Once we were all standing behind the tin exterior wall of the school, the woman took off again. We made a half circle and then snuck into a back yard through a gate. She gestured for us to go inside and then put her finger against her lips. After we did so, she quietly shut the gate behind her.
We stood in what looked like a former single-car garage that had been turned into a bedroom. A set of French doors led into the rest of the house. Dad handed Tavia's son to her, and then he turned the knob of the door on the right, slow and cautious. He was holding his rifle with both hands. Brad and Darla held their kids close, and Tavia moved to the side while the woman joined us. She closed the back door softly and turned the lock.
"What is he doing?" she whispered.
All three of her kids were standing against the wall, eyeing us warily.
"Checking to see if anyone else is in here," Brad said, keeping his voice low.
"No one is here," she said, shaking her head. "Just me and the kids."
"We need to make sure," Brad said.
Gunshots could be heard, popping like firecrackers somewhere nearby. It reminded me of the Fourth of July, but it definitely didn't feel like it.
Dad appeared in the doorway. "It's just us," he whispered.
He turned on his heels, and we followed him down a hallway that opened into a kitchen. The lights were off, and it would have been dark but for one broken window. Jagged edges of plywood hung from the nails driven into the wall.
Dad gestured to the unsecured window. "We need to patch that up--now."
"There are more sheets of plywood in the garage outside. We should have enough to double up on most if you'd like."
Dad complied, following her outside. They returned less than ten minutes later. April was carrying a toolbox, and Dad was grunting and walking awkwardly with the stack of plywood sheets in both hands.
Once Brad and my dad were finished refortifying the windows, only the few holes in the wooden sheets offered enough sunshine to see. I'd worried about the noise from the hammering, but Tavia had kept an eye out, and she'd said any curious infected kept being drawn the other direction, toward the sound of the gunshots. They were now just popping off one at a time. It was more sporadic, but they were still happening.
I made my way to the table and pulled out a chair. My leg muscles were still burning from our long walk.
Dad and Tavia immediately got to work with making us a small meal. Brad and Darla did the same for Madelyn and Logan.
The woman and her children just watched.
Darla's eyebrows pulled in. "Haven't you got any food?"
"We've already eaten. You go ahead," she said.
"We haven't got much left, but you're welcome to share," Darla said.
The woman walked with pride over to a door. She opened it to reveal a deep pantry with a decent stock of various cans of vegetables, rice, bread, peanut butter, chips, cereal, boxed stuffing, and bottles of water, and that was just what I could see right away.
"You're welcome to ours, too," she said.
"Goodness me," Tavia said, holding her palm to her chest.
Dad frowned. "You had all this food, yet you were so desperate to leave that you nearly got yourself mowed down in front of your kids?"
I raised an eyebrow. I was fairly impressed with him at that moment.
The woman looked at her kids and then back at Dad. "I'm scared. I was over there at that church when it was overrun, and we lost a lot of friends."
"So has everyone else." Dad scoffed.
"I lost my husband." A gunshot outside served as the period to her sentence.
Dad didn't have a response to that.
"I'm alone with these kids. I saw your van, and I panicked. I didn't know if we were leaving or you were staying. I just knew I couldn't keep us all alive by myself."
Tavia touched her arm. "You're not by yourself anymore. I'm Tavia. That's my son, Tobin," she said, pointing.
"My daughter's name is Nora, and my son is Jud."
"And who's this?" Darla was referring to the boy who looked to be around seven or eight, gauging by his oversized front teeth and his baby teeth on the bottom.
The boy spoke up, "Did you see that blood streak on the side of the church?"
Some of us nodded.
"That was from my teacher, Miss Stephens. She saved me from my parents when they were trying to kill me," he said the words matter-of-factly, as if he were talking about something that had happened at school that day.
Darla gasped, and Tavia's hand flew up to her mouth. Halle looked to me, not knowing how to react. Since it had all began, all I could think about was getting to my mom. I hadn't thought about what it would be like if she were dead--or worse, if she tried to kill Halle or me.
