by Kate L. Mary
“Does it?” I arch an eyebrow when I look his way.
He lets out a deep sigh. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”
I scroll through the most recent thread. People on sites like this guard their privacy the way a starving dog guards a bone, so figuring out who any of them are will most likely be impossible. But maybe if we get lucky, we’ll find some information that can lead us to a safe area.
“The last comment was from two days ago,” I say, scanning the posts.
There are a lot of people talking about food and bomb shelters, about how many weapons they have, and what they’re doing to secure their homes from neighbors. Someone has posted about a bunker, but there isn’t much information about that, and I’m not interested in trying to find a shelter where a bunch of doomsday preppers are armed and ready to kill anyone who looks like a possible threat. There are also a few references to Atlanta being a safe area, but most people seem kind of suspicious about it. Of course, people like this are suspicious as a general rule.
“Why aren’t more people talking about heading to Atlanta if it’s supposedly safe?” Blake asks, frowning.
“Who knows? They’re probably suspicious or afraid of the government. Look at some of these comments!”
I catch sight of a tab that allows you to sort by location, and pull up all the posts from Oklahoma, narrowing it to the southern part of the state. Blake holds his breath while I scroll down, scanning the dozens of posts that have been made over the last week. Most are from preppers who put up last minute instructions for contacts, but there are also a lot of posts that seem to be totally in code. Meeting points like Neverland and Arendelle, and other places that don’t exist outside of a Disney movie. A couple posts are even written in what can only be described as gibberish.
“What is all this?” I ask, scrolling down.
“The ones that look like nonsense will mean something to the people they were intended for. You write down every fourth letter or something to find the hidden message. It’s possible to crack the code, but not easy, and it would take a lot of time. Plus, it could be totally worthless to us.”
“Seems like a lot of work,” I mumble.
“Yup.” He exhales then pushes my hand away from the mouse and continues to scroll through the messages. “There has to be something on here that will help us! You said your dad was on here all the time, so he must have had friends. Contacts who weren’t that far away who he might have been in touch with.” Blake scrolls to the top of the page and clicks on the profile icon, then clicks history. His face lights up and he taps the computer monitor enthusiastically. “Here! He’s swapped a lot of messages with this guy, OKSurvivalist23.”
“What did they talk about?” I ask, scooting closer to the screen.
Blake and I read in silence, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. This man—or woman—and Daddy were talking about some shelter. Apparently, it is out in the middle of nowhere and wouldn’t be accessible unless they could buy their way in. Of course, money is worthless in a situation like this, so I know that’s not what they were talking about. Plus, Daddy mentions his stash of supplies more than once, and the other person seems to think it would be good enough.
“They were planning to meet up when things got bad. Looks like this guy is online right now, too. We need to get a message to him.”
Blake pushes my chair out of the way so he can type, his fingers flying across the keyboard so fast it makes my head spin. He types like a courtroom reporter, and I don’t have a clue how his brain is even working that fast after our night of drinking. Necessity, I guess.
Checking in to see if you’re still around. Family gone, but I’m healthy. What’s the contingency plan?
Blake hits enter and sits back, staring at the screen while he waits for a response. Less than thirty seconds later, a little message icon pops up. I scoot my chair closer and Blake sits back up, grabbing the mouse. He clicks on the message.
Good hearing from you. Internet isn’t going to be around much longer. Give me your number and we can work out the details.
“Let me,” I say, pushing Blake’s fingers away so I can type my home phone number in. My heart is pounding faster than a hummingbird’s wings.
I hit enter and get to my feet, crossing the room to the phone. I’ve only made it halfway when it rings.
“Hello?” I say in a shaky voice.
“Hmm… Not exactly the person I was expecting to answer.” The masculine voice on the other end is gravelly, like it belongs to a smoker.
I swallow and shoot a glance at Blake, who nods. “My dad died a couple days ago. My mom died yesterday. It looks like you and my dad were friends. Like maybe you had some kind of plan worked out?”
“Shame,” the man says. “Your dad was good people. Always ready to throw in a theory, though I don’t know if he really believed it all that much himself. I always thought he did it more for fun.”
“I think he did.” I meet Blake’s gaze, and I can see the impatience in his eyes. He doesn’t like being in the dark. “I got the impression you had a place for us if things went bad. A shelter? My friend and I are hoping we can come.”
“We do have a shelter. It’s ‘bout twenty miles from you folks, not too far from Altus, out in the middle of nowhere. Got my people in yesterday, but it wasn’t easy. Your dad always talked about bringing you all out when the time came, but I told him he’d need a big haul of supplies. Said he had it. That true?”
I close my eyes and wish I could go back in time. If only I could apologize to my dad. To listen to his theories rather than laugh at him. He’d prepared for the worst, probably never really thinking we would need it, but we do. And now it just might save my life.
“We have food and water and survival gear and ammo. Some fuel, too. We can get it loaded into the car and head your way this evening.”
On the other end of the line, the man clears his throat then goes silent for several seconds. I grip the phone while I wait, terrified he’s going to hang up on me.
Finally, he says, “Get yourself a pen and some paper. I’ll give you directions to our meeting point. We can’t let you just drive on up to the shelter, but we’ll give it a shot. Can you be there by five?”
