Maggie and Theresa sat down. They gave the hole in the floor a wide berth, but Christopher noted they also stayed as far from each other as the cargo space in the Marauder allowed.
Small wonder.
He couldn't imagine what Maggie was thinking: forced to watch her son and husband die – be Changed – then to do the bidding of some alien creature, and now having to travel with the woman who had most fervently argued for the death of her remaining children.
The Change had stolen so much from them. Friends, loved ones. Would it take their humanity?
Did it matter?
Christopher thought of Maggie, insisting that the others not curse around the girls. He had thought that silly at the time – even annoying. But now he wondered if it had some value. It showed a concern for the children. Not just for their survival, but for their well-being – two things that Christopher intimately knew could be mutually exclusive.
And if they were concerned for the girls' well-being, then that meant… it meant they were still human. Not just as a species, but as a culture. They still meant something beyond their DNA, beyond the meat that carried them around.
Perhaps that was what it meant to have a soul. Not the will to survive, but the will to ensure that the survival meant something beyond mere genetic propagation.
Once Aaron was free, the cowboy retook his place in the front passenger seat of the Marauder. Went back to scanning their environs with the hard look of a professional. Seeing everything, noting everything, missing no threat, no matter how small.
"We should keep going a few miles at least," he said to Amulek. "Put some distance between us and them, then pull over long enough to check the wheel."
Amulek nodded, and Christopher noted the beads of sweat on the teen's face and neck. Not from fear of what had just happened – he suspected you could put hot pokers to the kid's testicles and not elicit more than a shrug and maybe a written statement that he was going to kill you – but from the effort he was putting into holding onto the steering wheel. The muscles of his arms were corded, bunched, the striations standing out in the heightened shadows of the interior lights.
The Marauder was wobbling like mad. Shimmying as though caught in a perpetual hurricane. But Amulek kept it going straight down the middle of the deserted road that Christopher assumed would eventually lead to Highway 20-26.
And from there, to Micron. To an anechoic chamber that might or might not provide some safety.
At least it should give us more answers. Fingers crossed.
Buck moved past him. Heading back to sit with Maggie, who was picking up Lizzy and Hope – they had somehow been dumped in a pile directly behind Amulek's chair during the fracas. Maggie moved Lizzy's arms and legs, obviously checking for injuries. Just as obviously unsure how to even tell if they were present. Christopher felt an ache he couldn't hope to salve. The pain of a parent faced with a child's hopeless situation.
He had seen the hospital his daughter had been in – pulverized. Rubble. He had known the despair that comes from not being able to do anything. Not a damn thing, just standing there, crying, wishing the world would end because at least then you wouldn't have to feel this way.
And then –
(the axe in her face, the split in her head and her rolling away from the bus, my little Carina – only not mine no not anymore)
– and then he had endured worse.
He wouldn't let that happen to Maggie. He would spare her the feeling of having to do what he had done. If it ever came to that, he would take care of the girls himself. No parent should have to do that to their own kids.
He knew that. Maybe it was the only thing he really knew.
He realized with surprise that he was contemplating the death of two little girls. More than that, he was thinking of the possibility that he would be the one to kill them. Would volunteer to do it, if the circumstances were right.
Christopher looked at Theresa. She was staring straight ahead. Looking at no one, seeming to see nothing.
They had all condemned her so quickly. But what had she done wrong? Really, what was it she had tried to do?
He remembered fleeing from the Wells Fargo building. Buck's mother had been with them. They climbed out onto a crane, then slid into the next building over. And in the fall the old woman had been impaled. Wounded, probably fatally – and certainly pinned in place beyond the survivors' ability to move her.
They had been followed by zombies. Had been chased, no time to think, only to act.
Aaron killed the old woman. So she wouldn't be visited by the horror of waiting alone for a fate worse than death. He broke her neck.
And no one judged him to be a monster. They saw it as a mercy offered, a relief received.
So why was he a hero, and Theresa a villain?
It was two things, he knew. One was that she had turned her weapons on the girls without offering to explain. Without understanding, her actions seemed simply murderous. By the time she did get around to explaining, that first impression had solidified in the others' minds – the one possible explanation for a woman's need to kill the smallest, most vulnerable members of their group.
And that was the other reason: it was children she threatened. Not an old lady, dying and threatened with the cruelty of a life that was a kind of damnation on Earth. No, these were babes. Whole, unblemished… the very images of a world's hope. For what could there be if the children were no more? What hope for humanity if it turned to murdering its small ones?
Christopher understood now. He had contemplated the death of the children. Even without the possibility of the rest of the world depending on it, he found in himself the ability to do it. Not for fun, not because it would be easy. But because sometimes death is the only thing standing between agony and peace. And sometimes it is a stepping stone to greater life.
Were two little girls worth a whole world? Would it be worth it to sacrifice his own humanity to murder them, if it meant the human race could continue – or at least have a chance?