April offered an apologetic smile and cupped the boy's shoulders. "This is Connor. Annabelle Stephens was our first-grade teacher. She was the best. Right, Connor?"
He looked up at April. His eyes darkened with guilt. "She would have lived if she hadn't saved me."
April frowned. "She wanted it that way. Don't forget that. She loved you, and she wanted you to live. She would have done that for any one of you kids. We've discussed this, Connor. You can't blame yourself."
"What did you do," I asked, "when your parents changed and chased you?"
"Jenna!" Dad scolded.
Connor's eyes shot up to my dad and then back at me with a blank expression. "I ran."
After I finished my sandwich and chips and downed an entire bottle of water, I helped Dad fill up the empty bottles from the tap, and then we resituated our packs.
The gunshots still continued, but they were infrequent, and I was beginning to get used to them.
Halle was playing with Madelyn and the younger boys while Connor seemed to prefer standing by the window and looking out of the holes.
Dad joined the adults to discuss what was next, but their conversation derailed somewhere between plans and theories to what had caused the virus.
"I'm just glad I never got a flu shot," April said. "There were reports that those who had one were turning faster once they were bit."
"I've heard that," Dad said. "I had mine, so if I get bitten, I guess you'd better shoot me quick."
"I didn't get mine, so let me say my good-byes," Tavia said, glancing back sadly at her son.
April scratched the back of her neck. "I still don't understand though. People with the flu shot are turning more quickly? After they've been bitten? After they die?"
Tavia leaned in closer. "The man on the news said that people who were bitten would get sick. They would run a high fever, vomit, and have headaches within the first hour. At first, they thought it was some kind of flu, so the doctors or whoever began looking at medical records. They were confused because those with the flu vaccination got worse and died quicker than those who hadn't gotten one."
April snorted. "You'd think when they came back and tried to eat people, the doctors would have figured out it wasn't the flu."
Tavia pressed her lips together. "That was early. It was right after they talked about the scientist. He did this. He created zombies, and now, we're all screwed."
April picked at her nails, nervous. "Do you think it's something in the vaccination?"
Dad shook his head. "No. I think, for whatever reason, the virus reacts with the vaccination. It's enzymatic, not the cause."
"Whatever that means," April said.
Dad grinned. "The flu shot isn't turning people into zombies. It just turns up the speed on the virus once you've been bitten."
"Oh," April said. "So, what caused it?"
Dad clenched his teeth. "The psycho scientist. He was probably obsessed with zombie movies and was just trying to see if he could make it a reality."
"We'll never know," Tavia said. "The only thing that matters is that he did it, and now it's a reality for us all."
Tavia was right. The cause didn't matter, only that it was here, right outside the windows, and we were hiding f
rom it, whispering to keep it from hearing us.
I used to do that when I was younger, when Mom and Dad were fighting. Dad was usually mad at me, and Mom would pick a fight with him just to keep him downstairs and out of my face. Since the divorce, he'd had a better handle on his anger, but I wondered how long he would last before he blew. We were all tired and exhausted and scared. None of those things made for a good combination for someone with so much rage boiling beneath the surface. Back then, I would hide from him in my closet. Now, we were hiding together--from something much worse.
I stood next to Connor, noting the wrinkles he made when he scrunched one eye while he looked out through a hole with the other.
"See anything?" I said quietly.
"Yes," he whispered. "I can see the cemetery from here."
I sighed and leaned against the thin plywood, looking up. "We're going to need something stronger to put on these windows."
"Yep."
The kids were at the table, coloring quietly. It seemed so easy for them to forget about the nightmare happening outside while they chose the perfect shade of blue and dragged it back and forth on the paper. I wished it were that simple, that I could just busy myself with something and pretend everything was normal.
I smirked and looked at Connor. "Are we running for our lives or running a daycare?"
