and barely made it to the bathroom before the heaving overtook her. The bile wouldn’t be held back this time. She hoped no one heard her, but the urgency couldn’t be helped. After cleaning up she talked herself into making the morning coffee and beginning breakfast, even though the smell drove her over the edge. Soon Bang’s little feet padded on the wooden floor. As always, he rose to meet her in the quiet of dawn.

“Good morning Tala,” he said, and poured himself a cup of coffee.

“I know Graham said you could have coffee, but a boy your age really shouldn’t be drinking that much caffeine every day. So go easy, okay? You might stop growing,” she warned playfully, then attempted to straighten his hair with her hands as she imagined his own mother would have done.

He smiled up at Tala, knowing she had tried to fool him. “If it’s good for Graham, it’s good for me too,” he reasoned as he added nearly as much reconstituted milk as coffee, and then added two heaping spoons of sugar. After observing this, she decided to give up on hassling him about the coffee, and instead, focus on good oral hygiene with so much sugar and no dentists around.

Once again, the coffee aroma threatened to send her to the bathroom, and Bang witnessed her recoil at the smell.

“Are you sick, Tala?” Fear came over his small face, and for good reason: he’d lost his entire family to the pandemic. She swallowed hard and recovered, then knelt down to him and brushed his hair out of his eyes once more.

“I’m fine, Bang. I’m not that kind of sick, so don’t worry about me, okay?” She handed him a bowl of grits mixed with some dried venison meat for extra protein. He accepted the steaming bowl and made his way to the table.

Tala had worked very hard to gain the boy’s trust over the past several months, and she didn’t want to jeopardize that bond in the least by keeping a secret. After all he’d been through, he deserved better. So did Graham. She would find a way to tell Graham, and soon.

Keeping the pregnancy a secret would prove to be impossible for much longer, especially with the tight quarters of the cabin eliminating most privacy.

She dreaded Graham’s reaction after his response to putting the girls on birth control. She would never agree to an abortion. Clarisse and Graham both believed terminating would be for the best in theory, but Tala would take her chances. She hadn’t slept a wink the previous night as she struggled over the decision. To her, abortion was murder; no matter the time of conception. Even with the virus still apparent and the unknown immunity factor, she still felt the child had a chance, a chance at life she was willing to take over a clear and decided death.

Macy was next up, and as usual, she cheerfully entered the kitchen ready for a new day.

“I beat Graham this morning?” she asked, surprised, and beamed a proud smile.

Macy’s competitive nature, her determination to beat Graham at everything, always amused Tala. She could almost outshoot him; she could definitely outrun him, and their competitiveness had become a source of entertainment for them all. Once she declared a challenge, it was on. She would practice endlessly and become quite skilled, well beyond her sister’s abilities. A strength this keen became essential to their survival.

“We were up a little late last night,” Tala said in Graham’s defense. “But it’s not even light yet. I think we’re all up a little early this morning.” She let Macy serve herself, and then poured Graham a cup of coffee. Again, she avoided the aroma after a wave of nausea hit her. Sheriff came ambling out of the bunkroom and almost knocked the coffee from her hands. When she finally made it past the doorway, Graham was, in fact, awake and watching over Ennis.

The look on his face took her aback. “Is he okay?”

“Yeah, he’s breathing. He was just mumbling a lot in his sleep last night.”

She handed him his coffee, and as he accepted the warm cup, she asked, “Does he have a fever?”

“He seems a little too warm, but not like yesterday.”

He motioned for them to retreat out of the room to let Ennis sleep longer. He looped his free arm around her waist as they entered the dining area.

“Let’s wake him in another hour, and get him to the bathroom,” Tala said.

“Yeah, but let me do it. Afterward, I’m going to take the pickup truck into town for a few things. I think we should have those painkillers here for him so he’s not in so much turmoil. We need a few other things, too, and I’ll check the post office to see if our Carnation boy has arrived yet.”

She pulled away, not daring to face him in case he detect her nausea.

17 A Quick Trip

The snow had nearly stopped by morning and Graham wanted to get into town and back again before darkness took hold. He wanted to think for a while on his own. Despite Tala trying to hide it from him, Graham had detected she’d been sick to her stomach lately and suspected she might be pregnant, and that brought back recent memories of his wife succumbing to the pandemic and the loss of their unborn child. He didn’t feel good about any of this. In fact, he felt like a jackass, but if terminating a pregnancy meant saving Tala from heartache, he’d do his best to convince her to take the drugs. He wanted to save Tala from going through the agony of losing another child at birth, or later, from the virus itself. He knew she’d never agree to the termination, so he would try to prevent the risk. If he spared her the loss of another child, it would be worth the guilt.

Tala peeked out the front window as Graham warmed up the pickup truck. He waved to her and nodded. She was sad from the weight of the secret he suspected, and likewise, pale from morning sickness.

Graham would like nothing more than to keep the child, especially since it belonged to him and Tala. But he suspected deep down that he’d lose her, too, if they dared to try. He had to save her at least. With that last thought, he put the pickup in gear and headed out into town, taking the drive slowly and keeping to the forested tree line where the drifted snow accumulation gave the tires a better grip.

He had never believed much in God, but after losing so many loved ones he had even more reason to negate God’s existence. Why would he allow this to happen to man? It was a question that would never be answered to his satisfaction. And don’t give me that crap about cleansing the earth. I’m no Noah.

Despite how bad the storm had been for a brief period, the snow on the drive wasn’t bad; there was one spot where it had drifted, and Graham had sweated, despite the cold, while shoveling his way through it. He couldn’t wait for Mark to get back home. Graham would never withhold praise where it was due, and Mark was the master of snow clearing.

As he drove Graham thought of how far they had come since the apocalypse began. He knew his father would have been proud of him now. Though he’d struggled against his dad in almost every way, from his politics to his style of dress, he now laughed to himself as he realized he’d become just like the man, with his rifle by his side and nearly the same practical daily attire out of necessity. The irony hit him all at once, and he laughed yet almost cried at the same time. His father, deserving of heaven, was surely chuckling too.

How unimportant the things he’d thought vital this time last year had become. He remembered how he’d tried to convince his dad the marijuana bill being passed in Washington was the right thing to do, and how outraged his father had been. In retrospect, many more important things should have been debated, like the increasing avian flu mutation research for one. What a horrible waste. Even after the shit hit the fan, legalizing marijuana for tax revenue remained the number one issue being debated. Tragically this issue would be the least of their worries. If only they had known what lay right around the corner.

Because Graham’s mind wandered, the drive took less time than he thought it would, and he soon found himself well into town. The first order of business was to go to the doctor’s house first and grab the meds—both the pain meds for Ennis and the others. When he’d last been there the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind that he would need them. Tala took birth control, so they never suspected she could get pregnant, but he knew the pill didn’t provide 100 percent coverage—even taking an antibiotic or cough syrup could foul up the system. He should have at least remembered that.

One thing about the breakdown of society was the lack of general rules and laws. One could choose to drive off-road and through sidewalks or front yards whenever necessary. So when Graham found a snowdrift three feet tall blocking the road he simply drove around it, through the front yard of an old weather-beaten white church with a sign in the window that read aa meetings down below. The sign struck him as odd, and he wondered many times a little room below the old church might have been dedicated to those who overindulged. The down below seemed humorous and, to satisfy his own curiosity, he planned to check the location out someday this spring.

Once he reached the doctor’s house Graham realized he had forgotten his handheld radio. He had always proclaimed this to be a big no-no, and here he was, the first one to break the rule. “Damn. Well, I’ll get this over quick.” The door was frozen to the jamb, and releasing it took several encouraging pushes to coax an entry.

A smoky scent seemed to permeate the old home. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it took Graham back to his own grandfather’s home, where he’d often found the old man toking on big Churchill cigars. The aromatic smoke had permeated every fiber and even clung to Graham’s memories. The old home, decorated in what Graham thought of as 1800s antique shop, mesmerized him as a welcomed blast from the past. The deep green plush carpet was accented with fuzzy burgundy baroque wallpaper and floral Tiffany type lamps set atop dark mahogany craftsman-style end tables. Somewhere a clock continued to tick despite the owners’ deaths. Graham wished he could conjure up the doctor. His expertise would be useful indeed.

Though they had access to Clarisse on the radio, she wasn’t “theirs.” After the previous incident, he and Dalton had made an agreement that their first encounter would be the last time they would intervene in each other’s camps. Because of Sam being separated from his daughter, he would never allow anyone from his camp to enter theirs or vice versa. With the risk, he didn’t want to be responsible for another tragedy, be it death or otherwise.

Graham found himself wiping his feet again, even though it wasn’t necessary in these times. Such a blasted habit! he thought—one instilled in him by his mother. He listened for anything to indicate he might not be alone, then walked quietly through the kitchen and into the adjoining rooms that served as the doctor’s office. These rooms, unlike the rest of the home, were stark white—rooms of serious intention. On their previous visit they had found a lot of helpful supplies here, but had only taken what they thought they might need; they’d left the rest, knowing it would be here if they needed it later.

Well, they had a use for it now. Graham opened the cupboard where he’d found a box containing the pills. The carton consisted of several foil packets of pills. He read the directions and found that the prescription only recommended a dosage for up to eight weeks’ gestation. If Tala was at six weeks now, he had little time to convince her to take them. He honestly had no idea how far along she might be. The set contained one larger pill that was to be taken first, and then the others, one by one as needed until the fetus expelled a few days later. Graham took a deep breath. He’d never given abortion much thought before the pandemic, though women’s rights had always been a subject of much discussion among his peers and friends. He’d thought of himself as a progressive thinker, and he didn’t disagree with a woman’s right to choose. But to be faced with such an option now, made him think of the tiniest of details and the subsequent consequences. This aspect of taking care of the specifics couldn’t be glossed over.

He shoved the foil pack back into the box and concealed the whole container in his coat pocket. He then scanned the shelves for Ennis’s medication, and seeing the bottle lined up under P for phenazopyridine, he took the whole container and closed the cabinet. He backtracked through the quiet house and out the front door, closing it behind him to preserve the smell within for him to enjoy another day.

Next he pulled up outside the post office. He always checked there in hopes the young man they’d met in Carnation on the way up from Seattle so many months ago would show up at some point. He often thought of the kid, living completely on his own. He and Sam had contemplated going back to check on the boy when spring came, on their way to scout out how things were closer to Seattle. Hopefully they’d be able to convince him to stay with them. The more people they had, the better chance for survival these days.

Always careful in town since the bear incident last fall, Graham checked out his surroundings before stepping out of the truck. Seeing nothing, he took his rifle out of the truck, slung it over his shoulder, and went into the post office to see if there was any word from the Carnation boy.

The foggy gray morning still showed some snow blowing in the wind gusts. He thought of Sam and the kids and hoped they were holding up well through the storm they had had last night.

This trip inside the post office was like many before. The bell on the metallic handle of the door clinked as it always had; the sound still bothered him and provoked little hairs to stand on end. It was a hard habit to break: waiting for someone in the back to come out and ask if he needed help.

After he had stepped onto the tiled floor he scanned the counters for any obvious signs of the teen. He’d done this at least once a week for months now, and he didn’t expect to find anything new. But there on the counter, where long-gone patrons had once tossed various pieces of unwanted and discarded junk mail or picked up tax forms every April, lay a piece of paper folded along the middle to stand at attention.

Graham grinned ear to ear. “About time, kid.” He picked up the paper and read the few lines:

I’m the guy from Carnation. I met you last fall. You said to meet you here. I’m staying in a brick house down the road.

McCann.

“Man of few words.” Graham said aloud, then smiled to himself as the phrase echoed in the small, cold post office. At least this good news would bring a smile to the others. They would have another person there to help with things, and Graham could quit worrying about the boy’s welfare.

Excited at the prospect of meeting the young man, Graham read the note once again as he exited the door. The bell tinkled as he stepped outside, his gaze still on the note. At that moment, an attack was the last thing on his mind, and he would forever regret not taking the usual precautions.

Three feral dogs sniffed at the truck parked right outside the building, and when they heard the bell ring, they knew a human was close by. As Graham took one step, and then the other, they lowered their chests close to their front paws with their fur raised in alert. When the man looked up, they sprang on him and attacked him with a vengeance.

Graham, caught completely unaware, yelled out desperately. With his rifle slung around his back, he couldn’t reach it; one dog already had its fangs sunk deeply into his thigh. Another leaped for Graham’s neck from behind, and a third tugged at his calf, ripping it with its long fangs.

He managed to pull away from the second, but the first two had a great hold on his legs and would not let go. Instead, the bastards shook with aggression, tearing flesh free. Again, Graham went for the rifle when the second dog dived for his side, catching him in the chest, knocking him over, and gouging fangs deeply into his upper arm.

A shot rang out. Graham thought for a second he had somehow managed to get a hold of his rifle, then realized he’d never made it. The one dog tearing at his arm lay dead right beside him, but the others attached to his legs would not let go. Graham grabbed at one’s head and tried to keep him from doing any more damage when he heard someone yell, “Get out of the way!”

Graham knew that meant he had to let his enemy loose to gleefully resume its mutilation of him, but letting go of his self-preservation held the only hope to free him from the attack. He pulled back and lay as flat as possible to help give his rescuer a clear shot at the beasts. A second shot rang out, and then a third. The gruesome growling ended, and a great weight fell onto his torn-open leg.

18 The Carnation Boy

McCann had dared to close his eyes for more than a few minutes before his ever vigilant subconscious picked up on something: tires traveling on compact ice. His ears were attuned to the distressed whinny of his horses tied out back behind the one-level brick home he currently occupied. Every hour or so, overnight, wolves continued to try and mark the horses as easy prey.

Coming from Carnation through a snowstorm hadn’t been a good idea after all, and McCann soon regretted the trek, but when the flakes began to fall in sheets, turning back made no more sense than going on. He pushed through and had finally made the last stretch the previous morning, but so far, because of wolves and wild dogs, he hadn’t slept more than two hours straight.

“Aw shit! Now, someone comes? I’m never going to get any goddamn sleep,” he grumbled, even though the prospect of seeing someone—anyone—after many weeks alone brought a kind of giddiness he would not admit to.

McCann lifted himself off the living room couch of the little redbrick house and grabbed his cowboy hat and his rifle from the coffee table in one fell swoop. After inching toward the door, he peeked out the window and spotted someone’s truck parked at the post office a block down the road. “I might as well wait for him to find the note,” he mumbled.

In the beginning, when the pandemic had first hit, McCann had nursed each member of his family—as in, helping them to die as peacefully as possible. After they were all dead and buried he had no plans to leave his family’s ranch. One afternoon while checking on the cattle stock, a movement caught his attention down the dirt driveway. Of all the people in the town of Carnation, he never envisioned his elderly fifth grade teacher, Mrs. Goode, walking to his front door. As frail as her ancient body appeared, having come this far out of downtown must have been a tremendous feat.

Once he approached her, she informed him that they were the only two still alive. She also chastised him for trying to keep up the livestock on his father’s ranch.

“Let ’em go, son. They can take care of themselves better than you can. You can’t keep doing this all on your own; it’ll wear you down. I won’t be on this earth much longer, and I’ll be grateful for the end when it comes; I don’t much like living this quiet. However, you need to find some people to herd as you take care of these cows. McCann, you can’t stay here by yourself.”

She took up residence in his little sister’s vacant room and stayed with him from that point until her death. She stopped taking her heart medication, but McCann didn’t know that. He only knew she became weaker every day. It wasn’t long before he sat by her bedside one night as her life drifted away in a hush. Later, he found the medication hidden away in her bag and knew what she’d done.

He’d planned to hole up at the ranch as best he could despite what Mrs. Goode had said. However, once winter really took hold, the quiet that snuck in through the doorways and cold windowpanes strangled his hope. He soon realized he wouldn’t want to repeat another winter there alone and began to think of the man who had stopped in town months earlier. The blue-eyed girls he’d seen in the Scout’s backseat that day visited him often in his dreams, and soon plans to make his way to Cascade formulated in his mind. The next thing he knew, he stood watching the cattle scatter as he held open the metal gate for the last time.

The snarling of feral dogs and the first hollers of pain jerked him back into the present. He spun from the window and took off running, armed and already guessing what had taken place. As he rounded the corner, seeing the man with three dogs on him sent McCann into action. The first dog went down easily, but the man himself was in the way of other shots. It took some horrified patience and careful angling to get a clear shot of the mauling targets. Immediately the oversight of not warning this man of the wild dog activity he’d already taken notice of in his short time in Carnation weighed on him.

With the dogs dispatched, McCann holstered his gun and reached down, sinking two fists into the deep matt of the dog’s gray fur. He grabbed and pulled the weight off the man. With the blood already staining the surrounding snow, his injuries appeared pretty bad. Flesh torn wide open hung out of his upper right thigh. McCann helped Graham sit up and checked the injured left shoulder. It bled, but luckily, the coat padding had saved him from too much damage.

The pain must be gruesome McCann thought as Graham groaned. “I’m real sorry I didn’t come sooner.”

“Me too. Not your fault. Goddamn assholes,” Graham said, staring at the downed menace. McCann tried to help him up, but he yelled out in pain.

“Ribs,” Graham said; then he gasped and passed out.

McCann dragged Graham to the pickup, hoping his ribs were cracked or bruised, not actually broken and about to pierce a lung; that would be way beyond his abilities in first aid. He opened the back door and pushed Graham inside. He had lost a lot of blood, and McCann needed to get him back to his temporary residence to stem further bleeding.

He couldn’t drive the man to his camp; he didn’t know where the hell that might be. Besides that, he suspected more dogs might show up with the smell of fresh blood in the air. McCann hated the damn things. Despite the loneliness, predators were the second-best reason he’d decided to abandon his own home and come here. Well, that was the story he was going with, anyway.

After he got Graham inside the brick house, he instantly went to work to try to stop the bleeding by using kitchen towels and anything he could find to apply pressure to the wounds.

Graham was still out cold, and that was a good thing. McCann had learned first aid on his father’s ranch, most of which he’d used on cattle, not people. More often than not, steers tended to open themselves up by rubbing their fool selves along barbed wire or the sharp ends of fence gates. He’d had numerous chances to practice his surgery skills, fine-tuning his techniques with each incident. He’d also helped deliver many calves during the season, and when a heifer had a vaginal prolapse, McCann was the first to replace the tissue and suture the wounds, just like his father taught him.

Before the pandemic, he had far-fetched plans to go off to med school. Now he was just thankful he’d learned as much as he did for everyday survival because, sadly, those dreams were over.

McCann pulled back the compress and saw mangled tissue bleeding badly. Luckily, the injury was on the outside of Graham’s right thigh and not near the major arteries on the inside, near his groin. Almost sure the wound would get infected, McCann knew the man was in for a long recovery. He felt for a pulse and then used his pocketknife to rip Graham’s jeans open. McCann removed his coat and put another log in the brick fireplace because he had a long day ahead of him. Then he got busy collecting and sterilizing the supplies he would need to treat this guy’s injuries if there were any hope of getting him through this.

19 Manning Media

“Good afternoon, sunshine, what’s up?” Dalton asked Rick as he wandered into the media tent after lunch. The morning had been a long one, and he was sure the rest of the day would drag out even longer. He’d barely slept the night before, as he suffered from his own moral conflict.

“Same damned thing; the world ended, but our four corners are secure. Reuben, Steven, and a few others are headed out on their scheduled hunt early tomorrow morning. They’re going on the northwest trail since Sam and his group are straight north.”

Dalton watched Rick, who obviously had something more on his mind; he sat in his chair with his back to Dalton and was doing that damn tapping thing again, which always led to trouble, as Dalton saw it.

“What else?”

“Macy called in earlier. She said Graham had left camp early this morning. He was going into town for something, but she didn’t catch for what or why, and a few of the cameras are iced over despite the fucking auto defrost mechanism. I can’t see a damn thing in town.”

“You may not track him, Rick. I know what you’re thinking. He’s probably sick of being cooped up indoors like the rest of us and needed some air. Those trackers probably don’t work now anyway. They eventually work their way out to the surface of the skin, and they’re out by now.”

Rick spun around to face Dalton. “Yeah. Something’s off, though. Something’s not right.”

“That’s so prophetic of you, Rick.” Dalton stared at his old friend. The stress in his eyes made him appear tired, and Dalton guessed he’d stayed up late with Addy and Bethany giggling into the night. To base anything on less than a fact for Rick was new. Dalton thought perhaps the lowering of testosterone, now that he was past forty, was getting to him. Having Rick PMSing was a frightening thought.

“Why don’t you go get a late lunch? I’ll man the media for a while.”

“All right,” Rick said, never one to turn down the prospect of a hot meal. But as he got up to make his way out of the tent he stopped. “Just remembered. Clarisse hiked her way to quarantine bright and early this morning. She said to tell you she had some work to do, and Addy’s staying with Bethany for the afternoon. She said she’d be back by dinner.”

“Okay, Rick, thanks.”

“She’d better be back by dinner,” Dalton said under his breath.

He checked the existing cameras and surveyed the boundary compound fence. It was clear other than a few snowdrifts. They had no way of knowing if the storm was yet over. It was anyone’s guess.

On further inspection, the path to the quarantine building appeared clear as well. He checked the inside cameras and found Clarisse hovering over a microscope again, as always. He wondered if she’d slept at all last night. At least she was inside and safe for now, even if she was still pissed at him.

Tearing himself away from her image, Dalton checked the other cameras in their own camp and noted in the log the time and condition. Next he viewed Graham’s camp and found Macy on watch at the drive side, and he could barely make out Bang on the lake side through the partially frosted lens. Tala was in the greenhouse, and he supposed Ennis was still inside the cabin, though without the cameras he had no idea. The absence of Graham’s truck in the driveway showed that he hadn’t yet returned from town. He missed seeing his kid cousin, Mark, but Dalton was sure he was having the time of his life with Sam and Marcy out on their hunt.

He reviewed all the exterior cameras and found nothing out of the ordinary in the deep of winter after a big storm. He made more notations in the log and turned his attention to the town cameras. One in particular was blacked out completely, and the others were nothing but blobs of grayness.

All of a sudden the radio crackled to life, and the sound was Clarisse’s voice coming in, low and sweet. “Rick, can you get Steven? He was on guard duty last night, but I’m hoping he’s up by now. I need someone else to take a look at this.” By the sound of it Dalton could tell she was pretty excited about something, though he wished she wasn’t sharing the news with Steven.

He gazed at her on the screen for a few seconds before he hit the microphone button. “It’s me, Clarisse. Rick’s taking a lunch break,” he said, hearing the tension in his own voice, coming out low and hoarse. He surveyed her body language for any reaction.

“Oh,” she said and paused. “Can you please get Steven out here?” By the way she pulled abruptly away from the radio, he thought she still fumed over last night’s episode.

“Yeah, I’ll send him out right away. Do you need anything from here? Coffee? A muffin?”

“No. I only need Steven. Thank you.”

He smiled now, because she was still more than a little pissed, and he needed her to be. If she ever turned her steamy gaze on him again, like the night before, he was afraid of what he might do—of what he might discard because he needed her.

He couldn’t let her have her own way, either. It was too bad, but she needed to follow the rules like the rest of them. What would they do without her otherwise?

He cleared his throat from all that, and when he said, “All right, I’ll send him over,” his voice was still gruff. He didn’t mean it to be. He had no right or claim to her, and if she needed Steven, he would get the guy for her. But he wouldn’t be happy about it.

“Clarisse out,” she clipped quickly, as if she couldn’t hang up fast enough.

He didn’t like that she needed Steven, but a relationship between her and Steven would be for the best. He ignored his jealousy for now and went in search of the guy.

Steven was the closest Clarisse had to an assistant these days. In his prior life he had been a paramedic, and before that he served in Afghanistan with the rest of them as a medic.

The first place to look for anyone in the afternoon was in the mess tent and, more specifically, in the coffee line. Dalton liked to get in the dining area first thing in the morning because he hated anyone standing between him and his coffee.

He surveyed the tent and found the man he looked for. With his blond hair sticking up in all directions, Steven looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. He must have just walked out of the shower and lost his comb somewhere along the way to the mess tent. Dalton smiled at the guy, though his instincts told him to strangle him.

“What?” Steven asked, seeing Dalton stare him down.

Dalton knew it was too early for Steven after pulling the midnight guard shift duty.

“Clarisse needs your assistance,” Dalton informed him.

“Since when does she need my help?”

“She discovered something, and wants you to come look at her findings,” Dalton explained to him.

“Oh. So she needs me, then?” Steven puffed out his chest with mock importance and plastered a big smile on his face.

“Yep, but don’t let it go to your head,” Dalton barked at him.

“All right! Let me get some coffee. If I can get through this goddamn line!” he yelled, enough for Rick to get the idea to hurry up. He was taking his sweet time mixing his own brew to perfection.

Dalton watched as Rick said with deliberate slowness, “Keep your pants on, man. It’s not the end of the world; well, not quite yet, anyway.” Then, the other two people waiting in line parted to each side knowing from experience Steven would retaliate. As Dalton expected, Steven walked up behind the unsuspecting Rick and deliberately pushed the other man’s elbow just enough that the brew sloshed all over the counter.

Dalton gave up and walked back to the media tent as Rick’s explicative retort wafted behind him. These proceedings would be the beginning of a tit-for-tat game that would both entertain and drive others crazy for days until they both called it a draw. To Dalton, Steven’s antics meant that, without a doubt, Clarisse would not settle in the long term for anyone so childish. That acknowledgment both thrilled and terrified him.

Steven finally got his coffee fixed and changed his now sodden and coffee-stained T-shirt; Rick had dispensed the rest of his remaining brew in one impressive splash aimed directly at his chest. Steven had called a temporary truce, then headed back to his tent to change and don his outerwear before he made his way over to Clarisse in the quarantine building. As he opened the lab door, she turned, looking impatient. It was obvious she had been waiting for him.

A really broad grin wasn’t something he’d ever have expected to cross Clarisse’s face, so when one did, it creeped him out a little. So much so that he shot a quick glance behind himself in case Rick had somehow appeared there with some kind of sadistic reprisal.

“What is going on? I like you better bitchy and arrogant. It’s too damn early for this, even though it’s nearly evening,” he complained like a little boy as she led him by the elbow over to the microscope. “At least it’s too early for me.”

“Look,” she commanded, pointing to the microscope.

He sat and took a peek through the scope. After a few seconds, he gave up. “What am I looking at here?”

“Antibodies.”

“Clarisse, I treat the wounded. This isn’t exactly my thing. Please explain.”

“Okay, so, as you remember, before the pandemic we had no vaccine for the avian flu. The government stocked antivirals, but they did little to affect this mutated version of the avian flu, and actually, it prolonged suffering but did not prevent death.

“Then they tried the vaccine, which included the adjuvant they needed to stabilize the vaccine, but that caused narcolepsy. As if we didn’t have enough to worry about already.” She was pacing in front him now. “That vaccine never worked to begin with. It was for a different variation altogether.”

She stopped pacing. “Really, Steven this is so sick and sad. If only our government had funded the research we needed to come up with this variation, not nearly so many would have died. But no, they had to give millions to fund farming in China or video game research in California.”

Steven interrupted her, “Hey, I for one miss video games, and you’re ranting. Get to the point. I need more coffee.”

“I think I have it. You’re looking at the antibodies I took from subject twelve.”

He scrunched his eyebrows together.

“You mean Harry? You gave Harry H5N1 and a vaccine that actually produced antibodies?”

“Hey, I told you not to name the ferrets. And, actually, no, not quite. I gave Harry and three of his ferret buddies a vaccine containing HA (hemagglutinin) with aluminum phosphate, plus a new adjuvant that I’ve been working with to help stabilize the vaccine to allow it to absorb better. I followed up three weeks later with a second dose, exactly the same, then waited four weeks and gave them the challenge virus.

“This is the first time I’ve had all test subjects show no sign of the virus. There was no increase in temperature, no runny noses, no weight loss, and no loss of activity, but they do show strong antibodies.”

For a while Steven acted bored, but as she babbled on he soon realized what she was saying—something he hadn’t heard before: strong antibodies. She’d tried over and over for months, and now, she’d finally developed a viable vaccine.

He ignored her babbling while he digested the information. He lifted one eyebrow and said, “Wait a minute. Are you saying you created the vaccine? For real? You did it?”

She nodded, and to his surprise, tears started flooding down her cheeks. Her shoulders heaved with suppressed sobs.

Steven got up off the lab stool with arms opened wide and yelled, “You did it? You did it!”

He lifted her up and spun her around a few times, then set her back down carefully. He fixed her collar while she adjusted her glasses. “Oh, my God! Why doesn’t everyone know about this?” he asked as the realization set in.

“Because I wanted to be sure my data was correct. I wanted to finish checking the results last night, but Dalton wouldn’t let me stay, so I came out early this morning.”

“That bastard! Is the vaccine ready for the first round?”

“No, I’m using the cell-cultured method, so the process should take about four weeks; then we can begin giving the first injections.”

“So you’re saying that once we are inoculated and show antibodies to this one, we can interact with the carriers?”

“Yes. Full immunity will take about two weeks, but yes,” she nodded, glassy-eyed. “It means Addy can be with her dad again.” It took all of Clarisse’s strength to keep her voice from cracking as she revealed the triumph. Steven reached out to hold her again, more softly this time; even the Quarantine Queen needed a hug now and again. He held her there for a moment until she recovered and pulled away from him again.

“One thing no one knows yet, though, is if this virus will naturally mutate next season. We have to assume, based on recent history, the likelihood that the virus will continue to transform. We’re still not safe from H5N1, and neither are the carriers, for that matter. Next year we could be dealing with a much different mutated form of the avian flu—call it a subtype variation. The only thing now that might save us is this drastic decrease in population allowing a greater buffer between societies.”

“Will this vaccine give us any immunity to another mutated subtype form?”

“It’s possible, but not something we can count on.”

“Can we tell everyone?”

“Um, I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t see why not, but instead of having everyone on edge again for four weeks, why not just keep the secret to ourselves until we have only one more week to go?”

“I see your point, Clarisse, but you have to tell Dalton. And I can’t not tell Rick, he’ll do something evil to me for sure. If he finds out I knew and didn’t tell him . . .” Steven shuddered at the thought.

“I tried to tell Dalton, but he doesn’t want to hear about a cure anymore.”

When he heard her say that, Steven diverted his attention away from what he thought Rick might do to him and gave her his attention, nodding in understanding. They’d been through so much, and after a while, like Dalton, many people built a shield to protect themselves from going through the cycle of hope, crushing disappointment, and desperation over and over again.

“Well, I’ll let Rick know, with the disclaimer that we don’t announce until the last week. And you must tell Dalton; he needs to know.” As Steven headed for the door, he added, “Great job, Clarisse, you saved us all again.”

20 Marcy Moves

Marcy closed the guys inside the wretched house. Dawn came in a mist of blue with everything in sight frozen. The evergreen trees loomed like dark imposters. Though the snow had left the ground piled high in drifts; she could barely make out the lead line. After carefully descending the slick and rickety porch steps, she ran out the long driveway to the Scout, careful not to slip on exposed ice; the last thing she wanted to do was to injure herself and be of no help to the men.

Though the whiteout had dissipated, snow still swirled with sharp gusts of wind, stinging her exposed, tear-streaked cheeks. She began to run faster along the rope line left on the ground until she spotted another rifle laying half buried under crusted snow.

After picking up the gun, she eyed the spotlight poking through the snow farther ahead. Either the two guys had managed to throw the gun and light when they were attacked, or the woman had seen no need for them or had missed them altogether. The visibility then had been nil.

Marcy tried to push the terrible memories out of her vision, but they returned in flashes. A shot in the dark. A mad woman astride Sam. A butcher knife raised high. Her own finger pressing the trigger. The blast of sound when her weapon fired. The blood that splattered against Sam. I killed her. I killed her. Forever, the mad woman would remain in her mind, branded as the one I killed.

Graham’s “no regret” rules were there for a reason, but the statute didn’t stop Marcy’s stomach from dry heaving or her mind from remembering. She tried to focus on what she needed to do now but flashed back to Campos, remembered horror, the newer vision of blood on the wall. Blood of the one I killed.

The nausea would not subside, though what had just happened seemed like a dream, a nightmare. One should be able to tell when tragedy strikes because the drag in time, right before the event, seemed scripted now, and somehow slowed, with colors more saturated and conversations foretold. As if she might somehow recognize the pattern now, she would predict when a tragic event might happen again and avoid another tragedy. She saw herself again as she leaned over the seat and kissed Mark. Even then she’d known Sam would have to go find him, knew she shouldn’t have let them go, should have somehow stopped them. But she hadn’t. And now she would forever be the one who killed another.

She retched again and again, bent to retrieve the spotlight, and fell. She wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere and sleep, to forget all of it, but something told her to get up.

Graham. The voice was Graham’s. He’d kept her alive once, and she knew she needed to keep moving or else Mark and Sam would die from their injuries and then their deaths would be on her conscience too. Her head spun, and her hands were frozen through her gloves to the ground as she braced herself still with a stream of fluid still hanging from her bottom lip and nose. She closed her eyes and pulled her hand away from the ice. She wiped her mouth and sat farther back. Then she took several deep breaths of the icy cold air and thought of Mark inside, needing her, and pushed herself up off the ground without looking down and made her way farther to the truck.

The drive ahead would be on the icy roads. She needed to get herself together—and fast.

Marcy quickly untied the line and flung it into the snow bank, then opened the passenger side door and climbed in. I must have closed it out of habit. Good thing, or the battery would be dead for sure. Shards of glass littered the driver’s seat. Marcy took off her knit cap and used it to brush the sharp pieces off the seat and out the driver’s side door.

With the keys in the ignition she tried to turn the engine over but all she got was a small attempt at life.

Marcy rocked back into the driver’s seat and said to herself as Graham would have lectured her, “It’s just cold. Don’t flood the engine.” She looked ahead of her at the derelict old white house in the distance. I have to get the damn truck moving—now. She gave the key a second try, again the rumbling dragged on, and she said, “Come on!” Finally the engine finally roared to life. She almost cried. “Oh God, thank you.”

“Okay, now I’ve got to drive the truck into the ditch?” She remembered what Sam had told her, but now she doubted that logic. The truck rolled into the ditch in the pitch dark of night, and Sam wasn’t here to look the situation over in the light of this new morning.

With one wheel over the side of the ditch, Marcy slid out of the driver’s door with the engine running. She had to get an idea of the direction she needed to go. She instantly recognized the sunken footprints of her assailant and how she had fallen into the snow and then climbed out on the other side of the incline. Marcy chased those memories away and studied the placement of all four wheels and how she might maneuver the Scout. If she didn’t do this and managed to turn the wrong way, the delay in getting help from home might mean the death of them all.

“God! Why don’t we have cell phones or tow trucks?” she screamed out loud, mainly to interrupt the cold quiet around her to remind herself that she was alive. “Okay, Sam said to drive straight into the ditch and keep the truck straight to the driveway.” But the more she looked at the depth of the ditch with the deep tracks from the woman’s escape and how much snow accumulation there was, there was no way that made any sense to her.

“There’s no friggin’ way that’s going to work. Why can’t I just back the truck out and then go forward?” If Sam were to see what she saw, he’d agree with her.

Right. She was here and he wasn’t. The job was hers to do, so she’d do it—her way. She checked out the back tires and where Sam had previously dug into the snow and ice in his attempt to reverse last night. He’d dug shallow divots in the ground.

She began looking around for anything she could get her hands on that would help provide grit and traction. Spotting a cluster of trees across the street, she tramped through the snow and pulled off several pieces of bark casings and gathered armloads of sticks and debris to put under the back wheels.

“Okay, let’s give this a try,” she said, the sound of her own voice in the silence giving her courage. Although Graham had taught both girls more about the art of driving since their first adventurous attempt, she still wasn’t totally comfortable behind the wheel. She moved the stick into R like the first time, when she’d learned by trial and error, because then she’d had wild man-eating dogs on her tail.

She applied a little gas and could feel the tires spin before they caught on the brush she’d laid down behind them. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until she felt the front end come to rights and lurch up and backward. “Oh, thank God, thank God!” she cried.

“Okay, okay,” she said quickly to herself as she let the tires roll backward another five feet and clear of the forward obstacle, then moved the stick to D.

Marcy didn’t precisely follow the long driveway. She was careful and drove where the path made sense, avoiding drifts and favoring the few open graveled areas where she could gain more traction. Even with four-wheel drive and snow tires, driving conditions were treacherous.

She pulled up as close to the front door of the house as possible and jumped out of the truck, leaving the engine running. When she opened the door, she heard an awful noise that sounded like someone drowning.

Sam held Mark and the boy had a death grip on his forearms, his face nearly blue, his eyes wild, as he struggled for breath. She’d seen this before, but this was Mark, not Campos, and she jumped into action. She understood his panic as Sam tried desperately to hold him still with one hand and to cut a hole in his windpipe with the other.

“Marcy! Find a straw, a pen, anything small and hollow. Quick, he’s going to suffocate.”

Marcy left the front door open and frantically ran around the small, filthy house but soon gave up as she remembered there were a few straws and pens in the glove box of the truck. She rushed through the opened doorway to the truck, grabbed what she needed, and flew back.

When she returned, Mark’s eyes were rolling backward and she feared the worst. She handed Sam the straw, stripped of its paper wrapper. He grabbed the tube and pinched one end and stuffed the end through a hole he’d already cut in the boy’s throat.

“Breathe, Mark—God dammit, breathe!” Sam yelled.

He did, sucking in as deep a breath as the small hole in his trachea permitted, but it clearly wasn’t enough, and the wild-eyed panic returned. Sam had to grip him by the shoulders to get his attention. “Slow down, don’t panic. Take one long slow breath,” he said, trying to calm the boy down as Marcy watched, terrified she would lose him.

They could not have been closer to watching him die. She had never seen Sam scream or panic. She knew he’d really feared for Mark’s life. Soon Mark got the idea and began trying to control the urge to gasp for air. Marcy knelt down to him and held his hand. He looked up at her and wiped one of her tears away after he regained control of himself.

“You’re going to be okay,” she promised him. Please make it so! she begged silently for both of them.

With the knife he’d used to make the incision, Sam shortened the straw now sticking out of Mark’s neck. “Marcy, get the tape and find something clean we can wrap around his neck,” Sam said, out of breath himself.

She ran back out to the truck and grabbed one of Mark’s clean t-shirts and a roll of duct tape they’d packed for the hunt.

As she came back in Mark watched Sam, who had slumped back against the remains of an old ratty couch. Clearly, his injuries were taking a toll as well.

Marcy ripped a few pieces off the roll and placed the tape around the tube to hold the device still. “Do you think you can walk?” she asked Mark after his breathing had steadied.

He raised his right hand and gave her a thumbs up—just to make her smile, she suspected. He wanted to get out of there as much as she did. She helped him stand while he held the straw in place with one hand. He leaned forward once he was up, and for a minute, she thought he was passing out again from the lack of oxygen, but he strengthened again and she led him out to the truck. She put him in the backseat, and he used his feet to push himself farther across, then lay down. When his breathing steadied again she knew she could risk leaving him.

She returned for Sam, who seemed barely conscious as he stared at the form on the floor and the spread of blood in a growing puddle.

“Sam, come on, let’s go.”

He sat silently, as if sifting through the events. She eyed him, worried about what he might say or what judgment he might make.

“Why’d you shoot her again, Marcy?” he finally asked, his voice hoarse.

“Let’s talk about it later, Sam. We need to go now.”

“I’m not judging you, Marcy, I just want to know. She was clearly dead the first time.”

She, too, stared at the body. “Graham’s rule; make sure or it’ll cost you later.” After a moment, she was able to meet his gaze. “I had to be certain, Sam. You were hurt. I didn’t know if Mark was alive or dead. So I did what Graham taught me. I’m not proud of it, but it needed doing and I was the only one who could.”

Sam looked at her for a long moment, then nodded. “Let’s go, girl.”

She helped him up, and his weight leaned on her, then away from her, then back again. “World’s going in circles,” he said.

“Just close your eyes, Sam, I’ll get you there.”

She led him out to the truck, stopping and starting, taking as much of his weight as she could as he staggered. When she got him there, she buckled him into the front passenger’s seat, grabbed a tarp from the back and folded the plastic enough to fit over the driver’s window. She taped it in place. She couldn’t see out of that side, but she had to keep heat in the cab while she drove home.

With that taken care of she scanned the area for the best way out, then climbed up behind the wheel. She grabbed the shift knob to put the truck in reverse, and Sam placed his hand on hers.

“You did good, Marcy. Good job.”

“Thank you, Sam. Let’s go home.” She looked back at Mark, whom she loved now as much as Macy—even more. She smiled at him as he gave her the thumbs up again, and she backed the truck around, eyeing the opened front door of the house, hoping to never see the image again.

She headed out on a long trip over icy roads back to Graham’s camp, toward home.

21 McCann

McCann held a toothpick in the side of his mouth. It wiggled from time to time as he chewed on it, focusing on the delicate job of stitching up the torn tissues of Graham’s leg wound. That’s when he realized he didn’t know the man’s name. He recognized him as the one who had stopped him in the street months ago and invited him up to Cascade.

He recalled again the blue-eyed girls he’d seen in the truck at the time, and a young boy, so he knew the guy would be missed. Certainly someone would come searching for him soon.

Nearly done with the last stitch, McCann left in a piece of a flexible straw to help drain out any fluids that accumulated in the wound. There would be more swelling, and almost certainly the wound would become infected. Inserting a way for the discharge to release would help the healing process by his way of thinking. Plan ahead, his father had always taught him.

The man already ran a fever and mumbled off and on. McCann had poured whiskey down his throat whenever an opportunity, between the mumblings, would present itself. McCann hoped the stitching pain he’d inflicted wouldn’t be remembered once the man awoke. He was used to working on cattle, after all, not men, and cows didn’t tend to hold grudges after surgery. Men held grudges and acted on them with revenge.

With the last suture tied off, McCann snipped the ends and then wiped the sweat from his own forehead. He kept everything as clean as possible. After he had cleaned himself up, he sponged off Graham’s leg and shoulder again, hoping to minimize the risk of any infection.

He covered the leg wound with several large gauze bandages, staggering them to fit the large area, and taped them down lightly so they could easily be redressed. The puncture wounds on the man’s arm needed only three small stitches. The other ones he left to heal on their own. He had cleaned the deep wounds out as well as possible.

McCann listened to his patient’s chest for any sounds of lung problems. He thought his ribs were at least bruised, if not cracked. His breathing sounded good, but large contusions already appeared. In McCann’s estimation, the man’s chest would be black and blue by morning.

He remembered when his father had been thrown from his horse not too long before his family started dying off. They’d wrapped his chest with compression bandages before he agreed to go in to see a doctor, only to find out later that wrapping suspected broken ribs was the worst thing you could do for a chest injury. Instead of helping him, the tight bands around his chest had curtailed his breathing too much, and he developed pneumonia. He went downhill from there. When the virus hit, with already damaged lungs, his father died first. So, instead of wrapping the man’s chest, McCann applied clean, icy snow wrapped in a towel, off and on, in an effort to keep the swelling down.

He stood back, figuring he had done everything he could do for the time being. Healing and fighting the infection were up to the man now.

The little house became dark and dreary as evening approached. This wasn’t how McCann had envisioned his meeting with the other survivors. He tossed his worn toothpick into the old fireplace and added another log. He knew he had an additional night of fighting off wolves and wild dogs ahead of him, trying to keep them away from the horses he had tied up in the back. To eventually be able to sleep through the night would be great; this constant vigilance was wearing his energy reserves too thin.

McCann had just turned twenty and had lost his entire family to what he referred to as “the plague.” He had hoped to join a good group of people and now looked forward to settling down and starting over.

After watching the man’s chest rise and fall, McCann backed away. He needed some fresh air after hours of leaning over a stranger and pushing a needle and thread through his skin over and over.

He headed for the front door of the stuffy little house and peered at the truck parked in the driveway. Maybe there’s a radio or a map in there or something that will show me where he came from.

Out of habit McCann checked his sidearm, which he kept in a holster about his waist and began to walk toward the vehicle. His pistol was one handed down from his great-great-grandfather, who’d made his living as a deputy sheriff down in south Texas in a county named Refugio. There were nicer guns to be had, but he’d learned to shoot with this one, and now the weapon felt a part of him, like his own left hand. He also had a few rifles, but the old Colt .45 served him well. The fine-looking gun had nickel plating and ivory grips, with a five-and-a-half-inch barrel.

The pistol had a twin somewhere in this world; legend had it that the gun was originally one of an identical pair. Sheriff Herd, around the time of Pancho Villa, had given them as gifts to Will Franger and McCann’s ancestor, Elmer. There were wild tales from that time, and to carry the treasure with him on this new adventure seemed fitting.

After checking around him, McCann had already absentmindedly plucked another toothpick from the supply in his pocket and chewed on it while he studied the inside of the man’s truck for any sign or clue as to where he’d had come from. The tracks left in the snow led down the street, but he didn’t think following them now would be a good idea. The need to find his camp and people would have to wait a day or two until he came to, long enough to talk to him at least. In the meantime, McCann would have to fight the boredom and the ever-persistent wolf packs after his horses.

22 Good and Bad

Dalton held Addy by the hand as they stood in line for dinner. After spending the night and most of the next day with Rick’s daughter Bethany, she was ready for some downtime. Bethany, like her father, had a knack for constant conversation.

Addy scanned the crowd continually; she was looking for Clarisse, Dalton thought. The surrogate mom had promised to catch up with Addy at dinner, and he knew the little girl wanted nothing more than to share the rest of the night quietly in their own quarters. As soon as Addy had come into the tent looking for Clarisse, he’d guessed she needed rescuing from her talkative friend. Her face was drawn, and she hugged herself while nodding at Bethany’s constant jabber.

When he asked her if she would eat dinner with him, since she had neglected him lately, she’d immediately agreed and said good-bye to her exuberant friend.

“Are you looking forward to sleeping in your own tent tonight?”

“Yeah, but where is Clarisse?”

“She’ll be here, honey. Don’t worry.”

Just as Dalton began to scan the mess tent again, Clarisse appeared in the doorway. “There she is,” he assured Addy, patting her on the back.

Dalton studied Clarisse as she beamed at the crowd of people lined up for dinner. Her bright smile was unusual. Something was up. The first thing that came to mind was her and Steven embracing in the lab this morning, which he’d been forced to witness on his screen. It had made him instantly jealous, even if he had no right to be. Still, her involvement with Steven didn’t make sense. They were completely different types. She and Steven had always just acted like colleagues. Dalton had never suspected more of a relationship would develop between them.

Steven wasn’t married, but he had often dated before the world went to hell; Dalton and Rick had kidded him about all of his missed chances. Now, after the apocalypse, it was unlikely he would ever find a wife. He’d become Rick’s kids’ Uncle Steven, and lived his life as a bachelor, though when he’d first made his way to the prepper camp, he’d brought along his off-and-on girlfriend, Lydia, an equipment specialist. Unfortunately, what had always been a problem for them before the apocalypse still existed and even became amplified here in camp.

Not surprisingly, Dalton had heard through the grapevine first, then later from Rick, that Steven’s girlfriend had found “true love” a few tents over from Steven’s. She’d gone there—accidentally, on purpose—one night to make him jealous. And that was that, because Steven wasn’t jealous at all. In fact, he was happy for her and now she was stuck with her decision. Steven had never held much hope for the relationship to begin with and was happy to stop pretending love existed between the two of them.

Dalton cleared his throat and told himself that if Clarisse and Steven decided to give a relationship a go, he would be happy for them. Other than Tammy, they were the only singles left at the camp. Even though they were light-years apart in terms of compatibility, their getting together made sense. He just couldn’t make himself feel happy about the relationship.

Dalton kept his gaze on Clarisse as she scanned the room’s occupants, and when she finally caught sight of Addy, her earlier happy grin turned into a full-fledged, beautiful smile. The grandeur of her expression stunned him. She really does love this child as her own—and God, she’s beautiful.

“Hi, Addy, I’ve missed you all day,” Clarisse said, gathering the girl into her arms to hug her tightly. “Yum,” she said, her face in Addy’s hair, “you smell like crayons and peanut butter, two of my favorite things.” She came close to Dalton, as well, to claim Addy from his grasp, and he drew in a deep breath of Clarisse’s own scent.

He wondered if she’d avoid speaking to him now because of the previous night, but she glanced right up into his eyes and said in a whisper over Addy’s head, “Dalton, we need to talk after dinner. I’ve got some big news to discuss.”

He didn’t want to hear her big news; she was going to confide in him her newfound love for Steven or some such nonsense. He would listen to her, though, even if the idea killed him.

“Okay, I’ll stop by your tent after dinner.”

“That would be perfect,” she said, then turned her full attention back to Addy, who clung to her side with the insecurity of a lonely child.

Clarisse observed the group chatting away with their friends and families. She hoped, more than anything, she would be able to keep them all healthy so they could continue to move forward in this new life they now shared. Later, at the table, Addy went with the other children to retrieve a rare cookie treat.

Clarisse watched as Kim handed Addy a huge peanut butter cookie, an action that appeared staged. Kim smiled down at Addy and smothered the girl with a hug. Addy made the best of the situation, plastering on a smile just to appease her, but was clearly uncomfortable with the woman.

Clarisse wasn’t sure if Kim did this in public to do away with any suspicion she didn’t care for the girl or if in fact she genuinely did care for Addy and this was her way of showing affection. Her efforts didn’t matter either way. What was clear was the child only tolerated the embrace. Sometimes, thought Clarisse, children instinctively use shyness as self-preservation, and for good reason.

After Addy trotted back with her prize, Clarisse asked, “Are you ready to head back to our quarters?”

“Yes! Can we go now?” Addy begged.

“You bet,” Clarisse answered, knowing the girl had had too much stimulus for one day, and they began to clean up their trays and trash to make a hasty exit.

Dalton watched them get ready to leave and tried to make eye contact with Clarisse when his six-year-old son, Hunter, ran up to Addy to give her his own cookie. He had detected Hunter eyeing the girl often, and even though she was almost a year older than him, the age difference didn’t stop the boy from being sweet on her. His son’s first heartbreak was about to happen right before his eyes because, surely, Addy was done with people for the night and wouldn’t give the boy the time of day. But to Dalton’s surprise, she turned and smiled at him shyly, accepting the offering. Then Hunter turned abruptly and fled straight for the opposite exit. Dalton smiled to himself, knowing what his son was going through.

Confused, Addy asked Clarisse a question Dalton couldn’t hear over the chatter. He could guess, though: Why did Hunter give me his cookie? Clarisse shrugged, but her little smile and a twinkle behind her glasses told Dalton she was as aware of Hunter’s crush on Addy as he was. What an ideal mother she was turning out to be for the girl.

~ ~ ~

Later in the evening, Dalton stopped by Clarisse’s quarters as promised. “Knock, knock,” he said outside her door flap, opening the flimsy entry. Clarisse looked surprised, maybe even a bit startled.

“Oh,” she said, a touch breathless. “You’re here already.”

“Am I too early?”

“No, no. Addy’s already down for the night, happy to be back to her familiar routine.”

Dalton felt more than a touch breathless at the sight of Clarisse. She’d obviously showered off the day’s grime. Her hair was still wet from washing but combed in long ringlets. She stood before him in only her battle dress uniform pants and a white tank top. He loved the fact that current conditions finally made wearing makeup senseless but suspected Clarisse had never made use of the stuff anyway, even when cosmetics were in fashion. She certainly never needed anything to enhance her own natural beauty.

Clarisse’s skin smelled like soap and, as if he were on a difficult military mission, Dalton’s brain yelled, Abort! He didn’t turn from her, though. He couldn’t; he wanted to keep on looking at her. He forced out the words, “I’m sorry. I can see I’m too early. I can come back in a few minutes.”

Clarisse blushed and turned away from him. “I’ll just, um, find my shirt.” Her BDU top hung over the end of her cot, and he reached out to retrieve it for her. She grabbed it from him and slid a slender arm through one sleeve, then the other. He watched her button the shirt up, her attention focused fully on the chore.

She spoke softly, shoving her feet into her boots. “We can walk around and talk outside, since Addy’s asleep.” She sat on the side of her cot, bending to tie her bootlaces.

Dalton only nodded, continuing to gaze at her until a blush rose from her chest to her neck and cheeks. Damn! He stepped back half a pace so she could reach for her army green coat.

“Let me help you,” he said, but his voice came out all wrong again. He reached for her coat and held it out for her like he had done the night before. When she turned around to face him, he again pulled her hood up. With the length of her hair hanging down one side in front, he reached in, brushing the back of his hand alongside her neck, and gently folded the length back inside the hood. “Don’t want you to catch a cold going outside with wet hair in these freezing temperatures.”

She slowly pulled away from the touch he couldn’t bring himself to break, and headed for the tent flap. He followed her out into the cold.

“Well,” she said after looking around and noticing several residents of the camp lingering after dinner, shooting the breeze in the middle of the compound. “I need to talk to you about something that’s happened,” she whispered. She didn’t want others to hear their conversation. They strolled away, the snow-covered gravel crunching under their boots.

“Dalton, I’ve—”

He cut her off with a slicing motion of his hand. He didn’t want to hear her say it. Somehow he knew that if the words came out in her voice, he’d hear them over and over. “Look,” he said. “I know you and Steven see each other, and I’m . . . happy for you. Why you guys getting together is any of my business, I don’t know, but I thought I’d let you off the hook and tell you I already know.”

He was two paces ahead of her before he realized she had stopped in her tracks.

“Dalton?”

He turned back to her. She looked at him like he’d lost his mind.

“What you are talking about? I’m not seeing anyone. Steven? Ugh! I mean he’s a nice guy, but he’s not for me.”

Dalton berated himself for feeling relieved. Staring at her, stunned, he felt as if his lungs were empty of air. What the hell is wrong with me? “I, um, thought you were trying to tell me . . .”

“Why would I tell you anything like that,” she murmured, “even if it was true?” She looked completely bewildered now.

“Okay, obviously I’ve come to the wrong conclusion about this whole discussion. So, why don’t you tell me what this is all about?” His embarrassment shattered his attempt at discretion, and he almost yelled, bringing curious glances their way.

“That’s what I was trying to do, Dalton,” Clarisse answered, quietly cool now, her voice sounding as if it came from between clenched teeth.

He took a deep breath. “Please, go ahead and tell me. I’ve got other things to check on tonight before I head back to my tent.” He was furious with his inability to control his own emotions around her.

“Fine,” she said, facing him with her hands on her hips. “Here goes. I’ve created a viable vaccine for the virus that will produce good, strong antibodies. The inoculations will be ready in two weeks. Steven and I thought keeping the news a secret from the general populace until shortly before administering it would be best. The vaccination will be a series of two shots, two weeks apart.”

He stopped in his tracks this time and looked at her doubtfully. “It works this time?”

“Yes.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, I’m certain, Dalton. I’ve created strong antibodies. This is the first time I’ve replicated the procedure. The results are not an anomaly.”

“Anything else?” He should be more excited, but he had become jaded by so many failed attempts at a cure. He’d resented Clarisse spending so much time and energy on the impossible mission, and now he even resented being proven wrong. He was acting like a lunatic.

“Yes.” Her tone, though she kept it low, was taut. “This vaccine will work for the current strain. However, next year, or even later, we may be dealing with yet another variation, which will make this one ineffective, so it’s not over yet, Dalton.” She took a deep breath. “However, with the drastic decrease in population, our chance of exposure to a different strain is less likely.”

He stared at her, and this time he managed a smile; she deserved that from him. In return, she rewarded him with a brilliant return grin. He patted her on the shoulder, and they both headed back to camp from their short walk.

“Who else knows?” he asked, trying to keep their conversation going.

“Only Steven, and probably Rick. Steven was going to tell him.”

“So, the whole camp, you mean.” If Rick knew, then so would the rest of the camp in short order.

“Oh, well.” Clarisse tossed her hands up. “When we announce the vaccine, we need to make sure we emphasize the fact the virus will mutate in the future, and this vaccine will not work on that one. Not even the current carriers will likely be immune to the next strain. There’s no way of measuring what will happen in the future. Since our community is now so small, the virus won’t spread nearly as fast, and we may never see another sign of the darn thing. Which makes it important for us to continue to quarantine ourselves from any new people we come across until we’re positive they aren’t carrying anything new.”

They had practically walked all the way back to her tent when he said, “What would we do without you, Clarisse?”

She beamed at him, making him glad he’d finally let her know he was grateful for her accomplishment, one in which she could rightfully take pride.

Dalton had just said goodnight to Clarisse and headed toward his own quarters when Rick called out from the media tent across the open area. “Hey, Dalton, we have a situation.”

Dalton strode to the media tent. “What’s up?”

“I just talked to Tala,” Rick said. “She’s concerned because Graham hasn’t returned from town yet, and Ennis has taken a turn for the worse.”

Dalton stood there, weighing his few options. He and Graham had agreed they would not intervene again, risking a fallout like what had happened last time. Perplexed with the situation, he said, “Did you try the tracker?” He knew full well Rick had by now.

Rick paused before admitting he had, “Yeah, you were right, damn thing’s not working.”

“When do Sam and his crew get back?”

“Day after tomorrow, maybe.”

“Why did Graham go into town?”

“Tala said he went to collect a few things. The trip was supposed to be quick.”

“And Ennis is really sick?”

“Yeah, he has a high fever, and he’s mumbling a lot. He keeps telling Macy to come help us. He’s delirious.”

“Okay, let’s get Clarisse in here. She can help with Ennis. As for Graham, maybe he decided to stay in town for the night. There’s nothing we can do about finding him. We both agreed we wouldn’t intervene again. If he’s not back by morning, I suggest either Macy or Tala go looking for him.”

“Yeah, I thought you’d say that.”

“Our hands are tied, Rick. Any fanciful ideas this time?”

“No. I keep checking the damn cameras, but there’s nothing to see. The temperature dropped again, and they’re still fogged over or frozen over, even though they’re equipped with temperature controls. Damn things, wish I could call in a warranty on those fuckers.” Rick slumped his head down between his folded arms in frustration and exhaustion. “I didn’t get much sleep with the girls up all night giggling.”

Dalton reminded him again. “We don’t intervene physically. It has to be this way—for now, anyway.”

Rick grunted his response. Dalton wanted to say more, but he wasn’t sure if Steven had told Rick yet about the upcoming vaccine. In another few weeks this would likely not be a problem, and Dalton would already be in town by now with a group to track Graham down. The fact that Graham was out there, probably injured, or worse, and needed his help, drove Dalton nuts. Worst of all, Rick had no techie tricks to offer him—a rare occurrence.

“Yes, I know, Dalton. I can’t think of anything to do anyway. I’ll let you know if something comes to mind."

“Okay, at least for now, Clarisse can offer help concerning Ennis. I’ll go get her and be right back.”

Once Dalton returned with Clarisse, her first question of Rick was, “What can I do?”

“Okay, here’s the deal. Tala called in a few minutes ago. Graham left on a quick trip to town but hasn’t returned yet. The worst part is the old man has started running an awful temperature, and Tala’s scared out of her mind. She’s the only adult there, with just Macy and the boy taking care of Ennis. Is there something else we can tell her to do to bring his fever down?”

“I just spoke to her the other day. There must be something we’re missing. He’s been suffering from a UTI. Graham probably went into town for the medication they needed,” Clarisse speculated. “Did something else happen with Ennis?”

“No, not that I know of. Sam, Twin One, and Mark are still out hunting. Graham left this morning and still hasn’t returned. It’s dark now, and the town cameras are on the fritz with these low temps. I can’t see a damn thing. Tala has only the old Escort, but it has no gas. Hell, I think they use the car for parts these days anyway.”

“What about the trackers?” she asked, looking up to Dalton.

Dalton deferred to Rick, knowing he had already tried using them

Rick shook his head. “I tried, but they only work while the device is still in the skin. It’s been months now, and they’re no longer active.”

Dalton felt they were wasting time going over the same conversation. “We’ve already discussed this. Let’s see what we can do for Tala at this point with regard to Ennis. Can you talk to her about how to bring down his temperature? She said he’s delirious, and he keeps yelling out in his sleep. They can’t get him to take anything by mouth.”