He didn't know. But he knew he no longer hated Theresa. He understood her, and it is impossible to hate someone you truly understand. Hate is born of making an alien of someone else – making them creatures whose decisions are irrational, and making of them therefore creatures whose value as humans is lessened.
We can only hate those who are mysteries to us. So we can only murder those we choose to misunderstand.
Christopher slid into the seat beside Theresa. She didn't look at him. Gave no indication she noticed him at all.
"Thanks for saving me," he said after a moment.
"You saved me," she said. Still looking into a nothing somewhere straight in front of her. "We're even."
"Well, I did grab your boob. So maybe we're not quite even."
That got a reaction. She jerked her gaze to him, anger rippling over her face. "You did." She dropped her hand to her hip, where her gun was holstered. "Don't do it again."
He put up his hands. "I didn't mean to. I didn't even know it was possible to do that through body armor."
She snorted. "You must be an expert."
"You have no idea."
She gawked at him. Again he raised his hands. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I meant… you don't know me. Yes, I have impulse control issues. Yes, I probably make fun of too many things, at wildly inappropriate times. But what do you really know about me? Nothing." He snapped his fingers for emphasis at the last word. Then pointed at Buck. Maggie. Aaron. Amulek. "You don't know any of us. You just know what you've been trying to accomplish, without bothering to think that we might be better as allies than as enemies – or frienemies, or whatever we are at this point."
"You think I don't know that?" she snarled. "You think I'm trying to be the odd man out here?" She rubbed her hands on her pants, as though trying to rid them of a stain only she could see. "But what would you have done? If you were in my shoes, what would you have done different?"
"Probably nothing." He could tel
l the answer surprised her. He smiled. "I just think that things are different now. You were the one who suggested the anechoic chamber, so you're willing to do something other than just run in with guns blazing. But you're still not one of…" he gestured around the Marauder, "us. And you need to be. Because they need to know they can trust you. And you need to trust them."
She grunted. "I think that horse has already left the barn."
"So go talk to them." He nodded at Maggie. "Talk to her. Convince her you're with us. Aaron believes you're a good person, that you were doing what you thought was best. Buck will go with what Maggie says. So you have to convince her."
"What about you?" She stared at him, and for a moment he saw hope and fear warring a battle inside her. "What do you think?"
"I think killing little girls is vile. Horrifying. And –" He took a breath. Rubbed his own hands against his pants as he thought –
(the axe in her head her body tumbling away I saved them but I killed her I saved my friends and destroyed my daughter)
– again of what was at stake. "And I understand
The fear in her gaze fell away. Not completely, but enough that the hope held sway. At least long enough for her to move to the seat directly across from Maggie.
"Can we talk?"
64
When Amulek pulled over, maybe ten miles down the road, Maggie and Theresa were still talking. Their voices were low, their heads together, and Christopher couldn't make out much of their conversation over the uneven roar of the Marauder. He did hear "Ken" and "Derek," and at one point Maggie had tears running down her cheeks. Not too much of a surprise, considering all she'd been through. What was a surprise was that Theresa had tears tracking their way down her own cheeks as well.
Theresa put a hand on Maggie's knee. Maggie put her hand on Theresa's.
They kept talking.
Christopher gave them their space. But he smiled.
Fate.
It's meant to be.
Theresa had been with them. Now she was one of them.
The Marauder shuddered to a halt, the rasp-crackle of gravel beneath its tires as it stopped on the side of the road.
Nice, kid. The world's gone, but you make sure to stop on the side of the road. Because RULES!
He wondered if Amulek would put his blinker on when he pulled back out.
If we can pull back out.
That was a sobering thought. Christopher hadn't seen any cars on their drive thus far, and he had no desire to start walking in the middle of the night in Zombietown, U.S.A.
He got out with Aaron, Amulek, and Buck. Amulek went to a compartment set into the side of the vehicle and opened it. He pulled out a heavy-duty flashlight, then lay down on his back and scooted out of sight.
"I'm surprised you're not the one going down there," Buck said to Aaron. "Don't they teach you emergency car repair due to zombie attack in special forces?"
Aaron didn't miss a beat. "They do, but I was sick that day." He pointed to the spot where Amulek had slid under the Marauder. "Besides, based on what I saw of their preparations, I suspect that kid could probably take this thing apart and put it back together again in the dark."
"Which is handy, since that's basically what he's doing now," said Christopher. He looked at Buck. "Good job with the gas back there," he said.
Buck looked like he was contemplating a snarky reply. Then he shrugged. "I had a good role model."
Christopher looked to his left and right, then back at Buck. "Wait, do you mean moi?"
Buck's teeth ground together. "Don't make me regret the compliment."
"I wouldn't dream of it, big guy." His grin faded, and he punched Buck in the shoulder. "Seriously. That was awesome. Couldn't have done better myself."
Buck nodded. He managed to look irritated, happy at the compliment, and pleased with himself all at the same time.
Amulek pulled himself out from under the Marauder, the movement shifting the rocks and sand beneath him with a low rasp.
"What's the problem?" asked Aaron.
