She didn’t go back to sleep, but she didn’t try to make conversation, either. She didn’t ask about McClosky or about Nico’s journey from the cabin until he’d gotten to her. Every time he tried to talk to her, to ask her about how she’d passed the winter, or about the man he’d found her with, or any of it, the discussion devolved into Silvia snapping at him until he quit trying.
“I’m hungry,” she complained again when they were on the Ohio-Indiana border. “Can’t we stop to eat?”
“Sure, Mamá. There are some fields up ahead. I’ll set down in one of them.” The cornfields were a little too close to their respective farmhouses for his comfort, but he wouldn’t irritate her further by setting the car down on top of another building.
“Get back in the car,” he instructed when she followed him back to the trunk. “We need to get moving again. You can eat as we go.”
As if she hadn’t even heard him, Silvia began devouring the strips of jerky he offered her, tearing into them and grousing all the while.
“This is revolting,” she muttered between bites. “I want a steak.”
“Could you be anemic? Did they not bring you any iron supplements with your ration drops?”
She didn’t answer, ripping open another package. Then they both jumped at the sound of a shotgun blast, and Silvia dropped her jerky.
“We don’t want to kill you,” a feminine voice called from the other side of a nearby irrigation ditch. “Just leave the car and the supplies, and go.”
Silvia growled. The sound was so deep and furious that Nico’s first instinct was to stare at her, but he couldn’t turn his attention away from their assailants.
“Not taking our food,” she hissed.
“It’s okay,” Nico told her. “I won’t let them.” He raised his voice and called back, “Don’t come near us! We’ve both been exposed to the Rot. You need to walk away.”
“Gee, isn’t that awfully convenient for you?” the woman yelled. “But if you’re dying, you don’t need those provisions. Get moving, or you’ll die a lot sooner.”
“I’m not bluffing! We’ve got nothing to lose. Do you?” Jesus, he didn’t want these people’s deaths on his conscience, but there was no way he was leaving the car and their supplies. “Go ahead and shoot us! You’ll just infect yourselves. Is stealing our supplies worth it?”
“We’ll take our chances.” The woman popped up out of the irrigation ditch with a rifle on her shoulder, and in his peripheral vision, Nico could see two men rise also, spread out about five yards from either side of her. They had Nico and Silvia in their sights from every angle. He kept his handgun aimed at the woman, though he knew it was useless. Even if he shot her, he’d be dead before he could get the other two.
Silvia made another enraged noise. She jostled Nico as she charged forward, her hands curled into claws. Staggering, he dropped his gun and sprung, catching her with an arm across the chest before she could get herself shot.
“Oh shit! Don’t shoot!” the woman yelled, backpedalling quickly as her rifle fell from her hands. “Get back! Don’t shoot!”
A chorus of curses echoed hers, and Nico watched as the three of them began to run, leaving behind the woman’s rifle. Silvia quivered with anger as Nico held her in place, though she seemed to be calming.
“Are you all right, Mother?” he asked cautiously. He kept hearing the woman’s startled cry. What had she seen that made her panic that way?
“Fine,” Silvia snarled, jerking away from him. “Fine.”
Nico nodded slowly and let go of her. She wasn’t an animal he had to soothe.
Still, he kept his voice low. “It’s okay. We’re okay. Let’s get you another piece of jerky, and we’ll head out again.”
Despite the fact that their would-be robbers were far in the distance now, Silvia stood rooted to the spot. Nico tugged at her sleeve as she stared after the fleeing figures as though she wanted to give chase. She was quivering with tension, her nostrils flaring with each heavy breath. Finally she let Nico nudge her toward the car, but she kept peering back over her shoulder, and the feverish look in her eyes chilled him.
They hadn’t been off the ground more than an hour when Silvia started twisting around in her seat, trying to reach into the back of the car.
“What do you need, Mamá?” Nico asked as she bumped and jostled him, fighting with her harness.