He leaned away from the hole in the plywood and watched me for a moment, frowning. "If you saw inside the school, you wouldn't be complaining. Out of this entire town, only three of us are left. Another boy was in the church. His name was Evan. He was older than me, but he didn't make it out. So, now, it's just us and April. Your bunch brings the kid population to a grand total of eight. Eight--that's not even a daycare. That's just sad."
"I...I'm sorry. I was just trying to make conversation. I didn't mean--"
"I know," he said, looking back through the hole. "I didn't mean it either. I'm just mad."
I wondered what Connor was like before this had happened because he didn't act his age.
"I bet you are."
"If I were older, I could have saved more people. If I were older--"
"There are a lot of adults around. None of them have stopped this. Don't carry that around with you."
"I'm not carrying anything. The only things I have are my clothes."
"Where do you live? Maybe we could go get some of your things?"
He shook his head. "What does any of that stuff matter now?"
I shrugged. His way of thinking made me miss Chloe. I wondered where she was, if her mom had picked her up in time. I would hope. That was all I had left. "I wish I could have brought something from my old room. Makes it feel more like home." When Connor didn't respond, I continued, "It's not as loud as I thought it would be. Not a lot of screaming or hysterics. People get quiet when they're afraid."
"It's only been two days," Connor said without emotion. "Give them time."
"Halle used to talk all the time. She's barely said a word. She hasn't even really cried."
"Good. Loud kids get eaten."
"You're creepy," I said, crossing my arms.
He leaned back and looked at me, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. "You're weird."
"Yeah? Well, I'm not the one staring at a cemetery when dead people are walking around."
"I'm not staring at the cemetery. I'm watching Skeeter."
"Who's Skeeter?" I asked.
"The guy who saved me."
"I thought you said your teacher saved you?"
"He saved me from my teacher."
My eyebrows shot up. "Oh."
"He's burying his wife."
I furrowed my brows. "Oh."
"She was pretty. April said she said she was pregnant. I'm pretty sure he had to shoot her. It was...sad, I guess--if that's the right word."
"Sad is the right word."
"It doesn't seem like enough."
"May I?" I asked, pointing to the hole.
Connor wasn't imagining things. A man was standing in the cemetery with a shovel, and a body covered in plastic was lying on the ground next to him. "I see him," I said.
"Yep."
The man was filthy, covered in sweat, and once in a while, he would pause to aim and fire his gun.
So, that's where the gunshots were coming from.
He was fearless, his shaggy sandy-blond hair sticking out of his ball cap. He was too far from me, so I couldn't make out his face, but his body would shake periodically, and I knew that he was crying.
"Should we tell him we're here? He seems like a good person to have around. Good with a gun," I asked.
"April already tried. He's going to find his brother and niece when he's done."
I looked at Connor. "I'm sorry about your parents and your teacher. That sucks--a lot."
"Yep," he said before walking away.
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, WE'RE NOT GOING?" I said, balling my hands into fists.
Dad and Tavia had pulled me into one of the bedrooms minutes after I'd woken up. A candle was the only light. The sun hadn't risen far enough from the horizon to light the cracks around the boarded windows. By their body language, I could tell this was a secret meeting, one that they were keeping from the younger kids.
Dad held up his hands, palms out. "Yet. I said, we're not going yet."
"Then, when?" I asked.
Tavia gestured for Dad to let her take over. "I understand that you want to get to your mom as soon as possible. I want you to, too. But we've had a long couple of days. We need to rest, eat, and make a plan. Then, we can decide from there."
"Decide what?" I asked.
Tavia reached out for me, but I pulled away.
"If we're going to try to walk the rest of the way."
"If?" I said, my voice getting louder. "Try?"
"Jenna," Dad said, "don't upset the kids."