Amulek seemed to ignore the question. He went back to the tool compartment. Put the flashlight down on its side and pulled something out: a small whiteboard with a black dry erase pen velcroed to the side.
"Something wrong with springs and shocks," he wrote.
"What?" asked Buck.
Amulek shrugged. Wiped off a corner of the whiteboard and wrote, "My guess is zombie-related."
Christopher laughed. Aaron rolled his eyes and Buck looked at Christopher and said, "Great, just what we need. One more smart-ass." Then he looked back at Amulek. "Can we get to Micron?"
Amulek shrugged again. Rubbed a patch of the whiteboard.
"Hope so."
65
After that there seemed to be little else to do. Just get in the Marauder and continue on. Air whistled through the hole in the floor – which everyone was sitting as far away from as possible – and the vehicle continued to wobble its way along. Christopher guessed they were going thirty miles per hour or so. A speed that would lengthen their trip to five or six hours – at best.
Maggie and Theresa kept talking. Buck sat back in a chair and – amazingly – seemed to go to sleep. He closed his eyes and didn't move, and Christopher would have worried that something strange was going on if the big guy hadn't started snoring softly in the red glow of the cargo space.
The girls – Hope and little Lizzy – slept as well, though their sleep was of a much deeper sort. Neither moved, not so much as a sigh. They had been left in the center aisle between the seats at one point, and as Christopher watched them they rolled back and forth ever so slightly. Not under their own volition, simply rocked by the wobble that was now the Marauder's permanent driving style.
As he watched them, something tugged at his subconscious. Something wrong, or at least troubling. He didn't know what it was at first, then the suspicion was born inside. He looked closer to confirm.
"What's going on?" asked Buck.
Christopher jerked, surprised by the voice. Before looking he glanced out the side window. They weren't traveling the small road anymore. They had gotten to what he guessed was Highway 20-26, traveling along the center of two lanes with no sign of any other vehicles.
He looked back at the girls. "Their breathing."
Buck squinted at him. "I would hope so."
"No, not 'they are' breathing. Their breathing." He pointed at the girls. "Look at their breathing."
Buck turned his gaze on the girls. Christopher realized that Maggie and Theresa were watching as well. "What is it?" asked Maggie. A minute quaver made her voice tremble. It was a sound Christopher knew well: the sound of someone waiting for news that could only be bad.
"What's wrong?" she added.
Christopher sighed. "They're breathing in time," he said.
In-out, in-out, in-out.
66
Theresa spoke. "What does that mean?" she asked.
"I thought you said they couldn't communicate," said Aaron.
"Yeah, but we gotta remember who we were relying on to make that happen," said Buck.
Christopher glared. "Thanks for the encouragement, Clucky."
"Wasn't trying to be encouraging, dumbass."
"I don't feel any different."
The last voice was quiet. So low it barely registered over the rattling thud of the Marauder's rapidly deteriorating wheels. Still, everyone turned to look at Maggie as quickly and completely as if she had shouted the words into the silence of a church at mass.
"What do you mean?" said Theresa.
"No, she's right," said Buck. He looked down at his hands, feet, body. He felt them as though worried he might have dropped something somewhere down the road. He looked back up at the group. "We were under some kind of spell when they were broadcasting, right? Me and Maggie? So if they were doing that again, wouldn't we feel different somehow?"
"Yeah, I think you're right," said Aaron. He spoke without looking back, still staring ahe
ad, then looking to the side in slow, measured sweeps that would keep him aware of their surroundings at all times. "You definitely acted a bit crazy when I showed up again."
"So what are they doing, then?" asked Theresa. One of her feet inched toward Hope, as though she were contemplating nudging the little girl to check for some reaction.
Maggie beat her to it. She leaned over and shook her oldest daughter's shoulder. Hope's body was loose, jogging back and forth under her mother's light touch.
"Nothing," she said, disappointment clear in her voice. Christopher wondered if the disappointment was that of concerned mother for afflicted child – or if it was something deeper. Darker. More frightening.
He hoped it was the former.
"So what, then?" asked Theresa again.
Christopher remembered something he had seen on the ultrasound. A moment when the creature in Hope's body faded out of this existence, this dimension. Perhaps to go – at least in part – to the dark place from whence it was born.
And when it came back….
"Growing," he said. He looked into Buck's eyes. "I bet the things inside them are growing." Then he looked around the car.
"We don't have much time."
67
Dawn peaked over the horizon. A sliver of light in the otherwise perfect dark of the night. The sliver became a spear, slicing through the night and leaving it in ribbons of gray interspersed with pink and orange.
At one point Christopher thought he saw something north of the freeway. A bright yellow building whose signs screamed "FIREWORKS" and "YEAR ROUND" and "BIGGEST LEGALLY AVAILABLE."
There was a swatch of darkness at the side of the building. The darkness shifted and shrugged in on itself. One piece of it broke away to roam around the front of the building, then seemed to lurch back to the darkness it had come from – small group of zombies.
The creatures didn't follow. Didn't even seem to notice them.
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