The Girl Who Shot First

The Dead Fields

Book 1

By Angel Lawson

By Angel Lawson

Cover by Samantha Marrs

© Angel Lawson 2015

All rights reserved

License Note

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without authorization of the Author. Any distribution without express consent is illegal and punishable in court of law.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental

I thought I understood quiet. How it sounded or more like, how it didn’t sound. But there’s nothing like the end of the world to put things into perspective. Before there was always something, some sort of constant. The steady hum of an air conditioner or the churning roar of a lawnmower. Only once before can I recall such silence. We’d had a massive snow storm, rare for this part of the south, and everything came to a sudden halt. Tree limbs fell on power lines. The roads iced over. At night we’d go outside and walk the snowy streets in the dark—lit only by the yellow glow of a flashlight. We stayed outside as long as possible, listening to the creaks and cracking of the ice covered world.

Back then though, the quiet seemed safe. Pure.

It didn’t happen all at once. It was more of a trickle. The absence of planes and later, cars. The sky and road fell eerily silent. People holed up inside, waiting for it to pass. Once the machines stopped there were only people sounds. Footsteps, doors slamming, voices calling out. One by one the noises slowed and the silence became deafening. Scary. But then, like everything else at the end, things changed and I realized the safety in quiet.

Silence was bad enough, but the screams were worse.

Chapter One

~Now~

I creep through the woods as though I know what I am doing. I don’t, but I am a fast learner. “Adaptable” my teacher inked at the bottom of my report card in the fourth grade. I didn’t know what that meant at the time. How could I? Everything in my life at that point had been entirely predictable. What would have made me adapt? Sharing my PB&J with Pete Moore at the lunch table when I knew he never washed his hands? These are the inane questions that I consider as I tiptoe through the shady afternoon, gun at my hip, hatchet in my hands. My eyes scan the ground for any sign of disturbance.

“I wonder what happened to Mrs. Crane?” I whisper breaking the oppressive silence.

“Who?” my mother asks. She walks so close to me she may as well have been my shadow. A clingy shadow with a limpy foot and a makeshift cane that makes too much noise.

My mother would not have been given the notation of “adaptable” on her report card. We’ve learned this the hard way.

“Mrs. Crane. My fourth grade teacher?”

My mother grunted a small acknowledgement followed by a heavy sigh. I know, I wanted to say. She’s dead. They’re all dead. But can’t we just pretend, just for a minute?

A branch snapped to our left, cracking like a shot in the late afternoon sky. We froze, heartbeats pounding in our ears and waited. Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty…

There’s the answer to my question.

You can’t ever pretend. Not even for a minute.

Chapter Two

~Before~

8 Months Earlier

The second hand on the big, round clock moves slow and steady. It’s old-fashioned. The kind found in schools before most were replaced with digital, glowing red numbers. They must have kept it here to increase the pressure.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The sound reminds me of each passing second before I have to turn in my final exam. The room is so quiet, except for the occasional rubbing eraser or strangled sigh.

Tick, tick, tick.

I never want to hear silence like this again.

“Time,” the woman up front announces. Booklets flip shut and the entire room breathes for the first time in an hour. I turn my paperwork in and try, for the gazmillionth time, to pretend that I don’t care if I make valedictorian or not. Denial is a trait I learned from my mother.

I spot Liza in the hallway. She looks distressed but manages a smile. “How’d you do?” she asks.

“Okay, I guess. I’ve done pretty well in calculus all year.”

“Please, Alex, let’s not pretend this isn’t you getting one step closer to valedictorian. I’m sure you did fine.”

Fine isn’t good enough. Not when you’re expected to be the best. “How about you?” I ask, already knowing. Liza isn’t the best test taker—she’s been in tutoring for months trying to raise her GPA, and even then it’s a long shot for her standardized tests being high enough for college acceptance. She and I both know the odds aren’t in her favor.

“Eh. I don’t want to think or talk about it anymore, okay?”

“Fine by me,” I agree. We push through the front doors of the school and walk into the bright, spring afternoon. I look at my best friend and try to think of something to lift her spirits. Today is just another reminder we wouldn’t be together forever. We’d always be friends but Duke was in my future. Liza would be lucky to get into a two year school. Her stomach rumbles loudly and I laugh. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Tacos?” I ask.

“Obviously.”

I link my arm with hers and say, “Let’s go.”

Over tacos and a vat of cheese dip I think about the differences between Liza and me. She’s beautiful, in that classic southern way. Long golden hair, big blue eyes, her skin carries a sun-kissed glow even when it’s not summer. I’m definitely the geekier of the two—including the grades. My dark hair is short with no definitive style. My skin is pale from too much time indoors and the last time I attempted a sport…well, the good news is that I didn’t break any bones. The bad news is that I managed to break someone else’s.

Okay that’s not completely true. Running. I run. In the seventh grade my mother made me pick a sport. I’d spent years in and out of various activities, hoping my ineptness would convince my mother it was useless to pursue it further. But no, she claimed “hormones” and a “well-rounded college application” required I get an hour of exercise a day. So I picked cross-country. My claim to fame was having my photograph in the Cary Neighbor paper congratulating me, post-race, on an amazing run. Unfortunately, I had come in last, something the photographer didn’t realize as there was a second heat that had already lapped me.

Besides that my only other hobby is a nasty internet and gaming addiction. Liza actually socializes with people off screen. Despite all this we’re friends.

My phone buzzes and I shove the remainder of my taco in my mouth. It’s a text from Nerdgasam, a blog I follow on twitter. I read the first line. “Oh gross,” I say, the lump of gooey cheese and beans turning into mush in the back of my throat.

“What?” Liza asks.

“Some guy in Florida was arrested for going all cannibal on a homeless guy.”

She made a face. “Like he ate him? That kind of cannibal?”

I click on the link and scan the article. “Yeah, they say it’s drugs or something. There’s some sort of bad stuff floating around and it’s popular with the homeless?” I side-eye this story a little bit. What kind of drug makes you eat people? “Apparently he just went batshit and started chowing down on the guy. Like for real eating him. Look, there’s a video.”

“No thanks,” Liza says pushing away my phone and the remains of her meal. “That’s crazy.”

“Crack is whack.” I joke knowing the online community must be going crazy about this. Zombies are all the rage right now. Survivalists. Preppers. Sure, it’s fun to read about and even joke about how long you’d last during the end of times but people actually eating other people? Nope.

“Promise me that we’ll never eat one another okay? Even if we’re in an end of the world situation. No people eating. Ever,” Liza begs.

I smile at my best friend who is being more serious than she’d ever admit. “I promise.”

Chapter Three

~Now~

After the branch scare (it was just a deer) we find a well-worn path in the forest. According to my map and compass, we’re close to a small town. At the moment we have a week’s rations of food but only enough water to get through the rest of the day. After the last couple of days, we’ve been avoiding main roads. They’re just too dangerous.

We’ve taken a wide berth of cities, sticking to rural North Carolina. Getting out of Durham was tough. Deadly.  Every step I take is just one more that surprises me. I shouldn’t be here. Not when so many others are gone.

To be honest, I don’t have a good idea on how many people are still out there and “normal.” By the time the media really caught on to what was going on and decided to get serious and not just sensationalize, the news programs were shut down—replaced by the endless and pointless emergency messages.

The trail ends and we come to the edge of the forest. A field stretches before us, filled with row after row of tobacco. From here I can see the small house positioned in the middle of the property. “See that barn?” I ask, pointing across the field. The house is a fair but walkable distance from the ancient looking barn. The walls are made of weathered gray planks, and the roof has rusty shingles. It looks like it’s been deserted for years.

Perfect.

“That should make an okay shelter tonight. Maybe we can find some food or at least water.”

“I can’t wait to sit down—even for a couple of hours,” she says. My mother isn’t old but walking ten miles a day over rocky terrain, in the middle of the summer has taken its toll, including a twisted and swollen ankle.

“Let’s try for a solid night’s sleep. I’ll take first shift.”

That brought some light to her gray eyes. “Thanks for taking care of me, Al. You’re kicking ass out here.”

“Thanks for making me go to Girl Scouts even though I refused to wear that stupid sash. Really? Who wears a sash? I mean, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance it will catch on fire while roasting marshmallows.”

My mother ignores me as she tends to do these days. We’re both tired, including of each other. I check the area carefully listening as much as looking. The Eaters are sneaky bastards—their brains may be fried but they still have some thinking parts up there and it sucks.

“Let’s go,” I say, leading the way down a flattened row between tobacco plants. The sandy dirt is soft under our feet and we move quickly toward the barn without incident getting there just before nightfall. We reach the massive door and I start to lift the rusted latch—Mom stops me by tugging on my pack.

“It’s not too late,” she reminds me for at least the fourth time today. Her voice quivers, sounding desperate. Panicked. She’s been up and down about this for weeks. I’m not sure how much longer she can take it.

“Mom,” I say trying not to get annoyed. “We promised.”

“There’s no way he could have known what would happen out here. He would want us to be at home, safe.”

I shake my head but keep quiet. She’s wrong. She just can’t bring herself to accept the truth. There is no home and there certainly isn’t any safe. Not now. Maybe not ever. But at least we have a mission. Something to get us moving every day. At least my father gave us that.

“Dad told us to go. He’s going to meet us. Leaving was what he wanted us to do. You know that.”

I see the change on her face—the one that happens when she’s not willing to accept reality. Denial has worked for her for many years but this time it won’t work. Reality is all we have—and our reality? It bites.

Chapter Four

~Before~

4 Months Ago

“Alex, your appointment time is at ten-thirty. Don’t be late.”

“I won’t, Dad.”

He’s talking to me from the other side of my bedroom door on his way to work at the lab. I’m barely awake, burrowed beneath my black and white patterned comforter. I fought the urge to shut my eyes again. I’d stayed up too late last night playing League of Mythmakers online.

“It’s important—don’t forget.”

“I won’t,” I say again. To be fair he normally just ignores me. I should be glad he’s taken an interest in something other than hook worms and ticks, right? “Promise.”

I arrive at the lab an hour later, early in fact. After a quick check-in at the desk, I go to the back and sit at one of the stations.

“How are you today?” the lab tech asks. I glance up and smile at my boyfriend, LabGuy. Okay, he’s not my boyfriend. Not by a longshot. I don’t know his name or anything else about him other than that he has a pair of bright blue eyes and the thickest, dark eyelashes I’ve ever seen on a guy. He wears a mask that covers his mouth and nose, making the rest of his face indistinguishable—but for some reason, that makes him even more enticing. His voice is deep and his hands are gentle. I wonder if they’re soft too but they’re wrapped in protective green gloves.

“I’m fine,” I say stifling a yawn. LabGuy takes my hand and wipes my finger with alcohol. I shiver but then he quickly stabs my finger with the prick “Mother-f—” I swear. Hurts every mother-f’ing time.

“Sorry,” he says, but I see the amusement in his eyes. He extracts a small, pin-sized vial of blood and then places a piece of cotton on my finger. My finger beats like a tiny drum when he wraps it with a Band-Aid.

“How much longer do we have to do this?” I ask feeling the pulsing heat at the tip of my finger.

He shrugs. “I’m not privy to that kind of information. I just collect the data.”

Data.

Blood.

Tests.

My father’s lab at the university had been running a new experiment for months. Normally we were kept out of this part of his work, only hearing the boring details over dinner. Research this…grant money that…but this time he asked us to participate in some blind studies. A little blood once a week didn’t hurt although I wished I’d been cut weeks ago like my mom. Apparently, whatever was in her blood wasn’t as interesting as what was in my blood.

Don’t tell the vampires I have special blood, okay?

“Here,” LabGuy says handing me a green lollipop wrapped in cellophane. “The sugar is good for you—replaces the nutrients from the blood loss.”

“You didn’t take that much blood, you know.”

“Humor me.”

I pull the lollipop out of the wrapper and stick it in my mouth. “Happy?” I ask around the sugary sweet.

“Yep.”

“See you next week,” I say acting braver than I really am. If I could see his whole face I’d never flirt with him. Odds are he’s a graduate student working for my dad or some exhausted bastard they found over at the med school that needed a job. Either way he’s older, has pretty eyes and is absolutely unattainable. Perfect for me to practice my college flirt game with.

I make my way through the lab and spot my father in one of the rooms. I start to tap against the glass but I don’t. He’s got that worried look on his face, the one that comes when things aren’t going exactly his way. Sucks to be a perfectionist.

Speaking of suckers, I finish mine while signing paperwork at the front desk. It’s not a normal doctor’s office waiting room—just a small office where a woman named Josie mans the desk. Like every other time I’ve come in, the TV hanging from the ceiling is on, flashing images from the news. From what I can tell (and read in closed captioning) there has been another attack. This time outside of a truck stop in South Georgia.

“Another one?” I ask the woman working the desk. I push the pump on the hand sanitizer and a cool pool of blue gel fills my palm. I rub it around my hands generously. “Jesus, how many is that now?”

“Yeah, third one this week,” she says. Her forehead lines with worry and her eyes never leave the screen.

“They still blaming those off-market drugs? The ones truckers take or whatever?”

She nodded, eyes glued over my shoulder at the screen. The video is a constant loop of a man roaming around in a circle, hands balled into tight fists. There’s a lump on the ground blurred out—presumably a dead body.

“They said it took fifteen gunshots to take him down. The tasers and pepper spray didn’t even faze him.”

“You’re kidding.” I have a sudden desire to get home and look up this crazy situation on the internet. Some of my forum groups must be going wild. The news also could explain that look on my dad’s face. I’m sure he has plenty of thoughts on all this.

She shook her head. “They keep saying it’s isolated to the drug use, but seriously, what kind of drugs make you eat someone else? Last week that lady ate her dog. Her dog!” She pushes a stray piece of hair behind her ear and hands me a card with details about my next visit. We both watch the news a little longer but the show moves to a commercial break, breaking the spell.

Chapter Five

~Now~

We check the barn and thank God, it’s quiet—the good kind of quiet. I just do not have the energy to go any further tonight and one look at my mom tells me she’ll be asleep within an hour.

As I suspected, the barn is old and hasn’t been used in some time. The straw and dirt floor look undisturbed and the stalls are empty. I mean, it smells like goat and cow and probably some pigs lived in here at some point, but it’s quiet and the door has a lock. I latch the door behind us and we both collapse near a small workstation, exhausted from the day.

“I never knew walking so much would be this tiring,” I say.

Mom nods. “I never knew the benefit of a good pair of shoes. I’m really thankful you got these for me. Otherwise, I would have never been able to keep up.”

I don’t mention where I got them and that the owner of the shoes is dead. We open our backpacks and pull out some food. “Carbs or protein?” I ask holding up the plastic sheathed noodles in one hand and a can of tuna in the other.

“Do we have any crackers left?”

“A couple. I ate most of them at breakfast.”

“Let’s have carbs and protein then,” she suggests.

“Good idea.” I agree knowing it’s a terrible idea. We need to ration everything we’ve got.

I set a tea candle on the top of one of the cans. I found a pack of them during our last stop. It hasn’t been long enough for pre-event supplies to have run dry but you can only carry so much. These candles may not last very long but they’re lightweight and easy to shove into pockets.

In the hazy candlelight, I see my mother clearly. She turned fifty last fall and we had a huge party with all her friends. My sister Jane came up from school and even Dad stopped the work talk for the night. I remember thinking then how young she looked—dark, barely graying hair. She had it styled just under her ears but now it is longer and she ties it at the back of her neck with a band. It’s not like going to the salon has been an option lately. Mom’s eyes are deep brown and they pop even more when she wears makeup. She’s always been a flake—smart but flaky. Loves to live in the world of books and movies more than the realities of the world.

Silently we divide the food between us, ignoring the ghosts around the table. Dad should be here and we should be splitting this food three ways.. Now the crackers and meat go further, filling our bellies just a little bit more than they would have two weeks ago.

Even prolonged, dinner only takes a few minutes. Cleanup takes even less. Mom rolls out her sleeping bag while I check and re-check our packs. Eight cans of food between us, six packaged meals, a couple of snacks—including four candy bars. Two pocket knives, a pistol, and a small assortment of clothes—mostly socks and underwear. It’s all here. Everything we own. The small photo album Mom stashed away when we left. My diary and favorite book. The ring my parents gave me nine months ago on my eighteenth birthday. It was also the same day I got into Duke.

I sort them carefully, a little into each backpack. Making sure it’s even for weight or if one of us is separated from the other. We made this mistake with Paul, allowing him to carry the heavier supplies. That mistake is the reason I wear the small pouch my father gave me under my shirt. I never take it off. I never will.

Between us we had three canteens. I offered my mom the remaining swig and stood up, dusting the hay and dirt from my behind. “Heading out to see if I can find water. There’s a small house on the other side of the barn. I bet the outside faucet still works.”

“Now? Shouldn’t you wait until morning?” Mom asks rubbing her fingers on the sides of her ankle. I may need to find something to wrap it with.

“I’m not that tired,” I tell her. The silence unnerves me. I’m used to the city not the country and things here have a deeper sense of stillness. Moving around makes it a little better—or at least that’s what I tell myself.

“I’ll go with you, let me just put on my shoes.”

“I can go faster without you—and I want you to rest that ankle.” Her concern is obvious but bringing her along will take too long. “Do you have your knife? The gun?”

“If you hear or see anything, come right back,” she warns.

“Don’t worry.”

“I’m your mother—when am I not going to worry?”

“Your weapons?” I ask again.

“Right here.” She rests her hand on the weapons close by her side. She’s used them before. I have no doubt she can take care of herself if she has to. “Be careful.”

“I will.”

Chapter Six

~Before~

3 Months Ago

“Don’t forget your—”

“Lollipop. I know. Blood sugar. I’ve got it, LabGuy.”

“LabGuy?” Small lines crinkle by his eyes and I know I earned a smile underneath that blue mask.

I blink. “Well, you won’t tell me your name.”

“So.”

“So, everyone needs a name and since you won’t give me yours I’ve been calling you LabGuy.”

“Cute.”

“It’s not cute. It’s convenient.” He raises an eyebrow. I can see those too. They’re dark, in contrast to his fair eyes. Between the eyes and the eyebrow and the crease mark between his nose, my crush has reached epic levels. “Like, when I mention you to my friend Liza.”

He laughs. “You’ve mentioned me to your friend Liza?”

“My best friend Liza.”

“And why are you talking about me?” He arranges the tubes of blood in the little holder. I notice each one has a name on it and some numbers. Alexandra R. #1348 +.

“What’s the number and plus sign for?”

He shrugs. I glare at him, waiting for an answer. This may be the longest conversation we’ve ever had. Wait until I tell Liza.

“You have to know something.”

He shrugs again but also says, “Whatever I know I can’t tell you. You know that. You signed the contract.”

“What contract?” I asked. “My dad totally suckered me into this experiment.”

The crease between his eyes deepens but he still doesn’t say anything. So I laid my cards on the table. “You know Dr. Ramsey is my dad, right? He’s basically your boss. Why don’t you just tell me what all these numbers and symbols stand for and we’ll meet again next week?”

“You could ask your dad.”

Ah. Well, he’s right. I could. It would get me nowhere. Not just because it’s all top secrety-secret, but also because he’s been working 24/7 over the last month and the only time I see him is when he reminds me to come to these appointments or when I’m at these appointments.

“He’s really busy.”

LabGuy nodded. “He is.”

“Sooo….”

“I can’t tell you anything, Alexandra, but trust me when I say your dad is doing some impressive work and your contribution is very helpful.”

I eye him and crunch on the lollipop, breaking it with my teeth. “That’s all you’ve got?”

“That’s all.”

I toss the stick in the trash and mumble on the way out the door, “Whole lotta good you are.”

I heard him laugh on my way down the hall. Seriously, this whole thing was getting to be too much. I had things to do, like graduation and valedictorian speeches to (hopefully) prepare.

I sign out at the desk, checking the TV.

“No cannibals today,” the Josie points out. She seems a little disappointed.

“Nope, maybe the police finally shut that down.” The drug-crazed cannibals were big talk for a couple of weeks. But just when it seemed like the whole thing was escalating, it died down. No more attacks. No more news reports about police tasering people or neighbors biting off each other’s noses. Ugh. Gross.

“Hopefully.  That whole thing was freaking me out a little.” She shudders and hands me the appointment card. “See you on Thursday.”

I stop and spin on my heel. “Thursday?”

“Yeah, you’ve got to come twice a week now.” She gives me a sympathetic smile. “Doctor’s orders.”

I narrow my eyes. “Which doctor?”

“Dr. Ramsey, of course.”

My father.

Chapter Seven

~Now~

I wait quietly at the door and listen before slowly opening the latch. The sound it makes is barely a whisper and I step outside. I take a deep breath, inhaling the fresh(er), non-animal air. I don’t know much about barns or livestock but seriously, whatever they kept in here smelled horrible.

The crickets and cicada’s were out for the night, singing a loud chorus. The end of the world hasn’t stopped them. At this point it seems pretty clear that the E-TR virus only attacks humans. Why? No one knows. No one knows much of anything—at least not yet. But we can be thankful for small favors.

The sky above the pasture was dark and cloudy, only a small sliver of moon visible through the haze. Clouds bring the unmistakable smell of fire and decay that has followed us for weeks, even out here in the country. I don’t know where the fire started, but it must have been big.

Durham could easily be on fire by now. It’s not the biggest city, but it was big enough. Two-hundred and fifty thousand people lived there, or that’s what the people said on the news. Not the news people, but the government ones that took over the only remaining channel. There was never a specific number about the survivors. Probably because that number changed every day. Again, no one knew the real answer or if they do there’s no real way to pass it along.

I walk toward the house, my eyes fully adjusted to the dark. There’s enough light to get me to the small ranch but no light coming from inside. I pray the house is empty—but maybe not. It wouldn’t be a bad place to hole up. The windows reflect off the minimal moonlight and there are no boards covering the glass. Nothing pushed up against the windows. Occupied houses look abandoned. Abandoned houses now look occupied. Up is down. Right is wrong. That’s what happens when people start eating each other for dinner.

Who knows? This place may have been empty long before the epidemic happened.  I have no real desire to find out what happened to the home owners. There are three choices, none I feel like dealing with tonight.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest—betraying my fear. I act brave in front of my mom. I don’t want her to know how scared I am. I also know fear doesn’t matter out here. I spent the night before in sheer terror waiting in the dark. I survived, which means I can survive again. We have no choice but to push through it. Excursions like this help me gain confidence and work through my fear of being alone.

I sense, rather than see the structure near me and hold my arms out, reaching for contact. My fingers scrape on the rough brick. Good. Step one complete. Step two? Find a faucet.

Crouching, I make my way around the house, feeling the whole lower area for the jut of steel. After bumping into bushes and the back side of the house I find it, nearly tripping over the protruding pipe. Add another bruise to the pile.

I turn the faucet on slowly and the pipes shudder, breathing out the pent up air. I sit on my heels hyperaware of the noise. Hyperaware of the chirping cicadas. A trickle of water rolls down my fingers. I lick them greedily, sucking the lukewarm, metallic tasting water. I rub the water across my cracked lips and tired eyes.

The water bottles fill slowly and I lean against the house. How did it come to this? I have this same thought ten times a day. How did we go from normal to this? Hiding in the dark? Stealing water?

The weird thing is that I sort of knew the answer to the question.

Chapter Eight

~Before~

10 Weeks Ago

My sister is coming home for my graduation, which means it’s more about her than it is my accomplishment, but whatever. She can’t take away the fact I’m valedictorian. Of course, this doesn’t take away the fact she was valedictorian first and now the rising star in a lab of her own. As though anyone would let me forget that.

“When does Jane’s plane get in?” I ask through a mouthful of chicken.

“Graduation is on Friday night. She should be here by that afternoon,” my dad says. His worry lines are deeper and I think his hair is grayer. He and my mom give each other disturbing side looks. I’m wondering if he’s sick or something. Is that what this is all about? I don’t want him to be sick.

“I hope she leaves herself plenty of time,” mom says. “You know how she likes to push it.”

“She’ll make it. Her classes at Emory aren’t over until that morning. It’s not like she can skip out on giving exams,” my dad says.

He’s a big defender of Jane. Probably because she’s a rising superstar in parasitology, with a focus on research. She’s a lab teaching assistant but also has already gotten funding for a big project. Like my father, work comes first with her, but my mom insisted she come home for my graduation. We still have two weeks until graduation. I’m sure something will come up before then that’ll stop her from coming. That brings something to mind.

“I heard they may cancel flights if this Eater thing doesn’t stop.” My eyes jerk up at the sound of my mother’s fork clanging against her plate. Her face turns white. “What? I saw it on the internet,” I say.

“What did you call them?”

“Eaters...you know because of the...” I look down at my plate. “You know…”

“Alexandra, that is not an appropriate topic for dinner.”

“What?” I ask. “I’m just discussing current events.”

“Your sister will be fine,” Dad says pushing his plate away. “The government is making some controlled efforts to keep the airlines safe. We got a report about it today at work.”

“Really?” I’m unable to hide my interest. “What did it say?”

“It said the airlines are making controlled efforts to keep their flights safe,” he repeats with a wink. My father and all his “confidential” work.

“Alex, are you going out tonight?” Mom asks in a clear attempt to change the subject.

“Yeah, with Liza and some people. I should go get ready.” I inhale the remainder of my dinner and take my plate to the kitchen. I dressed for the night, shorts and a hoodie. We’re going to see a guy Liza’s crushing on at the skate park. Short on funds I make the decision to hit my dad up for some cash.

I stop outside his office and knock. “Dad?”

No reply. I knock again and push open the door. The room is empty. Thinking there should be some cash in the top drawer, I open it and find a small roll of bills and pull out two tens.  I search for a pen and notepad and scribble out a note.

Borrowed $20

IOU

Alex

Placing the sticky on a folder I see the name peeking outside of the file. PharmaCorp Lab Results. Glancing at the door, I flip over the cover with the word CONFIDENTIAL stamped on the front.

At first glance it’s all numbers and letters. Lots of them. But I’m good with figures and patterns and the pieces click together. They are abbreviations for dates and descriptions. The first ones are from months ago—almost a year.

09/14/14   FL (Miami)   M-22 –RC Initial symptom 9 p.m.   Peak 11:32              DOA

09/23/14   FL (Ft. L)M-19—RC   Initial symptom 8 a.m.   Peak 10:12   DOA

I skimmed down. Brushing past information on height and weight.

02/18/15   FL (Orlando)   F-26—RC Initial symptom 4 p.m.   Peak 4:45   DOA

02/18/15    FL (Orlando)   M-45-RC   Initial symptom 2 a.m.   Peak 2:30   DOA

The list went on like this. Dates and times, each one a little closer than the last. At the bottom I found a summary.

Emergency and health care officials have isolated the E-TR parasite in subjects involved in recent, random violent attacks. The parasite was found in the bodies of both the attacker and the victim. Although the subject initially feels a sense of euphoria, the symptoms quickly alter manifesting in an aggressive, aggravated state. Adrenaline levels are exaggerated, allowing for “Super Strength” and then the subject is overwhelmed by rage resulting in cannibalism.

Initial speculation was that these attacks were the result of drug use. There is no evidence to support this. All subjects have tested positive for the (E-TR) parasite. Cases are limited to Florida but moving swiftly up the panhandle, toward the rest of the country.

Early signs include:

- Euphoria with a fast shift to anger and aggression.

- Extreme strength and speed

- Loss of small motor skills

- Eyes go from pale and glassy to dark black irises and veiny lines spidering through the whites of the eyes.

Well, what the hell does that mean? And holy crap! My dad is working on the cannibal case and never told me! I drop the cover, afraid of getting caught. I’ve been following the news on this. It falls right in line with my love of dystopian, end of the world, conspiracy theory books.

In those books, the government always collapses immediately. The virus moves swift and furious, taking out entire cities in a matter of days. It’s always such a joke, but I’ve read enough books to have a slight case of paranoia.

I glance over the paperwork again. PharmaCorp? Who the hell is that and why is Dad working with them? The good news I guess is they seem to be tracking it closely and my dad is perfect for the job. This isn’t the first time he’s been called in on the subject of infectious diseases, specifically in the Division of Parasitic Diseases. He worked at the CDC for ten years before taking a research job at Duke. He’s an expert in his field. I had to assume he’d let us know if there’s a true danger lurking out there.

I leave the desk like I found it and exit the room with way more questions than when I entered.

Chapter Nine

~Now~

The government didn’t fall. Not all of it, at least. They’re still out there in concentrated efforts trying to solve this puzzle. My dad came close. I press my fingers against the pouch he gave me. Maybe he even solved it.

I cap off the third bottle and stuff them in my pack. An owl hoots as I cross back across the grass. The moon reflects off the fender of an old Ford pickup in the middle of the yard. I swear a shadow moves in the cab and I stop, hand on the hatchet hanging from my belt. I squint to see if I’d made it up.

The owl calls out again and I wait five solid beats. No shadow. No movement. I decide it’s my mind playing tricks on me—wouldn’t be the first time—and I lower my weapon. Increasing my speed, I walk toward the barn until a high-pitched, terrified scream pierces the night. My stomach drops and I draw the hatchet again, running in the direction of the scream. Toward my mother. There’s only one reason for her to scream like that. Only one reason to reveal her location. The barn door is ajar, light from the camping lamp spills out the crack.

A low moan fills the air and I swing the door open. I spot two of them—a male and female—shuffling in the direction of my mother. She’s pushed against the fall wall, trapped. I shake my head, willing her to stay quiet.

My mother had never been one to follow directions well.

“Run!” she shouts.

I lift my hatchet and say in a calm voice, “No.”

The Eaters turn, eyes pale and glassy. Black spidery veins run through the white space of their eyes. I only have seconds to plot my next move, yet my feet are frozen, glued to the ground. The female makes a move in my direction, her long skirt dragging across the dusty floor. Before I can react a blast rips through the air and a hail storm of blood and guts splatter across the barn. My hands cover my ears, now ringing and muffled from the gunshot. My mother holds the gun between two, surprisingly steady hands.

“Come on!” I yell skirting around the body with one eye on the remaining Eater. We have to get out of here while he’s stunned. She grabs her bag but everything is washed out by the enraged guttural roar of the man. He recognizes the death of his friend and gnashes his yellowed teeth in response. “Mom, now. Now!”

She never has a chance. Not once he amps up the super strength and speed that comes from the infection. He lunges at her, teeth bared. She slaps at his arms but he pins her easily, clamping down on her shoulder, tearing through her shirt.

“No!” I shout jumping over the dead Eater on full attack. I strike him with the hatchet, twice, the last one a solid shot through the neck. This finally makes him stop, blood spraying like a fountain. He falls to the ground with an echoing thud, head hanging by a thread.

“Mom?”

She and I stare at one another. Blood oozes from her wound. It’s big, massive really, and the loss of blood has already paled her face.

“Do it,” she says through gritted teeth. I’ve never seen a more determined look on her face.

“I can try to stitch it up,” I say picking up her bag. There’s a First-Aid kit inside. “I bet these are some of the early ones. The non-contagious.”

“Alexandra,” my mother said. “I already feel the infection taking over.”

I hold up the First-Aid pack. “I’ve got antiseptic here.”

“We had a deal, baby. Don’t let me down.”

I stop moving. “You can feel it?”

“It’s a rush,” she says. “Numbness. I feel it in my toes and ears.”

“Maybe it’s shock.”

“It’s like they said on the news.” She looked woozy. I watch as her eyes glaze over like Kevin Richmond at a party, high as a kite. “Do it please. Before it goes bad. There isn’t much time.”

A sob rips through my chest because this isn’t how this is supposed to happen. None of this should have happened. I pull the gun out of the back of my pants and say, “I love you, Momma.”

“Love you too, Alexandra. Do your father proud, okay?” Her eyes have already faded—the blue shifting into a cloudy gray. Her words slur. We have minutes, maybe seconds left. The problem is that she won’t die from that bite. She’s not going to die on her own. I’ll have to do it for her. “Tell your sister I love her.”

I place my hand on the trigger and aim, wishing for a brief second I could turn it on myself.

The bang rips through the room, sending another shrill ringing through my ears. She slouches to the side. I don’t know how long I sit with her but after a bit it’s too much.  Without looking at her face, I crawl over, slipping off her wedding ring and the gold chain around her neck. I pick up the gun and grab both backpacks and run out of the barn.

I have work to do. I have to make my father proud.

Chapter Ten

~Before~

9 Weeks Ago

Like every other visit, LabGuy pricks my finger and wraps it in a Band-Aid. Unlike every other visit he reaches into the small refrigerator next to his station and pulls out a vile of clear liquid and a syringe.

“What’s that,” I ask eyeing the needle.

“Well, it says here that you’re getting a shot.” He points to the file in front of him.

“Um, since when do you inject me with stuff?”

“Since I was told to by my supervisor.”

I cross my arms over my chest, hiding the inside of my elbow. “I need to talk to my dad.”

LabGuy blinked. “He’s the one that requested this injection, Alexandra.”

“Awesome.” I give him two thumbs up. “You just wait here. I’ll be back.”

He looks around unsure of what to do but while he decides what action to take I’ve left the room.

“Hey!” he calls, but I’m already searching the lab for my father.

I check his office first. Nope. Then some of the rooms with tiny windows. Large yellow and red signs warn me to stay out of the room. I don’t read the small print but the general gist is “Danger! You’ll catch Ebola if you enter this room! And maybe eat your neighbor!”

Sure enough that’s the room I find him in. Right in the middle of the most dangerous one. Covered head to toe in protective gear.  I’m beyond curious to know what he’s working on. I’m also realistic as hell to know he’ll never tell me.

I tap on the window. He looks up in surprise. I wave him over.

It takes a minute for him to come out. He has to undress and decontaminate himself. I get this. I understand the procedures. By the time he’s in the hallway with me, he has deep frown lines on his forehead. “What’s wrong? Is it your mother? Did something happen to your sister?”

“What?” I ask. “No. They’re fine. I’m just trying to figure out what this injection is LabGuy is trying to give me back there.”

“LabGuy?”

“The guy. In the lab? You know the one that takes my blood sample. Why is he doping me up now?”

Understanding washes over his face but not enough to counteract the stress and exhaustion etched in the lines of his forehead. “Alex, I’m busy, very busy. I recommended the injection. It’s nothing. Just a vitamin that goes along with the blood test and experiments we’ve been doing. Nothing harmful, but it is very important for you to take it.”

I stare at him for a minute. Something seems off. He seems off.  “You should have told me. I don’t like all this secrecy.”

“There’s no secret,” he replies, softening his expression. “How many times have you told me not to talk about boring lab work at home?”

“Lots,” I admit. “Your lab stuff is boring but when you start injecting me with unknown substances, my interest in it piques.”

“I’m glad you have a sense of self-preservation, but I need you to trust me on this. It’s all part of the experiment. And trust LabGuy, he does a very good job around here. Don’t give him a hard time.”

“Fine. But I better not grow weird hairs or break out or something from whatever this concoction is made up of.”

He smiles. “No hair growth or pimples. Promise.”

“Okay.” I start back down the hall but stop before turning the corner. “Will it make my boobs bigger? Because if it does I’m okay with that.”

“Alexandra,” he says with a sigh. “Just follow directions.”

“Fine,” I mutter giving him one last look. Our eyes meet and I can see his love for me. His respect. I do need to trust him. No matter what secrets he’s got hiding in that back room.

Chapter Eleven

~Now~

I’ve barely stepped out of the barn before I hear the anguished moans nearby. Dealing with more Eaters is the last thing I am physically and emotionally able to handle right now, but I did not just shoot my mother  to go down in a blaze of consumed glory.

Dashing fast across the yard, carrying two backpacks, a gun and a hatchet I head straight for the first thing I see; the truck. I have to put something solid between the Eaters and me.

“Please be open, please be open, please be open,” I chant, refusing to look back. There’s no need to. The Eaters are close enough behind me that I can smell their unclean stench and rank breath.  The moans have turned to angry, hungry roars. It’s the sound they make when they’re the most dangerous.  I crash into the side of the truck, throwing my bags in the back, holding onto only my gun and hatchet. I glance back and see them coming fast, grayish skin, black veiny eyes. Speed isn’t a problem for these bastards.  I pry the rusted driver’s side door open and jump inside, slamming it behind me.

Breathing hard, I scoot away from the window and bump into something hard. The loud, unforgettable click of a gun echoes through the cab and I spin with my own gun raised.  All I see is the steel barrel and a silhouette belonging to a man. His breathing is heavy, matching mine. We stare at one another listening to the thump and bang of Eaters crashing into the truck.

“Where are the keys?” I yell sliding back behind the wheel. Eater’s punch and kick the window and doors of the car.

“In the ignition!” He gestures with the gun. “Go!”

The window directly behind him makes a cracking sound and I see the outline of hands pushing against it. I crank the ignition but it only stutters and whines.

“Pump the clutch!” he yells. He takes a breath. “Don’t flood the engine. Slow and steady.”

“I’m doing that,” I snap, rewarded by the sound of the engine revving to life. I flip on the lights. The unnatural glare blinds us all. It also reveals exactly how much trouble we’re really in. “Shit.”

The car is surrounded.

Wrapping my hands around the massive steering wheel, I glance over at the stranger. His jaw is tight but determined.

“Ready?” I ask, foot halfway down on the gas.

“Ready.”

Chapter Twelve

~Before~

9 Weeks Ago

Why did I think being valedictorian was a good idea? I’ve already been accepted into college. A really good college. My teachers have read enough of my papers. No one will even remember this a week after I’m finished. Maybe not even in fifteen minutes. Does anyone even remember their valedictorian? I consider standing in front of the crowd and telling them that this is all a farce, a competition created to make the ninety-nine percent feel useless.

That would go over well.

I pick up my laptop and head to the den where my mom has the TV on. It’s the news-heads, of course. The outbreak is all anyone can talk about these days. The flu-like virus making everyone super sick. Rumor is that it’s from a parasite. They’re even using the term “epidemic.” Florida is under a state of emergency. No flights in or out. Total quarantine. We’re waiting for them to say the same thing about Georgia and the rest of the southeast.

Now I understand a little better why Dad has been a stress case and working so much.

Mom notices me and snaps off the TV.

“Mom, I think I’m old enough to watch the news.”

“This stuff is terrible. I don’t want you watching it,” she says, tucking a piece of dark hair behind her ear, a sure signal she’s uncomfortable. She did the same thing when we had the sex-talk when I was ten.

“I have the internet, Mom. I know all about it.”

“Well, it’s depressing and you’ve got so much great stuff coming up. You shouldn’t fill your head with this kind of thing.”

“What? The people eating other people thing? That’s like, half-urban legend, Mom.” Only fifteen people have actually cannibalized other people. Or at least that’s what the news is saying. I have my suspicion that there’s more, but I’ve always been one to buy into conspiracy theories.

“I hope so,” she says. “But really you need to be careful. Wash your hands. No shared cups or forks, okay? Your dad was telling me some stuff and—”

“And what?” I ask immediately intrigued.