“I’ll do what I can. There are a few tricks to getting the fever reducers down him. Let’s call in.” She settled herself into Rick’s chair, and he pulled up another one beside her in the small media room.

Rick placed the familiar call. Usually the time before someone picked up was only two rings; this time the call took five rings before someone answered. Twin Two picked up the call.

“Hi, Rick, we’re busy here with Ennis. He’s really . . . upset,” Macy said with the sound of stress in her own voice, clearly frightened by the situation.

“That’s okay, Macy, that’s why we’re calling. I’ve got Clarisse here with me. Can Tala come to the radio, hon?” Rick asked her.

“Sure, just a minute.” While they listened to her they also heard Ennis moaning in the background and Tala attempting to comfort him.

“Poor girl,” Dalton said under his breath as he stood near the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, feeling at a loss as how to help them.

“I’m here,” Tala said.

“Tala, it’s Clarisse. What’s his temperature?”

“It’s a hundred and four! I don’t know what to do. I’m putting cold compresses on his chest and forehead. I tried to get him to take the ibuprofen, but he keeps spitting the pills out. He’s shaking and screaming, and Graham’s gone!” She sounded on the verge of tears. Tala was worn out from the stress of it all, and Clarisse wished nothing more than to be able to help her friend.

“Tala. Has Ennis gone to the bathroom today?”

“Yes. I’m sorry. Um, he did a few times, in fact, which isn’t usual. He can’t verbalize much, but he’s acting like he’s in a lot of pain.”

“Okay, he’s spiking a fever due to the UTI. Maybe he’s resistant to the antibiotics. The elderly don’t usually show signs of high fevers unless the infection is pretty bad. So I want you to get two of the painkillers and crush them along with one of the antibiotics. Crush them all together and mix them into a few tablespoons of something sweet. Chocolate pudding or applesauce work well to disguise the medicine flavor.”

“We have a jar of applesauce.”

“Okay, crush the meds into a powder and mix them into a small amount. Enough to mask the taste, and to get the medication all into him at once. So, maybe three tablespoons of applesauce in a small cup. You can even add sugar to the mix to make the taste even more appetizing if you need to.”

Tala started to speak, but Ennis yelled out in the background as Macy and Bang tried to soothe him. “Try to keep him there, Macy,” Tala said as Ennis attempted to get off the bed. “Sorry, Clarisse, he’s out of control. I’ll do my best to get the meds down him. Any idea where Graham might be?” she begged the answer.

“No, Tala, I’m so sorry. If we get any news, we’ll tell you right away.” Clarisse looked up helplessly at Dalton. “They’ve even tried the trackers, but those things no longer work. The town cameras are frozen over, so we can’t see into town. I’m sorry to say, we don’t know where he is,” she said. Right now, though, it did little good to worry about Graham. They needed to keep Tala on the task at hand.

“Tala. Tala, listen, I’m sure he’ll turn up somewhere soon. Focus on getting Ennis medicated, and call me back in one hour. I’ll be here waiting, for your call, okay?” Clarisse said, not wanting to turn off the link to her friend in trouble.

“Okay. Thank you, Clarisse.”

“Don’t worry about it. I wish there was more to offer.”

“I’ll call back in an hour. Tala out.”

After the conversation had ended, Clarisse took a minute to think, then looked up at Dalton and Rick. “We’ve got to find him,” she groaned, agonized by the turmoil she knew Tala was going through.

“No. We will not risk exposure again, Clarisse. Not again,” Dalton said. He hated the look she returned to him.

“He’s never gone off like this. Something is wrong,” Rick said.

Clarisse huffed, then shook her head silently. “You’re right, I feel so helpless. I’ll go check on Addy and be right back. I’ve got to be here for her.”

After she left, Dalton and Rick stood silently. Rick finally said, “We don’t know if anything’s happened to Graham or not. His truck probably broke down, and he decided to stay overnight in town.”

Dalton mulled the theory over for a minute. “No, he would walk back to camp. No matter how long the trip took him, he’d do it.”

“You’re right, Graham is like you. He would walk back to camp in a blizzard, during an apocalypse, with wolves on his tail.” Rick rubbed at his tired face. “Shit, something bad has happened to him, man.”

“Yeah, my thoughts exactly. Damn, it sucks to be powerless.”

“He wouldn’t want you to risk a rescue anyway,” Rick said, “so we wait it out. That’s all we can do.” He leaned forward, again laying his head on the table.

Dalton couldn’t stand the sound of defeat in Rick’s voice. He was exhausted. “Have you been having that nightmare again? You look like hell and about ready to collapse.”

“Yes. Who else gets plagued by these strange goddamn nightmares? One minute, I’m standing in a large white room watching in horror as a man runs like hell screaming while a gigantic fucking unhooked safety pin chases him down, sticks him through the end of the pin, and then the fucker starts running toward me. The screaming wakes me up every time.”

Dalton cut loose with a surprised laugh as he pictured a gigantic safety pin chasing after Rick screaming his head off.

“Go ahead and laugh, man. I know the whole thing sounds funny, but it’s a fucking nightmare, I’m telling you.”

“Whose screaming wakes you up? Yours, or the other unfortunate fellow’s?”

“Both, I guess,” Rick shook his head. “I’ve had this same twisted nightmare since the third grade, and I never find out if the damn thing gets me or not because I wake up so fast with my heart pounding out of my chest. I thought it would finally go away or be replaced by others once I went into the military, but no such luck. Not even nightmares over the apocalypse can match this one.”

“Hey, if you let me get a few hours’ sleep first, I’ll come and relieve you the rest of the shift and check on things.” Dalton started to leave, then remembered something. “Oh, and don’t let Clarisse out of your sight, man. Make sure she goes back to her quarters after the next call. I don’t want her to come up with some grand scheme and risk herself.”

“No problem. If she tries anything, I’ll sit on her and hogtie her. All right, boss. Get some sleep,” Rick said, and waved goodnight.

23 The Caretaker

McCann wiped the sweat off his patient’s face again and again. The fever was predictable, but he hadn’t expected it to be so severe. He checked the bandage. The major leg wound had swelled. Keeping everything as sterile as possible in the process, he cleaned and redressed everything.

Outside, his horses whinnied in sudden fear, so McCann jumped up and grabbed his Colt, running for the back door to chase away the wolves, yet again, tonight.

When he swung open the door, their eyes glowed in the dark. “Get out of here, you fucking assholes!” he yelled. Not only did these nightly vigils exhaust him physically, those damned carnivores were going to exhaust his ammo.

The scent of moldy hay, damp manure, and fresh snow stung his nose. He would have to leave the injured man on his own while he cleaned up the area. It wouldn’t help either of them to neglect the horses. Before getting busy with that, he checked on the patient once more. The nameless man slept fitfully. He shook his head from side to side and muttered what McCann thought was the name Tala. Must be the missus. He wiped away the man’s sweat once more.

Afterward, he rolled up his sleeves and mucked out his makeshift barn, the covered back patio off the old brick house. The only hay he’d found was across the street, and moldy fare, so he opted to give the horses some of the oats he had found in the house. Refined oats were not their usual diet, but these were not usual times. “One must make do with what one has,” his frugal mother used to say.

The sick man called out from inside the house, so he finished up quickly and laid out as much straw as possible on the ground. Then he used lawn furniture and miscellaneous yard paraphernalia to build a blockade around the open patio. He found a lantern in the kitchen, lit the wick, and hung the light up along the doorway in hopes the flickering flame would hold the wolves at bay.

Inside he found the man conscious for the first time, though delirious and shuddering in massive pain.

“Where am I?” Graham asked.

“You’re here, in Cascade. You were attacked by wild dogs. Don’t you remember?”

The guy grimaced as he tried to adjust his position so he was more comfortable. “Got to get up. Got to get back to Tala. She needs me.”

“No. You can’t move yet.”

“You need to help them. Please.”

“I don’t know where they are. It’s too late tonight. I’ll try in the morning. What’s your name?”

“Graham. You’re . . . the Carnation boy.” The pained surprise on his face contrasted with the sweat pooling down his forehead. “You made it! I needed you to chop the wood.”

McCann smiled at him; being needed was what he desired most.

“My name’s McCann, and yeah, I made it. Just in time, by the looks of it,” he said as he checked out Graham’s leg wound again.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad enough. You should probably try to sleep more. Your fever is pretty high, and we need to find you some antibiotics.”

“We have to go to the camp.” Graham tried to maneuver higher but yelled out in pain as he tried to move his leg. “They’re alone. I’m sure she’s worried.” Graham slurred his words, and he fell unconscious once again from the pain and fever. McCann helped him lie back down again.

“Nice to meet you, Graham,” was all he could think to say as the man slid back to his fitful sleep.

He walked away and went through it all again: he checked the horses, called the wolves “fanged bastards,” redressed Graham’s wounds, and wiped him down again. Finally he sat by Graham in a sturdy kitchen chair and, with his boots still on, crossed his legs on the end table in front of him. He let his cowboy hat slide down to his forehead, and fell asleep with his toothpick lolling to the side, and hoping he would wake up if Graham needed him again.

24 Story Time

In Ennis’s dream, Tala kept telling him, “It’s okay, Ennis, just one more; don’t worry, it will get better,” as she added log after log, placing them horizontally across his chest as he sunk farther and farther into the rushing water of the creek. At first he believed her, but now he was running out of breath and would soon drown with the heavy weight upon his chest. Still, she continued to add more logs, running through the water in the dark to retrieve yet another to place upon him.

“Bang, can you get another wet towel?” Tala asked. She began to wedge the spoon between Ennis’s lips to sneak in more applesauce while Macy held onto Ennis’s hand, trying to soothe him.

“Please, Ennis, you’ll feel so much better if you can get this down,” Tala pleaded.

With his fever so high, Ennis was delirious. He pushed at them, worn out from the hazy, unseen battle. “No! No more,” he cried out in anguish.

Tala dropped the spoon back into the cup and looked at Macy in tears of defeat. “I . . . I don’t know what else to do. I can’t get the meds into him without choking him.” With Ennis like this, and Graham lost to them for now, she lost her battle to keep a brave face around her young charges and sobbed.

Macy tucked Ennis’s hands to his sides as he thrashed about in his bed. She went over to comfort Tala and guided her into the dining room.

“Tala, take a break. Let me try something,” Macy urged.

Macy went back into the kitchen with the applesauce bowl and poured the contents into a small cup and added a little cool water to make the concoction thick but drinkable. She listened outside of the bunkroom for a minute with the cup in hand. Ennis had continually writhed and kicked the sheets since his fever spiked.

Bang brought the wet towel Tala had asked for to Macy, who gazed at Ennis from the bunkroom doorway, wondering what she could do for him. The sopping cloth dripped onto the wood floor, and she absentmindedly accepted the waterlogged mass while she formulated a plan.

Suddenly, everything seemed to be falling apart. Ennis might die if they didn’t get the medications into him. Even though Tala hadn’t mentioned it, Macy suspected Graham was hurt somewhere or possibly dead. And, as Macy stood in the doorway, Tala softly cried in the other room. To top off Macy’s worries, her sister and the others were not back yet from their trip, though she didn’t expect them to return for a day or two.

With the cup in one hand and a dripping towel in the other, she stood until the drip, drip caught her attention and wondered briefly how the wet cloth came to be there in the first place. She glanced at Bang standing by her side with an expression of fear on his little face.

“Um, thanks, Bang. I don’t think I’m going to need these actually. Can you put the towel in the sink?”

He nodded and accepted the bundle, holding it to his chest and soaking his own shirt in the process.

She walked back into the bunkroom to meet the battle to save Ennis’s life despite himself.

“Let’s try something different, mister,” she whispered to herself and pulled a chair up close to his side.

She rubbed his forearm and called his name lightly. “Ennis. Ennis, it’s me, Macy. I have your water. I didn’t forget tonight. It’s story time.”

She waited another minute more, repeating the phrases until he had quieted down further.

He glanced at her with wild, anguished eyes for only a moment. She had the glass held high for his viewing. Once she was sure he had seen it, she set what she hoped would be the cure on his bedside table where he always kept his water at night, and picked up a book they continued to read together every evening.

“It’s time for bed, Ennis. I’ve got the story ready.” She patted his arm with her free hand while she began to read, holding her voice in a melodic rhythm in hopes of drawing him home.

Macy barely perceived Bang retreating from the doorway after watching them for several minutes. She sensed Bang’s helplessness, but she needed to focus on Ennis’s troubles right now. Graham had taught her to take one thing at a time, to finish one job before moving on to the next. She had learned that it worked with chores around the cabin and with people.

After Macy had read the third page, Ennis relaxed significantly and his eyes remained at a constant slit and were focused in her direction.

She turned the page and continued. Two additional pages later, he turned his head and acknowledged the glass on the side table. This action was routine for them, the water and the reading. She would always retrieve his water glass and sit beside him to read each night before he went to sleep. The complaints he made if she didn’t bring the water before she sat down bordered on tantrums.

Another page and then another. Macy began to worry he would never ask the question. If she preempted the query, the opportunity would be lost, and they would be back where they were before. She chanced a glance up at him between paragraphs, hoping his eyes would still be open as she patted his forearm with a steady cadence.

His milky stare opened in half-moons, and he must have detected in her own eyes the question she wanted him to ask. Instead of uttering the words, his rough, fever-heated hand gently clenched her elbow. He eyed the cup and pointed his chin toward it.

As if in the presence of a skittish deer, Macy shut the volume on her finger and reached out with her free hand, emulating nonchalant grace. She lifted the cup and held it for him as he sipped at the concoction he needed. As he swallowed, she gently stroked his throat with two fingers to encourage the elixir to stay down.

The triumph almost sent her to tears, but she instead placed a timid kiss upon his forehead. His eyes pleaded for more water, and she ran for the tap to oblige him.

As she filled the glass, Bang stood from a chair beside Tala, the question in his eyes reflected in hers as they both held their breaths for an answer. She only uttered, “Yes,” under her breath as she passed by them, still on her mission.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw that Tala smiled, her face streaming with tears of gratitude. Bang was fidgety with joy, but managed to contain himself. Although she’d already accomplished what she’d hoped for, Macy was still on the task of fixing Ennis. She returned with the glass and helped him take regulated sips until he motioned for no more. He lay back down, and she left the room quietly to join the others.

With that done, she should have thought to rest, to relax, but she did not.

Now I have to find Graham.

“He drank it?” Tala asked, hopeful.

“Yes,” she whispered back, still in awe that the procedure had worked. “Thank God!” she said, and sobered at her next thought. “Now we’ll just have to convince him it’s story time again in another four hours.”

“Oh, I better get the radio out of there,” Macy said. “Clarisse will be calling us in a few minutes.” She tiptoed back into the bunkroom to retrieve the device.

“Tala, where’s Graham?” Bang asked again.

“I don’t know, sweetheart,” Tala said and brushed the boy’s hair out of his eyes. “He must have stayed in town overnight. I’m sure he’ll come back to us in the morning. Don’t worry.” To Macy, who overheard the conversation on her return with the radio, it sounded as if Tala was trying to convince herself along with the boy.

“Ennis is sleeping well now. Bang, let’s go take care of the chickens, and we should all try to sleep while we can,” Macy said. She noticed how pale Tala had become and suspected what wasn’t being said. She had heard Tala throwing up, and the signs of pregnancy were apparent to her. She thought if Graham didn’t recognize the signs, he was the most stupid smart man she had ever known. She was also certain Graham would return if he was able to, and the fact that he still hadn’t come back worried her. She planned to go looking for him early the next morning, but she had to get Tala and Bang to sleep before she could sneak out, knowing Tala would never agree to let her walk into town.

As Bang and Macy began to bundle up for their outdoor chores, the radio buzzed and Tala answered. Macy waved good-bye while Tala took the call.

“How’s he doing? Were you able to get him to take the meds?” Clarisse asked.

“Well, I wasn’t able to, but Macy was. She’s a sly one, that girl. He’s asleep now and much less agitated, thanks to her.”

Clarisse laughed. “Oh, thank goodness. Now, try to do it again in another four hours. If he’s sleeping, though, just wait another hour or two. Try to get him to drink more water as well. Whatever works for him, repeat the process.”

“We will. Thank you, Clarisse. On the cameras there, do you see any new changes in town?” She knew she shouldn’t ask, but couldn’t help herself. When Clarisse didn’t answer the question right away, she wanted to put her face in her hands and cry again. She wished she had never told Graham of her concern for the girls. He shouldn’t have gone into town anyway, not right after a snowstorm. If it hadn’t been for their conversation, he would still be right here, helping with Ennis.

Clarisse had hoped Tala wouldn’t ask and looked wearily to Rick for answers. He took over the radio from there. “Tala, I keep checking, but no, I don’t see anything new. Sorry. Most of the town cameras are still frozen over. All of us here are trying to figure out if there’s something we can do,” Rick said.

“I know, Rick. Don’t feel bad. You guys have done so much for us already. I’m sure the truck just broke down or something. Hopefully, he’ll show up tomorrow, and I will have worried needlessly,” Tala said, trying to sound reasonable.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Rick said, but Clarisse could tell by his face he hated having to lie. So did she, and doing so only prolonged the pain. He handed the radio back to her. Poor Rick. He did not have the stomach for this.

“Well, hopefully Sam and his group will return tomorrow, and then they can go looking for him. Maybe he went out too far and got stuck, and he’s just waiting for Sam to figure it out when he gets back in a day or two. I’m sure Graham’s fine.” Clarisse tried to reason out a scenario with Tala. It was plausible, not probable, and Clarisse knew many different and more dire scenarios might also be playing out.

“Yeah, maybe that’s it,” Tala said. “He wouldn’t want me to worry about him.”

“We will call the minute we detect anything. Try to get some sleep, Tala. You sound so tired.”

“I will. Take care. Tala out.”

25 Night Drive

With the lack of sleep and the recent trauma she had gone through, Marcy felt exhausted. She had pulled over once to check on Mark’s breathing. He’d fallen into a light sleep, and the flesh around his neck wound swelled, but he still breathed slowly and steadily through the straw. A few times he panicked, but Sam was able to calm him down enough so that he remembered to take short and shallow breaths.

Sam also fell into a fitful slumber. Marcy inclined the passenger seat back for him as far as it would go, and he rested as comfortably as his injuries would allow, but he moaned and often jerked.

As she drove, the wind flapped the tarp where the window used to be. The cold was so intense on her side of the truck that she had to run the heat at full blast while trying to drive as fast on the icy and snowy roads as she dared. Before he fell asleep, Sam had moved his hand up and down a few times to tell her to slow down whenever he feared the truck might lose control. The last thing they needed was another accident, and she agreed.

She wanted to ask Sam how much farther they had to go to get home, but he slept well now and she didn’t want to disturb him. The drive out had taken more than a few hours with a few stops, so she reasoned they had several more hours to go before they got close to town. The road ran straight south now, unlike the winding curves from before, and she would recognize the familiar scenery of Cascade when they arrived.

Marcy stopped to refill the gas tank with the fuel they kept in the back and to check the chained tires, because she had seen Sam do the same thing at every stop and she didn’t want to miss anything. Everything looked well as far as she could discern. By the time she climbed back into the cab her hands were frozen; her breath was a shining vapor in the cold and clear evening air. She checked the pulse of both men, then started the engine, heading again toward home.

The stars shone brightly, which brought Marcy back to recent memories of sitting up in the deer stands on watch over her newly formed family. She still felt confused by this new situation. One minute she was lucky to be alive and grateful to Graham for having saved her; the next she resented the parental authority he now held over her, the power to control her destiny.

Almost in a daze with her own thoughts, she fought to stay awake on her drive home and remembered over and over what she’d done earlier. The muzzle flare and the blood splatter flashed in her mind. The woman I killed. The golden-green eyes, staring.

She hadn’t eaten anything and ran on adrenaline alone, just to get back to Graham; he would help her get through this. But first she needed to keep herself together and get home. His voice rang in her head, “Keep moving forward, Marcy. You’re almost there, girl. Don’t regret. Finish strong . . .”

26 Fire

Clarisse surveyed the display screens for any detectable movements while Rick read through the tech booklets on how to defrost the town cameras. These particular cameras came with a remote defrost chip, but at these historic low temperatures, the damn things didn’t work well. He kept yawning; his lack of sleep was catching up with him.

Clarisse listened to him cuss and whine while she continued to monitor the cameras outside of Graham’s camp, following Macy and Bang back into their cabin, where she hoped they would lock themselves up for the night. She thought about Tala, and suspected something more in their earlier conversations, but kept silent. The extra emotion Clarisse sensed from her friend might have just come from her lack of sleep and worry over Ennis, even though Clarisse thought Tala as stoic as they come.

She would have to wait to share the big news about the vaccinations until they completed the injections and the antibodies were revealed through lab testing. Two weeks seemed an eternity for inoculation day, but then their vulnerability would be over.

“Rick, I’m too wired, and Dalton will be here in another hour or two. Why don’t you go get some sleep? I’ll keep watch until he arrives. I want to be by the line in case Tala calls in again anyway.”

“Are you sure? I can wait,” Ricks said with a yawn and a minor contemplation of Dalton’s warning, but he trusted Clarisse well enough to know she would not abandon the post to do anything risky.

“Seriously, I’m fine, but you’re exhausted, and I have a good view of my tent door from here in case Addy comes looking for me. It’s already midnight,” she said, checking the time. “I’ll buzz Dalton by three if he isn’t already here.”

Taking her up on her offer, he slapped the manual onto the table. “Sounds good to me. Maybe I’ll come up with something if I can get a few hours of decent sleep.”

He patted her shoulder on his way to the door. “Thank you, and if anything happens, just call me.”

Clarisse was happy to be able to do this for him. Rick had always sacrificed sleep for the camp, and he needed a few hours of uninterrupted downtime to be at his best annoying self. She checked the time again, double-checked the logs, and viewed each camera as Rick had taught her to do in the past; then she updated the mundane information.

In between the boring little jobs she read Rick’s manual for the cameras, dusted the electronic equipment, and began a list for supplies she would need in the quarantine lab and another list of her favorite childhood books she had hoped to beg, borrow, or steal for Addy to read.

That’s when she first got a whiff. Something was burning nearby. She checked the cameras again for anything unusual, then the wiring and equipment she’d dusted prior to list-making. Perhaps she had loosened something?

She stood up from under the desk table and thought the odor must be coming from the equipment, but as she came to a standing position, the smoky odor became even stronger. The smell of burning plastic hit her with alarm. Then the first visible sign of smoke drifting through the ambient light of the camera aimed through the dark part of the family resident tents.

“Oh God!” she yelled and wrenched open the door to find the source of the fire. Smoke billowed in the northeast end of camp. “My God!” She gasped. “The family quarters! The greenhouse!” She ran that direction, shouting, then flames erupted within the greenhouse, spewing toxic smoke from smoldering plastic into the air. She first thought of Addy, of course, but she slept in Clarisse’s own quarters, safe on the west side of the camp, where she and many of the other singles lived in smaller tents.

At this point training set in, and Clarisse ran back into the media tent and sounded the alarm to signal a fire emergency. Soon the camp was in a state of strategic mayhem. Clarisse ran for the water hose they kept for emergencies and began to drag the end toward the greenhouse, now engulfed in massive flames.

People spilled from their tents, armed and ready. Soon they realized the present danger and immediately went into fire contingency mode, manning their various posts. Strong voices yelled commands in the distance, but people ran around in alarm all the same.

Reuben was the first man on the scene to assist her with the hose, relieving her enough to set up a triage for the injured, out of harm’s way.

She searched the crowd for Steven, the medic, when she saw Rick out of the corner of her eye, running with something in his arms, shouting, “Clarisse! Help me!”

She sped toward him as he held his daughter, Bethany, who lay limp in his arms. Clarisse checked her pulse; the rhythm was there, but weak. All the while, Rick coughed, crying, “Save her! Save her, Clarisse!” His words were an order, not a plea.

He was desperate, almost insane. “Give her to me, Rick,” she demanded, forcibly taking Bethany from his arms. She laid the girl down on the cold ground in her fleece-footed pajamas and began CPR.

Rick put his hands on his knees and coughed again, trying to clear his own lungs. He swayed backward and took one last glance at his daughter as Clarisse worked on her, then ran back into the smoke for his wife.

Bethany began to cough, and Clarisse picked her up and ran beyond the media tent to the guarded entrance, where she would bring the other injured, away from the chaos. “Keep her sitting up and coughing,” she told the guard. She hoped there would be no more, but she could tell by how few were helping to put out the fire that the injured would likely be many.

Clarisse peered into the chaos before her and saw people scattering about, trying to put out the flames; by now they had grown massive, aided by the plastic fuel of the greenhouse walls. She searched the crowd for Steven again, needing his help. After glancing at her own quarters, ensuring they were still safe from the smoke and flames, safe for Addy, she turned back. A hoarse voice shouting her name spun her around. Steven came toward her with Rick, the pair of them carrying someone.

“Over here!” she yelled above the noise. They lay the body down and Clarisse stared, stunned, at Dalton’s unconscious form.

She suppressed all emotion and, with Steven’s help, went into work mode.

Bethany shouted, “Daddy!” and continued to cough smoke out of her laboring lungs as she ran to him.

“You stay right here by Clarisse,” Rick shouted. “I’m going to get your mom. She’s fine; she’s sitting with the boys. I’ll be right back with her.” He disappeared quickly once more into the smoke after taking another horrified glance at Dalton.

“Clarisse!” Steven shouted. “I’ve got to go back now. Kim’s still in there!”

“Go!” she yelled. She quickly assessed Dalton’s condition while somewhere deep inside she screamed in mad denial. Dalton could not be hurt!

But Clarisse’s professional self took over. Dalton was covered in soot and reeked of burned plastic, the fumes from it stinging her eyes. She tore open his shirt and laid her ear down onto his chest to listen. She heard his heartbeat, heard the struggle going on in his lungs. She wished she had the oxygen equipment from the quarantine building, but when his breathing faltered, she pulled his chin down and opened her mouth over his, pinching his nose as she breathed for him.

In moments he rolled away, coughing and retching. He pushed up on his elbows, contracting in coughing spasms while trying to open his eyes. She saw they were bloodshot and tearing excessively. Each time he tried to speak, the relentless coughing fits took over again.

Someone delivered yet another patient, and Clarisse turned her attention away from Dalton as he grabbed her arm, imploring her to wait until he asked what he needed to know.

He needed answers, but until he could speak, she needed to treat the others coming to her faster than she could assess them. She pulled gently away from his pleading grasp. So many were lying around her on the frozen ground needing help. Clarisse had no idea who had brought them or when they had arrived; she just went on doing what she could, encouraging people who could to sit up to cough out the poisons they’d inhaled.

She was dizzy with exertion but looked around for the next worst patient when Dalton finally found his voice and croaked out, “My sons? Kim?”

“I don’t know, Dalton,” she said.

She turned away again for the next one who needed saving, peripherally aware of Dalton rolling over and struggling to his feet, driven by pure will.

Rick rushed over with his wife Olivia, who had sustained minor burns on her arms while trying to reach the occupants of Dalton’s tent. Each of them carried one of Dalton’s sons. Both boys were conscious, but traumatized, and covered in soot. Bethany cried again and held her arms out imploringly when her mother approached. Rick sat the boys down with them, and Olivia stayed to comfort the children, cooing soft reassurances.

Rick searched for Steven through the smoke, knowing he was trying to bring in Kim, who’d looked too far gone when he helped to pull her from the smoke-filled tent. Clarisse performed CPR on another victim nearby, ignoring everything around her while trying to bring life back to just this one.

Steven finally made it through the heavy smoke and into clearer air. He knew he couldn’t wait to get Kim to the triage area. Instead, he laid her down hastily while the smoke rolled up and away. For the third time, he performed CPR on her. The first two times she hadn’t responded, but this time, without so much smoke around them, he hoped he could get her breathing.

He rhythmically compressed her chest and forced his own air into her lungs, continuing the routine over and over. “Help me,” he said when he saw Rick. “Take over compressions. I’ll breathe her.”

Rick dropped down and complied, counting out loud. Steven puffed air into the lungs he now feared would never draw it in again of their own volition. Patients with the worst of traumas sometimes have a look about them, and you know, despite your efforts, that they are beyond your reach; Steven recognized this in Kim. It was as if death marked her, and Steven’s efforts would be in vain.

He looked up, saw Dalton standing by, weaving and coughing, and redoubled his efforts. On and on it went, he and Rick working over Kim. They traded places, and Steven took over the compressions until his arms and shoulders ached, then he stopped, leaning back on his haunches.

“Switch?” Rick panted, but Steven only lowered his chin to his own chest. He shook his head slowly, sadly. “No.”

Dalton pleaded. He cried and yelled in agony and begged them to keep trying.

In no time Clarisse was there and crouched beside Steven. She rested her fingers on Kim’s throat, feeling for a pulse, but Steven already knew there was none. As her eyes confirmed it, he stood and took Dalton by the arm, wanting to lead him away, take him to his sons, but Dalton refused.

He reached for his wife, shoving Rick aside, and checked her pulse himself, coming away empty. Steven tried to hold him back. He tried to ease the coming reality from the man. In denial, Dalton shook his head. “No! You stopped too soon! Try again,” he pleaded, his voice ragged and cracked through his raw throat as the reality sunk in. He reached for Kim again to continue the work of saving her himself. He could barely move, but he made the effort.

Steven let him try, even though it was clear Kim was beyond retrieval from death’s grasp, and he knew Dalton was doing himself further harm with the effort. Finally Rick grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him squarely in front to face him. “Dalton. She’s gone, man. She’s gone.”

“No!” Dalton cried, causing another spasm of painful coughing. He dropped to his knees, and Steven held him while he choked out his grief. When he was able, Dalton asked in anguish, “Boys?” The word was more a plea for mercy from this horror, but in that small question he also accepted the finality of his wife’s death.

“They’re fine, they’re with Olivia,” Rick assured him. He helped Steven get Dalton to his feet and slung one arm over his own shoulder to lead him to his now motherless sons.

Steven picked up Kim’s body and carried her over to one side where he laid her beside two others Clarisse had been unable to save.

“We need to take count,” Steven said softly to Clarisse, who looked ghastly, exhausted, and as covered in soot as any who’d had to rush from the burning tents. She nodded, and covered Kim with a sheet.

Reuben suddenly showed up at Steven’s side. “Fire’s out, finally. We had to use a lot of our water supply, and the damage is extensive.”

There were broad burns on Reuben’s arm. “Over here!” Steven called to Clarisse, who was still staring down at Kim’s body.

“Oh, heavens!” she said, “Reuben, let’s get your arm bandaged.” Gently she tried to pull him away.

“No, I can’t,” Reuben answered. “There’s a body in the greenhouse still. It’s hard to tell who it was.”

Steven could see that the man was dazed, probably in too much shock to even be aware of his own injuries. “It doesn’t matter now, Reuben. Let us take you to the guard station. I’ll do a head count, a role call; we’ll find out soon enough.”

While they brought Reuben into the guard station, they heard the whimpering and saw the shock as tragedy finally seeped between the cracks in the plaster of what they’d all seen as their safe haven. Dalton desperately hugged his boys, holding them so tightly the older one looked out wild-eyed from behind his father’s shoulder.

Nearly everyone they passed was either crying or staring vacant-eyed at the smoking rubble, stunned by this terrible turn of events. As Clarisse tended to Reuben, Steven knew he and Rick would have to take over for Dalton right now. People were huddled in the dark and cold, unable to go back to their quarters, unable to function.

“Clarisse, can we get everyone into the quarantine lab?” Steven ordered more than asked.

She looked around as if doing a mental head count. “Yes, there’s more medical supplies and cots in there. Some of these people need to be on oxygen, and soon,” she said as she taped the end of the bandage on Reuben’s burn.

Rick heard the plan too, and said loudly, startling everyone out of their misery, “Okay, folks. Listen up, we need to move to the quarantine building. Pick up what you can and follow us.” Rick began leading the procession with a flashlight through the snow.

Clarisse and Steven helped those who were struggling, and Dalton coughed constantly in an effort to clear his lungs, clinging to his two boys, unwilling to let anyone take them from him.

As Clarisse left the gate, helping Bethany, she remembered Addy. Without a backward glance, she ran to the untouched side of the camp to retrieve the girl. After a moment, she reappeared, looking even worse than before. “She’s gone!” she screamed. “Addy! Addy! Where are you?”

Steven caught her as she began to run aimlessly, still calling the child’s name.

27 The Return

The glow of a fire in the distance held Marcy’s vision. She had finally entered the outskirts of Cascade and the closer she drove, the more worried she became.

She debated a few minutes about waking Sam. She wasn’t sure if he would wake up, considering how tired he was, but thought he would want to be told about the potential danger in the distance.

“Sam,” she said and tried to nudge him a little to rouse him from sleep with her free arm. “Sam,” she said louder, and heard him stir in the passenger side seat of the Scout’s dark cab.

“What?”

“Can you see this?” She pointed, “There’s a fire up ahead.”

He blinked and glanced around, then sat up a little higher in his seat. He squinted his eyes a time or two and tried to get his bearings. An expression of dread washed over his face. “That’s the prepper camp up there!”

“Oh. Oh, my God. Your little girl’s there.”

“Pick it up, Marcy,” he growled.

She sped up as fast as possible on the icy roads.

Sam had spent a lot of time in the forests around Cascade and mentally calculated how long the hike would take him if he went first to Graham’s cabin.

“Stop right here,” he commanded. “It’s closer to the prepper place.” The truck skidded to a halt. “You go straight to Graham’s camp. They probably aren’t aware of the fire yet. I have to make sure Addy’s all right. Then I’ll come back.” Sam stepped out, pulling his gloves on and turning up his collar against the cold.

“No!” Marcy called after him as he took his first few unsteady steps “You can’t do that. You can barely walk!”

Sam didn’t dispute her claim, but he trekked out into the woods with his rifle slung over his shoulder, raising one hand in salute behind him.

“Sam!” she yelled in exasperation. He heard her, but kept on into the woods. After a moment, he heard the truck’s tires bite into the crusty road again. She’d bring Graham, he knew, but he’d get to Addy faster this way.

Sam ran as best he could through the forest, blinded by darkness, slowed by weakness and pain. He stopped every few minutes to lean against a tree and listen to the distant shouts coming from the preppers’ camp. Something terrible had happened there. Was his daughter safe?

He continued on, though the world spun every few minutes and he had to slow down and lean against something sturdy before he dared continue. He trusted his hearing more than sight, but even that was impaired from the pounding in his head thanks to that crazy woman’s club. His chest wound bled through his coat. He pressed a hand against it and lunged on; his one thought, Save Addy, save Addy, save Addy, thrumming along with the pounding pain.

He finally came to the edge of the prepper enclosure. Residents ran in all directions, shouting orders. Some sat in groups, huddled as if in shock, holding children. He did not see Addy among them.

He stayed far from an exposure point, but as he circled the camp searching for his daughter, he told himself it would be enough just to catch sight of her, a glimpse, some insurance she was all right. He lurched forward, wanting to help as he watched Steven come out of the family tents bearing the weight of a body. An adult. Way too large to be Addy.

Though he wanted to help, he couldn’t risk exposing anyone. Keeping his distance was hard, but he had to remain a spectator to the disaster and search in stealth as he circled the camp. His vision blurred, and the vertigo made him reel. He knew he could easily make a mistake, get too close, but the need to be certain Addy was all right drove him on, searching, always searching, as he staggered between trees.

~ ~ ~

Marcy drove on to Graham’s camp as fast as she could go. Smoke hung between the trees, obstructing her vision, but she squinted and managed to stay on the familiar road, hardly slowing until she was nearly at the cabin. On any other occasion Graham would have threatened to tan her hide, but in this case she thought he would understand. The moment she stopped, right alongside the front porch, she jumped out of the truck and leapt for the door. Giving up right away on the locked entry, she pounded her fists and yelled, “Graham! Graham!”

Macy was the first to open the door “Marce! What? What’s wrong? Oh, my God. Where’s all the smoke coming from?” she asked, waving her hand in front of her face as a cloud of it swept out of the trees.

“There’s a fire at the preppers’ camp! Sam and Mark are injured, but Sam made me stop to let him out on our way back. He’s going to search for Addy. But he’s hurt pretty bad.” She shook her head. “I can’t explain it all now. Get Graham, quick!”

Macy shook her head, and Marcy thought her sister was just being obstinate.

“Macy!” She shook her twin’s shoulders. “I’m serious. Get him!”

“He’s not here! Graham’s not here, Marcy. We don’t know where he is.”

Tala and Bang appeared beside her, and Sheriff rushed between them and out the door, his nose seeking answers from the wind.

“Where’s all that smoke coming from? Is there a forest fire?” Tala asked, eyes wide with alarm as deeper bands of smoke curled toward them and the burning odor becoming stronger.

“I . . . I don’t know,” Marcy said to both questions. “I’ve got to get Mark inside. He’s badly hurt.”

Sheriff began to bark and whine at the danger he sensed, startling them all. He rarely barked unless there was a good reason.

“My God, can this get any worse?” Tala asked of no one. “I think we might have to evacuate the cabin.” She pulled on Marcy’s arm. “Is the fire headed this way?”

Marcy couldn’t care less about the fire. She wanted to get Mark inside, then get Graham to go find Sam. “No! I think it’s just drifting smoke. I don’t know for sure. Mark’s in the truck, hurt bad, and Sam is out there, looking for Addy. He’s injured too. I need to get Mark inside! Help me! Where did Graham go?” She didn’t understand why they weren’t taking this more seriously.

Macy shoved past her. “Come on, then. Let’s get Mark out.”

“No. Leave him there,” Tala said, trying to hold both girls back. “We might have to drive out if the fire comes this way.”

“It won’t,” Marcy argued, shaking loose. She flung open the truck’s back right door and reached in for Mark. He moaned, and air tainted by smoke sucked in through the straw in his throat.

Macy yelled at Tala. “He’s really, really hurt. Come help us carry him!”

Tala shoved her feet into boots and grabbed her coat. Marcy heard her gasp as she took in the extent of Mark’s injuries. “What happened to you?” Tala’s voice shook. Marcy knew Mark was a scary sight, neck covered with duct tape and dried blood from his nose smearing his face.

Mark managed to push himself up onto his elbows, and Marcy sidled in on the floor, then climbed up behind him, helping him sit. “Don’t cough, Mark,” she begged. “If you breathe in smoke, you might cough it out of your trachea.” Tala passed her a soft, knitted scarf. With care, she draped it loosely over Mark’s throat. Macy helped him swing his legs down.

With Marcy pushing and Macy pulling they got Mark out of the truck and on his feet.

“Can you walk?” Marcy asked.

Mark began to move, and the sisters helped him make the journey to the porch.

“Does Sam look like this too?” Tala asked, leading the way to the bunkroom.

“No, I think she got him more to the back of the head,” Marcy offered.

Tala turned the covers back. “Who?”

“A madwoman we met. I . . . I killed her.”

Tala nodded and helped ease Mark down. “Macy, you take the truck down the road a mile or two. If the fire’s spreading, get back here quick. Only go a mile or two and no more. If you think the fire might be heading this way, come back right away, and we’ll all get out of here.”

Macy slipped out the front door with a radio in her hand. The smoky air tried to hold back the dawn. Macy whistled low for Sheriff, and he appeared at the tree line. She patted his head and pointed at the cabin. “Guard the cabin, boy.”

As she slipped behind the steering wheel, Sheriff panted on the porch. Macy saw him sitting on the alert as she backed the truck, turned, and headed down the driveway.

28 Alarms

McCann slept only a few minutes near Graham’s side.

When the howling started in his dream, he was a fifth grade boy again, standing at the school’s curb, waiting in line for the school bus with the other kids. They all turned their heads, first hearing the dogs’ howling, followed by the squeal of the county sheriff’s car whizzing by. Soon a fire truck raced after the police car, and the neighborhood dogs gave chase.

He clearly heard Mrs. Goode’s voice. “Wake up,” she said, her whispered warning close to his ear. Startled by the dead woman speaking, McCann jerked wide awake.

He plopped his boots to the floor and sat straight up. “What the fuck?” He rubbed his ear and realized immediately he hadn’t dreamed the whole thing, though he swore he even felt Mrs. Goode’s warmed breath blowing in his ear.

He stood, recognizing the sound of an alarm clanging somewhere in the distance. Wolves howling never surprised him, but that alarm did. “What the hell’s going on?” he asked himself quietly, annoyed that just when he had been able to finally fall asleep something interrupted his peace. He looked at Graham’s sleeping form as he passed on his way to the front door, pistol out before him.

McCann checked outside. Here, where no one lived anymore, there shouldn’t be anyone capable of making such a racket in the middle of the night. In the dark he saw only a faint glow to the northwest. That’s where the ringing seemed to come from, way off in the distance.

Could that be coming from Graham’s camp? Shit! What if they’re looking for him? McCann worried. He never imagined Cascade’s population as big enough to sustain a community with alarms. The intrusive sound seemed completely foreign now after his months in solitude.

Only one way to find out what the hell was going on. He strode back inside and crouched beside Graham. He tried to rouse him out of his sleep to give him a little water and more meds, and to get some information.

“Graham,” he said, as he shook him by his uninjured shoulder. “Graham, wake up, man,” he said again, but his efforts were of no use. The guy slept deeply, and he wasn’t coming to. McCann was jealous. Then suddenly, the distant alarm went silent.

“God dammit!” he said in frustration. He gave up on waking Graham. McCann started to suspect a grand conspiracy to keep him awake had taken place, and the ploy was some form of new torture.

He went back outside. With the alarm now subdued, so was the glow of a fire. “Okay, so there’s nothing I can do about their emergency right now. Whoever they are, they apparently have it under control.” He closed the door, shutting out the night, hoping to get a little more sleep before dawn. He assumed his previous position and nodded off once again.

29 Missing

“Addy!” Clarisse yelled as she ran through the ravaged prepper camp. “Addy!”

Reuben had turned back after hearing her voice in alarm. She ran up to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. “You said there’s a body in the greenhouse. How big?”

Not used to seeing Clarisse scared out of her mind, he said gently, “Calm down, Clar—”

“Is it a child’s? Could it be Addy’s?” Silently she begged him to tell her it was not.

“I don’t know, Clarisse. Let’s get everyone to quarantine. She’s probably in there.”

She released her grasp on him and backed away, faking a stoicism she didn’t feel. “You’re probably right.” She nodded. “I have a few things to grab. I’ll be along in a minute.”

He let her go while she ran back to her tent to see if Addy had left any clues. Only her coat and boots were gone. “Oh, my God, Addy, where are you?” she yelled. She had to find out for herself if the burned body in the greenhouse was Addy’s.

Clarisse pulled a green army blanket from her bed and grabbed her flashlight. With everyone having deserted the camp, she headed for the burned out greenhouse. She approached it with trepidation. Please, God, don’t let it be her. Steam rose where the fire had won the battle over ice. Water pooled and mixed with the earth underneath.

Clarisse held her arm over her nose as she stepped over some of the smoking debris. The noxious fumes still rose. She was about to enter the burned-out frame when movement caught her attention through the dark end of the long building. Someone bent over the charred remains. She shone her flashlight on him, and when he turned toward her, he shielded his vision from the light and staggered backward.

“Turn the light off, Clarisse.”

She recognized his voice. “Sam?” she gasped and sucked in her breath at the same time. She remembered the danger he posed to her and jumped back several feet farther, shaking with raw fear though she was probably at a safe distance.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered loudly and scanned the area, terrified someone else would detect his presence. She flicked her light on him once again, and he swayed as he took a quick step to the side.

“Is she safe, Clarisse? Is she?” he asked, pleading, his voice broken.

“You, you can’t be here, Sam! What were you thinking?”

“Where’s my daughter?” he howled in grief.

Clarisse shook her head. “I . . . I don’t know,” she stuttered. She pointed at the charred body, “I just came to find out if”—she whimpered—“if that was her.” How it hurt to utter the words!

“It’s not. It’s Tammy.”

Clarisse doubled over and cried. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said gravely. “I’m sure. I looked.”

“Okay, okay,” she panted, standing erect and pointing the flashlight at him again. The dried blood on his coat had become wet again, and he swayed and staggered from another dizzy spell.

“You’re hurt, Sam. What happened? Weren’t you on a hunting trip?” she asked, confused, trying to make sense of his presence here.

“On our way back, we saw the fire. There was some, um, trouble on the trip,” he said, his voice weak and halting.

Fear shot through her. Had the entire prepper colony been exposed to the virus? “Are the others wandering around here too?” As if dealing with the fire hadn’t been trauma enough.

“No. They’re at Graham’s camp. It’s just me. I need to know if Addy is safe. Where is she, Clarisse?”

She avoided the question. “Did you come close to anyone here?”

“No. I kept my distance. I’m not trying to hurt anyone. I heard you ask about the body in here. So, after everyone left, I came to check. I have to find her. I have to know she’s all right.” Clarisse heard the desperation in his tone and saw it in his strained face, though they stood the length of the greenhouse apart.

“You can’t be in here, Sam. I’ll find Addy. Please, go back to Graham’s camp, and get medical attention,” she tried to reason with him. “I’ll send word as soon as I find her.”

Before she completed her thought, he had already turned and scaled the perimeter fencing to the other side. He obviously would not take her advice right now and would continue his search for his daughter. She had to find Addy first, or Sam might accidentally expose the child to the virus—an outcome they’d all regret.

She also needed to keep his presence in the camp a secret. By their own rules, he would be shot dead on the spot if found within the perimeter. The penalty was a law they had to enforce for their own safety, but Clarisse only had time to worry about Addy right now; she had to find the child.

There was only one place Addy might go to if she had walked out of the tent into the mayhem earlier. The thought scared her. Addy, frightened, would head for the river in the dark, waiting for her father to come and save her.

She took off toward the quarantine building. The others would not understand what she needed to do, but the dawn’s light was beginning to break and she had to get there before Sam thought of the probability first and accidentally expose her to the virus.

Upon entering the crowded quarantine building, Clarisse saw most of the preppers hacking and coughing, even as the stronger ones aided those who were injured.

Rick had cleared a conference room and rushed around setting up cots from a storage closet. Steven tended to Reuben’s youngest daughter, who had burns to her feet. Clarisse heard her say, “I had to run through the fire when I got out of our tent.” The child coughed and wept as Steven worked over her.

Steven’s head jerked up from his task as Clarisse hurried past to her office. She pretended not to have noticed him, though guilt stung her as she made her way between those huddled in the hallway with varying expressions, from horror to dull acceptance. Stepping around and between bodies, she hurried on.

“What’s going on, Clarisse?” Steven’s voice called after her. “Dalton’s down. We have three dead, and you’re MIA?”

“Addy’s MIA,” she snapped back at him. “I’m going out to look for her right now. I’ll take a radio.”

She began to rummage through her supplies, snatching up the things she needed. With a glance over her shoulder to make sure she wasn’t observed, she opened the refrigerator and pulled out a syringe with the new serum. She quickly capped it and carefully tucked it into her backpack with her other supplies.

“We need you here, Clarisse,” Steven said as she stepped out. “I can’t do this all by myself. Look at these people.” He waved toward the injured with a wad of gauze in his gloved hand.

That pissed her off, partly because she knew it was true and partly because she was damn near her breaking point. “Addy needs me more. Keep everyone out of my lab.” She strode away despite the pleas of the injured and Steven’s angry demands she stay. She didn’t dare stop; she could not forsake Addy.

Outside the dawn peeked over the horizon, casting into stark light their marred oasis, surrounded by the forbidding forest. The few people Clarisse ran into outside were trekking their way back and forth between the burned camp and the quarantine building. The refugees toted random supplies in a daze. Each was on a mission, barely making eye contact, glazed with the unbelievable events of the night. Not surprisingly, they didn’t even ask Clarisse what her intentions were when she unfolded and donned a sterile suit over her outerwear and trekked south from camp.

A new day began to form, whether they were ready for it or not. The voices of those earlier in distress and confusion replayed in Clarisse’s ears. In that state, she could only imagine that Addy must have woke, emerged from the tent, and run into the bedlam around her not knowing what to do. In her terror she’d have run for the only person she knew would never let her down—her father.

Clarisse quickened her pace to the rendezvous spot where she had taken Addy so many times before to visit with Sam. Now, as the daylight grew, he probably watched her every move from a safe distance, or he was searching for Addy on his own. That could mean death for the girl if he didn’t keep a safe distance.

Clarisse’s heart ached. She, too, truly loved Sam’s daughter, but did she love her enough to take the action she feared she might have to? And if she did it, and Addy knew, would she ever forgive Clarisse? She checked the cylinder of the revolver before palming it closed, the familiar click resounding before she placed the gun in her harness. She knew Sam was desperate, and desperate people often made terrible mistakes, no matter their love and good intentions.

30 Found

At five in the morning, the February sun had barely began its ascent toward dawn. It cast a lavender hue against the atmosphere, slowly creating a dark silhouette of the mountains to the east. Unfortunately this dawn met Macy mixed with smoke and a trepidation for what she might find.

With only the rumble of the truck engine, the morning held a silent foreboding. She leaned farther out the broken window to peer through the hazy woods. The glow of the distant fire ceased along with the sound of the alarm right as she turned out onto the main road into town. Seeing no immediate danger, she assumed whatever had caused the fire was now under control, meaning her camp was no longer in any danger and that she was free to search for Graham.

“Tala, come in. Over.”

“Go ahead, Macy.”

“The alarm’s off, and no flames are present. I think they’ve got it under control now.”

“Whew! Okay, come on back.”

“Roger, Macy out,” she said, not exactly lying but not conforming either.

She continued on, easing down the main road of Cascade, scanning for Graham’s truck. With residual smoke billowing out of the woods, the haze settled like a persistent fog along the icy streets, causing her to occasionally rub at her irritated eyes.

She had to find Graham first, to learn what had kept him away. She hoped to find Sam as well, but it made sense to check the streets of Cascade before she went tromping through the woods. She figured she had at least an hour before Tala began to panic.

She scanned the side streets until she caught a glimpse of something brown in front of her. She hastily slammed on the brakes, causing her truck to slide five feet forward as deer crossed the road. One of the wide-eyed deer stopped right in the middle of the street and gazed at her, only moving again when the last one in the herd caught up. Macy continued her drive, peering through the forest to catch a glimpse of them, but they were already gone, having escaped into the woodland depths like ghosts.

As she turned the corner to get to the post office, she spotted three snow-covered mounds by its front door. They had been there for a while, since the drifts to the right of them were at least two feet deep. “Oh, Graham, no!” she moaned aloud. “Please, please don’t be there!”

She pulled up, turned off the ignition, and examined her surroundings while taking off her seatbelt, ever prepared for danger. She pulled out her pistol and grabbed her flashlight before cautiously approaching the mounds. She sucked in a breath so cold it made her teeth ache when she saw the brown oxidized blood on the snow. She quickly brought her hand to her mouth. “Oh God, no,” she whispered, shaking from more than the cold.

Macy swallowed the rising bile, and with the tip of her boot she began to brush away a little snow from the first camouflaged dune. She uncovered the fur of a dog’s side, and with hope she quickly checked the other mounds to be sure they were dogs too.

After confirming that Graham wasn’t among the carnage, she stepped back and tried to piece the scene together. She peered down at the dead dogs, frozen stiff in their snowy graves, with a lot of what she suspected to be Graham’s blood too. There had been a struggle with the dogs and Graham had gotten away. At least she had hope. He must be somewhere nearby. He’s got injuries, or he’d have driven home yesterday. Then, through the drifting smoke, she spotted his truck a few houses down the street.

Gun at the ready, she crept—one methodical, quiet step after another—to inspect the passenger side of the pickup for any clues.

Maybe he made it inside that house?

She jumped back and took safety behind the truck as loud, frustrated yelling came from somewhere behind the house. “Get the hell out of here, you fucking assholes!”

At first Macy thought the unfamiliar voice bellowed insults at her, but as she peeked around the truck, she saw no one. She circled around to the back of the building, hoping to get a glimpse of whoever yelled and, perhaps, what he was shouting at. As she rounded the back, she saw a young man waving his arms, shouting to defend his horses from three approaching wolves. She didn’t want anything to do with an unfamiliar person, but the stranger had Graham’s truck and probably also had an idea of what had happened to him.

The wolves were down low, crouching for an attack. The guy stood waving a lantern in one hand and throwing what seemed to be old potatoes from the other. He was clearly armed with a gun in a holster around his waist, and the fact that he was using potatoes as ammo didn’t make sense to Macy.

She crouched there, trying to piece together what might have happened to Graham, all the while staring at the potato-throwing man as he continued to berate his attackers. Obviously he had been attacked by the dogs who now lay dead in front of the post office and was likely the one who killed them, because there was no one else around. Maybe this guy had the answers, but maybe he’d also killed Graham. She didn’t have any idea, but would not take chances with a stranger.

She needed the guy alive to question him and he wasn’t doing a good job of staying that way just now. Graham always said, “Stay away from the crazies.” Macy wasn’t sure if this guy was crazy or what, but he certainly wasn’t acting sane at the moment. She had no doubt she was about to witness his own mauling.

One of the wolves cut low and to the left, coming in for a side attack at the man. Macy stayed where she crouched, aimed carefully and fired. As the wolf dropped to the ground, the other two took off without looking back. The stranger swiftly pulled his pistol, whirled, and locked eyes with her.

She knew him! In that instant, Macy could only remain frozen in place, stunned, held captive by the intensity of the contact. An inexplicable sense of panic rushed over her, and she broke away, running for her truck.

McCann recognized those blue eyes. He had seen them before in the back of Graham’s truck last fall. He wasted no time running after the girl; he jumped over the side gate and ran around the front in hopes of intercepting her in the road.

Just as he crossed to the neighboring house, another shot rang out behind him.

“Hey! Stop shooting at me, dammit,” he yelled. He wasn’t sure where she hid. He stopped in his tracks, with his hands up, pointing his pistol high into the air. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he yelled out, hoping she would come out of hiding.

“Where’s Graham?” Macy demanded. He heard a tremor in her voice, one she probably hated. A girl who could take out a lunging wolf with one shot was no coward, and a damn good shot, too. But scared and armed was not a good combination. He didn’t feel like getting shot today.

“He’s fine. He was attacked by some wild dogs.”

“You’re not telling me where he is,” Macy said, even more frightened, and chanced another shot at a safe distance from him as a warning, “I will shoot you next.”

McCann flinched. “Knock it off, God dammit! I’ve had enough of this shit.” He could now see a pickup truck parked at the post office, and he suspected that she was going to make a run for it. Just then Macy’s radio crackled to life, giving her position away. “Macy, are you okay?” came a female voice.

The sound of the radio tipped him off to her exact location. He ran to the edge of the post office and got down low and holstered his pistol. She bolted from a neighboring yard toward the truck and McCann took off running after her.

Though she sprinted fast with him on her heels, McCann knew he would catch her if she stopped to open the truck’s door, but to his surprise, she right raced past the truck. He could barely keep up. He was exhausted from fighting off the wolves earlier and taking care of Graham all night, not to mention the alarm waking him after he’d caught only a few minutes’ sleep. “Stop running!” he yelled in frustration, but she wasn’t stopping. He had to get this chase over with and, using what little energy reserves he still had in him, kicked his pace into a last surge of high gear. He aimed for her legs, diving down onto her. She slammed into the hard icy road, hands first, and as she sprawled, her gun skidded off a few feet in front of her.

Macy tried to wiggle out of his grasp to reach for her weapon, but even as tired as he was he managed to hold her. She began kicking and punching the hell out of him, but he flipped her over and grabbed her around the left thigh, hauling her body beneath his. She continued to struggle with every ounce of strength she had.

“Get off me!” Macy yelled.

McCann tucked his head down and let her continue the assault while he laid his entire weight onto her. When he’d had enough of the abuse, he took both of her arms and shoved them down against the cold, hard ice. “Not until you calm down!” he said.

With her breath coming in rasping gasps, Macy glared at him and tried to buck him off, but he held tight.

She raised her head in an attempt to bite him.

“Don’t you dare!” he warned her. “I’m too tired for this shit.”

“What have you done to Graham?” she spat, venom flaring in her eyes as she fought and tried to catch her breath.

McCann remembered those blue eyes as curious, interested, and warm, and he wished she wasn’t so pissed off right now. She was a little bit of a thing, yet she fought like a demented giant. “I told you, he’s fine. If you’d listened to me the first time, you’d be with him by now.” He couldn’t help but grin.

She didn’t seem to think it was funny. “I don’t trust you.”

“I can see that,” he conceded, and waited until he felt her body relax beneath him. “I’ll take you to him, but you have to promise me you won’t shoot me, bite me, or run from me again.”

“I will promise no such thing,” she said, glaring at him again.

“Hey, I’ve got all day, missy, though I’m tired as hell because I’ve been up all night. You, on the other hand, will freeze your ass off lying here on the ground with me sleeping on top of you. It’s your choice.”

Macy glared some more, those gorgeous blue eyes stormy and a bit confused, as she clearly pondered her options. To show her he meant what he said, McCann snuggled his head into her neck and let her feel his dead weight again.

“All right! Get off!”

“Promise?”

She nodded, muttering a resentful “I promise.”

He smiled again and got up quickly, grabbing Macy’s gun before she could. When she reached out to take the weapon from him, he shook his head and raised his eyebrows at her while holding the weapon up and away from her.

“I don’t think so. You shot at me. I’ll just hang onto this for now.”

“If I’d wanted to hit you, I would have,” she said. He turned her toward the house, pushing her ahead of him because he believed her. After seeing how she had dropped the wolf not three feet from him, he had no doubt she aimed straight.

“Just walk up ahead of me where I can keep an eye on you.”

The radio strapped to her belt crackled again with Tala’s now frantic voice. “Macy. Are you okay? Over.”

She stopped and turned to him, her eyes beseeching. No man in his right mind could refuse her. “I have to answer her. She’s scared.”

“Go ahead, you’re not my prisoner, Macy. I just have a problem with people shooting at me.”

She rolled her eyes at him, knowing how he’d just learned her name. “I’m fine, Tala. I think I might have found Graham. Are you okay? Over.”

“You did? Is he all right?”

She hadn’t thought to say “Over,” but Macy put that down to relief. “I haven’t seen him just yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do. I have to go now. I’ll call back soon. Macy out.”

She began to walk again, but stopped in her tracks and turned to look at McCann. “Is Graham hurt badly? Please tell me before I go in the house.”

“Yes, I’m afraid he is, but he’s alive. It’s been a long night. He’s probably awake by now. I would have driven him to your camp last night, but I didn’t know where you lived. I figured someone would come looking for him eventually.”

He could tell by the way her lower lip trembled just slightly that she was scared of what kind of shape she would find Graham in. The sun was fully up now, and McCann watched the back of her head as the light picked up the highlights in her golden hair. “Don’t you remember me, Macy?”

She looked up at him with a hesitant smile in her eyes and nodded. “You’re the Carnation boy?”

“Oh, no,” he didn’t like the sound of that. “I came from Carnation, but my name’s McCann,” he said, wanting to get that straight right away.

She caught on to his annoyance, “Oh, we call you the Carnation boy. You might as well get used to the name.”

“McCann,” he repeated, wanting to hear her say it.

“Can Graham travel?” she asked more seriously.

“I think so, I patched him up as well as possible.”

They continued to walk in silence until they came to the door of the brick house. Before Macy could reach for the handle, McCann reached around and opened the door for her. Her wide gaze shot toward him as if she thought this was strange. He guessed it was. The way things were now, people had probably stopped expecting good manners.

Macy took a step through the door and halted so abruptly that McCann ran into her back. The air smelled putrid inside the house. Macy swayed, and McCann slipped an arm around her waist as she emitted a low moan of distress.

Graham lay on a couch covered loosely with a sheet. Recovering, Macy slipped loose and rushed to his side. As she lifted the sheet, McCann saw more blood had seeped through the bandages on Graham’s open thigh.

“Graham?” Macy was probably trying to keep the alarm out of her voice, but again McCann could detect a frightened tremor.

“He’s probably still asleep.”

“Graham!” She ran to him and knelt down beside him. “Graham, wake up. It’s me, Macy.” She looked pleadingly at McCann. “He’s the strongest man I’ve ever known. To see him like this is awful.”

“I know,” McCann said gently, using a cloth from the back of the couch to wipe sweat from Graham’s forehead.