"How many times do I have to say it?" I asked. "Mom is waiting on us. Every day we don't show up there, the more she worries. What if she's hurt? What if she needs our help? What if she's alone? She's only a few miles away!" I pointed at Dad. "You didn't let me catch her last time. I'm not letting you wait until she leaves again."
"What if she heads back this way?" Dad asked. "We would see her. We could bring her here."
My face fell, and I blinked, unimpressed with his ridiculous attempt to appease me with false scenarios. "You're scared. You're too scared to keep going."
"Honey," Dad began.
"You had to walk one day, and you're scared? You killed a dozen infected and walked away without a scratch. We hit a parked truck at fifty miles an hour and barely noticed. Why are you suddenly opposed to Red Hill?" I was trying to remain calm, but with every point, my tone got higher.
Tavia clasped her hands together. "We're all scared--"
"Then, stay!" I said, my voice transitioning to a weird chuckle even though I found none of what they were saying funny. "You don't have to come with us. But our mom is waiting for us at Red Hill, and that is where Halle and I are going."
"Not today," Dad said.
"Then, when?" I asked again, emphasizing each word.
"When I say," he said, sounding final.
I laughed once without humor. "I'm not asking to go to the mall. We're talking about Mom being alone without us! She's waiting for us! Do you honestly think I care that you're"--I used my fingers to make quotation marks in the air--"the dad right now?"
He stomped over to me and leaned into my face, taking me back to a time when my parents had still been married. "You'd better start caring. Just because it's the end of the world doesn't mean I won't whip your ass!"
Tavia pulled him back, and he flipped around, picking up a pillow and throwing it against the wall.
She eyed Dad warily. She was now seeing the side of him that Halle and I were used to, a side that I had been waiting for since this began.
"Andrew, maybe you should take a walk and see if you can do anything more to secure the house."
Dad
turned to her, his face severe. The skin between his brows had formed a crevice, as deep and as dark as his anger in that moment. His hazel-green eyes burned bright against his olive skin. Just when I thought he would start yelling again, he left the room.
Tavia took a deep breath and held her hand to her heart. "That was--"
"Typical," I grumbled.
"You fight like that with him a lot?"
"We used to but not lately."
"He gets pretty mad, huh?" she asked, glancing at the closed door.
"He has a temper. He's working on it--allegedly."
"Is that why you want to get to your mom so bad?"
My eyebrows pulled in. "What would you do if you were separated from Tobin?"
She blinked.
"She's my mom. If I scrape my knee, I call for her. If I'm sick, I ask for her. If I'm scared, I cry for her. If there's an apocalypse, I'm going to the ends of the earth for her." My eyes and nose burned. The sudden emotion surprised me. I wiped my cheek and sniffed, staring at the floor. "It's forty miles. We can make it."
"We...we don't know if Tobin can make forty miles. Who knows how long that would take on foot?"
"It doesn't matter if we waste time here. What were you two talking about? How to convince me to stay? For a few days? For a week? Forever?"
"No." She shook her head. "We're just worried about the little ones being able to make it that far. We need a car--or at the very least, a way to carry the supplies. I can't hold Tobin all day long. I can't run with him. It's too dangerous to try."
"I like you, Tavia. I'm not trying to be mean, but no one's asking you to come with us. If you want to stay here, stay here."
She was taken aback. "I know, but we can't do this alone. We need one another."
"Brad will leave eventually for Shallot. You need my dad to stay."
"It's not so different. You need him to leave."
"But he's my dad. I'm not going to give up on seeing my mom again because you can't travel with Tobin."
Tavia's sweet smile fell away. She wasn't being confrontational, but she did have the look of a mother bear protecting her cub. "Halle can't make the trip either. You would be risking her life if you go, especially if you try something as ridiculous as leaving without your dad. We're the adults, Jenna. He'll listen to me."
I took a deep breath and lowered my chin. Tavia was pretty intimidating. I thought about what Mom would say when I told her about this conversation later. She would want me to fight. She would want me to do anything I could to get Halle and me to Red Hill.
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