I scramble for paper, nodding even though he can’t see me. “Yes!”
“Good. Now write this down and follow it carefully. And be sure you’re on time. We don’t got the luxury of waiting around these days.”
“I understand. We’ll be there!”
After the man has relayed the details of our meeting point, I hang up the phone and let out a deep breath as I turn to face Blake. “We need to drag everything out of the basement and get it in the car. My parents have an SUV, but we’re still going to have to hook the trailer up.”
Blake nods as he stands, rubbing the back of his neck. “Be a good idea to get some more stuff, too. Might be our best shot to load up.”
“United is around the corner,” I say, thinking about what a gold mine the grocery store will be.
“Sounds like a plan. We should get mov—”
His words are cut off when a bang sounds in the other room. We both look toward the office door, wide open, then back at each other.
Blake’s eyebrows shoot up. “You have a dog?” I shake my head. “Cat?”
“No pets,” I say, heading to the door.
I’ve only made it two steps when Blake grabs my arm. “Careful. Someone could have broken in. I’m sure your dad told people about his supplies.”
I stop in my tracks. “Shit. I know he did. He was always running his mouth about his end-of-the-world theories.”
“Then we need to be careful.”
Blake’s eyes dart around the room. When his gaze lands on a decorative poker leaning against the fireplace, he scoops it up before heading toward the door.
“Stay behind me.”
I follow him without talking. The house is silent, though, and I start to wonder if we’re overreacting. That sound could have been anything. It does
n’t necessarily mean we’re in danger.
The creak of wooden floorboards almost freezes me in my tracks. Blake glances toward the ceiling as he heads to the stairs, not slowing. I swallow and look around for a weapon, but there’s nothing in the room that will be helpful. There’s no mistaking that sound, though. Someone is walking around upstairs.
“Stay close,” Blake says.
He heads up, and I cringe when the stairs groan under his weight. They do the same when I step on them, making my heart pound harder than ever. Upstairs, the footsteps increase. Blake’s grip tightens on the poker when he raises it.
I get more and more anxious with every step we take, waiting for someone to come running at us. We make it to the top without incident, though. Blake stops in front of me, and I skid to a halt. He’s breathing heavily, like the adrenaline is making it difficult for him to catch his breath.
Footsteps scrape against the floor to our right, and we both turn.
“There,” Blake whispers, pointing toward a closed door.
“That’s my parents’ bedroom,” I say, dread coming over me. “My dad is in there.”
Blake glances at me and frowns. “You want to stay here?”
I shake my head even though I’m not sure if I mean it. “No. Let’s go.”
Blake moves forward. I follow, but of course I’m not sure if I’m going to be of much use. I’m totally unarmed.
We pause outside the door. Whoever is inside the room is still walking around. It terrifies me, but also makes me burn with anger. My dad’s body is in there. Laid out on the bed. Having this person in there with him makes me feel like someone is robbing his grave.
“On three,” Blake whispers.
I nod, and he starts to count. Each second that passes makes me more anxious. Then he’s turning the knob, and I’m holding my breath. Waiting to see what happens.
Blake shoves the door open, and it slams against the wall. My gaze immediately goes to the bed, searching for my dad, but it’s empty, and I can’t figure out why. In front of me, Blake runs in, but I’m frozen in place. To my right, something moves, and I spin around as a man rushes toward us.
Blake has the poker raised above his head, and he’s moving forward, ready to meet the intruder. That’s when I see the man.
Everything freezes, and I can’t breathe. Can’t talk or move or think. Can’t register what’s happening because nothing makes sense. My father shouldn’t be running toward Blake, not when I watched him die two days ago. Especially not with an expression on his face that looks like something straight out of a horror movie.
“No!” I scream, rushing forward, knowing I have to stop Blake before he kills my father. The father I thought I’d said goodbye to. “Stop!”
Blake turns toward me, but my dad doesn’t stop. His mouth is open, and he lets out a growl that makes goose bumps pop up on every inch of my skin. Blake is still looking my way when my dad slams into him.
They fall to the ground, and the poker skids across the floor. My dad chomps like he’s trying to take a bite out of Blake, who’s fighting back. The struggle goes on for almost a whole minute before I can make myself pick up the poker. I’m shaking, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I have to do. Daddy isn’t my dad anymore, and there’s no way to deny that. Whatever he is, if I don’t stop him, he’s going to kill my friend.
The metal poker feels like it weighs a hundred pounds when I raise it over my head, and bringing it down on my father’s head is even harder than I thought it would be. It doesn’t stop him, though, and I’m sobbing when I bring the poker down a second time.
My dad stops moving after the fourth hit. He falls on top of Blake, whose eyes are huge. All I can do is drop the poker and sink to the floor. Black liquid flows from my father’s crushed skull, and the stench it gives off is so putrid it makes my stomach lurch.
Blake rolls out from under my dad and crawls toward me. “Emma, you’re okay. You’re okay.”
“M-my dad,” I sob, shaking my head. “My dad!”
“That wasn’t your dad.” Blake grabs my face between his hands and forces me to look at him. “That wasn’t.”