“What happened, exactly?” Her voice cracked and tears spilled from her eyes. “He risked so much to save me and my sister, to save all of us.”

McCann spoke quietly. “I heard a truck pull up down the road early yesterday morning and then yelling. I knew the wild dogs were attacking someone; I’ve been dealing with them and wolves here since I arrived. I ran over there and shot one of them, but the other two would not let go of him. I killed them, but not before they hurt him. A lot.”

Macy’s low moan of distress cut into McCann.

“Macy, I promise you I tried the best I could. He lost a lot of blood. He’s been running a fever, and he mumbles a lot. I was up with him off and on through the night. I have experience with stitching up cows on my father’s ranch; I did the best I could with his wounds.” He was afraid she might blame him for Graham’s condition.

“I’m sure you did, McCann.” She sniffed and blew out a breath. “It’s just hard to find him like this. Did you know he’s been waiting for you?”

McCann shook his head.

“He takes care of all of us—my sister Marcy, and the little boy Bang, but also three others we’ve encountered since getting here.” She smiled. “Looks like it’s time for us to return the favor, and it’s all thanks to you.”

McCann didn’t want her gratitude, so he changed the subject. “So, we have two trucks to bring back to your camp now. We’ll put Graham in one, and I’ll hitch my horses up to the other. We’ll have to drive slow, but I’ll just follow you back.” Then he set to work as fast as he could to gather his gear and his horses.

Meanwhile, Macy checked on Graham. His temperature was still elevated, and he looked pale and fragile. She examined his wounds and noted how neatly McCann had stitched him up. There was a long gash coming from two directions down his thigh, with a lot of swelling, and Macy detected an odor. They needed to get him back to camp fast so that Clarisse might tell them what more they could do for him.

As Macy redressed his wound, Graham began to stir, and his eyes fluttered open for a bit. “Hi, Graham,” she said, so happy to see him come around, if even for a minute.

When he recognized her, he said, “Macy, girl. The dogs got me.” He tried to swallow.

“It’s okay,” she said as her tears dropped down to his chest, “McCann killed them.”

“Yeah, he came just at the right time,” Graham said, then his eyes began to flutter shut before Macy could say anything more.

She wiped her tears, and then went to the bathroom. She could hear McCann retrieving first the Scout, then the pickup, from in front of the post office. He left both engines running and came in through the front door.

“I think we’re all set. You know there’s a frozen deer strapped to the roof of your truck, right?”

“Yeah. My sister and two others just returned from a hunting trip, and I took the truck to look for Graham as soon as they got back.”

“I’ll help you get it down when we get there. I hope Graham’s still asleep, because moving him is going to be painful for him,” McCann speculated.

“He came to, just for a second. At least he knows I’m here,” Macy said. “I’ll help you carry him to the truck.”

McCann swept a gaze over her. “No. No, you won’t.”

“Maybe I’m not very big,” she argued, “but I’m strong. I can help.”

“Look, he weighs about as much as I do. He’s probably going to yell out in pain. Are you going to be able to handle that? If not, you need to go get into the truck now.”

“I can handle it, Carnation boy.” She glared at McCann. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’m just trying to help, Macy.”

“Then pick him up, and I’ll help you get him into the truck.”

As McCann began to heft Graham into his arms, Macy saw the strain it put on even his muscular frame. He didn’t object when she took part of Graham’s weight, laying his legs across her arms. “Don’t think he weighed this much when I first hauled him into the house,” he muttered, grunting as he lifted Graham higher and swung into a turn. Macy followed. Graham’s legs, wrapped in the sheet, hung heavy and limp against her.

Graham moaned when McCann accidently brushed an arm past his incision in an attempt to not drop him. Macy covered him the best she could against the cold. Walking sideways, she opened the door for McCann and escorted him to the Scout. She braced the truck door open with her back and helped to slide Graham into the backseat. “Okay, go ahead. I’ll follow behind with the pickup, but drive slowly. With the horses tethered to the back, we can’t go too fast.”

“Oh my God, I nearly forgot. You are a carrier? Right?” she asked with sudden fear.

“Yes, Macy. I’m the only one left from my town. I never came down with the virus.”

She nodded with bittersweet recognition.

McCann went to the pickup truck and waited there for Macy to pull around him. She turned around several times to check on Graham, who had settled back down and didn’t seem to be conscious of his surroundings. She pushed an errant sheet back over his chest with her right hand and continued on slowly to keep from jostling him around too much.

Macy put the Scout in gear, and McCann followed close behind as they made their way slowly toward camp.

31 Unforsaken

The brake lights brightened ahead of him, causing McCann to stop. He got out and went to the back of the pickup to check on his two horses tied to the tailgate. Calming them in unfamiliar surroundings, he patted each one and rubbed their necks a bit. Afterward, he walked around to the front and found Macy standing by the side of the road looking worried and confused.

“What’s up? Graham okay?”

“He’s still asleep.” She pointed with the radio toward the side street. “This is the spot where Marcy said she let Sam out last night.”

“Who?”

“Marcy is my twin sister, and Sam is another guy living at our camp. I need to call in again and find out if Sam went back to camp. If not, I’ll go looking for him after we deliver Graham.”

“Tala? Over,” she said, waiting for a reply.

After no answer had come in more than a minute, Macy resubmitted the call, thinking they were probably busy with Mark’s injuries when Tala finally answered.

“Macy! How is he? Over.” Tala’s voice crackled on the radio waves.

“We’re on our way back. Graham was attacked by a couple of dogs, but he’s going to survive.” She flashed her eyes and smiled mischievously at McCann. “The Carnation Boy arrived just in time and saved him, but Graham’s got a long recovery ahead of him. Carnation Boy is coming back with us. Um . . . Is Sam still missing? Over.”

“Oh, it’s such a relief”—Tala’s voice choked up for a moment—“to hear that Graham’s with you. Um, no; Sam still hasn’t come in yet. Please hurry, and bring Graham home. And Carnation Boy too, of course. Macy, I have more bad news, though. Bang. He and Sheriff went off to track either Sam or Graham. The other radio’s missing, and he took Sheriff along with him. I . . . never caught him slipping out while taking care of Ennis and Mark. Over.”

McCann watched as Macy’s face drained of all color. “Oh no!” Her blue eyes flew up to McCann’s, filled with alarm. “Tala, he’s aware of the rule to stay away from the prepper camp, so don’t worry. You tried to call him? Over.”

“Yes. He didn’t answer. Oh, Macy, Bang always copies your every move. I’m sure he figures if you went off to find Graham, it was his duty to go track Sam.” Her voice broke again as a sob escaped.

“This time he’s gone too far. As soon as we find him, I’m going to kill him, if he’s not already dead.” She fell silent for a minute, then clicked the radio again. “Tala, I’m sure he’ll be back soon. Sheriff is with him. We’ll be right there, Tala, and then I’ll find him. I promise. Macy out.” She turned to McCann, and he could see her fear. “We should go,” she said.

“Wait a minute,” McCann said. “Prepper camp? Does this have anything to do with the fire last night?”

The prepper camp is located north of ours. They’re still susceptible to the virus, so we keep away from them. There was a fire there last night. I’ve tried to radio them, but they don’t answer. One of our guys, Sam, has a daughter who lives with them. He’s injured, but he still went to look for her to make sure she was safe. Bang, who is the five-year-old boy you must have seen with us back in Carnation, is now searching for Sam, I think. It’s a lot to explain; all you need to know now is that the preppers are friendly, but we don’t cross into their territory—ever, for any reason—without prior permission.”

“And who’s Sheriff?”

“He’s our dog. Don’t you remember the dog we had that growled at you?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s tame?”

“Yes, he’s part of our family now. He was a police dog,” she said as she slid back into the driver’s seat, and then her radio crackled to life again unexpectedly.

“Bang here. Macy? Over.”

McCann stopped in his tracks as he heard a little boy’s hushed voice pipe over the radio waves and stopped to listen as Macy barked, “Where are you, Bang?”

“Someone’s walking around in one of those suits, Macy. I had to get away to call you. I found Sam. He’s hurt real bad. I need you to help me get him home. I can’t move him by myself. Over.”

She began to tremble in fear as she asked him, “Where are you exactly, Bang? Over.”

“I’m near the bend in the river. On the other side. Over.”

She took in a sharp breath. “I told you never to go over there!” Tears of fury or frustration spilled down her cheeks now as she held one hand over her opened mouth.

“I had to. Sam’s lying in the brush. So, I went around and found him. Then, one of the preppers walked over here. Hurry, I’m afraid they’re going to find me.”

McCann asked quickly, “How far is it?”

“About twenty minutes on foot,” Macy answered. “If they find Bang and Sam, they’ll shoot them. Those are the rules we agreed to.”

“Let’s take the horses,” McCann offered.

“We can’t. They’ll make too much noise. I have to go alone. I don’t want them to shoot you or your horses.”

McCann grabbed her arm and stopped her short before she headed into the woods, alone and unprepared. As he spoke, he replaced her pistol into her harness. “Listen to me. Graham needs to get back to camp. I can take my horse and follow the river from here to get them both back on the right side. I’ll be quiet. I’ll get them both and then bring them all back to camp. You need to get Graham home.” He gave her a little shake. “Macy, trust me enough to get this done. Go on. Move. Graham’s getting colder and weaker each minute we stand here talking.”

McCann could see the war Macy had to fight with herself, but eventually she nodded. “Okay,” she said, “I’ll get Graham home, then come back here for you. Let me talk to Bang.” Quickly, she outlined the plan to the boy, telling him not to be afraid of the man on the horse, to come with him when he got there. “You’ll have to take my radio so you can talk to him,” she said to McCann after logging off.

McCann mounted his horse, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and was about to move out when she grabbed his knee. “Just remember, going over there, into their territory, means they can shoot you. It’s our agreement with them. If you come across anyone other than an injured man or a little boy, please hide from them.”

“Macy, I’m not going to let anyone kill a five-year-old kid because he crossed over into their territory. If they want to shoot at me, they’re fair game as far as I’m concerned. If I have a confrontation with them, I’ll try to reason with them first, but I’m not making any promises that I won’t shoot someone aiming at me or a kid. I should be back within an hour. It’ll be all right, Macy, I promise.” With that, he tipped his hat at her and headed the chestnut mare into the ravine leading down through the forest beyond.

Macy gazed after him for a moment. Who is this guy? Then she hopped back into the Scout and began to drive away. “He thinks he’s a cowboy,” she whispered to herself, shaking her head.

“Maybe he is,” Graham murmured low from the backseat through the pain and fever combined.

Macy turned really quick and saw that he was conscious, but barely, with his eyes mere slits.

“Graham! I didn’t know you were awake.”

“Well, I am. You need to tell me what’s going on with Bang,” he said as he tried to reposition himself. He grunted and groaned through the excruciatingly painful effort.

“Nothing. He’s fine.” Macy tried to sound casual though she had never been able to lie to Graham. “He went looking for Sam. He’ll be home soon. Nothing you need to worry about right now.” He groaned with agony she knew he couldn’t suppress as she drove on.

“Macy, thanks for trying, but you never could lie to me worth a damn.”

She guided the truck carefully, trying to avoid any dips in the icy road. Some obstacles couldn’t be avoided, so she tried to warn him when they were coming up. When she pulled up in front of the cabin, Tala looked like she had stood outside on the porch waiting since their last conversation. Her face held creases of worry, and her skin was pale.

Wiping away tears, Tala ran to open the truck door, and Graham smiled upside down at her in the backseat.

“Sorry, I forgot my radio this time,” he said sheepishly.

The sweat pouring off his forehead was the first giveaway that his condition wasn’t good. Tala tried not to cry, but she couldn’t help it, seeing him in so much pain. She reached down and kissed him. “You’re forgiven, but next time, you might not be so lucky,” she said.

“I wasn’t so lucky this time,” he whispered, trying to swallow though his mouth felt thick. He began to shiver with the fever and the cold.

“I’ll get Marcy to help you inside, Graham,” Macy said, and with Tala’s assistance, tried not to cause him any more pain than necessary. They got him onto a canvas stretcher and carried him into the cabin. Soon, he lay on his bunk next to Ennis’s.

Tala still cried and Graham said over and over, “It’s okay, Tala. I’m going to be fine. It’s my own fault.”

He was clearly not fine. Tala found that his temperature was over 102 degrees, and his leg injury was flaming red. With all the movement, the wound bled again, and she patted at the sutured area with gauze, wondering who had stitched him up so well. Marcy retrieved fresh dressings, as well as antibiotics, and passed Macy as she left the bunkroom, seeing that Graham was now in good hands.

Macy glanced at Mark on the living room sofa to see how he fared, and though he still couldn’t talk, he waved at her. His face displayed black and blue marks, but he seemed to be in good spirits.

She’d begun to back out the front door when Mark beckoned her over to him. She shook her head, but he looked stubborn and patted the table next to him to make her stop. She put her finger up to her mouth, asking him to be quiet. He glared at her and shook his fist forcefully, but she backed out the door all the way and ran for the truck. She didn’t want to explain about Bang’s whereabouts or hear any other questions she wasn’t ready to answer. Especially about going over to the preppers’ side.

32 Tracker

This was turning out to be another long day for McCann. He hoped he would locate this kid named Bang and the man named Sam fast. Then he planned to get back to their cabin and find a quiet spot somewhere so he could get some decent sleep.

The day became dreary and overcast. The hue of the snow only a shade or two lighter than the horizon, contrasted to the dark, monotone of the trees. Unlike the other seasons, when the shades of different tree species stood out, in the dead of the winter they only revealed one predominant color, a damp charcoal black. The ride to the river involved trekking through trees, dodging low-hanging branches, and watching for holes that could trip the horse.

McCann heard the river before he saw it. At this point, with much of it frozen, it was little more than a trickle from the north as it meandered its way through the rock maze. It sounded like lazy chimes rather than the rushing resonance of meltwater that would come in the spring. As he neared it he searched for the easiest path to cross without being seen by these prepper people hell-bent on killing friends who put one toe over the line. It was one thing to track a person; it was a completely different thing to track a person when you knew unfriendlies were out and about to get you.

McCann stopped and waited, looking both ways before crossing the stream. Seeing no foe—animal or otherwise—he guided the mare slowly through the waters to the other side. She barely made a sound.

McCann reasoned that if he stuck to the tree line and headed west, he had to come to the bend in the river and find the boy. The search took no more than ten minutes, and there the boy hid behind a small pine, kneeling beside a man who lay much too still on the frozen earth.

He had a bad feeling about that, but before anything had time to fully register, the dog roared toward him, barking ferociously. So much for stealth.

“Call him off,” McCann said as the kid just gaped at him and his horse in dazed silence. “Hey, kid. Call off the dog,” McCann said again.

Finally Bang jumped to his feet and called Sheriff, got hold of his collar, and made him sit, murmuring calm into ears that still pricked alertly.

McCann dismounted and stood still, letting the dog get a good look at him, but Sheriff stood his ground with a low growl. McCann reached into his saddle bag and ripped off a hunk of beef jerky. Crouching low, he tossed bits of the treat to Sheriff. In order for this to work he needed to befriend the dog quickly.

“I’m McCann,” he said to Bang. “From the radio, remember? Macy told you I was coming.” He continued to toss little pieces of jerky ever closer to where he kneeled; Sheriff inhaled one piece after the other without even tasting them.

“Yeah, she said you would come on a horse,” Bang said. “We don’t have horses around here.” His eyes fixed admiringly on the mare. McCann liked the kid already.

“So, how’s he doing?” McCann asked Bang, pointing to Sam.

Bang raised his shoulder and dropped it. “His heart beats, but he’s not awake, and he’s cold.”

By this time Sheriff took jerky out of McCann’s hand, and he reached carefully to let the dog sniff him. “Why don’t you come over here and show him we’re friends.”

Bang came to McCann, who stretched out his hand for him to shake. “Pleasure to meet you, Bang.” Sheriff showed no more aggression, and again McCann reached over carefully with slow ease to let the dog smell him, then reached under his muzzle for a scratch. McCann slowly rose to his feet and led the mare to where Sam lay. The guy had a pulse, but it was weak. The injuries to his head and face were ghastly. “What the hell happened to you, man?” he asked rhetorically and then straightened Sam’s arms at his side and prepared to lift him up and over the horse’s saddle.

“We need to hurry. There are preppers around here,” Bang warned again.

“When’s the last time you saw one?”

“Um, a while ago.”

McCann nodded. This was a lot to ask of a five-year-old; could a kid that age even tell time? “Okay, let’s hurry up, but if they show up, you take the dog and run across the river and don’t look back. I’ll handle the preppers.”

McCann hoisted Sam’s body up and over the saddle so that he hung evenly from side to side. The head injuries were pretty bad, and McCann had an inkling the guy might not make the trip if they didn’t get out of there soon. He probably suffered from hypothermia after spending the night out in the freezing temperatures. McCann wrapped a blanket around his body in a feeble attempt to warm him.

“All right, Mae,” he said to the horse. “Let’s get this guy back to camp.” He’d just patted her rump to get her moving when an angry yell rang out, and an armed man came out of the tree line, stopping a good distance away.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the man demanded. “Put your hands up where I can see them.”

McCann thought about complying, but he was tired, and Macy had already warned him of the dangers here. With the horse between them and the guy with the gun, McCann had a small window to act before things got out of control. “Run, kid,” he said quietly to Bang, and, at the same time, pulled out his long rifle and pointed the weapon up the hill.

McCann watched the guy, daring him to so much as aim at the kid and the dog running away. He’d have had no remorse over blowing a hole through the prepper’s plastic suit. Unfortunately for Sam, he remained unconscious and precariously balanced between the pointed firearms.

“Hold on! I only came to get this guy. He’s badly wounded. We’re headed right back to our side now. So put your goddamn gun down, man.” McCann tried to reason with him like he’d told Macy he would, but he’d also let him know, in no uncertain terms, that he would defend himself if he had to.

“We have rules here. You’ve broken them,” Reuben said.

McCann interrupted him. “Hey, man, I’m new here. I came to pick up this guy. I’ve been warned. I’ll be on my way now,” he said and nudged the horse to take a few steps when White Suit shot a warning round into the air causing McCann to stop midstride.

“You don’t get off that easy!” the guy shouted. “Someone set fire to our camp last night, and you people have a guy on our side. Not only that, we’re missing a little girl. I think you know a lot more than you’re letting on!”

McCann was about to shout back that he wasn’t responsible for little girls, and they should keep better track of them themselves, when another person in a plastic suit showed up.

“Reuben! What are you doing?” This one was a woman. She huffed and puffed, obviously out of breath after running up through the woods toward the other prepper. “I didn’t find her. Only her footprints in the mud between boulders. Why did you shoot?”

“I think this guy might have information for us. I caught him down there with Bang, but the boy took off. I’ll take care of this, Clarisse. You keep looking for Addy.”

The woman named Clarisse stared at Sam draped over the horse. “Did you shoot him?”

“No! I fired a warning shot. He already had the wounded guy over the horse,” Reuben explained.

“Sam! Reuben, I think that’s Sam! Is it?” she demanded, taking one step more down the hill toward the river. The man she’d called Reuben hauled her back.

“Yes, ma’am,” McCann said. He was confused by this turn of events but, if the woman could get the rude guy off his back, then that would be fine with him.

“He’s got some pretty serious-looking head injuries, and he’s probably hypothermic. I need to get him back to camp, but this moron keeps getting in the way!” McCann pointed his rifle at Reuben.

“Who are you?” Clarisse asked.

“Name’s McCann. Graham asked me to come up to his camp when I was ready. I got in a few days ago.” He shivered because the cold wind had begun to pick up and now made its way through his jacket. “Look, I really need to get this guy back to Graham’s camp.”

“Graham was missing. Have you seen him?” Clarisse’s voice rose over the wind.

“Yeah, he was attacked by some wild dogs. He’s back at camp now. He’ll be fine after he recovers. I would have brought him back sooner, but I didn’t know exactly where the camp was.”

Clarisse kept looking back and forth between Reuben and McCann, and McCann inferred they were trying to decide his fate. Perhaps they were trying to make sure his story washed with the current events, or perhaps they were wagering on who would get to kill him first.

To try to speed things along, McCann offered more of an explanation. He yelled, “Then Macy came looking for Graham, and on our way back to camp, someone named Tala radioed to say the kid, Bang, had sneaked off looking for this guy.” He pointed to Sam’s body. Still there was no reply from the two preppers, who were engaged in their own discussion. “Hey, I don’t have time for this, and neither does he. He’s getting colder by the second.” He began to take a few steps, muttering to himself about the fact that he was tired and didn’t have time for this crap, when Reuben broke free of the argument he was having with Clarisse.

“Wait a goddamn minute,” Reuben demanded angrily, while Clarisse continued to try and reason with him, attempting to push his rifle barrel down toward the ground.

“No, you look, asshole. I’m trying to save this guy’s life. I didn’t come all this way to have a girl shoot at me and some fucking Teletubby threatening me. I’ll tell you what, I’ll be at Graham’s if and when you guys make a decision to shoot me or hold a trial, but be prepared for a fight.

“In the meantime, I suggest you stop screwing around and find that little girl. It’s cold out here.” He led Mae into the river, even though this wasn’t the best place to cross. He wanted them to understand he was doing exactly as he said he would. Before long, they had cleared the river, and McCann welcomed the dark forest.

33 Intervention

Trekking through the snow in a sterile suit, armed and carrying a backpack with supplies she hoped she would not need, became harder for Clarisse with each step. Every few minutes she called out for Addy in hopes she would say “Here I am!” and be found safe and sound. The day had started to cloud over, and more cold weather was bound to be on the way, yet still no sign of the girl presented itself.

Clarisse had tracked Addy’s small boot prints to the river spot, but with no further luck. Peering around the forest edges for any clue that Addy had found refuge near the river, she turned up no trace. Beginning to despair, Clarisse muttered in frustration, “She didn’t vanish!” In an attempt to reason logically with herself, she whispered out loud, “She’s got to be somewhere nearby.” As she was about to admit Rick’s desire to inject tracking devices into all of them might have been less foolish than she’d originally thought, her nerves were further shattered by a sudden gunshot. That blast, coming from the east, drove all further thoughts from her mind beyond the imperative: run.

Clarisse crushed down fear that the gunshot might have ended Addy’s life, running so hard the landscape became a blur in her peripheral vision. No. More likely, Sam’s life had just ended. Someone must have found him. Reuben was searching for Addy as well, by now, and if he’d found Sam here, she had little doubt he’d shoot to kill. Sam’s presence—any carrier’s presence—was a threat to them all. Reuben would not listen to claims of good intention from a man determined to save his daughter. Reuben would see only a threat to the safety of the prepper domain.

When she rounded the bend above the river, Clarisse saw a man draped over a horse. Was he dead? Another man, one she’d never seen before, stood with the horse between himself and Reuben. She thought she was hallucinating. A horse? She hadn’t expected this, but on the bank well above them, out of likely infection range, Reuben, outfitted in a suit just like hers, pointed his gun at the man. “Don’t shoot them, Reuben,” she begged. She feared she had little time to convince him. He shook his head at her as if she didn’t understand the situation.

“Don’t interfere, Clarisse,” he advised.

“You’re making a mistake, Reuben,” she countered as she quickly made her way to him. She recognized the color of Sam’s hair, the shape of his head. “I think that’s Sam!” she shouted. “Is it?”

The stranger said it was, and spoke of Sam’s serious injuries.

Clarisse closed the distance between herself and Reuben. “I need to help him. He’s injured.”

“No! You’re not going anywhere near them, Clarisse. There is no way Dalton would allow you close to them, and I won’t either.”

She glared at him. As if the threat of Dalton would stop her.

“Look, Reuben, Sam knew his daughter went missing last night. He had injuries already when he started searching for her. I need to make sure he’s all right.”

“No, Clarisse, I mean it. You take one step toward them, and I’ll shoot. We can’t lose you to the virus.”

“Then let them go.” She said it calmly; she knew she had won, could see it in Reuben’s eyes. She slowly pushed the business end of his rifle down while Reuben continued to send verbal threats over to the invader.

Whoever this stranger was, he led the horse away across the river, waving good-bye while she continued to try and distract Reuben. He faded into the forest without another glance back.

34 Coming to Terms

“What the hell is going on here?” Dalton asked. He had spoken briefly to Rick and Steven after his little boys had fallen asleep, worn out from the nightmare of losing their mother. When he learned of Addy’s disappearance during the chaos of the fire, and that Clarisse and Reuben were out now searching for the girl, he pulled his sorry, grief-stricken ass together and went to where he thought the child might be—the bend in the river where she often went to talk to her daddy. He jumped, then froze momentarily as the gunshot rang out.

When he found Reuben and Clarisse arguing, he got right to the point: what was the shooting about? He had already concluded they hadn’t found the girl yet.

“Dalton, I stumbled onto this guy with a horse who was over here picking up Sam,” Reuben explained. “Sam was injured and unconscious on our side. The young boy, Bang, and his dog were here too. The shot you heard was a warning.”

“Was the guy Mark?”

“No,” answered Clarisse. “I think the guy might be the boy from Carnation that Graham talked about before. The one he’s been checking the post office for. He came to retrieve Sam.” She glared at Reuben. “That’s all he was doing, and he wasn’t close enough to harm any of us.”

“We don’t know how the fire started last night,” Reuben shot back. “Arson at the hands of the carriers might explain it, for all we know.”

Dalton held a hand up to silently stifle the accusation. When Reuben simmered down, Dalton said, “No, I’m pretty sure the fire started because of the faulty heaters in the greenhouse. Tammy”—Dalton’s voice cracked at the mention of her name—“had trouble with them. I’m an idiot for not insisting on checking them out. She thought the smell was from paint burn-off. What the hell was I thinking?”

Clarisse tried to soothe him. “The fire was no more your fault, Dalton, than it was arson by the carriers. It was an accident,” she insisted, flinging another glare at Reuben, who suddenly looked ashamed.

“Yeah, Dalton. Come on, man, you can’t do that to yourself,” Reuben said, “and I shouldn’t have been mouthing off about the carriers. I know one of them’s family to you.”

Dalton pressed his fingers to his eyes, then looked up. “Our first priority is to find Addy now. Anyone tried to radio the carriers? We need to find out what is going on with them. They know better than to come over here, so they must have had a damn good reason for crossing into our territory. Reuben, don’t shoot at them again. Not even warning shots. We’ve had enough accidents lately, and we can’t afford to make enemies of them now. We’ve lost all of our spring starts and seeds. We might need their help soon.”

Reuben didn’t argue. With a chastised nod, he acquiesced to Dalton’s logic and leadership.

Leadership. Yes. Dalton saw that fact acknowledged in Reuben’s face. No matter what, he had to continue leading these people.

“Clarisse, you need to get back to camp,” he ordered. They need you in the infirmary. I’ll keep looking for Addy.”

“No,” she protested with a rapid shake of her head. “Dalton, once I find her, I’ll go back to camp, but not a moment sooner. Not until she’s safe. She’s been out here since midnight.” Clarisse pleaded further with her eyes.

He’d expected this reaction, and truly, he didn’t blame her. She had become the girl’s mother and held the honor like no other.

“All right. Reuben, you go back to camp. Whoever’s not injured needs to get supplies together and retrieve the station’s four supply trucks. Get the extra tents. Set another crew to sort through the debris, and ask Rick to place a call into Graham’s camp for their status and let them know we’re still missing Addy. Make sure they understand that if they find her they are not to approach her,” Dalton said.

Reuben nodded and began to turn away. Then Dalton added, “Oh, and Reuben. Make sure Rick reiterates that they cannot cross the river again. Any of them. All they have to do is call us, and we can work our side. We don’t want any mishaps.”

“You got it, boss.” Reuben hesitated a moment before turning away. “Uh, Clarisse? Thanks for intervening. I really didn’t want to shoot the young man, but with the fire and the threat of the virus, I was afraid I might have to. I wouldn’t want to have to live with that.”

Dalton returned his attention to Clarisse. “Where would Addy go, other than the river rendezvous spot?” Right now, this was the only conversation he could have with her.

Clarisse shook her head. “I tracked her to the river, and then, nothing but footprints. She just vanished. She left during the commotion last night. She was scared, I wasn’t available, and she ran. She took her coat and wore her boots. I know she came this way, but her tracks ended there by the river. Most of the river is ice, so I don’t think she fell in. Oh, God, do you think she crossed and went to the carriers in search of Sam?”

Dalton had already thought of that. “It’s sure possible. That’s why I want the carriers warned not to go near her if they see her.”

He took up his radio. “Rick, Reuben’s on his way back. Hey, we’re pretty sure Addy has crossed the river to Graham’s camp. Call in there immediately. Tell them again to stay away from her if she shows up and to let us know ASAP. Also, someone needs to recheck the cameras in their direction. She might be hiding somewhere over there,” Dalton said.

“Got it. I’ll call in now,” Rick said and added, “Hey, boss, we need Clarisse here. We’re trying to move people around, and some of them are still pretty injured. We think Reuben’s youngest is still going to need surgery to remove dead tissue that Steven couldn’t treat.”

Dalton surveyed Clarisse’s conflicted expression as she listened to Rick. He knew she would do the right thing. “We’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said, staring at her and letting the reality sink in. “Dalton out.”

“There’s nothing more we can do for Addy right now,” Dalton said to Clarisse. She’ll show up, and we’ll take care of things then. Look, I have to get these people moving in the right direction. I need to be able to depend on you, Clarisse. I can’t deal with everything all by myself right now.”

After a long moment, she looked up at him and let him take her by the arm and guide her back to camp.

35 The Return of Sam

“Crap, where’s that kid?” McCann said to himself as he led the horse gently up the incline to where Macy waited for him. He didn’t think she’d be too happy with him once she found out he had lost Bang and Sheriff after finding them once.

Sure enough, the first thing she said as he came to the rise was, “Where’s Bang?”

“Uh, we had a little trouble with your neighbors. I told him to run for the other side of the river, and I thought he’d come back here, but maybe he went back to your camp?”

She didn’t have time to question him further after she detected Sam lying unconscious over the mare. “Oh my God! Is he okay?” she asked.

“The only thing I can tell you is he’s breathing. Here, help me get him down and into the truck,” he said as he grabbed Sam by the back of his waistband. Macy helped to steady him as McCann hefted Sam’s weight over his shoulder just briefly enough to walk the four steps to the open back door of the Scout and arranged him on the backseat. Macy tucked a blanket around Sam’s stone-cold body.

“Jesus, Sam,” she said, seeing his condition.

Once he was settled, Macy grabbed the radio from McCann and called into Bang. “Where are you?” she demanded. McCann listened to her conversation as he readied Mae for their trip to Graham’s camp.

“I’m walking back to camp through the forest. I’m halfway home anyway. I thought it would be faster this way. Did that guy get Sam back?”

“Yeah, he did. Are you okay?” she asked more quietly.

“Yes, I’m fine. I just don’t want to turn around now, I’m halfway there. I’ll see you back at camp. Bang out.”

Christ, McCann thought. For a kid of only five, that little guy sounds pretty mature. What a shitty world, where a kindergartener has to grow up so fast.

“He sounded a little irritated,” Macy said, but the statement was more of a question to McCann asking what actually went on in the business of retrieving Sam.

“Like I said, we had some trouble with your neighbors.” He removed the saddle from the horse and put it in the back of the pickup truck.

“You didn’t shoot anyone, did you?”

McCann looked sidelong at her, the toothpick between his teeth moving as he talked. “No, Macy, I didn’t, but I should have. I don’t know what kind of arrangement you guys have with them, but it’s not okay to point rifles and make threats for nothing more than crossing the river to help one of your own. I don’t care who you are or what you’re carrying. Luckily for him, another Teletubby showed up and talked some sense into him.”

She stifled a snicker at the Teletubby comment. With Sam injured in the backseat, they didn’t have time to laugh.

“I wish you’d spit out that toothpick,” Macy said, sounding crabby. “My dad used to do that. Seeing you do it bothers me.” She sniffed and hauled herself up behind the wheel. “Okay, follow me into camp. Let’s get Sam home.”

36 Repairs

By the time Clarisse and Dalton returned to the quarantine building, Reuben had formed a team to retrieve the section 4 supply truck. The stash, hidden in a secure location for contingencies like this, was an ace in the hole. Dalton nodded to Reuben as he passed by, knowing the man had things under control.

When they entered the building, several people still milled around, dazed, while others rested in the cot room, previously the conference room. The lights were off, and the darkness encouraged whispering. Outside, military surplus trucks started up and idled while an occasional yelled direction disturbed the quiet; inside, grieving still reigned for the ones lost in the tragedy. They had come to feel secure in their situation, only to have that precious gift stolen overnight.

“Hey, buddy.” Dalton knelt down, level with his youngest son Kade, who walked hand in hand with Bethany as she led him down the hall to the bathroom. The boy’s bewilderment, his look of uncertainty, was heartbreaking.

Not fully understanding his loss, but knowing life was now drastically different, the boy looked up at his father. “Mommy’s dead,” Kade said. His words came as a statement of fact, as if maybe Dalton hadn’t been informed.

The raw simplicity of his son’s declaration shocked him. Dalton held Kade’s hands and brushed his thumbs over the soft skin of his son’s grip while trying to find the right words to express what would become a lasting memory for his son. “Yes. Mommy died last night. We will miss her very much.” The tears came forth for both of them as Dalton quietly uttered the words. He drew the child into his arms, only dimly aware that Clarisse was ushering Bethany away to give them privacy. He held Kade tightly, and the boy allowed himself to be hugged as, with ragged sorrow, his father wept into his small neck.

Clarisse wanted to help, but she was powerless against Dalton’s immense loss. She wished, somehow, she could bring back Kim to ease the broken hearts of this devastated family. Though she had disliked Kim, had found her cold and been angered by her treatment of Addy, she’d never have wished for something like this. Even as, last night, she’d thought to spread a sheet over the dead woman’s body, she’d felt she did it out of some kind of guilt.

It’s ironic, Clarisse thought. You never really know, in life, who will be the one to do this kindness for you when you die. She never would have guessed she’d be the one to do this for Kim. It was a morbid honor, being the last one to see Kim, with all her flaws and all her beauty, and then to view her with compassion, to shield her deadness with a cloak from the eyes of the living before decay set in. Even though she’d felt Kim was as selfish as might be socially acceptable, and she’d resented her for imposing that selfishness on a child, she still wished there was a way to bring her back—for Dalton, for his boys, for the camp itself.

Kim’s enthusiasm for life would be missed by many. And for those reasons, Clarisse regretted losing her to death.

As soon as Steven saw that Clarisse had arrived, he bombarded her with details of injuries that needed her expertise, then stopped for a moment to ask about Addy’s whereabouts. When she told him she hadn’t found her yet, he said, “I’m really sorry she hasn’t turned up. Thank you for coming back. While you’re working, I’ll let you know if any news comes in.”

“Thanks,” Clarisse said. Reuben’s youngest daughter’s foot injuries were the worst, so she started with her. The nine-year-old girl, Lawoaka, held herself stoically as Clarisse numbed several points around her injury and began the process of removing first a bit of tissue that would never heal properly because there was no circulation to it. She avoided the large blister rising in the center of Lawoaka’s arch and applied silver sulfadiazine to the affected area. After loosely bandaging the wound, she spoke to the girl’s mother. “I know the burn looks bad right now, but it should heal up well. Other than the one spot, the remaining area is just a second-degree burn. We need to watch the area for infection, and she needs to keep her foot elevated. Absolutely no walking on it.” Steven had already fitted Lawoaka with a pair of crutches, and the girl was in good spirits despite her injury.

“It could have been so much worse,” Lavinda, Reuben’s wife, said. “We were so lucky.”

Lucky? Clarisse wondered how much luck they still harbored. Apparently luck had a shelf life, and to her mind it had expired.

Clarisse heard Rick’s voice coming from down the hall. He relayed the information to Dalton about the carriers, and she wondered what he had learned about Addy. When Rick muttered to Dalton, words not intended for Clarisse to hear, “The girl’s as good as dead,” Clarisse nearly fainted.

37 The Fall

Sheriff slowed by Bang’s side, his attention suddenly focused forward, one forepaw lifted midway. The forest darkened up ahead, but this was familiar, even welcome. When the dog went to attention, his rigid pose alerted Bang to pending danger. He wrapped a fist in Sheriff’s thick ruff and stood as still as the dog.

Sheriff’s low, deep-throated growl seemed too immense for his lean body. Scared, Bang began to back away, but a muffled cry brought him back to a standstill. That didn’t sound like an animal; it sounded like a person. The small, frightened whimper came again, and Bang realized there was no beast in the trees, but maybe the little girl Sam had gone looking for on the other side. Nothing else made sense. Girls didn’t just turn up in a winter forest. “Hey, girl!” Bang yelled. Sheriff sank back on his haunches.

For the life of him Bang couldn’t remember her name. “Hey, girl!” he called more loudly, since no one had responded. Sheriff sat panting next to him, with an occasional glance at Bang as if questioning the reason for the delay.

Addy’s head appeared, peeking around a large cypress trunk farther up the deer path, but she ducked back out of sight just as quickly, and Bang began to wonder if he had seen her at all. “Hey, are you Sam’s daughter?” he yelled.

She peeked out again. “Where is he? Where is my dad?” Her voice wasn’t very loud, and Bang could tell she was crying. “Do you know Sam?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Bang said cautiously, because he remembered something important. Sam had come to stay with them because he was a carrier now. The rest of the details didn’t interest a five-year-old. He didn’t keep track of adult conversations very much, but he heeded what Graham had taught him. One of the biggest rules said to stay away from the preppers because they were still susceptible to the virus. “Are you a carrier?” he asked the girl.

It seemed to him she took too long to answer, as if she was trying to decide to tell the truth or not. Finally, she said, “I don’t know. Do you know where my dad is?”

Bang was suspicious; she had taken too long to answer the question. Graham had taught him better. “Yeah,” he said again. “He got hurt. A man on a horse came and took him to our camp.”

“A horse? My daddy’s hurt? How? I want to see him.”

“Well, I’ll show you where he is, but you have to stay far away from me. I don’t want to give you the virus if you don’t have it already. So come on. Walk that way,” he told her and pointed the way for her to go well ahead of him through the trees.

Sheriff stayed right at Bang’s side as they kept their distance from the girl, who continued to look back every few minutes to make sure she was going in the right direction. Bang wasn’t used to talking to young girls, so he shyly pointed or nodded his head when she looked at him.

Bang watched her stagger a bit as she walked, and she shivered whenever the wind snaked its way through the trees, lifting her long, matted hair. He was sure she would fall over soon. “Hey, girl. Maybe you should stay here, and I’ll go get someone,” he cautioned her. “You don’t walk very well.”

“No, I’m going where he is. And my name is Addy,” she yelled back at him.

She appeared to be upset, and pouting. Bang just shook his head; he would never understand girls. Mark had told him they were often unreasonable, and so far he had found that statement to be true. Marcy, in particular, drove Bang crazy, and he didn’t understand why Mark “like- liked” her.

Finally they came to the area where their trail would skirt the edge of the frozen lake and then lead right, and up to the path to camp. She looked back at him, and Bang yelled, “Go right!” He pointed, but as she began to traverse the ice-covered boulders leading up around the lake edge, she stumbled and fell over the side, completely out of Bang’s sight.

He and Sheriff ran over to her, and, as they climbed up a small cliff, Sheriff began to bark, looking downward. She had fallen through the ice and in the lake and was sinking into the shallow, freezing waters.

Bang peered over the edge, trying to be careful to keep his distance, and she only lay there in the water. She wasn’t even trying to get out. This made no sense to him, and he briefly contemplated the importance of keeping his distance, balanced with her drowning, until Sheriff scrambled down the rock face. Bang teetered at the top.

He gazed toward camp, uncertain of what to do. If he got nearer to her, she might catch the virus, but if he did not take action, she would drown or freeze right there before him.

Sheriff looked up at him, prancing on his paws. He barked at Bang for his inaction, as if to say, “Do something, man!”

Bang waded out into the frigid waters, through the broken ice, and pulled Addy’s face up out of the shallow water. He gripped her pink jacket and dragged her over to the shore. She was freezing cold and turning blue. Panicked, he pulled her up over to the forest edge, where she would be safe from the now open water where her fall had broken the ice. Sheriff licked at her face and jumped around in a panic. Bang stared down at her. There was no way he could carry her the rest of the way to camp. She was taller than him by at least three inches. He listened for her breathing like he had listened to Sam’s chest earlier that morning, but instead of the heartbeat he expected, only a void remained where her jacket soaked his ear.

The only thing he could do was run the short distance to the camp and get help. The girl might die one way or the other, but there was a chance she would live if he could get help fast. Sheriff seemed to have the same idea as he ran ahead, barking madly.

38 A Chance

Macy pulled the truck to a halt and watched as McCann came in behind her, with the horses ambling at the back of the pickup. Mark, on his feet but pretty unsteady, came out onto the porch. Macy greeted him and opened the back door of the Scout as McCann stepped out and waved a greeting at him.

Sam had regained consciousness, complaining of a pounding headache on the bumpy drive home; Macy had kept reassuring him they would be there soon. He shook heavily with the cold, and she suspected hypothermia, though she was no expert in these matters. He had kept asking about Addy’s whereabouts, and she didn’t have an answer for him. She warred with herself. Should she confess they hadn’t found her yet or pretend everything was okay so he would calm down?

Once Macy opened the back door, he tried to sit up, and she had to press him down. “Sam, wait. Let me get some help. You can’t even walk—”

She was interrupted by Sheriff bolting toward her, barking frantically. McCann looked alarmed, ready to leap into the Scout and away from the dog. “He’s not after you!” Macy shouted as McCann pulled his pistol. Macy scanned the horizon; something was obviously wrong if it had set Sheriff off like this.

Bang, panting, emerged from the woods right after the dog. “She fell in!” he shouted. “Help, she fell through! We have to help her. Hurry!” he screamed angrily, as Macy only stared at him, trying to figure out what he was yelling about, but Bang’s frantic cries and the dog’s racing first to her, then back toward the trail, got her moving.

“Hurry, she fell through!” Bang kept repeating, his breath rasping out in sobbing coughs. “I know I shouldn’t have gone near, but she fell through the ice. She was gonna drown, Macy!”

As Macy caught up, she yelled to him, “Bang, wait!” But she knew it was already too late. The exposure rule had been thoroughly violated at this point. If the child was Addy—and who else could it be?—and she hadn’t died of hypothermia or from drowning, she might die of the virus. She watched as Bang bent down beside the small body lying on the icy earth. Addy’s face already had a blue cast, and her pink coat was soaked with lake water and draped in lake scum.

“Is that Addy?” Macy gasped. “She can’t be exposed to us.” By the looks of her, the child was dead; she bled from a cut on her forehead, and her lips were deep blue.

“Yes, hurry. She fell through.” Bang gestured with his little hand as he leaned over her body and cried as if he were responsible for her death and admitting a wrongful deed. Macy stood shaking her head in horror for the girl, Sam and, ultimately, Bang.

McCann caught up to Macy, skidded to a halt, and dropped down beside her, Bang, and the too-still child. “Is it always like this here?” he asked incredulously.

Macy stared mutely at the little girl on the ground, then gaped at McCann when he pushed her aside and bent over Addy.

“It’s a little too late to worry about exposure now,” he muttered. He checked Addy’s neck for a pulse, which Macy realized should have been her first move.

Without hesitation McCann began CPR. Macy took off her own coat and draped it around Addy. McCann checked again for a pulse. “Got one,” he said, as if to himself. “Weak, but it’s there.” He pushed on Addy’s thin chest with only the fingers of his hands, and puffed every few moments into her mouth and nose.

When Addy coughed and turned her head away, he said, “That a girl,” then scooped her up, adding his jacket to Macy’s, and rushing up the trail. “Hurry, let’s get her inside. She might have a chance!” he yelled.

Macy ran ahead to let the others know and to clear a space for the girl. They would need to get her warmed up as soon as possible. As she ran, her heart broke for Sam. His daughter had certainly been exposed now, and, if they managed to save her, her life might not be a long one. She could die of the virus in the next few days even if they managed to save her from the drowning. Macy consoled herself in the thought that at least Sam would get to say good-bye to her.

As Macy neared the clearing, Sam was being helped out of the truck by Mark and Marcy, the two men hobbling together. Sam saw Macy’s shocked face as she stopped and stared at him; she didn’t have time to warn him. McCann came into the clearing with Sam’s daughter in his arms, draped in death’s blue cast; he rushed her into the house, disregarding any obstacles. McCann never acknowledged Sam’s alert presence; he focused only on the girl.

“No!” Sam yelled in terrible anguish. “No!” he screamed again, and the sound of it ripped through Macy. Tala held the door open as McCann barreled through with his burden, the expression on her face saying she couldn’t believe that one more tragedy could enter their home today.

“Oh, my God! Addy,” she said, as Macy pushed in beside McCann.

“Shut that door. Lock it. Keep Sam out for now.” He looked at Macy. “Where?”

“Living room. Warmest.” She shoved him in that direction.

“I said lock the door!” McCann yelled as he hurriedly laid Addy down on the couch. “Blankets!” he yelled to Macy, just before he began CPR on the girl once again.

Tala complied and pushed in both latches as Sam stumbled up the front steps. She turned to back to Addy and began removing the girl’s sodden boots and socks and rubbing her blue feet, hoping she was more than the corpse she appeared to be. Addy’s whole frame jerked with the effort of the adults to save her life. While Macy tossed and tucked more blankets around her, McCann gave her CPR, and Tala worked on removing her clothing. The whole time Tala yelled, “Come on, baby! Breathe!”

Macy picked up the chant. “Breathe, Addy! Breathe!”

Sam broke away from Mark and pounded on the cabin door, screaming for his child. Mark himself only stood by pure will, gazing in shock at the scene while, along with Marcy, he recklessly strained to hold Sam back. Marcy wept, “Sam, Sam, please don’t! You’re hurting yourself. They have her. They’ll save her! You can’t help!” But the enraged father continued to battle all restraint.

Bang clung to Mark’s legs, also crying. “I—I had to pull her out. She fell in. I didn’t know what to do. I’m sorry, Sam, I’m sorry.”

McCann bent to repeat the breathing in the little girl’s mouth when a watery choking sounded from Addy’s throat. She struggled, and McCann turned her over to her side, where she expelled water. Most glorious of all, her eyes blinked open wide as she looked at McCann almost questioningly.

She coughed out more water and cried, “Dad-dee!”

Outside, Sam heard his daughter’s voice. The door flew open, and he stumbled through, his broken heart swelling, healing, as he dropped to his knees beside Addy. He reached for her, held her, crushed her to him as she coughed and cried. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, the greatest gift, having her skinny arms wrapping around his neck, however feebly she clung. He knew he shouldn’t give in to the selfish desire to have her back with him, even if only for a little while, but he couldn’t help himself.

“Daddy! Daddy!” Addy cried again and again between spasmodic coughs. A strange man helped Tala keep blankets around her, and Sam shoved the man’s hands back.

“Get away, from her!” Sam wrapped her tighter in his arms, half turning as he spoke.

McCann stepped back. “If it’s exposure you’re worried about, it’s too late for that, Sam.”

Dimly, Sam wondered who this man was, and how he knew his name, but none of that outweighed the need to simply hold his little girl, feel the icy cold of her skin as he pressed kisses to her face. She was so cold! Why had they taken her clothes off?

The man snapped out orders. “Close that door. Get this room as warm as possible. Heat water and fill containers to put under the covers beside them.”

Sam grew aware of being pulled by the arms to sit on the couch with Addy on his lap. “Take your jacket off,” McCann commanded. He didn’t know why, but the man seemed to be in charge, and Sam complied, though doing so hurt his chest wound. “Now your shirt. Hold your daughter against your skin. Come on, man. We’re fighting hypothermia, here.”

Macy tucked more blankets around them both, and then Tala was there with something that felt hot against his skin as she tucked a towel-wrapped object in beside Addy, then another on the other side. Within the pile of blankets around them, he felt his daughter begin to shiver.

“Ah . . . good,” McCann said. “Now, something warm for her to drink. We’ll heat her from the inside, too.”

~ ~ ~

Graham hung in the doorway, watching the scene unfold in the living room as others saved Addy from the effects of cold and drowning. As Tala ran to the kitchen, she saw him and stopped, staring at him. “What are you doing up?”

“Need to use . . . radio. Call . . . Dalton,” he slurred. It had felt like miles from his bed to the radio desk, but he’d made it. He’d had to.

“You and Sam,” Tala said, with both admiration and admonition in her voice. “You guys, you pull fumes from adrenaline.”

Graham leaned on the side of the desk. “Rick, come in. This is Graham. Do you copy? Over.”

“This is Rick.” The voice cracked out of the receiver. “Did you say Graham? Over.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t know how much longer he could stay on his feet. “We found Addy. Alive.”

There was a pause. “Is she hurt?”

“She fell through the lake ice.” Graham tried to keep his voice steady, but the effort of being upright and imparting the bad news made his voice wobble. “She’s alive, but she’s been exposed, Rick. It doesn’t look good. Over.”

“Oh, Jesus!” Rick said. “I’ll tell Clarisse right away. Maybe she can do something to help.”

“We’re really sorry, man. There was no time to wait for one of you to come here, and Bang . . . well, he had to get her out of the water.”

“No, no, I understand. Stay tuned. I’m sure Clarisse will want to talk to you. Rick out.”

39 Hope

Clarisse watched the doorway as the voices got louder, heading her direction. Dread built within her, a feeling she often found herself vulnerable to after becoming a surrogate mother. Somehow she sensed what she was about to learn would cut a hole clean through her heart. Becoming vulnerable was a price she would gladly pay again to have loved this child as her own.

She hardened her resolve as Dalton entered the room with Rick right behind him. Dalton’s expression told her everything she dreaded and more.

“Clarisse. Rick got the call from Graham. They found Addy.”

“Is she—?” The words would not come.

“She’s alive. She fell through the ice. She’s been exposed, Clarisse. They had to expose her, they didn’t have a choice.”

“I need to go to her,” she said quickly. She began to grab necessary items out of refrigeration and put them into her backpack.

Rick glanced at Dalton as if pleading with him to step in, to make Clarisse wait and listen to reason. Dalton moved into the center of the doorway. Rick joined him.

Clarisse knew what they were doing but donned her backpack anyway. She took along another sterile suit. When she met them at the door, and they didn’t budge, she said the one thing she knew would get them out of her way.

“If you don’t let me go, I won’t develop the vaccine.” She made the threat in an ominous and level tone. She meant it. “I’ll leave here and go off on my own.”

Dalton put a hand on her shoulder. “What can you do for her, Clarisse? She’s been exposed. You, of all people, know what that means.”

“There’s only one thing I can do for her now, and that’s give her the working trial. It needs time to develop the antibodies, but so does the virus. Hopefully she inherited some of Sam’s immunity. If I get the vaccine to her now, she might have a fighting chance. Otherwise, she won’t. Now, move.”

She made that demand, looking Rick in the eye rather than Dalton. Rick not only moved right away but offered to go with her.

Dalton interrupted him. “No, they need you here, Rick. Please go ahead and tell Graham that Clarisse and I are on the way.”

“No,” Clarisse protested. “You can’t go, Dalton. Your sons need you. All the preppers need you.”

“Clarisse, I’m coming with you. Rick will tell them. They can minimize the risk. I can’t let anything happen to you. Please don’t take any more chances than necessary. We need you,” and then, in a lower tone, added, “I need you.”

She saw the pain this admission caused him. Despite his grief, maybe even because of it, Dalton needed to keep her close to him now. She was not alone in her fears for Addy, and he’d never leave her to face such a possible loss without him by her side.

40 Aid

“They’re coming,” Macy announced, out of breath, in the doorway as she and McCann had finally put the frozen deer carcass away in the greenhouse and walked in from the front door to the bunkroom.

“Why are you letting them come here?” McCann asked for the second time as the rest of them sat silent. He wondered what the preppers’ arrival meant and why they took such a chance. There was nothing anyone could do to save the girl at this point, he figured; she was going to die no matter what anyone tried to do. From McCann’s experience, once they were exposed the noncarriers always died, despite medical attention.

So why did I fight so hard to keep her alive after her near drowning? McCann couldn’t answer his own question. He’d known exposure to any of them meant death to the little girl, but instinct, he supposed, had driven him. A life was in danger. His automatic response had been to save it.

“Rick said Clarisse has something they think might save her. We have to give them room, so we don’t risk exposing them, even though they are wearing those suits. Graham, what do we do?” Macy asked. “Stay in the bunkroom?”

McCann couldn’t believe this. One of them had threatened him with a gun and, worse, would have killed a little kid just for stepping across a small river. He whirled toward Graham. “You don’t seriously trust them, do you?”

Sam didn’t give Graham an opportunity to respond. “I trust them. Dalton’s a good man, and Clarisse is a scientist. If she’s got something to help my daughter, they’re welcome to bring it.” He returned his attention to Addy as Tala and Marcy brought more hot containers wrapped in towels to replace the ones that had cooled.

“We trust them, McCann,” Graham said. “They have more reason to fear us than we do them. They don’t have the virus. They never have had. If they’ve decided to come here, they are the ones in danger. We will all remain in the bunkroom while they’re here, and let them help Addy in any way they can.”

McCann huffed, but he trusted Graham, and if the man said yes, then he would comply. In his short time with these people he had already come to care for them. Especially Macy; he didn’t want anything to happen to her. He knew Graham was right about the preppers’ tremendous risk coming here, despite their biohazard suits. They must feel like they were walking through the valley of death. Their willingness to do so certainly said something of their character if coming was only to help save this little girl who would die in three to five days’ time anyway.

~ ~ ~

Clarisse rushed over to Addy, and Dalton took one look at Graham sitting at the far end of the bunkroom on a dining room chair with his injured leg propped up on another. “Where’s Mark?” he asked.

Marcy pointed down at him, where he lay on his bunk. Dalton took one look at his young cousin, used the back of his gloved hand to wipe condensation off his face screen, and strode in to survey the damage. “What in the hell happened to you people?”

“Oh, you know. Tangled with the locals,” Graham said with a shrug.

Dalton used his gloved hand to stroke the bruising on Mark’s face.

“I’m all right, Dalton.” Mark’s voice held little power.

“Like hell. Look at you, Primo! You’re a mess,” Dalton said, staring at Mark’s neck. “You look like someone tried to slit your throat.”

“Yeah. That was Sam. So I wouldn’t suffocate. Marcy, show him my straw.”

“No. And you quit talking,” she said. “Dalton, he had to have a field tracheotomy, his neck was swelled so bad. He got beat up by an old woman with a big club.”

“Jesus!” Dalton’s voice went high.

“Things happen,” Mark whispered. “I hear you guys had a fire. What happened there?” he asked, still barely audible.

Dalton nodded. “Yeah, things happen. Um, we lost several.” He dropped his gaze. “Kim, too, from smoke inhalation.”

Mark’s eyes widened, and he tried to sit up. Dalton laid a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “No . . . don’t, Mark.” He wanted to move the conversation along without bringing more attention to his loss.

Disregarding the risk, Dalton said, “I’ll get Clarisse to examine you as soon as she’s done with Addy.” He turned half around. “Your leg looks pretty bad, Graham. Did you wake up a bear or something?”

“Just a pack of wild dogs. McCann, here, shot them for me.” Graham’s eyes misted over for a moment. “Dalton, I’m sorry to hear about Kim. I do know what that’s like.”

“Yeah,” Dalton acknowledged. “I know you do.”

“How are your boys?” Graham asked.

“They’re as expected, man. They’re young. They don’t understand yet. Hell, I don’t get it yet. I fell asleep in the spare partition, the next thing I knew . . . Steven . . .” He shook his head as the memories from the prior night flooded in. “It’s hard, man.” He turned and went back to the living room. He didn’t want to talk about it.

Clarisse looked up at him, tears she couldn’t wipe away streaking her face inside the hood of her suit. She understood his awkwardness and, to move things along, she offered a diversion. “I gave her the first injection,” she said. “Now all we can do is hope.”

“First injection?”

“Yes. I’ve developed a vaccine. We hope to be administering vaccinations in another week.”

Clarisse stroked her gloved hand down the side of Addy’s pale face and slid her wet hair back. Tendrils of it had just begun to dry. “With Dalton’s permission, Addy just got the first one.”

“You mean, you won’t be susceptible to the virus anymore?” Tala asked.

“That’s right. It will be another month, but I’ll test everyone, and if they have sufficient antibodies, then, we will be basically like you—carriers.”

Everyone digested this in awed silence. Graham was the first to speak. “That’s amazing news!”

Dalton only nodded. “Time will tell.” He wasn’t ready yet to accept anything good. This all seemed like some sick dream he hoped would wake up from soon.

Sam said, “Dalton, Clarisse told me. About Kim. I’m . . . sorry, man.”

“Yeah.” Dalton looked downward; it was the only way to divert attention from his own pain. He was grateful to Clarisse when she stood and moved off to take care of Graham’s and Mark’s wounds.

“Well, this looks a little infected,” she said, and everyone’s attention turned to Graham. “But, for the size of the wound, I’d say you were lucky.” She began pulling items out of her bag. Graham sucked in his breath a time or two as Clarisse cleaned up the wound and added a topical antibiotic. “Whoever sewed you up did a great job, considering. You must have lost a lot of blood.”

“It was our new resident, McCann. He’s come in quite handy since he got here.”

“Your injury, our fire, Addy’s misadventure. That’s quite a string of unlucky events,” Dalton commented.

“Yeah, but that’s not all. First, the hunting trip ran into some trouble with someone who, unfortunately, was a little too far gone in this world to deal with the living. Then, I went into town to find something I thought I’d need and got myself attacked in the process, only to be saved by McCann.”

Clarisse listened to the men talk as she examined the hole in Mark’s trachea. She finished closing it; it had started to seal up on its own, but needed a little help. She applied new bandages. He would have scarring, but the swelling was sufficiently down.

Then she checked on Ennis, who slept through their ongoing conversations. His pulse was steady, and she listened to his heart and lungs. She nodded and smiled at Tala, who looked at her questioningly to confirm that the meds were doing their work.

Finally she turned her attention to Sam, who only let her take his daughter from his arms long enough for her to check out the knife slash on his chest and make sure the back of his head was only bruised, not caved in. Right now the only thing that could be done for Graham, Mark, and Sam was to let them rest. They should all be in bed to let their bodies do the work needed to heal them, along with the aid of antibiotics, in Graham’s case. Sam just needed a lot of rest and the reassurance Addy was safe, for now.

Clarisse could only hope that Addy would not come down with the virus at all. Only a few days would tell them for certain. Having done everything that she could do, Clarisse hugged Addy one last time and told Tala to call her several times a day with updates. With a last good-bye, Dalton led Clarisse out of the cabin and back to their own side of the Skagit River, where they had many other crises to deal with.

41 Like a Promise

Sweat poured off Graham’s forehead as Tala mopped it with a cool, damp towel. It had been a long night for the both of them. Once again, Macy arrived with a pail full of clean snow.

Tala smiled at her. “That should be enough for now.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Macy sounded scared. The hand she placed on Tala’s shoulder had a tremor.

Tala gave her a reassuring pat on the arm. “Yes, I think so. He’s over the worst part. The meds are kicking in now. So, you go get some sleep for now. I’ll need you to take over for me in the morning.”

Macy walked away quietly and climbed into her bunk with Sheriff by her side. She gazed over at McCann, sleeping with his hat over his eyes. He snored, finally getting the sleep he’d needed for so long. As her own eyes closed, she prayed to God that Graham would pull through. She was afraid to go on without him. He had become more to her than even her own father had ever been, though Graham was much younger than her own dad. They all needed him in their lives—even McCann, though he wasn’t aware of it yet.

~ ~ ~

Tala held Graham’s hand while she sat by his side. She glanced around the room where they now had no beds to spare. Everyone was in a state of sleep or dreaming, and she would stay up through the night for them. Graham’s fever had broken, and she now waited to see if he might wake up and open his eyes or ask for water.

As soon as the preppers had left the day before, Tala and McCann had put Graham back to bed. His fever spiked again. The few times he was conscious, they hadn’t spoken about his trip into town. She searched his pockets for Ennis’s meds and found them along with the others. She gave the pain meds to Ennis, and then set the others on Graham’s side table. He’d see them when he was well again, and then they’d have the necessary discussion.