Whatever she grunted in response was unintelligible. She tried to climb back between the seats, crushing Nico against the door. It was a good thing the navigation was performed by computers with satellite links or he would have crashed.
“Wait. Stop. It’s in the trunk, you can’t—” She began tearing through the packages of blankets and medical supplies in the backseat, and he grabbed her around the waist, attempting to pull her into the front again. “Damn it. Get back in your seat! Let me land the car!”
Silvia snarled and kicked at him, her foot slamming into the control console. It blared an alarm. Nico released her to turn his attention back to the navigation controls, trying to command the car to land. It lurched when Silvia kicked the panel again, and an error message chittered.
“Invalid input. Please try again.”
“Mother, please, stop! Just let me—” When he tried to grab her again, to still her flailing legs, she screamed with rage. She jerked back from the tight space between the seats and turned on him, her teeth bared and her eyes blazing. It was like staring at a feral animal wearing his mother’s face.
No. Oh God, please, no . . .
“Mam—” He barely had a chance to get his hands up to shield himself before she dove for his throat, teeth gnashing and guttural growls rising, punctuating her heavy breaths. “God, please, no! Mamá, please, don’t do this!”
The cabin of the car was too cramped for a struggle. Silvia slammed into the console when Nico tried to push her back. Behind her grunts and snarls, Nico could hear the computer talking to him.
“Invalid input. You have fifteen seconds to enter a valid command or voice override code, or automatic navigator will initiate emergency landing. Fifteen . . . Fourteen . . . Thirteen . . .”
“Yes, land, damn you!” he shouted, catching Silvia’s clawed hands to keep them from his eyes and pressing back against his door to evade her teeth. He wedged his knee between their bodies to try to force her back. The less success she had getting to him, the more desperate her struggles became. Spittle splashed her lips with each explosive breath, and one of her hands twisted out of his grasp, raking burning furrows down the side of his face.
“Eight . . . Seven . . . Six . . .”
“Land the damn car!” he yelled at the computer when Silvia’s body thrashed against the console once more. His gorge rose as he felt the car begin to descend, but then it lurched again, alarms screaming as conflicting protocols jerked the turbines from one sequence to another. The engines howled in protest.
“Invalid input. Please wait for turbines to respond before entering another command. Do you wish to terminate landing procedure?”
“No! Land! Land now!” His stomach twisted as the car dropped altitude again, descending quickly. A scream of metal and another lurch said it had scraped something on its way down, and he caught a glimpse of a building sliding by.
Silvia managed to brace her feet against the passenger door and use the push to drive herself toward Nico, sinking her teeth into his shoulder just inches from his dangerously vulnerable throat. He howled, pinned beneath her thrashing.
And then the car struck something, and the entire world turned upside down.
“Mamá?” Everything hurt. His shoulder throbbed hotly, and his shirt felt sticky with blood. Parallel lines of fire ran down the side of his face, and the sharp pain he felt with each breath suggested he’d cracked some ribs. He whimpered, despair crushing him almost as much as the pain and the crumpled cabin of the car were. “Mamá, please, answer me.”
She was silent. In the thin slivers of light that managed to slip thro
ugh whatever the car had crashed into, he could see her slumped against the passenger seat, a stream of crimson trickling from her brow.
Tears spilled from his eyes. “It’s okay, Mamá,” he whispered. Her chest was moving rapidly, her breath quick and shallow. He unclipped his harness and leaned over to reach her, running cautious hands around her body, checking for injuries.
Which was fucking ridiculous. How the hell did he know what injuries she might have?
He bit back a sob and tipped his head down, resting it against her shoulder. He swore he could still smell the perfume she’d used to wear, even despite the odor of her living so long without running water.
“It’s okay,” he crooned, biting his lip against another sob. He closed his eyes, and another tear slipped down his cheek. “You’ll be okay.”
How long he lay there, crying softly on her shoulder, he didn’t know. But eventually he pulled himself together, testing his door handle. “I’ll get us out of here. We’ll be all right.”