“And it’s just they don’t know how this spreads exactly. It’s not airborne but through close contact. He said he wouldn’t be surprised if they didn’t start cancelling school.”

I glance down at my laptop and the two thousand word speech I have written. “School? We only have a week left.”

“They’ve done this before, during bad flu outbreaks or other infectious diseases. It’s just bad timing for you.”

“Tell me about it,” I grumble. “Do you really think they’ll call off graduation?”

“For your sake I hope not,” she said gently. “But I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

I place my laptop to the side, all motivation lost. How was I supposed to write a motivational speech to the class when all signs pointed to the world going to hell in a cannibal filled hand basket?

Chapter Thirteen

~Now~

The blood and goo on the windshield is thick and whatever wipers this beast had stopped working ages ago. I flinch with every hit—the Eater’s knocking heavy and hard out of the way.

“Jesus,” the guy next to me says while looking out the back window. “I think we’re clear.”

The lights shine on a dirt driveway and the tires kick up rocks until I make it to the paved road. I pause.

“What?” he asks, again peering into the darkness behind us.

“Nothing.” With squealing tires I gun the gas, steering the truck to the road, leaving the farm and my mother behind me. I don’t even have time to look at the mailbox address. She’s gone. I know this. She’s not the first person I’ve had to leave behind.

A half a mile away I pull over on a dirt road and reach for my gun again. Good thing because the guy next to me has already leveled his at my head.

Seems like we’ve moved to the distrust phase of the apocalypse.

“Where the hell did you come from?” the shadow says. His voice is firm. Controlled, with a slight southern accent.

I keep my hand low, touching the cool metal of my gun.  “The barn. Are you going to kill me?”

“Not unless I have to,” he replies.

I shook my head. “Are you going to rape me or torture me or anything? If that’s your plan just tell me now so we can get it over with.” And by get it over with, I mean blow his freaking head off before he can make a move.

He lowers his gun and runs a hand over his sweaty forehead. “Sweetheart, sex is the last thing on my mind right now. You can put that thing away,” he says gesturing to the weapon in my hand. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

I let go but keep the weapon on the worn leather seat. To use on him or an Eater. I’m not sure. Slumping against the headrest, I take a deep, shuddering breath and close my eyes.

“Are you hurt?” he asks.

“What? No.” I wipe my eyes. “I’m just losing it.”

He reaches for my face, and I flinch. “Hold on a second. I think you’re hurt. There’s blood on your cheek.”

I push his hand away and swallow down the nausea. “It’s not mine.”

“From one of them?” He raises an eyebrow skeptically. Contamination is still a little confusing. The infection has mutated more than once.

“I just killed two of them. Back there.” I jerk my thumb in the direction we came from. He fumbles under the seat. I hear a zipper and he comes back with a handkerchief.

“You sure they didn’t get you?” he has to ask. “Here,” he says but he doesn’t hand it over. He wipes the spot from my cheek.

“No, they didn’t.” I feel the warm tears on my cheeks. It makes the blood gooey and easier to wipe off. “The blood is my mother’s. They got her, not me.”

“Just now? I heard the gunshot.”

“Yeah.”

He grimaces and looks out the back window. Even in the darkened truck cab his good looks are obvious. His profile is strong and angular. Full lips but with his longer hair pulled back in a tight knot at the back of his head, he looks masculine. God he has a man-bun, Liza loved guys with man-buns. I choke back a sob. They’re all dead. My mom. Liza and probably freaking Harry Styles too.

“Do you want me to go back? Do I need to…”

“No.” I shake my head and wipe my nose on the back of my hand. “It’s done.”

His eyes flick to my gun and then to my face and he pretends not to notice me brushing tears from my cheeks.

“I’m Wyatt,” he says offering his hand. I take it and feel his warm, calloused skin.

“Alexandra. People call me Alex, or at least they used to.”

“Well, Alex,” he says looking out the dark window. “Looks like we’re stuck here until morning. You okay sharing space?”

“Yeah, I’m okay with that,” I say feeling relief at the idea of company.  It will be a long night—the echo of the gun and look on my mother’s face still flashing in my head.

“I’ll take first watch,” he says.

“I’m not tired.”

His eyes connect to mine. “I’m sure you’re not but rest anyway. I’ve got this, okay?”

“Sure,” I say, allowing the distrust and sarcasm to seep through my tone. Like I’m trusting some guy with a man-bun that I just met with my life. I slump back against the seat and stare at the ceiling, resolving myself not to cry. From here on it’s just me and my promise. There’s no one left to hold me back.

Chapter Fourteen

~Before~

8 Weeks Ago

School is cancelled.

Graduation is on hold—possibly indefinitely. Maybe the feds will change their mind, that’s what everyone says once the announcement is made. There’s a week left. Anything can happen.

That’s what I’m afraid of.

Curfew is in effect for everyone in the south. From Kentucky over to Virginia. Texas refuses. Of course they do. I wonder if parasites know not to mess with Texas. I doubt it.

People are required to be at home by eight p.m. Work from home if you can. Vacations are heavily suggested. Stay-cations. Literally.

The result is that people are pissed and don’t like the government telling them what to do. Police and the CDC quarantine homes. Don’t go to the hospital they say. If you come into contact with an infected person, isolate yourself. Call 911.

Of course, people, being people, can never just follow directions. That is one thing the news loves to focus on. Instead of staying home people come out to protest. Or rally for the dead. They swarm churches and bombard grocery stores.

All anyone is supposed to do is stay home.

Jane is stuck in Georgia and my mother is about to lose her mind over it. The result is that my mother calls her five times a day. “Are you okay? Is anyone sick? Are you staying home? Make sure you keep a safe distance…”

She talks to her while baking. Yes, the way my mother handles an epidemic is to bake. Cakes, cookies, pies, fancy cheese puffs…anything she can manage. She listens to my sister talk about her day while she uses the metal cookie cutters my grandmother left her.

I don’t tell her that the news is predicting a shortage on basics due to the quarantine, so this phase will have to end soon.

My father is one of the few required to work, since he’s officially (yes, he finally admitted it) on the E-TR eradication task force. He’s asked me not to come in for the experiment anymore, but even then I’m not off the hook. He does it at home instead. Taking the blood and giving me the shot. I ask him what it’s for but he does that thing where he answers but doesn’t answer. Long answer short: None of your business.

For those of us following the lockdown there’s nothing to do but watch TV and obsess over the virus. The tabloids were the first to nickname it E-TR, spoofing on the cannibalization side effects. Haha right? Eating people is hilarious. No wonder the world is coming to an end. People suck.

Chapter Fifteen

~Now~

Frackity-frack! I fell asleep. I wake at dawn, the sun rising like a fireball over the tobacco fields. My first reaction is to reach for my gun and relief washes over me when I make contact. I’m an idiot.

Turning my head, I see Wyatt, the man from the night before, going through his pack quietly. The bag is covered in patches: an American flag, Captain America’s shield, logos from National Parks.

“Hey,” I say feeling hungover, but not in the good, just-had-an-awesome-night-out-with-friends-kind of way. It’s a unique feeling that I assume comes from shooting your mother and watching her die.

Jesus.

“Hi,” he replies barely glancing up.

In the morning light I get a better look at my companion. Older than eighteen, but not too old, maybe in his twenties. Dark hair, with hazel eyes, and a crooked nose that looks like it’s taken a punch or two. His jaw is sharp and from the side he’s just a standard man-boy, but when he turns and sets his eyes on me I can’t help but feel a little uncomfortable. He’s good looking but intense.

“You should have woken me,” I say realizing we never switched shifts.

He shrugs. “I’m okay. Day before yesterday I holed up in an abandoned house for twenty-four hours. I slept for about sixteen of those. I figured you could use some rest.”

He finished repacking his bag and I caught sight of myself in the rearview mirror. Oh crap. It’s not that I looked bad. No, I looked infinitely worse than bad. I had a “straight from a horror film” vibe going on. Dirt and grime all over my face. Matted hair sticking up in a thousand directions. Oh, and don’t forget the puffy bags under my eyes. No wonder he thought I needed some sleep.

“I guess we need to decide what to do from here,” he said zipping the bag. He held a map in his hand.

“We?”

His eyebrows knitted in the middle. “Yeah, we both sort of found this truck at the same time. Doesn’t have a lot of gas but it makes sense to drive it as long as we can.”

“Okay,” I reply uneasily. I have no plans on hooking up with anyone else right now. “Where are you headed?”

“South.”

“Right to the heart of the infected area?”

“Yeah, I have business there,” he says.

I do too but keep that to myself. He’s right though. No need to separate until the truck runs out of gas. My feet could use a break. “I’m game to take the truck as far as it will go.”

“So you’re okay going south?”

“For a while.”

We take a moment to stretch outside the truck. The area is clear of Eaters. The morning’s quiet other than the sound of the occasional bird or buzzing insect. I take in Wyatt’s boots and broad shoulders and crazy man-bun. He looks like a hippie but at the same time there’s an intensity that is usually reserved for more serious types. Honestly he reminds me of my cousin Brent, who is (was?) a sergeant in the Army. Maybe it’s the camouflage pants, or the way his back is always ram-rod straight. I don’t know.

“Mind if I drive?” he asks flashing me a small grin.

“If you want—I mean, I’m the one with the most sleep.”

“I’m good. It’s been a while since I’ve been behind the wheel.”

See? Reckless—but controlling. I can’t figure out what this guy is all about.

We hop in the truck and as it quickly revs to life, I consider how this must be how it will be from now on. Losing people one day and moving on the next. Meeting new people and hoping they’re allies. I take a quick glance at Wyatt and hope I haven’t made a mistake.

Chapter Sixteen

~Before~

8 Weeks Earlier

After hours of waiting, I finally hear Liza’s pebbles tap against my bedroom window. Double checking that my door is locked I open the sash. Liza and Matt and Olivia, two other kids from school, are waiting two floors down in my backyard.

Liza looks both ways and waves me down. It takes a bit of acrobatics—jumping from the gable to the porch roof and down a drain pipe, but I make it to the yard in one piece.

None of us speak until we’re on the path behind the school. “Did you have any problem getting out?” I ask the others. We each hold a flashlight to cut away at the dark.

“My dad was passed out,” Olivia says with a shrug. “It’s like he thinks all the beer will be gone when the Eaters take over so he has to drink it all now.”

“Ouch,” Matt says. “My mom is just glued to the TV. A bomb could go off and she’d never know. Unless, obviously, the TV told her it was coming first.”

“Mine is making pudding from scratch,” I add. They give me a curious look and I shrug. “She’s freaking out about my dad being gone all the time and totally stressed about my sister down in Atlanta, so baking is the perfect way for her to live in blissful denial.”

“Oh shit, Atlanta?” Matt asks.

I nod, jumping over a fallen branch. “Yeah, she’s in school down there. We haven’t heard from her in a couple of days. My mom is panicking.”

Atlanta has been placed under mandatory quarantine. No one is allowed to leave their homes and the National Guard has been set up there for days. Things seem under control but the E-TR virus spread fast once it made it from Florida to Georgia. Apparently the Atlanta airport is one of the largest in the world. Once it passed through those gates there was no stopping it.

“I saw they’ve been making, like, safe zones,” Liza adds. “Do you think she’s at one of those?”

“I have no idea. I mean, in the movies those are always the first to go down. Like Hurricane Katrina? The people in the evacuation centers were in horrible shape.”

Matt nods. “True. The government sucks.”

We cut through a small trail in the woods that Olivia says leads to the house of a friend. They own acres of property and sure enough, five minutes later I spot the lights and hear voices in one of the backyards.

“You think that’s it?” Liza asks.

“Yes,” Olivia says. “I’ve been to Amber’s house a couple of times.”

I grab Liza’s hand and stop the others. Nerves flare in my belly and suddenly I’d rather be anywhere else. “Are you sure this is okay? We’re not really friends with these people.”

Matt shook his head. “I don’t think clique lines matter much anymore, Alex.”

We step through the woods and snap off the flashlights. Dozens of kids mill around the yard—each of us in violation of curfew. All breaking the law.

A handmade banner made out of a white sheet hangs over the backside of the house. It’s huge with drippy spray paint letters. Ironically, the splatter makes it looks like blood.

“Congratulations Class of 2015!”

I smile nervously at my friends and Liza gives me a tight hug.

Apocalypse or not, we’re still having our graduation party.

Robert, a guy I’d known since elementary school spots us coming from the woods. His eyes widen and he shouts, “Hey look!”

The whole group turns and I see the wary faces of my classmates. They blink, staring at the four of us and I’ve got one foot back in the woods when Robert says, “It’s the valedictorian!”

A loud whoop from the crowd fills the air and Liza squeezes my hand. “Told you it would be okay.”

Cups are shoved into our hands, filled with some sort of sugary drink that smells faintly of rubbing alcohol. I have no idea what is normally discussed at a party like this but tonight it’s about the E-TR virus and everything going on. Worry lines mar the faces of my classmates. They should be thinking about summer and then college in the fall, but we’ve all turned that off a little bit. Everything is unclear. But one thing is obvious, despite the years of high school and drama and cliques, we’re definitely in the same boat now. Nothing like a possible world-ending outbreak to bring everyone together.

“Alex,” a girl named Erica says as she walks up to me. She’s sat next to me in homeroom for four years. This is the first time she’s ever spoken directly to me. “Did you bring your speech?”

I swallow a gulp of the syrupy liquid. “My speech?”

“Your valedictorian speech. This may be your only chance to give it!”

I think for a moment she may be kidding but there’s a seriousness, a desperation, in her eyes and I say, “I didn’t think to bring it with me.”

“Oh, that sucks,” she says and a couple of other classmates nearby shake their heads in disappointment.

Floored by their reaction I take a deep breath and say, “I, uh, well, I do have a speech of sorts I can pull up on my phone. It’s not exactly the one I was going to say at graduation but…” I shrug. “It may be a little more fitting.”

“Yes!” Erica shouts. “Please. Anything. I just want to salvage something from this whole disaster, you know?”

I nod in sympathy. “Yeah, I know.”

The back patio is quickly cleared and I’m standing in front of fifty of my classmates. The group sits on the grass, holding plastic red party cups. Once the group quiets I take a deep breath and begin.

“This isn’t my valedictorian speech. This is more like a manifesto I wrote last week while watching the idiots on cable news discuss the future of society and the crumbling of our systems the minute the E-TR virus reared its ugly, cannibalizing head. They sit behind these desks, analyzing the fractures in our medical, emergency, and governmental systems yet do absolutely nothing about it. I just sort of snapped.

“So right,” I say pulling up the document on my phone. “This is just something I wrote. Hope you like it.”

“I’m sitting on my couch, the one I spilled juice on when I was four. The one that I take naps on when I’m sick. The couch my mother tries to replace every year and my father refuses because it’s so comfortable, soft…so ours. It’s the one I sit on now, perched on the edge of the cushion watching the news. The never ending updates that never update anything at all. Watching the never ending panel of politicians, doctors, experts, journalists discuss our fate. I listen to the fighter jets fly overhead. I read the scrolling information at the bottom of the screen. I do all this with my paper and pen in my lap writing this speech. The one for the students. My students—classmates. Friends. The one to inspire us to the next stage of life.

As valedictorian my job is to propel us forward. Convince you all that I, at eighteen, know what is best for us, help you all rally around the idea that we will be the ones to change the world. We will end poverty. Stop racism. We will be the generation, the class that grabs the world by the balls and squeezes so tight that all the assholes will stop being assholes in the name of religion, self-righteousness, and greed.

Yet the man on the television is telling me something different. Or at least the way the shadows under his eyes imply he isn’t sleeping. The tremor in his voice betrays his nerves. For a brief moment his voice is overpowered by the announcement that we must stay inside. Take shelter. Stay calm.

If your neighbor tries to murder you, well, just make sure he doesn’t make a flesh wound, alright?

We are so very, very screwed.

I look out over my classmates, the ones that have made it to the party and am shocked to find every one of them listening, eyes glued to me on my makeshift podium. I have their attention better now than I ever would in a crowded auditorium. Matt has a small smile on his face. Olivia looks like she’s about to break down and cry. Their hands are linked. Good.

I continue, “Maybe though, for once the speech is right. Maybe we are the class that will make a difference. The generation that will change things. Maybe we will be the only ones left—the ones on the cusp of it all. The old life and the new. The before and the after. Those who succumb to the end of the world and those who survive it.

Maybe we will be the ones who will rebuild society in a better way. A way without greed and desperation or sexual exploitation and religious persecution. “

I take a deep breath because my last line is a lie. At least I tell myself it is. “Or maybe, we’re the group without one single fuck left to give and the world figured it out just in time.”

Chapter Seventeen

~Now~

Half a day later Wyatt and I stop at a small convenience store at the corner of Nowhere and Nowhere Else, North Carolina. We’re nearing the reservoir, so this one is a bit more like a bait shack than anything else. Combing through the tiny aisles with the truck parked outside feels incredibly exposed but the area seems safe enough.

I spot the bathroom door, well two, behind the drink machine. The men’s room has an “Out of Order” sign taped to the front. Quietly—matching the obscene silence of the shop, I say, “I’m gonna see if they’ve got any clean water in the faucet.”

Wyatt nods, shoving stuff in his pack. It’s already clear he’s not a huge talker. That works for me. I’ve already promised myself not to connect to anyone else out here. It seems like the smart thing to do.

I tap on the bathroom door before opening it but hear nothing inside. I swing it open and to my surprise it’s not that bad. I close the door and test the faucet. Water gushes out, clear and clean. I fill my bottles and then run my hands under the water, splashing some over my face.

The mirror over the sink is one of those metal, wavy kinds that make my face look distorted, like a funhouse mirror. I find my hairbrush and drag it through the matted tangles before bunching it into two pigtails.

I glance down and almost cry when I see toilet paper hanging from the roll. No I do cry. I sit down and cry but it isn’t over the toilet paper or the water. It’s my mom and the image of her back in that barn. The way the gun recoiled, vibrating down my arm. I should have buried her. No, I should have saved her. I should have never left her alone.

I allow myself to cry it out in the tiny moment of privacy I’ve had since it happened. Then I wash my face off again, eyes visibly red and puffy even in the crappy mirror. Whatever, I tell myself. No really. What.Ever. I killed my mom. I deserve a momentary breakdown.

Back in the shop, I join Wyatt, who is rummaging through the tiny auto parts section. Smart since we have the truck.

I feel his eyes on me. Quick glances. I swallow and fill my hands with aspirin packets and soap.

“How long were you and your mom on the road alone?”

“Long enough. You?”

“Since they locked down the borders. I packed a bag and headed to the mountains. Decided I would camp until it was over. No reason to hang around waiting to get sick.”

“So you just camped?”

“Yeah and hiked. There are a lot of people out there. Up on the trails. More were coming when I left.”

I thought about that. People, infected people, would run and try to hide, but it wasn’t possible. The only way out of this was surviving or a cure.

“What brought you back to civilization?”

“I had some stuff to check on.” He shrugs. “People. And the mountains were getting a little crowded. I can go back if I need to.”

“Where did you live before you left?” I ask breaking my boundary rules right off. Truth: I’m nosy as hell.

“Durham.”

“You’re a student?”

“Am. Was. Whatever.”

We shift to different parts of the store. Wyatt keeps a vigilant eye on the door and windows.

“I was going to Duke—this fall. Pre-med.”

“Ah, a smarty-pants, eh?”

I shrug.

“School sucks. You’re not missing anything. Life experience is way better. I mean, after all this who needs an education?”

Neither of us reacts to his lame attempt at a joke.

Wyatt takes his turn in the women’s room and I hear the water running through the hollow door. I wait near the counter with my hatchet ready, thinking we’ve spent long enough here. We should probably move on. He comes out, face damp but clean. He inhaled and said, “I’m thinking once we get to the reservoir we may want to split up.”

“Split up?”

“The gas is going to run out in a few hours and I’m not sure I want to try to scrounge up some more. I’m an experienced hiker. I can do ten miles easily in one day. I don’t want to get held up.”

I narrow my eyes. What brought this on?

“No offense. You seem like an okay girl but I’ve done pretty well the whole time on my own. I don’t want to jinx that.”

He gives me a once over—eyes lingering on my thin arms and the hatchet. He thinks I’m weak—a liability.

“You’d rather be on your own?”

He shrugs his broad shoulders. His eyes are blank. Emotionless. Didn’t I think the same thing earlier? How I shouldn’t get attached to anyone. He’s right, I know this, but it’s also nice to have someone watch your back while you wash your face and cry in the bathroom.

Shit. He heard me cry.

We stare at one another and I’m trying to decide if I’m pissed or relieved. Neither matter as a noise sounds from behind Wyatt, a familiar low moan, followed by a howl of rage.

Wyatt’s composed stance comes alive, turning just in time to see an Eater crashing from behind the “Out of Order” sign, smashing the door to splinters.

Besides his drooling mouth, I see the black-spidery veins in his eye.

Wyatt pumps his gun, loading the cartridge.

“Duck!” I scream, tossing the hatchet, full force. It spins past Wyatt’s ear, forcing him to drop fast to his knees. The Eater face splits in two, blood oozing from the wound. He starts to fall forward, arms stretched toward Wyatt. Before the Eater lands, Wyatt kicks him hard, pushing him back into the bathroom. He’s dead—for real this time, blood oozing from the wound.

“Holy shit, Alex.” His voice trembles, out of fear or awe I’m not sure.

I walk over and retrieve the hatchet, pulling it out of the Eater’s decimated face with a loud, nauseating suctioning sound.

Gross.

I spare Wyatt a glance and grab my bag, daring him to challenge my strength. I bite back the desire to tell him to “fuck off.” I don’t need to. The dead Eater says everything. Even so, with my hand on the front door I can’t help but say, “Sure you want to split up?”

Chapter Eighteen

~Before~

7 Weeks Ago

The graduation party is truly the end of the world as we know it. I make it home unnoticed by pressing flat against a tree in the woods, hiding from the helicopter search lights that comb our neighborhood looking for anything out of the ordinary. I use the spare key to get in the back door of the house. I hug my friends, all three drunk and unsteady on our feet, and I close the door quietly.

I sneak past my mother. She’s fallen asleep in front of the news, flour streaked on her face. The “news” is now more of a continuous loop than anything else. Under the covers of my bed I relive my speech. The way it felt. The way my classmates embraced it—and me. It may have been better than the real thing in some sort of John Hughes version of the apocalypse.

In the morning, with a pounding punch-fueled headache, the text I sent to Liza told me shit has hit the fan at her house.

Busted.

One word. I wait for more but nothing comes.

“Hey, Mom,” I say, finding her in the kitchen. She’s at the counter next to the pantry with a sheet of paper in one hand and a pencil in the other. I walk to the refrigerator, looking for milk and find barely half a cup. “Is there any more milk?”

“No, honey,” she says with a heavy sigh.

I close the refrigerator door, empty handed. “What are you doing?”

“Inventorying our food. Seeing how much we have—the news says the grocery stores are pretty wiped out, but I’m not sure how long we can feasibly go.”

I guess I should be glad she’s snapped out of denial baking but the worry lines on her face are deeper and her hands tremble when she makes a note on her paper. She’s panicking and that makes me uneasy. My mother isn’t one to overreact. If anything she likes to pretend everything is fine and normal. Whatever is easiest. Inventorying our house isn’t easy.

“Mom, when is Dad coming home?” I haven’t brought it up in days. It’s beyond clear now that he’s knee-deep trying to cure the E-TR virus. It’s even clearer that at some point he involved me in the testing. The thought makes me realize it’s Thursday. Shot day. Dad hasn’t been home since my last injection.

“I don’t know. I hope today. Maybe tomorrow. They’re getting close to a breakthrough, I think.” She clutches my arm. “Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“I won’t. Who would I tell?” I laugh. The sound falls flat.

“Help me sort these canned goods and pull out anything else we have. I want to have a good idea of what we have and how to ration it.”

“You think it will go that far?” I ask taking two cans of beans from her and a bag of rice.

She turns and places her hand on my cheek, her blue eyes meeting mine. “It already has.”

Chapter Nineteen

~Now~

We head to the reservoir, passing a handful of other travelers and one convoy of military vehicles. We spot the army green trucks barreling down the hill and Wyatt pulls the truck quickly to the edge of the road under a grove of shade trees.

“Why are you hiding?” I ask. It isn’t that I disapprove, I’m just curious about his motives. He doesn’t know what I’ve seen.

“Last I heard the military is hoping to round everyone up to the evacuation centers. That’s not really a detour I’m planning to make.” He tilts his head in my direction. “You have a problem with that?”

“Nope.” I don’t explain further.

The convoy passes and we wait a few minutes just to be safe. Wyatt revs the truck to life and eases back onto the road. We’re on one of the lesser traveled highways—sort of off the beaten path. Before we lost the news it was clear the main highways were a mess. Typical apocalypse stuff: traffic jams, wrecks, an overturned tractor-trailer. Sometimes the movies do get something right. The back roads are easier. Encounter a stalled out car? Drive around it and keep going. The problem is the never ending trailers and houses that line the two-lane highways. God knows if they’re empty, filled with survivors or just a breeding ground for Eaters. We agreed early on to avoid them.

“Have you been to the reservoir before?” I ask.

“No, but I have a map.”

“Well, I have been there—a bunch of times. What are we looking for? A place to camp over night?”

“Yeah, we’ve got to find gas and I need some sleep.”

“My aunt had a cabin here. I can show you the way.”

He cuts me a look. “Was this information you were planning on sharing, Sunshine?”

“No.”

The reservoir doesn’t have a lot of housing—it was created for fresh water and run by the Army Corp of Engineers but there are a few cabins scattered here and there on property grandfathered in. Or at least that’s what my mom told me. This had been our destination all along. Get to the cabin. Get to south. One step at a time.

“We’re looking for a dirt road,” I say glancing around.

“You’ll need to be more specific.” The irritation of me not telling him about the cabin is clear from his tone.

“Well if I remember right, there are two other dirt driveways around the same area. It’s pretty hard to find even when you know what you’re looking for.”

We drive back and forth down the road a couple of times. We’re about to make our third pass when I grab his arm. “Stop! I think that’s it. That tree looks familiar.”

He tugs on his ear. “You said that before with the stump.”

I ignore him and point to the almost invisible path. “Follow that.”

Wyatt takes the truck down the road. Being late summer the foliage is thick. We’re almost at the cabin before we see it. Dark wood planks and a tin roof. Three rooms total. Bedroom, bathroom, kitchen/living room.

“There’s a small carport to the side.”

He parks and we get out, listening for a moment. It’s quiet. The good kind. I walk to the back of the house and move the fake rock. The key is inside. Just like my mom said.

Wyatt follows me to the tiny front porch. I can see the reflection of the lake below. Looks smooth as glass. He stops me before I open the door. “Why didn’t you tell me about this place?”

I catch his eye and to my surprise they softened just a little—betraying more emotion. Right now it’s curiosity. “I wasn’t sure I trusted you.”

“And you do now?”

I shrug. “Not really. I don’t know? In the last thirty-six hours I’ve had to kill my mother, run over Eaters with a truck and split one of their faces in half. I had to save your ass. I am capable, despite my size and age. I’m exhausted, and I’m too tired to deal with the semantics of trust.”

“What does that mean?”

“That means if you give me a reason not to trust you I have no problem handling that.”

He nods like this makes sense (which I have no idea if it does or not. Seriously, I’m exhausted). I open the door with the key and we step inside the dark, musty cabin. The sound of scurrying feet race across the floor—just mice, hopefully. I flip the light switch. Nothing.

“What happened to your aunt?” Wyatt asks, dropping his pack on the floor and crossing the room with his shotgun. He passes through the tiny kitchenette and nudges open the two other doors.

“My mom’s aunt, actually. She lives in Charlotte. She’s pretty old.”

Translation: I don’t know. Probably dead.

“So she hasn’t been here recently?” He finally laid his gun on the small wooden table in the center of the room. I lean against the door.

“No. I doubt anyone has been here for years. That’s why we decided to head this way. Get out of the city—go somewhere safe.”

He seems satisfied—and tired. I offer to take the first watch and he agrees heading straight for the creaky dusty couch. “There’s a bed back there,” I say. “At least there used to be.”

“You can have the bed. This is fine.” He pulls a sweatshirt out of his bag and makes pillow. He’s asleep in minutes.

I sit at the hard wooden chair at the table and fish out a granola bar. I eat it slowly, watching Wyatt sleep. He snores lightly, deeply, and I wonder if I’ll ever be able to turn it on and off like he does. Shut down when it’s time—turn it on when I need to. Sure, I’m playing a good game. I killed that Eater today. I found the cabin. I’m useful—but what I really want is for the pain to stop. For the memories to disappear. I want the blank eyed look and game face that Wyatt seems to have mastered.

Maybe, if anything, that’s something I can learn from him before we go our separate ways.

Chapter Twenty

~Before~

7 Weeks Earlier

My father arrives midway through our inventory of the medicine cabinet. Once we’re finished we’ll have to ration and figure out a schedule including the additional supplies. He hands over a bag of groceries, nothing much, mostly basics, sugar, flour…

“What the heck is this?” I ask holding up a red can.

“Canned milk.”

“Milk comes in a can? It’s all…warm.”

We add it to the table, knocking over half-full bottles of aspirin and allergy tablets. My mother’s eyes light up as much at the sight of the food as my dad.

His face is covered with a thick mask and he wears protective clothing from his fingers to his toes. His eyes narrow when he sees our organizing, but I know he must be pleased. He’s a planner—a trait he has tried desperately to instill in my mother. She all but runs into his arms once she really realizes he’s here and I’m overwhelmed by their connection. Suddenly, more than anything else, shit seems very, very real.

“Alex,” he says. “Come here.”

I give him a hug and look over his shoulder. I see we’ve got company. “Who’s that?” I ask, eyeing the men in a similar uniform. I feel underdressed. Exposed. What are they afraid of? Us?

“Some people from the lab—well, that one you know.” He pointed to one of the men. “I think you call him “LabGuy.””

He looks up and I catch sight of those killer blue eyes. “Oh, right, hey LabGuy, welcome to our lovely home. I’d offer you something to eat or drink but well, we don’t have enough.”

“Alex!” my mother cried.

“Too soon?” I smile weakly.

My father shook his head. “He’ll take your blood and give you the injection. I need to talk to your mother a bit.”

They disappear down the hall and LabGuy comes over with his weird looking lab kit/briefcase. The other guy waits by the door and I ask, “What’s his deal?”

“Security.”

“You and my dad got a security detail to visit the house?”

He nodded and pulled out his materials, arranging them on the table between us.

“Are you like apocalypse famous or something?” I wait for the crinkle by his eyes, the one that tells me he’s laughing at my jokes, but it never arrives. His normally bright, happy blue eyes are rimmed in red. He’s tired.

Per our routine I gave him my hand and let him swab it with alcohol, feeling the coolness before the sting of the puncture. “So tell me the truth, LabGuy, is this the last time I’m going to see you?”

“This is your last injection. That’s why it was important for us to come here today.”

“Am I the only one still getting these shots?”

His eyes tightened. “Classified, Alexandra, you know that.”

“I thought with the end of the world and all maybe you’d cave.”

He wrapped the Band-Aid around my finger and moved to give me the injection in the crook of my arm. “If it makes you feel better, if I could tell anyone, it would be you.”

“Aww, thanks, LabGuy, you know just how to warm a girl’s heart.”

I wince from the pressure of the injection, happy it’s the last one. This time I get a bandage with smiley faces on it. I watch as he packs up the equipment, feeling once again a heaviness in this moment. I lay my hand on his and meet his eyes. Quietly, I ask, “Things are bad, aren’t they.”

His eyes hold mine for a beat. He says nothing but we both know the truth. I watch as he latches the lab kit and stands, leaving me with a throbbing finger and a dozen questions. I ask the only one I think he’ll truly answer. “You never said, will we see each other again?”

LabGuy stares at me and all I see are his sad eyes. For some irrational reason it all comes down to this, like a game of chance or risk. Like he’s a Magic 8 Ball and my future depends on his reply.

“I really, really hope so, Alex.”

And with that he shuts the door.

Chapter Twenty-One

~Now~

Wyatt sleeps for hours. Eight to be exact. I watch him while he sleeps—trying to figure out his story. His looks fall somewhere between ROTC recruit and off-the-grid mountain man. He’s lean, but I see curves of hard muscles on his arms and shoulders. His bag lies at his feet and I can’t help but wonder what he carries in it. Something makes me doubt it’s family photos and his favorite book.

It’s the smell of food that finally rouses him. The kitchen has a gas stove and I’m able to heat a couple of cans of soup. It feels like a luxury.

The couch creaks and whines under his weight and I watch him as he rubs his face trying to acclimate himself. The top side of his hair is matted down, plastered to the side of his face and sleep lines from his sweatshirt zig-zag across his cheek.

“What time is it?”

“Around ten.” P.M. He’s slept half the night. This way I can sleep the other half. “Here, I made some soup.”

He lumbers over and grabs a bowl, gruffly saying, “Thanks.”

We eat in silence, the scrape of our spoons on the shallow bowls the only noise between us. I’ve been thinking the whole time he slept, wondering about this man and where he came from, how we would go forward together. Did it even make sense?

“You’ve got something on your mind,” he said.

“Just some questions.”

“About me?”

“Yeah.”

“Go ahead.”

“You said you checked out once the borders closed down. What do you know about the E-TR virus?” I ask.

“I know people started getting sick. Acting high and crazy. First they thought it was drugs, then a virus, but there are rumors it’s something else. Something that mutated and burns up the brain. Making them delusional and hallucinate. Major aggression. One minute they were beating the crap out of people—the next they were eating them.” He tipped his bowl to his mouth and drank the rest without a spoon. After wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he said, “Am I missing anything?”

“My mom was obsessed with the news. It was hard to narrow down on the right information since they talk just to hear themselves talking but one thing that came out is that it’s definitely not drugs. It’s a parasite and causes an infection in the brain.”

“A parasite?” he asked.

“Yeah, and then the person becomes a living, breathing parasite and latches on to the next thing he or she can find.”

“By eating them.”

“Yeah.” I stirred my spoon around the bowl, fishing out a stray noodle. “They aren’t dead—not like zombies in a book or movie. They’re just sort of…rabid is a good word.”

“And once they go rabid?”

“There’s no turning back.” At least without a miracle cure. “Once their eyes get black spidery veins it’s like their brain has melted for good. Those are the ones that can pass on the parasite—the infection, for sure.”

“And before then?” he asks.

“I don’t know. That’s sort of the big question, right? They aren’t dead, but they’re sick and do you want to risk it?”

He shook his head. “And there’s no cure or anything?”

I touch the pouch under my shirt. “Not that anyone knows about. I don’t know how long they can survive after they’re infected. Do they need food? Or will they just decompose on their own? Or God knows, maybe something worse.”

“So the “I don’t knows” are bigger than anything else.”

“Yeah, I guess so. I suppose the end of the world was never meant to be logical.”

Wyatt rubs his chin. It’s covered in several days scruff but not a full beard. He must have shaved at the house he’d been holed up in a couple of days ago. His nails rake against the scratchy whiskers, his eyes deep in thought. I’m about to fall over from exhaustion and I say, “I guess I’ll take the back room, if that’s okay?”

“Yeah, sure,” he replies absently.

I get my pack and carry it through the small living room, making sure to have my gun and hatchet with me. It’s not that I don’t trust Wyatt…I mean, I don’t but life has changed. We sleep with weapons. We scavenge for food. Thinking about it too much makes my head—and heart—hurt.

“Alex,” he says when I’m halfway through the bedroom door. “Thanks for making dinner.”

He gives me a smile—or something close to one. I nod in return, holding my hatchet close to my side, thankful for his smile—for that one, very human gesture. At least we still have that.

Chapter Twenty-Two

~Before~

Seven Weeks Earlier

My dad calls me to his office, the one down the hall from my bedroom. I pass my mom who can’t even pretend things are okay. That’s my first signal this isn’t going to go well. The next sign is the look on my father’s face when I enter the room. He’s pulled down his face mask, probably in direct violation of all policies, and held his arms out to me. I’m not the biggest daddy’s girl. I’m more of a can’t-wait-to-get-out-of-the-house kind of girl, but all of this is imploding. Like, the world is imploding and this may be the only chance I may get.

He hugs me tight and starts talking. And talking. We’re like this for minutes, his mouth close to my ear. He tells me everything he knows. That the infection is spreading, it’s an epidemic, and it will kill nearly everyone. Stay away from people. If they’re bitten, run. If you are around someone and their eyes turn black, run. That’s the final sign. That’s the part that means they’re contagious.

“What do we do?” I whisper.

He continues explaining that the military is fighting—building shelters, keeping people safe—but not to go there.

“Wait here for me,” he whispers.

“What if they make us go?” This has happened.  Some communities have already crumbled. People aren’t take the end of the world well.

“Even then. Don’t go. I’m close to solving this.”

“What happens then? When you solve it? Does everything go back to normal?”

“That depends on the military and the government and how quickly they act. How quickly they choose to act. If there’s more coming,” he rambled sounding increasingly distressed. “It has mutated fast and it’s unpredictable. You’ve got to stay with your mother. Wait for me here.”

“And what if you don’t come back?” There’s a reason I’m valedictorian.

“Give me two weeks. Then head south. Find your sister. It’s imperative.”

He pulls something from his pocket, a small rectangular pouch with a string attached to both ends. He loops it over my head and gestures for me to wear it under my shirt. “That is half of a greater whole. Your sister has the other half.”

“You saw her? How did you get it to her? Is she okay?”

“The last time I spoke to her she was okay. She’ll meet you outside Atlanta.” The address is in the pouch. We’re to go find her and wait.

I nod at my father but narrow my eyes, looking for signs of cracks. Is he making this up? Losing his mind? He’s been under pressure for weeks—if not months. He’s brilliant, a genius even, but right now I’m not sure. He’s talking crazy. He sounds like a conspiracy theorist.

He sounds a lot like me.

There’s nothing I can do but agree to his requests. “Two weeks,” I whisper, wondering who is listening. LabGuy? The security person? Do they care?

He hugs me tight and makes me promise one more time.

“I promise. We’ll get Jane. Don’t worry.”

“The military,” he says pausing at the door, hand clenched on my arm. “It’s complicated. They aren’t the bad guys, but they also aren’t the ones that will cure this. They’ll keep you from getting to Jane and that is the most important task right now.”

After that he rushes out of the house, hugging my mother once more. They get into a van—the only vehicle on the street and drive away.

“Two weeks?” I ask my mother, wondering if he told her the same thing.

She nods, wiping away her tears. “At least we have a deadline,” she says looking more confident than before. She needed a plan, something to focus on other than baking and inventorying supplies. My dad knows her better than anyone else and I guess he figured that out. I watch, stunned as she walks back to the kitchen and her list and making sure we have enough supplies until he returns. Or, at least, I hope he returns.

Chapter Twenty-Three

~Now~

I fall asleep and wake to the sound of scratching. I freeze, listening for the howls and screams but realize it’s just mice burrowing in the walls. Their activity is constant, as if they are as disturbed by me as I am by them. I’m too tired to care.