Soon, though, Tala had to watch in horror as Addy fought the first signs of the virus they all recognized from past loved ones lost. She held her hand over the new life that grew within her, having second thoughts about Graham’s wishes. Would it be kinder to terminate this child?

Tala stared off into space across the light of the lamp on the radio table. They had come so far, living in the ways of the past. No one knew about tomorrow yet; no one had time to worry about it. They were all too busy relearning the lore of yesterday in order to survive.

“Tala,” Graham said, startling her. “Where’s my jacket?”

“I . . . put it away.”

“And the pills from the pockets?” he asked, his voice low.

She wasn’t ready for this. She feared seeing Addy fight the virus, a battle Tala was pretty sure Addy would lose despite Clarisse’s vaccine. Would she still have the strength to argue with him when he asked her to take the pills that would destroy her unborn baby?

Tala shifted her glance to the box on the tableside.

He stared at her deeply while she retrieved what he wanted her to take. He held his hand out for the box and turned the foil packs out into his hand. He began popping the pills out one by one into his hand, creating a mini pyramid. He reached for her hand, dropped them all in and closed her fingers over them. He gazed at her and reached up a hand to brush away the tears streaming down her cheeks. “Get rid of these,” he whispered.

She saw fear in his eyes, but a resolve too. She said nothing, only nodded, and went to the woodstove, where she tossed the handful within. She went back to Graham, and he reached for her hand once more and pulled her to him on the bunk. “We’ll give life a chance,” he said, and then kissed her.

Tala placed her head on his chest to listen to his heartbeat as he held her and stroked her long hair by candlelight. He wiped her tears away again, and laid his hand over the place where the new life grew within her like a promise.

42 Dawn

As daylight broke, Graham inched away from Tala on the single bed they’d somehow managed to share during the night. He gazed down at her sleeping peacefully, knowing the child she carried was their creation. He marveled at the mercies he had somehow managed to attain when so many had lost everything.

As he hobbled on his one good leg while buttoning his shirt for the day, he looked around at the growing residents of Graham’s camp. They were over capacity now, and he wanted to check on the two that were on his mind the most: Addy and Ennis.

After he made his way over to the living room and checked the child’s forehead for fever, he stood shaking his head. Her little lungs labored and it seemed she would only become closer to losing the battle as the day went on. Graham thought she might have two, maybe three days left. He couldn’t help but gauge these things after having cared for so many before and losing those he loved. Her one free hand lay open; even while she fought for breath, she looked like a small, accepting angel.

Sam, of course, held her other hand tucked in his larger one as he slept by her. His other hand held that of the little boy who had pulled her from an icy death, only to suffer the guilt of sealing her fate through his heroism.

The whole situation sucked, and Graham suspected that when the girl passed, Bang would need saving too. Graham rubbed the boy’s head lightly and went to see his old friend Ennis, who’d wandered into the living room and sat in his chair at some point during the night. Graham placed another log gingerly into the woodstove, like so many times before, to keep the old man warm. Ennis had an arrow lying in his lap, whittled down straight with his pocketknife in his hands, and his eyes were closed.

43 The Last Candidate

Two days later, Graham nudged Sam. “Sam. Sam. It’s my turn to watch over her. You go get some real sleep.” Sam had only left Addy’s side once between coffee refills.

“No, no. I’m not leaving her.”

“You’re exhausted. Please, go lie down on my bunk just for an hour or two. I swear I’ll wake you up if anything changes,” Graham promised.

“No.” Exhaustion slurred Sam’s words. “I’ll stay’n sleep ’side her. You . . . keep watch. Okay?”

Graham conceded, and brought him a pillow and blanket so Sam might at least fall asleep in a little more comfort. Graham eased himself into a nearby chair with the aid of a cane Ennis had fashioned from a sturdy branch.

Now they held vigil together over the dying child. It had been touch and go many times. They’d even put tubes down her throat to keep her airway open. Clarisse had been back and forth each day, with McCann escorting her on horseback. They’d brought one of the bunks into the living room for Addy, pushing furniture aside to make room.

Clarisse said that while Addy’s treacherous fever had begun to come down, she’d slipped into some kind of coma. As she tried to explain it to them, Addy’s body had been ravaged by the virus, and Clarisse theorized that the vaccine, and whatever immunity she might have inherited from Sam, could be waging a war inside her. It would take a toll, though in what form was anyone’s guess. At worst, Clarisse explained through tears, Addy might sustain severe brain damage. At best, she would have a very long recovery and, possibly, come through physically crippled. Only time would tell.

~ ~ ~

The night before, Graham had finally managed to get Clarisse to take a break, and McCann had taken her back to Dalton. She was so tired when they arrived, she hadn’t the energy to move. Dalton met McCann at the river bend and slid Clarisse’s nearly unconscious form into his own arms. Then, instead of taking her to her tent, he’d carried her into his new quarters where he laid her down on his own bed so he could at least keep her safe in her sleep. He’d lost interest in what the others in camp might think of the arrangement.

The prepper camp was back to functioning fully after Reuben and Rick had retrieved the contingency supply trucks and set everything up again. They buried their dead and, after the loss of their spring seedlings, were scrambling to start fresh as the snow finally began to melt and it was clear spring was setting in.

Somehow Graham had fallen asleep in his vigil during the night. Ennis sat in the opposite chair sleeping while he held the little girl’s hand. Graham grunted as he got up and went to the window, opening the curtains. The room was bathed in a spring sunrise, and it lessened the sense of doom they’d all been under for so long.

He stared out the open window as the birds chirped and sang their songs while flitting between the trees. He glanced behind him at Addy, whose labored breathing he didn’t hear any longer.

“Oh, no,” he whispered with sudden dread. He went to her side, afraid to touch her again. He reached out his hand once and stopped, then decided he had to know. He touched her neck and felt warmth. She fluttered her eyes open, and the sweetest thing Graham had ever witnessed happened before him. She smiled.

“Sam! Sam, wake up!” Graham bumped his sleeping form but refused to take his eyes off Addy.

“What?” Sam said, jerking up, eyes wide with apprehension.

Graham nodded his head toward the child. “Someone wants to see you.”

Sam leapt to her side. “Addy? Baby?” Sam whispered hoarsely.

“Daddy!” Addy said.

Sam dissolved into tearful gratitude.

Soon laughter and cheers rang throughout the cabin. Tala and the others ran into the living room to finally witness some small victory over the China Pandemic.

While jubilation held everyone in its joyful thrall, Graham noticed an odd stillness in Ennis’s body. He made his way around Addy’s bed and lowered himself beside the old man’s chair. “Ennis,” he said. “Oh, Ennis.”

Macy noticed. She gasped, “Oh no!” and joined him.

Graham didn’t have to check Ennis’s pulse. He knew the peaceful look of death, but he picked up Ennis’s wrist to be sure. “Damn, Ennis, you didn’t even say good-bye.” Graham cried and held the old man’s body to him. Graham couldn’t hold back the sob rising high in his chest, emerging on a harsh utterance of the old man’s name.

Macy moaned, “No! Not yet!”

44 The Birth of Spring

One month later, spring bloomed in full. The welcome sun shone and wildflowers blossomed. Though it was still cold enough for jackets, the members of Graham’s camp shed their winter coats to make the journey across the new footbridge built over the Skagit River into prepper territory.

Dalton and Clarisse, who no longer wore their biohazard suits, greeted them. “Hey, I never thought this would happen. Did you?” Graham asked as he shook Dalton’s bare hand. “You’re sure it’s okay?”

“Yes, yes,” Clarisse responded to the question. “I’ve tested everyone twice. We’re no longer susceptible to the virus.” She held out her arms when she saw Addy coming across the bridge.

Addy broke into a run when she caught sight of her. Clarisse hugged her tightly and, when she pulled away, finally she smiled at the girl and held up her hand to sign, i love you, then touched the top of Addy’s nose, making her smile. Addy signed the sentiment back, her little fingers forming the words. She’d survived the virus, but without her hearing, which everyone thought a small price to pay for her life. Clarisse had given them some hope that the hearing might return someday, but they had all begun to learn sign language anyway.

Tala presented the wagon full of vegetable starts that Bang had pulled the long distance for them. It was their gift to the preppers who had lost their starts in the fire, along with precious lives.

“Thank you,” Dalton said.

Mark made his way through the crowd to greet his cousin. Dalton hugged him for the first time since before the China Pandemic had hit. Mark was nearly as tall, and he was filling in fast and would pass Dalton up soon.

Bang hung back, shyly, and Graham pulled him along using the excuse he needed assistance with his cane. Macy pulled McCann along, because he still wasn’t terribly trusting of these new people and wanted to have a running start and enough time to get Macy out of there fast if the need arose.

The whole group stood and talked with Dalton and Clarisse for a few minutes before Dalton began to lead the way to their camp where an enticing aroma awaited them. Sam held a backpack over his shoulder because this would be a one-way trip for him and Addy, though they were always welcome at Graham’s camp. Sam wanted Addy to be able to visit with Clarisse whenever she wanted to; their relationship had become one of mother and daughter, and Sam was grateful for that. He would never deny his daughter a chance at a second mother, especially one who had risked her own life to save Addy’s.

Once they reached the inner compound, they were greeted by the entire prepper community. Rick held out his arms and yelled, “Twin Two!”

“Macy!” she huffed, and walked over to him to shake his hand, but he would not have it. He hugged her instead, and she shook her head with an embarrassed grin. Tala had made a cake, a rare treat for the twins’ sixteenth birthday.

After their celebratory meal of barbecue turkey and dressing made with wild green onions and canned yams, sans the marshmallows, they sang “Happy Birthday” to the twins and toasted their many achievements, which were great, and paid homage to their lost ones, those they would always remember.

Together, the twins cut the cake into over thirty tiny portions.

It was the best cake any of them could ever remember.

~ ~ ~

The Last Infidels

~ ~ ~

Chapter 1 Dutch’s Caravan

Dutch felt eyes upon them and could almost smell the mares’ fear; the wild dogs had tracked them through the night. After the long march across the state to silently escape from the invaders, to be exposed now by dogs seemed cruel, even for fate.

He raised his hand slowly to signal the driver of the truck behind him to stop, then clenched his fist to have her cut the engine. While he held the reins a whisper’s breath away from the hide of the mares pulling the wagon, Dutch slid his Remington 870 shotgun across his lap with slow stealth. In anticipation of the wild beasts, he had loaded it earlier with a combo load of two number 1 buckshot, followed by two double-ought and then two slugs, for a total of six shots. Practice taught him that loading his weapon in this way allowed extra insurance in case something just kept coming at him. If that did not work, he had other options at his disposal and within reach.

Intent on hearing even the faintest of danger signs, he leaned forward on the bench seat of the wagon and tilted his head to the best angle. Shutting his eyes in concentration furthered the conscious effort. He had ridden without care before the dark descended; the wild dogs’ howling had already warned him of their carnivorous intentions come nightfall. Their glowing eyes shone through the darkening forest at regular intervals as the day lengthened into dusk.

The time to start a fire and make camp had passed, and the steady cadence of the five-ton US Army truck and trailer, loaded down with provisions, rang out as it trailed the little convoy to the outskirts of Cascade. The provisions were intended for a new homestead, Dutch’s mission now. He led in a wagon burdened much like the truck. Two lineback horses who were acutely aware of the present danger pulled the wagon.

The young woman driving the truck behind him had come in handy, but if it had not been for the need to drive both vehicles, Dutch would have kicked her out near the Coulee Dam on State Route 20. He was not only afraid of being tracked by the invaders but also grew worried that he was beginning to feel responsible for the safety of the woman who was a mere child in age compared to him. In his mind, the liability she posed could mean the death of both of them, and he wanted no charges now or ever again.

He planned to send her away at his earliest convenience. She’ll have to take care of herself, Dutch kept telling the nagging voice deep within his mind. At almost fifty years of age, she appeared to be in her early twenties and needed no protector, especially not someone like him who was nearly fifty. Babysitting a whiny twenty-something—particularly in a survival situation—held not a shred of appeal to him.

Not that she was whiny, really; on the contrary, she irritated him because she did not talk. Hell, from the moment they’d met around Saint Maries, south of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, four days earlier, she’d nearly driven him mad with her silence. Unfortunately, he had little choice but to let her tag along, since he had not run across another living soul all the way here. She was a good worker, he’d give her that. He would allow her to stick around for a few more days until she got her bearings, and he hoped that the current residents of Cascade would take her in after he warned them of the coming danger. He intended to fill a backpack for her, give her one of the mares tied to the back of the wagon for payment, and send her on her way.

The real reason he had dared take her along at all was that he knew the reality if he’d left her behind: she would have succumbed to the invaders. Since they had already entered the country, he suspected they would, by now, be hunting along Interstate 90 and taking inventory of their newly conquered land.

The invaders had simple rules, really—either join their ranks or die. They didn’t bother wasting ammunition; they did the deed with brutal sincerity, using their bare hands or the blade of hatchet, knife, or sword. To kill this way was their animalistic preference. It was the same way they handled things in their own countries. Ammo they saved for hunting; slaughtering by blade was their choice for infidels and nonbelievers. They were the boots on the ground . . . only this time, it was American soil they tread upon.

China was merely the provider of the weapon, and double-crossing China wasn’t difficult for them. The Chinese had the weaponized version of the virus under coolant in their labs already, so it was merely a matter of money and information to complete the exchange. What China didn’t take into consideration was the need to deflect blame. Purposely exposing the Chinese for developing the virus was only fitting; it ensured that the world saw them as the only possible culprit in the death of hundreds of thousands.

Invasion was phase 3 in an elaborate five-step world domination plan for jihad. First they implemented the H5N1 virus by weaponizing it via several self-sacrificing subjects; once virulent with the deadly strain, they boarded airplanes with circulating air systems, thus making each passenger also contagious. The unsuspecting couriers then returned to their colonies to die and, in doing so, achieved genocide by spreading the virus exponentially.

Second, they waited and let the hand of death take its toll. While manipulating their own statistics to reflect a higher mortality rate than they suffered was the easiest of deceptions, the sacrifice of thousands of their own for jihad prevailed as imperative. However they committed the deed, it was essential that they use hate in any form to wipe out most of humankind—no offense was too vile, no taboo ruled out, nothing considered sacred.

Since the infiltration took place early on, Europe fell easily and was destroyed from within. Now, all that remained of the United States would soon be dominated as well. Jihad was a long-term plan. With the first steps implemented, they were gleeful with the results so far—America, as it had been, was no more.

Dutch had been on his second tour in Iraq when an improvised explosive device took out his lower left leg, right below the knee. That was it for him. Throughout his recovery and remarkable transition to prosthetic use, he had tried to convince his supervisor that he was in even better shape than before. Rules were rules, however, and section 313 of the army regulations had clearly put him in the discharge column. After a long recovery, he’d packed up his gear and headed back to the States.

After making his way to his father’s abandoned ranch south of Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, he threw himself into farming and ranching with every shred of intensity he had used in war. He had no other real options. He’d never married, and his parents had passed only one year before his injury. He was happy it had happened this way; he wasn’t sure if his mother could have taken it. His father, on the other hand, would have expected him to stand until the end.

His brother Clive lived in California. He’d called Dutch twice when the pandemic hit hard. The first call was to say that his wife had the virus, and the next call brought the news that their daughter had passed right after her. Dutch was not surprised to hear him say he was going to take his own life right after he hung up the phone, and he did not try to stop Clive. He couldn’t blame him. What was there left to live for? He said only, “I love you, brother,” before the call ended.

Dutch had heard this same sad story all over the country, and he waited to catch the inevitable virus. He welcomed its presence; he even went out to a couple of local bars—after nearly killing himself working on the ranch—in anticipation of contracting the damned thing, but it just never took hold in him. He woke up with the sniffles once and thought, Okay, here it comes, but in a few days they cleared up. In time he found himself, well . . . disappointed.

Dutch helped his neighbors and took care of their livestock when he could. Then they began to die off, one by one, until one day he realized he was the only one driving through town. He went around to the deceased farmers’ spreads and let loose their livestock: cattle, horses, donkeys, pigs, sheep, goats, and chickens. He just opened the gates and watched them roam away, tentative at first but free to graze along with the mule deer and roaming elk herds. No one else was coming to care for them, so he figured it was his duty to let them go rather than to let them starve in their stables; at least they stood a chance at adapting to the wild side of life, rather than die outright of starvation.

Then he started listening in on radio transmissions for any traffic coming or going. He hadn’t heard much until a few months ago. The first intelligent noise he heard was a Morse code transmission on the high-frequency band coming from the northeastern area of Washington state. At first he thought it was an automatic repeater beacon someone had never taken the time to turn off. Dutch was a bit rusty on translation, and it took him a while, but when he finally figured out the dits and dahs, it came as a shock to find there were more survivors out there.

He wanted to make contact, but didn’t trust anyone out there just yet. He waited, leaving the option open for later. Then Dutch began overhearing transmissions of a different kind, and that set his mind reeling. He wasn’t as thrilled about this new discovery. It was a voice transmission in a language he’d only run into in faraway war-torn lands where bombs lay hidden and even women and children were suspect because they, too, might kill you.

After a few days of increased activity Dutch’s mind began connecting the dots. Could this whole thing have been a planned attack? There were no other inferences to make. The conspiracy theorists had been right all along. At first it had been only a suspicion that the virus was weaponized; now he was sure those suspicions were founded on truth.

Dutch rarely spoke aloud in his lone residence unless it was to his two dogs. When the reality sunk in about what the overheard transmissions meant, he said to the empty room, “You couldn’t fight us man to man . . . you goddamn cowards.”

After monitoring the Morse-encrypted transmissions for a few more weeks, Dutch realized that the worst of his fears had come true: an invasion of the United States was in progress. They had already sent several teams ahead to secure major cities. Hell, they were already here during the virus phase, just lying in wait and hiding in the shadows. Dutch knew they must have had some kind of vaccine available to them, or they wouldn’t take the risk.

Then, after a few more weeks, the enemy moved north of him by dark of night. They were traveling the interstate highways in long, raucous convoys and clearing communities of survivors. He mounted a reconnaissance strategy to scope them out on horseback before making plans to bypass them and warn the northerners. He couldn’t risk them intercepting a radio transmission from him that would expose his own location. Traveling by horseback wouldn’t be too daunting; he only had to go from Saint Maries to Coeur d’Alene.

During a reconnaissance outing on a dark, cold, spring night, Dutch had heard the ramping up of hostile chatter and then witnessed the death blow as a survivor—another one who couldn’t live with the intruders’ ways—begged for his life; eventually the man put down his weapon and submitted to his own demise by a brutal beating not fit for even the worst of criminals.

That was the same night that Dutch had encountered the redheaded girl dressed in a black burka. She fled through the darkened forest toward him like a scared deer, nearly revealing their position; when he caught her she fought bitterly. He saw the terror and the bruising, and contemplated breaking her neck without delay to put her out of her misery; doing so would have been merciful. Instead, when she became limp in his grasp and opened her frightened light-green eyes to the horrific scene, as if trying to wake from a nightmare, he pulled her backward. Using the night to blanket their retreat, he kept her from uttering a sound until they were miles away.

When he removed his hand from her mouth, she didn’t speak—not even when he asked her name. She only held onto his torso with clenched fists, gradually becoming limper as he guided her away under the cover of darkness.

Dutch didn’t sleep that evening; instead, he packed up his campsite. He loaded his belongings, and then the girl—as though she were one of his possessions. Then, on horseback, they made their way back to his ranch in Saint Maries. She was asleep when they arrived at his cabin just before dawn.

He had pulled her limp, frail body down from Gus, the same lineback horse who was now in the lead of those pulling the wagon. After laying her down in the cabin, the dogs Elsa and Frank began to investigate the stranger; they nudged their wet noses into the flaming red hair that fell over her sleeping face until Dutch gave the hand signal that never failed to correct the well-trained, ex-military Belgian shepherds. Instead of investigating, they guarded her while Dutch took care of the outside chores.

Shortly after dawn the girl had opened her eyes through the sleepy veil and immediately retreated up and away from the canines until her back met the wall. She was terrified of the pair’s gleaming eyes, even though their tongues lolled out of their mouths, forming ridiculous smiles for such supposedly fearsome creatures.

Dutch couldn’t help himself, and he chuckled as both dogs eyed her curious behavior. As she spun in his direction, he caught her wild look —one that meant to murder him in cold blood if possible.

“Hey now,” Dutch said in reproach while he signaled with one hand for the shepherds to lie down. As they moved away, so did the girl’s deadly stare, and Dutch watched as her attention fought to seek which was the greater threat in her view.

“No one’s going to hurt you.” He paused, and then added, “Unless you try to kill me; then, forget it.”

She refocused on him, not uttering a word. Then he watched as the inevitable happened: her eyes followed the line of his tall frame down the right side of his leg where instead of a boot, as expected, she saw the metal prosthesis. It never bothered him, and he’d gotten used to the occasional stares. He’d never been one to beg for sympathy, so he seldom commented on it. He wasn’t angry about it either, as counselors would have had him believe. He wanted none of the bullshit that went along with being injured. To Dutch, they won if he gave them that satisfaction, so he had ignored the conclusion he knew her mind would eventually come to.

“Do your part, don’t steal from me, and we’ll get along fine. I’m leaving here, and I can use your help. If you don’t want to go, you’re welcome to stay here. I’m warning you, though: the cabin won’t be safe for long with the invaders around. The decision is yours to make. You probably want time to think about it, but we don’t have the luxury of time. I’m headed northwest to a camp with other people; I’ll bring you with me. It’ll be safer in numbers against these guys. You can come, if you help get us there. Tell me now. We leave at nightfall.”

The dogs Elsa and Frank had followed the conversation and turned their heads in unison for the girl’s answer. After a moment’s contemplation, she simply nodded.

Dutch remembered the sullen expression she had given him that day. That was weeks ago now, and they’d finally made it into Cascade, where the Morse code message beckoned them. He’d escorted both of them safely out of danger and kept them fed. He thought she at least owed him a little faith by now, but she still didn’t show any sign of trusting him—not even enough to tell him her name. And now, he figured, he’d never learn it because they were about to be eaten by ravenous wild dogs.

Of course, he wasn’t about to let that happen easily; at the very least, he’d make sure they choked on every bit of him.

Chapter 2 Required Reading

Macy pulled her feet out of her hiking boots and leaned back in the office chair. She propped her feet, which were covered in knitted socks, upon the metal table with loud, purposeful thunks. Through the pinned-back tent door, the drip, drip of spring rain sounded. With a heavy sigh, she turned to the next chapter of the radio manual that Rick had given her to read. She tried to engross herself into the meandering writings of someone she considered a nerdish madman.

As Macy read, the most peculiar kind of static came over the receiver. She listened for a minute, decided it was nothing more than interference of some kind, then reached over to turn the potentiometer knob down so that she could concentrate on the infuriating manual. The material was an indecipherable foreign language to her; she reread the final paragraph of the chapter three times, and still she failed to grasp Ohm’s law and his definition formula for “current equals voltage divided by resistance” and “why volts matter over watts,” or who would even care anymore, but Rick was relentless. She knew he wanted to keep up the standards from the old world, but this . . . this was ridiculous. “Ugh!” Macy heaved the ARRL Technician Radio manual to the floor, startling Sheriff who had just begun his afternoon nap.

“Why? Why do we need to keep up with the old rules?” she asked Sheriff, who seemed mildly disgruntled. The dog’s ears perked up while he tilted his head at her question, as if to say, Hell if I know. Don’t throw things at me, woman.

Macy’s chair squeaked as she bent down and sank her fingers into his scruff, scratching him behind his ear. “You adjusted to this new life much better than the rest of us, didn’t you, boy?”

She didn’t think Sheriff cared much about her inquiry; he appeared to be more interested in her getting to the spot just behind and to the left of his ear. She watched as he lowered his eyelids over those deep-brown, soulful eyes as he dipped into his comfort zone.

When she was about to break the moment and retrieve the discarded manual, Rick strolled into the communications tent.

He looked at the manual on the ground, picked it up, and handed it to her. “How’s it going? Any new contacts?” he asked.

As if!

“No. Same as usual. There’s no one out there, Rick. It’s only us. I don’t even know why we try listening,” Macy lamented.

He play-punched her in the shoulder. “Someday there might be. On the other hand, someday, someone else might think to listen in and find out that more people are out there. You never know, ye of little faith and hope. What’s up with you today, anyway? You’re usually upbeat, but I see you’re somewhat down. What is it, Mace?”

She stared at him. Darn, I’m cornered. Rick had always annoyed Macy to no end, but he treated her in a younger sister kind of way. She didn’t like that he could “see” how she felt. She’d forgotten whom she was complaining to, and now she was faced with having to “share” her feelings with him. What could be worse?

“Nothing, I’m fine.” she lied, hoping to divert Rick from her melancholy. She avoided his gaze as she closed the manual and put on her hiking boots for the trek back to Graham’s camp.

Rick scratched his bearded chin while evaluating her, and Macy could still feel his eyes on her. “Okay, if you don’t want to talk about it now, that’s your business. I’m here if you want to share, though. Okay?”

She blinked up at him and nodded her chin. There was a lot she was holding inside of herself. She couldn’t help it. She didn’t want to burden Graham—or Rick, for that matter—with her problems. Right now, her sister was far from the person she could “talk” to.

Macy often felt close to tears. The long winter was over; spring brought flowers and hope, but it rained far too much to be happy for long. Tala would understand, but she was busy dealing with fear over her unborn child, so Macy didn’t want to confide in her either. As it was, they were all trying to make Tala’s life easier now because she physically did too much to keep them all going. They were all trying to pave the way for a trouble-free delivery as if their future hinged on a healthy and safe birth.

Macy finished tying her boots and put on her green slicker. “Okay. Thanks, Rick,” she said. She felt Sheriff bump into her calf as he ran to catch up to her in the doorway when he realized they were leaving.

In the drizzling rain outside the tent, she waved good-bye to Dalton’s boys, Hunter and Kade, who were dutifully moving firewood from one location to another. The little brother stacked logs onto the bigger brother’s outstretched arms. Hunter partially waved with his overburdened load and Kade called after her, “Bye, Macy!”

She smiled to herself as she set out, heading toward the crossing at Skagit River and closing the gap between this world and her own. She made the trip twice a week to take her shift at the communications tent to learn what she could from Rick . . . and to get away from Graham’s camp. She did it to have a sense of normalcy and escape from something she could not name.

As she neared the rushing river she realized that, had she been with someone on her walk besides Sheriff, she wouldn’t be able to keep up a conversation over the resounding roar of the water. Since spring had started and the snowpack had begun to melt, not only had the river gone from a trickle to a powerful torrent but the earth itself mixed with water and became a thick, sludgy mud. Past residents knew this time of year better as “mud season.”

As the rain came down in a rapid cadence, Macy stopped a minute and zipped up her jacket so that her holstered gun would not become soaked. As Sheriff stopped, Macy noticed that the thick brown paste covered his paws.

When they hit the bridge, Sheriff hesitated until Macy was halfway across. She turned back, patted her thigh, and called to him to come to her.

“You’re really a big sissy, aren’t you?” she asked him as he scampered across, ran ahead of her, and continued to the other side of the river. Once she had traversed the wooden planks, her boots sank into the moist earth, and it took effort not to slide in the slick, messy mire before she gained footing on the rockier ground.

They headed into the forest, where the raindrops had a harder time reaching them through the evergreen canopy. Instead of her feet sinking into the mud, they fell on a bedding of soft needles that emitted a fresh pine aroma with each step. This section was the part of the trip Macy liked the best. She felt more at peace hidden within the forest, almost as if she were in her own mind entirely and left to figure out her worries in silent contemplation. As she often did, she lingered under the veil on her path home as she sifted and sorted through all the confusing events of both past and present. Here was where she had spent most of her time in the days following Ennis’s death because she felt him here the most. Graham had found her here in the woods on more than one occasion. He knew she needed her space, and had only asked that she let him know before she left the camp.

Macy respected Graham’s request and didn’t stay out too long because she didn’t want him to be concerned about her. And even though her pace slowed, she too soon came to the light that broke at the end of her journey. Macy and Sheriff emerged just as the rain subsided and the crack of a hammer drove a nail home.

Chapter 3 To Fix Them

Sheriff ran ahead to greet Bang as they entered the clearing at Graham’s camp. Bang stood near the ladder, waiting patiently to hand Graham the next cedar shake, ready for its place among the others on the roof of the new partition. Graham held a nail between his lips and mouthed, “Hello” to Macy when he saw her.

He watched as she beamed a smile in return, but her posture wasn’t in it. Graham was worried about both her and Bang; both of them had withdrawn from the group since Ennis’s death. He suspected Bang was mourning Ennis, but also torturing himself about his role in Addy’s disability—the boy had been the one to expose her to the virus that left her deaf. With Macy, he figured Ennis’s death just exacerbated her grief over her own parents’ deaths and the uncertainty of life in general.

There was nothing Graham could do to change it; optimism was in short supply these days. He finished the nail with one more whack and then pulled the next one out of his mouth quickly so he could speak unhindered. As she headed for the cabin door, he called out, “Hey, Macy?”

She stopped in her tracks and turned to look at him. “Yeah?”

He couldn’t think of the words to say. He wanted to fix her, to mend her. He wanted to say, “You are going to be fine,” but he could only stare at her standing there with muddy boots, a frown, and Sheriff by her side.

“What, Graham?”

“Uh, could you take the clothes off the line for Tala? They aren’t going to dry in this rain. We’re going over to Clarisse’s for a visit.” Yeah, that’s good. Some work will make her feel better. Isn’t that what his mother always used to say? Something about idle hands being a bad thing . . . too much time to think.

“Sure, just a sec,” Macy said; she continued on her moping journey up the porch to retrieve the basket.

Graham then looked down at Bang and realized he’d been out there with him all morning working, and he was nothing more than a sad sack. Every attempt to brighten the boy only brought him down further. Everything he tried was wrong; nothing seemed to work. It’s all bullshit, Graham thought.

Suddenly the opposite of what his mother had taught him popped into his mind. He remembered his mother saying, “Grim was catching” and to “Grim-up” when he and his sister were cutting-up in public—which of course only brought them into another fit of giggles. Now, the older he got, the more he thought his mother had been a master of reverse psychology.

What the hell was that about?

Dalton was having the same problem over at the preppers’ camp. He was not only dealing with the loss of his wife but also coping with two grief-stricken young sons. In fact, the entire camp was still getting over the loss of four members. The weight of it all made his longtime friend somewhat, but understandably, distant and angry at times.

Graham pounded the next nail into position with more force than was necessary and reached down to retrieve the shingle offered from Bang. He tried a smile on the boy, not expecting it to work. “You want to go with Tala and me later to see Clarisse? Maybe Addy will be around. You can see for yourself that she’s fine.”

Bang shook his head and even looked hurt at the suggestion.

Dammit, Graham thought. That’s it. I won’t even try anymore. They’ll just have to come around in their own time.

“Okay. All done,” Graham said as he hammered the last nail in the plank that finished off the roof to the new partition. He climbed down the ladder and pulled it away. “Go let Tala know we’re leaving for the prepper camp after I get cleaned up.”

Without a word, Bang shot off inside while Graham looked on in frustration. He collapsed the ladder and headed for the new shop to put it away. At least they’d managed to get both buildings updated before the hot summer arrived. Having McCann and Mark around made work go much faster. Though they lived for the most part without electricity, they opted to use a generator for the power tools, and that enabled them to get things done much faster.

It weighed on Graham, how these kids were going to grow up with aging gasoline and how they were going to live in the future. He and Dalton were having some serious talks about the younger generations and how the adults might be able to set them up now to live. They’d either have to teach them how to live without life’s conveniences like power, modern medicine, and processed goods, or they would perish. It was a harsh task, with tremendous consequences if they failed. Graham couldn’t get over feeling as if humanity had already been defeated by being dependent on one way of doing things, and this was an opportunity to begin again. Still, he thought, it’s too soon to worry about this. They had not recovered enough yet from humanity’s last catastrophe.

Graham pulled off his soiled shirt, and even though it was still cool with the spring breeze, he bent over and used the hose to shower the sweat off his torso, face, and neck. When he looked up, he saw Tala walking toward him. Her beauty mesmerized and startled him beyond the cold shock of the icy water; at six months pregnant, she not only glowed with motherhood but was more beautiful than any woman he’d ever known. Graham could tell she appreciated his observations by the smile she beamed back at him.

“Will you stop?” she said. “Come on, or we’ll be walking back in the dark!”

“We could drive, you know.”

“It’s good for me to walk. It’s not that far.”

He grabbed a damp shirt off the clothesline, put it on, and began buttoning it up. “Isn’t this funny? It’s like we’re going to the doctor for a prenatal checkup.”

“Yeah; I was always in favor of natural birth, but I never thought I’d be doing it without the option of hospitals at all.”

“Well, at least we have Clarisse and Steven if anything goes wrong. They’re better than nothing,” Graham said as he finished buttoning his shirt and laced his rifle over his shoulder. He grabbed his cane, took Tala’s hand in his, and then headed for the trail to the prepper camp—at a slower pace these days, since his wild dog attack.

“That’s what I was just thinking about actually. What is Bang’s generation going to do when they’re our age?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“They won’t have the benefit of Clarisse or Steven for medical care, Dalton and me for leadership, or your food preserving and gardening skills.”

“Well, I thought that’s what we were all doing—teaching them what we know and how to go forward. Clarisse is teaching Addy all she knows about medicine. Hunter and Kade are in training for leadership and defense. Bang is going to be a master huntsman; no one will ever go hungry with him around. McCann says Bang can also name any plant he points to already, and the little guy helps me gather herbs and natural plants for foraging with what’s available in the spring without making deadly mistakes. I think it will all happen naturally; each child will find what he or she enjoys most and seems to have a knack for. You worry too much,” she kidded him.

“Ha! I don’t think I can worry enough. In fact, I’m sure I’m forgetting something vital; I just don’t know what it is yet,” he said.

Their conversation had to stop as Graham guided Tala over the loud and furious river. The pause gave him a chance to think about what she had said; he knew she was mostly correct, but he couldn’t help thinking they were missing something. They didn’t have enough people between the two camps to learn and develop a new society that would last and grow. As they walked past the bridge, the noise lessened, and he continued their conversation.

“Right now, we’re working from sunup to sundown, and we’ll need to do that until it starts snowing again. Then we’ll use the winter downtime to repair our equipment, tan hides, and make up anything we forgot or didn’t have time for in the warmer months. Our child,” he said, placing his hand on Tala’s stomach, “will depend on the younger generation getting it right the first time. There’s no room for costly mistakes.”

“I know,” Tala said, trying to ease his concerns. “But at least we have the preppers now, too. Macy’s been there learning how to operate the radio, McCann is there right now, helping Sam tan hides, and we’re working on getting cows together. This”—she raised her arms to gesture to their new environment—“is like a little town now. It’s a new beginning. We’re starting to thrive now, not just survive. It will all work out, Graham.”

“It’s hell in the winter. We’ve got two depressed kids on our hands, and I’m terrified you’re going to name the baby after Ennis.”

Tala laughed. “Well, there is that . . . Don’t you see, Graham? We’ve made it. Yes, we lost Ennis, but we’ve gained Addy. Yes, the kids are still mourning, but don’t you think they deserve enough time to get over their grief? They have to go through the pain to recognize happiness. They’ll get better in time. Let them grieve as much as they need to,” she said as she ran one hand over the nape of his neck. “You’re still grieving too, I can see it,” she said in a soothing tone and leaned into him as they walked together. “By summer they’ll be fine and we’ll have a new one with us. And life will go on.”

Graham kissed her on the temple as they made their way down the trail sprinkled with spring’s wildflowers. Soon, through the trees, the quarantine building could be detected, if you knew where to look. They greeted the sentry guard as they entered the doorway. “What, no pat-down this time? You guys are getting lax.”

The guard chuckled at Graham. “She’s down in her office, as usual.”

“Thank you.” Tala grinned at him.

When they came to the doorway, they could see Clarisse was deep in thought as she peered down her microscope, and her “mini-me,” Addy, wasn’t far away, reading a rather large book for a girl her age and totally engrossed in the subject in front of her.

Graham knocked on the doorframe. “Hello, Doctor . . . hey, what is your last name, anyway?”

Clarisse looked up and, deflecting the question, said, “You can just call me Clarisse. I’m happy to see you guys today.” When she stood, the motion caused Addy to lift her head, and the girl’s bright smile showed she was happy to see them too. She walked over and gave Graham and Tala a hug.

Tala signed, Hello. What are you reading?

Addy raised her small hands and nimbly signed book then looked perplexed. She stepped back and glanced at Clarisse for clarification on how to sign what she wanted to say and then spelled out on human anatomy.

Graham marveled at the girl; she’d been through so much and yet had tremendous resilience. Two months ago, the dreaded virus that had taken so many had nearly claimed Addy, but Clarisse fought back and pulled the girl from death’s door, though she couldn’t say for certain that the virus wouldn’t ever manifest itself in illness again. Now nearly eight years old, Addy was already showing a great aptitude for learning beyond her age range; her disability wasn’t dampening the girl’s free spirit one bit.

Even her father, Sam, admonished anyone who tried to coddle Addy. If anything, he encouraged her to learn to cope; he took her deep into the woods daily and taught her how to feel the vibrations of her surroundings. The slight picking up of a breeze through the trees meant someone or something had passed her nearby. To feel a tremor through her soles near the Skagit meant the river ran higher with the melting snow than the day before.

Graham knew Sam was trying to anticipate his daughter’s life without the sense of sound and how to prepare her for coming challenges. Graham had never seen such dedication from a father and hoped to emulate the man with his own children.

“So you’re here for a prenatal checkup? How funny is that?” Graham heard Clarisse say to Tala.

“Yes,” Tala said. “The baby has been kicking a lot lately.”

“That’s good news,” Clarisse said, leading them into an examination room adjacent to her office.

Graham helped Tala get onto the table Clarisse had readied for her, then helped her lean back.

“We’ll listen to the heartbeat first with this special Doppler stethoscope. It allows me to hear the baby’s heartbeat better than a regular stethoscope,” Clarisse explained as she adjusted the sensor over the ultrasound gel she’d applied to Tala’s belly. Right away, a whooshing sound emitted through the device in Clarisse’s hand. She angled the sensor around until a strong thrumming began. Graham smiled; he couldn’t help himself. His gaze met Tala’s, and he thought, This moment may be the happiest we’ve had since it all began.

Graham then remembered doing this with his first wife, and pushed the memory away as fast as he could. Not now. But along with the memories came the hurt and an odd feeling of betrayal—even though, given the circumstances, he knew Nelly would understand.

He turned his head and saw Addy leaning in the doorway; Clarisse saw her, too. “Do you guys mind if she listens in? I mean, participates,” she said, quickly catching herself and winking at Tala. “She’s my official understudy.”

“Of course not,” Tala said, and Clarisse motioned for Addy to join them.

Clarisse placed the Doppler stethoscope unit in Addy’s hands and signed to her to close her eyes and focus on the vibrations coming through the speaker. Graham was confused by this gesture, but as Addy’s expression changed from contemplative to a bright smile, he got it. She could still feel the heartbeat vibrating through the Doppler unit she held in her hands.

“So she can feel the vibrations, huh?” Graham commented. In addition to the expectation of hearing his own child’s heartbeat, he was in awe of an experience that he’d thought would be completely lost to Addy. She could feel the baby’s heartbeat!

Addy’s grin was contagious, and Graham noticed Tala discretely wiping her own happy tears away. Addy signed fast and strong to Tala, then handed the unit back to Clarisse and placed her hand on Tala’s belly, hoping for the same vibration.

Clarisse spoke to them as Addy continued to feel for vibrations.

“The baby’s heartbeat sounds perfect for this stage in your pregnancy. Any pains or minor contractions?”

“No, none at all.”

“Good; I’d like to take a blood sample and run some tests. Keep taking the prenatal vitamins and only do what you feel is safe. No strenuous movement.”

Graham was thinking it, and didn’t want to ask, but had to. “Any chance we can tell if the baby will have the virus from the blood tests?”

“I’m afraid not. We’ll have to wait and see. There’s something else I should tell you,” she said and took a deep breath in anticipation of their reaction.

Graham didn’t like the sound of that. “What? What is it?”

“I’ve never actually delivered a baby before.”

Graham’s eyes became round orbs and Clarisse put one hand on his knee to still his reaction.

“I’ve done my share of surgeries. I’ve seen it done. I’m versed in all the complications and I’m confident I can do it, but I’ve never actually done it.”

“Okay, now I’m nervous as hell.” Graham didn’t mind saying so as his own heartbeat increased rapidly.

Tala tried to reassure him. “I’m sure she’ll do fine, Graham.”

Addy had covered Tala’s belly after wiping off the gel, and Graham watched as Tala signed to the child, You are going to make a wonderful doctor.

He had to agree.

Thank you, Addy returned, then scampered off to resume her reading.

Graham asked Clarisse, “Did she have a hard time at all with the hearing loss?”

“Oh, yeah; Sam and I spent nearly three days with a devastated little girl. Neither one of us slept. We were with her around the clock. Then on the fourth day, she just seemed to put the anguish behind her. I began teaching her sign language, and Sam is teaching her how to live using her other senses, as you know. It hasn’t been that long, and she has adjusted remarkably well. She seems to have made the choice to simply put it behind her.”

“That’s amazing,” Graham said.

“How’s Bang doing?” Clarissa asked. “The last time we talked, he was still having a hard time coping.”

“He still is. I keep asking him if he’d like to come and see Addy for himself, that she’s fine. He won’t, though. He’s still dealing with that and with Ennis’s death. It’s been hard on Macy, too.”

“Well, give them time,” Clarisse suggested.

“We will. They both have to grow up too fast in this world,” Tala said.

“How are Dalton’s boys doing?” Graham asked.

“They’re both very different kids, and each is dealing with it in his own way.” She shook her head and closed her eyes. “It’s awful that these children have witnessed so much. Let’s hope those days are behind us and we can start moving forward again.”

Graham could not agree more; perhaps having this new life within Tala would bring back their confidence. Where there had been so much death, the prospect of a birth brought hope to all of them.

Chapter 4 Triple-Loaded

Over the nervous whinny of his horses, the snap of a distant twig followed by an ominous growl brought Dutch’s eyes open in an instant. In calculating the rapid advance, he only had time to rise from the wagon’s bench seat. At the same time, he lifted the long shotgun by the pistol grip and aimed just ahead of where his target would be in a nanosecond. Without the proper hold, the first resounding shot rang through his entire body and sent shock waves through the air. The recoil sent the weapon straight up, but he got a hold of it on its way down.

Dutch quickly chambered the next round and fired again; the shot caught the second of what looked to be a pack of six wild dogs. The first rounds were buckshot, designed to take down their targets with a spray. That took care of the first few, but the rest continued to advance.

He had anticipated a pack and had loaded the gun with a triple-combo load. The next rounds were double-ought buckshot, a larger pellet size than the number 1 buckshot, which took down the third and fourth dogs. They kept coming, though, and the fifth one was going for the mare’s belly, causing the wagon to sway when she jerked away. Dutch pumped and chambered again, saying “Steady” to the mare before he fired the last set of his shotgun’s load. The lead slugs, meant as a coup de grace, stopped the attacking dog in its tracks. With his ears still ringing, he quickly pumped again as the sixth dog came right for him. With no more than three feet of space between them, he aimed straight at the furry beast’s face and fired as it sprung from its haunches, aiming for Dutch’s chest, fangs barred.

Aware of a piercing scream coming from the truck behind him, he pulled his pistol out of his holster and his knife from its sheath and stood ready for whatever came at him next.

He turned to see the girl leaning out of the truck window and screaming while Elsa and Frank barked their heads off in the cab. He sheathed the knife again and held up one hand, fisting it for the dogs to see. They cut their barking, but the girl still screamed relentlessly.

“Hey, knock it off all right? Do you want more to come?” he yelled in frustration. He then added, “I’m running out of ammo here, for crying out loud.” He shook his head skyward and muttered, “Now she chooses to talk,”

“I didn’t . . . I . . . I didn’t know what to do,” she said.

Dutch rolled his eyes, but he knew she was scared out of her wits. They’d been on the road too long, and he probably would be scared too if he’d had watched the entire grizzly scene. He took a deep breath and kicked off the dead weight of the wild dog that had landed partway on the wagon. As he climbed down, he stepped over the pile of would-be assassins. At least they were beasts and not human, but at any rate, the danger and lessons were the same: be vigilant or die.

“It’s all right, Miss. You did the right thing by keeping the dogs inside the cab and keeping yourself safe.” As he looked up at the young lady, he was reminded why, on some level, he appreciated her: even though she was terrified, she had done what he’d told her to do. No matter what happens, stay in the goddamn cab. Let me handle things. You’ll only get in my way and get us both killed if you act.

Perhaps she’d seen too much in her recent past. Perhaps she was a quick learner and was adjusting to this new way of life, like the rest of them. Whatever the case might be, it was a sign that she was beginning to trust him. He had known many men in war with less aptitude to keep their heads and do as they were told. Had she let Elsa and Frank go, he would surely have lost at least one of them. Had she left the cab, the wild dogs would have gone for her, and he would have lost his advantage.

Dutch looked around into the darkness once again and decided it was as good a time as any to make camp; they could explore more in the morning. If anyone had heard the shots, they would find Dutch and the girl soon, and that was his plan. He figured the people he had heard on the radio had to be ex-military, and they’d scout out the source of the gunfire if they heard it. If his hunch was correct, it was best to make it clear he was no danger to them. Camping for the night in the open and then exploring in the morning was their best option.

“Let’s go ahead and make camp here tonight,” Dutch said; he opened the cab door and signaled the dogs to come out of the truck. They both made a beeline to sniff out the offenders. Dutch held his hand out to help the young woman step down, but she refused his offer and he turned away frustrated again. Then he thought better of it and decided to get it off his chest. “I’m not trying to seduce you or anything, you know. You do understand that, right? I’m old enough to be your father.”

“I know,” she yelled at his abrupt openness. “I’m not saying you are. But I don’t want you to think I’m weak; I can do things for myself.”

“Hey, I get that, but you could at least trust me enough to handle your name. Calling you lady is getting a little old, and I need to be able to get your attention quick if there’s a problem. At least trust me that much.”

She nodded her head and looked over at the carnage as the two Belgian shepherds sniffed out the beasts. She was terrified most of the time, and watching the wild dogs attack Dutch reminded her how impossible it was for a person to survive alone in this world. It took more strength than she contained within herself.

She didn’t want to need anyone, but she knew she needed Dutch. Seeing the attack and hearing the savagery before the blasts shed further light on how easily she could be left to survive on her own once again. It brought her back to the violence she’d barely escaped by another beast before she’d run into Dutch that fateful night four days ago. She didn’t want it to happen again. She’d killed the man, but not before he nearly killed her.

She’d been lucky enough to get to his gun, shoot him, and run like hell, still bearing the splatter of his blood upon her skin. Because of this, trust in any man would never come to her easily again. She knew Dutch was as good a guy as they came in life, but she’d never give another man her true name again; a fake one might suffice for now. A strong name . . . not a sissy-girl name.

“Liza,” she said to him.

Her green-flecked eyes shot at him, and he knew right away. “You’re lyin’, but that’ll do enough for now. Let’s make camp,” he said and left her standing shocked while he checked the horses.

Chapter 5 Shots Fired

That evening, Rick checked the video feeds once again and called Macy at Graham’s camp. “Faint shots fired. What’s up, kid? You guys have some furry fangs your way? Over.”

“That did not come from us, Rick. Over,” Macy confirmed with a hint of fear and dread in her voice.

Dalton stood next to Rick, overhearing the conversation as he buckled the holster around his middle. Rick watched Dalton as he checked his magazine and ensured there was one extra in the chamber before holstering the weapon.

“The shots were pretty far away, Dalton. Do you really think you need to go out there now?”

“They were close enough to check out. I’ll take Steven. Tell Graham to stand ready.”

Rick keyed the microphone. “Have Graham stand ready. Over.”

“Too late, our team is already on recon. Over,” Macy said.

“Hey, you guys are supposed to consult with us before you act. Over,” Rick said.

“Says who? You’re not the boss of us here. Besides, I was just calling you when you beeped me. Over.”

Rick shook his head. “It’s not beeped, Macy. It’s called. Over.”

“Oh, forgive me for forgetting your radio protocol,” Macy said sarcastically.

“When I get a hold of you, kid . . .”

“You’ll have to catch me first. And you forgot over. Over.”

“Out!” Rick yelled.

“That kid!” Rick swore to Dalton, who only chuckled.

“She outwitted you, Rick. You’ve finally met your match. Get used to it.” Dalton zipped up his jacket, donned his camo knit hat, and grabbed and checked the radio Rick handed to him.

“Key in three clicks for all is clear.”

“Gotcha.”

Just as Dalton turned for the door, Steven arrived geared up. “Ready?” Steven asked.

Both men hustled out of camp into the dark cover to investigate the shots fired nearby. These little missions worried Rick the most; with all the dangerous assignments they’d headed out to in the past, it was the little, unexpected ones that took out your buddy. Something like this—unexpected and quick—made wives into widows and children into orphans. They knew the ever-present danger more than anyone there did, but the reality was that the risk couldn’t be helped. Rick reminded himself that Dalton was already a widower and his boys were without a mother. Steven was just Steven in Rick’s mind . . . more like a brother and uncle to his own family. Steven was a permanent fixture, and Rick couldn’t imagine life without him.

Rick rechecked the monitors and scanned for radio signals through the local channels. Before long, Dalton keyed in three times by using the microphone receiver’s push to talk button, the PTT, to let Rick know that all was clear. Rick expected the noise to repeat every few minutes until they returned. The method allowed Dalton to relay information back to Rick without speaking their position aloud to anyone who might overhear them.

Rick leaned back in his chair, listening to the rhythmic sounds of static from the receiver as it went through the automatic scanning procedure. He drummed his fingers on his balding head, thinking of how far they’d come and trying to anticipate the dangers awaiting them in the future.

So far he’d taken on Macy to mentor for technology. She showed the most interest and aptitude, even though she seemed reluctant to enjoy her position these days. He expected the loss of Ennis to be difficult for her, though she’d get over his death in time. She was a tough girl with a deep heart, and he could see she meant to guard it. Being set up for pain by caring too much for others was something he could see she tried to control. At first he was a little worried, in a fatherly type of way, that McCann might try to have a relationship with the girl too soon. But she had flat-out rejected him after Ennis passed. He knew the young man cared for her, but he was going to have to bide his time before Macy was ready for any kind of romance. She wasn’t like her sister, Marcy, at all. For twins, they couldn’t be more different in personality.

With such a limited postpandemic society, pairing up the young seemed to be something the older adults had on their minds lately. His wife openly wondered who would be the best mate for their daughter Bethany. She was way too young still—at least nine years away from even thinking seriously about boys. In the old world, Rick would never in a million years have wanted to start considering who would marry his daughter. The suitors were everywhere, but now, in this life, with an extreme lack of inventory of young males, matchmaking had come to be something of a pastime to wager on. None of them is good enough for Bethany. Rick’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard the scanner suddenly catch on a station broadcasting faint dits and dahs.

“What the hell?” He jumped forward in his chair and hand-tuned the potentiometer knob up for better signal strength while he grabbed a pen and a pad of paper to decipher what he identified immediately as Morse code. His hands started shaking, and a rising sense of dread filled him the farther he got into the message.

-.-. .-.. --. / .-. .. -.-. -.- / . -- .-. --. / -.- .. .-.. .-.. / ... .. --. / .... . .- -.. .... ..- -. - . .-. ... / .- - / ..- .-. / -.... / .---- ..... .---- / -.- .-.. .. -.-. -.- ... / -.. . / -.. ..- - -.-. .... / .. .. / -.- .. .-.. .-.. / ... .. --. / -.-. ..- .-.. / ---.. ---..

CLG RICK EMRG KILL SIG HEADHUNTERS AT UR 6 151 KLICKS DE DUTCH II KILL SIG CUL 88

“Holy hell,” Rick said after he laboriously deciphered the signal. Before it repeated, he grabbed for the local microphone. He hit the PTT once. He couldn’t risk transmitting and exposing the team’s position, but if it didn’t work, he’d have no choice. They might be walking into their own deaths. The implications of the message churned in his mind.

Headhunters here? Goddamn them!

He bypassed the click warning and pressed the PTT button again. “Dalton, stop. Abort mission. I repeat, abort mission. Return to base. Do you copy? Over.”

“Copy, Rick. Return to base. Out.” Dalton answered with a bit of confusion in his voice, but thankfully he sounded compliant.

Rick began to put down the radio and then thought of Graham walking into a possible trap. “Shit,” he said and called in to Macy.

“Twin two, over?”

He knew he sounded hurried but this was an emergency. Who knew where Graham and his team were at this point? Soon he heard Macy pick up with, “Twin two here, over.”

“Call Graham, Macy. Have him return to base. Then stay off the radio completely. Don’t let anyone use them, even the walkies. Over.”

“Why, what’s going on? Over.”

“Just do it, Mace. It’s urgent. No questions. Out.”

As soon as he cut off the signal, he reached for the kill switch to the automatic transmitter beacon that he used to broadcast the “welcome survivors” message. He’d set it up to repeat the same phrase every hour of the day, every day. Now that he thought about it, it made him sick to know he might be responsible for leading attackers to his own people. Next he checked the wall map for what 151 klicks south of their position might be.

“Seattle,” he said, dragging his finger on the map. He waited while the Morse code warning started its repeat. The melodic dits and dahs rang out and sent Rick into a worried trance until he heard Dalton and Steven’s heavy footsteps in the doorway.

“What the hell, Rick? What happened?” Dalton asked.

“Listen.”

“Yeah?” Steven asked.

“It’s Morse. It’s a warning for us. It’s coming from a local station,” Rick explained.

“What’s the warning?” Dalton asked.

Rick read from his notes again, deciphering the military terms into layman’s terms as he went. Calling Rick. Emergency. Kill signal. Headhunters south of your location, 152 kilometers. This is Dutch. I repeat. Kill signal. See you later. Love and kisses.”

Nothing but silence ensued as the other two men digested the news.

“Where . . .” Steven began to ask.

“Seattle.”

“The shots earlier?”

“Dunno.”

“You call Graham?” Dalton asked.

“Yeah. He should be back by now, I would think.”

Dalton’s concerned expression turned to confusion and now looked nothing less than ominous.

Steven cleared his throat, and Rick knew that he too could feel the waves of hate emanating from Dalton. “Do you think it’s a trick?”

After an uncomfortable silence, Dalton said, “It damn well better be. The shots earlier might be from this guy, Dutch, letting us know he’s in the area. Though, I’ve never known anyone to shoot like that as a warning.”

“He knows Morse. Probably former military,” Rick said.

“What scares the shit out of me is what this guy is warning us about. Headhunters. If it’s true, that can only mean one thing, Steven said, remembering the term slapped onto the extreme jihadists after their favored barbaric execution style. After al-Qaeda became meek in the shadow of the Islamic Nation, they’d been nicknamed the Headhunters. The common term among the military meant they were nothing more than unredeemable savages.

“Yeah—that terrorists have invaded us.” Dalton finished for him and then exploded. “How the fuck are they even still alive?”

Rick jumped, then saw that he wasn’t alone; Steven also stepped back. To piss off Dalton was to bring about the bad side of God, and no one wanted to see that.

Dalton stood with his hands on his hips, breathing fumes as the implications of the warning took hold.

“You turned off that damn beacon?” Dalton shot off at Rick.

“Yeah; right away,” Rick confirmed and took a deep breath as his heart pounded within his chest. “So, you think this guy is right, and the terrorist Headhunters are south of us in Seattle? Which means, they’ve crawled out from the slime-covered rocks they hid beneath and have come here?”

“Rick, you idiot; it means the virus was weaponized . . . by them,” Dalton said. He stood back and tried to stem his anger by lacing his hands behind his head as he looked toward the tent ceiling. “We’ve been so naive. It means they must have had a vaccine all along and they just committed vast genocide . . . the worst ever perpetrated by man. And now they’re here to finish the job.”

“What the hell do we do?” Steven said.

“We wait. Stay off the damn airwaves and wait until we hear from this Dutch guy,” Dalton said.

Rick nodded. Then something occurred to him. “The message came on the HF band. He’s close by, within fifteen miles. So he must have been farther away when he heard my beacon message. That means he came here to set up this warning. He came within range because he didn’t want them to hear him if they were monitoring the waves. That’s the only thing that makes sense. I used the Near Vertical Incident Skywave antenna to send the low-powered Morse code over the eighty-meter band on a repeat. It’s not easily traceable.”

“How did he know our location?” Dalton asked.

Rick looked sheepish. “Because our beacon transmission contained our coordinates and I signed it ‘Rick’,” he replied.

“Okay, make sure everything is turned off for now. My guess is this guy is our shooter, and we’ll hear from him soon. Let’s put everyone on high alert. He might be a scout for the Headhunters. We can’t trust him until we know more.”

“How are we going to warn Graham if we can’t use the radios?” Steven said.

Dalton checked his watch. “It’s late. They already know to stay off the waves. I think we’re safe for tonight. I’ll ride over in the morning.”

“Should we tell the others?” Steven said.

“No, not yet; this could be a hoax. I have a feeling it’s not, but let’s not go there yet. We may have to send a scout team to make sure what this guy says is true. We’ll talk with Graham tomorrow and try to make contact with the guy. Keep watch on the monitors. I’ll relieve you at two.”

Rick acknowledged the order and waved at his two comrades as they vacated the media tent before turning back to his equipment. He began to check everything and set to work making sure there were no other residual signals broadcast over the waves. He kept all the monitoring equipment on and even made notes to enhance views where dark shadows lay in the night.

Chapter 6 Speak Easy

Graham remained still as he sat astride the horse that McCann found wandering loose through town one day and had trained especially for him. The mount had become his steady land legs since his injury, which had left him with a limp. McCann had called the beast Rocket, but Graham soon changed it to Mosey to match his own speed. The horse was especially beneficial this evening since he and the boys—Mark and McCann—spotted a lone campfire at a distance through the forest.

“What do you want to do?” McCann whispered.

Graham looked around through the night. “I think we should at least check it out at a safe distance and find out how many there are.”

McCann agreed, and Mark turned his horse in that direction.

“Wait, Mark. I think you should stay here and keep watch.”

Mark’s shoulders visibly sunk an inch, but he obeyed Graham’s command. McCann picked up on the disappointment.

“We’ll be right back. Hoot if you see anyone else, okay?”

Graham was impressed with McCann’s diplomacy. He knew it was likely that Mark would become jealous of McCann’s new foreman role in the group, especially since McCann was only a little older. What surprised Graham was that McCann also had the ability to recognize how his own dynamic in the group could alter Mark’s position and cause conflict, something they all wished to avoid.

Instead, McCann took Mark on as equal and deferred decisions to him often to show him he wasn’t a threat; for good measure, he never laid eyes on Marcy either. Her indignant nature didn’t interest him, anyway, so that wasn’t a problem.

Everyone but Macy knew she was the girl for him. McCann would wait for her to grow up. She was only sixteen, and he twenty—not a great gap in age at world’s end. Graham had pointed out her young age only once, but he hadn’t needed to; McCann had her honor in regard, and Graham knew he could trust him with her.

Graham noticed that Macy rejected even sitting next to McCann at the kitchen table, however. He kept his eye on the situation from afar. As much as he’d come to love Mark, he also enjoyed having McCann there at the camp; if McCann and Macy found their way to one another, that would be fine. She meant the world to everyone. She was a tough girl with a heart of gold, and Graham was thankful that McCann could see that and seemed to be biding his time.

As Graham and McCann ambled through the dark thicket of pines, the glow of the distant fire grew brighter. Graham raised his leather-gloved hand to stop their movement. Inching any closer would only alert the stranger he’d seen bending over the fire with a branch to adjust the logs. Highlighted by the fire’s glow was a young woman sitting on his opposite side. She looked to be no more than twenty or so and was taking stringy bites off a chunk of jerky. McCann sucked in his breath when he saw her toss a bit of the meat. They hadn’t noticed the two dogs, camouflaged by a fur blanket wrapped around the woman.