She’s not going to be all right ever again.
He shut out the insidious voice, gritting his teeth against the pain as he shoved at the door with his shoulder. It squealed and gave an inch. His ribs screamed, as if he were being skewered, but he pushed harder. It opened another few inches, then stuck.
You’ve got to get out of here before she wakes up.
I’m not leaving her behind.
His mind and heart waged war with each other as Nico sat shuddering, gasping, trying to steel his nerves for another go at the door.
She’s a revenant. That’s what they were running from.
No. She’s just traumatized. She can’t be sick.
She’s infected. You have the gun. Do it now, while she’s unconscious.
No!
Before he could lose his courage, he threw his weight at the door, crying out in pain when it gave suddenly and poured him out into muddy sod and shredded grass. He staggered to his feet and looked into the destroyed interior of the car. A cold rain pelted him, a rain he didn’t remember falling before they crashed. How long had they been out?
How long would Silvia remain out?
The car was a wreck; it wouldn’t be taking them anywhere again. He was somewhere in Indiana, in the cold March rain, injured. He had ample supplies but no way to carry them.
She’ll try to kill you again when she wakes up.
I can’t. Please. I can’t!
Then you’d better run, or you’ll have to.
The wet polymer panel of the rear driver’s-side door squeaked as Nico slid down it, his knees buckling beneath him. He gathered them to his chest, huddling there in a fetal ball as rain mingled with the tears on his face.
What am I going to do?
He wasn’t sure exactly how long he sat there. Awareness of time and place kept fading in and out like waves lapping at his consciousness. It was long enough for his backside to ache from the contact with the cold, wet ground. Long enough for his clothes to cling to his skin, saturated by the drizzle. Long enough to have the disorienting sense that he’d passed out or lost time when he finally opened his eyes to stare at the leaden sky.
He startled when he thought he heard a moan from inside the car.
Get the gun. Do it now.
I can’t!
“I’m sorry, Mamá,” he whispered, his voice breaking under another torrent of tears. “I’m so sorry!”
Clutching an arm around his ribs, he dragged himself off the ground and around to the back of the car. The rain was freezing, and he was shivering desperately, his coat doing nothing to keep out the cold. The trunk hatch had popped open during the crash, and their provisions were strewn all over the field. Nico grabbed a rucksack and began stuffing it full of whatever he could reach—food, medical supplies, extra clips and magazines of ammunition. The fuel cells were heavy, but he made himself haul one of those, as well. He gasped as each movement sent another bolt of agony through his chest, and his sobs weren’t making it any better, but he couldn’t stop them. Each time he caught a glimpse of Silvia, who was growling softly even while she was unconscious, they wracked him again.
Reaching through the car to grab a blanket out of the backseat was nothing short of hell. He’d be lucky if his cracked rib didn’t lacerate his lung. He draped the blanket around himself like a cloak, then shrugged into the straps of the backpack, using it to secure the blanket in place. He fastened the handgun in its holster around his hips, hung an assault rifle over his shoulder, then slumped against the car, shuddering.
He was sweating, and the pain was making him nauseated. Another quiet animal sound from inside the car drew his unwilling gaze, and Silvia stirred, moaning and grunting.
Do it. Give her at least that much dignity. You know she wouldn’t want to live like this.
I can’t! I’m sorry, Mamá. I just can’t.
He broke into a hitching run before he could see her open her eyes.
If Zach had found his family home lonely before, it was now downright desolate without his mother and sisters, without power and the constant bustle of activity from so many people living in a single building.
The journey from their holiday rental in Vermont back to Indiana had been fraught with danger. The car had been bulletproof, thanks to the fact that Reverend Houtman had been paranoid about his theological and political opposition for years. While Zach always considered the bulletproofing to be a testament to his father’s ego, he’d been grateful for it as they crossed New England and rounded the Great Lakes. The highways hadn’t been nearly as congested as he’d feared, either, courtesy of the home quarantine order. Still, there had been other survivors, some of whom had taken shots at them, no doubt after the car or whatever supplies they thought Zach and his family might have.