If it wasn’t my dad, what was it?
“What’s going on?” I ask, unable to stop the tears from coming.
Blake’s hands drop from my face, and he takes a deep breath. “This is going to sound insane, but I think it was a zombie.”
He’s right. It does sound insane, but at the same time, it makes perfect sense. Only I can’t face it.
I get to my feet and walk out of the room because I just can’t sit there anymore. Blake comes after me, but he doesn’t say anything. We make it down the stairs, but that’s when I stop. My mother’s body is on the couch—covered in a sheet, thanks to Blake—and the realization that the same thing could happen to her hits me so hard I double over in pain.
“What?” Blake asks, hurrying to my side. “What is it?”
“My mom.” I can’t say anything else, but I don’t have to. He knows what I’m saying.
Blake forces me to stand, then pulls me against him. His arms wrap around me as my body shakes with sobs. They’re so violent it feels like they’ll rip my body in two if I don’t control them.
“I can take care of it, if you want,” he whispers.
I nod even though the gesture hurts, but I also know I can’t go through what just happened a second time. There’s no way I can let my mom come back like that. It’s too horrifying and grotesque and scary and a million other things I can’t even acknowledge.
“Thank you.”
Chapter 3
Blake and I have the trailer hooked up and loaded by four. It’s early, but we want to swing by United, and we need to make sure we have plenty of time to make it to the meeting spot.
My eyes are peeled for any more zombies when we head out, but other than the occasional cat or dog, the streets are empty. It looks like the set for some creepy movie about the end of the world, only this is real. It makes me shiver.
Blake pulls into the United parking lot and lets out a low whistle. “Looks like we aren’t the first people to come here.”
I scoot to the edge of my seat when I catch sight of the grocery store’s broken front windows. “Shit. You think it’s safe?”
“Maybe we should swing by Wal-Mart instead?” Blake asks.
I open my mouth to argue, but then movement inside the store catches my eye. At first, all I can think about are zombies, but then it hits me that people might be every bit as dangerous. People can shoot guns. They can kill as fast—maybe faster—than a zombie can.
“Yeah… Maybe you’re right.”
Blake pulls out of the parking lot and heads off. The farther into town we get, the more my stomach aches. Seeing my hometown look so desolate hurts. I’d lived here my whole life. Was born here. This is where my parents lived, too, and where they died. Now it looks more like a ghost town than the close-knit community it was only a week ago. How did things change so quickly?
Blake slows when Wal-Mart comes into view. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen the parking lot empty. The only cars around are two parked up front, blocking each of the doors. Next to them a couple men stand, and even from a distance I can see they’re holding guns.
“It’s like they’ve claimed it as their own,” I say.
Blake shakes his head. “We shouldn’t go over there. Could be nothing, or it could be trouble. We already have plenty of supplies, so going over there isn’t a risk I’m willing to take.”
“Me neither,” I say as Blake hits the gas.
We drive in silence for what feels like hours, but it’s really only about twenty minutes. Then Blake slows and turns the SUV onto an unpaved road, and I scoot to the edge of my seat. There’s nothing but rocks and dirt as far as the eye can see. Dust flies up around us as we drive, leaving a cloud of dirt in our wake that reminds me of the dust storm that swept through Oklahoma when I was little. It had been so thick that I hadn’t been able to see
the houses across the street from ours.
“I don’t like this,” Blake says, wringing his hands on the steering wheel.
“It will be okay.” I force my voice to sound confident. “My dad trusted this guy, so I do, too.”
Blake shoots me a doubtful look, but he doesn’t slow.
After twenty minutes of driving, I catch sight of the sun glinting off something in the distance. I lean forward even more, squinting, but it’s another minute or so before the truck comes into view.
Neither of us says a word as Blake slows to a stop in front of the truck. The doors on both the driver and passenger side open, and two men step out. The driver looks to be in his sixties. He’s thin and wiry, like he hasn’t had a good meal in years, and his skin is dark and leathery-looking from working in the hot sun. The other man, however, is younger. Twenty-six at the most. He has white-blond hair that reflects the sun like a mirror.
“Come on out now,” the older man calls as both men point rifles at the SUV. “We’re not aiming to shoot you, but we hafta be careful. Step on out!”
“Shit.” Blake reaches for the gun lying on the seat between us.
“No,” I say, putting my hand over his. He looks at me like I’m crazy, but I don’t give in. “Please. They’re being cautious. If we bring a gun out, we’re telling them they can’t trust us.”
“What if we can’t trust them?” Blake says through clenched teeth.
“We can.” I manage to say with more confidence than I actually feel.
Blake lets out a deep breath but eases his hand off the gun. “Okay.”
Together, we climb out of the SUV.
“Hands up,” the younger man says, keeping his rifle steady as the older man approaches.
“So, you’re Emma.” The older man lowers his gun. He looks me up and down briefly before turning his eyes to Blake. They linger on him longer, but it’s still brief and non-threatening. Like he’s sizing us up. “You got weapons?”
“In the car,” I say. “We’re not trying to cause trouble.”
The older man spits and narrows his eyes on me. “Not sick? No headache or fever? Nothing?”