The fire stirrer moved, and when he did Graham caught a reflective glow off his previously obscured lower limb. Where his leg should have been, there was a prosthesis, but it didn’t seem to hinder the man in the least.

Graham worried about the dogs detecting their position if they stayed any longer, so he motioned to McCann to back up. He took one last look at the newcomers’ camp and all seemed well. Having rifles within reach, a loaded wagon, and an army truck was relatively normal these days. In fact, he’d have been surprised if they were not that geared up.

After they had returned to Mark, Graham spoke a hair above a whisper to both young men. “They’re probably passing through. He may have had problems with wolves or wild dogs earlier when we heard the shots. We’ll let Dalton’s group know in the morning, and see what’s up with them. At least we know the location; we can come back in the morning and see if they’ve left.”

“Shouldn’t we keep watch?” McCann said.

“No. I don’t see any trouble with these two unless we startle them. I say we let them mind their own business. They don’t know we’re here, and they don’t need any help, by the looks of things. They’re well provisioned, and the girl seems to be there of her own free will.”

McCann nodded in agreement and they headed back to camp.

~ ~ ~

“We have to stay off the radios,” Macy said as Graham and the others walked through the door.

“Why?” he said, taking off his muddy boots and jacket.

“Rick said to. I’m not sure why. He sounded pretty serious. No one is to use the radios at all; not even the walkies.”

“Okay. I’m sure they have their reasons. We’ll wait and see what’s up.”

“We found a camp, though,” Mark relayed. “Maybe they know the radio frequency we use and they’re monitoring everything we say. I’ll bet that’s why Rick wants us to stay off the waves.”

“They didn’t appear to be dangerous, but yeah, we should stay off the air, then. We don’t know who they are yet,” McCann said.

Graham moved his stiff leg, trying to stretch out some of the tight muscles that the cold had caused. Tala approached, and she wasn’t smiling; worry lines creased the bridge of her nose between her eyes. Graham embraced her and said, “I’m sure it’s nothing; just a precaution. Dalton will probably be here at first light. We saw the newcomers at a distance. It appears to be a man and a woman with two dogs and a few horses. They seemed well provisioned; I don’t think they’re trouble.”

“Did they see you?” Tala asked.

“No. I don’t think so,” Graham said.

“Good. Come and have dinner—all of you,” she said, leading the way.

The table was set, and they could smell the aroma of fresh bread. What Graham thought might be navy bean soup sat alongside a fresh salad of spring greens. They couldn’t get enough greens after having to endure nothing but canned vegetables for far too long.

With everyone seated, McCann asked, “Where’s Sheriff?”

“He’s watching the chickens,” Bang answered.

“Uh . . . you’re sure that’s a good idea?” Graham asked.

“He seems to like them. He doesn’t try to go after them. He thinks they’re pets, too.”

“Okay. Let’s make sure we let him out after dinner then,” Graham said as more than one suppressed chuckle came from around the table. He didn’t want to dash Bang’s authority, but he was certain that if Sheriff got hungry enough, he’d eat one of their new feathery pets pretty quickly.

“This is great soup, Tala,” Graham said, appreciating how it chased the damp chill away from him.

“Don’t thank me. McCann started the beans this morning and then Macy finished it this evening,” Tala informed him.

Graham looked down the table at McCann. “Man of many talents, I see,” he said and raised his spoon in tribute.

“Hey, that’s about my limit with cooking. Macy said she didn’t think it was right that the women did all the cooking and cleaning and I agreed. I’m happy to cook once a week. I think we should all take turns,” McCann said, hoping for Macy’s approval, but by the straight face she was using he wasn’t sure if she appreciated his efforts or not.

“Hold on,” Marcy said. “Mark’s a terrible cook. I don’t want him in the kitchen. When Tala was recovering at the prepper camp, he made us Vienna sausages with peanut butter and ranch dressing on the side,” she shuddered at the memory. “It was horrible.”

They all laughed, and McCann defended him by saying, “Hey now, at least he made something.”

“He can make fried egg sandwiches,” Bang said. “They’re pretty good.”

Mark held up his hands. “Thank you, Bang. I’m fine being restricted from cooking. It’s not my talent, anyway. I sure appreciate Tala’s cooking, though.”

They all agreed and, like most evenings, they ate together and only spoke when they needed to. They were all too engrossed in their own thoughts concerning the radio silence and newcomers to engage in routine planning. Once they finished, everyone pitched in to clean up. Then they bedded down for the evening and hoped to sleep through the night before the next day’s challenge began.

With the new addition, Graham and Tala’s separate bedroom became their private haven, away from the other residents. Still, when he and Tala had first begun sleeping in their own room together, he complained when she kept the door open a crack to hear the others. Then, when they’d tried to sleep with it completely closed, he just couldn’t take the silence and ended up getting up in the middle of the night to check on everyone. Graham finally succumbed to leaving the door open a crack to hear the other snores he’d come so accustomed to. Those peaceful snores meant his new family’s well-being throughout the night.

Chapter 7 By the Campfire

Dutch winked at the girl who called herself Liza. He did it to calm her nerves when she darted her eyes at him as she reached for her shotgun beneath her coat. The residents were casing them nearby. With a silent hand motion to the dogs Elsa and Frank, he stayed them in their place. Despite their instincts, they didn’t as much as whine upon hearing horses approach at a distance.

He carefully handed Liza the jerky, and she followed his example to keep all motions open and easy. Dutch’s eyes implored her to remain calm and not act out of fear lest she could get them killed.

When he thought the observers had passed after having made their assessments, he heard their retreat through the woods. He wasn’t certain if anyone remained behind to watch them, but he didn’t think so. All of his prior radio surveillance told him these people were good; they were surviving and seemed to be able to help others. Although admirable in their actions, Dutch was here to tell them to quit it, or they were going to get themselves killed.

His plan was to warn them, hand over the girl, and head north by himself. He didn’t plan to stick around and make friends with these people.

As he sat next to Liza the crickets resumed their chirping, so he figured the watchers were long gone. Liza stared into the fire with glazed-over eyes. In Dutch’s estimation she’d done pretty well today but he didn’t want her to get too attached to him, just trust him enough not to flinch every time he came near her.

“Why don’t you go ahead and bed down in the truck cab tonight? I’ll sleep under the wagon.”

She merely nodded and hustled through the cold night to the truck with a fur skin wrapped around her shoulders to protect her from the chill of the spring night. While he stirred the hot embers of the fire, Dutch heard the soft click of the cab door as Liza closed it with care.

The night was starry and the moon only a crescent. The troubled nation they once had was rambling around in Dutch’s mind. The wars, religion, and simple call for equality had brought man back to the same place where he had begun—staring up at the stars with a stick in his hand and fire beneath him. Man was nothing more and nothing less than an animal with the ability to start a fire, and that made him perilous to all other creatures, but especially his fellow man.

Dutch saw no way to stop those to the south who’d take your head from your shoulders. Not believing in their ways meant death; Christ, they’d killed most of humankind, and with so few left to fight them now, all seemed lost. Perhaps he could find a place to live out his days while the planet succumbed to savages with sticks.

Chapter 8 A Story of Fire

At dawn, Graham woke to the sound of Tala speaking in the other room. She was telling a story; he could tell by the timbre and cadence of her voice. The bedroom was darker than usual, and when he finally opened his eyes, only a soft gray light filtered in through the window.

He brushed a hand down his face and threw back the covers. In his boxer shorts and a T-shirt, he sat up and grabbed his jeans. It was a new day, and he suspected this one would come with a twist following the events of the day before.

He ambled into the kitchen, brushed his hand across the top of Bang’s head, and smiled at Tala, who sat at the table recounting more of the Indian folklore she’d grown up with as a child. He headed to get his coffee and then joined her at the table.

“You’ve heard the one about Fire, right?” Tala asked.

Bang shook his head no.

“Long ago, Bear owned Fire, and Fire kept Bear warm throughout the year and lit his way in the dark of night. One day Bear set Fire down when he came to a great forest where acorns were scattered on the ground. Bear wandered into the forest farther and farther away from Fire as he found more and more acorns, until Fire was nearly extinguished.

“Man walked by, and the small flame of Fire begged Man to feed it, for it was nearly extinguished altogether. Man gave Fire a stick, which he placed to the north of him. Fire consumed this and grew bright. Then man set another stick to the west, and Fire grew even stronger. Man gave yet another stick, placing this one to the south of Fire, and then finally another that he set to the east. This caused Fire to burn strong, orange flames that flickered and snapped with delight. By now, Fire blazed mightily and was very pleased to have Man as a friend.

“Then one day, Bear came back to the edge of the forest, and when Fire saw Bear, he was very angry and burned white-hot. He remembered Bear was not a good friend. So he drove Bear back into the dark forest, where he now, ever after, must sleep through the winter to stay warm. And now Man owns Fire.”

Graham nodded and sipped his coffee. He thought the tale was kind of an intense topic for first thing in the morning, and Bang looked shocked and upset.

“What, Buddy?” Graham asked him gently.

“So, does that mean Bear hates man for taking Fire away from him?”

Tala looked at Graham as if to say, This one is all yours, and she went into the bathroom without another word.

“No, Bang, Graham said. “It means Bear is a lousy friend. And Fire has a bad attitude.”

“What about Man?” Bang asked.

“It wasn’t Man’s fault at all. He just walked by and helped Fire.”

“Yeah, but now Bear is going to be mad at Man.”

“Should we not help someone in need if someone else is going to be mad at us?”

Then Graham was struck with an idea to help Bang finally understand. He might not ever have this opportunity again to get through to the boy an idea that might help him understand he had no culpability in Addy’s accident. He reached across the table and grasped Bang’s hands to have his full attention. “Just like you helped Addy that day, Bang. No one blames you for Addy’s hearing loss. You helped her when she needed it. You saved her life, Bang.”

The boy visibly swallowed and blinked his eyes. His chin began to quiver and tears ran down his cheeks. Graham guided him around the table and hugged him tightly until his own shirt was soaked with the tearful regrets of the little boy.

~ ~ ~

A pair of headlights gleaming through the gray rainy day appeared in the front window. Graham saw two shadowed figures hasten toward the front door of the cabin, so he ushered Bang off into the bunkroom as Tala emerged from the bathroom.

“The guys are here,” he said as he went to open the door, his voice still hoarse from the lack of warming coffee.

“I’ll grab some towels; they’re probably soaked through from this rain,” Tala said.

“Looks like they drove the Jeep, so don’t worry.” Graham waited for their clomping, mud-releasing steps on the porch before he swung open the door, intent on holding the heat in as long as possible.

“Hey there. Morning,” Graham said.

Dalton only nodded in a somber way, but Rick grinned as always and returned with, “What are you guys doing on this fine, rainy spring day?”

“We had enough sense to stay dry—unlike the two of you,” Graham answered. “You guys want some coffee?” As he led them into the dining area, Tala had already set a second pot on and brought out the coveted sugar cookies from their hiding spot.

“Something tells me you guys aren’t here for treats,” Graham said.

“Where’s the rest of the crew?” Dalton asked.

“They are either at your camp, in the fields, or in the barn doing their chores. Bang is still here, but he’s busy in the other room,” Tala said.

Dalton nodded, “We need to talk about the shots we heard yesterday.”

“Okay, I know that Macy said to stay off all radio frequencies, so I didn’t call it in, but last night the boys and I found a campsite.”

Dalton sat down at the dining table. “Did you talk to them?”

“No. No, we didn’t approach them; we just observed them from afar. From what I could tell, it’s one young lady—about twenty or so—and one man.”

“Provisions?” Rick asked.

“Oh, yeah; they’re driving an army truck and pulling a wagon, horses . . . two dogs, too.”

“Armed?” Rick asked.

Graham tried to remember the scene as it lay out beside the fire. “Yes, the lady had a shotgun nearby and one leaned against the tailgate of the truck. The man had a pistol around his waist, too.”

“He didn’t detect you? The dogs weren’t alerted?” Dalton said.

“No. I don’t think so. We were a safe distance away.”

“Were they talking? Did you get any idea of their names?” Rick asked.

“No. The girl seemed to be there of her own free will, but they didn’t talk much. The dogs didn’t stir.” Graham took a sip of his coffee and observed the two men over the rim of his cup. Dalton’s jaw clenched up and down as he digested the news, and Rick stared off into space.

“Okay, what’s up, guys?” Graham finally asked.

Dalton looked up at him and then looked over to Rick.

Rick began. “Well, after you guys ran off to see who the shooter was, I tuned to the local HF band. Seems someone is out to warn us to stop all transmissions. A guy named Dutch sent us a Morse code message warning us that there are . . . um . . . Headhunters to the south of us.”

Graham had begun to lift his coffee again, but then set it down abruptly, causing the liquid to slosh out and create a small puddle of brown liquid on the table.

“Headhunters?” he asked, purposely hushed.

Dalton looked to see that Tala was out of the room; he didn’t want to scare her, but soon all of them would have to know.

“If this guy is right, it means we’re being invaded. It means our old enemy is responsible for vast genocide and they’re here now to finish the job.”

Graham sat back, digesting the theory. “You think the guy we saw last night is this Dutch fella?”

“Yeah,” Rick said.

“And if what he says is true, we have a fight on our hands. A big one,” Dalton added.

“Well, wait a minute,” Graham said. “We’re just now living. We’ve all been through hell and back, and things are finally starting to work out. It’s only Tala and me with a bunch of kids here. Hell, we’ve got a baby on the way, Dalton,” he said, surprised at the anger in his voice.

“Hey, I get that. Believe me, I do. But if they’re here,” Dalton said with an inner fury and shook his head, “I will decimate them. We cannot let them take it from us. I’ll die first.” The vehemence emanating from Dalton’s eyes matched each syllable uttered.

Their eyes locked, and Graham was barely aware that Rick had spoken.

“Well, we won’t know any more until we go see this guy.”

“Okay, let me get ready. I’ll take McCann with us,” Graham said.

“All right; we’ll wait in the Jeep,” Rick said.

Chair legs scratched the floor’s surface as they slid back, signaling that this meeting was over . . . for now.

Chapter 9 The Injustice

Tala heard every word from her position in the bunkroom. She had busied Bang with folding laundry in her room, and as she put away towels, she heard their hushed voices. She didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but she couldn’t help but hear the fear-laced words the men spoke.

She stopped in her tracks, contemplating what it all meant. When Graham rounded the corner and found her, he knew from the fright in her eyes that she had heard.

“Come on. It’s going to be fine,” he said as he held his arms open to embrace her. “I’ll talk to this guy. Maybe he just saw a large raiding group. Maybe he’s wrong.”

Tala pulled away and looked up at him. “If he’s right, we’re not safe here. Not the baby, not any of us. We should leave.”

Graham shook his head. “Don’t worry about this, Tala. It’s going to be okay. You’ll see. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

She tried to believe him, but she was too jaded from recent events. Graham retrieved his boots, touching her shoulder on his way out the door.

She watched him depart, his retreating back descending into the mist, until Bang arrived, bearing a teetering stack of awkwardly folded towels and seemingly very proud of himself for the effort.

“Thank you, Bang,” Tala praised, trying to hide her fear. “You’re such a big help!” Bang ran past her and out the front door into the rain to wave to Graham while Tala looked on, afraid for them all. The silver showers clouded with haze shone with two headlights backing out of the drive. She couldn’t help but feel this was the beginning of something dreadful, like remembering a bad dream. She shook herself out of it, and the baby kicked as though reminding her of its presence. She put the laundry down and ran her hands down both sides of her belly. “You’re fine, little one,” she murmured.

“Where are they going?” Macy asked from the doorway, surprising Tala.

Tala wasn’t certain what to say. She avoided making eye contact. “They’ve got some business to check out. We aren’t sure yet.”

“What are you not telling me?” Macy asked.

“Nothing, really; a guy made radio contact with Rick yesterday. They think the man at the campsite that Graham and the boys found last night might be him. They’re going off to speak to him now.”

“Why didn’t someone tell me?” Macy asked, sounding offended.

Tala considered Macy. At sixteen, she wasn’t a child anymore; she was just as capable as Mark and McCann at providing for the group, and Tala sympathized with her frustration of the double standard she often put up with from Graham.

“Macy, I don’t know. Things happen fast around here, but if you ask me, you should have been told. I don’t think Mark knows either, if that makes you feel any better. Where are Mark and your sister, anyway?”

Macy chuckled. “Who knows? It’s too wet to be in the fields. They’re probably wrapped up in one of the tree stands together.”

“Oh, don’t say that,” Tala said, but she knew it was a likely scenario.

“Well, it’s true. I don’t even know her anymore,” Macy confided, then walked out into the haze again.

Tala didn’t have any advice to give. She thought it was all part of growing up too fast in this survival environment. These days they’d all done a lot of barely surviving. She was now, for all intents and purposes, married to Graham and having his child despite the viral risk. And now this new threat; she prayed they’d all make it through this, too.

Chapter 10 A Greeting

“They’re about another mile through the trees,” Graham said over the Jeep’s engine. The rain still poured, though it was not as fierce as before.

They drove as far as they could until the trail met the trees. There Rick cut the engine, and they set out on foot.

“I’m sure they know we’re here by now,” Graham said as he led the team. “It’s just through the trees here.” He couldn’t get over how fast the mushrooms came up this time of year. Stepping on a large one could send you slickly flying forward if you weren’t careful. The purple flower clusters of phlox blanketed treeless patches, and ferns grew green and bright, sending their little fingers out toward what meager light might be emitted through the treetops on a sunny day. This had to be his favorite time of year. As a boy he had rarely spent time at the cabin in the spring, so this was all new to him.

Typically, spring in nearby Seattle meant the bright garish reds, yellows, and blues of daffodils, tulips, and hyacinth planted in geometric shapes throughout the city. But this was spring through and through, in all its natural beauty. The moss underfoot wafted a musty smell through the forest path.

“Hey, I think we should post Rick and McCann as sentries while you and I walk in together—just in case we have any problems. Okay with you?” Dalton said.

Graham looked at McCann and he nodded, indicating that he would cover him. “Yeah, sure, but I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Graham said.

“You and me both, brother, but we can’t be too careful. Tala would kill me if something happened to you,” Dalton said to lighten the mood.

“She would—outright, even,” Graham agreed.

Once they could see the clearing through the trees, Dalton stopped and pointed to two points of cover for the sentries, who peeled off from the path while Graham and Dalton continued.

As they got closer Graham could see that the wagon and truck remained parked where they had been the night before. The young woman sat between the two vehicles, her red hair a bright contrast to the gray around them. The fire had been out long ago by the rain, and a blue tarp was rigged to provide the young woman with dry shelter as she appeared to be cooking something over a portable stove.

“Do you see the guy? Or the dogs?” Dalton asked.

Graham looked around. “No, I don’t.”

“Let’s go in. Maybe she’ll tell us something. Keep your hands out in the open, and if I yell down, dive,” Dalton warned him.

“Will do,” Graham said.

As they walked into the clearing they both made sure to harden their steps in an attempt to alert their host. She looked up at Graham and then Dalton, her untrusting green eyes assessing them.

“Hi,” Graham said lifting his hand.

“Hello,” Liza answered. She appeared mildly frightened, but who wouldn’t be in this new world when meeting a stranger?

“We heard you guys come in last night. We live close by. Do you need anything?”

“No. I don’t think so,” she said.

“My name is Graham, and this is Dalton.” Graham took a few more steps toward her.

“Stay right there, please,” she said shakily and both Dalton and Graham noticed a shotgun’s barrel poking out from underneath her fur cloak. Dalton suddenly had one hand full of the back of Graham’s jacket, steadily yanking him backward.

“We mean you no harm, lady,” Dalton said. “We’re only checking on things.”

Graham had his hands up in his best no-offense mode as her eyes darted to the trees, passing left and right of them. She was getting more nervous, and that wasn’t a good sign.

“How many are in your group?” Graham asked, trying to distract her. She’s looking for someone. Where’s that guy and those dogs?

“Just two,” she said with a nervous smile.

“Are you guys just passing through?” Dalton asked, still holding onto the back of Graham’s jacket.

“I dunno,” she said, staring pointedly past them into the forest.

They both followed her line of sight and spotted Rick, who was looking none too pleased with a gag in his mouth and his hands tied behind his back as he was shoved forward by his assailant, who had a pistol aimed at his side.

“Hey!” Graham shouted, but Dalton had already drawn his weapon and pulled Graham behind him.

“We mean no harm, you asshole!” Dalton yelled.

“This is just for insurance; just like the lookouts you put up,” the stranger said calmly.

“All right, you’ve made your point. Let him go now,” Graham said.

“Let’s get some answers first,” Dutch said.

“Okay. What do you want to know?” Graham asked.

“You guys turned off the transmissions?”

“So, you’re Dutch?” Dalton asked.

“Yes.”

“Then yes, we’ve turned them off,” Dalton answered.

“Let him go now,” Graham said.

“Not so fast. How many people do you have here?” Dutch asked.

“You have a lousy way of making friends, you know that?” Dalton said.

“I’m not here to make friends.”

“How about we all lower our weapons?” Graham said.

“How about you answer the question?” Dutch shot back.

“About thirty,” Dalton said.

“And about half of those are children,” Graham added.

“Are you guys immune to the virus?” Dutch asked.

“Yes,” Graham answered, thinking it wasn’t the time to elaborate on technicalities.

Dutch pulled out his pocketknife, showing Dalton and Graham he meant to cut loose Rick’s ties. “Okay, I didn’t mean to scare you guys. You can’t be too careful these days.”

Rick pulled down his gag as soon as he was able to and turned to face his attacker. Graham thought he was going to hear a stream of profanity, since Rick was quite talented in that area. Catching Dutch off guard, Rick shoved him backward by the shoulders instead.

Both men went sprawling onto the ground and, luckily, Rick had sent Dutch’s gun spiraling out of reach. Graham remembered that Dutch wore a prosthesis and contemplated jumping in his defense, but Rick’s arms were swinging and Dutch was doing his best to deflect each punch. Finally Dalton reached down, grabbed Rick, and dragged him up off Dutch. “That’s enough!” he yelled.

Then the girl screamed as if someone had just committed murder, and Graham could tell that she wasn’t well. He looked at Dutch for answers, but he lay on the ground wiping away blood from his lip and appeared to realize his young companion was in distress.

Graham walked toward her. “Hey, lady. Everything’s fine. He’s okay.”

“Don’t, Graham,” Dalton warned but was too far away to yank him back again.

That’s when the blast went off.

Chapter 11 The Stalker

It wasn’t hard for Macy to follow the Jeep’s tracks through the mud. She had saddled up McCann’s mare, knowing that taking his favorite horse would bug him, but that didn’t matter to her. She wanted to annoy him in the way he annoyed her—the way he was taking her place because she was a girl, the way he decided she would be his without her permission.

He had tried to conquer her in his silent way. She didn’t want to be owned, and she didn’t want to own anyone else. Your heart hurts terribly when you lose someone you’re apt to claim possession of, and she never wanted to go through that again. Not ever.

Macy followed the Jeep tracks through the rain, wearing a dove-colored Stetson hat to shield her from the shower. The earth smelled clean and new, and she thought that shouldn’t be the case; it should cease to smell fresh after all of the deaths, and it should cease to nurture tender green sprouts. The sky should never turn blue, yet she could already see a clearing in the clouds, and she thought it a betrayal to all she’d loved and lost.

Sheriff appeared out of nowhere and trotted alongside Macy, as he often did. One minute he wasn’t there and the next he was. He was her companion, but she didn’t own him; Sheriff owned himself, and everyone knew it. She figured he just liked her best of all his humans, or perhaps he knew she was doing something she shouldn’t, and he wanted to go along to watch over her. In any event, she was thankful for his presence. He looked up at her occasionally, with his tongue lolling out; the smell of his damp fur wafted up to her nose.

“You smell, my friend,” she said, and Sheriff seemed offended. He cut his eyes away from her as though knowing exactly what her words meant.

Macy led the horse through the new growth of a meadow toward the farthest tree line, where she spotted the Jeep she’d been stalking.

When they reached the empty vehicle, Sheriff sniffed at the boot prints and the telling mark of Graham’s cane that led into the forest.

“That’s almost too easy to follow,” Macy whispered as she ducked under low-hanging branches. Sheriff ran up ahead to lead the way as he followed their scent. He stopped suddenly, and Macy watched as a sense of confusion crossed him. He looked first north, then west and east, and then he turned to look at her astride the horse, as if needing her counsel for their next course of action.

“What do you think, Sheriff? Where’d they go?”

He sat on his haunches, waiting for a cue from Macy.

“Hmmm,” Macy said, not certain of what this meant.

Then Sheriff’s ears perked toward the east, and his muzzle followed. He stood and sniffed, then shot her a look before he began an easterly trot in tentative exploration. Something was up; Macy could tell by his actions.

It wasn’t long before they came upon a scene she never thought she would witness.

Sheriff’s ominous growl unnerved her as he lowered himself to his haunches, waiting to attack. The two other dogs did the same before their prey. McCann sat bound and gagged against a pine trunk with pale attack dogs guarding their prisoner.

“What the heck happened to you?” Macy said, instinctively knowing to keep her voice low. McCann’s eyes implored her to leave as he jerked his head to the right. Macy surveyed her surroundings for the others, her hand on the pistol grip of her .45 as she dismounted the mare. One of the dogs turned to her despite Sheriff’s warnings, and McCann shook his head, causing the other dog to turn on him and bark a warning an inch from his face.

“Git!” Macy yelled and then she heard the shrill scream of a woman in distress, followed by a massive explosion. Instantly Macy sunk to a crouch against the pine-needled blanket and raised her pistol. When she looked back, both guard dogs were gone and McCann looked at her with terrified concern. She ran to him and crouched at his side. With her unsheathed knife she tore through the bindings around his wrists, and while she went to work on his ankle bindings, he ripped down the gag and yelled at her, “Get out of here! Go, Macy—now!”

“Shut up,” she said as she continued to cut at the binding.

He reached and took her weapon from her. “I mean it, Macy; get the hell out of here!”

“No,” she said. “Where’s Graham?”

He shook his head and blew an exasperated breath at her. “You—” he cut himself off and turned toward the right while pulling her behind him and using the next tree as a shield. They inched their way toward what Macy guessed was the location of the others.

The familiar click of Macy’s .45 told her McCann had pulled back the hammer of her pistol, getting ready to fire. He still held onto her shirt by her waist with a tight grip, holding her close to his back. She shoved his hand away, knowing he’d get hurt if was he partially impaired by her presence. Why did he have to worry about her? She could take care of herself.

“Stop it,” she said, slapping his hand away.

“Stay right behind me, Macy. I mean it, or I’ll tie you up,” he warned.

She huffed, “Like hell.”

“Shhh,” he said.

Macy heard whimpering and turned to see that Sheriff had followed the two at a crouch. She reached back and held his collar, pulling him to her side to keep him out of McCann’s way. She noticed the horse had backed up several yards from her previous position. Everything had happened so fast that Macy hadn’t thought about how lucky it was that McCann’s mare hadn’t tried to flee and trample her in the process.

There were angry voices, though neither McCann nor Macy could hear specifically what they were saying.

“Macy, please stay right here,” McCann said, his brown eyes pleading with her to obey him. The vibration of his racing heartbeat trembled his shirt collar.

“No,” she whispered, a quiet defiance this time.

He looked away from her. “Stay close, then.”

She followed as they scurried another ten feet closer to the angry voices to get a look at the chaotic scene.

“Oh, son of a bitch!” Rick’s voice yelled in agony. Macy leaned around McCann to see who was hurt. Her pulse raced and her heart thundered inside her chest.

She saw a stranger sitting up to the left of Dalton and Rick. Rick was holding his shin, and blood was spreading over his hands. She looked farther and saw Graham lying prone, face down on the ground. McCann must have seen him, too, and he began to step forward, but Macy pulled him back when she noticed the stranger holding his hand up to someone farther away. A woman with flaming red hair stood up, screaming, between a truck and a horse wagon. A shotgun fell to the ground, and the young woman turned and fled. The unknown man chased after her, shouting, “Liza!”

Macy then pushed McCann from behind and they both entered the clearing with Sheriff by their side. “Graham?” Macy called and ran to him. She barely noticed all the blood in her peripheral vision as she passed Rick, where Dalton was trying to stem the crimson flow from his leg.

“Graham!” she yelled again as she skidded to her knees before him, ruining newly sprouted spring growth beneath her. McCann’s boots appeared beside her. Although no blood puddled around Graham, she was afraid to touch him. Almost crying, she grabbed his shoulder; McCann reached down and helped her turn him to his side.

“Graham?” she asked again and saw where the rock had hit him—or, rather, where his forehead had landed on the rock. McCann checked for breathing. He pushed Macy out of the way and opened the front of Graham’s jacket, then leaned down to his face, turning his head and listening.

“Is he okay? Is he hit?” Dalton asked.

“Oh, Jesus!” Rick yelled.

“Is he breathing?” Macy asked, waiting for the answer. McCann’s brown eyes looked toward Graham’s chest as he listened.

It was torture, this waiting.

“Yes,” he said finally.

McCann pulled away, sat back, and pushed Graham’s hair from his forehead, his hand coming away damp with blood. He further parted Graham’s hair and peered down at the minor split in his scalp. “I think he’s just knocked out. We should get him to Clarisse. He could have swelling.”

McCann pushed Macy back again as he looked for any other signs of injury that Graham might have. He’d been through the ringer already last winter, and now this.

Dalton was busy putting pressure on Rick’s wounds. Most of the shot had been absorbed by the ground, but Rick had caught a partial scatter to the lower leg above his boot line.

“Is Graham okay?” Dalton’s insistent voice beckoned.

“He’s got a head injury; it’s hard to say. He’s breathing, but we need to get him to Clarisse. How’s Rick?” McCann asked.

Before Dalton could answer, McCann placed his fingers in his mouth and whistled a loud looping sound toward the forest, and his mare obediently appeared.

“Rick will be okay; it’s a flesh wound. We can take the Jeep,” Dalton offered.

“I’m getting him out of here before that guy gets back here. Macy, climb up,” he demanded, holding out his entwined hands for a step hold onto the horse.

She glanced at Rick and Dalton and back to McCann. She didn’t want to obey, but knew McCann was right. She placed her right hand on McCann’s shoulder, his jacket damp from the rain but strong and unyielding. With her muddy right boot placed in his outstretched hands, she sprung up into the air and looped her left leg over the back end of the mare. Dalton came over and, together, the two men lifted Graham’s unconscious form up and over the center saddle, Macy holding him level.

“Rick’s gotta come, too!” she said. “Look at all the blood.”

“McCann will help him hike through the woods to the Jeep,” Dalton said. “I’ll stay and have a word with our new neighbor. That girl has some issues, and he needs to explain why. Macy, go now. I’ll be right behind you. Go straight to Clarisse. Tala doesn’t need to know for now.”

Macy nodded, and the rain began again as the mare ambled forward with its load. She held the reins, but the horse seemed to know where she was going and trotted gently toward the preppers’ camp with McCann’s orders; Macy was a mere passenger. She blew out a frustrated breath because—again—McCann was owning her.

Chapter 12 Fleeing Dreams

She ran, stumbling several times, and finally fell to the wet, uneven ground, muddy and torn. The shot still rang in her ears, the one from before and the one from just now, bringing it all back. Blood appeared vibrant red in her mind as a man toppled over.

She had run then, as she was running now, blindly into the forest, where she’d hoped the memories would not follow, but it was far too late. They were here now, surrounding her.

One minute everything was fine, then the men were fighting, and their voices grew even louder until they were on the ground swinging at one another. She fired out of terror and, not knowing the fate of the stranger, she could only run. She ran until the bright and dull shades of green blended and flowed beside her.

~ ~ ~

Dutch followed Liza but didn’t try to catch her; she needed to tire herself out. He kept track of where she was going and hoped she didn’t fall off a cliff. He knew there was trouble with her. She was damaged; he’d seen it before in Afghanistan as they’d rescued women from captivity. They were terrified of any man; even handing water or food was met with a flinch and a frightened stare. He saw this same behavior in this girl, the way she flinched when he’d accidentally brush against her when handing her something. Or the way she never looked him in the eyes and jumped at any loud sound . . . and not trusting him with her name. Someone had done this to her. It made Dutch sick to think about it.

Liza wasn’t any different from his buddies who were burdened with awful memories of war, and he knew he had to let her ride it out. She needed to be exhausted before he could help her. So he watched and kept his distance. It was then he realized she was his responsibility after all; she wasn’t ready for other people yet. He needed to help make her whole again before he could leave her here alone . . . if they would even have her now.

Dutch tracked Liza as she fled. She was slowing down; he knew she’d be exhausted soon and her legs would give out. The deep tracks led the way through the muddy earth where, on occasion, he could see her handprints, too. Not long now, he thought. She’ll hit the ground soon. And then he came upon her, curled around her herself, her red hair wildly strewn in a crown about her as she sobbed in great heaves while her breath tried to catch up with her.

He approached carefully, toward her barricaded back, which harbored her broken but beating heart. She was torn and lost; he’d seen it but didn’t know how badly until today. She was strong, but no one is invincible.

He knelt down beside her and gently said, “Liza?”

She curled herself up tighter.

“Liza,” Dutch said again, reaching out a hand to stroke her temple.

She shot her ivy-green eyes at him with terror. She jerked away from his hand until she could see through the fog. His hand remained in a hover, waiting for her permission.

Knowing now that it was him, she closed her eyes and cried more softly.

It was enough of an invitation, and Dutch brushed her hair away from her face. “It’s okay, Liza. Everything is going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Did I . . . did I . . . kill him?” she choked between ragged breaths.

“No.”

As Liza cried tears of relief, Dutch lifted her head onto his lap and stroked her vibrant hair. She trembled in his grasp, her soul wounded by this life. She tried to speak between sobs, so he bent low to hear her words.

“My name . . . is Lucy.”

Chapter 13 The Messenger

Macy found once herself again carting an unconscious Graham to get aid. She held her hat over him as much as she could and checked the scalp wound frequently. His scalp poured blood in a stream. She was suddenly glad there was no snow on the ground, remembering how bright blood shows in contrast against the white.

The river’s roar neared; she would soon be in the preppers’ camp. She resisted the urge to push the horse faster, knowing she needed to keep Graham stable more than she needed speed. The horse crossed the bridge with ease, and Macy peered around, wondering where Sheriff had gotten off to; she hoped he wasn’t fighting for his life against the other two dogs. She also hoped Tala wasn’t out in the woods to see them like this—Graham unconscious and her carrying him away. It felt like a betrayal, and she resented being left to deceive Tala.

Soon they reached the camp, and Steven, after a double take, ran up to her side.

“What the hell happened?”

“There was a shot,” Macy began.

“He’s shot?” Steven asked.

“No, Graham fell. Rick’s shot,” she said, regretting her words right away.

“Rick?”

“Yes, but it’s not bad. They’re coming.”

“Again, what the hell happened?” Steven asked, but then ignored her when she tried to answer; instead he yelled, “Clarisse!”

Sam came to help them, and Macy again attempted an explanation as Steven began to pull Graham from the saddle.

“Someone fired a shotgun, and Graham dove down, hitting his head on a rock, and some of the pellets struck Rick in the leg. But he’s fine. McCann is bringing him in with the Jeep.”

“Okay, I think I get it,” Steven said. By the time he and Sam had a hold of the unconscious body and turned it over, Graham had started to moan. Blood was everywhere, his face covered in it. He began to move, bringing his arm up to his head sleepily. When he pulled his hand away, it was dripping with gore. Macy turned her gaze away as she descended the mount. Taking the reins, she looked for a place to tie them when she heard Clarisse.

Steven went into medic mode, looking into Graham’s eyes and calling out medical details and jargon to Clarisse. They made little sense to Macy, but when they took Graham away she knew he’d be okay. As she tied McCann’s horse to a slender pine where she would be out of most of the rain, she realized the mare would need a wipe-down and a drink. She was walking through the mist to retrieve a cloth and some water from the tank to clean her off when Sam intercepted her.

“Are you okay, Macy?” he said, placing a cautious hand on her shoulder as he gave her a once-over. Blood stained her slacks and jacket where she had held onto Graham.

“Yes, I’m fine, Sam,” she assured him, standing a little taller. He looked as if he doubted her words, and she wasn’t sure why.

“What happened out there? Do I need to go help?” Sam asked.

“I think things are fine now; Dalton and McCann have it under control. I don’t really know what happened. I came up and found McCann tied up with two dogs guarding him. Then we heard a shot, and when we got there some lady ran off through the woods and Graham was lying there . . .” she began to choke up, remembering the scene.

Sam pulled her to him.

“It’s okay, Macy. He’s going to be fine. He was just knocked out. It’s only a scalp wound, and they bleed a lot, which makes it look worse than it is. He’s awake now and pissed off, but he’s fine,” Sam soothed her.

He took the bucket of water from her hands. Together they washed the blood from the mare’s chestnut hide until the water ran clear; then they let her drink fresh water. Macy relayed all she knew from the scene until the rumble of Dalton’s Jeep reverberated through the quiet.

Steven came out and relayed to Clarisse what was wrong with Rick, as if he was only a body instead of his best friend.

“Will you knock it off?” Rick snarled. Steven ignored any utterance from the patient, however, and threatened him with a tetanus shot in the ass if he didn’t shut up.

Macy watched their back-and-forth with amusement until she saw McCann staring at her in the distance; she cut her eyes away and went back to caring for his horse.

When McCann approached her, Sam went to help with Rick. Macy still didn’t look at McCann, continuing to dry the horse instead.

“Why did you follow us, Macy?” McCann asked. He stood too close to her.

“I wasn’t following you,” she lied.

McCann waited a minute beside her, and she felt him watching her hand stroke the horse.

“Yes you were.”

“I’m going to go and let Tala know what happened,” she whispered.

He clasped her wrist in midstroke. “Macy,” he said, gently pulling the rag from her grasp. He was shaking, and she wasn’t sure what that meant.

“I’m fine, McCann,” she said, pulling away, but he wouldn’t let her. Instead he pulled her toward him and she relented with begrudging reluctance.

His raspy voice whispered into her ear as he held her close. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”

Macy’s eyes widened. She was all too aware of his closeness and though she wanted someone to hold her like this, she didn’t ever want to risk having her heart broken by losing someone else she loved. She placed her hands on his strong arms and pushed herself away from him.

“I’m not yours, McCann.” She turned from him as one corner of his mouth bent upward.

He pulled her toward his chest again, despite her resistance, and whispered, “I don’t want to own you, Macy. I just want you by my side, standing beside me. Only a man with a death wish would ever try to possess you.” He then quickly released her.

She started to lead the horse away by the reins and turned to see if McCann was still watching her. He was, and she wasn’t certain anymore if having him close annoyed her or if she’d just made a truce . . . of sorts.

Chapter 14 The Girl

With Dalton on one side and McCann on the other, they managed to get Rick to the Jeep—after stopping twice to rewrap his calf. Dalton knew buckshot to the shin must hurt terribly, but at least it wasn’t life threatening. He would just have to hear Rick complain like a pansy for a while.

“You sure you don’t want to come with us?” McCann asked.

“No, get him in. I’ll walk back. That girl might need to be looked at, too.”

“I’ll come back after I drop off Rick,” McCann had said.

“Good idea,” Dalton replied. In the back of his mind, he was a bit jealous of Rick at the moment because he’d at least be in the vicinity of Clarisse soon. Being near her was something Dalton tried to arrange on a daily basis, despite the way their lives were now.

He tapped the truck’s door, and when McCann took off, he double-timed it back to Dutch’s camp. Although he thought Dutch’s tactics were flawed, he didn’t think the guy was bad unless it turned out he had been abusing the girl. If that was the case, Dalton didn’t care what the guy had witnessed; he’d grab the girl and send Dutch on his way. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

On his approach he saw the man carrying the young woman through the rain. Her arm held him tight across the neck and her damp red hair hung down in ringlets across his arm.

“She okay?” Dalton called.

“Yeah. She’s shaken up, but she’s okay,” Dutch said as he came into camp. He sat her down in the fur-lined chair she had fled from earlier, which had partially been covered with a tarp to cast out the rain.

Dalton knelt by her side. She shivered and her lips trembled. “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked. She flicked her eyes up at Dutch without answering. Dutch wrapped another blanket around her and picked up the shotgun she’d dropped before. Dalton watched as he wiped off the dirt and checked the load.

“I want to talk to you . . . in private,” Dalton said as he stood up.

Dutch nodded, telling Lucy, “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

A short distance away, Dalton waited for Dutch to catch up. He contemplated losing his cool but knew that wouldn’t be good for the girl, considering how she’d reacted before. With his hands on his hips, he asked the man in an angry but controlled voice, “Do you mind telling me what the hell just happened here?”

By all appearances, Dutch seemed calm, and he didn’t strike Dalton as a bad sort—meaning, he didn’t think the guy had harmed the girl himself. But Dutch certainly hadn’t given them the best impression. His behavior with Rick had been unsettling, but it was something Dalton would have done himself if the roles had been reversed. Dutch had calculated that they were coming in to see him; he didn’t know what kind of people they were, and he took precautions to keep himself and the girl safe from them. These actions were warranted in the world they lived in now. Anyone with a tactical mind would have done the same. Dalton felt it was his own fault for not anticipating this, but he set up sentry guards himself and, given Dutch’s actions, he considered him an equal.

Having Rick knock the crap out of Dutch was also predictable. Rick was humorless when humiliated; Dalton felt the blame and knew he should have stopped his buddy’s attack.

What wasn’t expected was the girl’s reaction, and Dalton was afraid he knew the answer as to why she behaved the way she did. He just hoped Dutch wasn’t the one who’d abused her.

“I think she had a flashback,” Dutch explained and looked Dalton in the eye. “She’s just a kid. She works hard, but she’s skittish. I came upon her fleeing from the invaders. She’s been traumatized; I don’t know to what extent.” He shook his head.

“She ever done anything like this before?” Dalton asked.

“No. She’s quiet. She was scared to death when I first found her. It’s taken weeks for her to even look at me straight. She only just told me her name—Lucy. It wasn’t her fault; I shouldn’t have set her up with the shotgun. We haven’t been around anyone else. I had no idea she’d react that way.”

“You’re not with her, right?” Dalton had to ask. He could see right away that Dutch was offended at even the suggestion.

“I could be her father, man. Hell, no! She’s a girl, maybe twenty. And I’m almost fifty.”

Dalton nodded, relieved at his answer. “Look, besides her, we have a lot to talk about. Why don’t you two come back to camp with me? I have a doctor who can take a look at her and make sure she’s okay. Then we can talk about these invaders and decide what to do.” At that time, McCann came into the clearing, heading their way.

“I don’t know where my dogs ran off to, and I’m not leaving my provisions unguarded here,” Dutch said. “My only task was to warn you guys, drop her off, and be on my way. I’ve done that, and I’ll be leaving as soon as she’s taken care of.”

“You mean you’re leaving her here with us?” Dalton asked.

“Yeah, if you’ll have her. She really is a good worker; she’s just a little traumatized,” Dutch explained.

“Don’t you think that’s up to her?” McCann asked once he caught on to the gist of their conversation. Dalton could tell the kid didn’t much like this guy’s style.

“She’s not mine. I only found her. Or rather, she found me, fleeing for her life only a few weeks ago. I’m a loner, and she needs other people her own age to be around,” Dutch said.

“All right; let’s have McCann, here, take her back to our camp. She can stay the night with Clarisse after she’s looked at. We’ll figure out her living arrangements later. McCann, have Sam and Reuben come back with you.”

“I have to take care of my own. I’ll send them out, but then I’m checking on Graham and getting him home. You need to make the girl understand it’s okay to come with me, though,” McCann said.

Dalton caught his meaning that Dutch was the only one she trusted and the thought that this might be a more difficult transition than he’d anticipated crossed his mind. The girl eyed them with a distrustful glare, even now balled up on her chair, hugging her legs. She was a little thing, and Dalton felt the hollow in his stomach knowing what she must have endured at the hands of the jihadists.

Dutch cleared his throat. “Let me talk to her first. Wait here.”

He walked away, and Dalton wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing by offering the girl shelter away from someone she trusted. Sometimes when you’re dealing with a wounded animal, the best thing to do is let it be and wait for it to come to you. Unfortunately, it didn’t appear to him that Dutch had waiting on his mind. He seemed sufficiently spooked by what he had discovered to the south and did not intend to stick around for the girl to get comfortable with her new community. Even now, as Dutch knelt down to her level in the chair, Lucy was shaking her head in disapproval of the idea.

She began to cry again, wiping at her tears with her sleeve. Dutch stroked the back of her head while he reassured her she would be safe. She didn’t seem convinced.

When Dutch finally motioned for McCann to approach, both men walked toward her. Dalton wanted to let her know himself that she would be safe at their camp.

“This is McCann. He’s going to take you to their camp. They have a doctor who can see to you,” Dutch explained to her.

Dalton knelt down and faced Lucy’s tear-streaked face before McCann stepped forward.

“Hi, I’m Dalton. I lead our camp, and this is McCann. He lives nearby, in Graham’s camp. He’s going to take you to my camp for the night. You’ll stay with our doctor Clarisse. She’s a really nice lady, and you’ll be fed, have a clean shower, and a warm bed for the night. No one will bother you; I promise you that, Lucy.

She shot her terrified eyes at Dutch, realizing that he had told Dalton her name.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Dalton said. He held his hand out to Lucy, and she took it tentatively. Dutch placed the skinned hide she’d adopted for her own around her shoulders, and McCann led the way to the Jeep. She followed behind him, and Dalton watched as she turned every few feet to look behind her.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lucy,” Dutch said.

She nodded and turned to catch up to McCann.

Chapter 15 Private Time

“It’s not that bad,” Graham assured Tala when she caught a glimpse of him. Macy had already warned her, so she had had a little time to prepare before McCann brought Graham back to camp. Tala immediately pulled him into their bedroom, where she could talk to him without the others hearing.

“It’s only a few stitches,” he explained, but Tala’s expression killed him. Suddenly she looked petrified, as if she knew this thin veil of safety was all that stood between her, their unborn child, and the hell they’d all known before.

Graham hated it. He’d do anything to have Tala feel secure in his arms, always. This life was harsh and yes, he’d been lucky today. Despite the bump and scalp wound, he’d been damn lucky in fact. Rick was the one that got the spray of buckshot, even though that was a little blow and not likely to cause any lasting problems. He was probably putting up with his own wife about now, too; Graham smiled at the thought.

“What is so funny?” Tala asked as she held an icepack on Graham’s head, as Clarisse had advised.

“Rick. His wife is probably giving him hell about now.”

“I still don’t see why that’s funny.”

“You would if you were me.”

She pinched him and he yelled, “Ouch!” more out of shock than the pain.

She held up her finger to him. “Don’t make light of what happened today. Don’t you dare.” Graham could see that she was only barely keeping it together as her eyes pooled with tears.

“Tala,” he took her arm down and pulled her close to him. She was pissed, but he knew the anger came from worry more than anything else. “I fully admit I was lucky as hell today. I’m sorry; I’m not making fun of the danger. I’m just thankful it wasn’t worse.”

“You can only get lucky a few times, Graham, before it catches up with you.”

“Hey, you have to understand something; I don’t take chances. I walked toward her to try to calm her down. I didn’t know she was unstable. I didn’t for a minute think she’d shoot at us. I don’t think she was even aiming; the shotgun just went off. I think she’s been through a lot. She’s young, and Dalton said they were going to take care of her. He said Dutch got a hold of her after she’d been traumatized.” Graham ran his hand down her spine knowing all too well that it was Tala herself who had only recently almost succumbed to men who were bent on the same sort of torture.

“It wasn’t her fault,” he repeated in a whisper. “I can only imagine what they put her through. When the other guys were arguing she flipped and then the shotgun went off. She’s going to be okay now. Clarisse is monitoring her, and she’ll be living with them for now,” he said as his hand widened around Tala’s hip.

Tala relaxed in his arms and leaned her head into the crook of his neck. He cradled her belly with his palm and whispered into her ear as she sat in his lap on the bed that had become theirs. “I love you, Tala, but you need to know I have every faith that you’re strong enough to carry on if something were ever to happen to me—that you would take the rest of the group and go with Dalton. Promise me,” he said, caressing her side and kissing her neck.

“No,” Tala said. Another tear dropped, and she clutched Graham’s shirt with both hands. “I won’t ever leave here without you, so don’t get yourself killed.”

There was no arguing with Tala when she was defiant like this. Once she set her mind on something, that was that, and Graham knew of only one infallible way, without argument, to reassure her in silence that he loved her and would do anything to protect her.

Chapter 16 An Old Enemy

“It was them. I was in Afghanistan,” Dutch explained. “I have no doubts who they are. I monitored the radios. My dad was an old HAM radio operator, and he kept all the equipment. I started listening in one day—for background noise, more than anything else, after everyone in town passed on.

“The broadcast was mostly static in the beginning, a few auto transmissions and repeaters that were never turned off; then one day I heard your Morse transmission. I’ve known code since I was a kid, because of my dad. I deciphered yours, and since the message was on a beacon, I wasn’t sure if you guys were really here. The day I convinced myself to contact you back, I heard their traffic over the shortwave.

“After that, I didn’t even attempt a broadcast. I listened in to find out where they were and rode two days north to see what I hoped hadn’t happened. Unfortunately, the people I saw were no different from the enemy we fought for years in the desert. They’re here now. There’s no mistaking that.”

Dutch’s words hung in the air as a nightmare come true. What they’d all suspected had now became real, ominous—heinous.

The rain had picked up to a steady rhythm against the blue tarp and filled the silence as Dalton silently hoped that Dutch was mistaken. Steven looked at him like he was speaking Swahili, while Sam sat back and pondered the situation. To Dalton they all appeared utterly defeated, and this wasn’t good. They needed to fight them. They needed to wipe them from their soil, make them pay for all the lives they’d taken. Send them back to their God on a fast track—and without the virgins.

“How many and what kind of weapons are they packing?” Sam asked.

Dutch shook his head in defeat before he answered, “Ours, man. They’re packing our weapons, driving our trucks on our land, and there’s a lot of them. I saw at least two or three hundred, and that’s just here. I’m sure they’re in every major port by now. They did this to us, and we lost. There’s no fighting them now. I’m going north; you ought to do the same. Anyone they find they’ll either enslave or kill outright. I’ve seen it.”

How did you find Lucy?” Steven asked.

“Lucy found me. I think she escaped from capture. She’s never wanted to talk about it, but she was running like hell through the woods that night and ran right into me. She was covered in someone else’s blood. I hate to think of what happened to her, but she’s a lot better than she was—despite what happened here today. I hope you guys will give her a chance.”

“That’s not a problem, Dutch. We’ll give her a fair chance. What we need to discuss is how we can get these bastards off our soil,” Dalton said.

“Like I said, there’s too many of them. I’m going north to Canada. If and when we do have enough numbers to do something about it, I’m all in; until then, I’m becoming a Canadian.”

“That doesn’t sit well with me,” Dalton said with more venom than he intended.

A moment passed before Sam filled the tension with a more pressing question. “Have you monitored their conversations on the radio since then? Have they talked about their plans?”

“Yeah,” Dutch said, “more of the same; mostly in Arabic, some of which I picked up in my last employment. Taking the land from the infidels. Removing the scourge from sea to sea. They’re burning any and all monuments, churches . . . everything. It’s sick. I’m no coward, man,” he directed his comment at Dalton, “but there’s no fighting that. We don’t have enough men or weapons. The writing’s on the wall. They won, we lost.”

Dalton couldn’t take Dutch’s defeatist attitude. He stood and yelled, “That’s bullshit! During the revolution we were outnumbered. We didn’t give up then. We didn’t let the British win. We’re no different now. There’s got to be a way.”

“This isn’t the revolution, and their numbers are greater now, Dalton. Believe me, if there’s a way, I’m all for it. If you’ve got a plan, let’s work it.”

“No one followed you here, right?” Sam asked.

“No, I don’t think so, but I’m telling you, I think you have a week at the most. They’re coming, and borders are no obstacle for them. We saw it in the Middle East. Once they declared a caliphate there, nothing held them back. We were too fucking lackadaisical in our pansy-ass limited airstrike shit. No, our own government had as much to do with our downfall as they did. What a fucking waste,” Dutch said.

“So they used the virus to kill us all, and then waited?” Steven asked, trying to summarize the events.

“I think so, man,” Dutch nodded solemnly.

“There were early, but unsubstantiated, reports that China weaponized H5N1 and then sold it to the highest bidder. They did anything it took to stick it to the United States. Guess we know who won the auction, though I don’t think China celebrated for long. It backfired on them and everyone started dying off before we could even begin to investigate,” Dalton said.

“We need to take a scouting trip and see how far they’ve come. Get our people out of harm’s way and then make a plan of attack,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I agree. Dutch, can you stay a while with us and lead us to where you saw them last so we can get an idea of their numbers and their location?”

Dutch shook his head, and Dalton knew this would be a battle.

“Dalton, I am making my way north. I’m not sticking around here. If you guys come up with some grand idea to wipe them all out at once, let me know. I’m just passing through and giving you guys the warning along the way,” Dutch said.

“That’s it? You’re dropping a bomb on us and leaving? Like, deal with it? Like it or not, you’re an American, and right now we’re in short supply of those—in case you haven’t noticed. We need you here with us to fight these bastards,” Steven said.

Dalton realized the conversation could easily get out of control, and he needed to pull everyone together. Steven was typically mild-mannered, but even he was getting pretty pissed off.

“I agree with Sam. We need to form a scout team and check these guys out. Just three or four of us; I don’t want to leave our people undefended in case things go the wrong way. Dutch, we could really use you, but I won’t stand in your way if you’re leaving. Thanks for the warning.” Dalton stood and signaled that the meeting was adjourned. They’d gotten about all they could from Dutch, and it seemed pretty clear that he wasn’t willing to give them anymore. There was no sense in fighting over it.

“Lucy will be fine with us,” Sam said. “Don’t worry about her.”

“Thanks,” Dutch said and shook Sam’s hand.

“Are you going to head out?” Dalton asked him as the others rose to depart.

“I’ll head out in the morning.”

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Dutch, and good luck out there.” Dalton shook the man’s hand with a firm grip.

“You’re going to leave the girl without saying good-bye to her?” Steven asked.

“Steven,” Dalton said as a warning. “Let the man go. We all have our own decisions to make.”

“It’s all right,” Dutch answered. “She’s not mine. She doesn’t belong to me, but I will come by tomorrow on my way out and bring her a few things.”

“Why don’t you at least stay until we get back? You could help keep an eye on things,” Steven suggested.

“I’ll think about it.”

Dalton nodded, thinking, At least he considered Steven’s suggestion. He then led the others back into the rain with new troubles on their minds and a plan beginning to form.

Chapter 17 Caught and Lost

It was dark, but he could see their shadows coming. “Where have you guys been?” McCann asked Mark and Marcy as they passed the newly erected stables on their way to the cabin.

Mark stopped so suddenly that Marcy ran into his back. He hadn’t expected McCann to be waiting for them there. “We were . . . hanging out,” he said, stumbling over his words.

“Where?” McCann didn’t even try to hide his anger.

“What’s with you?” Marcy challenged.

“I was getting ready to saddle up and come find you two. Do you even know what’s happened today?” McCann yelled.

“What? What happened?” Mark asked.

“While you two were out screwing around, Graham nearly got shot and instead fell and hit his head pretty bad. Rick did get shot, taking a graze to his leg. If it wasn’t for Macy, I might be dead, and you two weren’t even around here to help out when we needed you.” He was surprised at his own anger and jerked when he felt Macy’s soft touch on his arm behind him, trying to calm him down.

“Is Graham all right?” Mark asked.

McCann took a deep breath and tried for a calmer tone. “Yeah. He’s taking it easy with Tala. He’s had a rough day.”

“We decided to stay out here and give them some time to themselves for a while,” Macy added.

“Have you guys seen Sheriff?” Bang asked from behind Macy.

Mark ignored Bang’s question. “What happened? Who nearly shot Graham?”

McCann didn’t want to explain it. He was frustrated with them and had no intentions of trying to make them feel better. He took a deep breath of the moist night air and said, “Come on, Bang, let’s go see if we can find Sheriff.” He’d already saddled Mosey to find the missing teens earlier. He mounted up and reached down to Bang, grabbing him and pulling him up onto the back of the saddle.

“Don’t be out long,” Macy said to him, trying to smile.

McCann nodded at her and cut his eyes away from Mark and Marcy.

“I’ll explain,” Macy said to the pair as he trotted away.

“McCann’s really pissed,” Marcy said.

“You’d be, too,” Macy shot back, and McCann took some satisfaction from her tone; at least she seemed to be on his side with this one. As McCann and Bang rode through the starry night, Macy’s voice trailed off.

“Is Graham going to be okay?” Bang asked timidly.

“Yeah, buddy, he’s fine. He was knocked out for a while, and scalp cuts bleed a lot, but he’s going to be fine.”

“Good. I don’t want anything to happen to him. I don’t know where I’d go if he died,” Bang said.

McCann led the horse in silence, thinking about what to say to Bang. Things were different these days, and outright lying just wasn’t the right thing to do to a little boy in these times. There was no reassuring him completely; sadly, at five, Bang already knew that.

“Bang, you know that if something ever happened to Graham, I would take care of you, right? We’re a family now. And if I am also gone and Tala is gone”—he tried to put it tactfully—“Dalton would take you. But you’re not an ordinary kid, Bang.” He laughed and patted Bang on the knee behind him. “You’ve got skills. You can take care of yourself. I’ve seen you snare a rabbit, gut it, skin it, and roast it over a fire pit you made yourself, all in less than an hour. There’s not much more to taking care of yourself if you can hunt and feed yourself.”

“Would you take care of Macy if something happened to me?” Bang asked him.

McCann cleared his throat. He knew how close Macy and Bang were. They were more siblings than Macy was a sister to Marcy. “Macy can take care of herself, too.”

“No. She needs me. She gets sad sometimes, and lonely,” Bang revealed.

“We all do, buddy; but yeah, I’d take care of her,” McCann said. He pulled out another toothpick to chew on while he stared through the moonlight ahead of them. They heard a distant howl, which ended their conversation, and McCann nudged Mosey with his heels enough to get him to speed up a little from his normal pace.

“Sheriff!” Bang called out while McCann whistled long and low, hoping to catch the dog’s attention. It wasn’t like Sheriff to run off without showing back up around dinnertime, and even McCann was beginning to worry.

Chapter 18 The Nightmare

“Lucy,” Clarisse called to her from outside the shower stalls. “You can change into these scrubs I’m putting on the chair here,” she said.

“Okay, Clarisse, thank you,” Lucy called back through the steam.

Clarisse had been horrified when McCann brought Lucy into camp. At first she was upset to know the shooter was coming in to stay with them, but after McCann explained what he thought the girl’s circumstances were she understood. Lucy was a small, timid thing, and Clarisse’s heart went out to her. Everyone could see for themselves that the girl was trying to cope with some nightmare, that she was clearly in shock from some remembered trauma. She’d have to get over her terror, however, or she’d never survive in this world; and they couldn’t afford her taking a life by accident.

It took a little coaxing, but after Lucy had showered and changed Clarisse was able to get the girl to tell her what had happened to her.

~ ~ ~

She was living near Spokane when the invaders captured her. They nearly killed her when she was asked to translate a few words in Arabic, and she hadn’t a clue what they were.

The hand that had clenched her hard by the back of her hair had pulled her head back to expose her throat to the sharp blade of a knife, which was meant to spill her blood. Another hand blocked the strike at the last second; a man with dark olive skin pulled the other man away. He grabbed handfuls of her striking red hair and pulled her hard against him. In broken English, he asked her if she was a virgin. She cried, knowing she might be saved, if only for a short and torturous time. She shook her head “no,” not wanting to give them the satisfaction of knowing she was.

The olive-skinned man paused for a moment and searched her face as if making a decision. He then shoved her to the ground and made her kneel before him; her hands were still tied behind her back. She had guessed he was about to take her head then and there, but instead he robed her in black from head to toe, even covering her face. Then he tied a rope around her neck and connected her to the back of his vehicle. She was made to follow on foot alongside other weeping prisoners. She suspected they were mostly young girls and their cries were only the beginning of the nightmare to come.