Rubbing my eyes I try to push aside the overwhelming exhaustion. I go to bed and wake up tired. There’s no change. Just pervasive exhaustion. I felt it before when I was with my mom but now it’s different. Now I carry the burden of her death as well.

What’s one more burden in the grand scheme of things? Like the one hanging like a rock against my chest. There are times I forget the pouch is there, it’s almost become part of my body, like the friendship bracelet Liza and I made for one another in the fourth grade. We wore them until the woven thread frayed and fell apart. It’s the final connection to my father—the link that keeps me pushing forward.

I remove the pouch, lifting the strings over my head. It’s made of vinyl, weatherproof. Black and flat, smaller than a wallet—about the size of a credit card. I never opened it before—it was just another piece of my father’s work I would never understand. Now that my mother was gone I felt some need to see what exactly she died for—why we took the risk.

The case is closed by a Ziploc type clasp. I open it carefully and peek inside and find two different square shaped cards tucked snugly inside. I pull them out and hold one eye level between two fingers. The white card has two separate sealed dots of watery red, suspended as though they’re on a lab slide—blood if I had to guess.  I try to bend the edges or peel it apart but nothing happens. If I had to guess I’d say the cards are made of some type of heavy plastic, the window a thick lamination.

The other card is identical in shape and size but this time instead of fluid, two square microchips float under the plastic. I flip the cards front to back. There’s no information other than what I see.

I sigh and carefully return them to the pouch. I’d expected no more. Secret data from a secretive man. I’m assuming my sister knows what to do with them once I find her.

After wrangling my hair into pigtails and washing my face with rusty well water I walk into the kitchen and find Wyatt cleaning his gun. He works methodically, rubbing each inch with a cloth. He’s got a wrinkled piece of paper on the table.

“What’s that?” I ask while opening the package of a half-smushed protein bar.

“It’s a map of the lake area. I found it in the kitchen drawer.”

Wyatt explains that he wants to leave the house soon to search for fuel. Apparently he likes the truck better than hiking. His plan is to leave me at the cabin—under the guise it would be easier for him to go alone and meet me back here.

“No. Let me get one thing clear right now,” I say, hands on my hips, rage boiling beneath the surface. “I’m not sitting around waiting for you to return. If you want to leave and go it alone, then do it. But if we’re sticking together, then we stick together. All the time.”

“That’s a little extreme don’t you think?” he asks. His face is blank other than the tick at the corner of his jaw. God, he can’t stand not being in control all the time.

“No, I don’t. I have no desire to wait around all day to see if you survived or not. Waiting around to get attacked or spending time looking for you if we separate.”

“Okay then,” he says rubbing the back of his neck. “We never separate.”

“Never separate. That’s rule number one.”

“Got it,” he agrees although I’m not entirely sure he agrees at all. “What’s rule number two?”

“I’ll let you know,” I say with a bright smile.

I follow him down the porch steps, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his gray t-shirt. He’s carrying a rusted gas can that he found out back near the carport. The bottom is covered in dirt and leaves.

“Maybe a boat?” I suggest, thinking of places to get gas. “I think there are more boats up here than cabins. We could hit up the marina.”

“How far is that?”

I unfold the paper map. “Maybe a half a mile that way?” I say pointing around the curve of the lake.

We stick to the tree line, following a rough trail around the lake. Wyatt is on alert—another thing that nags at my spidey-senses. He seems to be either on or off, the off button only activating when he’s asleep. Even then I’m not sure. He has to have some sort of military background.

“You said the Eaters aren’t dead, right?” he asks after a couple of minutes.

“That’s what they say.”

“So how do they exist otherwise? Do they hang out together? Watch TV? I don’t get it?”

“I don’t either, first of all because I’m not hanging out with them and second, because the stupid virus keeps mutating.” I sigh, annoyed with all the questions. “I think they go in sleep mode or just search for food. They’re parasites. They want to feed.” He looks skeptical and I snap. “Do I look like I would have the answers to all this? I’m eighteen for Christ’s sake.”

He turned and gave me the once over. “Eighteen?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“What?”

Those shoulders move up and down. “Just thought you seemed younger.”

“How old are you?”

‘Twenty–two.”

Seems about right since he doesn’t look like the boys from my high school but not quite like a man either. I’ve got nothing else to say on the subject, but it doesn’t matter because we’ve reached the marina. A couple dozen boats fill the slips, some definitely nicer than others. “Too bad we can’t sail to Georgia,” I joke, eyeing an extremely nice cabin cruiser.

We wait and watch but there’s no movement other than the slight rocking of the boats from the water. The waves lap against the sides, and we walk out in the open, down the dock between the slips. “We’ll search each one,” Wyatt says. “One searches—the other keeps watch. Look for anything useful but mostly extra fuel.”

We start the process, alternating jobs. I find an unplugged mini-fridge with sodas inside. I stash two in my bag. In another, Wyatt uncovers an emergency kit, complete with knife and flares. “Good find,” I say looking at the flare gun. It could come in handy.

We save the biggest boats for last, both huge boats, one with a slide off the top deck. Wyatt jimmies the lock using the knife we just found.

“Check it out,” he says stepping back on the deck.

I climb down the stairs and find myself in the most luxurious boat I’ve ever seen. It’s way nicer than my aunt’s cabin. Okay, way, way nicer. I make a quick search but don’t find anything useful. There’s a full bar over the sink, and an enormous bed. The seats are leather and I do find several packages of fancy crackers in a cabinet.

I hear a knock on the door and I race up the steps to find Wyatt standing on the deck with his back to me, rifle drawn.

“Dude, come see this place, you’ll never believ—”

I hear the Eaters before I see them, growling loud in unison. Five below and two climbing the ladder to get on board. Wyatt lunges, fighting one off and I reach for my hatchet. “I’ve got this,” he yells swinging his gun like a sword. The Eater’s head cracks down the side and blood spills from its ears and mouth. Wyatt flips the gun around and pulls the trigger, unloading into the now, very dead man.

“They’re still coming,” I say, the echo of the gunshot alerting others to our whereabouts. They file out of the small marina shop on the other side of the dock. I rush forward and attack the one at the top of the ladder, slicing into her throat. Blood gurgles and I recoil, vomit rising up the back of my own throat. She falls backwards taking the other Eater with her. They fall in a jumbled heap on the dock. Two more take their place, spastically climbing the ladder.

“Where are they all coming from?” I ask breathing heavy.

“I don’t know. It’s like they were hiding or something.”

Wyatt goes after the next one coming up the ladder and I glance over the edge. They’re scrambling to climb on one another’s shoulders. Organized. Intentional.

“Should we jump?” I ask looking at the water.

“We’d sink with the packs on.”

He’s right. I swing my hatchet cutting off the hands of an Eater climbing up the railing but there are too many, coming from all sides. Eyes black, drooling mouths, rage building in their chests. They’re so very angry—I can sense the hatred they have for me—for the living.

I swing at one climbing over the rail but he’s too big and my hatchet only swipes at the side of his arm. Another grabs me by the throat, screeching in my ear.

“Alex!” Wyatt yells, rushing toward me. He knocks the Eater off, bashing his head in with the butt of his rifle. “Let’s go!”

“What? No! We’ve got this!” I shout.

“Get in,” he grunts. He left the door open, and when I get close enough he shoves me in. I tumble down the stairs, landing hard on my side. The door shuts with a slam, as the Eater’s bang against it from the outside. I scramble to my feet, convinced they’ll get inside but I hear the bolts sliding across the door with a loud snap.

“What the hell?” I say. “We could have taken them.”

“That should keep them out,” Wyatt says. Sweat drips off his forehead and when he tosses his pack to the floor I see the front of his shirt is soaked too.

“Yeah,” I say. “But how do we get out of here? That’s the only exit.”

He shakes his head and says, “This gives us time to figure out a plan, I couldn’t hold them off.”

That’s when I notice how pale his face is and that the stain on the front of his shirt isn’t water but blood. “You’re hurt.” I stiffen—a familiar dread bubbles to the surface.

Wyatt lifts the hem of his shirt reveling a long cut. Blood drips down his side, soaking into the top of his cargo pants. “It’s not from them. I ran into something on the side of the boat.”

“Lie down,” I order and he complies, crawling on his hands and feet to the leather couch. He sprawls across the cushion with a groan.

“Can I look?”

He nods, jaw tight. I kneel next to him and look at the wound. It’s ugly—red and bleeding. I run to the small kitchen and find a towel hanging near the sink—grabbing a bottle of alcohol at the same time. Soaking the towel, I press it against the cut and watch his nose wrinkle in pain.

“Does it need stitches?” he asks.

“I have no idea.” I admit.

“Can I see that for a second?”

I hand him the bottle, filled halfway to the top with clear liquid. Wyatt lifts his body and takes two long pulls before dropping  on his back.

“Better?”

He laughs. “A little.”

The cries from outside have subsided a little bit. Maybe they’ll lose interest and go away. I don’t know. That’s the problem with this whole new world. Too many new rules and I don’t understand any of them.

I sit on the floor next to Wyatt, keeping pressure on his wound, careful not to lift it and stop the clotting. I guess we’ll know soon enough if he needs stitches, I just hope he doesn’t bleed out before then.

“Hey, Alex,” he says, his voice soft.

“What?”

“Guess you were right about that whole never separate thing.” He graces me with a smile, a real one, and it almost knocks me back. I blush at the compliment, which is dumb, but it makes me wonder is he flirting with me? Do I want him to flirt?

No. I don’t. I just want to get to Atlanta in one piece and this guy will help me get there.

I realize then that there’s something else I’m not prepared for. Dealing with men in the apocalypse.

Chapter Twenty-Four

~Before~

Six Weeks Earlier

My mother and I wait. There’s little else to do. The state is on quarantine. Emergency shelters are filling up and new ones are created daily. If you don’t have enough food or water or need assistance the television and auto-calls tell you where to go. How to cover your mouth and nose and wait for the shuttle to pick you up. Everyone remain calm. That’s the key. Keep calm and cover your mouth. The meme for the end of the world.

We don’t leave for the shelter—even though it’s shifting from voluntary to mandatory. We probably have another week before it’s enforced. Hopefully my father will be back by then.

A week after my last shot, the day my father left, I hear a knock at the back door.

My mother is in the basement, organizing baby clothes. It’s better than sleeping or watching the endless loop of news. Whatever it took to calm her mind. What do I do? Our cell phones no longer work. All lines are being used to relay the emergency messages. Texting has ceased. The internet still works so I troll it constantly for new information and run on the treadmill. Suddenly stamina seems important.

I push the curtain back and peek outside. Liza waits on the back step and I open the door quickly, pulling her inside.

“Did anyone see you?” I asked, searching the yard.

“No,” she said. “No one is out. Not even the police.”

“Is it scary out there?”

She shrugs and we walk up to my room. Behind the closed, locked door she says, “It’s just weird. Quiet. Strange. I had to get out of my house. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

“Me too,” I agree.  “Have you seen the others? Olivia or Matt?” Matt lives two doors down from Liza. She would have stopped there first.

She blinks and looks to the side. “Not Olivia. But yeah, I’ve seen Matt. He said they came and took Olivia and her family away.”

“Oh, my God, who?”

“People in those white suits, the kind that looks like an astronaut? They took them all away.”

“When was this?” I haven’t seen anything like this on my street but most of my neighbors are old. They followed the government’s directions and several had left for the shelters. Two families packed up their cars and left the city—to where? I have no clue.

“Right after the party.”

“Do you think they caught the virus?”

“I don’t know, but they came for Robert’s family too. I haven’t heard from any others.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly,” she says. “Do you think it was from the party?”

“I don’t know.” A tight, sick feeling spreads through my stomach.

”My mom is talking about running away. Getting in the car and going.”

“That sounds like a bad idea,” I told her but I’m lying. It sounded like the best idea. I think of it every night, plotting and planning our escape. But we can’t go yet. Not until my dad comes back.

“We have family near the beach. Maybe it’s not so bad there?”

“Maybe not.”

We sit across from one another on my purple and green comforter, the one I got for my birthday when I was thirteen. Liza and I have shared so many things together in this room. So many secrets and dreams.

I take her hand in mine and squeeze. We have one more thing to do. We both know it. I can tell by the look in her eye, the way she sniffs, trying not to lose it.

This is our chance. We have to say goodbye.

Chapter Twenty-Five

~Now~

Tucked under the hull of the boat, Wyatt sleeps and I wait. The Eaters have calmed and through the small windows I watch them slow, their intense anger passing for the time. They don’t leave, but their aggression wanes. It seems to flare when they come in contact with the uninfected.

None of those observations help us get off of this boat.

After I’m sure he won’t bleed out, I lock myself in the bathroom. It’s tiny, but the water is fresh. I duck my head under the showerhead letting the cold water wash away the dirt and grime. To clean off Wyatt’s dried blood that stuck against my palms like paint. Who knew when I’d have the chance to bathe again fully. To make it better, a small container of greenish-blue shampoo had been left in the shower and I lather up.

Drying off the best I can, I change into new clothes and wash the ones I’ve been wearing for the past couple of days. The water in the sink turns brown but I swirl them in the soap and pretend it’s enough.

The fresh set of clothing I put on are my favorite. The ones I’ve been saving—for what I didn’t know. I have a desire to feel clean and take a moment to look in the small mirror mounted on the door.

The black shirt has a retro style kitty cat on the front. I tug up my green cargo pants and tie the shirt in a knot at the waist. Tender bruises spot my neck from the Eater attack on the deck. I’ve already lost weight and the muscles in my normally soft arms and legs are more defined from the hours of hiking and lugging the extra weight of my pack. I take a moment to loop the pouch over my head and squeeze the extra water out of my hair.

Hanging my wet clothes on the edge of the sink I consider that Wyatt’s clothing could use a good scrubbing too. Not that I want to set myself up to be his housekeeper but he’s not in the condition to do it himself.

I push open the door and saw him awake and leaning against the seat cushion. Shirtless.

Oh boy.

“Hey,” he says without glancing up.

“This place isn’t so bad. Beats my aunt’s cabin in a way. Maybe we should camp out here for a day or two and regroup,” I say jokingly. It’s all a ruse to pretend I’m not staring at his chest. And shoulders. And the way all that stuff works together. I focus on the strips of bandages I fashioned around his wound last night. A dark spot of blood has seeped through. “Give you time to heal.”

His eyes are glued to my movements. It makes me uncomfortable. I feel the heat on my cheeks. “What?”

His eyes snap from wherever he was looking to my face.

“You changed and you’re…wet.”

“There’s a shower, but I’m not sure you need to get that cut wet.”

I find my comb and run it through my hair, dividing it into two, equal pigtails beneath my ears. “What do you think? Stay here or go? There’s the extra bed and unlike the cabin there aren’t any mice biting my toes.”

He glanced at me again but put his feet firmly on the ground. He winced when he stood, but his balance was okay. “We go.”

“Seriously?” I ask. “There’s a bunch of Eaters outside. Can’t we wait until something else distracts them?”

“How do we know something will?” He’s acting weird. Or is he? I don’t really know him. I mean, I know nothing about him at all. Maybe he’s moody as hell on a good day.

“Let me clean up,” he says. “Then we can work out a plan. I don’t like waiting around. We’re basically cornered if anyone else finds us.”

“Who else would find us?”

He squeezes past me, warm hands on my shoulders. I stare at his lower back and the way his muscles arch and curve as he enters the bathroom. It’s very…well, it’s a lot to take in.

He spins suddenly, hand on the door. Again he gives me a smile—one that makes my stomach flutter. No, Alex. No. We are not doing this—whatever “this” is.

“I like that shirt,” he says.

I look down at the cat, its eyes narrowed suspiciously. Glancing up to respond, he’s already closed the door. This man—this guy—Wyatt. He’s dangerous in more ways than one.

Chapter Twenty-Six

~Before~

Five Weeks Earlier

The second week passes. My father doesn’t return. We pack. We sort. We pick through our things trying to find our favorites. Then we repack and re-sort and narrow down our favorite things to a favorite thing. It sucks.

It’s the end of the world.

The news has stopped. The talking heads are gone. I suspect they’re sick or in quarantine. Cable is off the air—we’re stuck with local channels, each with the same message. Go to your nearest shelter. Cover your mouth and nose. Do not approach anyone.

It’s more about what they don’t say. They don’t talk about the Eaters. The ones we’ve all seen if not on the television but in real life. For us it was Mr. Johnson down the street. He’s one. Or was. Eyes spidery and black. He paced outside the house, banging on the doors, busting windows. He threatened Mrs. Johnson and finally the white van came, one like Liza described. Emergency workers in hazmat suits loaded them in. Mr. and Mrs. Johnson. He was no longer moving.

Curtains up and down the street fluttered with interest as the transport bus drove away. A loud speaker announced we could go too—another vehicle would be here to take us to the shelter. Pack your belongings. Take the bus. All is well.

My mother and I eyed one another after that and I felt guilty for my visit with Liza. What if she’d been exposed? What if we’d all been exposed at the graduation party? Was it worth it?

Doesn’t matter now.

Helicopters fly overhead day and night. Most are dark, military style. From the window I can see the soldiers holding large guns. They swoop close to the trees. At night their lights roll over the grass in the backyard, the neighbor’s roof. They’re looking for something. Survivors? Eaters? I’m not sure.

We fought about leaving, until the night of the explosion. I still don’t know what blew up. Mom guessed the gas station just outside our subdivision. I told her this was probably true, but the helicopters make me wary. Either way that was what finally made us decide to leave. We’re sitting ducks in this house and it’s increasingly clear Dad isn’t coming back, just like he predicted may happen.

We leave my father a note. Really, we leave him ten notes. One on his desk. Another on the black TV screen. One on the empty refrigerator. Two more in the bedroom. My mother is convinced he’ll come in and miss it. To make her happy I write a big one, in large, block letters on the whiteboard next to the refrigerator.

At Aunt Josephine’s

Love You

Sarah and Alex

“Do you think he’ll know what that means?” my mom asks.

“Yes, he’ll know.”

“I should take that tube of hand lotion by the bed, don’t you think?” This is my mother during the end of the world. Concerned about hand lotion.

“If you have room.” I adjust the straps on her backpack—the extra one I had from camp last year.

“Maybe our marriage certificate? Or our wills?”

“I don’t think you need those.” But she looks on the verge of breaking. Her hair has grayed over the last week and the lines near her mouth tugged downward. My mother never looked old. Not until today.

I wonder if I looked different.

“Are you ready?” I finally ask. We’ve both gone to the bathroom twice each. We ran out of toilet paper three days ago.

“Yes.” Her eyes say no.

“Do you understand the way we’re going?” We’ve been over the map. We’ve got to get out of the neighborhood first—going through backyards and the trail behind the school. I’ve been over it a million times in my head, awake every night, making an escape plan. My mother sorts household items and I plot our escape. It’s how I remain sane. As of today, I have three solid ones. A, B and C. I hoped A will work. I want A to work.

“Yes,” she says. “If we get split up we’ll meet at the small shed behind the Baptist church on Sherwood Street.”

“Right.”

“But we won’t get split up.”

“No. We won’t.”

She looks around the house. At her life. I feel her anguish. “Are you sure we shouldn’t—”

“Mom, he told us to go. He said not to stay here.” The pouch weighs heavy on my chest. A promise I had to keep. I pray it isn’t a promise made to a mad man.

“Okay.” Resolved this time.

I lead us out the backdoor, the lock snapping shut. It’s near dark. We chose this time of day on purpose. We can slip through our neighbor’s yards and behind the school. We can get to the Baptist church in an hour or so, even if we take it slow.

The grass is wet on our ankles. My mother’s hand is in mine and we leave. We leave the house. We leave my father. I don’t look back.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

~Now~

“Okay then,” I say spreading the map on the table. “Once we get off this boat where do you want to go?”

“South.” Wyatt laces his shoes. The soap in his hair and on his skin smells so good. Already, the things we took for granted noticeable. Soap was definitely a luxury.

“But where specifically? I like to have a destination.” I still haven’t told him I have a destination—I want to know where he’s going first.

He stands and walks over, eyes narrowed at the map. He points to a spot just south of the reservoir. “There.”

“Asheboro?”

“Sure.”

“What’s there?” I ask. “Looks pretty deserted.”

“Good, less risk.”

I inhale and add, “Look, I got this far by having a detailed plan. My mom and I had it all mapped out. We got off track sometimes but we kept going. It makes me nervous not to have something organized.”

“Okay well, what was your plan after you got to your aunt’s cabin?”

Wait for my dad.

Go to my sister.

“We didn’t have one,” I lied. “We sort of planned on staying here for a little while.”

Wyatt adjusts his ridiculous top-knot and quips, “Things are changing pretty fast, Alex. I want to get south as fast as possible. You can stay here if you want but I’m going and my next stop—if we make it—is Pittsboro. It looks big enough to have some shelter and some retail for supply restocking.”

I nod and fold up the map, knowing he’s right.

“Anyway,” he says. “Getting off this boat is going to be the real challenge anyway.

“Why?”

He’s looking out one of the small windows. “There are more out there. All over the deck. They don’t seem real active right now but they’ll rouse pretty quickly once we make a move.”

I push him aside and try to get a look. I can’t see much but there are definitely more arms and legs up there than when we came in. We may have only managed to corner ourselves.

“Shit, okay. So how do we want to do this?”

“We’ll have to fight our way out and get off the deck. We’ll run back the way we came and then loop around the lake.”

I eyed his gun. “How many bullets do you have?”

“Enough but I’m not keen to waste them. Your hatchet is good—you just need to be fast. I’ll try to knock most out with the butt of my gun, but I’ve got a knife too.”

He held up the shiny silver blade and rubbed it on his pants.

“Do you ever feel bad about it? Killing them?”

“They’re as good as dead, Alex. I’m just making the reality come a little faster.” He stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He grimaces from the pain in his side and I’m even more convinced leaving now isn’t the best idea.

He seems determined though, so I strap on my pack. Wyatt stops at the small kitchen and picks up a can of bug spray.  “What’s that for?”

“Just a little extra insurance.”

I follow him up the small flight of steps and he turns, handing me his gun. “Hold this until I need it—and stay behind me.”

“What?” I ask, but I see the lighter in his hand. He’s going to blow torch the Eaters off the boat. The thought makes my stomach turn.

“On the count of three, open the door, and then duck behind me.” I lean around him and grip the door handle. “One, two…three!”

I don’t hesitate and once I’ve released the lock Wyatt kicks the door open. It doesn’t budge so he kicks again, this time getting a little movement. A deep moan sounds from the other side and he says, “That mother f-er is blocking the door.” To my absolute horror he thumbs the lighter and the torch bursts to life through the tiny opening.

The fiber glass door melts but the moan outside turns to a screech of pain. We’re able to get the opening clear and even from my spot behind Wyatt I can see the Eater waving his fiery, blazing arm in panic. The other Eaters are only attuned to us for attack and they come straight toward the flame with no concern for their welfare. Truly their brains must no longer be functioning. I jump as each one lights up like dry kindling.

“Holy crap,” I say swinging my hatchet at one coming from behind. His head splits in two and when he falls I see that dozens have surrounded the boat. Wyatt may be able to blow-torch our way out of here but we’ll most likely end up on fire ourselves. “The fire’s not stopping them!”

I got ready to attack an Eater stumbling my way. Her upper body engulfed in flames but she stops, dropping with a thud to the ground. Before I can react two more drop and I glance at Wyatt, who has tossed the bug spray and has out his gun but hasn’t pulled the trigger.

Thwick.

Thwick.

Two more of the Eater’s drop. This time I notice the yellow tinged feathers sticking out the body. Arrows. I glance around and say, “Someone’s shooting them.”

“Them or us?”

Thwick. Thud. Thwick. Thud.

“Them,” I say, because each arrow is a direct hit and none have come close to us.

“Let’s get out of here,” Wyatt says tugging on my arm. We hop off the boat, Wyatt holding on to the railing and kicking an Eater in the face. The motion tears the wound on his side and I hear the rewarding sound of a snapped neck. We fight our way through a small group, slashing and hacking. Once we’re through we race down the dock as planned.

“Who do you think that was?” I ask trying to catch my breath. Wyatt favors his left side, leaning away from this wound. I’d like to look at it—to see how bad it is but it’s not my place.

“No clue but I’d like to give them a big kiss.”

“Well,” I huff. “You may get your chance.” I point to the two people walking in our direction. From the edge of the tree line I make out a couple—male and female plucking arrows from the bodies of fallen Eater’s.

“I don’t know,” he says, his voice hard. “I don’t like being in someone’s debt, and we owe them big.”

“Well, I don’t like the idea of not thanking someone for saving our lives.”

We watch the pair come closer and Wyatt’s body visibly tenses as they cross the dock. For a moment, I think he may just bolt and leave—he has the right to, but he holds position. He waits by my side, and I get the feeling maybe we really are a team after all. I’m not sure what to make of that.

“Last chance,” he whispers, but it’s already too late. They’re too close and the male, his eyes are locked with mine. And the female? Well, her eyes are raking over Wyatt. When I glance at him I realize he’s watching her back.

Crap. Things just got way more complicated.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

~Before~

Five Weeks Earlier

My mother relies on me to navigate. She doesn’t have the experience of combing every inch of the neighborhood like I have since childhood. The games of Hide and Seek or Capture the Flag. The familiarity is good. The woods seem safe. It’s quiet. So very quiet.

Even though my mother has never been back here she still has her sense of direction and when I take a detour she notices. “Where are you going?”

I decide to be honest. “To check on Liza. I haven’t heard from her since the phones went out.”

She hesitates. “This is not in the plan. It goes against all the rules.”

“Mom, I have to check on her.”

“Alex, it’s too dangerous.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “She’s my best friend. I may never see her again. We may never see any of this again. Give me a chance to say goodbye.”

“You have five minutes and you can’t go in the house.”

“Okay.”

We traipse through Liza’s large backyard. Mom perches on the edge of a patio chair, tucked in a dark corner and I walk to Liza’s window. A pile of tools lies on the ground, as though someone forgot to put them up when they finished working. I stepped over a hammer and pushed the rake against the wall. Grabbing a handful of pebbles from under the rosebushes, I toss one at the second story window. I miss so I toss another, this time it clinks loud against the glass. I throw two more when I see a shadow cross the window.

“Liza!” I whisper yell. Again, I see shadows but no actual movement by the window. “Liza!”

I hear a bump, not from above, but from the window closest to me. I assume it’s her parent’s bedroom on the main floor. This time the curtain flutters and I take step back. A familiar face pops into view.

“Matt?”

He lifts the window an inch or two. I notice the dark purple marks under his eyes. He’s exhausted.  “Hey, Alex.”

“What are you doing here? Where’s Liza.”

“Upstairs,” he replies. “She’s…she’s locked in her room.”

My stomach twists in a knot. “Why?”

I know why.

He knows that I know why.

“It happened after the party. Everyone got sick. Someone there must have been infected and contaminated the punch.”

“But I saw her—did she know?”

He shook his head. “No. She didn’t know. I broke curfew and snuck around some. I went to all the houses of the kids I knew. They all have—no had the E-TR virus. Most are dead.”

Most but not all.

“But you’re okay?” I search his eyes. They look clear, no sign of the spidery infection.

He shrugs but looks over his shoulder. “No. I’m not okay. You should probably get out of here.”

“Is there anything I can do? Do you need help?”

A loud thump comes from behind him and I hear a low, hungry growl. “Matt?”

“We’re all dead, Alex. Our families, our friends. We signed a death warrant the minute we went to that party.”

What is he saying? That we’re all infected? Me too?  It’s too late to ask though because the moan turns to a guttural roar.

“Run while you can,” he says calmer than he should.

He slams the window shut but his hand catches in the curtain, tearing it off the rod. A thin arm reaches for him, teeth bared. I step back, terrified I’ll see Liza. Eater Liza. For some reason, Matt doesn’t fight back.

Why?

A figure moves close to the window and it’s not the sheet of long blonde hair I expect from my best friend. Black, black eyes skim past me and her hand scratches the window. It’s not Liza. It’s Patricia, Liza’s sister.

Blood drips from her mouth. Matt’s blood.

She screams and I stumble backwards, over the rake and piles of tools. I reach for one and my hand lands on something heavy and sharp. I struggle to my feet and hold up the tool—a hatchet, panicked and freaked. I’m caught in my own struggle. Do I finish them? Do I let this happen?

Before I can make a choice I hear the sound of a blade slicing through flesh. The solid thud of something heavy falling to the floor.  The screaming stops and another figure moves in front of the window. I recognize the profile.

“Jason?”

Matt’s brother faces me, grief settles over his features.

“Get out of here, Alex,” he says clutching a long knife between his hands.

“Are you okay? Do you need help? Where’s Liza?” The questions tumble out.

“Go. Run. Let me take care of this.”

“Alex?” I hear from across the yard. We both look toward the voice but when I turn back he’s gone. Having little other choice, I run, furious with myself that I’ve brought my mother here.

“Mom?” She comes running from the dark.

“What’s happening?”

I glance up one last time and see that same shadow hovering just inside the room. Matt and Olivia are gone. I had to assume Liza was as well.

“They’re gone.”

“Who? Liza’s family? I heard a scream.”

“That was just me—I’m just upset.” That wasn’t a lie. Tears piled up behind my eyes and I walked through the backyard back to the woods.

“Maybe they got to the emergency shelter.”

We step into the darkness, hands shaking. How close had I become to being Jason—killing my friends and loved ones. Exposing myself. Running was the cowards way out, but it was the only way to survive. I lead my mother into the woods and once again say goodbye to that life. For real this time.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

~Now~

They introduce themselves as Cole and Chloe. Twins, it seems, right down to the way their lips turn up at the edges of their mouths and their slow moving gait. You’d think they hadn’t just annihilated two dozen Eaters’ and saved our lives.

“That move with the fire was pretty cool,” Chloe says as an opening. Guessing, I’d say they’re a little older than Wyatt. She has pretty long blonde curly hair, tied at the back of her neck. Their eyes are identical, clear blue. Cole wears his hair short and wavy, curling over his ears and at the nape of his neck. They’re an attractive pair. From the way Wyatt’s eyes keep roaming over Chloe’s body I assume he agrees. A different feeling bubbles in my stomach and this one doesn’t feel as nice.

“It worked until they started running toward us like moving torches. Nothing stops these guys until they’re dead,” Wyatt says thoughtfully. “Did you notice that? Even set on fire their anger and rage toward didn’t stop.”

I nod, unable to find my voice around the new people. It’s stupid since I’m the one that pushed waiting for them. Cole kneels on the ground, wiping brain and guts off the tips of a handful of arrows in the dirt. An impressive bow—compound, I assume is strapped to his back. His sister has a matching one.

“How long were you guys up there?” Cole asks. His intent eyes are on me. I have no choice but to reply.

“About twenty-four hours. We got a little cornered. Thanks for helping us out of that jam.”

“It’s getting harder and harder to find people outside the containment areas, well, at least those that aren’t sick.” Chloe frowns, eyes on Wyatt’s seeping wound. “You aren’t, are you?”

“No,” Wyatt says in a tone that ends the conversation. He glances at me.  “I think we should get moving.”

“Want me to check it?” Cole asks.

“Cole is—well, was—an EMT,” Chloe says.

“Not now,” Wyatt replies.

The twins give each other a look. I’m assuming wondering about the wound. They can trust us or not, I don’t care. “Ready?” I ask Wyatt.

Cole nods at me. “Where are you headed?

“South,” I reply vaguely.

“To Charlotte? The cities are crazy.”

“No, not to the city. I’m looking for someone further south,” I say, realizing that I just admitted out loud my destination is a someone, not just a somewhere. The twins share another look heavy with skepticism and it’s enough to spur me forward. I move past Wyatt down the trail we’d already chosen. I’m pleased to see he follows me.

“I should check your cut,” I say quietly. “Or let that guy—if he’s really an EMT. He may be able to suture it or something.”

“It’s fine.”

I roll my eyes but don’t push it. I’ll make him show it to me later.

There’s a rush of feet behind us and Cole catches up, asking me, not Wyatt, “Mind if we tag along? We’re a little aimless.”

I shrug but Wyatt, to my surprise, says, “Yeah. That bow came in handy. Just so we’re clear though, as long as we travel together, Alex is the navigator. She has a head for maps and planning.”

“Sounds good to me,” Cole says falling into line. My cheeks burn from the compliment and a quick look at Chloe tells me she’s not entirely keen on the idea. But I understand their predicament. They already have one another. If I didn’t have Jane to find in Atlanta where would I go?

Chapter Thirty

~Before~

Five Weeks Earlier

We make it safely to the church around three a.m. The weight of what happened at Liza’s house presses down on my shoulders. They’re dead. All of them. But what about me? Am I infected?

I have no idea what tests my father had been taking or giving me, but I’m not dumb. Obviously. It’s related to ETR virus. If I’d been exposed he would have said something that last day. I would be sick now, like the others.

I push the idea of out my head and follow the path next to the playground, toward the back of the church. The moon lights up the sky enough that we move easily without flashlights. The storage shed is visible next to the big, plastic slide. It’s small, but it should work for the night.

“There’s a lock on the door,” Mom whispers, pointing to the padlock and chain.

On my tiptoes, I reach my hand under the eave and feel around for the spare key I knew they kept up there a couple of years ago. My arm strains and a brief panic flares in my chest. What if they moved it? Or maybe I made it up? I’m about to give up when my fingers brush against the smooth metal. I smile and hold the shiny brass key up for her to see.

“How did you know that?”

“Remember that summer I helped at the bible school?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I worked on the recreation team. We had to get supplies, like the tents and water containers out of here. This is the key we used.” Kids also came back at night and smoked—made-out—whatever they were into in the shed. A key and a locked door always held appeal. For me it became a flicker of a memory that gave me a destination.

The key works and I carefully unloop the chain and lock. Once we’re inside the shelter we turned on our flashlights. I relock the door but this time from the inside.

The storage building is tight—filled with a lot of supplies. It smells like dust and gasoline but we make a small spot for ourselves in the back corner. It goes without saying we both wish we were at home right now.

“I guess we should take some of these tarps and use them to sit on, right?” I ask.

Mom nods as clueless as I am about how to hide out in a tool shed. We’re so out of our league here. I mean, we’re not even one of those camping families.

We settle onto the blue tarps and I pull out a bottle of water and a peanut butter sandwich from my bag.

“Mom, you should eat yours.”

“No, thanks,” she says. “I just want to rest for a minute.”

I’m not happy at her refusal to eat but the weariness on her face keeps me from fighting. “I think we should stay here until it gets dark again, don’t you? That gives us plenty of time to sleep.”

Mom nods her head and leans against the wooden wall. “How did you ever even think to pick this spot?”

“Well, I looked at the map and made a list of the places I could remember on the way out of town. Random stuff that seemed like it would be safe. When I saw the church was on the way I added it to the list.”

“Do you think there are people inside?”

“Maybe, I guess people going to church at a time like this makes sense, but I really think most people went to the emergency shelters or have locked themselves in at home.”

Mom’s forehead creases. “What if we should have gone to the shelter?”

“Dad said not to.”

“Dad isn’t always right, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” I almost smile at the change in our positions. Mom isn’t one to criticize my father. “But he gave us pretty specific instructions. I think we have to trust him.”

She rolls her sweatshirt into a pillow and dozes off against the wall. I take out my map and study it, touching each of the marks I’ve made with my finger. If we can keep to this schedule we’ll be okay. Each step of the journey manageable. One stop per day—long rest periods.

The real problem isn’t when we get out of the suburbs. It’s more when we have to cross from the neighborhoods into the more urban, industrialized areas. Places I’m not familiar with.

I take a deep breath, one filled with dust and grease, and try to settle my nerves. One day at a time, I tell myself, settling into my pack. With one last glance around I turn off the flashlight, cloaking us in the impenetrable dark.

Chapter Thirty-One

~Now~

“First stop is Asheboro,” I say. “It’s only sixty miles away but if there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s that everything takes twice as long. Even if we do have a car.”

“You have a car?” Chloe says moving closer.

“A truck,” Wyatt says. We’re looping back to the cabin through some dense woods. I’m still not sure how I feel about taking these two with us, but I do like having extra eyes on watch.

“We had a car but ran out of gas and had a couple of close calls with the Army, so we decided just to hike,” Cole says.

“Makes sense,” I say. My mother and I walked the whole way from Cary the suburb we lived in to outside of Raleigh. It definitely had made it easier to stay out of sight. But now that she’s gone, I’m even more anxious to get to my sister. We can cover two to three times the distance in the truck. “We decided to stick it out with the truck as long as it lasts.”

“No complaints here,” Chloe says.

We find the cabin and the truck the way we left it, including the way the rock hiding the key hangs slightly askew. As outdated and rustic as the cabin has become, I do have a familial connection to it and leaving it feels a little bittersweet. Plus it feels stupid to leave somewhere safe. /Maybe Jane and I could come back here one day. Because of this, I decide not to make any move to go back inside and alert Cole and Chloe to my connection to the place. It’s no surprise when Wyatt tosses his bag in the back of the truck and opens the door, without even a glance at the cabin. He’s ready to move on.

The twins climb in the back, feet loud on the metal truck bed. I open and close the creaky door, inhaling the familiar scent of the cab. I shove my bag between my feet. Wyatt fishes the key out from under the seat and cranks the engine. It rumbles to life, interrupting the ever present silence.

When we finally reach the main road I whisper, “Do you think it’s a mistake bringing them along?”

“You’re the one that pushed this.”

“Don’t pretend like you’re not into that guy’s hunting skills,” I tell Wyatt. “Look, I know I pushed it, but now I’m second guessing myself. I didn’t realize when we said hello that they would end up in the back of the truck. It’s not like we know anything about them.”

He chuckles softly. “It’s not like we know one another.”

“No, I guess not.”

Wyatt palms the large steering wheel, arms tense. “If you want to ditch them we can, but you saved my ass the other day—twice with the doctoring on the boat. It doesn’t hurt to have a little back up—we both saw what they did with those bows. They’re not weak, but they also don’t seem too crazy. If they are we’ll deal with it at the time.”

I hope the time doesn’t come when we aren’t expecting it.

“Okay, we’re human. We need humans,” I say more to myself than to him. “Stick to our rules and we’ll be okay.”

“Rules?”

“Mother f-er, Wyatt. Did you forget already?” I notice the quirk of his eyebrow and quiver on his lip. Were in the middle of the zombie apocalypse and this guy is making jokes. Asshole. I punch him in his rock hard arm and wince.

“Never separate,” he says, eyes steady with mine. “One day I think you’ll regret making that rule.”

I turn, red faced and look out the window. He’s probably right.

***

As expected the short trip takes longer than I’d have liked. We’re forced to make time to stop for gas, siphoning it from a couple of cars stranded in the middle of a parking lot. The shops in this abandoned plaza were long gone before the epidemic, hit hard by small town economics. No reason to scavenge or look around. Chloe and I keep watch while the guys take turns figuring out how to get the gas out of one car and into the rusted metal can we found at the cabin.