When they hadn’t been attempting to evade human contact in the heavily populated areas they passed through, Zach had been appalled at how derelict the world suddenly was. Everything was still and empty, buildings dark, no traffic on the streets, no lights or signs flashing. Weeds were everywhere, and windows were broken in buildings where looters had attacked. Some houses and buildings were burnt-out husks with no sign of reconstruction. Everywhere they passed felt like a ghost town.
In the end, they may as well not have bothered to make the trip, as his mother and sisters were not there. For the first time, Zach began to accept that he might never see them again. That they might have been infected and died, or that they couldn’t escape quarantine elsewhere to return home. If they were still alive, perhaps they were safer where they were.
How could so much have changed in just a few months? Everything was different now, and nothing that mattered before seemed to matter anymore.
Was Bryan one of the multitudes of dead too? Zach had been such an idiot, panicking over that kiss, rejecting what Bryan had offered. God had shown him a truth about himself that day, and he’d refused to see it for the gift of understanding it was. He’d been too enmeshed in all his father’s lies and expectations. That moment with Bryan had been an opportunity for salvation, a chance to break away from all his father’s hypocrisy and begin to think for himself and be who he truly was.
And he’d rejected it.
Now he was stuck with his father and Jacob because he knew, without a doubt, that there was safety in numbers. Safety in finding someplace well stocked and isolated.
Would God ever offer him another chance at freedom?
The house in Indiana was well provisioned, at least, since his mother had always worried about blizzards and the fact that they lived out in the country. They had fuel cells, lights, and enough canned and dried foods to make it until summer if they were frugal. Zach had retreated to his room and resolved to pass the time as peacefully as he could. He had avoided Jacob and his father, closeting himself with a lantern and his collection of books. Since he didn’t talk to anyone, he didn’t argue with anyone. At least not until the reverend began insisting upon twice-daily prayer meetings.
Zach had w
illingly attended the first one, for all of five minutes. But when his father began blaming the pandemic upon “fornicators and sodomites,” calling it God’s work to cleanse the world of wickedness, and thanking God for sparing the righteous, Zach had walked out.
“Zacharias! Get back in here!” the reverend had shouted, catching him in the hallway and snatching at his biceps with a clawed hand.
“The Lord isn’t interested in your tired, self-serving bullshit, Father.” Zach jerked his arm away. “He’s not one of your easily diverted constituents, and in case you didn’t notice, there’s no offices to run for anymore. Everyone’s dead, and you’re only interested in patting yourself on the back for some imagined measure of moral superiority. That’s not faith; it’s vanity. I’ll pray my own way, thanks.”
Zach had turned to retreat to his room, but the reverend grabbed him again, the back of his other hand connecting sharply with Zach’s cheekbone when he spun around.
“I have had enough,” his father panted, his eyes blazing furiously, “of your disrespect and insolence.”
Zach rolled his eyes, sneering. “What are you going to do? Toss me out? Write me off the way you did Mom and the girls?”
The reverend’s mouth had curled up into a cruel smile. “Each day you refuse to obey will be a day you don’t eat.”
Zach’s heart hammered in his chest. He was poised on a precipice, about to take a step off into the abyss. Drawing a breath and ignoring the smarting in his cheek that made his eye water, he had leaned close and hissed, “You and your petty tyranny can go to hell. Unless you plan to shoot me, this is my home too, and I’ll eat what I want, when I want. And I’ll pray how I choose, when I choose.”
Since then, Zach avoided his father and brother as much as possible. If he ventured out for food, he took it back to his room, not lingering in the kitchen. What the two of them did to pass the time, he couldn’t say. Sometimes he heard their voices coming from other parts of the eerily silent house, but he did his best not to listen to the words.
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