She’d fallen many times while bumping into other prisoners, but she somehow found the strength to stand and move rather than be dragged along the hard road. She could barely see through the slits in the head covering.

After they’d stopped later that night, she was separated from the others. She could barely walk, and they half-dragged her down a hall and brought her to what looked like an empty hotel room. She didn’t know where she was or how far they’d traveled, only that men yelled in strange languages, people screamed for mercy, and she was terrified. The smell of blood was everywhere. These men were animals in their butchery, and Lucy had no idea how long her death might be postponed; she could die at any given moment, and each second seemed like borrowed time.

Finally she was shoved into a bathroom, where she fell against a solid and unforgiving marble sink. The door was locked, and she looked for any means of escape. Finding none, she cried for a time, then eventually pulled herself up off the floor. She tore the head covering off, revealing rope burns around her neck in the mirror. She felt the burns and her tears stung her skin even more. She couldn’t stand to even look at her own reflection knowing her parents would be horrified by what had become of her. She tore herself away from the image and then drank as much cold water as she could from the faucet, cupping her hands under the wet stream again and again; she had no idea when she might be able to drink clean, fresh water again. Lucy wasn’t sure what they expected her to do. Shower? Whatever might happen next, she didn’t want to make it easy for remotely pleasant for the men.

She combed through her long hair with her fingers, braided it tight, and tied it off with a small length of fabric she had torn from the head covering. Then she had an idea as her defiance dared to build; she tore open drawers looking for anything she might defend herself with.

The marble finish left little to pull away and use as a weapon. She tried, unsuccessfully, to pull off part of the doorframe for a wedge of wood to use as a spike. The hairdryer had already been ripped from the wall. She tried kicking at the mirror, in hopes of a glass shard to fight with. She knew she might die, but she wasn’t willing to give up without a fight.

Coming up short, and with her fingers bleeding from the effort of trying to find a weapon, Lucy knew time was up as she heard someone come into the outer room. She sat on the marble floor in near defeat. Looking up in despair, she spied the shower curtain hooks. She barely had enough time to get one of them off before she heard someone opening the door. She bent open the wire, metal beads scattered the flooring, and wove the metal hook through the nape of her hair to conceal it. She hoped she might have a moment to use the makeshift weapon before her death.

The door opened. She’d learned already to not look them in the eye, but to bow to them in a subservient fashion. She would do this to stay alive for the moment.

A hand grabbed her roughly through the open door and shoved her toward the bed. She never got a chance to look at her assailant before he plunged her face down into the mattress.

The man held her with the weight of his body while he ripped the black robing from her with enough force to cut her pale skin. She suffocated under his weight as he held her down and shoved her into the mattress. Her arms flailed helplessly as she clawed to distance herself from the attacker. She screamed and fought against him, trying to crawl forward or away from him. His hands jerked her and held her down with even more force than before, causing her to lose all the breath left in her lungs. With barely enough air to scream, she turned her head to the side. She reached for the nape of her neck, groping for the metal piece—anything to fight with.

She felt his hands on her thighs. At the same time, she spied a pistol next to the bed, barely within reach. With his attention focused on trying to maneuver her legs, she took a chance. To her surprise, she frantically touched the pistol with the tips of her fingers, sliding it close enough to grasp; the cold metal felt heavy in her hands.

The man must have sensed her swift action, because his hands left her body. As she felt his weight shift, she twisted herself at the waist and fumbled while pulling back the hammer. The man barely had time to register the danger before him when she aimed blindly and fired. There was a flash, and then his heavy weight dropped onto her legs. She screamed out, not knowing yet if she’d stopped him. As the air left his lungs, she felt a wetness cover her legs. She held the gun in her hands, trembling, but he didn’t move. She braced her hands into the mattress and climbed to the head of the bed, pulling her legs out from underneath him. Blood covered her. She scrambled as far away from him as possible. Terrified, she watched him and saw no rise of his chest. She heard more screaming, chanting, and more gunfire outside. She looked through the peephole in the door. After someone passed the hotel room door, she scanned the room for something to wear. She ran for the burka, threw it over her body, and covered her head.

Lucy shook, but held the gun as she opened the door a crack and looked up and down the hallway. Through the eye slits she could see that the hall was clear. Amid screams coming from several parts of the hotel, she could also hear a wicked celebration taking place somewhere. With the hallway clear, she took a chance, opening the door and running. A sign read exit at the end of the hall. She opened it and scrambled into the cold stairwell, ran down the concrete steps, and flew through the hotel exit.

The cold night air shocked her. As Lucy scanned the parking lot, her eyes followed the sounds of yelling and chanting. In the near distance she could make out the shadowy figures of people gathered around a big bonfire. They were caught up in their reveling and shouting, which increased when some of the figures pointed their rifles in the air and fired. Knowing this momentary distraction might be her only chance, she bolted for the dark forest beyond the parking lot. She continued to run once she’d reached the cover of the trees. She didn’t look back.

~ ~ ~

By the time Lucy had finished telling her story she was hyperventilating on her own sobs. Clarisse clasped her shoulders gently. “Take a slow deep breath, Lucy; you’re safe now. No one will hurt you here. You don’t have to tell me more if you don’t want to, but it might help you to confide in me. No one will blame you for what you did. You had every right. I would have done the same, Lucy . . . I would have done the same.” Clarisse lowered her voice, and even though she didn’t mean for the ill-omened tone, it came out that way. “I would have slaughtered him, Lucy.”

Lucy whispered the admission. “I did.” She was flashing back to that moment; Clarisse had seen this before with PTSD patients. Lucy sobbed openly, and Clarisse let her cry.

“There was so . . . much . . . blood. I don’t remember what happened right after that. One minute I was standing there hearing gunfire and yelling; the next thing I knew, I was running through the woods with the black robe and head covering over me, and I ran into Dutch. I thought he was one of them at first, but he pulled me away from them and I went with him; as long as we were leaving there, I was fine. I killed that man,” she said, and Clarisse could see the conflict in Lucy’s green eyes.

“Good! He wasn’t a man, Lucy. No man would ever treat you that way. His kind are less than animals,” Clarisse said, holding her hands. “You survived, Lucy! That’s what’s important.” She embraced the girl; she was proud of her. Lucy had fought back and, unlike too many other women in her situation, she had won. Now she just needed someone to help her understand that what she had done to survive was her right as a human being.

“Lucy, you are stronger than you know. You’re a survivor, and I’ll help you get through this. You’re not alone anymore, my dear.”

Clarisse had one more question for her. She held Lucy at arm’s length, looked her in the eyes, and said, “I have to ask you this; was Dutch a perfect gentleman after he ran into you?”

Lucy laughed and wiped away her tears. “Dutch is like . . . a brother . . . or an uncle to me.” She shook her head. “He’s annoying, but yes, he was a perfect gentleman. He never touched me, but I think he knew what had happened by the way I was dressed and all the blood. He brought me hot water and clothes, but never asked me anything about it. He only wants to go north and start over. I’ll miss him, but he’s a loner . . . or thinks he’s a loner; I’m not so sure.”

“I know the type,” Clarisse said.

After that, she examined Lucy and, though two weeks had passed since her escape, her pale, freckled skin was still covered in bruises, cuts, and scabbed-over sores. Had the assault progressed to a rape, Clarisse would have prescribed medication to expel any forming fetus. Lucy was fortunate to have saved herself from that as well; becoming impregnated by her attacker was one more problem Clarisse didn’t want this girl to have to contend with.

After giving her a tetanus shot, she asked, “Lucy, may I take some blood? I’m assuming you’re a carrier, but I’d like to confirm my assumption. The virus is still a danger for anyone new that we meet.”

“Sure,” Lucy said.

When the examination was over, Clarisse tucked Lucy safely into the clean cot next to her where Addy often slept. They’d work on her permanent living arrangement later. Beyond that, it would be a day-by-day process to build her confidence and get her over the feeling of living in a nightmare—as much as was possible in this world.

Unfortunately Clarisse had felt, more than seen, a new and foreboding coming from Dalton earlier; she knew something more terrible was at stake. If she had to guess, it had more to do than just Lucy’s captors, and that brought a chill to every fiber of her being. She knew Dalton and what he was capable of.

Chapter 19 Sheriff’s Vacation

“I’m sure he’ll show up tomorrow, Bang,” McCann said as he reached for the boy, still astride the mount.

“He’s never done this before,” Bang said. McCann could hear the sleepiness in his voice.

“Don’t worry, he’ll show up by morning.”

After they put Mosey away for the night, they entered the cabin to find dinner held for them and Graham waiting.

“Didn’t find him?” Graham asked.

“No. Heard a few wolves, but no sign of Sheriff.”

Bang walked headlong into Graham, and he knew it was the boy’s way of needing a hug without actually asking.

“It’s all right, Bang. McCann’s right, he’ll show up in the morning.”

McCann watched as Graham slung the boy over his shoulder and carried him into the bunkroom. There’s an unbreakable bond between those two, McCann thought, again realizing how much he admired the man.

McCann was starving after such a long day, and after he’d eaten the stew set out for him he went in search of more leftovers. Usually Tala left a few extra biscuits out, but he was guessing that, with all the excitement today, she hadn’t had the time. As he rummaged for more food, McCann peered inside the oven. Usually it held a hidden morsel or two and, luckily, there was newly dried venison jerky laid out on a cookie sheet.

“Ha!” he whispered in triumph at his discovery. After stealing a chunk, he heard someone behind him clear her throat. Crap! He turned to find Macy smirking at him. She was barefoot and in her nightclothes, her blond hair spilling down her neck. He swallowed and drank in the sight of her. After a moment, he cleared his own throat and said, “Hey, I’m starving. I was out looking for your dog, you know.”

“No sign of him?” she asked.

“Not one,” he said and leaned his hip against the counter as he looked at her. He wondered why she lingered there, leaning in the doorway. It wasn’t like her to spend time alone with him without a purpose. In fact, she had always avoided being alone with him. He wondered what might be on her mind, but he’d learned to let her have her time; she’d break the silence on her own after a while—no need to rush her, let her come to him.

Macy stared at the kitchen floor, then finally said, “I can’t sleep without him.” She moved her blue eyes up from McCann’s boots to his own brown eyes, staring back at her.

He broke the eye contact and scratched the back of his neck. He’d never been more jealous of a dog. Hell, I’d offer to sleep at the end of her bed, but there’s no way in hell I could do that and stay sane. “Um, what can I do, Macy?”

She stood in silence staring straight at him. There was something behind those eyes. Something he wanted her to reveal to him more than anything, especially if she needed him to listen to her thoughts and feelings.

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. Then she stopped and locked eyes with his.

A silent moment passed. “Come here,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure why he said it. It was more of a test for her, to find out what she was after . . . if she even knew herself. She seemed vulnerable, and this wasn’t Macy—not at all.

She moved one bare foot toward him, then stopped and looked down; the trance was broken as her trusting guard took its place again. She’d come to her senses. He took a deep breath, letting it out, slow and steady, shaming himself. She was gorgeous, and he secretly loved her already, but she was still only sixteen and he was twenty.

She wasn’t ready. He wanted her to come to him when the time was right. For now he would wait until she was at least eighteen. McCann took two long boot steps toward Macy and scooped her off the floor and into his arms. She didn’t resist. He did not try to push away the pleasure in how soft and pliable her thighs felt resting against his arms. He carried Macy into the bunkroom, laid her down on her bed, and covered her up to her chin with her wool blanket. “Go to sleep, Macy,” he whispered. “I’ll sleep in the living room. If Sheriff comes back, I’ll let him in.” His hands were shaking as he caressed her soft cheek with the back of his hand.

McCann strolled back into the living room and collapsed on the couch after pulling off his boots and shirt. He was happy to sleep in the living room.

~ ~ ~

The next thing he knew, someone was pounding on the cabin’s front door, and fresh early dawn seeped through the windows. McCann sat up and grabbed his rifle out of habit on his way to the door. After a quick glance, he sat the rifle down once he saw Dalton standing on the other side, waiting for entry at too early an hour, despite the sun’s rays.

“What’s up? Why so early?” McCann asked, squinting. He had a different relationship with Dalton. He liked the man, but his alliance was with Graham and even though the two men were friends, McCann wanted to preserve a distance from Dalton, not being sure that the man always had Graham’s camp’s best interests at heart. Something told him to keep this distance in the way his father had always taught him to treat a good neighbor: Treat them kindly, be there if they need you, but don’t go overboard or man tends to take advantage of generosity over time, breaking the best of bonds.

He stood there in his jeans, shirtless, and with a bedhead when, suddenly Sheriff appeared on the porch and squirmed past Dalton’s legs and into the cabin.

“Where the hell have you been?” McCann said to the dog. He wasn’t surprised when Sheriff shot him a sideways look as if saying, None of your business, jerk, on his way to the bunkroom to—no doubt—find Macy.

McCann looked up at Dalton with a grim, incredulous shake of his head, and muttering things he hoped Dalton could only guess at.

“You want to talk to Graham?” McCann asked, finally opening the door to let Dalton in. Without waiting for an answer, McCann grabbed his shirt off the couch and went to wake Graham. It wasn’t normal for any of them to sleep past dawn, but the previous day had been a hard one.

McCann playfully growled at Sheriff on the end of Macy’s bed as he passed him on his way to Graham’s room. The door was usually cracked open an inch or two, and McCann pushed it open a little and whispered Graham’s name, only to find him sitting up in the darkened room, putting on his jeans. Graham nodded to him, and McCann closed the door. Still not fully awake, he returned to the kitchen as if on autopilot to start a pot of coffee.

“You guys had a long night?” Dalton asked.

“Yeah,” McCann yawned. “Bang and I were out late—looking for Sheriff.” He said it with an emphasis on the dog’s name, hoping to wake him with a little vengeance. “We didn’t find him,” he said as he measured the grounds into the pot.

“I know he took off after the other dogs, and Dutch hasn’t found them either,” Dalton said.

“Yeah, well, Macy had a hard time sleeping last night because she was worried about him. So, you’re here to talk about Dutch’s news?”

“Yeah, you should sit with us, too.” Dalton said.

“I intend to. That girl get looked at?” McCann asked, making conversation while he took out a few coffee cups.

“Yes. Clarisse took care of her. She was at the mess tent for dinner, and I know Clarisse had her bunk with her, so she’s in good hands.”

“That’s great. She looked pretty scared on our way to camp, but I didn’t press her for conversation,” McCann said.

“She’s been through some things, and she actually might be able to give us some information, but I think we’ll wait until Clarisse says she’s ready to talk.”

McCann guessed the minute he saw her that she’d been through some trauma. They’d all been through hell, but this lady had the look of shell shock.

“Good morning,” Graham said from the doorway. “Coffee ready yet?”

“Not quite,” McCann said as Dalton sat down at the table.

“I’m going to try and have a better day today,” Graham said, lightly touching his new stitches. “At the very least, I intend to avoid the wrong end of shotguns for a while.”

“Yeah, you and Rick both,” Dalton said. “Steven picked out pellets for a while. Said Rick whined and milked the wound as an excuse to have more than one beer at noon.”

McCann wanted them to get through this bit of cursory conversation and get down to business. He suspected Dalton was about to drop a bomb, and he wanted him to get to the point, but he remained patient as he tended to the coffee.

“We need to form a small group and go south to scout out where these invaders are,” Dalton began.

“So you believe him,” Graham guessed.

“Yeah, I do. He knows too much and has answers to all the right questions,” Dalton said.

“How many are going?” McCann asked. He wanted to get to the point. He got that they needed to see where they were with their own eyes.

“Four, maybe five. Graham, I’d like you come, but I understand if you don’t want to leave Tala right now, and your injury might slow you down. In that case, I’ll take McCann here—if you’re willing, that is.” Dalton glanced at McCann, who nodded in response. “It’s a scouting mission. We’ll get in, see what we can, and then reassess the danger to us when we get back. We leave in the morning,” Dalton said.

“I want to go, but you’re right, I might slow you guys down,” Graham said. “This concerns us all. He’s certain they’re Islamic terrorists?”

McCann brought three cups of coffee to the table, and Dalton took a sip. “He’s positive, but that’s why we’re going—to make doubly sure.”

“They really did this? They created mass genocide with a virus just so they could have our land?” McCann asked, shaking his head in disbelief that people could actually be so evil.

“What man does in the name of religion—or their perverted interpretation of it—has been going on for centuries, McCann,” Graham tried to explain. “They’re barbaric, and this is their jihad. It’s what they promised.”

“We’re taking Steven and Sam, too. We leave at first light,” Dalton said. He shot down the rest of his coffee and rose from the table.

“Is Dutch going to stick around for a few days?” Graham asked.

“I don’t know. He seemed rather excited to leave,” Dalton said. We’ll see; the guy seems to have his own way of doing things.”

McCann nodded.

“We’ll be by in the morning, kid. Be ready,” Dalton reminded him as he strolled out of the cabin.

“Well,” Graham said as he stared out the window in contemplation. “I’ve never been a violent man, but if this is true, if they are responsible for this, you better believe I will be. That’s what this has taught me: you must fight, or risk losing not only your life and others’ but freedom itself.”

“It’s just hard to wrap your mind around it all,” McCann admitted. “Why? Why would anyone do this?”

“I don’t know, McCann, but they’ve tread on the wrong soil.”

Chapter 20 The Invitation

In the quarantine building, Dalton approached Clarisse from behind; knowing they were alone, he embraced her. She responded and turned around to face him. He kissed her. “I’ve missed you,” he said holding her.

“We’ve both been busy,” Clarisse admitted.

He purposely did this first, knowing he wouldn’t get a chance after he broached the subject. “Clarisse, I need to talk to Lucy. She’s the only one who’s lived to give us information she may not even know she has,” Dalton pleaded.

Clarisse stepped away from him. “Fine, Dalton, but she is very fragile right now. She nearly killed a man because she’s still flashing back, and . . .”

“We’re all going to be fragile or dead soon if we don’t get an edge on whatever information’s available to us,” Dalton interrupted, raising his voice at her. He knew it was a mistake; Clarisse didn’t do intimidation.

She pointed to the door but wouldn’t look at him again. “Go. I’ll bring her to you in half an hour.”

“Clarisse, I’m sor—”

“Out!”

Dalton left the quarantine building knowing he couldn’t say more. As he walked back, he heard the rumble of Dutch’s army truck rolling into camp. He was either on his way in or out of town.

Dalton picked up his pace and walked into the clearing, where Dutch stepped out of his truck, looking around after the guards let him through the gates.

“Hey, Dutch,” Rick said, extending his hand in greeting.

Dalton saw that Rick was at least vertical this morning and back to his normal self, even though he sported a leg bandage. Rick was pissed when he learned he wasn’t going on the scouting mission with them, but the injury would just slow them down. Plus, they still needed him for communications.

“Hey, Dutch,” said Dalton. Not worried about niceties, he continued, “You heading out? Can I convince you to stay a few days till we get back?”

“I’ve thought about it, and yes, I’ll stay until you guys get back. I want to make sure Lucy is getting along all right and that you guys heed my warning,” Dutch said.

“We’re scouting in the morning,” Dalton said. You want to tag along? One last mission?”

“You’re still on that? You can’t just take my word for it, man?” Dutch asked.

Dalton put his hands on his hips. He stared at the ground, thought about the consequences, and then looked squarely at Dutch. “No. I don’t intend to just let them take our country. I’m not going to let them just have it. If it is them, and this is it, I’ll send them all to hell or die trying. I don’t know how I’m going to do that yet, but I need to make sure, and I could use your help.”

He watched Dutch mull over the invitation. The cool spring air held a nip, but the sun shone in bright beams and Dalton thought it shouldn’t be that way. It should be gray and misty, the kind of fog you could get lost in. Dutch’s dark brown hair ran a little long. He was the same height as Dalton, but had a more muscular build, which Dalton guessed was due to farm work. He was the kind of vet who you knew, from the look in his eyes, had seen some grizzly times but had accepted that as his job to bear. Dutch was the kind you never worried about, the kind who watched your back, and Dalton hoped he’d stay with them for the battle.

“I hear you,” Dutch said, and nothing more was needed to make him understand the way Dalton felt. “When I first came across your message, I thought you guys were just a bunch of lucky civilians who just happen to have an old HAM operator playing on the waves. I didn’t know you were a tiny army.” He took a deep breath and faced the sun’s rays for a second before looking back at Dalton. “Hell, if you’re willing to take the risk, I’ll tag along. I’ll do it for Lucy, and the last infidels.”

Dalton chuckled at the reference. “That’s what we are, aren’t we? The last infidels. Those bastards . . .” He picked up the seriousness of his gesture and tipped his head at Dutch. “Sounds fine to me. Glad you’re with us.” Dalton shook the man’s hand again, this time with brotherly respect.

“For now I’d like to check in on Lucy and then I need to find my damn dogs,” Dutch said.

“They’re still missing?” Dalton asked.

“Yep. They’re well trained; this isn’t like them,” Dutch said.

“Well, Sheriff over at Graham’s camp was out all night, but just showed up this morning. He’d never done that before either. I’m sure they’ll turn up.”

“Great. Well, that’s the least of our problems right now,” Dutch said, then asked Dalton, “We leave at sunrise?”

“You know it.” Dalton looked past their gate and saw Clarisse heading in his direction with Lucy in tow. He knew Clarisse well enough to see she was still madder than hell.

“Hey, guys, Clarisse is here with Lucy.”

“Hey Sport, how you getting along?” Dutch asked Lucy.

She flashed him a smile and then it was gone, but Dalton thought that was probably a great achievement for Lucy. Then he realized Clarisse was burrowing her eyes into him.

“I told Lucy you needed to question her. Where do you want to do this? I’ll give you ten minutes, and I’ll be present,” Clarisse said.

Dalton nodded and put up both of his hands. “That’s fine, Clarisse. Let’s go into the communications tent. Can Sam attend? He always has a different perspective on these things.”

Clarisse looked like she wanted to explode at him and sever a few important body parts; she was only barely holding it together. She blew out a frustrated breath, turned to Lucy, and held onto her arm gently.

“Lucy, it’s important they get the advantage of all the details of what you witnessed. You’ll have two or three people asking you questions, but I’ll be there for you. Can you do this for us?” Clarisse asked.

“I’ll be there too, Lucy,” Dutch said in his low raspy voice.

Dalton knew he cared for the girl more than he let on. She looked terrified to Dalton, and ready to flee. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

Lucy looked at him with her light-green eyes; her lips trembled. Dalton was about to call it off when she nodded her quivering chin and tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

He reached to comfort her, but Clarisse and intervened. He should have known it was stupid to try. He needed to be careful with her, but damn the animals that did this to her.

Clarisse hugged her briefly and then turned her toward the communications tent. Dalton and the others followed, but before they entered, Clarisse turned to face them with a glare.

“I’m warning you, go easy,” she said as she guided Lucy inside the tent and left the rest to ponder her warning. “She always like this?” Dutch asked.

“Clarisse? No. Actually, she can be your best friend. Or your worst nightmare; seems I’ve crossed the line here lately,” Dalton admitted.

“My kind of lady,” Dutch said as he passed Dalton into the tent.

“Great,” Dalton mumbled as he waited for Sam to join them.

Chapter 21 Saying Good-Bye

“Do you have everything?” Tala asked McCann.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said as he pulled the strings taut on his pack.

“What about your med kit?” Marcy asked him.

“Got it.”

“McCann, you got the extra magazine?” Graham called from the dining room.

“Sure do,” he exclaimed. Their questions were starting to drive him a little crazy. “You guys, I need to travel light. I’ll probably be back by tomorrow night or the next morning. Don’t worry.”

“Plan for the worst, hope for the best,” Graham said, remembering what his father always used to say.

“Yeah, my dad said that, too.”

“Where are you going?” Bang asked. He’d come in the door without making a sound and, though they weren’t hiding the fact that McCann was going on a dangerous scouting mission with the preppers, they hadn’t told him or the rest of the group yet.

McCann looked at Tala, and Tala looked at Graham as if someone else might have the answer.

“He’s leaving in the morning to go with the preppers on a scouting trip. He should be back in a day or two. We’re trying to make sure he has all the stuff he might need,” Graham said.

“When were you going to tell me?” Macy said from the doorway, not yet visible to the others. Everyone looked from Macy to McCann.

“Macy, it’s not a big deal. I thought you heard about it this morning,” McCann explained.

“Why can’t I go too?” she asked.

“Macy,” Graham answered before anyone else could, “this isn’t one of those times where you’re being kept out because you’re a girl; he’s going because I can’t go.”

“Okay. Still, why can’t I go, too?” she asked.

“There isn’t room in the Jeep for more than five, Macy, and I need you here to take care of the horses. You’re the only one they’re not too skittish around,” McCann said.

Mark was about to protest that assessment when McCann widened his eyes at him to get him to clam up.

“Yeah,” Mark shook his head. “Mosey kicked me last time I mucked out the stalls,” he said, staring at the floor.

“That’s because Macy talks to them when she’s in there alone. I’ve heard her,” Bang said.

“I do not!” Macy said, leaving the room.

McCann let out a frustrated breath and thought it was getting a little too stuffy in the cabin. They were seldom all indoors during the day at the same time anymore since the weather had warmed up. Even Sheriff was still lollygagging on the wood floor of the bunkroom, sleeping off his adventures of the night before.

McCann would miss them all, but it was a just a little trip. But it also happened to be the longest trip he’d be taking since he rode into town, and potentially more dangerous than he could fathom. No story ever foretold such calamities so close to home. No one ever predicted this kind of hell. It was one thing to imagine independence as a teenager, to long for it even, but it was something else to survive everyone you ever knew and be expected to go on day after day. Just when McCann thought that might even be possible, the story had now changed.

Now not only had there been a massive pandemic that had wiped out humankind, but someone had done it on purpose and that someone was now here on their own land, in America, and boasting about it, proud of it.

“You know, McCann . . .” Graham said, interrupting McCann’s thoughts and causing him to look up from packing. He noticed that everyone was gone except Graham.

“When I taught math at the University of Washington, my attitude about war and fighting was very different from how it is now; life has a way of teaching you out of your best intentions. I didn’t believe in patriotism; I only believed in humanity, and that we should embrace our enemies. The only problem with that way of thinking is that, while you’re embracing your enemies, they’re flying our own planes into buildings, killing thousands of innocent people. They’re developing evil plans to corrupt a religion and declare jihad on anyone who denounces them.” He pounded his cane out of frustration to the floor. “Dammit, I was wrong. It wasn’t us; it was them. They were plotting genocide while I was trying to embrace them. Everything I tried to stand for, every argument I won, was nothing more than blind faith in humanity where evil will remain a component.

“I once was blind, McCann. Now I see, and if there is any way we can stop them, we will. You come back to us in one piece. We’re going to need you.” He reached out for a handshake and then pulled McCann in.

“Will do, Graham.” McCann was thankful for Graham’s concern, but then added, in a worried voice, “Make damn sure Macy doesn’t follow us.”

Graham looked serious. “I’ll tie her up somewhere.”

“Good luck with that,” McCann said jokingly, though in fact he was completely serious.

Chapter 22 The Debriefing

Lucy sat down in a metal folding chair inside the media tent, amid a hum of electronics. Her pale slender hands were like icicles, and she pushed them down between her thighs for warmth. Clarisse had given her fatigues and a pair of hiking boots to wear. She was thankful to finally wear clothing that actually fit her instead of having to adjust Dutch’s much-too-large apparel. They weren’t fashionable by any means, but at least they were hers, and now she felt more secure.

Sam pointed a space heater toward her to warm up her legs. She’d met him the night before at dinner along with several other people. She also met with Rick and cried when she apologized to him, fearing he would be angry with her. He wasn’t, of course, but she knew he didn’t trust her either.

“Lucy,” Clarisse said, “tell us what you remember. Just start from the beginning and know that we might stop you briefly to ask you questions along the way. Please just answer the best you can. We can stop anytime you need to. This is a safe place, and we are your friends. No one is going to harm you here.”

“Okay. I . . . lived near Spokane in a little town called Liberty Lake.” She looked up and saw several people nod, acknowledging that they knew where the place was; the town was the last stop in Washington along Interstate 90 before the Idaho border.

She shook her head. “I thought I was the only one left there. It’s really just a big suburban neighborhood. I lived with my parents in a house on Settler Road and worked at the Safeway grocery store there right in the middle of town. I was going to school at Eastern Washington University, and when the virus broke out, they shut the school down.” She stared into her lap. “My parents . . . they died. My little brothers, too.” Her tears fell to her lap, making darker pooling stains of green on the camo fabric of her pants. Clarisse handed her a clean cloth, and Sam wrapped a wool army blanket around her shoulders.

Lucy swallowed and smiled once she blotted the tears away. “It all happened so fast. At first the city council coordinated burials of the dead in Pavilion Park, near where I lived. Then, a few weeks later, there were just too many, and my father told me to keep inside and to lock the doors. To pretend we weren’t home or that all of us were dead. I never got sick. I never came down with the virus; I just watched as my mother and brothers passed. My dad and I buried them all in the backyard. Then my father came down with it, and I sat with him when he died. I was alone then; winter came, and I buried my father. It was cold and the ground was hard; it took me two days to do it. I survived by rationing what food I could get from the neighbors’ empty houses and whatever canned food was left at the grocery stores. He wanted me to kill myself,” she said, breaking into more tears. “He didn’t want me to be alone, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t . . .” she looked to them for approval.

Dalton leaned forward, but again Clarisse pulled him back. “I’m okay,” Lucy said. She wiped away more tears and took a deep breath.

“I did what he said; I stayed inside and pretended that there was no one home. At first, there were sounds like raiders searching homes, and I was terrified someone would break in and discover me, and then there were no sounds at all. You could always hear the highway from our home late at night when you went to sleep. I grew up with that sound as a young girl. But now it was silent. Too quiet; I couldn’t sleep. There were no cars going anywhere, no neighbors shouting or kids playing basketball on the road out front. Nothing.

I had enough food. My dad had made sure I would, but I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I waited for it to get dark, and at first I walked down to the end of our road. I went and checked the mail, thinking that maybe someone might still deliver it and . . . I don’t know why I did it.” She looked confused, shaking her head and questioning her own logic.

“I kept doing it each evening, checking the empty mailbox and walking to the end of the street just to see . . . something . . . anything or anyone. Then winter came again, and the snow kept me inside because I didn’t want to have my footprints showing; my dad had warned me about that. So, I played my piano during the day quietly, worked out in the afternoon, and read a lot. I kept myself on a schedule to keep from going crazy. Our power was out, but the gas fireplace still worked, so I stayed warm enough.

“Finally the snow melted and no more came. I was out of books to read and thought if I could only break into the library, I might be able to keep from going insane. It was the farthest I’d ventured from home since my father passed away. Only about half a mile. When I got there, I saw that someone had already torn it to shreds.” She shook her head, trying to fathom the unfathomable. “I don’t know who would do that. It scared me. So I ran, and then a dog chased me; I only barely made it back into my house and shut the door. Then more dogs came, and they growled at me. I felt trapped, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get out again. By this time I was down to a few weeks of food left. I’d planned to go to the nearby grocery store to see if I could find anything there that might be left over, but after finding the library in bad shape, I didn’t think the grocery stores would be any better and the dogs might get me.”

She took a deep breath. “Then one day, I thought I was dreaming because I was asleep early one morning and I heard the rumble of vehicles on the highway again. Later I heard shooting and I thought that maybe the military had come to help. Maybe other survivors I didn’t know about were with them, and I was afraid I might be left behind. So I got up and took a baseball bat with me in case I needed it for the feral dogs, and I ran into town.

“A dog came after me, and I was trying to fight it off when I heard gunfire, and the dog dropped dead. I turned around and . . . it wasn’t the military. They didn’t look like any of us. They wore cloths over their face like the terrorists I’ve seen on TV. It was them.”

“Did they speak English?” Dalton asked her.

“Um, one of them did . . . kind of. The one that shot the dog grabbed me by my hair and pushed me to the ground. I tried to run, but I couldn’t. He spoke some other language and yelled for someone else. He pointed his gun at me, so I stayed right where I was. Then this other guy came, and he was even meaner. He jerked me up and screamed at me in another language. He made me kneel down in front of him. Then he demanded in English to know if I could say one word in Arabic. I don’t know any Arabic. He kept screaming at me and I shook my head no. He said again that if I knew one word in Arabic, I would live; if not, I would die. So, I shut my eyes and started crying. I didn’t want to see him shoot me. I just hoped it would be over soon.”

“Lucy, what kind of weapons were they carrying?” Sam’s soft voice broke the awful tension of remembering again.

She sniffed and wiped her face. “Um, they were rifles. I don’t know what they’re called. They would pull the trigger and it would fire several bullets at a time. They were black. They also had knives, and one even had a whip. Some of them would point the rifles in the sky and fire them over and over while screaming, like it was some kind of celebration,” she said, as though trying to make sense of it all.

Sam nodded in understanding. Then Clarisse said, “So the second man had you and asked you to speak in Arabic, then what happened?”

“Then he pulled me to my feet and tied my hands behind my back and other men clawed at me and pulled my hair as he dragged me through a crowd. Then I saw at least twenty people standing with black hoods on and they were leashed with ropes to an army truck. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Some of them were crying, and then I realized they were only girls; I could tell by their voices. One of them tried to sit on the ground, and one of the other men beat her with a stick over and over until she stood up. The guy who had me was waiting for someone else. He stood there talking to someone. I couldn’t understand what he was staying. I said to him, ‘Please let me go.’ And he pushed me to the ground and kicked me, then pulled me back up. Finally, another man came and I think he was the boss. He took out a knife. It was curved . . . about twelve inches long . . . and he held it to my neck. He asked me again if I knew even one word in Arabic, but I didn’t. Then . . .” she looked up at them.

“It’s okay, Lucy. Just say it,” Clarisse encouraged her. “There is nothing these men haven’t seen the brutality of. It’s okay.”

“He asked me if I was a—a virgin.” She cried at the humiliation. “By then, I knew who they were. I said I wasn’t. I knew then that he would kill me, and the only thing I could think as the time slowed was that I’d rather be shot than have my throat slit. Is that—selfish?”

“No, Lucy, that’s human,” Dutch said.

Tears streamed down Lucy’s cheeks and she nodded her head, as if the riddle to that dilemma had passed. It was okay to fear death, in any way it might be delivered.

“How many men do you think there were, Lucy?” Dalton asked.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. From what I could see at that time, there were at least twenty trucks all lined up going east toward Idaho. There were several parked on the main street, but mostly I could see several more on the highway from the main street. I want to say I saw at least three hundred men, but there could have been many more than that. I just don’t know, because after that he pulled me up to him like he was deciding something. He grabbed my hair and then shoved me back at the second guy and said something in Arabic. That guy pulled a black robe over me and then put a black hood over my head. He then tied me up with the other girls. We were there for another hour. I tried to see through my hood, but the guard would beat us if we moved. We didn’t dare talk to one another. The others cried; many sounded even younger than me.” She shook her head in sorrow.

“Then they were shouting, and all of a sudden, truck engines started, and the one I was tied to began to move. We were pulled and made to walk behind it. Every now and then I got a glimpse of where we were going. We went back to the highway and, in the right lane, trucks went much slower with prisoners tied to the back, walking, while in the other lane army trucks went much faster, flying by us. Some of the girls would push toward the outer lane and someone with a whip would cut us across the legs to stay to the right.”

“Did you ever get to speak to any of the other prisoners?” Dalton asked.

“No,” she said.

“Did you hear their voices at all? Did they sound American, or did you detect any other accent?”

“No, there was nothing but the wailing of young girls. I swear they were no more than fifteen,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

“Okay, how long ago was this? Do you remember?” Sam asked.

“Two to three weeks ago,” she said.

“This might sound like a strange question,” Sam interjected, “but did the robe and hood smell like? Did it have an odor?”

“It smelled like sweat and iron. It was damp and dirty.”

“So, other than them questioning you, you didn’t hear any English?” Dalton asked.

“No, not then.”

“Okay, Lucy, keep going. You’re almost there,” Clarisse said, and Dalton suddenly didn’t want to hear anymore. He wanted her to stop there because he could guess what happened next. He’d seen the aftermath, what these animals had done, but he needed to find out how she got away. That was the mystery to him.

After another deep breath, Lucy continued. “So we stopped, near Post Falls, Idaho. I kept tripping and almost fell over. I was so thankful when we stopped. It was night, and some of the girls started weeping even more, like they knew what was next. I didn’t, but I was really scared. I heard someone come for one of the girls, she fought whoever was trying to take her, and then he beat her. She finally screamed, ‘Kill me!’ Then there was a gunshot. Those were the only words of English I heard spoken by the others: Kill me.

“I huddled in my spot. I didn’t look, I didn’t know what would happen. Then someone pulled off my hood and then pulled it back on, as if checking to see which one I was. He untied me from the rope line and I caught a glance of a hotel with rooms from the outside. I remembered seeing this place, years ago, when we’d pass by it on the highway. That’s how I knew we were near Post Falls. He shoved me through a door and then into the bathroom of the room and locked me in there. He said something in Arabic that I didn’t understand.

“I took off the hood. I washed my hands. I braided my hair and looked around for a weapon, anything I could fight back with. I drank a lot of water from the faucet. There was no window to escape from. Then, I heard someone at the door. I’d looped a shower curtain hook into my hair, hoping to use it to fight with if I could. But I didn’t get that chance. The door opened and the man who liked my hair shoved me into the main room.” She looked at Clarisse, and her voice could no longer form the words.

“Did he tell you his name, Lucy?” Dutch asked her, hoping to speed her past the worst part.

She shook her head, because she couldn’t speak with the lump in her throat.

“Was he their leader?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. I think he might have been, since the others seemed to look to him for answers.”

Dalton took in a breath. “Lucy, did he rape you?”

“No,” she answered, her eyes wide with tears streaming down her cheeks. “I shot him before he could”

It wasn’t what Dalton expected to hear. She’d somehow gotten away. He drew a hand down his face and sighed in relief. “Thank God, Lucy. You’re a fighter. Good girl! How did you get away?” Dalton asked.

“I don’t really know; it happened so fast. He was trying to hurt me, and I fought him and saw his gun on the nightstand. I grabbed it and took a chance. There were gunshots in the distance, like before, and singing. People chanting crazy things . . . my hands shook. I was so scared. I couldn’t stop. I thought I’d mess it up, but it went off. I killed him. I shot him in the chest and killed him. There was blood everywhere. He fell on me and I pulled myself out from under him. There was more gunfire outside. I threw the burka and hood back on, opened the door and . . . I don’t know. I was so scared. I ran. I barely remember what happened between the time I left and when I woke up the next morning at Dutch’s place.”

“Did you have shoes on?” Sam asked.

“I never took my tennis shoes off; they were still on.”

“What did you do with the gun, Lucy?” Dalton asked.

“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

“You didn’t bring it with you?” Sam asked.

“No. I must have dropped it.”

“How’d you get past the others without them seeing you?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know. I opened the door, crouched down, and kept to the railing. There was a bonfire in the parking lot. With all the yelling and shouting, they weren’t watching. I got lucky, I guess. I don’t know.”

“So, that’s when you ran into Dutch?” Dalton asked.

“Yes, afterward, when I was running through the woods; I ran behind the hotel complex and just kept going. I barely remember—I kept seeing his bloody face in my mind—I ran into someone and I thought they’d caught me, and that was it. Except he pulled me farther away, and that was the direction I wanted to go, anyway, so I didn’t fight him.”

“Dutch, this sound about right?” Dalton asked.

“Yeah. I pulled the hood off her and saw she was a local in the wrong getup. She was covered in blood, man. I guessed what had taken place. She’s right. I heard them carrying on. Couldn’t believe this was on my own soil. Every now and then, you heard them scream, ‘Bismillah al-rahman al-rahim’—in the name of God, the most gracious, the most merciful—and shoot off like the demon misfits they are. Like I said before, this is a mop-up exercise. We are the last infidels. The last unbelievers.”

Dalton noticed how Clarisse visibly shook. He touched her back, trying to calm her. She let him. They were all afraid. Hell, he was scared shitless himself, but he’d kill every last one of them given the chance.

Lucy looked at Dutch and asked quietly, “You knew?”

He filled his lungs with air. “Yes. I’ve seen it before. I’m sure a few of us have. This is their M.O. They have no regard for women. They’re nothing more than animals. You passed out shortly after I got you. It wasn’t a stretch and I figured, if you needed to, you’d tell me in your own time when you were ready. It didn’t matter. I got you away from there the next day. If I’d babied you, you wouldn’t have been able to function, Lucy.”

“I understand. Thank you for taking care of me, Dutch.”

“No problem, kid.”

“Okay, anyone else have questions?” Clarisse asked, but no one volunteered another.

“Thank you, Lucy,” Dalton said. “You’ve helped us more than you know.”

Chapter 23 The Trip

McCann heard the engine before it even traversed their long driveway. They were all attuned to the minutest of sounds; even a deer entering the cabin’s clearing in moonlight, pulling at the dewy grass, registered in their subconscious, or the first busy bees of spring flying like overburdened dump trucks into the glass windowpanes. It was amazing to him, the sounds of nature that he’d never paid attention to before.

He’d thought about waking the others to say good-bye, but he didn’t want his departure to be a big deal. Not as he was going off into danger.

He padded into the living room with his gear held aloft. He stopped at the door and glanced at Macy’s bunk. He nodded his head at Sheriff as if telling the dog to be on watch over her now.

“Leaving without saying good-bye?” Graham said in the darkness of the living room, scaring the living daylights out of McCann. Graham had waited for him there, he realized.

“I don’t want a long, sappy farewell. I’ll be back in a few days,” McCann said.

Graham nodded hid understanding. While McCann put on his boots, Graham couldn’t help but give another warning. “You may see things, McCann, that will burn into your mind. Inhuman images you can’t rid yourself of. I want you to know life is worth living in any possible form. Don’t ever give it up.”

“I don’t plan on getting myself captured, Graham. I’ll be back in a few days.” The headlights of the Jeep flashed twice into the window, signaling McCann to hurry up.

“I’ve got to go,” he said.

“Take care, McCann.” Graham embraced the young man and slapped him on the back before opening the door for him to join the others.

As McCann walked toward the headlights, he had the bitter sense that guilt overtook Graham because he couldn’t make the trip himself. If something were to happen to him, Graham would be the man that needed to go on, not him. The fault would weigh on Graham’s soul, and for that reason alone McCann would make sure he came back in one piece.

He turned back after loading his pack into the back and waved. With the lights shining past his form and blotting out all of his features, Graham could only saw his shadow outlined, but he waved back.

McCann slid into his seat next to Sam. Dalton, in the driver’s seat, said, “Ready?” McCann nodded, and they backed out of the driveway and down the long, cold road. No one said a thing for miles. He stared out the window at a dark landscape of hope.

I will come back to them. I will return, he kept telling himself. I have to. They can’t do it without me. He continued to tell himself this as they rumbled on for miles over the gravelly, unkempt roads.

“You know, we ought to use some of this debris to make several blockades over roadways where they can’t easily get around,” Sam said.

“I have some experience in doing just that, in a faraway desert land,” Dalton said.

“Hell, I’m sure you do,” Dutch said, then added, “but we didn’t have much in the way of trees and foliage to work with then; it was mostly rocks and sand . . . endless sand.”

“That’s an advantage we have here. They get cold there in Iraq, Iran, Afghanistan—hell, wherever they crawled out from under—but they don’t have trees and coverage the way we do. That’s probably why they waited for spring. They couldn’t handle the temps up here over the winter,” Dalton speculated.

“Damn, it gets cold at night. I remember that,” Steven said and then paused. “They’ve probably been here for a lot longer than we thought. Florida, Texas, I bet they’re just getting to us now.”

They were all quiet after that statement—too quiet. McCann wasn’t sure what was worse, having them talk doom and gloom or this silence. They didn’t really know what they’d find, but they all suspected it would be a nightmare. They kept going, speeding down the debris-strewn roads, heading south. Occasionally they avoided some obstacle in the street, passing through ghost towns. McCann remembered how eerie it had been when he’d seen these ghost towns last winter on horseback; now it was even worse. Since then the snowpack had collapsed several roofs. Fires had broken out and burned part of one town to the ground, with only black sticks marking the graves of the buildings.

“McCann, when you came to town last winter, did you travel as the crow flies, or did you follow the roadway?” Sam asked him.

McCann thought Sam already knew the answer to the question before he asked it, but he was trying to make conversation. “It would be too hard on the horses’ hooves to make a road trip that long, and it took longer than I thought it would with all the snow. I rode the crow line south. I cut several days off that way, but it was still a foolhardy trip. I should have waited, but I had to get out of Carnation. It was too quiet.” A chill ran up his spine, remembering how he’d come halfway before realizing that leaving in winter was a mistake. He’d almost frozen to death as the winds whipped at him, stealing his breath, freezing his eyelids shut, and making him so sleepy he didn’t care when the reaper came. It was hard now to imagine how he’d survived it. He didn’t remember parts of the trip at all.

“A trip like that’ll make a man out of you,” Sam said.

“Yeah, I think it did,” McCann agreed.

Chapter 24 In the Garden

Tala sat on a soft blanket spread over the damp ground, resting in the shade of a generous pine tree. The cold damp had finally given way to warmth enough for bare arms and short sleeves to work at weeding the spring garden. They weeded daily now, but even that didn’t seem often enough; spring weed sprouts threatened to strangle the life out of their precious new vegetable starts.

“Well, if you’re going to sit there, you have to at least tell us stories while we work,” Mark said.

Knowing he was only kidding with her, Tala said, “You got it. If that’s the price to pay for a break, I’m all for it.” She was full of tales told by her American Indian grandparents; she retold them because they reminded her of the old ways—the way things used to be and seemed now to be again.

Sometimes she’d recall them when she needed to remind them of a life lesson. Sometimes, they just came to her for no particular reason she could think of, stories just begging to be retold.

Tala watched as Mark, Marcy, and Bang bent and pulled at the stubborn weeds. It was a necessity that they work each day like this; it was time again for children to labor as workers, and she felt that chores really were the best way to bring children up in the world. Idleness never benefitted anyone. In the past kids had always needed and wanted to work, to help their elders, but for some reason those lessons had been lost in the now-departed modern world. She hoped they would remember this lore, these stories—now and in the future.

As she tried to think of a story, something nagged at Tala’s subconscious and she took stock of her new family. Graham was safe at the prepper camp helping Rick, and she expected Clarisse to show up soon with Addy and the new one, Lucy. She wasn’t sure what bothered her, and she rubbed her backside knowing she’d pushed herself too much lately with work.

She pushed away the annoyance of the unnamed thing and reached into her mind to select a story from the bevy in her memory bank. Having McCann away on the scouting trip weighed on them all, but he was a grown man and Tala knew he could look out for himself. She sensed no tragedy there to befall him, but she could be mistaken. She hoped not, for all their sakes—especially Macy’s. She sighed, leaning against the tree trunk with her belly resting on her lap, looking at the others working, bent over or squatted down. Bees buzzed by them without malice on their mission. She watched as Mark’s rifle slung over his back had slid down to his side and dangled from the strap, getting into his way. It was cumbersome work, weeding with a rifle, but it was a necessary precaution. Marcy passed him and silently nudged his rifle over to his backside again. Tala knew they carried a love for one another. It was something she and Graham also shared. Those two are meant for one another, she thought. Mark’s presence in Marcy’s life calmed her flighty spirit somehow.

“Did I ever tell you guys about how Bear got his claws?”

“No. I don’t remember that one,” Bang said, squatting down to plunge his little fingers into the earth in earnest on either side of a determined dandelion root. He used a screwdriver after he made some headway to work farther down the root, creating a free channel to help extract the thing in its entirety.

“Good. Okay, so, there once was a time when Bear lived side by side with Man, much like a tame dog does today. Only Bear also advised man and sat with him on wise councils and hunted, played music, and walked beside Man in life every day. Then one day a young warrior claimed that Bear had killed another man on a hunting trip. What had really happened was that the warrior had killed the other man so that he could claim his wife, but he blamed the murder on Bear.

“The father of the young man was the chief of the tribe, and he believed his son. The great council came together and Bear defended his kind, but it was no use. Man stood against Bear and ordered the death of the accused.

“When Man came to carry out the sentence, Bear resisted and bared his fangs at Man. Man tried to speak with reason that justice must be carried out, but Bear said, ‘Your justice is of your own making. If you carry out your justice, Bear will forever hunt the evil of your kind and shall never shake Man’s hand again, and instead rip you limb from limb.’ Man ignored Bear’s warning and carried out the wrongful death sentence. Bear then left Man’s side, and from that day forward Bear grew claws and never did shake Man’s hand again. Instead, Man now fears bear— especially if he’s an evil Man.”

Tala looked up and saw that they had all stopped what they were doing and stared at her, mouths agape. A moment passed in silence.

“You’re supposed to tell nice stories,” Bang said.

Mark and Marcy laughed.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Bang. It’s just an Indian legend,” Tala said, then saw movement beyond them through the wire gating surrounding the garden. Clarisse and two others walked their way.

“They’re here,” Tala said, bracing herself against the tree to stand up. She waved at them and, as they approached, Tala noticed how Bang moved behind Mark when he saw Addy. Tala knew this was going to be a challenge, but thought the best thing to do was let the transition happen naturally.

“Hi, you’re not working too hard, are you?” Clarisse asked her.

“No, I was just taking a break and telling stories. I guess the last one was a little scary.”

“I’ll say,” Mark said. “I’m going to have nightmares now. Man betrays Bear. Bear grows claws and kills evil men from then into eternity. Nice one!”

Marcy shoved him and giggled.

Tala huffed. “I don’t know why that one came to me. It is pretty scary.”

“Well, let’s get to work. You guys stopped about there?” Clarisse said, pointing to the area still embedded with weeds.

Tala caught Clarisse’s eye, knowing she had picked up on Bang’s tension as well. They’d both agreed earlier to expose the two to one another often enough to help Bang get over his guilt and his fear of Addy.

Tala handed the newcomers their own buckets, and they all began again while Tala stood watch and offered the others water that they’d brought with them that morning.

“Are you getting along okay, Lucy?” Tala asked her to make her feel a part of the group.

“Oh, yes,” Lucy smiled. “Everyone has been very nice. I’m going to be working in the kitchen now with Rick’s wife Olivia and helping Clarisse out in the infirmary. I’ll get to see everyone a few times a day, and I’m so thankful to be around people again. And Olivia doesn’t seem to be upset with me for hurting her husband.”

“We all understand, Lucy,” Tala said with compassion. That comment seemed to ease Lucy’s fears, and she went back to work among the others.

After another hour of occasional conversation, Tala watched as the sun rose to midday, and she called it quits. The crew packed up their buckets and tossed the weeds into the forest to rot on the pine floor. They stood back and surveyed the garden with hope. The tender young greens were thriving now; everything they’d worked for over the winter was now coming to fruition. Before they headed in, they picked enough early salad leaves and radishes for the evening meal.

“I can’t wait for carrots,” Marcy said in longing.

“Green beans,” Mark nodded.

“No, it’s the tomatoes I’m waiting for. I can smell them from here,” Clarisse said.

Tala noticed Bang pull away, and she realized Addy wasn’t privy to the conversation around her. She watched as Bang stopped in front of Addy and awkwardly signed the question as to which crop she most looked forward to.

She signed strawberries with a shy smile.

Bang agreed. Red, juicy strawberries would be the best of all.

Chapter 25 Anticipation

They’d decided the night before to head west to Interstate 5. Dutch figured the invaders were sticking to the major highways and would eventually make their way inland. For now, he’d bet they’d go for securing major cities via main highways and then move inland.

This technique made sense to Dalton tactically, so their plan of action was to see just how close the invaders were to their homestead. That meant traveling west through the little towns of Concrete, Hamilton, and Lyman near Sedro Woolley, along State Highway 20. It flanked a hair north of the Skagit River until it reached Burlington, where it blossomed into little cities. There Highway 20 met Interstate 5, which ran south to Seattle and all the way to Los Angeles.

If he were the invaders, Dalton would make sure to secure the port of Bellingham and work his way down. “They’re too damn close,” had been his conclusion the night before when they studied the map. “It’s only fifty miles away to Burlington.”

“If they wanted to, they could be at our camp in little more than an hour,” was Sam’s response.

“Well, don’t do anything to attract their attention,” Rick had warned them all in jest.

“We won’t,” answered Dalton. “We’ll go take a look and see if they’re that far up and then go as far south as we need to. Hopefully we won’t see any sign of them.”

“You guys have an exit strategy from camp? Just in case?” Dutch had asked.

“Yeah. Pick forest service and back roads through these mountains north of us and deport into Canada,” Steven said, pointing at the map.

But Dutch had disagreed. “Again, man, these guys don’t recognize borders. There’s no asylum up there.”

“No, but there’s Mount Baker, and this is our terrain. We know these mountains better than them. That’s our advantage. There are still places in here no man has ever seen. We could hide our whole village for a lifetime in there; no one would ever find us,” Sam had said.

“We’re not leaving to give up our land if I have anything to say about it,” Dalton chimed in, causing an end to the conversation. “Let’s call it a night.”

~ ~ ~

Thinking back on the previous night’s meeting, Dutch regarded Sam; he wasn’t like the rest, and Dutch was now beginning to see why they valued his input; Sam knew things, useful things. More and more, Dutch was beginning to like these people.

This morning they’d traveled slowly through the little town of Concrete. Debris was scattered over every inch, and the secondary dam that had blocked part of an inlet creek feeding into the Skagit River rushed out of control with the spring thaw, threatening the roadway. But there was nothing else to see other than how the animals had taken over, reclaiming the grounds for their own. An entire herd of deer hung out at the corner of Superior Avenue and the Cascade Loop, where a truck stop and restaurant stood. Some of the animals got up and moved out of the roadway, but others were more inclined to let Dalton maneuver around them.

“These herds are growing like crazy,” Steven said.

“More territory,” McCann put in.

“Yeah, now that the plague of man is gone, wildlife will fill in the gaps,” Sam said.

“You think there’s anything here worth stopping for?” Steven asked.

“Nah, it looks like it’s been hit pretty hard, and we need to focus on the mission instead of resources this time. Let’s get in, get the data, and get out,” Dalton said as he steered around a random tractor tire abandoned in the middle of the road.

McCann looked around for the tractor that had lost the tire. “Don’t know where the hell that came from.”

“Nothing makes sense in this world anymore; don’t even try,” Steven advised the younger man.

“That’s for sure,” McCann said.

They’d just passed Lyman, and Dalton felt tension rise inside the Jeep’s cabin the closer they got to their destination. There was no more idle chatter in the backseat. They were all on alert and watching for clues. Another twenty minutes and he expected to see more than merely random tires in the road, garbage strewn by Mother Nature, and forest animals foraging on the leftovers of humankind.

As they neared Burlington, more and more relics of civilization appeared. They slowed down to a crawl, weaving in and out of parked cars and remnants of storm debris mangled on the highway, but nothing yet looked like recent human activity. What remained was more a collective randomness that reminded them of the massive loss of civilization. By the time they got to where Highway 20 turned into Fairhaven Avenue and intersected South Burlington Boulevard, they stopped; the entrance was blocked completely by what appeared to be a medevac helicopter.

“Past or present?” Dalton asked after a moment of contemplation.

Sam leaned up to check around at the roadways. “Past,” he said after a moment’s hesitation, then leaned back into the seat.

“How do you know?” Dutch asked out of curiosity.

Sam leaned forward again and pointed. “See that? That’s your pilot, or part of him. He’s been picked clean and the skull's been bleached by the sun.”

“How do you know he’s the pilot?” Dutch asked.

“The rest of him is over there,” he pointed to the other side of the road, “in the uniform. With all the debris and dirt on the road, I can see from here that there aren’t any footprints. The cabin door’s still open and rain rot has caused the interior dyes to leach down the white siding. Anyone could throw debris around to make it look old, but not without leaving traces. This stuff hanging from the rotor blades has stained the paint underneath. It’s been there a while. There’s bird shit all over, and it’s dripped downward. That thing’s been here since the start.”

“Think there’s still med equipment in there?” Steven asked.

“We’re not stopping now,” Dalton said.

“This place is creeping me out. We’re too much in the open here,” Dutch said.

Dalton put the Jeep in reverse and saw a way to turn left through a store parking lot to bypass the intersection altogether. Once they made the turn, they went another few blocks south parallel to Interstate 5 and squeezed between several cars. Dalton focused on the route in front of him. “Keep your eyes peeled for any movement,” he said to the crew.

They had just approached West Fairhaven Avenue on South Burlington Boulevard; West Fairhaven led to the west through two blocks of neighborhood and disappeared under Interstate 5. There was a clear view of the highway from their vantage point before they crossed over to the other side.

“Guy, three o’clock,” Sam said dryly and, for a split second, Dalton thought Sam joked. Then he remembered Sam didn’t joke—ever.

He turned his head to the right just in time to see a form standing by a military Humvee on the overpass of Interstate 5 in the middle of town, pointing a rifle at them.

“Fuuuck me! Those bastards!” Steven said.

“Back up, back up, back up!” Dutch shouted. “Movement on the lower left. Cover!”

As soon as Dalton heard the warning, he threw the Jeep into reverse and the first few pings snipped past their location. They’d been seen, and there was nothing immediate to take cover behind. The nearest building was a towing company, and the building itself was covered in corrugated metal. A barrage of bullets cascaded onto the tin roof, emitting a noise like nothing they’d heard in a very long time, and then far away.

The abandoned helicopter remained in their escape path. Dalton swung the Jeep into drive and raced back the way they’d come, through the parking lot of the shopping center, back through town, and turned right on Spruce Street right behind an office building before he stopped.

“Was it just one guy?” Dalton asked. His heart beat out of his chest and he found himself automatically using his old tricks from his military days to calm his pulse down.

“No, there were at least three shooters,” Dutch said.

“Son of a bitch!” Dalton yelled, slamming the steering wheel with his fist.

“It’s a scouting group,” Sam assumed.

“Should we take ’em out?” McCann asked.

“Shit. If we do, the others will come after us. I’m sure they’ve already radioed ahead,” Dalton said.

“If we don’t, we’ll have to deal with them and their buddies another day,” Dutch warned.

“All right. Anyone get an exact visual count?”

“No, I only saw the one,” Sam said.

“I heard three different weapons,” Dutch said. “If we’re going to do this, we gotta do it now, Dalton.”

“Kid,” Dalton said to McCann, looking at him in the rearview mirror, “you’re with me and Steven. Dutch, you’re with Sam. Let’s flank this block and head west. Get up high where you can see; let’s get this over with quick and get the hell out of here. I didn’t expect to find them so fast this far north. We’re screwed.”

The five men separated into their designated groups, and while Sam and Dutch flanked to the right of the block, the other three went to the rear of the building.

A patch of spruce trees behind the building provided them with some extra cover. They ran to the next building with weapons drawn—Dalton in front, McCann in the middle, and Steven at the rear. From there they could see Dutch and Sam peeking around the opposite side and through the narrow alleyway in between.

Dalton motioned for the others to climb the next building, and then he and his crew would go one more block before climbing a bank building while the others covered them.

When Sam gave them the signal to go, Dalton checked around the corner and scurried through an empty parking lot to the next building. As he turned to usher McCann to come, he lost all the breath left his lungs.

What Sam couldn’t see was that below him stood an enemy; not the one they were afraid of, but one just as dangerous. Dalton stumbled backward and turned quickly before a large brown bear charged their position. Steven pulled McCann backward and they ran just in time.

The surreal moment began as they all watched helplessly as the ravenous bear stormed after Dalton. The carnivore lumbered toward him and shook its head left to right, opened its jaws and growled. The giant dinner-plate-sized paws slapped the ground in front of Dalton. There was no easy access ladder to climb as an escape. Dalton tried a door to one of the buildings and found it locked. The prey was trapped, and the bear seemed to know this.

Sam ran forward, leaped to the next building, and took a shot behind the beast’s shoulder. They all knew their cover was blown, but he calculated the risks, and the bear would be on top of Dalton within the next half second. This was his only chance to shoot without wounding Dalton in the process.