“Where did Cole get that tubing?” I ask wiping sweat off my forehead. It’s hot and the parking lot feels like I’m standing in the middle of an oven. Chloe has damp spots soaking through her shirt. We’re looking for Eaters, military or just anything that moves.

“Lucky for you my brother has a survivalist streak. He has spent way too many hours watching those adventure shows on TV and YouTube videos on how to make a purse out of a squirrel. He’s got all kinds of things in his backpack that he has plans to MacGyver into something useful.”

“I guess that hobby has come in handy,” I say. “Better than spending all your free time on the internet playing war games. Or at least that’s what my m…” I choke and can’t finish the word.

“That may come in handy now too, you never know. Maybe you’ve developed some shooting skills or something,” Chloe says, oblivious to my pain.

I try to determine if she’s serious or taking a jab. She’s hard to read.

“True. You’re not bad with that bow. Guess you picked up on some of it.”

She flicks her eyes to the sky. “Our dad taught us.”

“That’s cool. My dad is a scientist.”

She cuts her eyes at me. “Is?”

“As far as I know.”

She nods, understanding. “Our dad was stationed at Fort Benning.”

“Where’s that?” I’m not exactly up on my Army bases.

“South Georgia.”

“Near Florida?” I ask, because wow talk about going straight for the hot-zone. Florida had been under quarantine the longest of all the states since the earliest outbreaks of the virus started there.

“Close enough.”

“Is that where you’re going?” I ask recalling they said they were just roaming around. I’m trying to catch her in a lie—or maybe the truth. Something to gauge their honesty.

“It’s a general landing point, but we’ve been a little aimless for a couple of weeks now.”

It’s not like I can say much. I’m headed straight to the city in a quarantined state to find my sister. It’s a dumb move. But sometimes it’s the only move we have left. The boys cheer and we look over to see the tube filled with an amber liquid. Once started the process is fast and we’re climbing back to our seats in the truck, Wyatt at the wheel.

“He’s some sort of survival genius,” I say once we start moving.

Wyatt’s jaw tenses. “Oh yeah?”

“That’s what she said.”

We pass a convenience store, glass broken on all the windows. Shelves bare through the window. A couple of miles down the road the next shop looks a little better and I ask, “What about that one?”

Wyatt grunts, shaking his head.

Okay then.

We go to one across the street. A half diner-half store. The windows are broken but at this point we’re about out of the small town. As we exit the truck, weapons loaded and ready, I realize this will be our test. Do we trust Cole and Chloe or not? I jut out my chin and stand taller and follow Wyatt around the building. It’s a brave new world. I’ve just got to fake the brave part.

Chapter Thirty-Two

~Before~

Five Weeks Earlier

We leave at dusk, tired of being cooped up in the shed. Even in the fading daylight my eyes hurt from being in the dark room. Again we stick to backyards and alleys until complete nightfall. It’s time to make some progress and leave the safety of our neighborhood behind. The tug to go back home is strong and I fight it with everything I have.

“We’ve got the entire commercial strip to deal with before we can get back into the next residential area,” I say as though my mother is less familiar with the area than I am. “Then we can stop at the elementary school on Harper Avenue. According to the last news report I saw that entire area was cleared and moved to the evacuation center.”

“How many miles is that from here?”

“Three. We can definitely get there before daybreak.”

It’s so quiet that the only sound I hear is my heart, thundering like a drum in my ears. More than once I start to take my mother’s hand, just to feel something close. Something alive, but I don’t because I’m not a child. Not anymore. I’m an adult, whether I want to be or not.

The silence is broken by the intense bark of a dog. I stop and Mom stops next to me. “Where is that coming from?” she whispers.

Dogs and other animals are an unknown in our alternate universe. So far none have attacked people. They seem immune to the parasite but that seems unrealistic. We assume everything is a carrier. Beyond that, a barking dog means it’s seen something—heard something. It may be us or it may be something else.

“Over there?” I question. The dogs bark echoes off the empty streets. I can’t tell if it’s inside or out. There’s a small apartment complex to our right, the parking lot about half full. The muggy air smells like garbage and something rotten. I’d hoped we could skirt past it quickly but now I’m afraid to get out of the shadows.

My mother steps forward and scans the area. Finally she points toward the second floor. I follow her finger and sure enough, a medium sized dog has its snout pressed against the window, barking frantically. “What do we do?”

“One step at a time,” I answer, relieved he’s inside and not out. “Let’s just get to the school.”

We dart car to car, our packs bouncing against our backs. We’re close to the edge of the parking lot when the dog’s barking intensifies. He must have seen us, I think ducking behind a Toyota SUV. My mom’s feet shuffle loudly behind me and I turn with a finger to my lips.

“Shhh—” My eyes flick upwards, over her head.

“Mom…”

“What?” she whispers.

“Run.”

She looks back just as the Eater screams. His voice immediately echoed by another, setting off a chilling chorus of howls. It’s the first time I’ve seen one up close, not the secondhand, fuzzy online videos removed as fast as they go up or with a barrier between us at Liza’s house. This one is here. Alive. Hungry.

His face is pale, thoughtless other than rage. Anger lights his spidery eyes and his teeth gnash like an animal.

The barking dog snaps me out of my stupor and I run, dragging my mom by her arm. My pounding footsteps join my heart as the prevailing noise in my ears. For the first time in my life, I consider we may truly, actually die out here.

I bump into a car and over the curb leading away from the complex parking lot, following a sidewalk around back. Even in the dark I see their bodies, coming fast in our direction. Three, maybe four. Movements jerky but quick. It would be better if they were truly dead but underneath the parasite and the hunger, they’re alive and their bodies and muscle memory react as such.

“Come on,” I yell, heading past a wrought iron gate and to the back of the complex. I slam the door shut and latch the gate. A blue-green pool of water sits in the middle of a concrete pad. There has to be somewhere to hide back here.

“Wait,” Mom says, grabbing a lounge chair. She drags it over to the gate and wedges the feet in the slats. She jumps back as the Eater’s bang into the fence, rattling against it violently. There are more now, ten or so. Maybe a dozen. I run around the pool and try the handle on a small storage closet. Locked.

“Where do we go?” Mom asks. All I’ve done is corner us, wedged tight behind the apartments. The Eater’s climb the fence, or try to, using one another for leverage. God, why did they have to have brains?

I’ve wrapped my hand tight around the hatchet I found in Liza’s backyard. A shadow moves near the building. They’ve made it in the gate. “Mom, get out the gun.”

“What? No. I’m not ready.”

“Get ready,” I tell her. “This is it.”

By the fence, bodies fall over the edge, crashing to the ground. The impact only affects them for a moment and they lurch to their feet. From the corner of my eye I see my mother raise the gun with an unsteady hand.

The first Eater up howls with rage. The gun jumps in my mother’s hands, firing with a loud, ear-splitting bang. His body jerks backwards—somehow she hit him.

“I didn’t mean to…” she cries.

“Yes,” I say. “You did.”

She sobs next to me and I lift my hatchet. The other Eaters are on their feet and charging. I position the hatchet, ready to make my move and…I freeze. Black spidery eyes narrow down on me. I can’t do it. I’m going to die. We’re going to die.

“Alex!” Mom yells and I jolt, hands tightening around the wooden hatchet handle. But it’s too late, the Eater is on me, hands grabbing, jaw snapping. A loud, mechanical click echoes off the pool deck.

“Get down!” A voice demands. A male voice. I fall backwards, blade lashing. I nick the Eater in the chin, dark blood pours down the wound. A shot to the head jerks and incapacitates the one near me. Three more shots pelt the night air. Three more heaps on the ground. “Get up! Let’s go!”

I scramble up following the voice. My mother is already there, choking back sobs. The figure is shrouded in the shadows and a flicker of concern washes over me as he leads us through a door. The roar of the Eater’s pushing against our backs.

The man bolts and barricades the door, pushing a metal desk in front of it. His gun lies on top of the desk. I stop to catch my breath, check on my mom, and settle my frayed nerves. “Thank you,” I say finally seeing his face.

He looks to be in his late twenties. If I had to guess I’d assume mixed race—possibly Asian or Hispanic. I’m sure it doesn’t matter, but my mind wants to focus on something other than the banging on the outside door.

“You’re welcome. Come on, they won’t quiet down if they can hear us.”

He picks up a flashlight and I start to follow him down the narrow hall. Mom grabs my hand and holds me back.

“We can’t just go with him, Alex. What if he’s dangerous,” she whispers.

“He just saved our lives, Mom.”

“That doesn’t mean he may not try to kill us…” The look of panic washes over her face. “Or worse.”

“Everything okay?” he says realizing that we didn’t follow him.

“Yeah, just give us a minute okay?”

He nods and disappears into the dark hallway.

I sigh. She’s right, but I’m tired and just glad to be inside. “Look, we both have weapons. We can protect ourselves.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Seriously, we can,” I say. “This is our reality now. We have to adapt.”

She lifts her gun and nods. God, she’ll probably blow one of our heads off with that thing. I catch up to the guy and he leads us to a series of small offices, complete with a break room and a running refrigerator. The lights are off but I make out the space by the ever moving beam of his flashlight. “I’m Paul, by the way.”

“Alex. This is my mother Sarah.”

At the end of the hallway he enters a room and flips on a light switch. My first guess is that it’s a storage room more than an office. There are no windows but it looks like Paul moved a couch into the room at some point. I tighten my grip on the hatchet. Mom’s right, this guy could be a psycho but we’re not really in the position to go back out on our own right now.

A sleeping bag lies across the cushions and food wrappers fill the trash can. I notice several electronic devices plugged in the walls. We’ve only been on the road for twenty-four hours but I can already tell it’s not a terrible set up.

“You may want to shut the door. I can’t decide how much of the light filters out there or exactly how much it aggravates them.”

“Is there a bathroom?” Mom asks.

“Two doors down.”

“Alex, why don’t you come with me?” she suggests.

“I’ll be okay.” She doesn’t look pleased at this but I’m tired. And tired of being next to her. “Seriously, I’ll be okay.”

She drops her bag but I grab her by the arm. It takes me a minute to find my flashlight. I give it to her and say, “Take your bag and your gun.”

She nods silently and disappears.

I close the door with a small click and press my back against it and hang my hatchet in my belt loop. I’m still trying to get used to this thing.

“Again, thanks for saving our asses,” I say trying to gain control of my breathing. “That was our first real encounter with the Eaters.”

“Mine too,” he says. “If the military is right this infection and disease is going to be around for a while.”

“How do you know what the military is saying?”

He points to an iPad and laptop and then I notice a small box with a walkie-talkie. “I found them in the maintenance closet. Took me a while to hack into the frequency but they’re out there.”

“You have power?”

“Sometimes.”

“What did you hear?”?”

“Just that they want us all in the evacuation shelters. Sounds like they’ve got some sort of processing situation going on. Like, they can test people for the infection and then separate them from there.”

“Do they have a cure?” I ask hopefully. Maybe this will be over soon. Maybe my father figured it out.

“No, not that I’ve heard.”

“Oh.” I try not to show my disappointment. “Why haven’t you gone to one of the shelters?”

He runs a hand over his short hair. “I work—well worked—here, part time while I’m getting my graduate degree. The whole complex had been evacuated about a week ago. I was on my way to the evacuation center when I thought about a couple of things I’d left in my desk. My iPad, some books, those kinds of thing. And when I got in here I just sort of couldn’t make myself leave.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

He shrugs. “I’ve got food in the kitchen, a couch, and electricity. I figured at some point if I had to, I could go upstairs and look for supplies.”

“You haven’t yet?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not convinced everyone left and I’m not convinced that everyone who stayed isn’t infected.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“What makes you think that?”

“Just a hunch.” Again he shrugs. “What about you?”

“We’re trying to get to some family outside of the city,” I reply evenly.

“You’re walking?” he asks incredulously.

“That’s the current plan. Although, to be fair, the current plan did not involve anything that happened tonight. Cars are too risky with the roads being caught in a never ending traffic jam. Plus the military and police are rounding everyone up.”

“Yeah nothing is predictable anymore.”

“How’d you get so good with a gun?” I ask sliding down to sit on the floor. My feet are killing me. My back aches from the weight of the pack. Paul sits on the couch facing me.

“Weekends hunting with my family. This is North Carolina.”

I must look skeptical, which is totally racist of me because I’m definitely finding it strange that an Asian dude hunts.

He narrows his eyes at me and says, “What? Korean’s can hunt.”

“I didn’t say that.” But okay, yes, I was thinking it.

“My dad grew up on a farm outside of Burlington. His dad had an American dream. So yeah, my family is totally country, even though I just wanted to sit inside and watch TV. I’ll admit though, taking down that Eater was mostly luck.”

“At least you could do it. I panicked.”

“Why do you think I’ve been living here? I found a safe spot and claimed it. God knows what will happen if and when I need to leave. At least you have a plan of some sort.”

“Tonight was a pretty big sign of how unprepared we are,” I admit. The confession makes me uncomfortable and I start to fidget with the ring on my finger.

Paul shook his head and says, “No one is prepared for this, Alex.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

~Now~

Wyatt and I go around the back of the diner while Cole and Chloe hit the front.

“Let me see your cut,” I say, finally getting a moment alone with him.

He pauses and lifts up his shirt and I peel back the bandage. The cut looks ugly, red, and painful. I have no idea if it will get infected but at least we can try to manage it.

“Here,” I say, digging through my bag. I locate the aspirin and some antibiotic cream, handing it over. He swallows the pills dry, gritting his teeth as he chokes them down. Next he tucks his shirt under his chin and spreads the ointment over the cut, wincing from the pain. I cover the edges of the bandage with fresh tape.

“Make sure you keep it covered,” I say.

“What are you, a nurse?”

“No, but I don’t want that to get nasty and then we’ll have all kinds of other apocalypse stuff on our hands. I don’t need another page in my diary titled “Had to kill another traveling companion today because he let his wound get infected.”

He squints and drops his shirt. “You have a diary?”

“Shut up.”

I hold back as he taps on the back door in an attempt to rouse any Eaters inside. He waits to the count of five and takes a deep step back before slamming a boot clad foot into the metal door.

His foot bounces back so he tries again, this time the veins on his neck and forehead bulging. “Mother f-er,” he grunts. He’s about to wind up to do it again when the door swings open, revealing a crossbow and a mop of short blonde hair.

“Need some help?” Cole asks.

“Thank God, I thought Wyatt was going to hemorrhage or something,” I say pushing past him.

We enter the kitchen, welcomed by flies and the undeniable, suffocating stench of rotting food. Stale, shriveled hotdogs lie skewered on the counter top, their machine no longer rotating. And a rat skitters out of the buffet warming pan with a chunk of fried chicken in its mouth.

Chloe walks up, waving her hand in front of her face. “Ugh, the flies.”

“Let’s make this quick,” Wyatt says going straight for the non-perishables, plucking cans stacked high on metal shelves and dropping them into his bag.

We each take a corner of the diner, lit by the wide glass front window. Cole goes for the water bottles, while also filling our canteens from the sink. Chloe picks through the small stash of packaged food on the racks by the register.

“Get jerky,” Cole tells his sister. She grunts and even in the barely lit room I see her roll her eyes. Her action doesn’t stop him. “And some of those packaged cheese snacks. We need protein.”

I turn to look for Wyatt and spot the back of his head disappearing into another room.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask. Even I can hear the shrill tone.

“What the hell, Alex, I’m just looking in the back to make sure we’re not missing anything.”

“We have one rule, Wyatt. One. Rule.”

“Not this again.” His voice is loud. “What’s the big freaking deal? I’m still here—just in another room. And it’s not even like you’re alone!”

I react fast, moving with speed I didn’t know I had and a level of anger I’m unfamiliar with. My hatchet is out, blade close to Wyatt’s neck. He stands still but it’s not fear I see in his eyes. It’s annoyance.

“Alex, I swear to God,” he says, eyes flicking behind me.

I’m acutely aware of Cole watching me from his spot next to sink. I don’t care.

“You never go out of sight. Do it again and you may have a blade to the head, not just to the throat.”

“Come on, Alex, drop the hatchet,” Cole says.

Wyatt cuts his eyes in Cole’s direction. “Stay out of this, man.”

The visibility in the room dims, cloaking us almost in complete darkness. I instinctively look to the ceiling—for the lights but a banging noise draws my attention to the front of the diner. Hands and faces press into the glass, enough to block out the sun.

“You know I’m not leaving you, right?” Wyatt says to me.

The hatchet wavers, heavy in my hand.

“Whatever, man, she’s scared,” Cole argues.

“I don’t need you to tell me how she’s feeling,” Wyatt barks. He’s yelling but the sound of his voice is drowned out by the Eater’s screaming outside.

Cole raises his voice even higher and shouts, “Really? Because you obviously don’t get it.”

“Shut up! Both of you! Don’t talk about me like I’m not standing right here,” I yell. “I’m not scared of you leaving. I’m just…I have shit to do and places to be. I can’t waste time tracking you down everytime something shiny catches your eye.”

“Alex…” Cole starts, there’s something in his eyes, a thread I want to pull.

“I’m done,” I say lifting my bag off the counter and slinging it over my shoulder. My big exit is cut short when a loud crack tears through the room. The next sound is the crash of Eater’s falling through the window. I charge toward the back door, pushing it open and stepping into the glaring sunlight.

I hear them coming and for once don’t care. I’m tired. Exhausted. Too much in too little time. A female Eater turns the corner wearing a tie-dye Grateful Dead t-shirt and charges me before I can get to the truck. I spin on my heel and slam my hatchet right into the top of her head. Blood pours out and she drops. I heave the hatchet out of her skull and sling it toward the next one. Cutting his head off clean.

They keep coming and I keep fighting, barely recognizing the sound of the others in the fight with me. Wyatt is too injured for a physical fight but he can still fire a gun and he unloads into the chests of the nearest Eaters. Their bodies jerk back on impact, before falling to the ground. Chloe has the good sense to run to the truck. The engine flares to life.

“Come on,” Cole says grabbing my arm. My arms are streaked with blood but the adrenaline pumps like lightning in my veins. I want to take this anger out on someone—something and there’s a whole group of monsters asking for it right here. “Now, Alex.”

“You can’t tell me what to do,” I argue like a child. The set of his jaw tells me otherwise.

I lunge at the nearest Eater, one who so riddled by the virus his eyes are black. Cole yanks me backwards and tosses me into the open tailgate. He slides in next to me and drags me away from the edge. I hear scuffling near the truck and muttered cursing from Wyatt. I try to sit up but Cole holds me back, arms tight around my chest. I breathe out when I hear the slam of the passenger side door.

The truck peels out of the parking lot. Cole’s arms are still locked around my body and I stare up at the perfect blue sky, worn out.

“Care to explain that?” Cole asks now that I’ve stopped resisting.

“No.”

“It’s okay to break down every once in a while. This has all been a really big…adjustment.” I hear his voice in my ear and to my absolute annoyance find it soothing. “But going off like that was dangerous as hell. Dangerous for all of us.”

“I never wanted there to be an all of us,” I say fighting back tears. “It was just supposed to be my mom and me.”

He releases me and I sit up, hair whipping around my face in a frenzy.  The landscape around us is nothing but pasture and farmland. Rows of sun beaten cotton, soybeans, and tobacco as far as the eye can see. Everything about it is deceptively peaceful.

“Do you want Chloe and me to leave? We can. I just thought we’d be safer with more people.”

I shake my head. It doesn’t matter to me if they stay or go, but he’s right. Four sets of eyes are better than two. I look through the back of the truck window at the back of Wyatt’s head. Cole’s eyes follow my own.

“So you and Wyatt…”

“Me and Wyatt what?”

“It just seemed like…I don’t know. That wasn’t some sort of boyfriend-girlfriend thing?”

My rage toward Wyatt while we were in the diner came out of nowhere. I have no claim on him. He isn’t even my friend. Just a guy I met up with on the worst night of my life. That’s all.

“We’re just traveling together. Like you said. It’s safer.” I take a deep breath. “But we set some rules up—okay one main rule and he was about to walk off and it just freaked me out.”

Cole looks me up and down like he’s trying to see past the blood and the dirt to something deeper. I drop my eyes out of fear that maybe he’ll be successful.

“So no separating? It’s a good rule. You lose track of someone out here, you may never find them again,” Cole says.

I nod, pleased he understands.

A knock on the window interrupts our conversation and Wyatt jerks his thumb to the right. Daylight is fading and it looks like we’re making a stop. Chloe turns down a side road and we pass the weathered sign of a campground.

“Guess we’re going camping,” Cole declares. “You got a tent?”

“No.”

He shrugs and gives me a small smile. “Guess we’ll have to share.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

~Before~

5 Weeks Ago

Paul offers the couch to my mother. She doesn’t argue, exhausted from the day or really, the last eight months. He moves his sleeping bag to the floor and pops his earbuds in and promptly falls asleep. I sit with my back to the couch and my eyes on the door. It isn’t that I don’t trust him. I do. And that scares me. It’s the end of world—trust should be doled out sparingly.

Eventually I do fall asleep, my mind filled with dreams of being chased through a maze. I’m searching for something—I don’t even know what. I wake, neck at a funny angle, sore from my tailbone to my ears. It’s been only three days since we left home. It feels like a lifetime.

“Ugh,” I mutter to myself, rubbing the sore muscles in my neck. My feet bump onto my mom’s—she’s curled up on the other end of the couch. The room is dark other than the blue glow of Paul’s electronics. My vision adjusts. I look over at his pallet and he’s no longer there. The pinprick of nerves races up my skin and even before my eyes fully adjust I see him, facing me, wide awake back pressed against the door.

“Hey,” I say trying to keep my voice normal and whispering so Mom won’t wake up. “Is something wrong?”

He shakes his head.  “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t leave before I got up.”

“Oh yeah, I’m thinking we’ll leave soon. We need to make some headway.” I hadn’t fully told him where we were going. Partially out of safety. The rest out of feeling like an idiot.

“I mean, you guys don’t have to leave right away, you know? I made some breakfast.”

He gestures to three napkins spread on the floor before him. A bagel has been placed in the center of each one. Cream cheese and a plastic knife sit to the side.

“Wow, you have bread?”

“There was a whole stash in the freezer—you know for open houses and stuff.” He hands me one and I only hesitate for a second before taking it.

“I really appreciate you letting us stay, but we’re trying to meet up with some family so we’re kind of on a schedule.”

“Oh,” he replies, his mood seeming to darken further.

I stand and with the help of my flashlight start gathering my things. I nudge my mom and she shifts, waking only when I flash the beam in her eyes. Once she’s sitting, Paul clicks on a small camping lantern and the room fills with a soft light. She doesn’t hide her surprise when he hands her a napkin and bagel.

“Oh thank you, dear.”

“Are you sure you want to leave already?” Paul asks again. “I have plenty of water and there is more food. We can move another couch in here.”

I don’t know what to say. His dark eyes carry a palpable sadness. But we’ve got to move forward. I eat the chewy bread, using it as a cover for my silence. Mom does the same, while changing into a clean pair of socks.

When the bagels are gone, I glance at her. “Are you ready?”

“In just a minute,” she replied.

“I guess I just forgot how nice it was to have people to talk to. Maybe I should leave when you do—just go to the evacuation center,” Paul says standing up suddenly.  He moves quickly to his belongings and starts packing them up.

“So you’re going to the center?”

“I think it’s a good idea, I can’t stay here forever. What do you think?” Honestly it’s a difficult question to answer. If Dad hadn’t told us to go find Jane would we be on the road right now? When would we have given up and left the house?

As he packs, Paul’s movements seem erratic, but not exactly crazy. I think he’s terrified of being left alone again. “I think going to the evacuation center is smart, if that’s what you want to do. You’ll be safe there,” I say.

Paul unplugs his devices and I shove the remainder of my things in my bag. Mom has slipped on her shoes and has her pack in her hands. “Thank you for your hospitality,” she says giving Paul a smile.

I pull out my map and go over the path I plan to follow. We’re skipping the elementary school and heading straight for the Carolina Heights community. It’s an older neighborhood but we know a couple of families that live there. If they’ll give us shelter we’ll take it. If not we’ll find our own.

Chapter Thirty-Five

~Now~

The campground, or really trailer park, appears long abandoned. Rusted-out trailers with busted doors and flat tires. Animals scurrying in and out of cracked windows, obviously unused to humans. This place truly looks like the poster child for the end of the world, like a bomb rocked it into oblivion. Whatever happened here must have occurred years before the current, actual end-of-the-world situation we’re in at the moment.

Chloe eased the truck under a large pine tree, the branches scraping against the roof of the cab. My feet have barely touched the ground when Wyatt’s hand wraps around my arm and he leads me behind a faded red and white camper. I jerk my arm away but go with him.

“What?” I ask, still not in the mood.

“Let’s check the perimeter and make sure there are no Eater’s locked up in these tin cans.” His gaze lingers over my face, probably trying to decide exactly how angry I am. I’m trying to decide why I care so much.

“Sure, whatever,” I grumble and lead the way.

We each bang on the trailers, with the butt of my hatchet or the nose of his rifle, listening quietly for the sound of life. Or death? God knows anymore. We pick our way through the campers, inhaling the stale, mold smell wafting through the broken windows and open doors. This place is worse than depressing.

I stop at a large zeppelin shaped camper, the shine long gone. I hear the distinct sound of shuffling feet and wave Wyatt over.

“Probably an animal,” I say quietly—hopefully. I’m not in the mood to kill anyone else today.

He mouths to the count of three and with a tight jerk of the handle the door swings open. I’ve got my hatchet in hand, at the ready, but the angry hiss from the Eater crawling out the door startles me all the same.

“Mother f—” I breathe, lowering the blade in a clean sweep, cracking it across his head. He falls forward, tumbling down the cinderblock steps. His fingers twitch and I hack away at them, severing them from his dirty, nasty hand. An angry growl comes from his mouth and his black eyes are bloodied from my initial attack. I stab him again and again until there’s nothing left.

Shit.

“You got him,” Wyatt says from behind.

“Duh.” I wipe the blade on the grass, turning away from the corpse. My hands shake and I fight off a wave of nausea. Where is the girl that was afraid of these monsters? Have I become one myself?

We clear the remaining trailers, each one more disgusting than the last. I can’t help but wonder about the people that lived here, the ones that left behind their pots and thrift store furniture. I stop in one that has a torn Miley Cyrus poster on the wall.

“God, Miley Cyrus. I wonder where she is now,” I say aloud.

“Probably in some underground bunker plotting how to use this whole thing to her advantage,” Wyatt says, closer behind me than I expect.

The air in the trailer is dank and musty and I walk past him needing to breathe. Wyatt follows me, leaning against the nose of a small, dirty aluminum one that had once been painted sky blue and white. He takes a deep breath, eyes looking up at the fading blue sky. “I’m sorry about that before, at the diner.”

“What for being a jerk?”

He blinks. “Yes.”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I just had a moment—not my best. I think I’m just really freaking tired. Plus, adding on those two…people are hard, you know? I never realized before.”

“They were hard before too.”

“I’ve got to learn how to handle my zombie apocalypse stress a little better.”

“Don’t we all,” he agreed, the uncomfortable distance between us easing.

“You know,” he says rubbing his head. “It’s okay to be angry about all this.”

I roll my eyes, noticing guts from the Eater on the top of my boot. I kick the dirt to cover it. “Thanks for the permission to feel, Wyatt.”

His shoulders raise and he opens his mouth to argue but holds his hand up in surrender. He’s done fighting with me tonight. Thank God. I don’t want to fight anymore either.

On the way back to the others I notice him touch his side and I ask, “Do you want me to look at it?”

He stops and lifts up his shirt, revealing the wound. The bandage had held but blood is still seeping through. “It’s not too bad.”

I roll my eyes but at least he let me look at it without a fight. Maybe we’re making progress. “You need to change that.”

“I will.”

We find the twins in the middle of setting up camp. Chloe has a pile of small sticks in the formation of a teepee in a well-used fire pit and Cole has his olive green tent set up.

“That was fast,” I say running my hand over the arched doorway of the tent.

“Fast is the only way to be these days,” he replies. His eyes sweep over me, and I wipe my dirty hands on my pants.

“You sure this tent is a good idea?” Wyatt says poking the thin nylon with his finger.

“We’ll take shifts,” I say. The only other option is sleeping in the truck or one of the disgusting trailers and I just…well I just can’t.

Once Chloe has the fire started I open my bag and pull out the food supplies I have to sort through and share. The others do the same and at the moment we’re doing okay. Of course if movies and books are any indicator, our good fortune should be a sure sign of trouble to come. I look at the cans of food and say, “Does anyone else feel conflicted about eating everything now or saving it? It’s like those dumb people in horror movies. When people are actually prepared they’re the first to go.”

“Yep,” Chloe says with a nod of her head. “I keep thinking, why should I save the good stuff? I could be dead by tomorrow.”

Cole frowns. “Don’t talk like that.”

“It’s true.” She shrugs. “Of course now that I have ten candy bars shoved in my backpack it’s the last thing I want to eat. God, I would kill for a hamburger, you know?”

“Or French fries,” Cole chimes in with a pained look on his face.

“God, I would even take some of that terrible casserole Mom used to make—the one with the peas? I hated that but now? I didn’t realize how awesome home cooked food was, you know?”

“Yeah, remember that summer she was obsessed with beets?” He laughs.

I want to talk about my mom’s food and the things I miss but a lump forms in the back of my throat. It’s too soon and these people are too unfamiliar. I look away hoping the feeling will pass.

“Chloe,” Wyatt calls and tosses her a bag of jerky, the ones she wanted so badly at the diner. She smiles and rips open the top, happily inhaling the scent of vacuum-packed meat. Slowly she eats one piece. Then another.

“So, why didn’t you two go to the shelter?” Wyatt asks. He’s fighting with his pocket knife to open a can of chili. The lid pops open with a click and he sets it on a rock in the middle of the fire.

“We actually went to the shelter a couple of weeks into the announcements,” Cole says.

“Really?” I ask.

Cole nods. “Yeah. It was just the two of us and the shelter wasn’t far from where we lived. We figured we would check it out.”

“You may not have noticed yet, but Cole is a bit of a rule follower,” Chloe says rolling her eyes. “I didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Sleeping on a cot in a high school for an indeterminate about of time did not appeal to me at all, but they made that big plea for all people trained in medicine to come in so we went.”

“Because Cole’s an EMT,” Wyatt asks eyeing them both. Guess he wasn’t sure that was true.

“Plus he’s in med school.” Cole makes no move at this revelation so she continues, “We got off the shuttle and they put us in two lines. Male and female. I watched as they went through the people’s belongings, taking out this and that. Looking at their medications and personal things. After that they took each person’s temperature and a syringe of blood that was it. I was gone.”

I look between the siblings. “You just left?”

“Yeah, I made a break for it. Cole saw me and followed.”

“Did they notice?”

“Hell yes they noticed,” Cole says. “They tracked us for a couple of blocks and even sent out a search team. Apparently, once you make the decision to enter the shelter there is no getting out—”

“Alive, at least,” she adds bitterly.

“We hid out for a couple of days and then looped back home to get the weapons and additional supplies. We hit the road after that with the vague notion of traveling to South Georgia to find our dad.”

“Did you know all this?” I ask Wyatt, waving a mosquito out of my eyes. “About what it was like at the shelter?”

“I had my suspicions.”

“What about you, Alex? How come you’re out here and not in a shelter?” Chloe asks.

For some reason the truth pops out. “My dad told my mom and me not to go there.”

Cole lifts an eyebrow. “Any particular reason? That’s a big request for a kid and her mom.”

The pouch burns into my chest, almost as much as my cheeks. He called me a kid. Is that how they all see me? “He wanted my mom and me to find my sister. It was all he asked.”

Cole nods as though he understands but there is no way he can. He doesn’t carry the weight of it all on his shoulders. What it’s like to be the last one alive with important information to get to an important person in my life. But no one told me what the information is or how to get there. The weight of the unknown is almost unbearable.

I stare at the fire while Wyatt inhales his can of chili. The twins clean up their trash and Cole says, “I’ll take first watch—”

“Same,” I agree before Wyatt can jump in. I have no interest in lying in that Eater death trap of a tent and thinking about my dad and Jane. I really don’t want to think about my mom. Wyatt gives me a hard look so I add, “I’m not tired, anyway.”

We clean up and repack, making sure everything is ready in a minute’s notice. Wyatt opens the flap on the tent and Chloe enters, crawling in on her knees. I pretend I don’t see him watching her closely. Why wouldn’t he? She’s a knockout. His age.

Not a kid like me.

I settle onto the step of an abandoned camper, hatchet across my lap. The aluminum sided RV’s glint from the firelight and Cole pours some sand across the flame. Good idea. He’s smart and between him and Wyatt they may have the skills to help me get me to Jane faster.

Cole positions himself across from me on the tailgate of a broken down truck. He lifts the collar of his shirt to cover his mouth and nose to keep the bugs at bay. His blue eyes flick in my direction and a sense of familiar ease rolls down my back. Cole isn’t a bad guy. I feel it in my bones. I lean forward and say quietly, “I don’t know what my dad knew about the camps but he warned us off. After we got out of the city we saw things, my mom and I. Bad stuff. I don’t know what the military is doing but I definitely feel safer outside.”

He lowers his shirt to speak. “That’s a bold statement. What did you see?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t trust them. That stuff you said about taking blood samples and going through peoples things. It rubs me the wrong way.”

“I guess,” he says, those eyes piercing in the dark. “Our instincts are all we have anymore.”

“What do your instincts tell you about everything now?” I ask. “Being with us?”

I can’t see his face but I can hear the resignation in his voice when Cole replies, “That no matter how bad it seems, this isn’t the end. Not by a long shot.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

~Before~

4 Weeks Ago

Somehow, despite the heat, rain, fires and increasing waves of Eater’s, we make it out of the city. It took four days and we narrowly make it into the fifth, assessing the final bridge out of town. That’s when we spot them. Not the military or even the Eaters but a group of survivors on the road like us. Or rather under the road, they’d camped out under the bridge. We watch from behind one of the 18-wheelers parked behind a factory jutting up to the wide creek.

They’d created some sort of makeshift fort, using road barricades and fencing. The bridge itself fortifying the backside. The early evening light is waning and our options for shelter are slim. Even running out of choices I’m not sure we want to hunker down with an unfamiliar group.

“I knew we should have stayed at that last building,” Paul declares. He’d tagged along with us right when we left the apartment the other day. Bags packed and waiting at the back door, declaring he’d like to go with us to the edge of town, then he’d split off on his own and head toward his family. I wasn’t sure at first, but he was helpful—a good shot. Little fear. He knew his way around this part of town way better than Mom or me. But he doesn’t like making decisions and even I can tell withdrawal from information and the internet is getting to him.

I shook my head. “It was too big. There’s no way we could have confirmed it was clear. I mean, I’m not sure it would have been safe before the end of the world.”

My mother nods, coughing into her sleeve. The fires started two days ago, bringing explosions and dusty, smoke-filled air. It had become increasingly clear we needed to leave the city as soon as possible. There were too many people, living and almost dead. Too much military personnel and too much danger.

“What do we do then?” Paul asks.

I look around and see nothing but empty parking lots and trucks. The bridge is too exposed and going under it…I glance once more at the group underneath. In the firelight I can see mostly men, but there are women too. A couple of kids. Their voices echo off the cement supports.

“They could be nice?” Mom suggests. She wants to be around other people. Unfortunately, she hasn’t quite grasped what is going on here. It’s not that she’s dumb. Or even naïve. She’s just in denial. Her delusion is thick. Fortunately, I’m paranoid to the extreme and other people make me nervous.

“Too risky,” I finally say, the only one willing to make a decision. “Do you think we can get in one of these?”

“The truck?” Mom asks.

“Yeah. We can sleep in the cab. It’s high off the ground. We can lock the doors and see anything—or anyone—coming our way.”

Quietly we comb the rows, trying each door. I’m about to give up when I hear a small cry from my mother. I grab my hatchet and race to the tractor-trailer but she’s three feet in the air, standing on the platform with the door open with a wide smile on her face.

We climb up, handing our bags off to the person at the top. Paul comes in last. Over the last several days he’s become a friend. Probably the only thing keeping Mom and me from losing it with one another. The cab is large with a fairly clean area behind the seats and big enough to spread out a sleeping bag.

Paul goes back, his sticky, sweaty scent assaulting my nose. It’s not like I can talk. We all stink. It’s been days since we’ve had a real shower. The last time was at the apartment complex.

“Anything good back there?” I ask him, locking the doors. Mom is already leaning against the seat, her eyes drooping. Sleeping anywhere at any time is her gift, along with rationalizing almost anything. The second worked better in our old life. Survival didn’t take time to rationalize so instead she slept. A lot.

I peer over the massive steering wheel to get a look out the front. The window is covered with a thick layer of dust and grime, keeping out the fading light, but also protecting us from being seen from the outside. For the first time all day I feel a slight sense of safety, like we’ve burrowed into a small cave.

“A bottle of water but…” He shuffles around some. “It’s already been opened. There’s a bag of chips, some cans of Diet Coke and.” He leans between the seats, shoving something forward. It’s a bottle of brown liquid. “We can get drunk.”

“Thanks but no thanks.”

“There’s a bottle of 24-Hour Energy Booster.” The pills clink around in the container. God, I could use some energy boost but not that kind. The kind that comes from a solid meal and three days of sleep. The aches in my body scream the minute I ease into the leather seat. My feet throb and sharp pains shoot up my shins. It’s like the half-marathon my Cross Country team ran together during junior year. The closer I got to the end, the more I had to run. My body wanted to shut down. My legs ached. Fatigue set in. I pushed through it though. My coach thought it was great. I knew I had no choice if I didn’t want to crawl to the finish line. Surviving out here feels the same.

Don’t stop. Never stop.

But at some point you have to and this truck is as good as anything else. “You hungry?” I say to them both.

“Eh,” Paul replies. Mom shakes her head—ready to pass out, but he takes out three granola bars anyway and gives shoves one into my mom’s hand. “Sarah, you’re eating.”

I take a bite and fight off a grimace. Nothing tastes good anymore.

“So tomorrow we cross that bridge, don’t you think?” I ask.

Paul nods. “Daylight?”

“Just before, maybe. I don’t really want to alert that group below that we’re here.”

“Good idea. Hopefully the people underneath will be asleep. From there we can cut down the rural side roads. It will be the safest way to the lake.”

Mom and I had told Paul all of our plans. How we were on our way to Georgia. How my sister should be waiting for us. How my father told us what to do. He had questions. We didn’t have many answers, but after my mom fell asleep on the second night I told him about Liza and Matt. He told me about his own family and how he hoped they were still alive.

In a matter of days Paul felt like a brother, or at least what I imagined one would feel like. This is what I’m thinking about as he talks about the road south. Paul isn’t going with us to the lake or to Georgia. He’s heading north back home.

