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by Matthew Costello

  Helen looked away.

  “Forever? Who knows.”

  Then quiet. The stillness of them both thinking over the words, the ideas, the fear.

  Then Christie spoke:

  “You can come with us.”

  * * *

  Helen stood up, leaned across the table, and gave Christie a giant hug.

  When Christie could see the woman’s eyes again, she saw them glisten.

  The first tears she had seen from this woman.

  Then simply: “Thank you.”

  She sniffed as she sat down, took a breath. “Me and Henry were always pretty independent. Something he prided himself on. Semper Fi and all that jazz. And I might be able to hang here for a while. Got some food, weapons—”

  Christie smiled. “You are a pretty good shot.”

  “Only pretty good?”

  But the smiles faded fast.

  “But sooner or later, if this place doesn’t get back to normal, with no guards and the fences down, well—how long before I made a mistake and they get me.”

  “You can’t stay.” A beat. “Come with us.”

  “I do have someplace we can go.”

  “A place? Someplace—”

  “Someplace safe. It’s where I was headed. They call it ‘the Redoubt.’ And—”

  But then the sound of steps on the stairway.

  A voice. Kate.

  “Mom?”

  “We’re in here.”

  And her two kids came into the room, faces washed.

  Her two beautiful kids stepped into the sunlit room.

  * * *

  Simon ate some of the cereal out of the box while Kate, seeming so adult, poured a cup of coffee.

  So far, no one had talked about the night before.

  Until Simon went out of the kitchen to the front door.

  Christie became alarmed.

  “Simon? Honey, what—”

  She got up to see him at the door, looking out the slits made by the steel bars of the outer door.

  “Wh—where’d they all go?”

  For a moment, she didn’t understand what he was talking about.

  But when she went to the window, she saw that the bodies across the street, the exploded bodies of the attackers from the night before, were gone, leaving only massive red blotches on the sidewalk and street.

  “I don’t know.”

  He looked at her, and she knew he didn’t believe what she had said.

  She felt a tug of her arm.

  “Got a moment, Christie? A few more words?”

  And Helen steered her into the dining room.

  * * *

  “This Redoubt? What is it?”

  “A friend of Henry’s, another marine. Lived near New Paltz since he liked to climb. The mountains there, Shawangunk. Really beautiful. But when things went bad, he decided to do something.”

  “To protect themselves?”

  “Yes, and others who joined them. Like a cooperative, designed to keep people safe and alive, protected from Can Heads. There’s a giant inn up there, a gorgeous mountain hotel called Mountain Falls Inn. Ever hear of it?”

  Christie shook her head.

  “Of course, like a lot of those places, it ended up empty, abandoned. No one doing that kind of thing anymore. So these people moved in. Brought other families in. Set up patrols, fences. Made it safe, secure. Henry’s old buddy called it ‘the Redoubt.’ A place to make a stand.”

  She shook her head.

  “Military men. With their jargon, their gung ho. It’s where I was heading. Should have maybe gone earlier. But with Henry gone, well, you know I didn’t really much give a damn about doing anything.”

  “It’s safe?”

  “Supposedly—as safe as anyplace can be, Christie. And listen, do you have another place to go?”

  “No. I mean, some distant aunts and uncles down south. I haven’t heard from them in a—”

  Helen raised her eyebrows, sufficient comment on that idea.

  Is that where we should go? Christie wondered.

  Then: I feel numb …

  I feel all wrong.

  Helen’s stare reflected back how oddly Christie must have seemed to act, to appear.

  “Look, I’m going to tell you something, okay?”

  She took Christie’s hand.

  “You got a decision to make. A big, but simple decision. Are you going to get through this?”

  A pause. A look toward the kitchen.

  “Are you going to get your kids through it? Because if you are, you’re going to have to make those decisions. You’re all they got. And not every decision you make will be perfect or right.”

  A small laugh.

  “You may even regret inviting me to come with you. But—you need to show them that you are here. With them. And together, you’re going to make it.”

  Christie felt the words register.

  The meaning so clear. Their importance.

  Words she would need to hold on to.

  “A redoubt,” she said. “And you think it’s safe?”

  “Yep. The Mountain Falls Inn. And we can be there by this afternoon.”

  “Okay. Then that’s where we’ll go.”

  Christie forced her voice, which she now realized had turned dull and leaden all morning, to become louder, stronger. She tried to dig somewhere deep inside herself to find strength, and let her voice reflect that.

  Now she covered Helen’s hand with hers, making a pact.

  The gesture seeming official, and primal.

  “Like you said, Helen. Only a bit different.”

  A shake of the hands layered on each other.

  “Together—we’re going to make it.”

  And Helen Field smiled broadly at that.

  Then: “Mom—let’s get going!”

  the mountain falls inn

  21

  Leaving Home

  Midday, and the silvery span of the Goethals Bridge reflected the sun, beautiful and suspended over the river.

  Christie had thought that Helen would have been a nonstop talker, but after they picked up some of her things, a small suitcase, and a metal box filled with, as she put it, “you know what” as she waved her shotgun, she was quiet.

  Christie had asked, “That’s all you want to bring? I mean, we still have a bit of room, and there’s the roof.”

  “I’m good,” Helen had said, a bit more grimly than Christie would have imagined her to respond. “Get to my age and you learn to travel light.”

  As they left, she didn’t look at Christie, leaving her to imagine what was going through the woman’s mind as they left the development and headed for a place that was supposed to be safe.

  Like … Paterville was supposed to be safe?

  Maybe—at this moment of departure—both having their doubts.

  Either way, Christie let the silence hang, and after a quick check on the kids …

  “You guys okay? All set?”

  A nod from Kate, a yes from Simon … the journey began.