The bear turned, distracted for a moment, after the bee-sting shot, but the wound only pissed it off more. Sam aimed and fired a second time, but the bear had already turned its aggression toward Dalton again.

Dalton gave up trying to escape, resigned himself to fight the approaching animal, and turned his weapon on it, face-to-face. He aimed and fired, knowing full well the bear would engulf him next. The animal was too large and smelled of a distinct musk he would not soon forget. Surreally he accepted that in the next instant he’d be mauled, but he wasn’t about to become easy prey for the bastard.

Instantly the animal plunged into Dalton’s body, pinning him against the brick building, and roared. Dalton heard shooting all around him as the bear attempted to gnaw on his head. He attempted to block the animal with his left arm and grabbed the fur on the left of its muzzle. He tried to hold the jaws away from him while he threw fist after fist, with his right arm, into the animal’s jaw. All the while, claws ravaged through his tactical gear and his shoulder. Dalton pushed the massive paw away just long enough to grab his knife out of his sheath with his right arm. He rammed the blade into the bear’s throat repeatedly with every ounce of strength he had left, but the animal still showed no sign of weakening. The gunfire continued, and for a moment Dalton’s only thought was, Why isn’t this damn bear dead yet?

Then, finally, the animal pulled away from him and turned to his right. Dalton slumped down, seeing only the red rush of blood. He hoped it came from the bear, but he had a sinking feeling some of it was his own. Blackness overtook his vision, and the last thing Dalton saw, as he tried to pull up his handgun to fire again, was a man clad in black pointing his own rifle at him.

Chapter 26 The Attack

Sam focused on the bear and tried to get a clean shot without wounding Dalton in the process. Everything happened so fast. At one point, he was aware of Dutch in his peripheral vision, shooting at something to his left. Then he heard a ping sail by his right ear, and he looked away from Dalton being mauled by the bear for a moment to realize men wearing black were shooting at them, and Dutch was covering him as best he could.

Then he heard yelling down below and more rapid fire ensued as McCann came out into the open and shot one of the three assailants to the left of his position through the trees. Another figure ran for cover not far from Dalton’s position around the corner of the brick building. Sam had yet to locate the third shooter; reluctantly he had to abandon killing the bear and focus on stopping the assailant from killing McCann, who was now out in the open and unguarded.

“He shot him! He shot him! He’s dead,” McCann yelled over the commotion as he advanced on the second shooter.

Sam saw the man behind the building aim at the boy. “McCann, get down!” he yelled. When McCann turned, Sam watched as the boy recoiled from a direct shot to his side. McCann dropped to the ground, and Sam jumped from the one-story building and ran to McCann’s side.

The shooter came around from the side of the building. Sam thought either he wasn’t aware of the bear around the corner or he didn’t care. Then he heard Dutch yell, “Up top!”

Sam had barely glanced up when Dutch shot a surprise fourth shooter on the adjacent building, who fell and landed on the ground only a few feet away from Dalton.

Sam felt for McCann’s pulse at his neck but had his eyes on the last guy, who had dropped his weapon and was now backing away from the wounded and very pissed-off bear lumbering in his direction. Dutch yelled to Sam, “Shoot?”

“No! Let the bear have him!” Sam yelled. “Get the Jeep.” He didn’t want to take his eyes off the bear, now ravaging its new victim. The man screamed in pain, but the worst of it was the ravenous growling of the bear after its prey.

The Jeep’s engine caught Sam’s attention, and as Dutch pulled it up between Dalton and Sam he dragged McCann to the cab. Sam and Dutch lifted the boy inside and sat him upright. “I’m hit? He killed him . . . Steven. Steven’s dead.”

Sam said, “It’s a shoulder wound, kid, you’ll be all right.”

“Steven’s dead,” McCann repeated.

Sam nodded. He wasn’t sure yet, but he figured the kid was right. He left him there and went around to Dutch, who was bent over Dalton’s mangled, bloody body.

“He alive?” Sam asked.

“He’s got a pulse, but he’s lost a lot of blood, man.”

“Let’s get him inside,” Sam said, and they each took one side of Dalton, suddenly aware that the screams from the bear’s new victim had subsided. They lifted Dalton’s unconscious, bloody body, not knowing the extent of his injuries, and laid him across McCann’s lap.

“Oh Jesus,” McCann said while he felt for Dalton’s pulse, even though he himself was injured.

“One more,” Sam said. They ran to the opposite side of the vehicle and retrieved Steven’s body. There was no doubt he was dead as they approached him. It was a clean shot through the head. Sam now felt no mercy for the bear’s victim at all.

“Son of bitch,” Sam said.

“Let’s bring him home,” Dutch said. They picked him up, opened the back door of the Jeep, and hastily laid his body in the cargo area. Dutch grabbed the first aid kit and rode shotgun as Sam jumped into the driver’s seat. They sped away from the grisly scene back in the direction they had come.

“We’ve got to call it in. He’s gonna need some blood,” McCann said from the back.

“We shouldn’t use the radio,” Sam said.

“He’s dying! He’s bleeding out!” McCann yelled.

Dutch opened up the first aid kit and turned around in the seat to lean into the back.

Sam drove with a vengeance. McCann was in a lot of pain, and grunted through it as best he could. The only thing Sam could do was get them home as fast as possible while watching his rearview mirror along the way.

“There’s a lot of blood, man,” Dutch said to Sam.

Sam felt liquid draining down his forehead, and brushed his arm over his brow, realizing now that it was blood. They were all covered in it, not knowing whose was whose. “Is it bright red?”

“Yes and no; there’s a lot of it,” Dutch said. “I’m packing the wounds. Dalton’s left arm is torn up bad.”

“He’ll make it,” Sam said, accelerating further, all the while thinking of how this must end and they must survive.

Chapter 27 Pressure

“Hey kid, stay awake. We’re almost there,” Dutch said, patting his cheek.

McCann kept nodding off. His left shoulder hurt like hell with the tiniest of movements and yet he couldn’t stay awake. He tried to take a steady, deep breath through the pain, but it was excruciating. He looked down at Dalton’s unconscious face in his lap and checked his neck for a pulse again.

“He’s still hanging in there, buddy,” Dutch told him.

McCann could see Dalton’s lower lip had turned blue since the last time he’d looked, and he was ghostly pale. “We gotta radio ahead. Clarisse will need time to get things together. He needs blood—now.”

Dutch looked at the boy. “Buddy, we’re going as fast as we can.”

McCann shook his head, lifted Dalton’s hand with his right hand, and showed him Dalton’s fingernails. “See that? See how his nail bed is blue, just like his lips? He’s going into shock. His pulse is weaker, and he’s going to die of heart failure before we even get him there.” McCann leaned back. It was excruciating to even talk or think. Then he had an idea. He needs adrenaline to constrict his blood vessels. That’ll slow the bleeding. What do we have with adrenaline?

“Do we . . . do we have an EpiPen in that kit?”

“He’s not having an allergic reaction,” Dutch said, looking at McCann as if he’d lost his mind.

“It’s basically adrenaline. It’ll buy him some time,” McCann struggled to say. Dutch rummaged around the kit and finally produced a paper-wrapped stick with EpiPen labeled on the side.

“Give me that.” McCann reached for the stick, tore the paper off with his teeth, and bit the cap off. He then plunged the needle into Dalton’s thigh. He reached again for Dalton’s pulse, then leaned backward into the seat, trying to cope with his own pain. He felt the thrumming pulse pick up its cadence.

“It’s better, but it won’t last for long. I’m telling you, we need to call ahead and have her get everything ready.” McCann stared Dutch in the eyes, and then focused on Sam’s gaze in the rearview mirror, looking back at him. “He won’t make it, Sam. He needs every advantage. You either bring him to Clarisse dead or prepare her now to save his life.”

“Do it. Take the risk,” Sam said to Dutch.

“You sure, man? They’ll be monitoring everything for sure now,” Dutch said.

Sam nodded. “Tell her we’re about fifteen minutes out.”

McCann leaned back, satisfied he’d made them listen to reason. His eyelids closed as he heard the chatter of Rick’s voice and succumbed to sleep as Dutch relayed their horrific news.

Chapter 28 The Burial

“No, don’t. I want to do it alone. He was my brother,” Rick said as Reuben and Mark approached him at the edge of the forest line, where one large madrone tree stood separate from the others. He watched as their shadows retreated.

It was already dusk, with the remnants of shadow light cast behind him. Rick brushed the sweat from his brow and continued to dig his friend’s grave. Steven lay in a blanket-covered mound to the right of the hole.

Rick caught glimpses of him each time he came up with another shovel load, until finally he knew the opening was deep enough. He stopped and grabbed the end of the shovel handle with both hands and leaned his weight onto it in a sudden surge of horrendous grief. He cried, and tears mixed with the dirt of a loved-one’s grave. “Goddammit, you couldn’t fucking duck?” he yelled at Steven. Great sobs followed. “You shit! I loved you, man!”

It was dark now. All lingering light had vanished and somewhere in his mind, he knew it was crazy to talk to himself and argue with dead Steven, but he did it anyway. He climbed out of the grave and continued ranting as he tugged the blanket-wrapped corpse.

“You just had to go and get yourself killed. Who the hell is going to put up with my shit now? You careless bastard.” He dragged him, head first, over to the hole and jumped back inside. “It’s up to me to bury your ass.” He broke down again. “Goddamn you!” Great wracking sobs burst from Rick as he clenched Steven’s body and buried his face in its side.

After the wave of grief passed, he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “I’ll get them, buddy. I promise you, man.” He hefted Steven into the grave and lowered him down to the cool, soft, loamy earth below in the pitch dark of night. He turned on a small flashlight and opened the blanket to look at his friend one last time, with a perfect hole blown through his forehead; Rick turned away briefly and spit dirt out of his mouth. He pulled off the chain of dog tags from around Steven’s neck while bent over in the grave. A line of snot threatened to descend, and he quickly wiped it away with the back of his hand and managed to rip one of the metal tags off the ring. Then he crouched down and removed one of Steven’s tags, replacing that one with one of his own. He pulled the dog tags down to Steven’s chest and slipped the metal under his shirt. He put Steven’s on his own chain and patted it down.

“I will never forget you, man,” Rick said before refolding the blanket over his face. Taking in a deep breath as an attempt to swallow the sorrow, Rick’s voice broke as he said, “Shit, this sucks.” Then he climbed out of the hole one last time.

“Good-bye, Steven. You were more a brother to me than anyone. I’ll miss you.” He gasped for another deep breath as he took up the shovel again and spilled the soil in, slowly at first, and then it became a war. He knew he had to bury him and get it over with, or he’d completely lose his mind in grief then and there. Over and over the soil found its place in the hole once again. With the moon high overhead, Rick finally finished and mounded what was left over. He knelt and smoothed out the dirt with his hands, crumbling larger soil clods into tiny particles. He leaned back on his heels with his dirt-crusted hands laid out on his thighs.

“God, please accept my friend here. He can be a total asshole at times, but he’s a good man. I also ask that you help us annihilate these fuckers. In Jesus’ name, I pray. Amen.” He got to his feet and picked up his shovel. “Rest, buddy,” he said, and in the dark of night, he headed slowly toward the light beckoning from camp.

Chapter 29 Regret

“McCann, McCann.” Graham patted his cheek and lifted up one of his eyelids. “Son,” he called to him again.

“Give him some more time. He’s dreaming,” someone else said, but the voice trailed away.

It’s true, he dreamed. He dreamed a nightmare, only it was a memory now.

Again, he stood against the wall where Steven had shoved him out of the line of fire. It sounded like a war. A war where someone invited a bear and no one knew which side he was on. McCann found a good-sized rock on the ground near his position against the wall. It filled his palm and the weight of it was perfect. He pulled away from the building and chucked it hard as hell in the direction of the bear, hitting it squarely in the back of the head. The bear pulled up from Dalton, but then another man jumped out and fired in their direction. Steven shoved McCann down to the ground, and when McCann moved he felt only Steven’s dead weight atop him. Steven was dead.

He sat up and turned him over. Steven was caught with his blue eyes open wide, still staring at the horror they found themselves in. He pushed Steven’s lids closed, and anger surged up within him. He charged forward and . . .

“McCann, wake up, buddy,” Graham said again and pushed on his right shoulder. “You’ve got to wake up, son.”

“I’m here,” McCann said with a heavy voice. He couldn’t yet open his eyes. He left the nightmare behind for now and felt Graham trying to lift his head a little.

“Come on buddy, wake up,” Graham demanded again.

“Why?” McCann said. He wasn’t ready to face the world. He didn’t want to dream that dream again, but somehow he thought he might be able to change the outcome if he went back into it.

“Because Clarisse said so, and believe me, it’s better I wake you than if she does,” Graham said.

McCann huffed; it felt like tiny anvils were holding his eyelids down.

“I just can’t open them. I’m tired, man. Come back later,” McCann murmured.

“Here, take a sip.” Graham held a cup of water up to McCann’s lips, and then he was able to finally flutter his eyes open a little sliver. As he sat up he flexed the wrong muscles in his left shoulder and pain shot through him.

“Damn, that hurts,” McCann complained.

“Don’t move your arm; I’ll help,” Graham said. He slid his arm around McCann’s chest and supported his shoulder to pull him up into a sitting position as McCann used his right arm to maneuver his weight upward.

“That hurts like hell,” he said and looked at his shoulder for the first time. It was all bandaged up.

“What the hell happened?” McCann asked.

Graham regarded him while he straightened his covers. “What do you remember?”

McCann shook his head, trying to clear away the grogginess. “I was shot. Dalton was attacked by a bear, and Steven—Steven’s dead because of me.” His voice cracked, and he looked away from Graham.

“That’s not the way Sam and Dutch tell it,” Graham said.

“If I hadn’t . . . if I hadn’t thrown the rock at the bear, Steven wouldn’t have had to push me down. He’d be alive,” McCann said. He couldn’t hold back a sob.

“McCann,” Graham lowered his voice. “Sam said the bear only turned away from Dalton when you used the rock. They shot the damn thing several times without even getting his attention. Dalton would be dead had you not intervened.”

“Dalton made it?” McCann looked up at him with watery eyes.

“Yeah, he did, and it looks like you were right. The epinephrine saved his life, McCann. He nearly bled to death.”

McCann wiped away his tears and took a deep breath. “Okay. I must have passed out after that.” He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.

“You did. When you guys showed up, we were all ready to do what was needed and we got Dalton into surgery right away. Unfortunately, Macy found you in the backseat with blood all over you. She’s pretty freaked out. She stayed with you until we took you into surgery too, then she disappeared.”

“Shit. Where is she?” McCann said, starting to move.

“It’s okay; I found her in the woods. She’s just scared,” Graham said.

McCann nodded, knowing that he must have been a horrific sight for Macy to see. Then he remembered with urgency why they should all be afraid.

“Wait. How long has it been? How long have I been here?”

“One night. It’s the next day,” Graham told him.

“Have you guys heard anything from the invaders?”

“Not yet. We’re monitoring all communications. We’ve moved everyone here to the prepper camp until we figure out what kind of threat they are. Safety in numbers.”

McCann nodded. “What about the horses?”

“They’re all here. Dutch and I took a truck over last night and packed up almost everything,” Graham said. “You’re good. Bullet went right through. You only needed a minor repair. Clarisse said that after she cleaned out the wound, she packed it with gauze. We’ll need to change that out every day, but it should heal up well on its own. You were lucky.”

“Okay, I need to see Macy. Can you send her to me?”

Graham shook his head. “She won’t come, McCann. I tried already. She needs some time; she thought you were dead.”

McCann got his first good look at Graham, who looked like death warmed over. “Have you even slept, Graham? You look awful.”

“I’ve been right here the whole time since you came out of surgery. I tell you, it would have killed me if you hadn’t made it,” Graham admitted.

“I’m fine, Graham. You’re not going to get rid of me that easily. How’s Rick taking Steven’s death?”

Graham looked out the plastic window of the tent and then down at the ground before he answered. “He buried him last night, by himself. He wouldn’t let anyone help. We’re going to have a ceremony for him later today. You know, I almost feel sorry for those bastards,” Graham said. The vengeful lowered tone of his voice reverberated in McCann’s spine, giving him chills, because Graham rarely showed hatred. He hadn’t thought the man was capable of feeling it, but now he knew differently.

“Scumbags,” McCann said. “And you know there are no words to describe how evil these jihad extremists are . . . what they’ve done.”

“Perhaps that’s it. They’re so low beyond humanity, no name for one of their kind should ever be uttered,” Graham said.

“Well, until we wipe them clean from the earth, we’ll have to refer to them as something. My father called them the Malefic Nation. It means people of harm and destruction.”

“I can’t think of a more fitting definition, for lack of anything better, and yet it’s still not low enough,” Graham said.

McCann slid his legs off the bed. “Can you hand me my pants?”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Graham asked.

McCann flashed a mischievous smile. “I need to clean up and then find Macy. She’s not getting away from me that easily.”

Graham chuckled and handed McCann a set of clothes. “I brought you some clean ones. We had to burn the others. You were soaked in your own blood, Dalton’s blood . . . and the bear’s, I think.”

McCann lifted the sheet and clamped it back down to his side. Then a sudden horror struck him. “Wait. No. Who cleaned me up?”

Graham shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume Clarisse did. She and Lucy did most of the medical work.”

“Awe, man!” McCann said when he looked under his sheet again and realized he was buck naked.

Chapter 30 Fixing Dalton

Clarisse slipped back into Dalton’s room. Lucy was bent over, picking up all the bloody towels and equipment they’d used and discarded while fixing him—the patching back together of what was salvageable with what was left over. It was now a matter of time, and guarding against infection. Dalton could still die on her. She knew the risks, and that’s why when she left the room to make sure McCann was coming out of anesthesia on time, she’d left as a surgeon. Now she was returning as—what, Dalton’s lover? It was more than that; she knew they both felt they were more than mere lovers, even though neither of them owned up to a vocal definition.

He lay there, helpless with monitors doing their work, flashing lights and beeping displays making all the right sounds.

“I think I got them all. I’ll go throw them on the fire pit,” Lucy said to her.

“Ah, thank you, Lucy. Go and disinfect again afterward, like I showed you, and then get yourself something to eat. Thank you for all your help today.” Clarisse managed a smile as Lucy brushed past her.

She still had to tell Dalton’s boys. Rick’s family had them for now, and she’d asked to break the news to them herself when she was able, but the task weighed on her conscience.

“Damn you, Dalton,” she whispered. It was more in anger that she cared so deeply for him and knew it would kill her if he died. He’d made her care for him; he’d made her vulnerable. He stampeded into her heart and took over somehow when she wasn’t guarding it. She wasn’t even sure of when it had happened.

One small step after another, she found herself at his bedside, running her fingertips over the green wool army blanket along the form of his legs. She had barely been able to repair the artery in his left shoulder. She figured he must have tried holding back the bear with that arm, because he sustained what looked like several abhorrently deep fang bites and ripping wounds.

Clarisse clasped her mouth to contain a loud cry that was threatening to escape her as she imagined what he’d been through; the tears already rolled unbridled.

His right hand . . . she knew what had happened there. The skin covering his knuckles was pared down to the white bone. He had fought for his life with that fist; she had no doubt.

“Dalton . . .” Clarisse curled the fingers of her own right hand and ran the softer skin lightly across his bare chest, where some of the bear’s sharp claws had left deep marks. “Don’t leave me, damn you,” she whispered. It was the only sign of weakness she’d ever uttered, and even then only at a whisper. Suddenly, imagining life without Dalton tore her down. And then Rick rounded the corner.

“How’s he doin’?”

She wiped away the evidence quickly before she looked up at him. “Um, better—according to the machines, anyway; he should be waking up anytime now.”

“I’ll wait here with him if you want to go tell the boys,” said Rick. “They don’t know what’s going on.”

She turned to Rick and was about to respond when she noticed his bloodshot eyes and the drawn expression of utter shock.

“Rick, I’m so sorry about Steven,” she said, touching his forearm in comfort.

Rick shook his head in disbelief. “I just can’t believe it still. This can’t be real. I buried him myself, and I still can believe he’s gone,” he said, choking on the last word.

“Why don’t you go take some time, Rick?”

“No. No, I’m fine. You need me here. I’d rather you tell the boys than me having to break the news to them. I can’t, Clarisse. I just can’t tell them right now. They should hear it from you, anyway.”

She nodded and opened her arms wide to hug Rick, something she had never offered before.

He looked at her strangely and then shook his head again while he embraced her.

“We’ll get through this, too, Rick. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? That’s what my mother always used to say; though I never believed her,” Clarisse said, patting him on the back.

He pulled away to face her. “That’s not helping, but nice try.”

She teared up again, and pinched the bridge of her nose under her glasses to try to stem the flow. Rick moved to the chair next to Dalton.

“So, call you if any alarms go off, right?” Rick asked, waving his hands at the various monitors that clicked and beeped.

“Yes. Call me if he wakes up, too. I won’t be long.”

Chapter 31 Riding High

Lucy tossed the last of the blood-soaked towels onto the burn pit. She parsed them out, a few at a time to keep from smothering the flames. Sam had warned her not to put too much on at once so that the fire didn’t produce too much smoke and draw attention to the preppers’ camp. She gazed through the flames and wiped her brow with the back of her hand; she was in a trance, with people coming and going in muted colors in her peripheral vision.

It was good to work and to keep busy helping others. Lucy wanted nothing more than hard work to help the others and as little personal interaction as possible to keep herself from remembering things.

Then, through the blur, she noticed something odd as a horse moved backward. She blinked and tried to make sense of the scene.

McCann, who had just been in the infirmary on a gurney, was attempting to mount his horse—with one arm in a sling. She stood back from the fire to get a better look at his feeble attempts. He pulled the line back into position with his right hand and clasped the mount while holding the lead line. Then he put his left boot into the stirrup and seemed to sway, losing his balance. The horse looked confused and took a step sideways, screwing up McCann’s plan altogether.

“Dammit,” McCann said with subtle impatience.

Lucy looked from side to side in hopes someone would come along and stop him from his own foolishness, but at that moment no one was anywhere in sight. She picked up her basket and walked reluctantly toward him as he tried again to mount the horse with the use of only his right arm, again failing miserably.

Coming up behind McCann, she asked, “Should you be doing that?”

He turned around to see who was talking to him, and then answered, “I’ve got something to do.”

“You just woke from surgery. Does Clarisse even know you’re out here?”

McCann gave up for a second and turned to Lucy with a huff. “Hey, can you please do me a big favor and hold the line?” He held out the rope for her to take.

She looked down at the rope and shook her head. “No. I’ll get in trouble. You’re not supposed to be riding. I don’t think you’re even supposed to be walking.”

“It’s okay, really. You won’t get in any trouble. Here, take it,” he said, thrusting the rope out to her again.

Lucy still didn’t take it. “Look. Can I go and get whatever it is you need?”

He looked at her, frustrated. “No. You can’t. Please just hold the line so he’ll stay in position. I won’t tell anyone you helped me, I promise.”

Lucy looked around her again, and when she turned toward him, she jumped back automatically after seeing he held the line too close to her. She gasped and dropped the basket she had held, now enclosing herself in her arms, fighting her own inner demons.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” McCann repeated twice, holding up his right hand. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She pulled back the long strands of red hair that had fallen into Lucy’s face.

“It’s . . . It’s okay. I’m fine,” Lucy said, trying to convince herself that she was, in fact, all right.

“No, I’m sorry. That was foolish of me. Honestly, no one is going to harm you here. You don’t need to be scared. I’m just in a hurry.”

Lucy put on a slight smile, knowing that McCann was only trying to make her feel better. “Okay, just hurry. I don’t want to be on Clarisse’s bad side.”

“You and me both,” he mumbled. He handed her the line, keeping his own hand far away from hers.

“Do I hold it taut if he bucks?”

McCann smirked. “He won’t buck. He’s just not used to me without a left arm to use.”

“See, even he knows you’re not supposed to be doing this,” Lucy said. She took another look around to make sure the coast was clear while McCann got into position to take another stab at it, failing miserably once more. He staggered before he caught his balance this time.

“Hey, aren’t you on Vicodin?” she asked.

“Is that what you guys gave me? Dammit, I’ve got to find her. Hang on, one more try.” He kicked over a nearby feed bucket with his boot and scooted it into position.

Lucy laughed at McCann’s determination. He got close to the horse and put his left foot on top of the bucket in preparation to launch himself up and onto the saddle. With his left arm in a sling, she figured that—despite the Vicodin—this had to hurt like hell.

Before she could warn him, McCann launched himself again and landed with his torso across the saddle, but without quite getting his right knee high enough to gain traction. Instead he hung there.

At that moment, Sam came out of the stable, and Lucy shrunk, knowing she was now in big trouble. Sam stopped his stride and looked at the two of them, assessing the situation; Lucy holding the rope and McCann across the mare, ass up, with a surprised look on his face.

“He’s . . . trying to get on the . . . the horse,” Lucy stuttered. “I tried to stop him, but he won’t listen to me, and he’s high on Vicodin.”

“Sam. Sam, I gotta find her,” McCann said as a means of explaining his side of the story.

Lucy watched as Sam took in the scene and seemed to make a judgment on the predicament before him. He walked within five feet of the young man and the horse, then pushed McCann’s right knee up so that he could get into the saddle. Then he took the reins from Lucy and handed them up to McCann once he was upright in the saddle.

“She’s in the woods by the stream. I never saw you,” Sam said and walked off without another word.

Lucy only stared.

“This”—McCann slurred, motioning his right hand in a circle—“did not happen.”

Lucy watched him ride away toward the river. “I hope he doesn’t fall and break his neck,” she said under her breath, again looking to see if there were any witnesses. Then she hurried back to the infirmary.

Chapter 32 A Predicament

Clarisse passed Lucy in the hallway but avoided making eye contact.

“Make sure you get dinner, Lucy. I’ll see you back at our tent later tonight. I’ll probably stay with Dalton for a while. Will you be okay alone?”

“Yes, Clarisse, of course; I’ll sit with Addy and Sam at dinner like last time. Please let me know if there’s anything more I can do.”

“You’ve been a great help already. I thank God you were here. We were already running pretty thin before this happened.”

“Again, don’t hesitate let me know if there is anything else I can do,” Lucy reiterated.

“Well, just say hi to Addy for me. I feel like I haven’t seen her in days.”

“I will. Bye!”

Clarisse started to walk away, but remembered something and turned. “Oh, Lucy. Have you seen McCann? I need to talk to him about stepping in for Steven, since he has some medical knowledge, but when I checked his room he’d already left.”

“Uh . . . nope,” Lucy answered sheepishly.

Clarisse thought Lucy looked nervous, but dismissed it as part of Lucy getting over her trauma and meeting so many new people. “No big deal. If you see him, please send him to me. Thank you.”

“I will,” Lucy said, scurrying off with her head down.

Clarisse walked on and took a deep breath as she exited the infirmary tent into the evening air. The light was only just beginning to subside, and she loved that the sunlight of day stretched longer and longer this time of year. She could smell something coming from the mess tent and thought it might be a casserole. The scent smelled comforting, and these days they needed all the comfort they could get.

As Clarisse passed through the main yard, she saw Mark and Marcy up on the guard stand alongside another guard from the prepper camp. It was great to have Graham’s camp here among them; at least she wouldn’t have to worry about them being out there on their own. That, and she could keep a better eye on Tala, who did not have much longer to go before the birth.

They just needed to remain quiet and undetected as much as possible in order to get by. Clarisse hoped they would all be able to stay in their camp for now, but she knew that Graham, Reuben, and Rick were planning a contingency to bug out at a moment’s notice. The idea of leaving wasn’t so comforting, especially when the leader of the group was in the infirmary and they had children and a pregnant woman to consider, but this was life now, and they had to do whatever it took to survive.

Despite the almost cheerful evening walk to Rick’s family’s tent, each step brought on a foreboding sense of dread. On one hand, Clarisse could tell the boys a bear had attacked their father and he sustained many injuries and he could die still; that was the truth. On the other, she could tell the boys their father was in surgery due to bear attack injuries and he was recovering nicely. She still hadn’t made a decision, and she was only five steps from their tent door.

She stopped on the third step and put her hands on her narrow hips, looking down in thought, kicking the dust up with her combat boot. These boys were still coping with the loss of their mother; they had been told their dad was in the infirmary but nothing more. “Just tell them the truth,” she finally said to herself. She shook her doubts away, lifted her head, pushed her glasses in place, and closed the gap.

“Hi, Olivia,” she said to Rick’s wife, who was sitting in a chair reading a book. Clarisse was taken aback by the grief apparent on Olivia’s face, but losing Steven was like losing a brother to Rick’s family, and Clarisse had almost forgotten that. “I’m sorry, Olivia,” she said.

“Oh, we all are, Clarisse. It’s so hard, knowing it could be anyone at any minute. We all survived the pandemic and, for a while, we thought that would be it. But it’s not. We’re still vulnerable. It could have easily been Rick. He would have been the one to go on the scouting mission if he hadn’t been shot in the leg the day before. This is never going to end, this feeling that any second my husband will die . . . or my Bethany. Sorry, I’m just still in shock.”

Clarisse walked farther into the darkened tent and could hear what sounded like a cartoon on in the next room. She sat on a chair next to Olivia and placed her hand on her shoulder. “You’re grieving, and all the could haves are normal to feel right now. It’s fear that has saved us all, and it’s fear and determination that will continue to save us. Steven’s loss is a real blow. I don’t know what I’m going to do without him, frankly.” She stared out in silence for a second, remembering the time she had walked in on him playing with the test ferrets like puppies one day, looking up at her with a goofy grin. “God, he used to drive me crazy.” She sniffed and wiped an errant tear from under her glasses.

“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” Clarisse continued. “One thing at a time, I guess. Right now, I’ve got to tell Dalton’s two little boys that their dad isn’t out of the woods yet, and so soon after losing their mom. I’ve got to do this and get back to him. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. I hope he recovers quickly. We need him,” Olivia said.

“I need him. I know that now. Come talk to me anytime, Olivia. We’re both so busy holding up our own ends that it seems I never get to see you.”

“I’d like that. They’re in Bethany’s tent watching Pocahontas again. I wish we’d packed more movies; that one is driving me nuts. It’s all they ever watch, but I think when things start to get a little uncertain again, the kids want to zone out on what they know, something comforting from the old world,” Olivia chuckled.

“I’ll just chat with them a minute and then head back, if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Olivia said, turning back to her book.

Clarisse got up and walked nearer to the musical notes coming from the other tent room. When she rounded the corner she saw three children lying on their bellies, propping their little heads up on their hands with their elbows pointed into the vinyl ground.

“Hi guys,” Clarisse said, slipping down to sit beside them. She sat crossed-legged and caressed Kade along his back. All three heads turned in unison and smiled at her, then turned back to the movie.

“Bethany, can you come in here please,” they heard Olivia call from the other room. Bethany scooted up and stepped over the boys while leaving the room.

“Hey, guys. I need to talk to you,” Clarisse said. “Can I have you sit up for a minute?”

Hunter, the older of the two at six, looked up at her, glanced back to the show for a moment, then pulled his eyes away again and sat up. “Is it about Dad?” he asked.

“Yes.”

That got Kade’s attention too, and they both sat up and pulled their legs into the same position as Clarisse’s. She couldn’t help but smile at their sweet faces. She reached over, placing one hand on each of their far shoulders. She smiled reassuringly. The pit of her stomach suddenly turned to stone. “Your d—”

“Is he dead?” Hunter asked, interrupting her words in a deadpan voice. The blow scared Clarisse, and she dropped her hands from their shoulders.

“No—no. He’s coming out of recovery, Hunter.” She suddenly realized, even at six, this young man had seen and been through too much. “He was attacked by a bear,” she said quietly and waited for a reaction.

“Is he okay?” Kade asked. His big eyes teared up while Hunter looked sullen and picked at his boot.

“He’s uncon . . . he’s sleeping right now. I performed surgery to fix him back up. It might take him a long time to get better.”

“Did the bear bite him?” Kade asked.

“Of course it did, Kade,” Hunter said in anger.

Clarisse waited a second to pass before she formulated an answer. “The bear bit his shoulder, and he lost a lot of blood, but he will get better.” Her stomach clenched when she caught herself in this untruth. She didn’t know yet if Dalton would get better, but she couldn’t look into his sons’ eyes and tell them he might die. She had thought she could, but not now.

“Can I see him?” Kade asked in his high-pitched little boy voice.

Clarisse smiled and tried to hold back emotion as she detected resilience in Kade’s voice. “He’s not ready yet for visitors, but I will come and get you as soon as he is. Okay?”

Kade nodded and Hunter mumbled, “He’s probably gonna die, anyway, just like Mom.”

“Don’t say that, Hunter!” Kade yelled, and he began to weep.

“Don’t cry, Kade. It’s all right,” Clarisse said. She slid him onto her lap and hugged him. She kissed the top of his head, which smelled like little boy sweat as he leaned into her. “Let me tell you both something. Your dad is not going to die. But even if he did, you know that Rick and I would always take care of you.” She laid her right hand on Hunter’s knee. “You’ll never be alone. I promise you that.”

Clarisse knew that she hadn’t told the whole truth, but she also knew she would try her hardest to have Dalton survive this, no matter what. These boys needed their father, and she was going to do everything she could to make sure they kept him.

“Do you understand, Hunter?” she asked the sullen boy.

He grimaced, but flashed her his sad eyes and agreed.

She held Kade tightly and then kissed him again. “I’ve got to get back to your dad now. I’ll check on you guys later and bring you any news. Okay?”

They nodded, and she slid the youngest child off her lap and stood up. Both boys returned to their previous positions on their bellies to watch the screen and zone out once again. With the hardships of their current reality, she hoped they’d gain some peace in an imaginary one.

Clarisse stopped the door flap before exiting and remembered her promise to them. She wiped the moisture from her eyes on the way out and waved good-bye to Olivia and Bethany on her way back to the infirmary, hoping she’d done the right thing.

Chapter 33 Shooting the Breeze

“Where’ve you been, Sam?” Reuben asked as Sam appeared in the media tent for his turn on watch, only a few minutes late.

“I got a little sidetracked on the way,” Sam said, and Graham waited for the reason, but Sam didn’t offer one. Instead, he was busy bringing in what looked like spools of drab-green paracord on sticks of various sizes, as well as a hatchet.

“So, you’re on watch now. I’ll go relieve the guard for dinner,” Reuben said.

“I can take a turn too, Reuben,” Graham said.

“We need you here until Rick’s back. We need two people as runner and listener in case we hear or see something on camera,” Reuben explained.

Graham agreed with that logic, and then Sam said, “Hey, Reuben before you leave, make sure McCann and Macy are back by dark. If they’re not, let me know.”

“Where’d McCann go?” Graham asked as Sam unrolled large lengths of the paracord on the ground between his knees.

“He’s on a mission. He’s fine. Guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.” Sam pulled out his pocket knife and cut off a precise length of cord, tying a knot on the opened end.

“Gotcha. Graham said, snickering and let it lie, knowing what McCann was up to but concerned about his condition all the same. What are you making?”

“Traps,” Sam said, but nothing more.

“Wait, is McCann mounted?” Reuben called from the door.

“Yeah. He’s mounted,” Sam said, and Reuben left to resume his other duties.

After Reuben left, Sam said, “I don’t envy you. Two daughters . . .” He looked up at Graham and shook his head as if the condition were the worst plague ever imagined.

“Yeah, but this is nothing.” He watched Sam cut off two more lengths of cording about the same length of the first. “At least they aren’t fighting right now. That drives me crazy. Tala’s good with them, though.”

“How’s she getting along with the move? Sorry we had to pull you guys over here, but it’s for the best,” Sam said with a strand in his mouth.

“She’s a trooper. She’s got everything worked out. Nothing rattles her too much . . . except for the idea of me getting killed, that is,” Graham admitted.

“Yeah, losing Steven has been a real blow, and having Dalton this far gone really has us at a disadvantage. He’ll come through it though—out of pure will if nothing else. He won’t leave those boys if he can help it.” Sam laid the paracord lengths to the side to pick up the hatchet and a sturdy V-shaped stick. He started to cut a notch below the V.

Graham got the intensity of Sam’s statement, but he still worried about Dalton as their leader. With Rick compromised over the loss of Steven, this group would go astray without Dalton’s leadership. They had the tactical power to fight off a large group, but being short on men had them at a disadvantage. Graham scanned the cameras again while Sam worked on what he could only guess was a snare of some kind.

“What’s the contingency, Sam? If we hear from them, that is.”

“Depends on what they do and how close they get,” Sam said. “If they track us here, we’ve got to fight them and run for it. We’ve got the vehicles with provisions all ready and a route planned north to bug out. We’re hidden here, but not that well hidden. It’s a matter of time. We’ve got to go after them before they discover us. Right now, we’re sitting ducks. That’s not a good position to be in.”

“Have you ever been a police officer or a soldier, Sam?”

“No, but I’ve fought man, bear, and beasts of all kinds in my time. I’d count these guys in the beasts category. No man would ever be this vile. These are too far gone for redemption. They must be exterminated like the scum they are.” Then he sunk the hatchet into the notch he’d just created.

Graham had never heard Sam speak more than a few sentences strung together. This kind of thinking was still new to Graham, but he had to agree. They needed to fight back and fast, but the problem was that they didn’t know how widespread the invaders were. They could have been pouring into Texas and the southern borders all this time.

“I’m on board one hundred percent, Sam,” Graham said.

Graham checked the cameras again in detail. The center of Cascade looked clear aside from a herd of deer munching on new spring growth near the post office.

“Did McCann look like he was stable enough to ride on his horse?” Graham asked after a moment. He watched as Sam formulated an opinion while working on the second stick. “No, but he knows what he’s doing. My mother would say that boy is touched with an old soul. I wouldn’t worry about that one. Mark and Marcy, on the other hand, are going to make you a pops before too long.”

“Don’t say that, man,” Graham pleaded, holding up his hand. “I don’t know what to do with those two.”

“Nothing you can do. Nature tells them what to do, what’s needed. Right now there’s a need for more babies in the world. Problem is, we’re still fighting the enemy. We’re not safe yet.”

Amid the surveillance camera equipment, both of their heads popped up from their tasks as the occasional repeaters operated—now with an eerie human voice erupting over the waves. Their eyes met. It was a voice of normality from the past stating the frequency and call of the programmed repeaters, still announcing its duty in a world with few men left to care about it. It teased them. Sam shook his head in fervent hatred and Graham nodded, looking past him in resigned agreement.

Chapter 34 Young Love

It was the forest again. Her smell lingered among the shadowed pines. Once he entered, the sunset glimmered through the high trees alerting McCann to the time; too few minutes remained before it would set. He gently called to her, “Maaacy.”

Only silence filled the air, leaving it bereft of her. McCann tempted her with another soft call. The drugs were impairing his senses, but he felt her here, he knew her presence.

Then a chance sunset ray caught a strand of her golden hair behind a tree trunk. He searched further and found her peeking out at him with one blue eye.

“Macy.”

“What are you doing here?” she said.

“Looking for you.”

She leaned out from the tree, using one hand for leverage to look at him wholly. “You’re crazy,” she said, somewhat flattered that McCann had come looking for her in his condition.

“Come, Macy. Don’t make me get down. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get back up,” he admitted, holding his right arm out for her as if she’d obey him that easily.

“I want to go home. Not there,” she complained.

“It is our home for now. It’s safer, Macy. Come here, please,” he coaxed further.

She shot behind the tree again and out of sight.

“Dammit, Macy. Come here,” he said, swaying in his saddle, his head spinning while he looked for her in the dimming light.

“Go back, McCann. I’ll come in later. When I want to.”

He got more frustrated; light was sinking farther down through the pines. Her voice seemed to be moving around him.

“Macy, please, come to me,” he pleaded, knowing the stern voice would never do with her. He waited, hoping she’d have mercy on him. He closed his eyes to the dusk and tried to listen for her. Moments passed and no alert came to him. He took a deep breath, knowing he’d have to dismount to find her. He blew the breath out with control, steadily, needing to pull as much patience from the act as possible.

“Okay, I’m coming for you,” he said in final resignation, lifting his boot to dismount. A light grasp on his thigh shocked him through. Macy’s blue eyes pierced McCann with what little golden flickers remained of the descending sun. He gave her his right arm, steady and strong. She embraced it and used her knee as leverage against the horse’s side as he pulled her up and settled her in front of him in the saddle.

“You should probably drive, sneaky,” he said. He handed her the reigns, and then wrapped his arm around her waist and whispered into the back of her neck, “Don’t worry, Macy. I’d never leave you.”

Chapter 35 Come to Me

Dalton’s chest rose and fell with a cadence that Rick’s own breathing began to emulate. “Come on, Dalton. Wake up, man. I’ve got crap to do.”

Rick tossed his hat a few more times, letting the circumference loop through his hands while he stared down between his knees. The silence, interrupted only by mechanical beeping, was driving him nuts. “Seriously, a lot of shit is going on, man. I’m not sure we can do this without you.” He slid his hand over his own tired face, the skin still rough and calloused from the work of grave digging.

“How’s he doing?” Clarisse asked, startling Rick as she entered the room. “Any changes?”

“No. No, I don’t think so.”

“It’s okay. You can get back now. I’ve told the boys.”

“How’d they take the news?” he asked her.

Clarisse ran her hand over her smooth hair, making sure it was still in place. “I wanted to tell them the truth. I wanted to let them know the reality that he could still die.” Remembering, she broke eye contact with Rick and looked down at the ground, shaking her head. “I couldn’t do it. He’s got to pull through this. He has no choice.”

“He will, Clarisse,” Rick said. “Yes, he has no fucking choice. Hear that, asshole?” Rick directed the message at Dalton’s sleeping form, then stood and stretched.

“You should go get some sleep, Rick.”

“Can’t. No rest for the wicked, and I’m going to be very fucking wicked here soon,” he said as he departed the tent into the evening air.

Clarisse watched him go, and felt a menacing tingle; every hair on her arms and neck stood on end. Rick was a man renowned of many unique talents. Now he was a man hell-bent on brutal annihilation, and with his mind working on the demise of another, she thought, hell hath no mercy for those on the wrong side of vengeance.

She shrugged off the prickles and focused on Dalton again. Scanning every machine connected to the man she loved, she was relieved that there were no changes indicating a setback of any kind. She needed to wake him now to find out if there would be any further emergencies as he gained consciousness.

Leaving Dalton’s side, she walked over to close the tent flap door for privacy and then removed her glasses. “Okay, sweetheart. Time to come back to me.”

A white sheet was tucked at Dalton’s waistline, and Clarisse pulled it slowly down to his ankles, accessing the broken body before her and taking in the unbroken parts of him that she loved so much. She ran her hand, lightly and slowly, to the inside of his hairy, muscular thigh. She couldn’t think of a better way of waking him from such a deep sleep than kissing him lightly on the lips and massaging him where she knew he loved her touch. She carefully avoided the torn shoulder, moving her other hand to his dark-blond locks and gently weaving them through her fingers.

Dalton’s right hand flinched in her peripheral view after a moment, and she turned her head to the side to glance at the EKG machine, where the needle showed a slight increase in heart rate.

“Don’t you dare stop now,” came his husky breath to her ear.

She smiled down at him, overjoyed that he had come back to her. With tears dropping to his chest, she whispered, “I never stop what I’ve started. You know that about me.”

Chapter 36 Tent City

Tala woke up on her side in their temporary accommodations, Graham spooning behind her, his arm draped over her swollen belly. The baby kicked and turned within her.

“He wants to play,” Graham said sleepily into the back of her head.

“You mean she don’t you?” Tala said as he smoothed his hand over her creamy bare skin where her tank top rode up. Then she felt his hand travel to her hip.

“Tala,” he said, nuzzling in closer.

“Nope,” she said and pointed to the other side of the tent where a little boy snored soundly, but not soundly enough. She put her finger to her lips and smiled teasingly up at Graham. “Shhh.”

He dropped his head in defeat. “Okay, I’ve got to go to help out anyway,” he said and swung his legs over the side of their cot.

“Me, too. I’ve got kitchen duty this morning.”

“Take it easy, please,” Graham said, tugging on his jeans.

Tala propped herself up on her elbows to watch him dress. “Did you make sure the boys were in the boys’ tent and the girls were in the girls’ tent last night?”

“Yes, I did, at around three this morning when I got off guard duty, but that doesn’t mean anything. Sheriff was with Macy though,” he said, leaving the tent for the showers.

“Have a nice day at work, Graham.” Tala tormented him again with a wicked smile and a raised eyebrow, and he shot her a devilish look that said Enough, or you’ll be sorry. She lay back down after he left, curling up where his warmth and smell still lingered on the bed. It frightened her that they couldn’t feel safe in their own cabin, alone—just Tala, Graham, and the children she’d come to love and call her own.

Now the twins were in the tent set up next to theirs, and the boys were on the other side, all in a row like the rest of the preppers. There was no more making Graham coffee at dawn, or the little things that made up their morning routine. Even the kids, only on their second day at the prepper camp, were still adjusting, though they all knew it was for the best and they had to make it work for now.

“Are we going to work in the garden today?”

Tala rolled over to see Bang peeking back out at her. A blush threatened her face. She hoped he hadn’t been awake long and had picked up on their playful banter. “Yes, I think so; after breakfast,” she said.

Tala sat up, pulled her sweater on over her cotton tank top, and said, “Time to start the day.”

Bang smiled at her. “I have to take care of the chickens. They don’t like it here. They think they’re lost,” he said.

“Hmm,” Tala said, knowing he was talking about more than the chickens. “Are you giving them the same feed?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Are you spending time with them like you used to?”

“Yeah,” he said nodding.

“Well,” she said and brushed his hair out of his eyes, “try talking to them and letting them know this is only temporary. It’s safer here and nothing will happen to them while we have more people to guard them. Let them know that as soon as danger has passed, we will return to the cabin, but for now we have to adapt to our new circumstances.”

“Are the bad men that killed Steven coming here?” Bang asked in a dropped whisper with eyes wide in fright.

Tala closed her lips in a thin line, thinking of what was best to reveal and what he didn’t need to know at his age. She finally pulled his small frame to her side and said in all honesty, “We don’t know yet, Bang, but we will keep you safe no matter what.” That seemed to be all he was asking for, just that much reassurance. He leaned into her and she hugged him with her heart on edge.

When she left the tent with Bang, he headed off in the opposite direction toward the animal section and waved as if he was going off to school and she to work. She’d never realized how much the prepper camp was like a little city, all within the confines of a gated enclosure—except for Clarisse’s quarantine lab, which was not simply a lab.

She’d hoped to hear word about Dalton’s condition, and as she neared the mess hall she ran into Marcy already hard at work taking orders from Olivia. She hugged Marcy and said, “Good morning, dear.”

“Good morning, Tala,” Olivia said. “You didn’t have to come in this early in your condition. You should sleep as much as you can. When the baby’s born, forget that luxury.”

“Oh, I know; it’s already waking me up early, though. It’s okay. I want to help out as much as I can now. Have you heard anything about Dalton?” she asked while putting on an apron.

Olivia bent over a vat of steaming oatmeal, stirring while Marcy spilled a couple handfuls of raisins into the pot. “Yes! He’s awake and doing well. Rick came in last night, said Clarisse stopped by the media tent on her way in to tell him that Dalton was up and looking good. He’s already out of bed. I haven’t seen him yet, but Rick said Clarisse won’t let him do too much yet. His shoulder’s bandaged, and he’s in a lot of pain, but she’s taking care of him. He’ll be fine.”

“That’s great news. We all needed that,” said Tala. Then she stacked paper bowls and set up plastic spoons near the oatmeal station. Marcy was filling the large commercial coffee maker with water, and Tala set out the sugar, faux sugar packets, and stir sticks. She then looked for the powdered creamer but there was none.

“Olivia, is there more creamer somewhere?”

“Ah . . . nooo,” she said with a dismayed look on her face. “We are all out of the powdered creamer, and Dalton is going to start a revolution when he finds out. I’ve been slipping canned evaporated milk into his coffee, which Rick came in for earlier, but we don’t have much of that left either. It’s black from now on, if anyone asks—until we run out of coffee itself, that is.”

“God help us all when that happens,” Tala said, thinking of how grumpy Graham was without his coffee.

Marcy laughed. “That’s just too bad. They both need to get off caffeine anyway. It’s bad for you.”

Olivia stirred brown sugar into the oatmeal and tapped the large metal spoon on the side of the pot when she was through. She smiled and laughed at a memory, “Honey, you don’t want to be around Rick or St—” she shuddered, stopped, and the smile dropped from her face utterly.

Tala looked at her, saddened by her obvious heartache.

“I’m sorry. It’s so hard to accept he’s gone,” Olivia said.

Before Tala could comment, people started filtering in for breakfast. Olivia put on a bright smile through her watery eyes and welcomed them while Tala looked at Marcy, who now appeared in painful remorse too. These things couldn’t be helped; they had their own sadness at Ennis’s passing—even now—and they both knew that grief took time.

Chapter 37 Man Traps

“I had no idea you were so devious,” McCann said to Sam as they carried out the traps and lethally sharpened spears in two quivers. The knee-high sword ferns gleamed a brilliant green all around them.

“It’s survival, that’s all,” Sam explained, setting the first trap. He then pointed out into the forest. “You see how the deer have created this natural highway through the woods? The invaders will follow this opening to avoid making unnecessary noise. We need to set up bow traps along this perimeter and camouflage them under the natural brush along the path.

“Watch how I set one of these up, and then you can help me with the rest.” Sam began pounding several sticks into the ground, which he then laid a bow across. He extended the string behind the bow at full pull and pounded several more sticks into the ground at that position. Then he took a stick tied to a string and pounded it into the ground across the deer path. “This is the tripwire,” he said, pounding in a few more sticks into the ground, around which he looped the string. He tied the other end of the tripwire to a tiny stick, then pulled the bowstring back, setting it behind the fulcrum stick and securing everything with the tripwire stick.

Sam leaned backward on his knees and held his hands up in warning.

“Okay, pay attention. This thing is lethal once you place the spear inside of the device. It’s under a lot of pressure. The arrow will lean upward at a slight angle. There’s a notch here at the end of the spear, see?” He showed McCann where the bowstring would slide smoothly inside the crevice. “Do not walk in front of the trap—for any reason—after loading the spear. We’ll set these up after Rick finishes the final touches on his reapers.”

McCann thought these bow traps were damned impressive alone, but he had no idea of what Rick had planned. “What the heck is a reaper?” he asked, and Sam did something McCann never expected to hear from him. It scared him.

Sam giggled low and devious, then said, “You think I’ve got tricks up my sleeve—Rick’s a twisted, freaky fucker. He’s designed this thing—I can’t tell you; I’ll have him explain it to you. This thing is something you have to see for yourself. Anyway, no one ventures this direction, unless of course they have a death wish to be impaled or shot—or both.”

McCann cleared his dry throat. “Yeah. That’s for sure.”

They made their way through the forest to where Rick was perched atop their Jeep. He had hooked something over a branch and pushed it back to conceal it under the evergreen brush.

“That should do it. Last one,” Rick said to them as they approached. The temperature was warm enough to cause Rick to break a sweat work, and McCann thought Rick looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His army T-shirt was drenched through as he finished the final touches on his equipment while McCann surveyed the contraption to try to figure out what it was.

“Explain to McCann how these damn things work, Rick,” Sam said.

“Sure, just a second.” Rick wiped the sweat from his eyes with his forearm. “The scheme really isn’t that hard if you just put a few different concepts together into one project. It helped that I used to be an RC—remote control—airplane enthusiast and a gun nut.

“For the remote control functions of the gun, I used a 2.4 gigahertz RC radio system consisting of a transmitter and a receiver. The new 2.4 systems lock on to a single transmitter/receiver like a cell phone. That helps keep other radio transmissions from interfering and makes it just a little harder for the system to be hijacked. The transmitter is the controller you would fly the RC airplane with, and the receiver would normally be mounted on an airplane. The receiver takes the signals from the controller, then sends the commands to each of the servos that operate the different control surfaces of the airplane.

“I made a mounting bracket that attaches to a tree branch and hangs from underneath. The mount for the gun hangs underneath on an aluminum dual-axis mount to allow it to move on the yaw and pitch control axes. That gives the operator full range of motion of the gun with a simple joystick on a controller. There are two servos connected to the mounting bracket—one for each axis, and each axis uses the control arms that would normally move the flight control surfaces to move the gun mount underneath.

“When the operator pulls back with the controller, the barrel goes up; when he pushes forward, it goes down, left and it goes left, right and it goes right. I had to use the beefiest servos available to get it stout enough to move the way I wanted it to and to be reliable under stress, but it was worth the search.

“The weapon mounted underneath the contraption is a stripped-down M4 carbine that uses the flat-top rail on the upper receiver to mount to the control mechanism where there would normally be a sight, optic, or the old school carry handle–sight combo mounted. In the interest of saving weight, I stripped it of its stock and only have the buffer tube in place on the rear, removed the forward hand guards, and sawed the triangular front sight off, leaving only the gas block, gas tube, and a lightweight pencil profile barrel out front—no muzzle device. I also mounted a solenoid from an RC airplane alongside the magazine well to actuate the trigger that also receives input from the transmitter via the receiver. This particular M4 just happens to have a class three lower receiver with the full autofire control group installed, and is loaded with a hundred-round Beta Mag dual drum setup. I figured a hundred rounds would be plenty, since by that point this thing is liable to have shaken itself apart from the pounding of the recoil action.

“For aiming, the primary system is a camera mounted on the gun mount that transmits live video feeds to a monitor colocated with the RC transmitter. Since the camera can’t actually sight in the exact path of the bullets, the Beta Mag is loaded every third round with a tracer so that the path of the bullets can actually be seen by the camera and adjusted accordingly. The tracers also work as a backup aiming system in the event of camera failure; as long as the RC transmitter operator has his eyes on the gun, he can direct the fire visually with the tracers.

“The whole setup is powered by an onsite battery pack, trickle charged via a small solar panel mounted near the top of the tree. The way I see it, the hundred rounds of ammo will be expended long before the battery, so the trickle charger is really to keep the battery topped off and ready for use—not for replenishment of a drained battery.”

McCann consumed every detail, and imagined the invaders running for cover in all directions from these things. After a dead second of quiet, in awe, McCann said, “You are both tricky dudes.”

“Damn straight. It’s something I’m proud of,” Rick said, smiling.

“The two of you scare the hell out of me. You’re a crazy team,” McCann said. He’s always known these two guys had skills, but now he was impressed in a scared-shitless kind of way. “I think I know more now than I should,” McCann admitted, brushing down the bristling hairs on the back of his neck.

Rick laughed. “Yes, this is a bit above your pay grade, I’m afraid.”

There was a sudden rustling in the woods about sixty feet from their position to the south, and McCann nearly pissed his pants. He drew his Colt automatically, but the sudden jerk affected his shoulder wound and had him crouching in pain. Sam was down to the ground, bow ready, and Rick had jumped down from the Jeep to hide behind the tree he’d been working on earlier. He held his M1A pressed firmly against his cheek while looking through the Leupold scope. “Deer,” Rick whispered after a moment.

“Christ, that scared the hell out of me,” McCann admitted.

Sam stood cautiously and whispered, “Can’t be too careful. Now it’s time to turn the hunters into the hunted.”

Chapter 38 A Trick

“It’s not as easy as you think,” Dutch tried to explain in a soft encouraging voice to Lucy, Macy, Bang, and some of the prepper children. Macy didn’t think he was aware of her and Bang’s level of skill, but they would show him soon enough, and even so, maybe Dutch had something to teach them. Lucy, Hunter, Kade, Bethany, and Addy stood beside them, listening intently to the instructions.

Dutch’s dogs and Sheriff hung out nearby; Elsa lolled in the sparse growth of the forest floor, while Frank and Sheriff panted at their sides, acting as if they too were a part of the instructions.

“You have to launch the arrow a bit higher to account for wind and drop,” he continued. “It curves as it hits the target. See? Watch, let me demonstrate it for you.”

He aimed for one of the targets thirty yards away, set opposite the fence line, and began to instruct through his motions. “Elbow straight back along your line of sight, straight and level. Don’t let it slop down. Bowstring just to the right of your lip center. Aim, breathe out, hold, and release.” He let the arrow fly. Macy watched the red tail wiggle about in the first few milliseconds as the arrow took flight and struck the target on the ring edge, left of center.

“Now you try,” he instructed them. Macy and Bang both lifted their bows fluidly, with expert skill, and sent their arrows straight into the gold center. Lucy and the others had yet to get their bows into position as the two arrows landed with soft thunks one a split second after the other. Dutch stopped in his tracks. “I think I’ve just been had!” he said, and both Macy and Bang giggled. “Why didn’t you say so? Hell, you teach them; I’ve got other stuff to do,” Macy raised her eyebrows at Lucy with a smirk as Dutch headed back to camp.

“He’s not really grouchy,” Lucy explained, waving Dutch off. “Now, can you show me how to do that?”

“Sure, but he’s the one who taught me,” Macy said, pointing at Bang.

“Seriously?” Lucy asked, surprised. “That’s awesome.”

Chapter 39 The Meeting

“Okay, traps and surveillance are set. Our location is secure, for now,” Dalton said to them after Rick had explained the situation.

Clarisse handed him a pain pill and a cup of water to chase it down with. He wasn’t exactly mobile, but sitting up in bed, he’d called the meeting in his room. If he walked more than ten feet he’d become lightheaded, nauseated, and have to sit down again, so it worked better to have them come to him. They were all scattered around, gawking at his wounds, standing or sitting.

“We’ve worked out a few different contingency escape routes, just in case,” Dutch said.

The men looked to Dalton for orders. They depended on him and he wasn’t fit for battle. Not like this. It scared the hell out of him that he was so weak and at such a critical time. The only thing he could do was talk them through things. For now, at least, that would have to do.

“Any signals?” he asked Rick, who looked like hell himself, dark circles around his eyes. The man was pale, and Dalton had seen that look on his face before. It was a look of suppressed rage just below the surface.

Years ago in the desert, they’d lost one of their own in the worst of ways. He was a lousy soldier, but he was their lousy soldier and he’d gotten himself captured, the dumbass. After torturing him, the enemy had finally beheaded him, and they sent a horrific video of the entire ghastly ordeal to them.

Rick had tried in vain to locate their comrade’s position before the inevitable. They’d used every shred of intel, but nothing surfaced in time. It was a devastating blow. They’d finally identified one of the assailants in the video, but not before having to watch the torture repeatedly. It turned out to be a woman jihadist.

It was an ironic discovery. The dead soldier was one of them, but he wasn’t exactly the best family man. If fact, he was quite a deplorable father. They’d spent weeks afterward tracking down all six of his kids by various mothers to relay the dreaded news; turns out they didn’t really seem to care if the man was alive or dead. The look on Rick’s face back then wasn’t anything compared to what Dalton saw now.

“A few scattered clicks came through last night. They could be fucking with us, but more than likely it was interference. Dutch and I both tried to detect any Morse code from it, but the string was too random. We think it’s more likely white noise,” Rick said, his voice gravely and broken.

“Okay, still, anything unusual we want to watch like hawks.” Dalton looked to Reuben. “Trucks loaded and pointed in the right directions?”

“Affirmative. Extra caches also secured and ready for any contingency.”

“Graham, are you on board with all of this? I know some of it’s new to you, but on a signal, everyone’s got his job. And you guys know yours, I hear.”

“Yes, we’re all on board. My crew seemed to find their place and fit in right away,” Graham said.

“Glad to hear it. Dutch told me how Bang took over archery training. I would love to have seen that.” Dalton began to laugh and had to hold onto his shoulder when the laughter caused him pain. They all broke into much-needed chuckles.

“If he wasn’t such a modest little guy, it wouldn’t have been so damn comical, but he’s so tiny; I just couldn’t believe it. These kids certainly pull their own weight in the defense department,” Dutch said.

“Yeah.” Graham agreed. “Bang came to me like that. His mother had taught him well. She was amazing; kept herself alive long enough to hand him off to me. She waited until my father died; she watched me. I don’t know how she did it, frankly. Her name was Hyun-Ok. I’ll never forget her look of resolute courage.” Graham looked up at Clarisse, who smiled at him.

“Never underestimate a mother’s love,” she said.

“She could have taken his life. Many did that,” Dalton said.