“What’s your plan to do after you find Jane?” he asks once the granola bars are gone and Mom has fully dozed off. From his spot in the back of the cab I see his face glowing blue from his phone screen. Service is spotty. Battery life is quickly fading. He can’t help himself though. I’ve seen him reach for his phone a dozen times a day. The checking is compulsive—I’ve caught myself doing it more than once.

“Better shut that off,” I warn.

“I wonder,” he says digging through his bag. He shoves a cord into the front. “Plug that in. See if it charges.”

It takes me a minute to find the receiver, but I push the end into the socket and hear the familiar ping of the phone starting up. Paul gives a fist pump, his face lighting up. I can’t help but smile too.

“Hey, I have an idea,” he says.  “Lean this way.”

He moves to a familiar pose and I move toward him. Together we take a selfie.

“You gonna tag that #apocalypseselfie?” I joke. “God, I look like a wreck.”

“I feel like I need to sink into a pit of boiling water just to get the germs off.”

“Seriously.”

I take out my sweatshirt and fold it up to use as a pillow. Already each item in my bag takes on a dual function. I’ve just closed my eyes when I hear a whoop of excitement from the back. I jump, alert(ish) and ready. “What?”

“I got a signal.”

“You did?” I lean over to see.

“Yep.” His fingers fly over the buttons, stumbling a little due to happiness.

“Anything?”

“Looking at the emergency page, it was updated yesterday.” His eyes skim over the screen and I grip the sides of the seat to keep myself from snatching it from him. “Oh man, the evacuation centers are mandatory now for all counties in the quarantine zone which has spread to the borders of Texas up to North Dakota. Looks like if you’re out and about they will bring you in—by force—if necessary.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah.” He tries a couple of other things but from the way his head shakes nothing else online is very active. Reluctantly he lowers the phone and says, “What do you think?”

“Mom and I are not going in.”

He nods. “I’m just worried I’ll walk a hundred miles home and no one will be there when I get there.”

“Makes sense.” I agree. “We’ve got to do this thing for my dad, or maybe I’d consider it.”

“I guess if I got home and no one was still there I could go to the evacuation center for their area. At least I’d be with family.”

“That’s smart.”

Still, he doesn’t look convinced. “I really don’t want to be alone, Alex.”

I reach my hand out and take his, squeezing tight. “I know.”

It’s all too much. Too heavy. We’re too young. The only good thing about the travel and hyper adrenaline is that exhaustion is quick to take over and I fall asleep fast. I dream of a beating drum, thumping out a solid rhythm in the pitch black night.

I wake but the pounding doesn’t stop. Mom sits up next to me and peers through the dusty window. A bright light flashes overhead.

“What is that?” I ask. My voice groggy and crap, and my neck is janky from sleeping weird in the seat.

“Helicopter?” she says. It must be. They’re not totally uncommon but over the last week or so we’ve been seeing them less and less. Grimacing from the pain in my neck I peer out the side window trying to catch a glimpse of something. Anything.

Paul stirs behind us and sticks his head between the seats. We wait, unsure. The sound of the propeller softens.

“Is it gone,” Paul asks.

We strain to hear but just as quickly as it left it returns circling nearby.

“Do you think they know we’re here?” Mom asks. She’s already slipped the straps of her backpack over her thin shoulders.

“They can’t,” Paul says.

I swallow, again looking out the window. The spotlight travels back and forth. Not near us but closer to the water. “I think they’re looking for the people under the bridge.”

“Wait, shhh,” Paul says, his hand clutching my arm. “Listen.”

At first all I hear is the propeller, but then the sound of a voice bounces against the night. It sounds tinny, like it’s coming from a bullhorn. I press my ear against the window.

“Collect your belongings and walk to the top of the bridge. This is a mandatory evacuation. You have five minutes to be on the top of the bridge.” The voice repeats this information on a loop. From the small visibility I have through the window I spot a group moving under the bridge.

“I see some people in hazmat suits,” I report.

“I guess they have to be careful,” Mom says. “Any of those people could be infected.”

Paul is quiet next to me. He’s still clutching my arm, but his knee is bouncing up and down like a jack rabbit. “Dude, what is going on with you?”

“I want to go.”

“What?” I ask.

“To the bridge. I want to evacuate. I don’t like it out here, Alex.”

“We’re fine. We’ve been okay. We’ll be okay.” I rest a hand on his knee, hoping to calm him. I know I’m saying this just as much for myself as for him.

“You and your mom are going south. I’ve got to head north. Once we pass that bridge we’ll never see each other again.”

“Three minutes,” the booming voice says. “This is a mandatory evacuation. Those who refuse to come willingly will be taken by force.”

This spurs Paul into action. He leans over the seat and grabs his bag, his stash. I glance at my mom but she just looks sad. “But this is too fast—just slow down. We haven’t divided up the food and stuff.”

“There’s not enough time,” he says. “Alex, this may be my only chance. I’ll get on that bus and figure out a way to find my family. Who knows, they may have news about them.”

He has all of his things and unfortunately, some of our things, although nothing we can’t live without. I can only nod. I mean, it’s not up to me to stop him. I barely know Paul. His journey is different from mine. Even so, the mood in the cab has shifted to an unbearable tension. My mother, who cannot tolerate the slightest confrontation, breaks it with typical ease.

“Good luck, honey. Thank you for saving us at the apartment. I hope you find your family.” She gives him a tight, motherly hug.

“One minute.”

I move aside so he can get out the door. “Good luck. I hope we see each other again.” Before he steps down I say, “Please don’t tell them about us, okay?”

“I won’t.” He promises.

It’s an awkward goodbye, one I realize I should get used to. It’s not like relationships will be the same in the apocalypse. Paul is out the door quickly and I whisper, “Be careful.”

I take the chance to lean out the door, the wind lashing at my face from the hovering helicopter. Paul darts between the trucks and in the increasing daylight I see the crowd forming on the bridge. Paul easily catches up, the red patch on his backpack a beacon for me to latch onto as he moves farther away.

“Please move to the center of the bridge and make room,” the voice says.

For the most part people do as they are told, huddling closer together their hair and loose clothing whipping around them like they’re in a hurricane. That’s when I notice a few people move slowly or not at all. One person creeps off the opposite direction. Curious I watch him slink away from the others, but just before he steps out of view he lurches forward and falls. I look upward and see a raised gun and a soldier crouched on the edge of the helicopter. The crowd remains oblivious, due to the intense wind and noise.

“They shot someone,” I whisper. My mom moves closer and peers out the door opening.

“Look,” she says, pointing under the bridge. Two figures wade into the water, swimming away. Again, they stumble, sinking below the surface like rocks.

The workers in hazmat suits push the final evacuees toward the center of the bridge and seemingly out of nowhere soldiers in black uniforms and face masks rush in with barricades.

“What the heck?”

“Maybe they’re blocking the area from Eaters?” Mom says, always the optimist.

“Maybe,” I agree, but the feeling in my stomach doesn’t. Something is wrong. I climb up the door to get a better look. What I see doesn’t make me feel better. The entire group looks like cattle ready for slaughter.

The helicopter loops around depositing snipers on rooftops, before vanishing as quickly as it arrived. The beating propeller disappearing into the sunrise. Two school buses pull up to the bridge and the tension in my stomach fades. Maybe this is on the up and up. The feeling subsides completely as the unmistakable cries of Eaters break the quiet morning and the snipers move—picking them off like a carnival game. We watch for an hour as each person is scanned, processed, and moved into two lines. One group goes on one bus, the others move to the other. From here I can see that the processing includes an injection.

“What do you think that is?” I ask.

“Maybe they’ve figured out an antidote? A vaccination?” We both know it’s possible. That men and women like my father have figured this out.

I spot a flash of red. “There’s Paul, he made it.” He goes through the intake and then dips in between the buses. From here it’s impossible to tell which one he boarded.

By the time the process is over the sun is creeping toward the sky. “Should we have gone?” Mom asks.

“No.” I shake my head but the low rumble of the bus is comforting. They probably have air conditioning. Food. Water.

I’m beyond ready for this to be over when the first bus pulls away from the bridge. The cab of the truck has started to bake as the heat of the day warms the roof. The cracked door only allows so much air and without the helicopter there isn’t much breeze. We can’t leave. And the longer we stay in the hot cab water becomes ever more precariously close to drying out. We wait, trapped, for the second bus to roll out but there’s some sort of delay.

“Maybe we should consider another route out of town,” Mom says, fanning herself with a pizza flyer from the floor of the truck.

“It’s too far,” I say. We’d analyzed the map. This was the fastest way out of town and in the right direction. “Once these guys leave it should be okay. They’ve even taken out most of the Eaters in the area. It should be pretty safe.”

“Then we wait,” she says.

The beat of helicopter blades slices through the air. Maybe they’re back to pick up the snipers. Whatever the reason I’m just thankful for the current of air pushing through the door.

“Oh, thank God,” I say. Sure enough they drop ropes over each building and the gunmen climb up and enter the helicopter.

The aircraft makes a sudden turn, swooping back over the bridge. I notice a convoy of military vehicles pass, the bright white hazmat suits visible through the open windows. I glance back at the bus, waiting for it to follow but it doesn’t. Shadows move inside the darkened windows, the people obviously getting restless.

Feeling similarly impatient, I push the door open to allow in more air. Once the sun hits the peak of the sky, Mom and I will have to move. It’s too hot in here.

Over the sound of the returning helicopter, I turn to her and say, “You about ready—”

Kaboom! An explosion rocks the 18-wheeler, the pavement and even my teeth. The ground shifts beneath us, while dirt and debris rain down over the windshield and I grab the door, closing it tight.

Through the tiny patch at the bottom of the windshield I can see the ball of fire. “It’s the bus,” I say. “They hit the bus.”

“They?”

“They had to of, don’t you think?” Another explosion follows and I reach for my mother’s hand. We sit in silence waiting for the next wave.

“Why? What are they doing?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did they kill them all?”

“I don’t know.”

“Paul—” She starts, fighting back a sob. I cut her a look. I can’t. It’s too much.

“He was on the first bus. He’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, ready to rationalize. For once I’m in agreement.

“Of course. That second bus—they must have been infected. They must have been able to tell, right? That’s why they do the blood tests.”

She nods, wiping her eyes. “Yes. That has to be it.”

“Paul wasn’t infected.”

“No,” she agrees. “He wasn’t. We would know.”

I peer out the window, but there’s nothing to see but a cloud of thick, black smoke.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

~Now~

Cole spots them first, pointing in the direction of the main road. With a hand on my pack I run over to the others, each in various states of packing. I hear it, the low rumble of a large truck. I’m not surprised to find I’m holding my breath as the camouflaged canopy of the vehicle comes barreling in our direction.

Our group paralysis only lasts a second and we grab what we can. Cole stomps on the fire, kicking dirt over the still warm sticks. Wyatt shoves the tent under the truck, while Chloe and I take the packs filled with the most food. They’ll know we were here. We just have to hide out long enough for them to lose interest.

Cole leads us into the forest behind the campground, just as the huge tires churn over the gravel. What led them here? Right to us?

“Maybe they saw our fire,” Chloe says, reading my mind. She bends over to her knees trying to catch her breath.

The woods make me nervous. I can’t keep my bearings. Ever since we left the city I’ve tried to avoid them unless I can keep my eye on something solid, like a creek or a road.

“How far back should we go?” I ask, not wanting to go any further at all. They still sound too close and a hand wraps around mine dragging me deeper into the forest. We come to a swift stop behind an outcropping of shrubs and Cole releases me. Chloe and Wyatt are visible several dozen feet away. None of us move.

Doors slam, echoing off the trees. Low voices carry to where we are and I clamp my mouth shut. Glancing to my left I see Wyatt using a tree for cover. His gun waits by his side. My fingers hover over the shaft of my hatchet. Had it come to this? Would we kill people? Real live people?

No, I assure myself. It hasn’t come to that yet. Not yet.

That realization does not take away the absolute fact I do not want to be discovered. After the bus, after Paul, I know going with these guys is a mistake. My father had been right. Do not go with the military.

The soldiers make a lot of noise, banging on the metal campers, feet stomping through the metal and fiberglass shells. Nothing in their movements implies they can see us. Birds chirp overhead and panic rises in my chest. Too much. It’s all too much.

“You’ve got this,” Cole says so quietly I think I may have made it up. I strain to hear his calm assurance but instead the soldier’s voices carry and from my frozen spot I hear a snatch of conversation.

“Gone?”

“Area appears abandoned.”

“What about the vehicle?”

“Possibly infected?”

I lean to the side and make out the shape of a male soldier. Older—my father’s age, maybe, but with a short, trim mustache. He circles the fire pit and lowers his hand over it. It’s not burning, but under the sand, the wood still smolders. He looks up and around. I swear right at me. I feel a tight clench at the base of my back and cease to breathe.

I risk a glance to the side and Wyatt’s jaw is tense and sharp, eyes narrow and focused. He’ll shoot first, I have no doubt. There’s a beat of silence, like we’re in a game of possum, but his eyes jump over me, skirt past…he fails to make contact. Of course he does. All he sees is green.

He stands and shouts, “Pack it up!” arm circling over his head.

The soldiers reverse their process moving quickly to get back in the vehicle, crushing rocks under the massive wheels and the undeniable sound of metal crashing into metal as it slams into the back of our truck on the way out of the campground.

I’m not sure how long we wait, but my exhale is matched by one directly behind me. The tightening at the small of my back releases, and I turn, my heart still pounding hard in my chest. Cole looks past me, blue eyes focused on the campground, like he isn’t sure they’re really gone.

“Uh,” I say breaking the silence. Although looser, his hand is still clutching the back of my shirt. I lift an eyebrow. He releases fast.

“God, uh, sorry. I was so scared to move.”

“Same.”

Wyatt is the first one out of the woods a moment later, moving toward the campground. Chloe edges closer. No one speaks until we’re out of the forest, something that takes longer than necessary.

“What do you think that was about?” Chloe asks. The crack in her voice betrays her nerves.

“Routine stop,” Wyatt says pushing past us to investigate the truck. The side panel was bashed in and he felt along the wheel well. “We were definitely just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“You think?” Cole asks. It’s clear he’s not convinced. I’m not either.

“Since they may be watching the road, we can’t leave yet,” he says going through his bag. “I’m going to try my hand at finding some dinner—may as well hunt while we have the time. We can leave at dark. ”

“I’ll go with,” Chloe says with her hand on her crossbow.

Wyatt’s eyes flick in my direction. “You okay with that?”

I nod, having no right to fight this. My nerves are shot but sitting around won’t help anything. Brushing the sweaty hair out of my eyes I say, “Be back before dark.”

They leave quickly and I retrieve the tent from beneath the truck.

“Help me fold this?” I sayto Cole. He faces me, his forehead tense.

“What? You worried about them? Wyatt has a good sense of direction.”

He shakes his head and starts to pace. “Look, Alex…I need to tell you something.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“They’ll be back in a minute—any second. You’ve got to hide that information from your dad.”

I blink, forcing my voice to remain level. “The what?”

“The data your father gave you—hide it. I won’t look to see where you put it. Just make sure they don’t get it.”

“You know they’re coming back?” I scramble for my pack. “We need to run!”

“We’ve both got trackers. They’ll find us.”

“Trackers?” Suddenly the zombie apocalypse shifts in an entirely different direction. That or Cole is batshit crazy. “You’re not making sense.”

“I inserted it here—the first week of the injections,” he says taking my arm and brushing a finger over the spot of my weekly injections. “You know, the ones you got pissed about and went to talk to your dad about.” I look at Cole, really look at him. Look at his eyes and hair and those two dark eyebrows. With both hands, I take the collar of his shirt and lift it, covering his lower face. Obscuring the beard, his cracked dry lips, his nose.

“Oh, my God,” I whisper.

LabGuy.

“Hide it, Alexandra. Now.”

“How…what? Are you fucking kidding me?” I shout. My mind is reeling. The worry lines are still on his face but I’m trying to work this out. “Why didn’t you—”

“I’m sorry—I promised your father…I’ll explain it all later but you’ve got to hide that pouch.”

“Fine,” I spat. “Turn around.”

The minute he turns I race around in a circle, my mind buzzing with information. LabGuy is Cole. Cole is LabGuy. How did I not know? And why? Can’t be a coincidence. Did my father send him? I climb the rickety steps of a camper and glance around at the mildewed cabinets and fabric. No. No. Not here.

I exit the trailer and spot the truck. The driver’s side door opens with a telltale creak. On my hands and knees I run a hand under the seat and find enough space for the pouch. Pulling it over my sweaty neck, I wind the cord around it three times and shove it in the tiny space.

“Alex,” I hear him call, I back out of the car. A small ting hits the window.

Cole is in the same spot but facing me, hand resting on his neck. A tuft of color sticks between his fingers. Narrowing my eyes I see it’s a syringe. My hand wraps around my hatchet. There’s another tuft of feathers on the ground by my feet.

What is that? I bend over to pick it up.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice strained. I glance up.

Hatchet out, crouched position. “Cole?”

“Run,” he says, but I don’t. I can’t. He’s a piece of my past. The link to my father. Even though I’m angry and confused I’m not leaving him until I find out the truth.

Bodies rush toward him—the soldiers from before, covered head to toe in camouflage. Sleek black guns flash as he slumps forward. I lift my hatchet and take a jab at the one closest to me, cutting him on the shoulder. He goes for my wrists. Another levels the barrel of a rifle at my face. I step on the foot of the one holding me back, before kicking at the one with the gun. He grunts, dodging out of the way but a second weapon discharges, close to my ear and directly into my neck. I grab at the syringe but the hazy cloud cloaks my mind.

“What do you want?” I mumble, the words feeling like marbles in my mouth.

The man with the mustache comes into view, tranq gun in his hands. “We’ve been searching for you, Ms. Ramsey.”

“What?” My head floats.

“You’ve managed to avoid us for weeks now. Impressive for a girl your age.” He glances at Cole, lying in a heap on the ground. “Although it seems like you’ve had a little help.”

“What do you want from me?” I try to say but even I know the words don’t come out. The ground shifts beneath me and I slip into black.

Chapter Thirty-Eight

~Before~

4 Weeks Ago

“Watch your step,” I say. She trips anyway. Over a charred arm, no longer attached to a body. “Like that.”

She straightens herself, smoothing her shirt. Looking around she says, in a wavering voice, “How can you be so calm about all of this?”

“Do we really have any other choice?”

She’s wrong. I’m not calm. Underneath the surface I’m at a near epic level of terror and panic. There are bodies everywhere, like the aftermath of a battle. With every step I search for that red patch. For Paul’s black hair. When I don’t find either I can’t decide if I feel better or worse. Is it better to be alive at this point or dead? As we approach the bridge I’m not sure.

The smoke from the fire billowed for hours, finally settling into a slow burn. The stench is terrible. I have no doubt that the odor has seeped into my skin, my hair…definitely my clothes. It’s as though we’ve become the dead ourselves.

At dusk we left the cab of the truck and picked our way through the debris. Like everything simply getting the three blocks to the bridge proves difficult. Forty-five minutes later we make it. The soles of our shoes gummy with flesh.

“Do you have the map,” Mom asks. We’re hiding in a dark spot, against a tiny wooden shed, viewing the remains of our city. Like our house and neighborhood before it, I have to assume we’ll never see it again. “We head straight from here to the cabin.”

“It will probably take us weeks.” The sticky, bloody guts on the bottom of my shoes are not boosting my optimism.

Her fingers lace through mine. “We can do it and when we finally get there, hopefully your father will be waiting for us.”

The now familiar howl of an Eater bounces off the buildings on the other side of the city. Soon its cry is followed by others and a chill runs up my spine. A noise below catches my attention and I spot an Eater fighting against the current from the river below. He sees or smells us. If there’s one there will be more.

“Come on,” I say pulling her away from the bridge, away from our past and toward the uncertain future.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

~Now~

I wake in a gray room, lying on a bottom bunk. My head feels like lead—had I been clobbered by a brick? The image of the tranq dart sticking out of Cole’s neck lingers in my hazy memory. Cole=LabGuy. My head hurts too much to figure it out. They took us both out and brought us…well, somewhere.

Unable to move I stare above. The metal slats and springs of the upper bed feel too close, especially with the blur of my compromised vision.

“Hey,” I hear and the mattress shifts under me. The springs creak. “You awake?”

Cole sits next to me, peering down with a worried expression. He’s hunched under the upper bunk, relief mixed in with the tension. I struggle to sit. He helps, pushing the pillow behind my back. “Yeah, I guess. God, my head.”

He runs his hand over his face. “Tell me about it.”

“Where are we?” I ask.

“Not sure. Maybe the Air Force base? We weren’t that far away.”

“Why do you think that?”

He stands and points to an emblem on the foot of the bed.

USAF034.

“Right.”

Cole moves to the wall and slides down until he is sitting on the ground. The room is bare, other than two sets of bunks and an empty closet. An open door leads to a small bathroom.

“Does the water run?” I ask.

He nods.

“The power?”

He reaches over his head, straining and pushes the light switch. The bare bulb shines. He turns it off and sits back down.

“So they have electricity and water.” I swing my legs over the edge of the bed and fight a wave of nausea. “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

“They could be listening.”

“I have a feeling they know more than I do. It would be nice to catch up.” From the look on his face my sarcasm is not lost on him.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” he starts.

“I’m sure no one expected any of this to happen, Cole, but I don’t like being left in the dark, by you or my father. I need you to tell me what you know.”

He frowns, clearly conflicted. I roll my eyes and sigh. This is ridiculous.

I lie back down, my head is about to split. When I’m not looking at him he says, “The E-TR virus was developed as one of the many possible weapons to be used against the War on Terror. Part military—part private contract.”

“The E-TR virus was a weapon? Holy crap.”

“The theory was to infect terrorist cells in isolated areas. Primarily the desert. The US missed some opportunities early on to strike major groups—while they were in transition. They didn’t want that to happen again. They also couldn’t risk using nuclear warfare, so they started pushing bio weapons. One infected person would turn on the others effectively wiping out their entire group.”

“They would spread the virus to one another.”

“Yes and die quickly from the parasite infection. Military personnel would be given a vaccine and survivors an antidote. Your father was brought in to keep track of the process.”

“So my father was working for…”

“Both sides,” he says. “PharmaCorp and the government.”

“Wow.” I thought about the papers I’d seen on his desk. PharmaCorp was definitely mentioned.

“According to him the virus was years from being used in any sort of military project. They’d managed to manipulate the virus for warfare but the antidote was taking more time since the virus mutated easily.”

“We’ve seen that since the outbreaks here—constant changes.”

“Right,” he says nodding. “Originally the virus would just cause a nasty infection and spread easily. The cannibalism took them by surprise and your father insisted that they shut down the program.”

“But…”

“But PharmaCorp had an outside buyer—and they wanted a return on their investment.” Again the worry lines are deep on his forehead.

“Holy crap.”

“As soon the first wave of infection took place in Sudan, the government knew they had to shut it down. They called your dad back in to complete his work on the antidote and vaccine. That’s when he started using you and your mom in the trials.”

I sit up so I can see him better. “Hence the weekly blood tests.”

“Right.” Cole tented his fingers between his knees. “From what I understood he was close to a breakthrough when the non-travel state of emergency happened.”

“When he came to visit me? When you came to my house?” I ask. That day feels like a lifetime ago. I try to recall my kitchen. The way my house smelled like baked goods. My mother.

“Yes, he’d requested two more weeks for trials. He was confident he could work it out by then. His plan was to return home and get you.”

“That never happened.”

“No. I came into the lab and he was gone. The entire facility was wiped clean and surrounded by armed guards. I had twelve hours to gather my things and head to my assigned evacuation center. I picked up Chloe and made my way to the high school.”

“But you didn’t stay?”

“No.” He shook his head. “The day before your dad disappeared he asked me to check on you if anything happened. I think he knew it was coming. What I don’t know is if he left on his own or if they took him somewhere.”

“They?”

He shrugs, his shoulders meeting his ears. “These guys? The military? The CDC? PharmaCorp? I don’t know.”

I study Cole—LabGuy. The man-boy I had flirted with for months. I want to trust him but his story…it’s too easy. “What did you do for my dad? Lab assistant or something?”

“Like I told you before, I am in med school, but what I didn’t tell you was I did a volunteer stint with the Peace Corps in Africa during the Ebola outbreak. Your father found out about my experience and added me to his team.”

“How much do you know about this cure?”

“Not much,” he admits. “Your father was very secretive about his work. It’s not like I had clearance.”

“That’s an understatement.”

Neither of us speaks. I try to absorb the information he’s shared and not freak out about my dad. It’s no different than what I’ve suspected. Simply confirmed. He’s either dead, in hiding or being hidden. None of it helps at all.

I ask the question I can’t get past. “What do these guys want with me?”

“I guess they think you and I both know something.”

“Well they’re SOL with that one. He never told me anything.”

Cole opens his mouth to speak but seems to think better of it. He glances around and finally silently points to me and then to his chest. The pouch. The blood and the data. No, my father never told me anything but he left information with me. Information Cole knew about. This was getting weird.

I swallow. “If we work with these guys can we help people? Can we stop the Eaters? Knowing my father it would have been his ultimate goal. He would have sacrificed everything to stop this and save people.”

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen any sign of the epidemic slowing, have you? Why wouldn’t Dr. Ramsey have given them the cure by now?

I think of the burning bus. The way the military divided the people and then murdered half of them. Would that be necessary if they had a cure? A vaccine of some kind?

“If they had my father they wouldn’t need me,” I say, aware that this may be the truth about him. They wouldn’t need me if he was alive.

***

Cole and I wait in the room for hours. My body, unused to being so still, can’t help but seek recovery. I sleep, stupidly, but life has come to this. You sleep while you can, even if you don’t trust the one you’re with.

I’m pissed at Cole. He put us both at risk. He should have come to my house immediately when my father went missing. He should have told me about the tracker and information immediately. How do I even know he’s telling the truth now?

The lock unbolts with a loud clink and I lurch to a sitting position, banging my head on the top bunk. Cole hasn’t moved from his spot on the floor. No surprise really. He’s a doctor—or a wannabe doctor, not a fighter like Wyatt.

God, Wyatt. He’s probably halfway to Georgia by now. With the truck and the pouch of information I’d foolishly shoved under the seat. The odds are good that I’ll never see it or the truck again. I glance at Cole, at his blond shaggy hair and a narrow sharp jaw. I wonder if Chloe will come back for him. The idea of Wyatt ditching her pleases me, which is just so, so dumb.

A second bolt moves and we both hop to our feet. My hand moves to my belt, feeling for the butt of my hatchet but of course it’s gone. Either left at the campground or they took it somewhere in this facility. From the corner of my eye, I see Cole’s hands ball into tight, useless fists.

The door opens and a woman in fatigues walks in carrying a green plastic tray. Her bright red hair tied in a tight knot at the base of her neck, the rest of her head encased in a camouflaged cap. She stops three feet away and I can see the smattering of freckles on her nose. She’s young-ish. Probably around Cole’s age.

The waft of food—cooked food—hits my senses and I look at the tray. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes…there’s even something green. Beans maybe. My mouth waters on cue.

She holds out the tray and Cole and I glance at one another. Do we take it? Hell yes, we take it. I can’t figure out how to get out of here if I’m starving to death.

“Thank you,” I say out of habit.

The tag on her chest says Walker. She ignores me and walks out of the room, the same shifting click of the lock a distinct reminder we’re captive.

“Guess they want us alive, huh?” Cole says handing me my plate.

I shove a plastic sporkful of potatoes in my mouth and try not to cry. From the food, from what this all means, at the overwhelming idea of trying to get out of here and most of all, the fact I’m trapped with a freaking traitor.

***

Walker returns two hours later to collect our licked clean plates. This time I say, “Why are we here? Can we talk to someone? Where are we?”

Again she’s silent and avoids eye contact. I spot the black handle of a firearm holstered at her side. “Seriously though,” I try again. “We’re just going to sit here?”

She moves to the door and opens it, conversing quickly with someone on the other side. Between the gun and the backup in the hallway it’s clear they don’t trust us. But why? I’m an eighteen year old girl with a Peace Corp volunteering doctor guy. Sure he’s good with a crossbow but without it I don’t see there being a huge problem.

Walker turns back to us with a bundle of green cloth in her hands. A small box sits on top and with a wrinkle of her nose, she says, “Feel free to take a shower and change.

“What if we refuse to?” Cole asks.

“Your loss.” She shrugs. “But they won’t let you out of here until you’ve cleaned up.”

She leaves again and we stare at the clothing and towels. Cole opens the box and finds shampoo and hygiene supplies. He opens a bottle and sniffs it. The room fills with a sweet floral scent. Like the food, it seems stupid to waste an opportunity to shower.

“Here,” he says handing me the smaller bundle and the box.

“No you go.”

“I’m offering,” he says.

“I don’t want to.” God, I really want to take a shower, but I’ve had time to think and I don’t like the wormhole I traveled down.

He holds out the bundle again. I don’t take it. I just stand across from him, arms across my chest. Cole frowns. “What’s going on?”

“Just because we’re in this room together doesn’t mean we’re on the same side.”

The frown deepens, his eyebrows basically furrowing together. “We’re not?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“How did you come to that decision?”

“Because you lied to me, Cole. Like, I knew you…I had a nickname for you. You’ve been in my house. You’ve handled my fluids. In the post-apocalyptic world, we’re basically family and even through all of that, you lied to me. And that lie ended up with me here, locked up like a prisoner, unable to complete my father’s last request.”

My voice is shaking by the end. I’d been unaware how angry I really was. How scared. Maybe I wouldn’t be if I hadn’t seen these people blow up a school bus filled with people, but I did. That image, the smell, would never leave my mind.

“You led them right to me,” I say. “To the information. Why the hell didn’t you tell me about the tracker in my arm? Why didn’t you identify yourself when we first met back at the lake?”

“I can explain if you want me to.”

“Does it matter? Will it change anything?” I ask rolling my eyes. “It wasn’t just me this affected. My mom and Wyatt and even Chloe.”

“She wouldn’t go to the center on her own. I tried.”

He looks like he’s been hit by a blow and from the resigned look on his face I know he has no real defense. I snatch the bundle and box of cleaning products from him. “I’ll go first and you better watch my back,” I tell him. “I don’t trust you, but you owe me this much.”

He nods. “I’ve got your back.”

I roll my eyes and walk away. “Sure you do.”

Chapter Forty

~Before~

2 Weeks Ago

The bluish glow is so familiar, so comforting, that I want to cry. I grip my mother’s hand. She tightens hers in return.

Way outside of Cary, in a single country home not far off the highway, someone has on a television.

The light beckons me and we move toward it even though it’s dangerous. People are dangerous. We’ve spent days avoiding them. But news? It’s always alluring—to learn something. Know anything about what is going on. An explanation. That need overwhelms the base sense of safety.

“How do you think they have power?” Mom asks, then quickly suggests, “Maybe the grids only failed in the city.”

That doesn’t sound right. In fact we know better. Before we lost all service power outages were happening all over the quarantined areas. Maybe this means things are back online. Maybe this is over.

I take a step closer and look at the house. The owner’s did an okay job boarding up the windows but from the outside there was a sliver of space, just enough for the light to seep through.

On the roof I see rectangular grids reflecting off the half moon. “They have solar panels.”

We move quietly toward the house, ducking down beneath the window sill. We listen to the quiet, for the sounds beneath the chirping crickets and buzzing mosquitoes.

The voices are muffled. My mother’s forehead wrinkles in concentration. “It’s Roger Upton,” she whispers the name of the most famous newscaster on TV. I don’t need to see his face to conjure the image of his silver-gray hair and bushy eyebrows. A feeling of excitement bubbles under the surface. Oh, my God, maybe this really is over. My mother and I dare to smile at one another.

I catch snippets of his words, his voice covering me like a salve. “Outbreak…quarantine…get to the nearest shelter…”

“Anything new?” I ask.

My mom holds her finger to her lips.

“The state of Georgia announced today that they will shut down all travel to and from the state…”

Her smile fades and her eyebrows furrow.

“What?” I ask.

She begins to mouth words, the same ones coming from Roger Upton, the same warnings we heard over and over before everything shut down.

“It’s a recording,” she says.

“Like they’re replaying something—like the emergency stuff?”

“No it’s old. I swear I watched this same report months ago.”

We both move from the ground to try to catch sight of the television inside and I convince myself she’s crazy. That they are just being safe—keeping the quarantine up. Things obviously just got running again. They would take precautions.

I can’t see much through the slit, just the objects found in a living room. There is a TV, and yes, the top of Roger Upton’s head bobs up and down the screen—silver-gray hair included.

My mother, for once in her excessively easy-going life, refuses to budge. Her fingers clamped down on the edge of the windowsill. Her eyes shift back and forth, wild and searching.

“There,” she says in the lowest voice.

“What?”

“That box. The VCR.”

“VCR?” I ask like I don’t know what this is. I know, but really, no one uses a VCR anymore.

“The red light is on. And the green. It’s a tape. From before.”

I peer at the TV, looking for something, anything, to prove her wrong. I push up on my toes and crane my neck. I don’t see the VCR but I do see something that gives me pause. I blink, hoping I’m making it up, but when I open my eyes again there it is. From this angle I see the thin spray of red across the bottom of the screen. I see the foot. Pale and bare.

The sense of elation crashes down, replaced with familiar dread. The brief snapshot of the past crumbles. We’re still here. In this modern day hellhole called Earth.

“Alex,” my mom says tugging on my arm. I feel her—hear her, but she seems far away. She calls my name again and something metal and hard clinks behind me.

“We need to get out of here,” I say but my voice is drowned out by a low growl in the dark. “Get out your gun.”

I’ve removed my hatchet and hear her fumble with her own weapon. “Run that way, to the left, around the house. Find somewhere safe and wait for me,” I tell her, but beyond that I’ve got no other directions. I have no idea where we are. Other than the traitorous light from the house it’s incredibly dark outside.

The growling shifts, turning into the painful cry I’ve come to recognize so well. My mother runs left and I dash to the right, banging my hatchet against the house to get its attention. The method works and as I run through the overgrown yard, I hear the Eater follow me, hot in pursuit. It’s hungry, they’re always hungry, and I can only run so long across what seems to be an endless field.

Stupid rural North Carolina.

A breeze of air blows across my sticky with sweat face and the moon appears from behind a cloud. I stop, forced to catch my breath. The Eater wails sending a chill up my spine. Every step elicits the same rattling clank. I turn to face it, can’t tell in the shadowy night if it’s a male or female. For the first time I don’t think I care.

I only see the creature in front of me as nothing more than a dead man walking. His shrieking cry turns ragged as he approaches, feet tangled in the weeds, a long chain clamped to his wrist.

“Did you leave that video on for me?” I see him clearly now. Metallica t-shirt, face oozing with sores, eyes black and spidery. “Hoping to lure me in? God, trolls exist even after the internet is gone.”

He lunges forward, swiping an arm at me. I step back, dodging the chain. Had he been restrained?

“I guess it’s gonna be either you or me,” I tell him, clutching the handle of my weapon. This will not end like the night I met Paul, when he had to save me. “Unfortunately, I’ve got a job to do and I’m not letting a rotting, parasite filled bastard keep me from doing it.”

Eliciting my own feral cry, I lift my hatchet and swing.

Chapter Forty-One

~Now~

Cole’s hair is still wet when Walker returns to our cell. We’re both dressed in drab green military fatigues. Clean clothes are a luxury. They’ve hit us with our basic needs—wants. Food, shower, clothing. Add housing into it and I can see the allure. Except we’re not here by choice. We’re prisoners.

“Turn around,” she says and we both comply after a moment of notable hesitation. My wrists are then bound with thick plastic zip ties. A quick glance tells me the same is happening to Cole. Again, whatever is going on here, they don’t trust us.

But why?

Walker and another solider, this one a black male in his late twenties or thirties, walk us down a long corridor. His tag says Richardson. Doors line the hallway. There are no windows. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Walker stops abruptly, causing Cole and me to stumble in reaction. Richardson’s hand never leaves the butt of his gun.

“Where are we?” I ask again, not expecting an answer.

I watch, intrigued as Walker enters numbers into a security pad and then presses her palm flat against it.

“Shaw Air Force Base,” Richardson replies.

“We’re in South Carolina?” Cole asks.

“I must have really been out of it,” I mutter.

The security box lights up green and the door opens with a sigh, cool air slipping out. “Got something important down here?” Cole says lightheartedly.

I don’t know what I expect, but it isn’t a full lab, similar to my father’s at Duke. Scientists in crisp white coats and blue vented face masks work at the long rows of tables. I search each face for my father—for his familiar eyes, the mole next to his temple. If he’s here I don’t see him.

“You’ve continued the work?” Cole asks.

“It never stopped,” a voice says from a small office beside us. The man from the trailer park steps out. The one with the mustache. His hair is cut short, and he’s lean and muscular. He’s got the same stance and demeanor as Wyatt but twenty years older, without the man-bun and in distinct military dress. This furthers my theory Wyatt has military training.

Beneath the stars and medals a name tag declares his name: Colonel Erwin. “We moved everything here after Raleigh fell. It’s more secure.” He gives me a once over. “Feel better after that shower and meal?”

“Is my father here?” I ask hopeful. Maybe that is what this is about. They’re bringing me to him. Cole and me. That makes sense.

“The whereabouts of Dr. Ramsey are classified, for national security.”

My first thought is relief—he’s not dead. My second is rage. “He’s my father! I have the right to know,” I yell, my temper at the end of its fuse.

“The security and outcome of the human race depend on his work. Unfortunately, you’re not privy to that information.”

I take a step forward but a hand restrains me on my arm. Cole tugs me back toward him. Hope sinks like a stone in my chest. “If we’re not here to see him, then why have you brought us here?”

“Because even though you cannot see him at this time, we’re aware that you’re in possession of vital information needed to develop a cure for the infection. The fact you’ve been hiding out from us for weeks hasn’t helped matters. The infection has spread across the globe, reaching catastrophic levels—any chance we have of stopping it lies with you.”

I glance uneasily at Cole since he’s the one that suggested I hide it. But there’s something else. Why would my father have told me to take it and run? There’s a reason he doesn’t want this man to have the information. I make the snap decision to lie. “I don’t have any information. My father never gave me anything. And I’ve only been hiding from you so I can get to Atlanta to find my sister.”

I expect Colonel Erwin to call my bluff but he simply looks over my shoulder and commands, “Take her to room eight and prep her for testing.”

Four hands grab me from behind and Cole is shoved out of the way. “Testing?” he asks.

“Yes,” Erwin says. “If the data is gone then we’ll have to start over again to build the cure. Dr. Ramsey isolated Alexandra as his primary test subject. We’ll have to replicate his work.”

“This is crazy,” I say but Walker and Richardson hold tight. They drag me away from Erwin, and I see two more soldiers grab Cole as he starts in my direction. We pass the rows of scientists all deep into their projects. None even glance up at me.

I’m carried, more than walked into the small room. A single chair, much like the kind the dentist’s office sits in the middle of the room. They force me into the seat, quickly binding my wrists to the arms with Velcro straps.