“That’s not an option for some mothers,” Clarisse said, and Dalton saw her smile at Tala, who sat next to Graham with her hand on her swollen belly. They all knew what Clarisse meant; nothing else needed saying.

“It wasn’t an option for her. That kid has saved my ass, and fed me more than once,” Graham admitted. Dalton could tell with an ache in his heart for his own sons how Graham felt for the boy. Bang was as much Graham’s own son as Hunter and Kade were Dalton’s.

“Okay, well. I’m hoping to get out of this damn bed by tomorrow—if Doc here clears me, that is,” Dalton said, smiling up at Clarisse.

She looked at him and affirmed his hopes. “I think that’s possible, but you have to take it easy. These things take time. Your strength won’t be back to one hundred percent for weeks.”

“We may not have that much time. Any questions? No? Hey, Rick, do you have operators for the reapers?” Dalton said.

“Actually, yes. You’ll be surprised who aced the test, but yes. We have five operators ready to go.”

“All right, I’ll see you guys in the morning. Stay vigilant,” he said to dismiss everyone, and they filtered out of the room. Then Dalton turned to McCann and said, “Hey, can you hang here for a second?”

“Sure.”

“Can’t thank you enough. Sam told me what went down . . . what he saw from his perspective. That goddamned bear just wouldn’t quit. Last thing I remember, I was pulling out my pistol and seeing the bear turn on someone else, but it wasn’t one of us. I fired on the bear, not realizing it was attacking the enemy. What the hell happened? That’s where I blacked out.”

McCann swallowed his guilt over Steven’s death before he could speak. “Nothing we did to distract the bear did a damn thing. I don’t know how many shots we pumped into him before those frigging bastards showed up. They were firing on us. There was a bear attacking you. It was messed up,” McCann said.

“That, my friend, is what we call a clusterfuck,” Dalton explained.

McCann let out a sad chuckle. “Yeah, it was all that. Everyone was shooting, and I hit a big rock with the back of my boot against the brick wall and Steven was in front of me. Everything slowed down all of a sudden; I looked at the chaos and saw you trying to stab the bear, and you were sliding down the wall. I stopped shooting, picked up the rock, and jumped out of cover of the brick wall and launched it as hard as I could at the bear’s head. Steven jumped in front of me because I was completely exposed, and . . . he recoiled backward over me. I knew what happened immediately.” He looked down, shaking his head as he remembered the nightmare. “It’s my fault he died. He was trying to cover me. I screwed up and he died. I should have warned him to him.”

Dalton waited a moment for McCann’s angst to die down. “McCann, in a clusterfuck, there is no time to explain. I’ve been there, when time slows down and you know whatever decision you make in the next split second will set off a chain reaction. No one but you blames you for Steven’s death. It was those fuckers, and believe me, redemption is coming. You saved my life, man. You saved my sons from being completely orphaned. I owe you.” Dalton shook McCann’s hand.

“Thanks, Dalton. All the same, can Rick or someone else show me the hand signals you guys use so I can at least know how to communicate if this ever happens again?”

“Sure,” Dalton said. “Ask Rick. I’m sure he’ll show you. Hell, Sam taught us different hand signals and I think we use a combination of the two now, but honestly, from what Sam described, it probably wouldn’t have made a difference.”

Clarisse came back into the room, and both men turned to look at her. “Visiting time is over, guys. Dalton needs to sleep now,” she said, and McCann headed for the door.

“Hey, McCann. Swing by tomorrow. I need to look at that arm again,” Clarisse said as the young man waved and disappeared from sight.

“You are so mean,” Dalton teased.

“You’re tired. I can tell,” Clarisse said as she readied a shot full of fluid and inserted it into Dalton’s IV tube.

“Hey, what the hell was that?” he said and grabbed her around the thigh. “Don’t put me to sleep now.”

“You are such a baby, and a terrible patient.”

“I seem to remember you being quite a naughty doctor recently,” Dalton said, pulling her down to lip level.

Chapter 40 A Dinner Mood

Graham grabbed his tray and followed Mark through the dinner line. “You’re on watch tonight?” he asked Mark as Olivia spooned the game catch of the day’s casserole onto his plate. “Thank you,” he said, grabbing a pan and tearing it away from the rest in the row. He was starving, and the smell of rolls rising all day had left him weak and salivating, even if they weren’t Tala’s famous rolls.

“Yeah, McCann and I,” Mark answered. “Rick said I couldn’t take watch with Marcy. She’s too distracting for me, he says.” Mark stuffed a roll into his mouth, then grabbed another.

“Is that where the girls are now?” Graham asked.

“Yeah, both she and Macy are on watch. Rick had them shoot and cleared them both for guard duty this afternoon while you were on duty.”

“Great. So, I’ll be relieving you after your shift tonight.” Graham found the table Tala had chosen and sat down beside her.

“Graham, why did you tell Rick I couldn’t take a shift on guard duty?” Tala asked. She was angry, and her eyes turned black as coal when she was mad at him. Graham looked at Mark, who’d heard the remark and suddenly became enthralled with his own meal.

“I’d think the answer was obvious,” Graham said.

“I can still shoot, Graham. You should have asked me. Or we should have talked about this before you made the decision for me. You know I don’t like that. I’m pregnant, not useless,” Tala said.

“Can we talk about this later? In the tent, maybe?” Graham kissed her on the head and touched the small of her back, pulling her against him on the bench. He hugged her, knowing all of this was new and different and she felt out of place.

Tala waited a moment and then leaned close to his ear. “I’m not sure you’re going to be in the tent with me tonight,” she whispered with a smirk.

“Yes I will, Tala. You’re not getting out of my sight. I’m trying to protect you and our child. You’re a powerful, amazing woman, but hell, I couldn’t live without you. It would kill me, and our baby is preciously close to life. No, Tala. I won’t let you do guard duty. You can be mad at me, but I’m doing it out of love.”

She leaned into Graham, resting her head on his chest. Pouting, she said, “I’m not mad. I’m scared and hormonal. I’m frustrated, and even your shirts aren’t even big enough to cover me now.”

He smiled into her hair. “You’re beautiful, Tala. My God, I think you’re even sexier now than ever, swollen with our child growing inside of you. It nearly killed me to leave you alone this morning.” Graham knew from experience that once he started talking like this into her ear, she would turn shades of red in front of everyone else.

Tala knew it too. “Stop, Graham, please. Not now.” She leaned into him again and whispered with a wicked smile, “Later, maybe.”

Chapter 41 Malefic Nation

The Malefic Nation seeped through spring rains and slithered on their bellies in the mud, hidden by the early fog of day and the dark blanket of night. A few pathfinders at first, then legions of them. First a trickle, and then a steady murky stream, growing ever larger, lying in wait and watching.

Graham leaned back in the guard shack against the wall of the quarantine building. He blinked carefully, still not used to the night vision contacts. I can’t believe I let them talk me into this. He’d heard about these things, but didn’t think he’d ever find himself wearing them; knowing his eyes glowed green like a cyborg was unsettling.

Rick had assured him that these were better than night vision goggles, or NVGs, which were plagued with depth perception issues. He had recounted the time they’d descended out of a Nighthawk helicopter in Iraq when the approaching ground suddenly appeared to leap forward. Rick had landed hard and knocked himself out, wrenching his ankle in the process due to the damn thing; items may be closer than they appear. He then walked painfully for two days with his ankle wrapped in duct tape.

Graham and Sam had both opted for the contacts, a neat little tech invention that Rick was proud to have gotten his hands on before the world fell apart. They were even rumored to have been used in the Bin Laden raid back before all of this started. Rick explained that the recent discovery of graphene, an ultralight, strong carbon only one atom thick, made it all possible.

What bothered Graham at the moment was the gel magnet that powered the thing; you adhered it to your eyelid, and the weight of it took some getting used to; with each blink there was an extra thickness. Graham figured that in time he would get used to the feeling, but for now it distracted him every time he creased his eyelid.

He scanned the area in front of him from left to right and met Sam’s green glowing eyes peering back at him from the far right. It was an eerie sensation. He blinked again and peered to the west, scanning up and down the dark forest for anything unusual. With only starlight to shine through the night, the iridescent green shone bright. Had the moonlight drenched the forest, he thought it’d be bright as summer high noon through the scope, and he’d need sunglasses to get by without his eyes watering.

The earpiece clicked once and Graham spoke softly into the microphone clipped to his collar. “Clear. Rain’s picking up. Over.”

“Reuben’s relieving you in ten. Over.” Rick said.

“Copy,” Graham said back. The microphone remained open in case there was any feedback, or to save a panicked step if one became necessary.

Graham’s ear went silent once again, and the rain pattered softly against the lush leaves and long, desiccated needles covering the ground between the trees. He found his mind drifting to Tala, lying warm and swollen in their tent, and how he might put it gently to McCann to take Bang into his own tent for a night without revealing his amorous intentions. Maybe insomnia, he thought. Yeah, that would work. The boy snores anyway. He could claim for one night that Bang’s snoring was keeping him up. It might work.

Suddenly his brain showed him an outline that shouldn’t be there. Graham thought it might be a trick of his imagination. He stared at the anomaly a millisecond longer, making sure it wasn’t his mind trying to make false logical sense of loose elements. But the more he stared, he couldn’t deny that there was someone there. He was out in the open, and the image knew he was there too, with glowing green eyes staring back at him. The hair on Graham’s neck started a slow procession toward saluting.

Without moving at all, he whispered into his microphone, “Rick, ten-fourteen.”

A moment passed while Graham observed the figure for any movement. Then he heard a confused breath over his earpiece, “What the hell’s a ten-fourteen, Graham?”

Graham suddenly realized he was using Ennis’s police code rules instead of the agreed-upon military radio code, but his mind just couldn’t recall what the hell the right response that was at this crucial moment.

“Talk to me, Graham. What the hell do you mean? Is someone there?” Rick asked him.

“Uh-huh,” he said softly.

“How many?”

“One, so far.”

“Where?”

“Northwest. Barely see him,” Graham said slowly, hoping his voice wouldn’t carry in what little wind there was.

“Don’t engage. We’re coming,” Rick advised.

“Yep, not engaging,” Graham responded, now observing the solid outline of a man. Then he saw what looked like a leg draped in a sheet move forward and, instead of crouching down, the man came sat on the ground. The glowing figure suddenly aimed something in his direction.

“Ah shit, he’s moving!”

“Down, Graham!” Rick yelled right behind him after catching sight of the guy aiming at Graham’s position. Sam suddenly began firing from a separate position, and then all hell broke loose.

Light streaks came at Graham, and what sounded like bullets whizzed by his head as he dropped to the ground. Something hit his chest and, for a second, Graham didn’t remember the vest he wore. The impact robbed him of his breath momentarily. Suddenly several more figures moved in the neon-green distance—those he hadn’t detected. What formerly looked like brush and twigs now morphed into human forms, their bodies draped in cloth.

Graham heard a scream coming from the depth of green, and a figure emerged, clutching a spear that was embedded in his chest. Another man yanked one from his thigh.

“Reapers!” yelled Dalton’s voice in Graham’s ear.

“Copy,” Reuben answered.

Graham aimed his rifle and looked through the scope at one of the increasing number of assailants, firing bright bursts of gunfire in his direction. He eased the nose of his rifle through an opening in the railing of the guard post while crouching on his belly. He fired three rapid bursts and the figure fell, only to be replaced by another.

They were coming now, more and more of them through the woods. The first mysterious figures were now replaced by a wall of men in sheets blasting tiny lights at them. When one went down, two more could be seen in the distance.

“Reapers ready,” Rick said through the earpiece.

Graham continued to fire from his concealed position and watched as a few fell, while others recoiled and continued on, blasting back at his position. He knew he’d have to move soon or he’d meet the same demise as his first kill.

“Ready.” Tala’s voice caught his attention.

He was nauseated now, knowing she had a lethal job to do, but he kept on firing. He knew the five reaper operators were Rick, Tala, Clarisse, Lucy, and McCann. Knowing Tala was safe but stressed operating one of the killing machines drove Graham nuts, but he couldn’t worry about that now.

He also knew Reuben, Mark, and the twins were hauling the rest of the camp’s occupants away and setting in motion their evacuation plan as the action unfolded.

He sighted another figure, and sent three short bursts to the guy’s chest causing him to fall. Aiming again to the left, he heard the reapers begin, and the chatter in his ear increased suddenly. He picked out a few frustrated huffs and expletives, and Dalton told the group to try and remain silent to keep the line open for commands. A few more four-letter words seeped through, but Graham didn’t have the time to focus on the voices, with machine gun fire coming from the reapers and the shrill screams of the surprised invaders.

Another bullet whizzed by his head and he felt a hand grab his jeans on the back of his thigh and yank him backward. Graham shot a glance backward. It was Dutch.

“Behind me!” Dutch yelled. Graham didn’t need to be told twice, and hustled behind the bigger man, both of them taking cover behind the quarantine building.

“Keep shooting!” Dutch yelled.

“I am! But they just keep coming!”

“The reapers will take out more of them soon. Don’t get discouraged. Keep going! Dalton will let us know if we need to fall back.”

Graham aimed again and fired. There was no lack of targets available. Sam fired repeatedly from his position to the east. He doubted the reapers would make a dent in this crowd. He could see that they were outnumbered; he only hoped they weren’t outgunned.

Chapter 42 Eyes Aglow

Each person knew his or her position and responsibility. And each knew that, above all else, this wouldn’t be easy. What Graham didn’t expect was the sheer number of enemy soldiers descending upon their location.

Dalton kept his eyes on the screens and the five reaper operators at the same time. They all sat or stood wherever they felt most comfortable. His main priority was to keep them safe as they battled the enemy less than six hundred feet from their position. If the enemy gained on them, he’d hustle them out of there fast.

With night vision goggles over their eyes, they adapted to each camera and the controllers in their hands. Dalton watched each move, toggle, and fire his or her assigned reaper. In doing so, he kept track of each operator’s progress through his own video feed. Five tree-affixed machine guns made a hell of a racket, and in an instant Dalton was back in the bedlam of Afghanistan.

He sat in his chair with one eye on the operators and the other on the monitors.

“One, go left. Don’t let them flank,” he said.

“I’m . . . trying,” McCann said.

“You’ve got a hundred rounds each. Make them count,” Dalton reminded them, spinning back to the monitors. They had no way of knowing how many there were. A Humvee appeared in the background as several assailants rushed for cover behind it when reaper number 3, Tala, yelled, “You goddamn cowards, come back here!”

“That’s right, Tala, keep after them!” Dalton cried. “Remember, this isn’t a video game. This is for real. Their guns are real, and if we let them through, we’re in trouble.”

Rick held his position on the right flank, but their numbers were increasing. A thicket of trees held cover for several, and the rapid fire of the number 1 gun rarely ceased.

“Talk to me, Rick,” Dalton said.

“Can’t. Busy now,” Rick said, his attention fully fixated on the killing task at hand. He was sweating, and Dalton began to worry that his friend wouldn’t be able to keep them back.

Seven to ten jihadists slipped past Rick’s reaper using their comrades for shields. “You fuckers!” Rick yelled, turning his reaper in their direction, heading right for Sam’s position.

“Sam! Take cover!” Dalton warned.

Rick shot down the first three, only to have the last two do the same thing others had done before, using the dead bodies of their brothers to shield themselves before they slipped behind the trees.

“Sam, you’re up. Three o’clock,” Dalton advised.

“Copy,” Sam said.

Rick had returned to his position, taking down as many as he could. He had slightly less than half of his hundred tracer bullets left to go when they showed how bad his aim was and revealed that the reaper was about to shake itself apart completely from the rapid-fire invasion. He continued to expel as many lethal shots as possible to make up for the numbers and account for the recoil, but at some point reaper number 5 ceased to work at all. “Fuck it,” Rick said, pulling it off.

“Number 4, hand yours to Rick,” Dalton said.

Dalton knew Clarisse had no problem tossing her controller over to Rick; she was capable of doing this work, but she was needed elsewhere. She pulled off her NVGs, and the dim light of the media tent momentarily blinded her. She blinked several times, and Dalton tipped his chin over to McCann. He’d noticed a blossoming bloodstain on the young man’s shirt, but there was no time to deal with examining a wound now. The tension in the tent could not be more profound.

“Clarisse, be a runner. I need to know how far Reuben is on the evac,” Dalton said.

She turned and left right away while the chaos outside continued.

“Sam, status,” Dalton asked.

“Oh, they’re done. Working up with the ceased number 5. They’re starting to come through there. I can do this all day, but I only have so much ammo, Dalton.”

“Graham?” Dalton asked.

“There are too many of them,” Graham said.

Then an explosion rocked the ground. The four remaining Reaper controllers all braced their footing.

“What the hell was that? Report!” Dalton yelled.

“Fucking mortar!” Dutch yelled over the din of war. “On fire, too. Pull back!”

“Incoming!” Graham broke in, shouting. The ground rocked again.

“Graham!” Tala yelled. “Graham!” She whipped off her NVGs and ran for the door. Dalton caught her just in time for yet another mortar round impact. He covered her body as she fell to the ground.

“Fall back!” Dalton ordered as Clarisse arrived and helped Dalton and Tala up. Reuben appeared with their own Humvee, and Rick pushed all the operators out of the burning tent and into the vehicle.

“McCann, go with Rick. Retrieve the others!” Dalton ordered.

Tala cried, and Clarisse held her. “Come on, Dalton,” Clarisse implored him.

Dalton cut his eyes away from her and closed the door. Pounding the metal twice, he nodded to Reuben, who floored it. Clarisse’s scream faded with his name as he turned toward the fire. Dalton’s silhouette stood out against the flames as he pulled out his pistol with one hand and a long knife with the other.

Chapter 43 Let’s Roll

“Tala!” Clarisse yelled, holding the sobbing woman by the shoulders and shaking her to get her attention as Reuben raced away. Then she whispered, “I’m going back. Give me your gun and extra magazines. If we don’t return, take care of Addy and the boys for me.”

Tears streamed down Tala cheeks. She glanced quickly at the back of Reuben’s head and nodded, handing Clarisse her pistol. Lucy handed over hers, as well as the NVGs she happened to have with her. “Get them back,” Tala said.

“I will,” she said and hugged them both briefly. Then she slyly smiled. She opened her jacket, pulled it down past her shoulders, and tucked her glasses into the inside pocket, and strapped the NVGs to her belt loop. She holstered one of the extra pistols to her thigh and slid the other into the waist of her cargo pants, placing the extra magazines into a leg pocket. She zipped up her jacket and pulled the hood over her head, cinching the straps tightly around her face.

“Reuben!” she commanded, alarmingly loud and clear. She swung open the door of the Humvee and leaned backward, ready to roll for his view. She didn’t give him a chance to make a decision. As soon as he saw what Clarisse was about to do, Reuben automatically began to brake. She glanced quickly at Tala and Lucy one last time, then dove out of the vehicle with her arms protecting her head, spinning with momentum upon the ground. She knelt up on one knee and watched as the Humvee picked up speed again and gained distance.

Clarisse assessed herself quickly for injuries. Detecting no major pain, she pulled her own pistol out of her side holster, checked a magazine, and loaded it into the chamber. She holstered it again, donned the NVGs, and ran into the forest to gain cover and cut through the woods toward the gunshots and the growing blaze. The closer she got, the more her vision began to fail. The NVGs were too bright and her eyes watered, so she tore them off and secured them to her belt loop.

It was time. She’d been trained along with all the others in tactical maneuvers, and it was time to tap that training. Shadows passed before the blaze. Many were wearing traditional wear. Some wore commando gear. Her mission was to locate the guys and get them the hell out of there. She knew Dalton wouldn’t last long—especially not in his condition.

A shadow passed too close to her, and Clarisse dove for cover behind a tree. The barracks were now fully ablaze; the enemy were torching everything and beginning to overrun the camp. There had to have been at least a hundred of them when all this started. Then a red pinpoint of light shone on her thigh; she panicked and braced for the shot. It blinked, and she followed the light. It was Sam; he was signaling her. Hiding in a tree, he motioned for her to come to him.

Clarisse ran toward Sam as an assailant yelled something in a foreign language. She felt a shot land near her feet. With her right arm extended and her weapon drawn, she hit him twice in the chest, not three feet away. Sam finished him off with a shot to the head as she joined him in the tree.

“Where are they?”

“Dalton’s fine,” Sam said.

“Where is he?”

“Right flank. He’s getting Dutch,” Sam said.

“And McCann?”

“He’s with Rick, getting Graham.”

That’s when she saw the blood as the fire reflected light on Sam’s arm. His hands were covered in it.

“Where are you hit?” she gasped.

“Thigh,” Sam said. She felt his leg, and her hand came away warm and slick. She peeled off her jacket, pulled up her thin cotton T-shirt, and ripped the hemline around it off, pulling it over her head. She stretched the loop of fabric, then tied it around Sam’s leg to stem the flow of blood long enough to keep him conscious.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and growled at her, “Get out of here, Clarisse!”

“Shut up!” Clarisse barked back. “Stay awake, Sam. I’ll find them and send them here to meet you.”

“No,” he said and grabbed her by the sleeve. “They’ll capture you. Don’t you understand what they’re doing?”

She yanked herself free. “Stay awake, Sam. I’ll be right back.” She put her jacket back on over her bloodstained shirt and leaped forward. She’d go for Dalton first. She had to. Taking advantage of the forest, she slunk from tree cover to the dark shadows, ducking in and out of the ravenous light of the blazing camp.

She aimed farther to the right flank, staying in the shadows and springing from one patch of darkness to another. Each step brought her closer to her own demise, but she went there willingly. To kill them if she could. She wanted to kill them. To murder, maim, and annihilate those whose own selfishness had destroyed not only a nation but also humanity itself.

With gun drawn, Clarisse headed toward the increasing gunfire to the right of the camp. At the next rise, around the former mess hall, she came across a dead assailant who she assumed had succumbed to Dalton’s handiwork and retrieved his automatic rifle a few feet away. Slinging the weapon over her back by its strap, she ran on toward the action.

Two aggressors came around the corner, and she shot the first one in the head at point-blank range with her right hand drawn across her body. She calculated, with swift reasoning, that she had a split second to hit the other one. With the left hand she retrieved the second pistol at her waistband, crossed it under her right arm, and blasted the other guy in the stomach. Then she brought her right arm around to finish him off with a headshot before he came within five feet of her. Without missing a step Clarisse ran on, weapons in both hands. She moved closer to the sounds of war and of murder, knowing she might find one or all of her friends dead by now. She had to recover them. She at least had to try.

“Nooo!”

Clarisse stopped in her tracks. It was Dalton’s agonized voice, followed by a barrage of gunfire more intense than before. She continued toward his location, terrified of what she might find.

She could no longer even register the sounds of battle—they were too intense—and came around the right end of the guard shack to see Dalton, kneeling behind a Jeep so riddled with bullets that before long the shield it provided would became a trap.

Dalton fired on a group to the left of his position. Clarisse searched for Dutch, but he was nowhere in sight. Five men fired at Dalton while another loaded what looked to Clarisse like a rocket launcher. She aimed for that one. She had to buy some time to run in the open to Dalton, twenty yards away, and get him the hell out of there. She wasn’t certain he could stand by the way he knelt against the Jeep. She couldn’t waste any more time; she had to get him out now.

Clarisse holstered the pistols and pulled the newly acquired rifle around to her chest. She checked the load, shoved the stock into her shoulder, and aimed the rifle at the man with the rocket launcher, following the line of his arm to directly target the rocket launcher’s ordnance. The shot she fired exploded the round within the chamber, killing the operator and two others standing nearby with a great blast. It was enough of a diversion to run the twenty yards in the open to get to Dalton’s position, and Clarisse ran before she had a split second to convince herself otherwise.

Dalton stared at the explosion in surprise and then turned behind him as Clarisse barreled toward him. She’d rearmed her right hand with the pistol along the way and fired again at an attacker dressed in white who was aiming at her. Dalton turned his attention to the same assailant, and as the white-robed man went down Clarisse slid into Dalton’s side.

“Clarisse!” Dalton yelled in horror and dismay, and he pushed her down. It barely registered that Dalton was uttering curse words at her; his lips moved, but Clarisse heard nothing. She turned, scanned the enemy, and pinpointed what she was looking for: their magazines. She wanted to light them up; this picking off one at time was taking too long.

Where the ordnance for one rocket launcher was located there was sure to be more. With the fire lighting their position, Clarisse aimed again and fired on the back of a vehicle she suspected carried their cache. Once Dalton realized what she aimed for, he gave up trying to chastise her and he fired repeatedly until they were both suddenly taking cover from the flash explosion generated by a lucky shot.

Clarisse pulled Dalton to his feet, looping his right arm over her shoulder, and they both ran, covering one another from the volley of incoming shots. Clarisse dragged them toward one of their own Jeeps as Dalton began to lose consciousness; leaning against the door, he began to slide down it. Clarisse imagined that, in his condition, he was blacking out after the massive adrenaline rush.

“Get in!” she screamed and opened the door, pushing and shoving him into the seat.

“Get out of here, Clarisse!” he yelled. “They’ve got Dutch.” That was the last thing he uttered before passing out altogether.

Clarisse threw the Jeep in drive and sped west through their former haven, now nearly burned to the ground. She drove madly, hoping to find the others before the entire camp was overrun. Shots pinged off the Jeep when it became visible between shadows.

They saw her before she saw them; she nearly ran right into them. They came out of the shadows directly in front of her—only two stood—and Clarisse slammed the Jeep to a stop. She recognized Graham, who had another man in a fireman’s carry over his back. He and McCann rushed around to the back of the Jeep, tossed Rick’s body inside, and jumped in themselves. Still the enemy shot at them. Graham remained on the tailgate, returning fire.

Clarisse glanced in the rearview mirror, catching McCann’s face in the firelight, his expression one of having witnessed hell. In slow motion, he pounded on the metal and screamed, “Go, go!” Clarisse stomped on the gas, and the Jeep sped away into the shadow of darkness.

The enemy were chanting now, raising their rifles high overhead and dancing in the firelight. The scene reminded her of jackals, in celebration over a kill. These people were long past human. Now Dutch was among them; they were leaving him to his death. The thought ate at Clarisse, but they had no choice. Not now.

She stopped near the woods where she had left Sam, and pointed toward his location, yelling, “Get Sam!” As Graham ran to the woods, Sam appeared, leaning against a tree. Graham retrieved him while Clarisse checked her rearview mirror.

They were still coming; she saw the movement of two motorcycles trailing them against the light. Then she heard a shot hit the Jeep. “Hurry!” McCann yelled as he returned fire, trying to hold them back.

Graham struggled to get Sam closer, and Clarisse threw the Jeep in reverse to block their position from incoming fire. Everyone screamed at Graham to hurry, and one of the motorcycles pulled in front of them. Just as Graham and Sam were seated, the rider aimed directly at Clarisse. She floored it, and his body slammed onto the hood, and then the windshield, shattering it, but she kept going. She couldn’t see a thing and shoved her fist through the glass to get a better view. The guy was either dead or stunned; if he wasn’t dead, he would be soon enough.

McCann continued to shoot at the other rider, and Clarisse assumed he got him when the firing ceased. She raced onward.

“Are we clear?” she yelled.

“I don’t know!” McCann yelled.

“Keep looking,” Graham said more calmly, climbing into the front seat over Dalton’s unconscious form and opening the hatch of the Jeep’s sunroof. He pulled his pistol out and pushed himself waist high through the opening.

“Be careful!” Clarisse said, then turned to Sam. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Sam said weakly.

“Stay awake, Sam,” she implored him.

Graham leaned over to grab the body of the guy on the hood of the Jeep; amid the sound of scraping glass, the body slid from the hood and onto the side of the road. Graham came back inside and said, “He was way dead.”

“Good,” Clarisse answered.

“Where are we going?” Graham asked. “We can’t lead them to the others.”

“No. I agree. We’ll find a place. We have a cache west of here,” she said.

“How’s Dalton?” Graham asked, trying to feel for his pulse.

“He’ll be fine.” She had to ask but was afraid of the answer. “And Rick?”

“He’s got a pulse. He was hit in the head during one of the mortar rounds,” McCann said.

Graham put his hand on Clarisse’s shoulder. “Why don’t you pull over. Let me drive now.”

“No. I know where we’re going. We’re almost there,” she said. She knew that Graham was trying to comfort her, afraid she’d break down soon. What he didn’t know was that she was far ahead of him now. She wasn’t too concerned about Rick, Sam, or even Dalton’s condition. She’d make sure they’d be fine in time. Right now she was thinking about one of their own, and the cache of equipment she was about to have access to, and plotting. She had to get back to Dutch before the sun rose.

Chapter 44 The Escape

Reuben pulled into the clearing, unfolded the map, and used a penlight to check their location. Lucy leaned forward from the backseat, with Tala next to her. “Are we lost?” she asked.

He glanced back at her soft green eyes and her pale skin, which nearly glowed in the dark. He’d hardly said a word to the occupants in the backseat after their escape. He’d shut them out completely as he raced toward safety. The enemy had been ruthless, Clarisse was probably dead, and Dalton would blame him for that. That is, if any of them made it out of there alive; Reuben had his doubts. He saw the other prepper vehicles in the rearview mirror. There were too many of them, no matter what tricks they had up their sleeves.

“No. We’re not lost. I’m waiting for the signal.”

“Oh,” Lucy said and then asked, “Where are the dogs?”

“They were in the first load. We thought it was best to keep them with the children as an added measure of defense.”

Suddenly three flashes of blue light caught Lucy’s attention, ahead of them in the dark.

“Is that the signal?” she asked.

“Yes. That’s it.” Reuben put the truck in drive and headed out of the clearing, into the forest, while Mark moved brush out of the way for him.

The realization that he would have to relay bad news became more daunting the farther Reuben went. The plan had gone off without a hitch until Dalton had decided to play commando. Now Reuben was the senior in command until the others showed up . . . if they showed up at all. Leading this group was a huge responsibility, and he wasn’t confident he was up for the task.

So far it looked as if Mark was acting according to the plan, which was a good sign. He rolled down the window, and Mark stepped onto the running panel and held on. “Go ahead. The path winds to the right,” Mark whispered.

“Who else is on watch?”

“Macy has the front. Don’t worry; no one’s getting past her. And no one could get past Lawoaka either, without me tagging along,” Mark said.

“Ah.” Reuben understood now; His own daughter had wicked sharp sight and no sense of humor. It had worried him, the way these kids were growing up. They were trained daily to defend and kill. They’d kill or be killed from now on to survive. He wasn’t sure he wanted this for them. Perhaps death was more just, more humane. He hadn’t made up his mind yet, but the question nagged at his soul.

He stopped in front of a weathered, gray one-story hunting lodge. Mark opened the back door for Lucy and Tala.

“You made it,” Mark said, embracing Tala.

“Hi, Mark. Is everyone okay?” Tala asked.

“Yeah, we’re fine. Where are Graham and McCann?”

She looked to Reuben, then said, “There was some difficulty getting out. We think they’re on their way, but we haven’t heard yet.”

“Nothing came over the radio?” Reuben asked him.

“We haven’t set anything up. No tracers, right?” Mark said.

“That was a trick question. Yes, you’re right. They either show up or they don’t,” Reuben answered.

Marcy emerged to usher Lucy and Tala inside a dimly lit cabin.

“You guys run into any trouble on your way here? Any locals?” Reuben asked Mark as they walked back to the entrance.

“Not a soul,” Mark said as Sheriff ran up to his side in the dark.

“Hey, buddy. You keeping these guys in line?” Reuben said as Sheriff sniffed him.

“Yeah, Sheriff’s been on edge since we got here. We hear wolf cries every now and then. We’re sure there are no other people nearby this location?” Mark asked.

Reuben surveyed the area—as much as he could see in the moonlight. “We’re not sure of anything right now, son. I only remembered this place on a hunting trip I took ten years ago. I gave you three possible locations. This one was thankfully unoccupied. We’ll wait a few days for the others to arrive, and decide if we move on or stay here,” Reuben said.

“It’s fine for now. The house is at least big enough, and defendable,” Mark said. And there it was again for Reuben: this seventeen-year-old kid was worried about defense. He wasn’t studying for his SAT test, he wasn’t working on his favorite ride. It was life and death he worried about. His survival instincts had already taken over. Is this how humankind was meant to continue?

Suddenly, a hand touched Reuben on the back and he nearly pulled his weapon around. “Jesus! Don’t do that!” he warned Macy.

“Hi, Reuben,” she said, hugging him.

“Seriously, you could get yourself killed sneaking up like that,” he said.

“You’d never shoot me,” she said, smiling.

“Only for your own good,” he said.

Macy raised an eyebrow at him, but then shrugged it off. “Where are the others? They were supposed to be with you.”

“There was some trouble. They should be here soon.”

“It’ll be light in another hour,” she said.

“We’ll wait for them,” Mark said, “as long as it takes.”

Chapter 45 Americans

“Who are your people?”

“Americans!” Dutch yelled in angry protest. It was the only answer he would utter.

He smiled in defiance at the enemy behind bloodied, split lips and a nose he knew was broken. He was having some trouble breathing, but remained silent as he knelt down before them with his arms tied behind his back. The man holding him around the neck shoved Dutch forward, causing him to fall face forward into the ground.

“Tell us how many there are!”

They would torture him first. He knew the drill. He’d seen it time and time again. Hell, most Americans had no idea how they tortured their prisoners before they beheaded them; it didn’t matter if they were men, women, or children.

They were animals, and took pleasure in their savagery. With nothing more than an alpha dominance mentality, they perceived their prisoners’ submission as their right, and any act they could come up with—no matter how vile—they would undertake, repeatedly, to achieve that submission.

I’m dead. It’s only a matter of minutes now, Dutch thought.

They’d already hung him from a tree for a time by his hands. His shoulders had sustained his entire body’s weight, and they felt as if they would come out of their sockets at any time. They beat him with sticks while yelling questions at him. When that didn’t work, they dropped him to the ground, where he remained.

Dutch tried to block out the tremendous pain and kept his thoughts on Lucy, knowing she would survive. His prosthesis was nowhere in sight; he didn’t remember when they took it off of him.

A boot landed on the back of his left elbow. They jerked him up against the pressure and repeated again, “How many? Special forces?”

Nothing. He would give them absolutely nothing except to tell them that they hadn’t won. “Americans,” was all he would say. Knowing that he had saved Lucy from this hell would bring him peace in his last fleeting breath.

The butt end of his captor’s rifle hit Dutch in the jaw. They were done with him for now. He fell down again, face first into the ground, and lay there until the lights dimmed.

Chapter 46 The Cache

Clarisse pulled up near the hidden bunker.

“This is it?” Graham asked.

“Yeah.” She pointed toward a tree grove. “There’s a metal bunker with a cache of equipment there behind the trees. Let me open the door, and we’ll get these guys inside. We spent many weekends setting these up in various locations. We’ve got med supplies in here, and enough room for all of us—for now.” She and Graham ran for the trees and moved brush out of the way. “The keypad is here somewhere,” Clarisse said, searching the exterior.

“Here it is,” Graham said, pulling up on the locking device. Clarisse typed in a code and the latch opened easily. She scanned the night sky, trying to predict how much time they had before daylight. Graham met her eyes.

“I’m going back with you,” he said. She had no idea he would guess her intentions.

“No, I can do it alone,” she said

“No you can’t. Not this. If there’s a way, we can do it together,” Graham said, and Clarisse had to admit he was right.

“Let’s get them inside and load up.” She swung up the metal gate to the bunker.

“There’s a light on the right there,” she told Graham, and when he hit switch a fluorescent glow started out dim, but quickly increased.

“Hurry. We need to keep this door closed.”

McCann was already bringing Sam in; he was bloody, with one arm draped over McCann’s shoulder.

“Bring him here,” Clarisse said, not believing her eyes. There was so much blood. She hurried into the eight-by-ten bunker, pulling out a cot and setting it up for Sam to lie on. McCann began to arrange two more cots while she pulled medical equipment off the shelves.

Each bunker had been set up the same, with weapons, food, and medical equipment for future needs.

“McCann, I need your help with the others,” Graham called out.

Clarisse knelt down at Sam’s side. He was pale and barely conscious, glassy-eyed. She checked his wound and ripped open his pant leg to discover that his femoral vein was nicked. He’d be dead if much more time had elapsed, but at least it was repairable. She left the tourniquet on for now and set up an IV.

She smiled at him. “You’re gonna be fine, Sam.”

“I know it. It’s not my time yet.” He grabbed Clarisse’s arm, adding, “It’s not yours either, and I know you’re thinking of going back. Dutch knows he’s a dead man. You can’t save him, so please don’t try.”

“I’m putting you to sleep now, Sam. Don’t worry, my friend. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“Not enough, Clarisse. Not enough for this,” Sam said before sliding into a deep sleep.

She worked quickly. She disinfected herself and his leg as fast as possible and then McCann opened the sterile surgical kit for her.

“You have to handle this now, she said to McCann. “We won’t be gone too long. If we don’t return by sundown, get them into the truck and go to the planned location. I’m sorry I have to leave this to you,” she said, feeling guilty about the immense responsibility she was placing on the young man. She looked up at McCann, who watched her scalpel technique. As usual, he had a toothpick in his mouth; Clarisse had no idea where he kept those things, but he seemed to have an endless supply of them.

“I’ve got it covered, Clarisse,” McCann said. “Don’t worry. Dalton just needs to sleep it off. He’s fine. Rick, I don’t know. His vitals are fine, but it’s a head injury, and he’ll come out of it or he won’t. Sam here nearly bled to death, but he’ll be okay now with this repair.”

“Good. Okay, there are MREs in here and more medical supplies and lots of ammo. Read the labels. Keep the door closed and locked. Do not use the radio. Try to sleep if you can, and we should be back before noon, no matter what.”

“Don’t worry about us; get Dutch back if you can.”

At least I have his support, Clarisse thought, then turned to face McCann. “Okay, he’s all set now. You can close the wound yourself. I’ll clean up, and we can get going,” she said, turning to Graham.

“I’ll load up a few things,” Graham said, and he began pulling supplies from the shelves he thought might come in handy.

“Make sure you add that one.” She pointed to a rectangular, army-green bundle. “And plenty of those, too.”

Graham raised his eyebrows at her.

“We’re not going back empty-handed.”

In her sleeveless shirt, Clarisse drenched both arms with saline again to wash off the blood that seeped past her glove line. The water was cold, and the sound of the splashing seemed foreign to her in this small, quiet room.

Three of the strongest men she’d ever known lay before her, helpless, on cots on the ground. The enemy had done this to them, and it might never end. They might have to run like this forever, until the last of them perished.

“I’m ready,” Graham said. “Let’s go.”

Clarisse donned her bloodied jacket and knelt at Dalton’s side before she left. She caressed his scarred face and kissed him gently.

“I love you, Dalton. Good-bye for now.”

Chapter 47 Going Back

Graham had topped off the Jeep’s gas tank before they left, and now they rode in silence. The sun was beginning to rise. Graham glanced briefly at Clarisse in the passenger seat. She was quiet in thought and far away; they both were, but now it was time to plot and plan.

“It’s impossible. You know that, right?” he said.

He glanced at her again to see if she was ignoring him or simply contriving a possible rescue scenario.

She shook her head. “It’s not impossible. They think we’ve left.” Only the road noise interrupted the next few hushed moments.

“It’s not fair,” Clarisse said, referring to the glorious scarlet-hued sunrise forming in the east. “It shouldn’t be so beautiful.”

Graham stepped on the accelerator. They had to get into position. In his mind, there were only two possible outcomes, and both involved saving Dutch.

“If we set up above the ridge, we’ll have plenty of cover. We can see them and they won’t necessarily be able to see us—until we fire the rockets, that is. Then we’ll have time to get out of there pretty quick,” he said.

“Or, make sure there’s no one left to come after us,” she answered. They both knew this mission might mean their death sentence.

“They can’t be allowed to track us back,” Graham said.

“Even if we get them all, they’ll send others. They’ll come for us again. They won’t stop. We have to find a way to wipe the trail clean,” Clarisse said.

Graham could only nod, though he had no idea how they’d manage that.

Trees flew past his window. He’d stop soon and they’d pack up their gear and start hiking through the forest the rest of the way to meet the ridge that overlooked the burned-out preppers’ camp.

“Pull over here,” Clarisse said before he’d made the decision himself.

Graham ran the Jeep off the road and pulled up to the tree line of the forest leading to camp. He then backed the Jeep into the forest cover, leaving them a quick getaway if need be.

“This’ll be perfect,” Graham said.

“Let’s hope so. It’s our only chance. Leave the keys in the ignition.” seeing the questioning look on Graham’s face, she added, “In case one of us doesn’t make it back, we won’t have to worry who has the keys.”

Graham left the keys on the seat, wondering if he’d see them again. After opening the back of the Jeep, Clarisse removed her jacket, tied it around her waist, and began reloading ammo and packing every possible advantage into their clothing.

Graham slung a bag containing a rocket-propelled grenade launcher over his shoulder, then placed several rounds into Clarisse’s backpack. “Don’t fall,” he suggested as an attempt at humor. Finally he grabbed Rick’s rifle and all the ammo he could carry.

“Do you need your glasses?” he asked as Clarisse tightened her chestnut hair into a straight ponytail. He noticed goose bumps on her bare, sleeveless arms.

“No. I’m farsighted. And they were crushed when I bailed out of Reuben’s Jeep, anyway.” She laughed, not certain why she found that humorous.

Graham smiled. “Let’s do this,” he said, and with the sun fully up behind them they entered the relative darkness of the forest—come what may.

Chapter 48 Waiting

“Sun’s up. What do you think?” Mark asked Reuben.

“We’re settled for now until we hear something.”

“Damn, I wish I’d stayed with them.” Mark had just traded his position off with Marcy. They were all dragging from the stress of the last twenty-four hours—and especially the previous night’s battle.

“I’m pretty sure Graham made the right decision where you’re concerned. It was his call. You need to be here taking care of these people,” Reuben reminded him.

They’d just met at the cabin, and while the others took watch Olivia met them at the door with MREs and said in a voice meant as a warning, “Eat, and then sleep.” After that, she returned to the kids, changing it to a singsong, nothing-is-wrong voice. Reuben marveled at how she could do that so quickly. His own wife was on watch now, along with Lucy and Tala, and he had no idea how they could go on like this. Of course, that didn’t matter right now. He was the lead, and he needed to keep everyone both positive and ready to roll in case they were being trailed. Not knowing the fate of the others weighed them all down.

“I don’t know if I can eat,” Mark said.

Reuben turned his MRE on the long side and tore it that way instead of the expected short end. “Like this,” he said. “You fuel up, or you stop and they die,” Reuben said, swinging his spork around toward the children playing in the main room. “Doesn’t matter what the envelope is labeled. You eat it and drink clean water. Sleep when you’re allowed, and get back up and do it again. Clear?”

“Got it,” Mark said, emulating Reuben’s side-tear tactic.

Reuben fished a heaping sporkful of some kind of cold tomato-based pasta and shoved it into his mouth, “Mmmm,” he said as Mark drank more water. Soon their MRE packets were empty and both bedded down on the wood floor with their rolls along the wall in the communal whoever-needs-to-sleep room.

Reuben could hear the tykes in the next room chattering at a whisper. He could pick out Kade’s young voice in particular. Olivia was good about keeping their world at peace with a kind reminder that they needed to keep their voices down.

It didn’t go unnoticed how Addy, Hunter, and Bang had stared Reuben down when he arrived. Not one asked the question on their minds. They were worried about their parents. Olivia kept them distracted—or, more likely, they kept her appeased with their willingness to play along with the charade of distraction. These children were far ahead of Clarisse, he suspected.

His last thought as he fell into some semblance of sleep was his daughter Lawoaka and how, at this moment, she and her mother were protecting him while he tried to recharge so he could cover them at night. This can’t go on. Not like this.

Chapter 49 All Is Lost

“I’m going to run it!” Dutch yelled. “It’s the only way to hold them back!”

“No!” Dalton hollered. “It’s too late for that. They’re gaining on us!”

A new explosion rocked the ground. Dalton collapsed out in the open. Shots pinged the ground before him, and he began to crawl toward cover by the Jeep. They had to push them away.

Then his worst nightmare came true. Seven jihadists sprung out of the woods and got the jump on Dutch. He lost his weapon in the melee and tried to fight them off by hand. One of the assailants held a Taser and piled on top of him while he screamed in agony. They finally pistol whipped him and drug him into unconsciousness.

~ ~ ~

“Nooo!” Dalton screamed. He woke by the dim lantern light in a full sweat. He remembered now, and twisted his head first one way and then the other as terror ripped through him. His entire body was on fire. He didn’t know where he was, and for a second he thought perhaps he’d been captured too. He lifted his arms and realized he wasn’t bound, just in a lot of pain.

On his right lay a form on a similar cot; to his left, another. He stared up at the ceiling and realized the corrugated metal meant only one thing: they were in one of the cache bunkers.

He lifted his head and looked around further. McCann had fallen asleep against the wall, near the entrance of their metal shelter, with his rifle across his lap.

“Hey! What the hell’s going on?” Dalton asked. “McCann?” he called out.

“He’s asleep,” Sam said next to him.

“Sam?”

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Sam emitted a long breath, and the delay scared Dalton.

“I don’t know where to start,” Sam admitted.

“Tell me this. Are my boys okay?” Dalton thought he’d start there and work his way down.

“Yes. I believe the kids got away and they’re fine.”

Dalton now remembered seeing Clarisse, and how pissed off at her he was. He swallowed before he could ask about her; his throat clenched at the thought. He remembered running toward a Jeep, but nothing else. “Is Clarisse . . . where is Clarisse?”

“She made it, Dalton, but she went back with Graham for Dutch. I couldn’t stop her. I’m sorry.” Sam’s voice cracked with grief.

The sound of hope came from McCann. “They’re coming back,” he said in the darkness. “I know they will.”

Chapter 50 Graham’s Resolution

As Graham and Clarisse trekked through the forest, everything seemed like a dream. They smelled something like a barbeque the closer they came to the clearing at the cliffs. That and a foreign chanting filled the air. As they came closer still, their first vision into the camp was smoke wisping up from the ruins of the prepper camp and what was left of one of McCann’s horses, brutally butchered when it couldn’t escape.

“Get down,” Graham said, and they lowered themselves behind the tip of a rock face. They inched forward on their bellies until they could see farther into the clearing of the former camp. If they were to fire from their position on the jihadists below, they would certainly attract attention and give away their location, but it would take a while for the enemy to climb the rock face to reach them. The cliff would also protect them from gunfire as long as they stayed low enough. Like all things, however, it was only a matter of time before they’d be discovered, so they had to devise a way to save Dutch and do it quickly enough to escape with their own lives.

“What are they doing?” Graham asked in a whisper. Several of the jihadists were chanting; others were on their knees, bowing.

Clarisse laughed. “Praying. They’re such good moral citizens, remember?” She shook her head in disgust while she unloaded their ammo. “I had Muslim friends who died by their hands, too. They’ve killed off an entire planet in religion’s name.”

“I’m pretty sure this has Lucifer’s name written all over it, if you ask me. Not that I’m a religious man,” Graham said. Clarisse nodded in agreement while he set up the rifle on a stand so that he could aim, pivot, and hold the sight steady.

He scanned the area below. “Do you see Dutch anywhere?”

Clarisse looked at the charred remains of the prepper camp below, but he was nowhere in sight. “No. They’ve historically performed beheadings at sunrise. It’s doesn’t look like his body is anywhere on display, which is how they’ve done it in the past, so I’d say we made it in time for the festivities. He’s got to be in one of those trucks or back in the woods, out of view,” she said. “How are we going to get to him?”

“They are all pretty spread apart. We could . . . ” Graham was interrupted by loud shouting began from below. “Damn,” he said, hurrying to line up the scene through the scope.

“Oh, Jesus,” Clarisse said as they dragged Dutch’s bare, beaten body into the clearing. The jihadists formed a semicircle around him. The wild excitement they displayed sickened Graham. He’d seen this too many times on Internet video. He knew what would happen next. Everyone knew what would happen next.

“We . . . we can use the RPG and start firing on them. Maybe one of us could get to him in time,” Clarisse said quickly.

“No, we’d only kill him in the process and—look at them, there are at least fifty of them. They’d get to us before we could wait until Dutch was out of the way.”

Two of the assailants brought Dutch through the crowd, his arms tied behind him in a noose knot. They shoved him to his knees, without his prosthetic leg, in front of the ravenous crowd shrieking in delight of the festivities to come, shooting their guns into the air and wailing into the wind.

Graham’s heart began pounding out of his chest.

Another man showed up holding a knife.

“Goddammit!” Graham muttered. Clarisse grabbed his shirtsleeve as he eyed the horrific scene below through the scope.

Clarisse pulled on him. “Graham! Graham! End this now. Kill him! Kill Dutch now! Don’t let them have the pleasure!”

He knew she was right. He hated the thought of killing Dutch himself but knew he had little choice. It was the only way to save him. He’d hesitated before, once, when all of this had begun, and that hesitation nearly cost him and the twins their lives. It was a lesson he’d learned: kill or die. But this was different; this was kill or let die by the worst means.

He sighted Dutch through the scope as the killer stood before him, intoning his evil spell. The demon grabbed Dutch by the forehead and raised a knife, singing in a language Graham could not understand—nor would he want to in a million years. The assassin began to swing the knife toward Dutch’s throat. The chanting heightened.

“Now! Do it now!” Clarisse begged again.

Graham aimed for Dutch’s head. Dutch’s eyes stared forward, and then looked up to Graham’s position . . . as if he knew. Just as the blade began a crimson line, Graham shifted the sight a hair north and fired a single shot.

Knowing he would die, Dutch would want to go down with a fight.

Blood spewed backward in slow motion. Not only did the bullet end the assassin’s life in an instant, but the chanting ended in abrupt silence. Dutch took advantage, and without the noose tension on his tied hands he scrambled forward, yanking the killer’s knife from his dead hand. Another man looked up at their hidden position and yelled, “Allahu Akbar!”

As several jihadists surged toward Dutch, Graham began picking them off one by one. He watched as Dutch lunged and gutted one who approached him. Blood splattered over the ground. Dutch grabbed the man’s discarded weapon, and with a knife in one hand and a rifle in the other, he shoved himself up off the ground onto his one leg. Dutch held his arms out in welcome for the next attacker as Graham continued to shoot at anyone who came near him.

Clarisse already had a round loaded into the RPG and fired from her shoulder as Graham began picking off the scattering crowd. She aimed and fired again after reloading. Pandemonium broke out below, and Clarisse fired on them repeatedly. Trees caught fire and, again, she rained hell on them, tears streaming down her face.

As Dutch massacred as many as he could, one lucky shot from a jihadist ended his life. In slow motion, Graham watched as Dutch was struck from behind and hit the ground.

He heard Clarisse screaming. It seemed far away.

A bloodbath lay before them, though several still ran for cover. Bullets careened off the rock face where they hid, sending chunks of it flying. “Time to go,” Graham said, and grabbed Clarisse by the arm. They fled through the forest as fast as they could back to the waiting Jeep. Gunfire exploded chunks off a tree right in front of Graham as they ran. He pulled Clarisse behind him and took cover.

They both took peek shots around the cover and took out three more of the enemy before they chanced running for the next tree cover. Graham fired again as more movement through the brush headed their way.

“Get to the Jeep!” he yelled, shoving Clarisse forward. She ran as he covered her, and dove into the passenger side. Graham ran for it after taking out the last shooter.

They raced away. Graham heard nothing now; only his eyes recorded anything. He watched behind them through the flying debris, kicked up by the high speed of the Jeep, for any signs of a chase and glanced back at Clarisse. She wept openly as she drove, continuously wiping her tears on her sleeve to clear her sight as they put more distance between them and the remaining enemy.

It replayed in Graham’s mind: The recognition on Dutch’s face. The surprised silence. Seizing his chance to fight them. Dutch died fighting them. He died a hero.

I gave him a chance. He would have wanted to go down fighting.

Chapter 51 The Immigrants

“They should be back by now,” Dalton said, his rough voice intoned with worry as McCann checked his blood pressure again.

McCann looked at him with near panicked eyes. “They’ll be here, Dalton. I know Graham won’t fail.”

“Listen!” Sam yelled at them. The sound of a racing engine came in their direction.

“Open the door!” yelled Dalton. Sam grabbed his rifle and pulled himself over to the edge of the door, getting ready to fire at any oncoming enemy.

McCann tossed Dalton his rifle as he grabbed his own pistol. Rick still lay unconscious on his cot, unaware of the events taking place.

Dalton watched as Sam peered around the slightly open door. “It’s them. They’re back. It’s our Jeep, and they’re coming in fast,” Sam said.

“Someone following them?” Dalton asked.

“I don’t think so. Maybe Dutch needs care?” Sam speculated.

Clarisse stopped the Jeep and ran toward the doorway, like a deer fleeing danger. McCann opened the door all the way, and Clarisse ran into Dalton’s one-armed embrace. He caught her, having thought he might never see her again. She trembled, and Dalton tightened his grip around her. “What is it? What happened? Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No, she’s not hurt,” Graham answered from the door. “Pack up. We’ve gotta go. Now!” Graham ordered.

“Dutch?” Dalton asked, holding Clarisse as close as he was able to.

Graham shook his head. “No. He’s dead.”

“Damn,” Sam said.

Dalton stroked Clarisse’s back, now knowing why she couldn’t speak, and tried to comfort her after all the hell he suspected she’d just witnessed.

“Let’s go!” Graham reminded them as he and McCann lifted Rick up and into the Jeep. “I’m sure they’re following us.”

Sam covered their every move until everything was loaded. They took as many supplies as they could but left much of it where it remained—locked up for another time, another day, when they might return.

“We’ll be back,” Dalton assured them all.

Graham drove toward the coordinates Dalton supplied from the passenger’s seat. Clarisse sat with Sam and McCann in the backseat, and Rick lay in the cargo area, where she could keep an eye on him.

After a while, Dalton reached over the seat for Clarisse’s hand. She still shook like a fragile leaf in a torrent, and he only imagined what she’d seen. In time the horrific events would come out, and he would be there for her when they did.

“Where are we going?” Graham asked as the miles flew on.

“North, to gather the others,” Dalton answered.

“Then where?” Graham asked as he stared ahead to the open road leading away.

Dalton looked out his window as they sped off Highway 20, past the blurring trees that lined the Skagit River, and then turned left to hit the forest service road 1060. Cold, gray, desolate mountains loomed in front of them. Dalton hated to leave it, he hated to let the enemy have it. He vowed to himself that he and the others would return; their absence would be short, only long enough to make them whole. Then they’d be back.

Chapter 52 Reunion

They pulled past a section of road that looked much like the rest of the scenery they’d traveled past in the past hour.

“It’s here somewhere,” Dalton said, leaning upward to scan the woods closely for a sign of the entrance.

Graham slowed to a crawl. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, according to Reuben’s map, anyway,” Dalton said. Graham stopped, and Dalton opened the door cautiously, only to hear a distinct click.

Mark appeared behind a wall of evergreen shrubs and smiled at him. “You made it, cousin! We were beginning to worry.”

“Yeah, most of us made it,” Dalton said. Mark waved to Graham in the driver’s seat. When the smile left Mark’s face, Dalton could tell Mark knew they were missing one.

Mark began to move the loose evergreen camouflage away enough for them to drive through. Dalton returned to the Jeep, and as Graham drove along the long, forested pathway, they went from day to dusk, a more fitting shade to match their somber mood.

He pulled up to a long, gray hunting lodge clearly bereft of care in recent years. Tala, with Sheriff by her side, appeared in the doorway with a smile, but it was Lucy that Dalton was concerned about.

They exited the Jeep, and amid the greetings, Dalton told them of the one they’d said good-bye to. He looked for the girl with the flaming red hair. “Mark, where’s Lucy?”

“You passed her on your way in. She’s down there. I think she knows already,” Mark said.

Dalton peered back the way they had come, and then Clarisse touched his arm. “I’ll find her. I should tell her,” she said.

“Okay,” he conceded He watched Clarisse walk up the drive toward Lucy’s concealed position with Sheriff and one of Dutch’s dogs trotting beside her.

“You made it!” Reuben said, interrupting Dalton’s stare and shaking his hand.

“Yeah, just barely,” Dalton said, heading inside the cabin with the others.

~ ~ ~

After the new arrivals had eaten, several of the adults gathered around a rustic harvest table that had clearly seen better days. They sat on various overturned buckets, tree stumps, and other things scavenged from the area.

Dalton called the meeting to order, even though he could still hear Lucy’s muffled sobs in the nearby room. Clarisse said she took the news as well as possible, and that she’d be fine in time.

“Well, we’re not safe here. We’re not far enough away,” Reuben said.

Dalton heard him out and agreed. This hunting lodge would never do in the long term.

Then Rick, who lay on a nearby cot, spoke up. “I say we split up. The guys will stay here and form a plan to fight them. The rest go farther north.”

Dalton shook his head. “I’d like nothing more, Rick, but we’re not ready. I’m not, and there’s no way you’re in any condition to fight them. No. That won’t work right now.”

“Where are we going to go, then?” Graham asked.

Dalton spread out a map on the uneven table surface, ran his finger from their approximate location to just north, and tapped his finger on a spot. “Here. It’s the only town in reach, actually. There will be more resources for us to get ourselves together, heal, and formulate some kind of plan.”

Graham looked down at the town.

“Where is it?” Tala asked from her position across the large table.

“Hope. We’re headed north to Hope, British Columbia,” Graham said.

Dalton scanned the solemn faces around the table and tried to reassure them. “We’ll be back before long. And when we return, we’ll be ready,” Dalton vowed.

To be among the first to learn about new releases, announcements, and special projects, please follow this link or contact author A. R. Shaw.

Please consider writing a review for The Last Infidels on Amazon. Even a quick word about your experience can be helpful to prospective readers. Click here to write a review.

A. R. Shaw’s titles include:

Graham’s Resolution Series

The China Pandemic

The Cascade Preppers

The Last Infidels

The Malefic Nation

Kindle Worlds commissioned novellas

Deception on Durham Road

(Steven Konkoly’s Perseid Collapse Series)

Kate’s Redemption

(Blake Crouch’s Wayward Pines Series)

About the Author

A. R. Shaw, born in south Texas, served in the US Air Force Reserve from 1987 through 1991 as a communications radio operator, where she was stationed at the Military Auxiliary Radio System (MARS) Station at Kelly Air Force Base, Texas.

Her first novel, The China Pandemic (2013), climbed to number 1 in the dystopian and postapocalyptic (SHTF) genres in May 2014 and was hailed as “eerily plausible” and with characters that are “amazingly detailed.” Shaw continues to write the Graham’s Resolution series.

Shaw lives with her family in eastern Washington State where, after the deep snow of winter finally gives way to the glorious rays of summer, she treks northeast to spend her days writing alongside the beautiful Skagit River.

You can contact A. R. Shaw directly at AR@AuthorARShaw.com or through her website at AuthorARShaw.com.

Acknowledgments

No work of fiction is completed wholly on one’s own. Research on any given subject can take weeks and even months and, more crucially, the help of several key individuals whom the author bugs on many occasions. Here I’d like to thank those who put up with my many questions or contributed in some way to this book.

Keri Knutson, Cover artist

Brian Bendlin, Editor extraordinaire

Beta Readers, you know who you are. Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Christopher Barber, veteran of the US Army, former paratrooper, and my cousin. Through your eyes I’ve seen the desert.

Christopher Armstrong, a Sam of sorts, my brother-in-law, and one who knows mantraps, the woods, and critter care.

Will Moore, police officer, competitive shooter, soon-to-be writer, and friend. Your weapons and officer training have come in handy!

Gil Gruson, HAM friend and sounding board. The radio knowledge I struggle against, even though it’s a part of my past and my present; thanks for making it clearer to me.

Steven Bird, pilot, author of the Homefront series, friend, and inventor of the reapers. You are a plethora of knowledge.

W. J. Lundy, writer of the Whiskey Tango Foxtrot series. You had the answers to an essential question. Thank you!

My friends and Graham fans, because I was stumped for a title once.

Oakley, Constant companion and my insight into Sheriff

My family, bringers of tea and snacks. You put up with my odd schedule and random questions, and work around my imaginary world. I love you guys!