“I suggest you don’t struggle,” Walker says flicking on a blinding fluorescent light.

“What am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait?”

For the first time she looks me in the eye. The green of her eyes takes me by surprise. They aren’t hard like I expect them to be. She’s not my friend but…

“Follow directions, Alex. Things will go better that way.”

With that she shuts the door and leaves me to wait.

***

After hooking me up to a bag of fluids and prepping my arm, men and women (or rather Drones as I start to call them) in white coats and blue face masks take blood from me like it’s my job.

“No injections?” I ask a Drone—a female with her dark hair wound in a bun so tight I can see where her skin stretches at the temple. She has on thick framed glasses and I can see myself reflected back in the lens. I’d like to say I look menacing and dangerous but the wide, scared eyes mirrored back to me are that of a kid strapped to a chair who hasn’t had a full night’s sleep or a solid meal in months.

“No,” she says, surprising me with an answer. “We’ll just take blood from now on.”

“How much blood,” I ask.

She shrugs, pressing the needle into my skin with a pinch. “As much as it takes.”

This happens three more times before the Drone tapes a bandage to the inside of my elbow and unhooks the tube of fluids. She leaves and Walker and Richardson enter the room.

“Hey guys,” I say feeling a little woozy.

Typically silent they rip the Velcro off my wrists and ankles.

“What? Where are we going?” I ask but my arms are latched behind my back again and we head through the lab.

I scan the room on my way out but there is no sign of Cole among the Drones. I do catch sight of Colonel Erwin in his office, huddled over a computer. His eyes are narrowed and his jaw tense. He doesn’t look happy, no, I know he’s not happy. He finds the closest Drone and begins screaming.

“We’ve got a timeline here! A completely fucked timeline. We’re weeks behind and without Ramsey we have no map to follow. Do you not understand that? We have to get this out there before PC gets their version live. Once they do we’re screwed. Not just us but the whole goddamn planet. ”

Spittle flies from his mouth, and the Drone, a Hispanic guy, mask off, stands ramrod straight in front of him taking it like a champ.

“We’ve only just started processing her blood,” I hear him say. “It’s going to take time to get a breakdown.”

“We don’t have time,” Erwin says glancing away in disgust.

I avert my eyes before he can spot me. I have no interest in being any further on his radar at the moment. Walker’s hand pushes against my back, leading me faster out of the room. She must feel the same way.

We travel the same long hall as before and I realize we’re going back to my room. “So that’s it? Are we done?”

“For today.”

Richardson unlocks the door and they push me inside, slamming the door before I have the chance to ask anything further. Cole is sitting on the bed but jumps up quickly and rushes toward me.

“Are you okay?” he asks taking my arm and lifting the bandage at the crook of my elbow. “Did they hurt you?”

His concern is real. I can see it in his eyes and voice. It stings as much as the injection. It’s his fault that we’re here—or partially at the very least, and I want to be angry, but right now he’s the only one on my side. The only person I’ve got.

“No, I’m fine. They just took some blood.”

“Sit down,” he says leading me to the bed. “Are you lightheaded? Weak?”

“A little. They had me hooked to fluids.” I sit and lay back, resting my head. Cole doesn’t leave me but presses his hand to my forehead like he’s checking for a fever. “I need to know the truth, Cole.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “About what?”

“Everything.”

Chapter Forty-Two

~Before~

3 Weeks Ago

My mother finds me coated in blood, standing over the remains of the Eater. My hands shake but never let go of the hatchet.

He’s dead for real now. I know that since I’m the one that severed his neck, but I keep going back to the restraints, even picking up the heavy chain, lifting his arm like a marionette.

“Someone did this,” I say trying to wrap my head around it. Who had restrained him and how had he gotten loose?

“Come on,” my mother says leading me toward the house with her flashlight. To my surprise she pushes open the back door. I stop abruptly, yanking her back.

“We can’t go in there.”

“It’s empty. We can.”

“How do you know?” I ask.

“I checked.”

I don’t believe her but at the same time anyone in the house would have heard me and the Eater fighting. It’s late, dark and the exposure of being outside freaks me out. Lacking any other option we go inside.

We enter a small room in the back of the house, closed up and dark. There’s another door that leads inside. It’s already shut but Mom secures the locks, pushing an ironing board across the door as well. That’s where we hole up, next to the washing machine and twenty cans of cat food.

“So I guess now I’m a murderer,” I say leaning back against the dryer. The metal flexes against my weight.

“No, you aren’t a murderer,” my mother says, while smoothing my hair out of my face. She pours a small amount of water on a (maybe) clean cloth and begins wiping my face. Dark red stains seep into the fabric. Gross. Eater guts. On my face.

“You and I both know those people aren’t really dead,” I say.

“They may as well be,” she says pushing and pulling at my skin. “It’s not like you had much choice.”

My mother the rationalizer can even make me feel okay about my first kill. It’s not just a character trait. It’s a superpower. The Rationalizer. Her cape would be made out of a sleeping bag, with a fluffy pillow attached.

“Why did the end of the world have to happen during the hottest time of the year,” I grumble taking a small sip of water from my bottle. The room is stifling hot, but I’m afraid to venture further into the house. I know there’s at least one other dead body in there and I have little desire to see it.

“I wasn’t sure how this was going to end,” she says, shifting my face left to right with her hand on my chin, inspecting. “But now I think we’ll make it. I think we will get to the cabin and find your father.”

“Why?”

“Because every day we do something we think we can’t. We walk a little farther. We find food and water. Shelter. We’re not afraid to do what we have to—at least you aren’t.”

“I’m not sure I agree on that,” I say feeling increasingly unstable. The hot room. The sticky blood. The metal head I just decapitated outside. All of it is starting to completely fuck with my head.

But I don’t say that. I keep that to myself and instead say, “You’re getting better at this too.”

She smiles and continues to rub the blood out of my hair. I can tell it makes her happy to have a job—a motherly job. It’s the least I can do.

“There,” she says satisfied with the cleanup. She then makes her little pillow out of her sweatshirt and lies down next to a stack of cans with little gray and white cat faces staring at us in the glare of our flashlight. She closes her eyes and like that, she’s asleep.

Rest doesn’t come as easy for me, even in the seemingly safe room. Something about this whole place makes me nervous. The video and the chained up Eater. It feels off—weird and the feeling in the pit of my stomach coils tight like a warning.

Was the whole thing intentional or did we just stumble into another horrific example of collateral damage? It’s impossible to know and frankly we won’t know more until daylight. God knows what will be waiting for us outside.

I click off my flashlight and listen, faintly hearing the sounds of Roger Upton filter through the door. I don’t want to find comfort in his words but I do. He’s a talisman from the life before. When we held on to a glimmer of hope. Where the warm blue light of the TV made me feel safe. I take a deep breath and strain my ears, listening to his words, allowing them to soothe me.

It’s crazy. I feel crazy, but at the moment it’s all I have.

Chapter Forty-Three

~Now~

From the bed I hear Cole fill a plastic cup with water from the sink. He brings it to me, helping me to prop myself up on the uncomfortable mattress. A long metal bar jabs into my back but I want to see him when he tells me the full story.

His hands are gentle as he positions me and again he checks the crook of my elbow where the Drones drew the blood. “Cole,” I say trying not to be annoyed. To be honest it’s nice to have someone fuss over me. “Stop procrastinating. Just tell me. What do they want from me? Why all the blood withdrawals?”

He sits back on the floor, knees up, pressing his back to the wall. “I took the job as a basic lab assistant—just to make some extra money during school and get a foot into the research world. Being in Liberia during the Ebola outbreak gave me a crash course in medicine—I wasn’t a doctor yet, but I saw and did things there that would take a lifetime of work to experience here, if ever. What really inspired me though, was finding a cure—the research side. Watching those people succumb to this terrible disease made me want to stop it at the source.”

He takes a deep breath before continuing, “Getting an assistant position with your father was huge—but you know that. He’s literally the biggest name in parasitology. He’s made amazing strides and it’s no surprise the public and private sector were fighting over him. Unfortunately, the PharmaCorp not only had the money, they had ties to a terrorist group that were willing to risk humankind to further their cause.”

“What do you mean terrorist groups?”

“They call themselves patriots. Nationalists. Whatever they are they’re extreme—outside the mainstream military for sure,” he answered.

“But what does any of this have to do with me and all the tests?” I ask. “Because trust me, I know how amazingly amazing my dad is.” I’d spent a lifetime second fiddle to his career. Even now, in the possibly post-apocalyptic world he overshadows the rest of us.

“When PharmaCorp sold the E-TR virus to the patriots that dropped the virus on Boko Haram. As horrible as that group is the virus was too unstable. Your father knew it would spread and he was right. It rippled across Africa and then across the rest of the country. Your father started to scramble to create an antidote and vaccine. He needed a test subject and he included his family. If anyone was going to have the active antibodies needed to fight this it was going to be you and your mother.”

“Holy crap. Are you saying I’m immune or something?” The intrigue only lasts a minute when I think about my mother. A lump forms in my throat. “Oh, my God, my mom. Was she immune? Did I k—k—kill her for...”

I lurch forward. Every ounce of fluid barreling up my throat. I race to the bathroom, nearly falling over twice but Cole is right behind me keeping me steady. I vomit into the toilet, a rush of water and not much of anything else.

“Alex, no,” he says pulling my hair off my cheeks. “God, no. She wasn’t immune. Remember? He excluded her from the experiments months before your final injections.”

Relief washes over me, but it doesn’t stop another wave of nausea. I steady myself against Cole, who hasn’t taken his hands off of me. Once I’ve gained my footing he wets a towel and I use it to clean my mouth and face.

Helping me back to the bed he says, “Your mother wasn’t a good test subject. But you? You were his golden ticket. Your body reacted to the vaccine, therefore altering your body to help create the antibodies needed to help others fight the virus. At least that was the ultimate hope before he got shut down.”

I try to let that sink in but it’s too big. “If all of that is true then why shut Dad down? Why not let him finish what he started?”

Cole shakes his head. “I’m afraid those are government secrets above any level I’d have access to.”

I narrow my eyes. “Yeah, you know an awful lot for a basic lab guy. Who told you so much?”

“Your dad. When we left your house that day he asked me to follow up on you. He told me about the,” he touches his chest, still aware that we’re probably being watched, “stuff.  When you and your mom took off I followed.”

“Why?” I say leaning toward him. “That had to be outside of what he was talking about. He would never ask you to leave your life behind to follow my mom and me on a suicidal mission.”

“The world as we know it is over, Alex. You may be the one thing that can help us. On a professional level, I have an obligation to see this through—to your father and to humanity as a whole.” His eyes flick downward, toward his hands that have been worrying the Army green fabric of his pants. He speaks again, this time his voice rough and deep, “On a personal level? I knew I wanted to know more about you the first day you stepped into my lab. If the world is going to shit, and it’s very likely that it is, I want to at least have taken a shot.”

I blink, totally overwhelmed by all of the information he just shared—especially that last bit. I try to say something impressive and forget the fact Cole just saw me hurl my guts out in the other room. I open my mouth. “Uh—that’s uh…wow,” is the brilliant statement that comes out.

Regardless of my stupidity, Cole laughs and I see the brightness of his eyes and I realize he’s right about one thing. We’ve got one life to live here and it may be more important than I’d ever realized.

“Well,” I say regaining a little composure. “We need to come up with a game plan. For my dad and Mom, and everyone else that had sacrificed.”

He nods. “I agree.”

“First things first,” I say. “Getting out of here. Dad gave me strict instructions to find Jane, not to find Colonel Asshat. For whatever reason that is not what he wanted me to do.”

“Agreed,” he says again.

“Do you have any ideas?” I ask, hopeful that he’s one step ahead of me—that he spent the day in here plotting our big escape.

He scrunches his nose and says, “Nope. I’ve got nothing.”

I sigh. “Guess we’ll have to come up with one then.”

The sharp click of the lock on our door forces us to both stop talking. Walker enters the room with a two plates of food. One has some sort of grits or oatmeal with a small piece of meat and what appears to be canned cooked carrots. The other plate is the opposite. It looks absolutely delicious—lots of meat and greens.

“Eat up,” she says handing the better looking plate to me. “You’ve got another round of withdrawals coming in an hour. They want you ready.”

“What the hell?” I ask. “Are they fattening me up for slaughter?”

Walker turns to leave without another word and shuts the door with a harsh, echoing click.

Chapter Forty-Four

~Before~

3 weeks ago

At daybreak light filters in a small vent at the top of the wall where the dryer exhaust funnels outside. Inch by inch the light creeps across the floor until it lands directly on my mother’s face. I don’t wake her. I don’t move.

“Hey girl,” she says, stretching on her back. Her bones crack, shifting with age and she groans against the stiffness of sleeping on the floor. She blinks several times, acclimating to the light. If she’s anything like me every time she wakes up she has to reconcile the world we now live in. A heavy line creases across her forehead. “What’s wrong?”

I pull my knees up to my chin and wrap my arms around them. “Where do you think the cats are?”

“What?”

I gesture to the tower of food. “The cats…where do you think they went in all this?”

She looks at the food as though it’s the first time she’s noticed it. It probably is. “Cats are pretty resilient. They’re probably hunting mice in the fields.”

I stare at the cans. Then down at my toes. Then at the door where Roger Upton stopped talking some time ago. I hope the battery died. I hope there’s no one on the other side of the door.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

“Do what?” she asks more awake now. She bends her knee, grimacing a little at the stiffness.

“This. This whole thing anymore. The killing and the running.”

Her stomach makes a noise—a gurgle of hunger. She rummages in her bag and digs out a couple pieces of bread and a jar of peanut butter. I watch her slowly spread the brown butter with a plastic knife across the crumbly, drying out bread. She hands me one and takes a bite of the other. I watch her chew, taking her time until she finally says, “I don’t want to do it anymore either, but…”

“No buts,” I say. “Let’s just…stop. Can we stop?”

She holds me in a stare, the kind that she gave me when I lied about my book report in the third grade and forged her name. She found out and made me apologize to my teacher. It’s the look that says ‘I know you don’t want to do this but you have to do this so suck it up, Alex. We can’t stay in a laundry room forever with stale air and nothing to eat but cat food and.’

“I know you’re tired, honey. And scared. I’m terrified.”

“So, let’s give up. Can we not give up?” The words sound rational in my head but crazy once they leave my mouth. I know you can’t just stop. It’s not the Ramsey way. That’s not how you get to be valedictorian.

She reaches for me, her warm hand covering mine. “We can’t give up. We promised your father. We owe it to your sister.”

Jane. For some reason I try not to think about her. She’s all alone in the middle of a big city with no support. Dad obviously looped her in on this thing too—he made that clear before he left but does she know that? What did he tell her?

But most of all I worry I’ll never find her or worse, that there’s no one left to find.

I know that I’m just having some sort of breakdown, although at the same time I think the reality of life has finally hit home. The one where Roger Upton is a thing of the past. Where chained up Eaters are my present. And killing things—yes things—is definitely the future.

“We won’t be the same people when we find them,” I say examining the bread and tearing off a small corner turning green with mold.

“No, I don’t suppose we will be,” she says. “Maybe we’ll be better.”

I shove the sandwich in my mouth and force down the dry bread and gooey peanut butter. Even now my mother lives in a fantasy but maybe that makes her better equipped to deal with all of this?

“Something is really bothering you—other than what you’ve said. What is it?”

I look down at my hands and say, “What if one of us gets attacked? What if we get sick?”

“Then I guess we’ll do what we have to.”

“Which is what?” I know what but I need to have this conversation. I want to know what is expected of me. “Because I don’t want to get left out there in a silly kitty cat shirt trying to eat people. I don’t want that to happen.”

My mother reaches for me. She pulls me close and into a tight hug. With as much time as we’ve spent together lately it hasn’t been like this. “Alexandra, I know you think I’m a mess and I’m flaky and read too much.”

“No-” I argue.

“You do,” she says but laughs. “It’s true, but I’m also a mother and to be a mother you have to have a lot of strength. I have the strength to take care of us when I need too.”

I know she means that she’ll take me out of my flesh eating misery. I nod. “I guess that means I have to be ready too.”

“Yep.”

We sit together quietly until she says, “Come on,” and shakes her head at the tower of cat food. “Let’s get out of here. All those little yellow eyes are freaking me out.”

Chapter Forty-Five

~Now~

Days pass and a consistent routine develops. I’m strapped to the chair in the lab and they take blood. I eat and sleep in my room. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

As I’m escorted from my dorm room one morning the tension in the lab becomes noticeably thick. Even with their blue masks it’s pretty clear the Drones are stressed. The reason becomes clear when I hear Erwin shout, “We’re no closer to the cure than when she first got here!” Loud enough for the whole lab to hear.

“Maybe,” a brave Drone says. “The information we had about her is inaccurate.”

Erwin’s face turns beet red. “Did I give you permission to speak?”

“N-n-no, sir.” The Drone looks ready to sink into the ground.

“Do not question my authority again. Perform another test.” The Colonel turns back to this office mumbling about geeks and nerds and how when the G-D world fell apart it would be on their shoulders.

Ouch.

I catch Cole’s eye across the room. He’d been brought in when it was clear the Drones had no idea what they were looking for or how to actually make the vaccine. A guard, usually Richardson, stands over him at all times. We’re no closer to figuring a way to get out of here and at this rate, the only people left uninfected by the E-TR virus will probably be the Drones and officers trapped in here with us.

That idea alone strengthens my resolve to get out of here. Over the last couple of days, I’ve had the opportunity to study the lab. Most of the workers are at the long tables in the middle of the room. They have access to pretty high tech supplies from what I can tell. There are no windows or other exits other than a metal door square in the back of the room. I’ve only seen military personnel go in and out, using a keypad and code. I can’t help but wonder if it may be our way out of here.

Walker enters the small cubicle where I’m strapped to the chair. She checks the fluids and loosens the Velcro around my wrists. My arms are a wreck. Dark bruises from the needles and my wrists are rubbed raw from the restraints.

“Thanks,” I say quietly. She’s nice to me but not in a way anyone would notice. Just little things, like not treating me like a piece of trash. “Any idea how much longer they’re going to keep me here today?”

To my shock she answers, “Despite Erwin’s freak out, I think they’re making some progress. They’ve lined up an experiment to test the first round of vaccines.”

“Seriously? They figured it out?” I can’t decide if I’m happy or not about this. I certainly rather not be their personal guinea pig any longer.

“It’s just a first round. It took your father months to get this far. Without his research they’re starting from scratch. Even your boyfriend wasn’t privy to how the vaccine actually worked.”

I glance at Cole, who is busy leaning over a microscope. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

She shrugs.

“No really, he’s not. He’s just…some guy.”

Walker turns to face me and asks suddenly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Uh, sure, I guess.”

“Why were you on the run from us? Shouldn’t you do what you can for the country? You could be the solution to this whole freaking disaster.”

“I wasn’t on the run,” I say. “I was trying to take care of my family. My father never told me about his work—ever.”

“You should have reported to the emergency center and saved us all some trouble.”

“If I’m the savior you’re telling me I am, then why do you guys keep treating me like a piece of crap? Like a prisoner?”

“You do realize historically what has happened to those who can potentially save mankind? Ever hear of Jesus Christ? It’s not like he got a warm welcome.”

She did not just compare me to Jesus. I roll my eyes at her theatrics. “You guys are desperate and I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m not the answer any more than anything else you guys have been working on.”

The soft expression I’d come to expect from Walker shifted into a menacing snarl. “You better hope you’re the answer, Alex, because a lot of people are counting on you. Some closer to you than you think.”

I strain to sit up but the straps at my wrists and ankles hold me back. “What does that mean? Who are you talking about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough and when you do, you’ll wish you’d cooperated a little more willingly.” She leans forward. “Now is the time to confess to anything you may know. Any information you may have, before it’s too late.”

I think about the pouch hidden in the truck. God knows where it even is—where Wyatt and Chloe have taken it or abandoned it. “Whatever. I’ve already told you everything I know—which is nothing. Keep me here. Poke me with needles. Do whatever you need to try to stop this crazy epidemic. No one can say I’m not a team player.”

She gives me a long look, one that becomes even more unnerving when it morphs back her professional, stone-faced expression. Her hands reach for the binds, tightening the Velcro with a sharp pull. I wince and fight back tears. Walker leaves me alone in the room, bound to the chair. I know now, more than ever, that Cole and I have to get out of here—fast.

***

Walker comes back and jerks the straps from my arms with a loud rip.

“Get up,” she says.

“Jesus, what the hell got into you?” I rub the inflamed skin on my wrists.

Pushing me outside my cubicle door she directs me left, instead of taking me down the row between lab tables, heading straight to the back of the room.

“Where are we going?” I ask searching to catch Cole’s eye across the room. No need—he’s already watching—eyes narrowed and concerned.  Before I can react, Richardson yanks him up and pushes him in the same direction. I turn to Walker. “What’s going on?”

“You’re going to a show. Front row seats.”

We approach the door I’ve been so curious about—the one I’ve hoped can be of use. Despite Walker’s cryptic words I’m excited to get out of that chair and to do something different. Best case it’s an opportunity to learn more about the facility and possibly escape. Worst? Honestly, at this point I have no idea how things can get worse.

Walker punches a code of numbers into the keypad and the lock clicks, opening the door. I’m escorted in first, swaying a little on my feet. The blood loss kicks in making me lightheaded. Cole jumps to my aid, holding me at the waist.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Just woozy sometimes. It passes.”

I glance around the room, confused. It’s nothing more than a narrow corridor with four seats mounted with screws to the floor. The seats face the wall and there’s another door opposite of the one we just came through.

“What is this?” I ask anyone who will answer. Cole shrugs, but I can tell he’s trying to figure it out too.

“Sit down,” Walker says directing me to the chairs. I take one in the middle and Cole lowers himself into the seat next to mine.

“Do you know anything about this?” I ask him. “Is this about the testing?”

“Maybe.” He gestures forward and I notice that the wall in front of me isn’t a wall at all. It’s darkened glass—like a window we can’t see through. A queasy feeling rolls through my stomach.

“Quiet,” Richardson says, his deep, rarely heard voice. The door clicks again and swings open, reveling Colonel Erwin. Walker and Richardson snap to attention. Cole and I just stare.

“At ease,” he commands and barely spares us a second glance. “After weeks of diligent work and the donations from you both we are ready for phase one of testing the E-TR antidote. We thought you’d like to observe the experiment yourself and see how important it is that both of you give us one hundred percent dedication to the eradication of the E-TR virus.”

I look at Walker, who pins me with a hard stare. She’s still not convinced I’m telling her everything. I guess Erwin isn’t either.

He steps forward and presses a button on the wall. Reflective blinds slide open revealing another room. Two Drones in standard white lab coats stand on the other side. Two clear plexi-glass cages sit in the middle of the room. They each contain a single male. They’re wearing a gray shirt with a number taped on the front. Number 1028 is pale with reddish blond hair and panicked green eyes. The other guy, Number 1029, is a similarly aged and sized Hispanic male. His dark eyes dart back and forth. It’s obvious they can’t see us nor did they notice the blinds go up.

“One of these men has been injected with the vaccine and the other actively has the virus.”

“What?” Cole asks rising from his seat. Richardson pushes him back down. “What the hell is that going to prove?”

“The one with the vaccine has passed all of the standard laboratory tests. We need to see how he fairs with an actual infected person.

“You’re going to allow the Eater to infect him?” I ask my voice wobbly with rage. I look at the men. “That’s barbaric.”

“This is war, Ms. Ramsey.”

“No, Colonel Erwin, this is a health crisis. An epidemic. Not a war. God, and adults think we play too many video games.” I shake my head. “No wonder my father refused to work with you.”

Erwin’s eyes narrowed at the mention of my dad. “Your father was a traitor, working against the United States in the War Against Terrorism. He assisted an illegal, radical, fringe group develop a biological weapon that was used in direct violation of international war laws.”

My heart beat so hard in my chest I thought it would burst. Anger boiled under my skin. My father was many things but he loved his country. I’m about to jump out of my seat when Cole’s warm hand comes down on my arm.

“Dr. Ramsey did not betray this country,” Cole says, his voice hard.

“He did,” he says and points to the window and into the other room. Both men have become increasingly agitated. 1029 is visibly shouting at the Drones and 1028’s palms are pressed against the glass like he’s trying to break free. “Just like those men and now they must pay for their crimes by helping us resolve the E-TR infection.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Cole mutters. Richardson moves swiftly and rams the butt of his gun into the side of Cole’s head. He slumps forward before jumping up. He spins, fists balled, ready to fight. Richardson levels his gun at Cole’s face.

“Hey!” I shout, jumping between Cole and the gun. I look at Richardson. “Dude, lower the gun. I don’t want nerd brains all over my clothes, okay?”

“What?” Cole asks rubbing his head. Richardson looks at Erwin and gets a nod of approval to lower his gun.

“You’re batshit crazy,” I say to Erwin. “But you’ve got the power. What are we going to do? Fight our way out of here? A Lab Guy and a teenaged girl?” I sit back in my chair, pretending I’m above all this and not completely panicked about Cole’s head and the fact he almost got shot at close range. “Show us your deranged experiment but stop beating people.”

“Alex,” Cole whispers. “You don’t want to watch this.”

“We have no choice. Suck it up,” I tell him before glancing at Erwin.  “Ready when you are, Colonel.”

Erwin smiles and it’s disturbing. All sharp teeth. He presses the button again and smugly says, “Proceed.”

Chapter Forty-Six

~Before~

13 Days Ago

I don’t find my courage for a while longer but eventually we leave the laundry room. The stench of the dead man lying on the living room floor has become unbearable.

Without ever opening the door to the main house we scavenge what we can from the tiny room. There isn’t much but we do find a gallon of water to fill our bottles, a package of tea-candles and some extra clothes.

I toss a bar of soap into my bag and a Tar Heel t-shirt hanging on a peg.

“Alex,” my mom says. “Do you think these will work?”

“What?” I’m digging through a cabinet hoping someone stashed a box of protein bars in here. There’s nothing but bottles of detergent. I hear the sound of metal jangling against one another and turn. She’s holding a ring of silver and brass keys. One in particular has a black fob.

“Is that a car key?”

“Yes,” her voice shakes.

My heart lurches like I’ve been injected with a straight dose of hope. Shit. We’d decided not to drive out of Cary. The roads were a mess and the military was everywhere—making a vehicle a bad decision. But out here…in the country like this the highways and back roads are pretty clear.

“What do you think?” she asks, a glimmer of excitement on her face.

“Let’s try it,” I say.

We creep away from the house, widely avoiding the decomposing body of the Eater I’d killed the night before. The late morning temperatures are already rising and the humidity is thick. We circled around to the carport and found a Honda SUV. Mom presses the fob and the doors unlock with a small click.

Quickly we enter the car, shutting the doors and locking them. With my backpack in my lap I say, “Try it,” unable to hide my eagerness.

The car sputters on the first crank but catches on the second. I don’t know why we were worried. The car starts easily. It’s a freaking Honda after all. They’re like the cockroaches of the apocalypse. Even the Eaters and the end of the world can’t take them down. I peer over the steering wheel and see that the tank is close to full.

“You got the map?” Mom asks.

I pull it from my bag and spread it out on my lap. “We can make it there today if we don’t go too far off track,” I say tracing the route to the lake and cabin with my fingers. The route we’d taken from Raleigh was anything but direct and I had a feeling we’d end up doing the same to get the rest of the way to the cabin.

She backs out the car and I flip the switches, allowing a gust of cold air to blow through the car. The recycled air smells clean—unlike the smoke that has lingered on our clothes and hair since we left home. Mom laughs with delight and I breathe in—hoping to dispel the insecurity from the night before.

Mom reaches over and squeezes my leg. “New day, Alex. I told you last night that we’ve got this.”

She turns onto the main road and turns to the right, never looking down the other way. Why would you? We’re the only vehicle out here. But I do look. Out of habit. Maybe a sixth sense? Or is it just the simple swaying back and forth that caught my attention. I only catch a glimpse before my mom speeds off toward the future—toward something better. But that glimpse tells me something is wrong. Very, very wrong. In the side mirror I see the large metal, rural mailbox jutting from the ground and an Eater chained to it.

Chapter Forty-Seven

~Now~

The window shudders from the weight of the two men, both caught in a fight for their lives. Well, really just one. 1029 kicks the already doomed, spider-eyed 1028 in the chest, crashing him into the glass. It’s a feeble attempt to get back to the safety of his cage. 1028 is in full E-TR virus rage at this point. I don’t know how long the man can hold him off.

“Help!” 1029 screams in the direction of the Drones, hiding behind their own locked, plexi-glass shield. His dark eyes are wide with fear. His chest heaves with adrenaline. The Drones do nothing more than make notes on their charts. I think we know who the real monsters are in here.

“How long do you keep this up?” I ask forcing myself to watch. Cole’s hand latched to mine the minute the men were released from the cage. He squeezes it in support.

“Until the Eater infects 1029. We have to see if the vaccine works.”

“And this is the only way? A fight to the death.”

“There’s a reason to my methods,” Erwin declares, but the darkness behind his eyes implies otherwise. He’s nothing more than a power hungry sociopath.

“I’m not watching this,” I declare and stand. A heavy hand comes down on my shoulder and I hear the familiar cock of Richardson’s gun. I glance over my shoulder. “Do you ever put that thing away?”

“Never,” he replies, his voice firm.

Another scream echoes through the adjacent room and I see that 1028 has become completely unhinged. His pale face has turned red and sweat pours down his cheeks. He tears his shirt and kicks the walls. Drool falls from his lower lip and his feet shuffle across the room. He’s one heartbeat away from a goddam zombie. He rushes 1029, cornering him against the back wall. The human has no chance—he’s not amped up on parasitic crazy juice and he’s got nowhere to run.

I do force myself to watch as they have a final, desperate scuffle. 1029 loses his footing, allowing the E-TR to grab his arm. He bites down quickly, ravaging his flesh, but before he can do further damage a loud alarm shrieks. Fully dressed soldiers enter the room to subdue the E-TR, while medical Drones, also dressed in protective wear, remove the screaming victim.

“Holy shit,” Cole says next to me, but his voice is barely audible over the soldiers fight with the E-TR. Four men manage to contain him by pressing his back against the window in front of us. His matted red hair flattens against the glass. Bile rises in the back of my throat.

Erwin steps toward the intercom and presses the red button. “Take him down,” he commands. Before he even finishes his statement a soldier holds up a knife and stabs it through his head. The Eater slides to the floor, leaving sweat and blood in a long swipe against the glass.

I take a deep breath and ask Erwin, “What happens now?”

“There are a couple of possibilities, Ms. Ramsey. 1029 is already in the medical bay where he has been given a dose of the E-TR antidote our team has developed with your blood contribution.”

“You said the likelihood of the antidote working wasn’t one hundred percent.”

“No, at this point it isn’t. We’ve had to start from scratch—as you’re well aware.”

“What happens next? More tests?” Cole asks. His hand is still clutching mine. Erwin’s eyes flick down to where they rest together on the chair.

“Unless you or Ms. Ramsey is able to come up with additional information, like the location of her father or data from the original trials, then yes, more tests.”

I nod to the blood splattered window and say, “And you’ll kill more people? I keep telling you, I don’t know anything about my father or this virus!”

“That’s unfortunate,” Erwin says gravely. “Luckily, we’ve already picked up and prepped our next test subjects. Traitors are easier to locate than you’d expect.”

Without taking his eyes off of me, he presses the intercom again. In a chillingly calm voice he says, “Open the doors.”

A loud buzzer sounds, the kind that I’ve learned is triggered by a security door being unlocked. Two people enter the room, both with hands tied behind their backs, hoods over their heads. They wear the same outfits as the last two. Army pants and a gray shirt with a number stamped across the chest—1030 and 1031. The small frame on one gives away the fact that it’s a woman.

They’re each shoved in a clear cage. 1030—the one with broad male shoulders, fights back, head butting his handler. A second solider comes over and pushes him into the cage so hard he crashes and falls against the side. The doors are latched and 1030 has already jumped to his feet.

“One test a day,” Erwin says. “Until we find a cure.”

“That’s insane,” I say. God, he’s disgusting.

“We’re in a war, Ms. Ramsey. There will be casualties. This is about more than the E-TR virus, it’s about national security and the future of our country.”

“You’re deranged,” Cole says. “We should be saving people, not using them for tests.”

“These are unpredictable times,” Erwin says. “Those disloyal to our country will find that out the hard way.”

Through the window the soldiers remove the binds on the prisoner’s hands. 1030 and 1031 move quickly to take off their hoods. I look away unwilling to see the faces of Erwin’s next victims. My next victim, since I refuse to divulge the information he wants. Cole’s hand grips mine so tight I think he’s going to break it. I open my eyes and see his face drained of color. “Cole?”

“Alex…” He nods to the window.

The fear in his voice scares me, but I follow his gaze. My heart jumps to my throat but I fight to keep my face calm. I refuse to let Erwin know I care—that he’s got me by the metaphorical balls on this one. That he just won.

Wyatt and Chloe stare at the reflective glass having no clue we’re on the other side. They do watch two Drones cleaning the bloody remains of the fight off the window and floor.

“These two will begin phase one of testing at zero-six-hundred tomorrow. Both will be given an injection. One antidote. One virus. We’ll meet back here at fifteen-hundred for the results,” Erwin says. He spins on his heel and exits the room. Leaving Cole and me with our handlers.

“On your feet,” Walker says, jabbing my back. I follow her directions without taking my eyes off the prisoners. They both look freshly scrubbed and clean. Thin but clean. I stumble on the leg of my chair and Cole grabs me tight.

In my ear he whispers, “We’ll get them out, Alex.”

I bite my bottom lip holding back all of the emotions about to rip through. He’s right. We’ll get them back but to do so I have to sell my father out.

Chapter Forty-Eight

~Before~

13 Days Ago

Nothing in this new world is easy.

Five minutes after we leave the house a massive pickup truck with oversized wheels comes barreling toward us. “Alex,” Mom says pointing behind us. I look back and see an almost identical truck coming that way too.

“Holy crap,” I say panic rising.

“What do I do?”

“Get off the road,” I say almost yanking the wheel myself.

She floors the gas and quickly turns down a side road and then another and then another. Her eyes are on the road behind us and I’ve stopped breathing entirely.

“Are they coming?” she asks. She pulls over to a shady spot and we wait, engine on.

“I don’t know. What the hell was that anyway? The military?”

“Those didn’t look like the right kind of trucks—those were kind of like the ones at the monster truck rally.”

“Monster trucks.” I didn’t even know my mother knew what that was.

“Maybe it wasn’t about us. Maybe it was some kind of redneck showdown?” she offers.

“Maybe,” I say but something in my gut tells me that can’t be true.

Another three minutes pass before she eases the car back on the road. I look around and we are in the middle of Podunk nowhere. I pull out the map. “Yeah, these streets aren’t even on this map. Can you get back to the main road?”

“I wasn’t really paying attention,” she admits.

“Just keep going. This will have to take us somewhere, right?”

I’m studying the map, trying to get my bearings when the car rolls to a stop. I look up and see a metal barricade blocking one direction of the intersection. “Guess we’re not going that way,” I say.

This happens again. And again. Barricades blocking all of the roads leading east.

“Another one?” I ask when she pauses the car again. Just beyond the barricades, over the horizon, dark clouds bear down. No wonder the humidity is so thick. A major summer storm is brewing.

“I’m starting to feel like we’re in a maze,” Mom replies. “Does this even make sense on the map?”

“No…well, maybe a little, now that we’ve hit another one.” I get out a pencil and start to mark the detours, then connect the lines to one another. “It looks like a circle.”

“We’re going in a circle?”

“Yeah, I mean if there’s a pattern to this.” I move the pencil to the next intersection. “I think we’re close to where we started.”

I look at my mom and see that her confused expression matches my own feelings. I scan the area for movement. “Remember how that Eater I killed last night had that chain around its arm?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I saw another one after we left the house—tied to the mailbox.”

Her forehead creases. “Someone is tying them up?”

“Is there another explanation?”

“Maybe it is the military? Maybe they’re just looping us back toward an emergency shelter?” she suggests.

I review the map but do not see anything in the area large enough to act as a shelter. No schools or recreation buildings. We’re literally in the middle of nowhere. “I don’t think so,” I say. “Ugh, I hate to say it but with nightfall and that storm coming we’re going to have to go somewhere safe.”

She continues on but sure enough, we hit the next set of barricades as expected. Mom stops the car and we idle, staring at the road beyond. A crack of lightning zig-zags against the dark clouds ahead, but that is the least of my concerns. Who’s trying to keep us in this tight little circle? Or, I wonder, keep people on the other side in?

“I don’t like this,” she finally says.

I nod in agreement. “Let’s stop playing this game. If we follow this road here and keep going we should get out of this area for good. I’ll just have to get out and move the barricade.”

“And drive right into that storm in the process.”

I shrug. “We can handle a thunderstorm.”

Securing my hatchet to my pants I get out of the car and walk over to the metal barrier. The Honda hums comfortably breaking the oppressive silence. Bugs and gnats surround me—hungry. I swat them away but hear movement off the road. I stop, hand on my weapon and listen.

I don’t hear anything but the wind and the low hum of the bugs.

There’s nothing, I tell myself, approaching the barricade. I lift one end—it’s heavy but not impossible—and shift it to the side. It lands with a louder than intended clank against the asphalt. I tense and look around again.

It’s just me and the bugs, which sound a little louder. Mom rolls down the window and asks, “Should you put it back?”

“It’s probably best not to leave a trail.”

She pulls the car through and I move the barricade back. I’m sweating by the time I get back in the car. “God, the humidity is intense,” I say wiping off my face with my shirt. Again, I hear the buzzing sound and look out the window. “Do you hear that? The bugs?”

“I don’t think that’s a bug,” is all she says, her tired eyes glued to the rearview mirror. “They’re back.”

She takes off like a shot, pushing the Honda as fast as it will go. The trucks, both of them this time, bust through the barricade with zero hesitation. The corn and tobacco fields whip by and the sky turns an even darker shade of gray. Mom moves to turn on her lights. “Don’t.”

“I don’t know where to go, Alex,” she says.

I don’t either. There’s nothing but corn and fields and creepy broken down barns. Lights wash over us and the trucks get closer.

“Oh, my God, what is that on the grill?”

I turn and look out the back window. Raindrops have started falling but in the glare of the headlights I can just make out what she saw. Strapped to the front of the truck is an Eater, “alive,” struggling against the binds on his arms and legs. The second truck presses down next to it and their side-by-side on the two lane road. A matching Eater strapped to the front like a hood ornament.

“Go! Go! Go!” I scream—because what else is there to say.

“I’m going! I don’t know where, but I’m going!”

The trucks bear down and we come to another set of barricades. “Go through it—don’t stop!” I cry.

My mother, God bless her, who would rather be curled up with a good book right now or baking cookies or watching a crappy musical on TV, charges through the barricade like a woman possessed. The rain starts to fall harder and her visibility drops. “I’ve got to get off this road, Alex, or I’m going to kill us both.”

I pull out my map and squint in the fading light. It takes a few seconds but catching a few street names, I find our basic location. “Take this left and it will head us into a small commercial area, from there we can get to the highway.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” We’ve been avoiding populated areas.

“It’s a crappy idea, but the other choice is some horrible Children of the Corn situation. Is that preferable?”

She takes the left.

In the distance, I see the buildings. Old ones—like one of the dozens of forgotten towns all over the south. My stomach feels like I swallowed a rock and the trucks haven’t stopped their pursuit. Through the rain I see the sign for railroad tracks and just ahead a row of train cars lines the rail.

“Go over the tracks and don’t stop. Just keep going. We’ll go so fast no one will see us.”

It’s a terrible plan. It’s not even a real plan, but my mother listens anyway. Without stopping she crosses the tracks, our tires bouncing up and down hard, nearly tossing me out of my seat.

I turn keeping an eye on the trucks but the first one screeches to a sudden stop. Over the rain I hear a series of pops. I duck instinctively. “Is that gunshots? Are they shooting at us?”

My mother doesn’t stop but continues through the tiny town, so small that if you blink you’d miss it. I do miss it because I’m keeping an eye out on the trucks. The second one plows into the first and both drivers hop out. I see them for the first time, two white men, angry and looking up at the top of the tallest three story building. They quickly pull out their weapons and fire.

“Slow down,” I tell my mom but she doesn’t stop. The last thing I see is the men go down in the glow of their headlights, both clutching their chests. I wait for the gunman on the roof to turn on us but he never does. “Why didn’t they shoot at us?”

She turns a corner leaving the small town behind us, my heart still racing like a jackrabbit. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Alex,” is all she says and drives us into the dark.

Chapter Forty-Nine

~Now~

The door to our room has barely shut when I turn to face Cole. The man who has maintained his composure through all of this crumbles in front of me. I step forward and wrap my arms around his hard, lean body and say, “I’ll give them the information. Everything I know.”

“You can’t,” he replies, tightening his arms around my back. “There has to be another way.”

“There is no other way!” I shout into his chest. “And Erwin knows it. That’s your sister, Cole. I mean, I don’t know any of you that well but I know you better than anyone else left in this crazy world. She’s your sister. I can’t let this happen to her. Or to Wyatt.”

Wyatt. The sight of his face when they took the hood off. The absolute anger and tension coiled tight beneath the surface. I wonder if he has any idea what they have in store for him. That he’s caught in a lose-lose game of chance.

I tilt my head up and say, “He saved my ass more than once. So did Chloe. I have to do something and the only thing I can do is tell them what they want to know.”

“Do you think Erwin will stop just because you give him the information?”

“No.” I release Cole and step back. We both sit on the edge of the lower bunk. “Think. How do we get them out of there?”

“Everything is locked down—particularly that room. Richardson and Walker have their guns ready any time either of us step out of line. There’s no way into that room and even if there was, there’s no way out.”

We were in the pit of the base. No windows. No exits that we know of.

“Think outside the box,” I say. “What can we do?”

“Short of overpowering Walker and Richardson we’re screwed.”

“Then that’s what we should do.”

He looks at me with both eyebrows raised. “Are you kidding? We’ll get killed. We have no weapons. No real physical skills that match up to their guns. You’re dizzy all the time from blood loss…”

“Maybe there’s another way to overpower them,” I suggest.

“Like what?”

I study his unruly blond hair and deep blue eyes. The sharp curve of his cheekbones and shadowy stubble on his chin. “You’re cute—maybe Walker thinks so too.”

He laughs. “Yeah right.”

“I’m serious.”

“I could tell you to do the same with Richardson,” he says eyeing me. I shift uncomfortably and the mattress moves beneath us.

I take a breath and admit. “Already planning on it. I’m not sure he’ll be swayed but maybe I can throw him off for a minute.”

After a moment of silence Cole says, “This is a bad idea.”

“Do you have a better one?”

He looks away devastated. We’re screwed and we both know it.

***

The plan is set for the morning. We’ll divide and conquer—get one or both to lower their guard and then make our move. From there things get sketchy. Grab a gun. Incapacitate them. Free Wyatt and Chloe.

It sounds like a fantasy—but what about the last two months doesn’t? Neither of us has been on a rescue mission before. Neither of us had something so important to lose. I haven’t told Cole, but I’m putting my eggs in his basket.

“Tell me about Africa,” I whisper after lights out. We’re huddled on the lower bunk, backs pressed against the wall. Normally we keep our distance but not tonight.

“Africa was hard. And beautiful. And scary,” he replies. I can only see the outline of his face from the small light in the bathroom.

“Sounds familiar.”

“Yeah, it really does. I worked mostly at a clinic on the border of several small villages. They had been ravaged by the disease.”

“Did anyone get better?”

“A couple of patients made it through but it was rare. There was so much distrust between the locals and the medical community. Rumors that we’d brought the disease to them. The cultural differences in how to care for the dead—it added a layer of complication to our jobs.”

“You’ve been surrounded by death for a long time then.”

He leans his leg into mine and we’re joined. I like the feel of it. The feel of him being so close. “I have to assume now that’s why your dad hired me. I guess maybe he thought I could handle what was coming. Little did he know I’d get his daughter captured by the very people he warned me against and now she’s talking about seducing a soldier to get us out of here.”

“Cole,” I say fighting back a laugh. The absurdity is too much.

“It’s not funny, Alex. I am an absolute failure in the apocalypse.”

“I’m not laughing at you…just, I mean, we’re all pretty screwed here. We all got caught. Chloe and Wyatt had a head start and they still tracked them down. These guys have been on our tail since the beginning. And if anyone is going to fail my father it will be me. I’ve got no choice but to give Erwin what he wants.”

“You can’t,” he says. “Our plan will work.”

“What plan? We don’t really have a plan, Cole, and you know it. That seduction talk was ridiculous. There’s no way in hell I could pull it off.”

Cole moves beside me and I feel his hands on my neck, under my chin. His hands are warm and tentative. A strange feeling burns in my stomach. “What are you doing?”

“Never underestimate yourself, Alex. You’re strong and capable. Powerful.” His voice drops a level and I feel his breath on my face. “You’re beautiful. Fearless. Your father sent you on this mission for a reason. He trusts you. Believes in you.”

“What if he was wrong?” I reply in a shaky voice.

He rests his forehead against mine. “He’s not. You’ll make the right decision.”

The way my heart hammers in my chest and the tingly, electric feeling in my fingers and toes doesn’t give me confidence in making good decisions. Not at the moment, at least. All I want right now is for Cole to be closer—to push my fingers into his unruly hair. I succumb to this desire, feeling the soft curls in my hands and even in the dark I sense how close his mouth is to mine.

Cole’s hands grip my face but he hesitates…just a beat, just enough. I twist my burning face away and he moves his hands to my shoulders pulling me into his side. I rest my hand on his stomach and close my eyes, willing my heart to slow down.

“We’ll make the right decision,” he says again, close to my ear. “We have to.”

Chapter Fifty

~Before~

? Days Ago

“Damn.”

My mom never curses but the apocalypse changes things. And the SUV running out of gas, nowhere near anything, warrants at least one swear word.

“Well, at least we put some miles between us and that…whatever the hell that was,” I reply. I have no problem with cursing. This may be why we’re a good team.

“What do we do now?”

“Look for somewhere safe,” I say.

She searches the area and she doesn’t have to say what I know she’s going to say. Where? How? We’re in the middle of god forsaken nowhere. Population two.

I’m really starting to hate North Carolina. Once you leave the city you’re SOL. That’s why less than twenty-four hours after we found a vehicle and driving around in circles, we start walking across the wet, soggy fields.

“At least it stopped raining,” she says.

“At least we escaped those redneck, monster truck driving crazy people.”

“At least we got to sit for a while,” she counters. “And at least we’re not trapped in a laundry room with hundreds of cat eyes creeping us out.”

“At least I didn’t have to kill anyone today…”

My mom stops abruptly and her shoulders hunch. “Mom?” I ask, thinking maybe I’ve gone too far. I approach her and put a hand on her shaking shoulder. “That was horrible I’m sorr—”

Then I see her face. She’s crying, but it’s the good kind, followed by laughter. She laughs and laughs and I catch the bug and start laughing too. It’s the ugly kind of laugh, where her face scrunches up and I can’t breathe and oh hell, I think I may have wet myself.

She giggles like a madwoman, reaching out to a tree for support. She stumbles and I lunge for her, but she topples over anyway.

“Ow!” she howls, landing in the mud. I fall next to her, my face still wet with tears.

“Are you okay? What happened?”

A sudden seriousness takes over. She lifts her foot and her nose wrinkles. “I think I twisted my ankle.”

I touch the skin and sure enough it’s already swelling.

“Lift it up,” I tell her, pushing my bag beneath her leg to elevate her foot. I find my water bottle and open the cap, offering her some.

She shakes her head and says quietly, “I guess that’s what we get.”

I don’t reply. She’s right. We shouldn’t be joking. We shouldn’t even be out here. We’re one step from certain death all the time and acting like fools isn’t going to keep us alive.

Chapter Fifty-One

~Now~

“Up or down?”  I ask, showing Cole the options. He tugs the gray t-shirt over his head and I try to keep my eyes from wandering over his exposed skin. He’s not built like Wyatt but still very fit. Not bulky but lean muscle. I point to the wad of hair in my hand. “My hair, which way should I wear it?”

“Uh, up?”

“I don’t know.” I drop the ponytail feeling like an idiot. “Richardson’s tough. It probably doesn’t matter.”

“Well, you should probably do the one.” He pauses and rubs the back of his neck. “You know, the school girl one.”

“The pigtails?” I haven’t worn them since we’d been locked up in here. A shower and access to a mirror allowed for alternatives.

“Yeah, that one.” I pretend the tips of his ears aren’t red and fix my hair. He’s revealed a lot of about his feelings for me. I haven’t done the same. I don’t know how I feel. I’m not even sure I can feel anything other than exhaustion and fear.

We’re both fidgety when the lock shifts and clicks, echoing off the hallway. Breakfast time—our only shot. Cole nods. He’s ready. It’s now or never.

Per usual, Walker enters the room first while Richardson waits outside. She’s not carrying trays of food.

I frown. “No food?”

“You’ve been summoned to the viewing room.”

“Now? Why so early?” I swallow the lump in the back of my throat. Well, I try. It doesn’t budge, although my stomach twists into knots.

“Get outside.” I don’t wait for Cole, who is adjusting his shoe laces as planned, moving past her to the hall. Richardson waits with his standard bored expression on his face. It’s now or never.

“Good morning,” I say offering him a smile. He shifts his eyes down at me but doesn’t respond.

“I figured if we’re going to see each other all day maybe we should become a little more familiar with one another. How long have you been stationed here?”

Before Richardson can laugh in my face Walker’s voice carries into the hallway. “Get your ass in the hall and never, ever do that again.”

Cole comes running out, an amused look on his face, that is, until Richardson moves forward, hand on his gun. Cole holds his hands up and says, “Nothing going on, you can put that away. Everything is fine.”

“What the hell did you do?” I whisper. When he stands next to me I see him working his jaw and the start of a purplish bruise rising on the corner of his mouth. “No seriously, what the hell did you do?”

“Quiet,” Richardson commands. Walker storms out of the room, her cheeks red and her eyes furious.

I expect her to take off down the hall but she stops in front of us both and eyes us. In the most terrifying voice I’ve ever heard she says, “Do not fuck with me today. Not today. Not after everything we’ve been through to get to this point. Both of you keep your stupid mouths shut and follow directions. Every. Single. Direction you’re given. Do you understand?”

Not one bit, I want to say.

“Yes, ma’am,” Cole replies, while I nod vigorously.

“And if either of you ever touches me again, I will break every bone in your body and then toss it in the cage with an E-TR to finish off.”

“Got it,” I say with a wince.

Operation Seduction is officially dead before it even started.

***

The Drones are silent as we walk through the lab. Surely, by now the whole place is aware of the death matches in the adjoining room.

“Can I ask a question,” I ask quietly once Walker punches in the code and we enter the viewing room.

She eyes Cole suspiciously but gives me a curt nod, “Yes.”

“Did the guy from yesterday, 1029, get infected? Did the antivirus work?” It’s the last bit of hope I have.

“The antivirus did not work. He’s infected.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling a crashing sense of responsibility. Shouldn’t I? I could help and I haven’t out of a sense of loyalty to my father. Wyatt and Chloe will die. It will be my fault. And to what end? I’m not even sure who the bad guys are here. I take a deep breath. “I think I’m ready to talk to Colonel—”

“Shut up,” Walker says cutting me off.

“What?” I ask.

“Don’t you dare. Not now.”

Cole jumps in and says, “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“You have no idea what we want,” Richardson replies. “Which makes you two the luckiest bastards ever.”

“What?” I ask completely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Alex, for once in your life, shut up. For real,” she says, eyes slipping from me to the door. The lock disengages and Erwin walks in brushing past Richardson. His shoulders are back and a smug look on his face. God, I hate him.

He smiles and it’s all I can do not to rush over and kick him in the gut.

“Glad to see you so early—thought this may not be a good idea on a full stomach…” He stops mid-sentence and grits his teeth, moving his hand to his neck. Richardson’s hulking figure steps out from behind him and he drops an empty syringe on the floor.

“Son of a…” Erwin says gripping his neck. His eyes turn unfocused and glassy before he falls with a thud to the floor.

“Quick,” Richardson says, his expression more lively than I thought it could get. He bends to lift Erwin off the ground. Walker follows suit pulling black zip ties from her pocket. Cole and I watch, stunned, as they secure his arms and ankles.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“What did I tell you?” Walker snaps.

“Shut up?”

“Bingo.”

The two soldiers struggle with Erwin’s limp body, eventually shoving him in a small closet at the back of the room. I have no idea how long he’ll be out. If it’s the same drugs they used on me when I was captured it could be hours.

Richardson rams his shoulder against the closet door, pushing back against Erwin’s weight in the tight space. Cole sighs and quickly thrusts his own body against the door and the door snaps closed with a click.

“Thanks,” Richardson says straightening his uniform.

Cole shrugs. “No problem.”

Walker tucks a stray piece of red hair behind her ear. That one loose hair is the most flustered I’ve seen her. It humanizes her. I grab her arm. “What is going on here?”

“We’re breaking you out—and your friends.”

“You’re kidding,” Cole says. Richardson nods. “How? Why?”

“Why?” Walker says checking her watch. “We’ll discuss later. We’ve got fifteen minutes before Erwin’s next meeting and we’ve got to be off the base before then. How? Follow directions. All of them.”

“Fifteen minutes?” I croak, trying to absorb everything.

Richardson removes two guns from his back and hands each of us one. “Take these but try not to kill anyone, okay?” he says.

While Walker latches the viewing room door back to the lab from the inside, Richardson removes the shade on the window. Wyatt and Chloe are both sitting silently in their clear cages. A Drone hovers around his station. The dark rings under her eyes make it clear she hasn’t slept. Similar signs point to Wyatt being exhausted as well, but he’s also hyper alert. There’s no way he won’t get out of this without a fight.

“Have they been injected yet?” Cole asks.

“We won’t know until we’ve got them out of there,” Walker replies. She moves to the opposite door and punches in a code as well as scans her fingerprints.

“So we’re just going to take a liability out of here?” I ask. “What if they infect us all before we figure it out? Wyatt is lethal without the amped up Eater juice.”

“The risk will be worth the reward, Ramsey,” Richardson says before turning on his heel. “Follow me.”

We file through the door into a narrow hallway. Richardson leads this time, motioning for us to follow. Three doorways line the wall and he stops in front of them. They’re marked A, B and Tech Only: Do Not Enter.

“Obviously we aren’t following these rules?” Cole asks.

“A and B lead to the confinement area Wyatt and Chloe are being held. The Tech room is our problem. If they’re alerted that this is going on they’ll call down to security.”

“So how do we deal with that?” I ask. “Zip tie him too?”

A door opens further down the hall. My hand reaches instinctively for my gun and I see the others have also moved to a defensive position. The person has the slender build of a woman, dressed head to toe in the standard blue lab outfit. A black backpack hangs off her shoulder. I’m still concerned until she says, “You bitches ready?”

Walker’s shoulders relax and she reaches for the bag, looping it over her shoulders. “This is how we deal with it. Meet Miranda. Our undercover tech.”

“Our?” Cole asks incredulously. “Who exactly do you all work for?”

“Not Erwin,” Walker says, again checking her watch. “Ten minutes.”

“The truck is ready,” Miranda says slipping past us. She signs in her code to enter the tech room and disappears without another word.

Walker turns to face us. “She’s going to manage the room from the inside. If necessary she’ll overpower the other tech. We have to get those two out while we can.”

I’m more anxious than I’ve been in months—even before the whole world-falling-apart thing started. How did I get to this place? I’ve got a gun in my hand and I’m rescuing people I don’t know very well along with people I don’t trust at all. Oh, and we’re trying to escape the relative safety of the base to go back out into a world filled with cannibalistic monsters.

Nothing about this life makes sense.

“Ramsey, you’re with me,” Richardson says. He nods at Cole. “You go with Walker.”

“Got it.”

Richardson opens door A and we duck inside. It’s really just the back of the cage. Wyatt jumps to his feet when he spies Richardson, hands and feet poised to fight.

“Thank God,” he says, relief washing over his features. He quickly performs some sort of complicated bro-handshake with Richardson. “I thought I was going to have to break out of here on my own.”

I peek out from behind the soldiers hulking frame. “You know each other?”

Wyatt breaks out a wide smile when he sees me, eyes roaming over my body, like he’s checking me out. I squirm but notice he stops on the bruised insides of my arms. He takes my hand and rubs his fingers over the swollen flesh. With a sharp shake of his head he mutters, “Assholes. Using you as their personal pin cushion.”

Movement behind Wyatt catches my eye and through the clear box I spot Miranda. She shouts at the Drone—her words indistinguishable through the thick plastic cage. He makes a move, tipping over a tray of instruments blocking Miranda’s path. Diving over the mess, she races across the room, chasing the Drone. She’s not fast enough and he manages to pull a lever near the door. A shrill alarm tears through the base.

“Holy shit,” I cry covering my ears. The sound echoes off the cinderblock walls.

“Run!” Richardson yells and we all rush out the door and back into the hallway. The twins and Walker are impatiently waiting but break into a run when they spot us. Everyone quickly outpaces me and I feel Walker’s hand on my back, shoving me along.

“The Drone pulled the alarm,” I shout to Walker trying to keep up. The days of blood loss have depleted my energy, but one look at Chloe’s thin arms and legs tells me they were at least feeding me better.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Walker yells over the alarm. She glances over my shoulder and curses under her breath. I start to look back but it’s not necessary. I hear the heavy boots, scuffling against the cement floor. Security has arrived.

Richardson gets us through the next door, which leads directly into a narrow stairwell—the only direction is up. My suspicions about being underground this whole time hit home. Of course with the world falling apart underground may be the safest place to be.

“Move it,” Walker screams, slamming the door, with at least five soldiers behind it. We scramble up the metal stairs, feet slamming like my heart in my chest.

“I hope you have a plan,” I say to Walker.

Wyatt turns his head and says, “Always.”

Walker laughs and nudges me hard in the butt. Stairs have always been my weakness. Running five miles? I can push through…slowly. An endless flight of stairs. I don’t know how long my legs can last.

“How much…”

“Do not even ask how much further we have to go, Ramsey. It’s the stairs or your life. Figure out which is your priority,” Richardson barks from the front of the group. The sirens are less loud in here, giving my ears a break.

We’re two flights up when I hear them behind us.

“Shit,” Walker says and I feel her stop moving. She jumps into it with the first soldier, a massive guy who looks like he could snap her neck. Walker reaches for her baton and swipes it in his direction. He stumbles backwards to avoid it and crashes into another soldier–this time a female.

Wyatt pushes past me and says, “Go! I’ve got this,” but I’m frozen in my spot. An hour ago Walker was my captor. Now she’s something different. And working with Wyatt? What the hell was going on? “Go!” he screams so close to my face he spits on me. It’s enough to shake me from my spot and I race after the others only glancing down when I reach the landing.

Wyatt and Walker are in full assault mode, moving in a coordinated way I didn’t know either had the capability. The sound of fighting fills the air, punches and grunts. Never stopping, Wyatt uses the wall to leverage himself and executes a heart stopping kick to a soldier’s chest. While Walker moves like a cat, quick and sharp, claws out in the form of her baton and a fist. She pummels the face of the massive, first soldier.

“Ramsey!” Richardson’s voice booms down the stairwell. I look up and see him and the twins two floors above me.

I race to meet them. Cole reaches his arm out to mine. His eyes flick over my head. “Behind you!”

I look. I shouldn’t have but I look and one of the soldiers has gotten past the others. He tackles me by the waist, my head bashing hard against the metal stairs. “Not so fast,” he says, breathing in my face. He goes for my wrists, trying to hold me down. He and I both know he can’t kill me. I’m too valuable.

“Mother f—” I cry over my throbbing head. I grab for the gun tucked in my pants. Even though I’m kicking like a mad woman he still fights me for the weapon.

I get to it first and I know, deep in my soul, I will blow this asshat away. I knee him in the groin and manage to whip out the gun—leveling it at his face. Not the first time I’ve been in this position lately. The last time though, I was a scared girl. Not anymore.

“Move,” I grunt because I don’t want his brains splattered all over me.

He swipes at the gun but I simply cock the trigger. Beneath us are sounds of rapid clicks and clinks of metal and like Spiderman, a figure in black and gray flips over the railing. The soldier glances up but it’s too late. Wyatt has launched him back down the stairwell, sliding to an unconscious stop on the next landing, barely missing Walker running up the steps.

“Clear,” she says bypassing the two of us. Wyatt offers me his hand and pulls me up.

“Ugh,” I groan reaching for my head.

He cradles me against his shoulder. “You were right,” he says glancing down. His hair is falling out of the band in the back covering his eyes. We’re catching up to the others, all waiting at the door at the top.

“About what?”

“You forgot the rules already? How hard did you hit your head?”

I laugh and it makes my head hurt even worse. “I told you.”

“Yep. You did.” He nods and we reach the top. Chloe gives us both a tired but relieved smile. Cole…well, Cole just looks worried.

“Ready?” Walker asks tightening the straps on the backpack. Richardson bends over and I watch, confused, as she climbs on his back and shifts a panel in the ceiling. A dark hole emerges above us.

“That’s how we get out?” Chloe asks. Her tone reflects my own exhaustion.

“Yep.”

Voices carry from below from a new wave of soldiers on their way up. Walker hoists herself inside, disappearing into the dark. Chloe follows, and then Cole. Richardson and I get a boost from Wyatt, who then follows on his own with another surprising acrobatic move. We’re in an opening that leads to a tunnel, with just enough space to army crawl through. Walker and Richardson exchange a look that I barely catch with the limited light. He pulls a small square from the pocket on his chest and presses a button before replacing the panel and enveloping us in total darkness.

“How far does this go?” Cole asks from somewhere ahead.

“Far enough to get us to safety,” Walker replies.

That’s when the tunnel, the building and the earth trembles like an earthquake. I freeze and feel the others stiffen around me until Richardson commands, “Keep moving.”

We keep moving.

Chapter Fifty-Two

~Before~

? Days Ago

We wait out the night in the woods. This is the first time, actually, that we’ve stayed outside without some kind of shelter, for this long. It’s dark and muggy as hell. I realize now how so far we’ve really lucked out. Places to stay, vehicles to provide a barrier between us and the elements. I just need our luck to hold out a bit longer.

I spend the night on edge. Gun in one hand—hatchet in the other, freaking out over every sound or movement coming from the dark woods. We found a small stream of water for Mom to soak her foot in that also had enough rocks around it to provide coverage for our backs.

Once we settle in and eat, Mom drifts in and out of sleep. Her ankle looks bad. It’s swollen and bruised. I wrapped it in a wet t-shirt and she took some painkillers. Hopefully it will be better in the morning. I do know one thing—we can’t spend another night out like this. We’ve got to get moving. My nerves are shot.

A bullfrog calls in its deep voice downstream, looking for a mate. The crickets chirp and the stream gurgles. The noises drive me into my own head, looking for some quiet. One of the weird things about being alone like this is that my mind has time to wander…think about so many things. Regrets. Friends. Liza, Matt and even Paul. I think about trivial things like going to get tacos or swimming at the pool. Crushing on a boy or studying so hard for college.

All things that don’t matter anymore.

The problem is that with so much time is that there is nothing to shut off these thoughts. No new things to focus on. The only new things are terrifying things that I don’t want to think about either. Eaters. The military. Crazy post-apocalyptic crazy people. My dad. My sister. What to do next. Where to go…

It’s easier to think about before, when things were better even if it does make me sad.

A stick snaps across the creek and I freeze. It’s just an animal, I tell myself. A raccoon or an opossum. Something nocturnal. A rustle follows and I clutch my weapons tight to my chest, which is hammering like crazy. For real, I’m completely unsure if I will make it through the night without giving myself a heart attack.

I hear another movement nearby—and another. The old-world rational part of me wants to call out and see who is there. The new-world one wants to shoot first and ask questions later. I do neither. I hold my breath and pray to a God I am not entirely sure exists that we make it to live another day.

The movement comes my direction, padding softly on the wet sand on the bank of the creek, and then slowly splashing in the water’s edge. I hold up the gun with a way too shaky hand and wait. Just wait. Because all I want is for it—whatever it is—to move on.

I reach for my mom, about to shake her awake and scream for her to run when it finally comes close enough for me to actually see in dim moonlight. Two wide brown eyes and a black nose poke in my direction and I breathe out in shuddering relief.

The deer jumps back, stumbling in the water, before running down the creek noisily and disappearing into the night.

“Alex?” Mom asks sitting up. “Is everything okay?”

“Just a deer,” I tell her. “Get some rest.”

She curls back up but I can see her eyes reflected in the moonlight. Neither of us sleep.

Chapter Fifty-Three

~Now~

We emerge sometime later through a creaky trap door in the floor of a garage. The room is grimy and a big all-terrain truck with a canvas, camouflaged top sits in the middle flanked by a couple of guys in fatigues—all black—not the kind Erwin’s soldiers wear. They look like ninjas. Walker’s face breaks into wide grin.

“Took you long enough,” the guy closest to us says. He offers Walker a hand and she gives him the backpack and to my absolute surprise and interest, a passionate kiss.

“Okay then, I guess this is the right place,” I mutter from the hole.

Cole helps me out, his fingers searching to check the wound at the back of my head.

“I’m okay,” I promise, fighting off a howl of pain near the tender spot.

“Yeah, sure,” he says but stops fussing. He shifts his attention to Chloe.

“Did they inject you with anything?” Cole asks. He grabs her arms and looks them up and down. “Give you any medicine? Pills?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

“What about him?” He nods toward Wyatt, who hops out behind me. He reveals his arms.

“I’m clean,” he says and walks past us over to the waiting men. Another series of bro-handshakes take place and I’ve definitely got more questions than I’m comfortable with but now is not the time. Everyone begins moving quickly, tossing bags and supplies into the truck.

“Here,” a ninja says tossing me a familiar looking bag. My bag. I rip into it and find all my stuff, my books, my photos, my clothes. He walks over to a table and comes back with a hatchet, no my hatchet in his hand. “This one’s yours too right?”

“Dude, how’d you get this?” I ask taking it from him. He doesn’t answer but goes to get Cole and Chloe’s belongings as well. Cole’s face breaks into a grin at the sight of his crossbow. What a dork, I think while marveling at how the weight of the hatchet feels perfectly at home in my hand.

We’re motioned to get in the truck and I settle in the back, under the canvas top between the twins. Richardson and two ninjas get in with us. The driver’s side door opens and through the back window, I see Wyatt slide behind the wheel. A shiver runs up my spine.

“Any idea what that’s about?” Cole whispers.

“Nope but everyone looks awfully friendly, don’t they?”

As the garage door opens and we exit down the road cloaked in thick trees, Cole turns to his sister and asks, “What happened to you guys?”

“After we split up from you guys we hunted for a couple hours,” she starts in a low voice. “Wyatt caught some rabbit. When we got back to the site we ran into a couple of Eater’s in full rage mode. After fighting them off and searching the area, it was pretty obvious that those Eaters were left to distract us from the fact you’d been taken. We saw the tranq darts on the ground.”

“Then what?” I ask.

“We hightailed it out of there in the truck—camped out for a couple of days circling around to the base. I was freaking out.” She looks at her brother—tears in her red, tired eyes. “That’s when Wyatt tells me he knows where you are and that he’s got a plan to get you guys back. I just have to play along.”

“He knew the whole time where we were?” I ask.

“Play along with what?” Cole interrupts, keeping on track. He’s right because of course Wyatt knew. It feels like everyone knows what’s going on around here but me.

She gives a slight shrug. “That night we left the truck and started hiking. By dawn we’d been spotted by the military. Right before they got us, Wyatt said, ‘Fight back but let them take you in.’ That’s what I did. And now we’re here.”

The truck rumbles along and I try to process what Chloe is saying—what’s going on right now. Richardson pushes the flap covering the window and peeks outside. His eyes narrow from the bright light and his shoulders stiffen.

“Are we really safe from Erwin out here?” I ask him.

The truck lurches to a stop and I notice his grip tighten around his gun. Without looking over he says, “Erwin’s not our problem at the moment.”

I hear them over the rumble of the truck’s large engine. A mixture of moan and howl—some more agitated than others. Not now, I think. With a sense of dread, I push open the flap nearest me.

“Oh, my God,” Cole says also looking out.

A sea of Eater’s surrounds us—more than I’ve ever seen before. They bob and drift aimlessly, searching for something with their dark, spidery eyes.

“There are so many,” I say trying to comprehend the sheer number. Since this all started I hadn’t encountered more than a couple at a time. I thought things were more under control—people safe at the evacuation centers. People holed up in their houses. “I didn’t realize…”

“The plague is here, Ramsey,” Richardson says. “Did you think it was going to get better?”

A mile or so beyond them I see high brick and wire fences. Barricades cover any path or road. “What is that?”

“That’s the base we just rescued you from,” a ninja says, his face pale and tense. “We knew these bastards were out there but had no idea there would be this many. Erwin’s been busy.”

Richardson glances at me. “Erwin has spent the last month capturing as many Eaters as possible to surround the base. No one goes in or out without his permission or without dying. This is about weapons, Ramsey. The virus. The Eaters. What the Colonel said the other day was correct, we’re in a war.”

“Then why the hell did you take us out this way?” Chloe asks.

“It was now or never.  That escape tunnel led us to a warehouse just outside the fence line. But this horde is thick. Erwin is a genius—he knew we may get the jump on him but not without fighting for it,” Richardson continues.

“But…” I struggle for words. “Who are you? Who are you working for?”

The truck rumbles to life again, Wyatt obviously having made a tactical decision from the front of the truck. Richardson looks over and says over the deafening roar of cannibals, “PharmaCorp, of course.”

***

The roar turns to a screech when the truck comes under attack. There are hundreds of E-TRs outside, maybe a thousand. We’ve got two soldiers, a couple of ninjas, a super lying-liar ninja named Wyatt, the twins and me. We’re screwed even if I do have my trusty hatchet back.

“Davis, man the roof,” Richardson barks. “Cooley, the back.”

The ninja named Davis springs into action and pushes a flap in the top of the canvas and pops out, taking his automatic weapon with him. Within seconds, he’s firing, spent shells raining down at his feet.

“What do we do?” I scream to Richardson.

“We fight,” he says. “You stay here—you’re precious cargo.”

Oh hell, the reality of his admission about working for PharmaCorp hits home. This is about getting me, the human lab test, to their bosses. I glance at Cole and its clear he’s caught on too.

“Screw that,” I say. Cole nods while loading his bow. Chloe checks the gun she tucked in her waistband earlier, and then picks up a long blade. Bullets aren’t going to last very long with this crowd.. “Sitting by isn’t what kept us alive all this time—which by the way we managed to do okay before Erwin kidnapped us.”

Richardson stares at me for a minute and says, “Fine. We’ve got to distract these monsters.” He shoves a box in my direction and I drop to my knees to open it. “Grenades. Toss them as far as you can to the left of the truck. I’ll take the right.”

He uses a knife to rip open another hole in the roof.

“You two keep it clear down here,” he directs the twins. They nod and shift into position.

Standing, it becomes obvious that we have to get from where we are in the middle of the drive to the main road a hundred yards away. We can’t do it on foot—we’ll get eaten alive. Wyatt moves the truck forward slowly, rolling over the screaming ETR’s, while Walker and Davis pick them off as they climb over the hood of the truck.

The grenade feels small and compact in my hand. I spring the trigger like Richardson showed me and toss it as far away as possible. The orb sails through the air, landing in the middle of the swaying beasts. The second it lands the earth shakes with an explosion, a second comes from the other side and I clamp my hands over my ears on instinct. Before my eyes, Richardson’s words have come to life. We are definitely in a war. One side uses weapons—the other teeth.

The distraction works—at least a little and the mindless Eater’s shift toward the explosion. I wind up again and throw the next one in a different location, while I hear the grunts from Cole down below, beating off the closest ones with the butt of his bow.

Wyatt moves the truck forward slowly and I wipe my forehead, sticky with sweat and from the looks of it Eater blood. Maybe my own? I don’t know.  My ears ring from gunshots and explosions. I reach for another grenade but Richardson hands me my hatchet instead and gestures for me to fight below. I drop down to help the twins and hack away at the ones trying to get inside.

Leaning over the back tailgate I chop away at the hands trying to get inside. Pale, dirty hands. Caked in blood and guts. Even over the sulfur they reek, no longer smelling like humans. The longer this virus holds on the less alive these people are.

Richardson bangs on the top of the cab. “Faster man, we’re running out of ammunition and time.” Wyatt picks up the pace, but that makes the back of the truck rock and lurch. The explosions have amped up the remaining Eater’s—they’ve got too much anger—hunger. I crack a female with long matted hair in the head with the hatchet and her head splits open like a melon. The insides are black with death.

God.

I look ahead and see that we’re close to the main road, and the hoard is thinning out. Carnage lies behind us, but we’re not completely in the clear. The truck drags from the bodies beneath it. Literal road kill.

“Hold on,” Wyatt yells from the cab. He shifts the truck into gear and again it lurches forward as he tries to dislodge the bodies. I fly forward landing face first on the dirty, hard tuck bed. Chloe screams and I scramble to get up but all I see are boots and feel a scuffle over my head.

“Chloe!” Cole yells as I roll to the side. An Eater has her by the neck, dragging her halfway out of the truck. Her feet kick in front of me, trying to hold on and I grab them, my muscles aching, to pull her back.

Cole moves fast and hard, slamming the butt of his bow into the Eater’s decaying head. Even from below I hear the crack and Chloe’s ragged breathing. The truck lurches again, this time faster and harder and everyone else tumbles to the bed with me. Everyone but Richardson who wobbles backwards. He reaches for something to hold on to but the ragged canvas top is too compromised. With a panicked, pissed off look in his face, he topples over the side of the truck.

“Get him!” Davis yells diving after him. Cole holds him back and God love him, Richardson jumps to his feet. He doesn’t even stop to assess the situation—the fact he’s so terribly outnumbered. He starts swinging, kicking ass and cracking skulls. He’s got a crazy smile on his face when the closest Eater’s descend—they’ve been waiting to sink their teeth in one of us all night and from the look on his face he’s been waiting to dish it out—one by one until he’s got nothing left. I reach for my hatchet, but Cole’s hand wraps around mine.

“Go!” Richardson screams at us, just as a massive Eater tears into his shoulder. He locks eyes with Davis and holds a fist in the air. “Do it for the FF!”

“No!!” Davis yells, but he’s also holding his fist in the air. Wyatt moves the truck forward, finally gaining full speed with the Eater’s occupied.

We’re driving away when the scream pierces my skull and I look away, down at my dirty pants covered in dust and blood. I should watch, acknowledge what he’s done for us, but I don’t. I’m weak and exhausted and this world has turned me into someone I don’t like.

***

The water in the pot is boiling—perfect to try to burn away the blood staining my hands, to wash my face…anything to cleanse the darkness of where we are.

“Are you okay?” Chloe asks. We’re in the bathroom together sharing the pot of water. She’s wearing only a bra and fatigues and the ring of bruises left by the Eater are clearly visible. No scratches…that I can see. “What did they do to you there?”

She’s seen my own bruises. The speckled tracks left by the needles on the inside of my arms. I turn and look around the industrial bathroom located in the back of some junkyard Wyatt brought us to. The place is fenced in and abandoned. Nothing but heaps of rusted out cars and a couple of garage bays.

I open my mouth to speak but thankfully, a tap on the door interrupts whatever response I was planning on giving her.

She pulls a clean shirt over her head and cracks open the door. Wyatt’s tired face peeks through the opening.

“I need to talk to Alex when you’re done,” he says. I nod and continue to scrub my hands. He’s right, we do need to talk.

Chloe shuts the door and gathers her small bag of belongings. “If you need anything, I’m around—hopefully eating something. I’m freaking starving.”

I finish packing up my own bag, laying the wet shirt I washed over a metal rod on the wall. I enter the first garage and see the ninjas and Walker. They’re sitting in a circle with a bottle of something brown. The soldier lifts her glass in salute—toasting Richardson. Something tightens in my chest and I look down at my feet. It sucks losing people—even when you don’t know them. Or really even like them.

“Hey,” Cole says when I pass him. “You should eat something.” He offers me an open can of soup with the handle of a spoon sticking out. He has two others open at his feet. My stomach groans at the sight and I take it.

“Do you know where he went?” I ask sniffing the can. Chicken noodle. He gave me the good stuff.

“Wyatt?” he asks, a crease forming across his forehead.

“Yeah.”

He nods toward a door. “He just went out that door.”

“Thanks for the soup,” I say scooping up a spoonful and tasting it. Even cold it provides a rush of familiarity. Salt and childhood.

The crease deepens and he says, “Be careful, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

I go out the door and it leads to a covered garage. We’re outside but the entire place is surrounded by a high fence, or so Wyatt says. I have little doubt he knows exactly where we are.

The crickets are loud and the air is muggy and warm. Wyatt waits for me on the hood of a rusted, light blue muscle car with no doors. A lantern sits on the ground near his feet. I sit next to him, carefully holding my can of soup in one hand and securing my hatchet in the other. That’s right, I don’t trust this guy, at all.

“So were you ever going to tell me about PharmaCorp?” I ask cutting right to the chase.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Probably not. Not until I had to.”

“So what’s the deal? Did they hire you to get me? Do they have my dad?”

He rubs his jaw as though he’s hesitant to tell the truth but says, “Yes, they hired me to track you and make sure you didn’t get into the hands of the military.”

“Well, you suck at your job then.”

He laughs. “It looks that way, although blowing up Erwin’s compound was a different part of the job—so two birds, one stone.”

“Are you kidding me? It’s okay with you that Cole and I were held captive and I was poked and prodded for days on end because it made blowing up the base easier for you? You’re un-freaking-believable.”

“What do you want from me, Alex? This is what I do. I’m a paid mercenary. I take money to do the dirty work no one else wants to—and during the apocalypse it’s a skill that is pretty valuable.”

“God, you’re disgusting.”

“Maybe. But are you sure you know who the good guy is here? How do you know PharmaCorp isn’t in the right? Maybe your dad is with them right now because he wants to be.”

“Is he?” I ask jumping up and kicking the lantern over with my foot. It spins in a circle. I pick it back up and rest it on the ground. “Do you know where my dad is?”

“No, but I’m your best shot at finding him.”

“What? So I’m just supposed to believe that? That if I follow you to your creepy, terrorist bosses then I “may” find my dad?”

“And your sister.”

I snap my head. “What did you say?”

“Isn’t that where you’re going? Who you’re really looking for? Jane?”

Bile along with fury rises in my throat. “You knew all along?”

He leans back on the car. “Alexandra Ramsey, age 18, class Valedictorian, 1580 on her SATs. Early acceptance to Duke University, class of 2020. Pre-med with a focus on research. Runs a ten minute mile. Best friend, Liza—”

That’s when I haul off and punch him in the jaw, then again in the stomach. I reach for the hatchet, hanging in my belt loop but he grabs both of my wrists before I work it free.

“That’s enough,” he says close to my face.

“You knew the whole time—everything.”

“Yes,” he says.

“How long were you following me? Us?”

“Since before you left Raleigh,” he says this without a glimpse of remorse.

“The whole time? When we stayed at the apartment and met Paul? And then later, when those crazy people chased us down with their psycho trucks?”

“Who do you think took them out?” His cool eyes hold mine.

“That was you?”

“Part of the team, yes.”

“Holy crap, Wyatt.” My mind spins. “What…why didn’t you just take us at the beginning? Get it over with?”

“Those weren’t my orders, Alex.”

A sick feeling spreads through my stomach and I wrestle away from him. “Did you know Cole was following us too?”

“No, but I recognized him from the dossier of information I’d been given about your father and decided it was better to keep him close.” His jaw tenses. “Plus you like having him around.”

I scoff and cross my arms over my chest. “Sure, because this is all about what I want.”

We stand across from one another, quiet. I have no idea where to go from here. Running doesn’t seem like an option. And run where? To Jane? Even I have to admit it’s unlikely she’s anywhere I will find her on my own. My first priority has to be the information left to me by my dad. The only person who can take me to it is standing in front of me in a tight, muscle molding, light blue t-shirt. Dammit.

“If I ask you something will you tell me the truth?”

Wyatt considers this for a moment and then says, “If I can, yes.”

“What happens to me at PharmaCorp?”

“Give them what they want and you become a hero.”

“My blood?”

He shakes his head. “This isn’t about your blood, Alex, even though it may have initiated your father’s work. Erwin is batshit crazy and was never going to find that antidote without the information your father left you and your sister.”

“You know about that?” I ask. Of course he does.

“In theory everyone involved knows about it. That is what everyone wants, the two pieces of the puzzle. Erwin thought he could torture it out of you and when that didn’t work he thought he could torture me to get it out of you. Erwin just never realized how far reaching PharmaCorp is. They have fighters everywhere.”

“Who is PharmaCorp working for? Why did they unleash this on everyone?”

“They’re working under the concept that they are saving the world from extremists,” he says keeping his eyes level to mine. “They’ve recruited the best to put a stop to the groups terrorizing and oppressing people all around the word.”

“Do you believe this? They unleashed a bio-weapon they couldn’t control. They’ve killed just as many innocents as any other terrorist group.”

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter what I believe, but I do want that antidote created. Otherwise we’re all screwed.”

I sigh and rub my head. “This is a nightmare.”

“Now you know why your father went underground.”

“Is that an option?” I smile weakly. “Because I’m okay with that one too.”

“Nope.”

“I didn’t think so.” I pick up my can of soup and stir it around. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ll take you to the packet if you’ll help me find my sister—but you have to promise me that once we give them the information we’re free to go.”

He gives me a short nod. “Done.”

“I’m not finished,” I say and get a small sense of pleasure from the frown on his face. “You’re going to help me find my dad and you’re going to help us get away from all of this. Somewhere PharmaCorp, Erwin and the god forsaken Eaters can’t find us until this whole thing blows over.”

“Why do you think I can do that?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “I’ve seen your ninja skills, dude. I’m pretty sure you’ve got more than one secret hideout around here.”

He grins. “It’s possible.”

“So, do we have a deal?” I ask offering my hand. Without hesitation, he clasps mine in his own. I hope he can’t feel the tremble in my fingers. I don’t trust Wyatt. Not one bit but to get out of this alive and back to my family I’ve made a deal with the devil. Now I have to live with it.

***

The next day is for sleeping. Eating. And general refueling. I make a bed for myself in the backseat of a moldy smelling Chevy and pass out. When I wake it’s dark outside. We leave at dawn so I start packing, sorting and arranging my life in the tiny compartments of my backpack.

“You about ready?” Cole says sliding into the front seat and peering over the headrest.

“Yeah.”

“And you’re okay with the plan to follow Wyatt?”

Deep in one of the pockets I come across something small and metal. I pull out my mother’s wedding ring. It feels like months since we left the house when it’s only really been about five weeks. What would she think of all this? Wyatt. Cole. PharmaCorp.

She’d probably pull the blankets over her head and pray that when she woke up it was all a terrible nightmare.

Before Cole can ask about it, I shove the ring back inside my pocket. “We don’t have any other choice.”

“Are you sure because I don’t trust him—any of them, Alex.”

I laugh. “And you think I do?”

He reaches forward and brushes the stray hair out of my eyes. “I’ve still got your back, you know that, right? You can trust me.”

I look in his blue eyes. The only eyes I’ve known since before this all happened and admit that after everything we’ve been through I believe him. I can trust Cole. But Cole can’t get me back my family. And he can’t assure me safety—even if it comes at a high price.

“We’ll get through this,” I say zipping up the bag and exiting the back seat. “And save the world while doing it.”

***

As promised, the first thing Wyatt does after we leave the garage is take us to the truck. My truck. He left it tucked in one of the hundreds of weathered, falling down barns that litter the roads in rural South Carolina. The sense of happiness that overcomes me when I see it is ridiculous. I guess that’s what happens when you have nothing left. Things and people you barely know take on a sense of importance. It’s what makes us human. And humans are in increasingly rare shortage lately.

With any luck we can fix that.

I find the pouch where I’d stashed it—under the driver’s seat. I loop it around my neck and get in the truck. Chloe slides in next to me, while Cole and Walker sit in the back, weapons ready. Walker is my subtle reminder from Wyatt not to make a run for it. He shouldn’t worry. I have no intention on breaking my word. I just have to trust that he’s going to do the same.

The truck rumbles to life with familiarity and again I feel a little sentimental. It’s probably the exhaustion. Wyatt waves out the window of the truck and we follow the others off the property.

In the time Cole and I were locked up at the base things have changed outside. Before we could go hours without encountering anyone alive or infected. After we pass the third shambling Eater in a short time I ask Chloe, “Why do you think there are so many more Eater’s around?”

“I think people could only stay holed up so long. Only so much water and food. At some point they had to come out—and as we know, being outside is dangerous.”

No wonder it wasn’t hard for Erwin to gather a defensive army of Eater’s to surround the base. “They seem different now, don’t you think?”

“I noticed that too yesterday. Their insides are rotten, but they also seem less alert—more mob mentality.”

“Great. We’ve got two hundred miles between here and Augusta. Do you think we’ll make it?”

“Yes, unless we breakdown, run out of gas, get attacked by the military or run into a horde like yesterday…” She gestures to the truck in front of us. “But for real, with Wyatt leading the pack? I’ve got no doubt.”

Her words hold no weight but they make me feel better. And she’s right about Wyatt. I glance in the rearview mirror and spot Cole’s shaggy blond hair whipping around his face. “What will you guys do once we get there?”

Wyatt and I agreed not to share our agreement with the others. The fewer people who know about the information I’ve got the better.

“I don’t know. God knows if PharmaCorp will even still be there. I just hope it includes a bed and a warm shower.” She looks at me. “What are you planning on doing?”

“Not sure,” I lie. “Like you, a break would be good.” She shakes her head and I catch her roll her eyes. “What?”

“Don’t pretend like you won’t follow that man wherever he goes.” She tilts her head toward the cargo truck.

“Wyatt?” I ask. “Uh, why would you say that?”

“You two are all wound up in one another. He just about flipped when you went missing. I thought he may tear up half of the state to get you back.”

I fight a dark laugh. If she only knew why he wanted me back. To him I’m a job. Money. Nothing more. “Yeah, well, Wyatt has his reasons for doing the things he does. Don’t mistake it for something that it’s not.”

“Whatever,” she says. “Just don’t think I haven’t noticed his interest in you or that my brother hasn’t either.”

I tighten my grip on the wide, cracked leather steering wheel. “There’s nothing going on between Wyatt and me.”

Another lie. Well, a half-lie. I think she’s implying something romantic.

“Sure. Okay, if that’s how you want to play it.” She props her feet up on the dash and looks out the back window. Again, I catch sight of him in the rearview mirror and I see her and Cole make eye contact. With a small smile, he presses his hand to the window and she places hers on top, matching them up. “I know I shouldn’t say this but my brother really cares about you.”

A lump forms in my throat and my cheeks burn thinking of the time we shared at the base and the things he’d said to me. “I care about him too, he’s a great guy.”

“Just don’t be a bitch to him or something. He can take rejection—but a guy like Wyatt…that’s a tough blow for someone like Cole.”

“Chloe—I just told you, there is no Wyatt and me. Seriously drop it.”

She holds her hands up innocently. “Okay. Fine. I’ve said my peace.”

“You have. It’s noted.” I take a deep breath. “For the record I’m focused on finding my family. Dealing with PharmaCorp and just…trying to figure out how to live in this world, okay? Boys aren’t really a priority.”

She laughs and says, “Word.”

She settles back in her seat and again I look out the back window. Cole’s leaning against the edge of the truck bed, sun beating down on his face. His eyes catch mine and he gives me the same sweet smile I’d just seen him give his sister.

I nod back, exhausted and unwilling to do anymore. With a firm push on the gas, we move forward—toward the end of this.

Chapter Fifty-Four

~Before~

? Days Ago

“That was the worst,” I say rubbing my tired eyes. I can only imagine how red they must be and how huge the bags under them look. I avoid my reflection in the stream. At least, once daylight returns, my nerves settle down. A little.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” Mom says. “You’re a pretty amazing daughter.”

I’m too tired to respond so I just finish up the remainder of my “breakfast” (crackers and a spoonful of peanut butter). Mom rewraps her ankle and attempts to stand. The grimace on her face tells me it hurts badly. It’s going to be a long day.

“Hold on,” I tell her and comb the area surrounding our little camp ground. Tiny footprints cover the sandy areas…we had more than just the deer visit last night, each one providing me with a near heart attack. At the top of the bank I find what I’m looking for.

“Here,” I say coming back down. I snap off the extra limbs and hand my mother the long branch. “Use that as a cane.”

“Hey! That works!” she says testing it out. She’s definitely limping but hopefully this will keep a little of the weight off which, according to my Girl Scout First Aid Badge, should help it heal faster.

Most of the day is spent in the forest. I have no idea where we are going other than following my compass southwest. I hold it up, checking it like I’d checked my iPhone in the past. Compulsively—hoping it will show me something new.

“We’ll have to find some sort of crossroads,” I say an hour or so in. “I’ve got to get our bearings.”

“So we need to head out of these woods and find a road.”

“Yeah, unless we find shelter first.” I cross a pile of rocks and turn to help my mom navigate across. “Once we get to the cabin we can hole up for a while. Maybe scavenge food from some other places. If we’re lucky maybe Dad is already there and he’s got it fully stocked for us.”

“That would be nice,” she says but something about her tone doesn’t ring true. She grins as she hobbles forward but the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Are you worried?” I ask. “About Dad meeting us?”

She shakes her head. “No. I know we’ll find him. Eventually—that pouch he gave you. It’s important.”

“Do you know what it’s for?” She keeps moving forward, wincing with every step. I stop her and make her look at me. “Mom, what is going on? What are you being so weird about?”

“I’m not being weird, Alex. You know how your father is…he says a lot while saying nothing at all. Sometimes he talks about his work and it just makes no sense—totally over my head. Other times…things aren’t quite so boring. If I ask too many questions he clams up.”

“Okay,” I say relating. “Do you think he’ll meet us at the cabin?”

Her eyes water and she shakes her head again. “No. If he didn’t come back to the house before we left then something else happened.”

“Something bad?”

She frowns. “I don’t know.  I doubt it. I have a feeling that your father is more involved in all of this than I ever imagined.”

I think back to the paperwork on his desk. The notes and details about the E-TR Virus. Oh he’s definitely involved. “Well, where is he then?”

She presses her hand against my chest, right over the pouch. “Again, I don’t know. I’m not sure he’s able to tell us, but what he did do is make you important to all of this. He left you that information for a reason. One way or the other he will find you when he needs to. We have to trust him. Have faith that everything will be okay.”

I press my hand to her forehead, then her cheeks, looking for the signs of a fever. She sounds crazy, but her skin is cool to the touch. She pushes my hand away. “Alex, I’m fine. Okay, well, my foot hurts. I’m tired. I’m hungry. Let’s just find somewhere to sleep tonight.”

“Okay,” I agree gesturing for her to go first. I keep an eye on her, on the woods and my surroundings for the rest of the afternoon. She may not be sick but she’s not making a lot of sense. Then again, no one knew my father better than her.

Right now I needed to get us somewhere safe, once there, I could figure out if I was ready to rely on faith or not.

Chapter Fifty-Five

~Now~

PharmaCorp’s corporate offices stand tall over the banks of the Savannah River. The high walls around it and the lookout points give the impression that it’s more of a fort than a laboratory. Guess that’s what happens when you have a heads up on the apocalypse.

“That’s where we’re going?” I ask peering through the truck window. I wrinkle my nose at the ashy, burning stench that permeates the air.

Still shiny glass windows reflect back what’s left of the city, which now is nothing more than a burning shell. We crammed Walker into the cab with us and Cole climbs in the back of the cargo truck with the other men before we crossed the bridge into town. The risk of Eater attack is high, although at the same time, the entire city is disturbingly barren.

“Yep,” says Walker. “It’s pretty nice inside too. We’ll be safe.”

“Showers?” Chloe asks.

“A whole bunker underground. Bedrooms, showers, food, electricity,” she lists.

“Sort of like the base?” I ask. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

“But better.” She notices my expression. “Look, I know this is weird for you but I’ve worked for PharmaCorp for a long time. They’re not the bad guys. The world has just turned into a shitty place and they’re the only ones willing to fix it.”

“Sounds a little radical,” I say.

“Radical times, girlfriend.” She lifts her fist in the same gesture Richardson gave before falling to the Eaters. He’d also said something about “FF.” What did that mean?

She continues, “Once we get that antidote together, PharmaCorp, with their state of the art labs will be able to start shutting this thing down, but this time, all the shitty, murdering terrorists around the world will be gone and we can start over again.”

“Uh, yeah them and a whole lot of other people who didn’t deserve to die,” I say.

She shrugs in return. Shit. This girl bought into PharmaCorp’s view hook, line and sinker. I’m starting to realize Walker isn’t in this for the money like Wyatt but some other sense of deranged national pride.

The area surrounding the fortress looks like a complete warzone. Abandoned tanks, dead bodies. Roaming Eaters. Davis stands in the back of the cargo truck and signals to someone in the tower. A large metal gate begins to shift slowly to the side while armed guards line the top of the fence, guns ready.

Wyatt revs his engine and the walkie-talkie Walker carries crackles with his voice. “Wait here until I get the truck inside. They’ll do a sweep and re-secure the gate. Then you’ll get the signal to come inside.”

“Got it,” Walker replies.

His truck gains the attention of some of the Eaters nearby and they begin to follow with increased interest.

“I’ve got this,” Walker says pushing the back window open and leveling her gun.

“Ugh, just leave them. We’ll be inside in a minute,” Chloe says, with her forehead pressed to the window. I agree. We’re so close to being inside—being safe who needs the extra trouble?

The cargo truck disappears behind the gate and the walkie-talkie crackles to life again. “We’re inside. Proceed forward. Watch that group to the left. They’re a little agitated.”

“Let’s do this,” Walker says. I start the engine and begin to move forward once the man in the watchtower signals us in. There’s less than twenty feet between me and the gate when the first gunshots ring out from the wall.

“What was that?” I ask keeping my hands on the wheel and foot on the gas.

“Are they attacking the Eaters?” Chloe asks again looking out her window. “No, shit! Go! Alex, Go!”

The truck falls under a hail of bullets, pinging as they hit the ancient metal sides. I hear the back window snap, a shower of glass falling over our shoulders and we all duck.

“What the hell!” I scream, sparing a glance backwards to see where they’re coming from. The horizon grows dark as an army of military vehicles proudly displaying the American flag closes in. Erwin. He’s found us.

“Go! Go! Go!” Walker screams. The cab gets hot and I slam on the gas, pushing as fast as I can. We’re close and I have no fear we’ll make it in—I’m just not sure we can keep them out.

We burst through the gate and see that on the other side there isn’t much room. Wyatt’s truck is blocking our way and I have no choice but to slam on my breaks, crashing hard into the side of the green camouflaged vehicle. The front window splits and cracks on impact.

“You okay?” I ask, while checking the gate we just came through. The guards already have it locked down but there’s a battle going on outside. Like Erwin said. This is a war.

“I’m okay, but hey…Chloe,” Walker says. Her head is slumped over. She tilts her neck back and brushes her blonde hair out of her eyes. A thin sliver of blood runs from a wound on her forehead. Walker flips on the walkie-talkie and screams, “We need medical. Now!”

I jump out of the truck and race around the back. Bullet holes riddle the outside. Cole rushes over when he sees me. “What happened?”

“Chloe’s hurt! Something happened! Maybe when we crashed?” He’s gone before I can even move and I follow him around the passenger side of the truck.

“Chloe,” he calls lifting her head. Panic washes over his features and he repeats her name. When she doesn’t reply he rips off his shirt and presses the cloth to the bleeding wound on her head.

“Hold on, girl, I’ve got this, okay,” he mumbles checking the wound. His fingers frantically search her neck. “She doesn’t have a pulse. There’s no pulse!”

Two women from the fort run over, carrying medical equipment. Cole grabs her in his arms and meets them halfway across the driveway. All around us rockets fire and bullets crack and God, where’s Wyatt?

“Follow them,” Walker says pointing to Cole and Chloe.

“Is she dead?” I ask, frozen in my spot. I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening.

“Alex, girl, I’m really growing to like you, but please follow directions for once in your freaking life. You have got to get off this driveway and into the building—where it’s safe.”

“What are you doing? Staying out here to fight?”

“That’s what I do. All of us. Wyatt, Davis, Cooley. You? You’ve got bigger purposes.” She waves over two guards dressed in the same black as Walker. I notice though that theirs have a patch on the sleeve. The letters FF embroidered in thick white thread. It dawns on me that these must be official PharmaCorp uniforms. “Take her inside. Follow the medics.”

I don’t fight when they lead me away. I’m not a soldier and this isn’t my war. I’m just a girl with a father who is a genius. Whose father gave her information to save the world.

Now it’s time to follow through.

***

I step through the front doors and it’s as though time at PharmaCorp stopped pre-virus. It feels like I’ve entered a time warp, where there’s no virus, no Eaters and no battle raging on the other side of the bullet and soundproofed glass walls of the building. I’m greeted with cool air conditioning, florescent lighting and soothing music piped into invisible speakers.

It’s weird as hell.

Cole and the medical team rush ahead of me, through the entrance and disappear behind a set of doors to my left. I chase them but just before I get to the door I’m stopped by a man in one of the black uniforms. Yep, white “FF” patch on the arm. His name tag says Hale.

“Ms. Ramsey?” he asks. He looks young, Wyatt’s age probably. Same solid soldier build. Same confident shoulders. Do they make them in a mold?

“Uh, yes.”

“You’ve been requested upstairs.”

“But my friend…I need to make sure she’s okay.”

“She’s in good hands. The medical team will give her the best treatment available.”

“But…”

“Please,” he says, his voice kind but firm. “Follow me.”

I do as I’m told, half-dazed and totally confused. He stops in front of an elevator with shiny silver doors and presses the up button. In moments I hear a quiet ding and the doors slide open.

“How?” I ask. There’s no need to expand on the question.

“PharmaCorp runs on its own, private power grid. Mostly solar power, from what I understand. Engineering isn’t my specialty,” he says with a smile and gesturing me inside.

I hesitate, because…well, falling down an elevator shaft seems like a pretty stupid way to die after the last month, but Hale seems confident enough.

I step inside and wait as he presses the button for level fifteen. The top floor.

“Can you tell me who I’m meeting?” I ask.

“The CEO of PharmaCorp.”

“Who is…?” I prompt. “I’m not really up on Fortune 500 companies and the evil bastards that run them.”

Hale doesn’t answer but I note the slight lift of his eyebrow. I’m glad he finds this amusing.

The elevator trip to the top is quick and the doors open directly into the reception area of an office. Sleek leather chairs line the walls. Crisp magazines sit on the spotless coffee table. Once again I’m struck by how normal everything is.

A secretary sits at the desk. She’s older, with graying hair. I blink, taking in her familiar face and ask, “Josie?”

The receptionist from my father’s lab, the one that checked me in and out each week was here. Working at PharmaCorp. A sense of uneasy dread rose in my stomach. “Alexandra, I’m so glad to see you.”

“How did you get here? What…where’s my dad? Do you know where he is?” I ask. My stomach clenches with nerves—both excited and scared. I can’t believe she’s here. Why is she here? How did she get here from Durham?

“I know you’ve had a long journey to get here. Come with me. They’ve been waiting.”

“Who? Who has been waiting?”

Again, she doesn’t answer—what the hell is it with the no answering thing? She starts toward a door behind her desk, but I push past her, wrenching the door open.

Inside is a small seating area. A couch and two chairs. A plate of food sits on a coffee table in the middle. Fresh fruit, cheese, meat. My mouth waters just looking at it but I dart past it, toward the large desk positioned before a wall of glass windows, where two people stand in front of it, looking at what I can only assume is the battle below.

“Dad?”

My father turns wearing a wide, relieved smile, his arms stretched wide. “Alexandra!”

I move toward him—eager to touch him. To make sure he’s real. He pulls me into a tight hug and as excited I am to finally see him, dread fills the pit of my stomach. I have to tell him about Mom.

“Dad, we waited for you but you never came,” I say. The other person shifts in my direction and I look over his shoulder. I gasp, dropping my arms. My sister is here.

“Jane?”

Her hair is short and tidy. Professional looking. Her makeup understated but perfect. I look between her and my father. They’re both clean. Both safe. Both living in this tower of luxury. While I…a lump forms in my throat. I can’t even begin to comprehend the things I’ve had to do to get here. Who I’ve lost, who died. The hair on the back of my neck tingles and out of instinct, I reach for the handle of my hatchet. “What are you doing here?”

“Alex,” she says coming in my direction. “It’s so good to see you.” Her dark eyes flick downward at the weapon. “You don’t have to be scared.”

“I don’t understand.” Suddenly I’m hyperaware of how filthy I am. How out of place I am in this room. I look around, searching for an out—an escape. Something. A glint of gold catches my eye on the desk. It’s a nameplate.

Jane Ramsey, CEO PharmaCorp.

“You?” I ask. “You’re PharmaCorp?”

“Just figured that out?” she asks tossing her short hair back. She’s proud.

“You did this then,” I accuse. I look at my father. “And you. You did this. You brought this on all of us.”

“No, Alexandra,” my father says. “We saved everyone. We’re not the bad ones here.”

Jane nods her head in agreement and walks toward me. I go for my hatchet but strong hands grab me from behind. Hale overpowers me easily, although I fight against him out of sheer rage. “You’ve lost your mind,” I say to my sister, who is now inches away. She reaches for my neck and finds the string holding the pouch around my neck. She yanks it off with a snap.

With all my strength I lift my legs and manage to kick her with both feet in the gut. She stumbles backwards, off balance, but manages to recover before falling completely. I’m not surprised when she charges back over, palm open and slaps me hard across the face.

“Jane!” my father shouts.

She ignores him and grabs me by the stinging cheeks. “I’ll throw you back outside these walls, Alex. Don’t test me.”

My head is spinning and not just from the slap. Who is this woman? She’s certainly not the sister I grew up with and fought to find. “Don’t test you?” I spat. “Trust me, I’ve been tested. I was tested when I left home with Mom, with nothing but the bags on our back. I was tested when we watched our friend get murdered by the military. I was tested when I killed my first Eater.” She rolls her eyes but I keep going. “And yes, I was tested when I shot our mother, your wife,” I shout in my father’s direction. “In the head after she’d been infected. You left us out there to die.”

My father doesn’t blink, which tells me he already knew about Mom. Once again, I’m the one left out of the loop here.

“No, honey,” Dad says. “We never wanted this to happen. For your mother—” He swallows hard. “I can explain. Just give me a chance to explain everything.”

“Screw your explanation!” I shout, once again struggling away from Hale. I manage to slip out of his grasp and lunge in Jane’s direction. He catches me before I get to her, tackling me to the floor.

“Get her out of here,” she barks at Hale. “Let me know when she calms down and stops acting like a feral animal.”

He wrestles me to my feet, drags me backwards but I don’t fight. I don’t want to see her face.

“Jane,” I hear my father plead, but Hale pushes me through the office away from my family I fought so hard to find.

I grab onto the door and spin around. “I don’t know what all of this is about, but we’re not finished,” I say. “I worked too hard to get here. I deserve answers. I need to know what the military wants with me. I want to know why all of this happened.”

“Go,” Jane says to Hale and again, I’m dragged away from my family. Again.

***

I spot Cole the second the elevator doors open. He storms across the lobby and out the front door. Just before the door shuts I hear an anguished wail.

Without hesitation, I race toward him. Hale catches up, stopping me with a strong hand. “I’m supposed to take you downstairs.”

I shrug him off. “He’s my friend.”

“I have orders.”

“Fuck your orders,” I spat. “Tell my sister I said that. Don’t worry-she can take it up with me.”

Through the glass we see Cole, face pinched in pain. Something terrible has happened. Thankfully, Hale backs off. “Go,” he says. “But I’m telling her you escaped.”

“Whatever.”

I would deal with Jane later.

Pushing open the door I step outside. It’s dusk, the sky behind over the wall turning pinkish red. The battle from earlier is over but the air is thick with smoke and ash. I can’t tell who won, other than the fact the walls are still up. I have no clue if they eliminated Erwin or not. At this point I’m not even sure I want them to.

I take a second to scan the area for Wyatt or Walker. Neither come into view. Shoving down the irrational concern I have for them, I focus on Cole.

“I guess PharmaCorp won,” I say approaching him. He leans against the building, chin to his chest. I step over a mangled piece of metal that looks like it came from a vehicle. Drops of dark blood litter the ground. “What’s going on—how’s Chloe?”

Cole lifts his head. His eyes are red and watery. “She’s unconscious. Shot in the head by Erwin’s men.”

“Shot? I thought she hit her head on the window.” Another wave of loss crashes over me. When will this end?

“No. The bullet hit her head. I don’t know how she’s still alive. I’m not even sure she is because they kicked me out.” He slams a fist into the building.

I take a deep breath and reach for him. His body is warm and shaking but relaxes just a little when we make contact. “Hey,” I say. “She’ll make it. She’s tough.”

He laughs darkly. “Hell yeah she is.”

“Still not sure what exactly is going on around this place but I have a feeling their medical team is probably amazing. At least we’re not out there somewhere.”

He nods and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “Did you find your father?”

“I found him, but I wish I hadn’t.”

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story.” I glance around, but the only people around are dressed in black fatigues, with a bright “FF” on the shoulder. “I do know that I’m no longer sure he’s a good man. Like Wyatt and Walker and the others. I don’t like this place and what they’re doing.”

He looks around the grounds—at the debris from the battle. Our images reflect off the glass walled building now pink from the sunset. “This is not where I expected we would end up.”

“Yeah, I didn’t think I would travel all this way, lose my home and my mother, to ultimately end up alone.”

He frowns and in a heartbreakingly pained voice says, “You’re not alone. How could you say that?”

“You don’t know what my father is doing, Cole. And God, my sister. It’s like I’ve stepped into some kind of crazy alternate reality. They may not be dead.” He flinches when I say it and instantly I feel like crap. “But they’re not the people I thought I knew, so yeah, it feels like I’m pretty freaking alone right now.”

He grabs me by my shoulders so that I face him and then tilts my chin up, until I’m looking at his searing blue eyes. “When I said you aren’t alone, I didn’t mean your family.”

“Oh, uh,” I mumble and try to look away, but he holds firm. A flare of nerves race through my body—an inappropriate, or maybe the only realistic response in our current situation. “I just…I feel like I’m falling, like I’ve got nothing real to hold onto anymore. Wyatt lied to me. Erwin is insane. My family…even you started this off hiding stuff from me.”

“You know I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know.”

He steps closer until his mouth is close to mine. I get a close look at the beard he hasn’t shaved since we left the Army base and reach up to touch it. I feel his heat and warmth. I spot the look in his eyes, beneath the red weariness. It’s a look I’ve seen before but not on him. Not for me. It’s the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen and I’ve faced down a horde of Eaters.

I close my eyes to block out the pain and in a heartbeat, feel his mouth on mine. The kiss is a little sloppy—definitely nervous but I allow myself to slip into the moment, into the feeling of the moment. It’s certainly more pleasant than the other emotions I have bubbling under the surface. Than seeing the hurt and want in Cole’s eyes. His lips, the scratch of his beard, the way his hands tug on my hair, they feel amazing. Real.

I clench the front of his shirt between my fingers, twisting the fabric into a bunch. His hands land on my hips, pulling me closer. This. This is easy, I think, sinking into his hard body.

The loud scrape and groan of the gate cuts through the intensity and I step back.

I take a breath and rub my chin. “Why did you do that?”

“To give you something to hold onto,” he replies touching his forehead to mine.

“Cole, these people—my family. They’re out of control. Horrible things—”

He cuts me off. “Just because we’re here doesn’t mean we have to be like them. We know who we are, what we want to do. It’s about humanity, stopping this nightmare while helping other survivors. Together, with the resources of PharmaCorp, we will figure out how to stop this insane virus ravaging the country and the rest of the world.”

“Yes! That’s what I want to do.”

“Good. We’ve got this, Alex.”

For the first time in weeks I feel steady. I look out at the grounds—at the fighters standing on the watchtowers. The massive walls protecting us. The answers are in that building. With my father, sister and myself. They can’t push me out of this and I will demand that they do the right thing.

And if they don’t?

There will be hell to pay.

Please follow this link for a special excerpt from The Girl Who Shot First. Read the second book, The Girl Who Punched Back today! And check out an excerpt from the second book below.

The Girl Who Punched Back

Chapter 1

The blade, slick with blood, is the only thing separating me from the drooling, oozing, smelly human trying to spread the infection that ravaged his brain to me.

God, I hate Eaters.

I hate their black, veiny eyes. I hate their rabid aggression. I hate their addiction-like need to sink their teeth into my skin. I hate what they’ve done to my family, our society, and I hate the fact I can’t just go on a simple mission to help other people without getting covered in their foul blood.

I hate that they took my life and future away.

“Get. Off.” I mutter more to myself than him. The Eater certainly doesn’t care about my wants and chomps his rotten teeth in reply. My arms shake from the weight and I know he’s going to drop. I really, really don’t want that to happen.

A second howling Eater stumbles near me, followed by the sickening thwack of metal slicing through tendons and flesh. Turning to the side, I see the body on the ground. The head rolls lazily in my direction until I’ve got one disgusting Eater face hovering over me and one inches to my left. The decapitated head is so close I can see the stupid hoop ring she thought was a good idea to insert in her nose back in her former life.

“A little help? Wyatt? Walker?” My elbows wobble. A stream of sticky spit lands on my cheek. A little louder I shout, “Wyatt!”

A streak of black flashes behind the Eater and I close my eyes as my arms collapse. I flinch, expecting the weight of the body to fall on mine. It never comes. Grunts and howling cries fill the air and I blink, seeing the fight above me. Well, not a fight. Wyatt is merely showing off.

From the ground, I watch as he punches the Eater in the jaw twice before grabbing his head and snapping it with a powerful twist.  Standing over the dead body, Wyatt adjusts his black gloves and glances down at me.

I glare at him and say, “Took you long enough.”

“I thought you had him.” He walks over and offers me a hand. I take it, feeling the ache in my muscles with every move. Back on my feet, I look down at my uniform. Even though it’s black you can see the blood and guts seeping into the fabric.

“Is that what winning looks like to you?” It’s an honest question. I never have any idea what he’s thinking, not since the night we met, back on a farm in North Carolina. Not even when he saves my life—repeatedly.

He narrows his eyes, like he’s truly assessing me, and I wait for the reply. For some reason I always want to know how his brain works, why he does the things he does. Instead of an answer, he clenches his jaw and looks toward our vehicle. Walker, the leader of our mission, reloads her gun.

“We should go, Alex,” he says. “We’re losing daylight.”

He walks off, leaving me in the street, surrounded by bodies.

I exhale and follow him, thinking how lucky we are to live another day in the apocalypse.

*

“Dead.”

“Hiding.”

“Negative. Dead.”

“They’re educated. They’re smart enough to have gotten away.” I have my own logic. It’s the only thing that keeps me going right now.

Wyatt glares at me. “Then infected.”

I glance out the window at the house. Two stories, but modest. Built in the ‘70s or ‘80s. The three Volvos with bumper stickers that proclaim the colleges where they or their children all went. Yes, ‘went’. They certainly no longer go.

I sigh. “Fine. Infected.”

He doesn’t smile, more like a smug smirk. It takes everything not to smack it off his face, but that seems like an extreme emotion for losing a game. The expression slips and he nods at the next house we pass.

“Hiding,” he states.

“Shut up, both of you,” Walker says from the driver’s seat. “I can’t believe you made a game out of this God-forsaken situation.”

Wyatt and I both shrug. Dead, Hiding, or Infected is how we pass the time on patrol. We have to do something while we sweep the streets for survivors and wait for my megalomaniac sister, Jane, to unveil the entirety of whatever delusional plan she’s cooked up.

The truck bounces in a large pot hole and I brace myself against the seat against the impact. There’s certainly no government left to repair the roads now, and it’s increasingly obvious how fast everything has eroded. I don’t just mean the road conditions.

It’s been three months since Wyatt, Cole, Chloe, and I arrived at my sister’s lair, the southern headquarters for PharmaCorp. We came in a blaze of gunfire, after unknowingly traveling with a mercenary for five hundred miles, fighting off the remaining vestiges of the US government, and hand-delivering information my father needed to create a vaccine for the E-TR virus. Unfortunately, I still haven’t decided if my father, the renowned Dr. Ramsey, and sister, Jane Ramsey (or as she likes to be called, “The Director”) have clear motives. I know my sister doesn’t. The problem is I’m not sure how nefarious her plans actually are.

Sure, that may sound overly-dramatic, but in a post-apocalyptic world who’s going to stop me?

“Walker,” Wyatt says, nodding to a house at the end of the street. The windows are boarded over, the garage marked with a huge black X. Everything about the home screams abandoned. But not to Wyatt. He’s got some sort of spidey-sense.

“What?” I ask.

“Let’s check it out.” She stops the Humvee with a lurch and we exit the vehicle. I try not to stare at the blood stains in the driveway next door.

“Alex, stay with me,” he instructs, giving me an annoyed-but-knowing look. He feels like he’s babysitting me, I know. I heard him shout those very words, “I’m not The Director’s freaking babysitter!” back at the fort. Except he didn’t say “freaking.” I was assigned to go with him anyway, and when he’s not off on super-top-secret Freedom Fighter missions we do this, patrol the suburbs of Augusta, Georgia for signs of life and death.

The weird thing is that it’s mostly a dead-zone. Little life and not even that much “death.” Either everyone scattered months ago, or this segment of the city has already been cleaned up by an earlier team, or the people here are really good at hiding.

“Exactly what are we stopping for?” I’m not arguing. I just want to understand.

He puts his finger to his lips and he and Walker exchange complicated hand gestures. They split up and I stick to his side like a shadow. After the fight earlier today I have little desire to be on my own again.

I notice the difference in this house from the others as soon as I get closer. The plywood tacked over the windows has holes drilled through it like Swiss cheese. My first thought is that they’re to allow in light, but then I notice the short spikes poking through each one.

“What good is that?” I ask, because the spikes are too short to do any real damage. I reach my glove-covered finger up and touch the tip. A coil winds and I cock my head just before I hear a loud click.

“Oh shit!” I cry, flying through the air, landing hard on my back. I stare up at the sky, my lungs gasping for air, after mentally assessing that I was not injured. Wyatt saved my butt with his quick reflexes. “Jesus, dude.”

He stands over me, weapon drawn, the spike elongated and inches from his face.

“Clever,” he says, touching the tip of one of the spikes with his own gloved hand.

I scramble to my feet, hatchet secure in my hand. I haven’t quite caught my breath. “Who the heck are these people?”

“I don’t know, Alex” he says with a flash in his eyes. “But I plan on finding out.”

Thanks & Stuff

Many of you know that originally the Girl Who Shot First was a companion to my contemporary YA book, FanGirl, a novel about a girl obsessed with a zombie graphic novel that ends up cast in the lead role in the TV mini-series. FanGirl is the redheaded stepchild of my books. My favorite but not my most successful. Those that do read it seem to love it, but the topic either weirds people out or confuses them. Either way, my plan from the beginning was to write the zombie companion to FG but life and other books got in the way. Eventually I did write and publish it but again, I got aimless and started new projects before completing the series.

Guys, writing zombies is hard so hard that I didn’t even successfully do it. I realized later that I’d written more of a post-apocalyptic novel instead and didn’t know what to do with that. So after some much needed advice I dug in deep and created a new series around the first book and now things have just grown to an amazing point. I’m excited about everything coming up next!

Please keep up with me via my mailing list—one specifically designed for dystopian and post-apocalyptic novels. You’ll be the first to receive information about the next books in the Death Fields series as well as sales and other goodies.

Also, you can find me on twitter @theangellawson or on Facebook at Angel Lawson or Angel Lawson Author. Come say hi. I do have cookies but they’re gluten free.

Angel Lawson Books

The Death Fields:

The Girl Who Shot First

The Girl Who Punched Back

The Girl Who Kicked Ass

Creature of Habit Series:

Creature of Habit (Book 1)

Creature of Habit (Book2)

Creature of Habit (Book 3)

The Wraith Series:

Wraith

Shadow Bound

Grave Possession

The Lost Queen

Vigilant

Contemporary Romance:

FanGirl

For the Win