  * * *

  And as she drove across the high arch of the bridge span, Christie saw the other side, where the military had previously set up camp, a place to guide people leaving the city, a place where the cars had been circled and she had heard a soldier say that lights were due to come soon.

  Now, there was nothing there.

  Not a car, no trucks, no police or soldiers, and certainly no lights.

  Helen must have sensed something shift in Christie.

  “Everything okay?”

  Christie spoke low, trying to make the words she said inconsequential. Despite the long night’s sleep, she ached miserably in places she had never ached before. It would take more than one night’s sleep to erase both the pain and the fatigue.

  “That’s—” She hesitated, searching for the best way to express it.

  Then: “—where we had stopped. There had been—”

  She shot Helen a look as if trying to get her to re
ad between the lines.

  And what lines are those, she thought?

  The emotions. The feelings.

  At the very bottom—the fear.

  “Lot of cars were there. Cops. You know, people leaving.”

  She caught Helen nodding.

  “And now—all gone. I guess—” the woman said with what sounded to Christie like a lack of sincerity—“everyone who wanted to move on, moved on.”

  The woman sniffed.

  Then added another idea that Christie couldn’t believe.

  “I guess—everyone who wanted to get out, did.”

  Thinking … did some not make it out?

  And to seal this exchange of doubtful ideas, Christie simply said, “Yeah.”

  She drove past the area where the camp—the gateway for people leaving the metro area—had completely vanished.

  Only, with one last thought …

  Twenty-four hours, and it’s gone.

  These days—things happen fast.

  * * *

  Helen suggested an alternate road to the Garden State Parkway.

  “The old Highway 17. Takes you past a bunch of small towns. I mean, why get on the highway until we have to, right? More options on a smaller road.”

  Christie nodded as if the logic of that was clear. For now, she was glad to have someone else’s voice in her ear giving advice.

  Could she ever get used to being alone, totally responsible for the kids?

  She thought of … what did they call it? The stages of grief? Mourning?

  Where the hell am I on it? Have I even begun?

  Can I even afford that luxury?

  Helen seemed to sense her getting lost in thoughts.

  “Nice towns along here. Hank always said we should just find a small apartment here. But when the proverbial”—a glance back at the kids, a modification to her language—“stuff hit the fan, we had no choice.”

  A breath.

  “Gotta be safe. Needed a protected development.”

  Christie nodded. The small towns still looked appealing, except for the stores with boarded-up windows, and then the occasional house, windows smashed, broken into.

  Nobody walked around.

  Places like this weren’t safe.

  The only thing you’d find if you did a walk-through of the town would be some dark hole where Can Heads slept during the day, waiting for dark and whatever instincts took them hunting.

  It’s an alien planet, Christie thought.

  We’ve landed on a world light years away from the earth I grew up on.

  So very different.

  “Another few miles,” Helen said, “and then you pick up the parkway. Take it right to the Thruway.”

  Helen reached over and patted Christie’s knee. The gesture seemed both odd and reassuring at the same time.

  She barely knew this woman, and yet she could feel herself instinctively depending on her, liking her, then—in this guarded world, unusual—caring for her.

  Christie kept her eyes peeled for the green and yellow sign announcing the on-ramp.

  Then—she spotted it. But she also saw something else.

  * * *

  Christie slowed.

  “What’s that?” Helen said.

  It looked pretty much like other places they had passed. Men standing guard, a barrier to the highway. Papers to be checked, questions to be asked.

  “A checkpoint. That’s all.”

  The briefest of pauses, then Helen said:

  “You sure?”

  And her words made everything Christie could see about it come into focus.

  Yes, there was a barrier. Men standing, waiting.

  Even one man in a uniform.

  Another had started waving at the car even though they were still yards away.

  A big-armed gesture, hand waving, then the same hand pushing back at the air.

  Slow down.

  Stop the car.

  Still not there yet, Christie gave voice to what she felt.

  “Seems … wrong.”

  But what was wrong? The look of the barrier? The fact that there was a man in a uniform, and others just standing there. They held guns—so they couldn’t be Can Heads. No they had to be—

  Then, a quick flash.

  The memory of Paterville. That night. Where supposedly normal people …

  Slaughtered other people.

  Chopped them up and served them as food.

  Her stomach turned.

  She had begun to slow.

  But—

  Helen’s voice was slow.

  “If you think something’s wrong, Christie—”

  She paused for a long moment.

  Then: “Trust your gut.”

  Christie felt the woman turn and look at her. After all, she was the one driving. She held the damn steering wheel, her foot on the accelerator.

  Slowed a bit more.

  Because—

  (And this thought was clear.)

  Let them think I’m going to stop.

  When actually.

  Closer now.

  She pushed her foot all the way down. The car engine seemed to hesitate, as if pondering the command to speed up as fast as it could.

  And with the men backing up, maybe just trying to keep the road safe …

  Ready to walk over for a polite and concerned chat.

  The engine roared, the car finally accelerated, and the beat-up Honda suddenly flew into the barrier, the men pulling back even farther, Christie ignoring them.

  In case they were raising their guns.

  In case some had guessed what she might do, and had their guns already in motion, to shoot at the windows, the tires—

  “Mom!” Kate said.

  And the car smashed into the wooden barrier.

  22

  The Talk

  The wooden barrier split into two, the pieces flying left and right as the men scrambled.

  Christie waited for the sound of gunshots, and in anticipation made the car swerve.

  In the distance, she heard the crackling of gunfire, but her move must have surprised them, and she was well away before they took aim.

  “Wow! Some driving,” Helen said.

  Kate’s voice was more sober: “Mom—why did you do that?”

  She gave Kate a look.

  “Guess I didn’t want to stop.”

  “O … kay,” Kate said.

  Helen gave her a look. They both knew why she hadn’t stopped. What her fear was. How—though she might have been wrong—it was better to be overly cautious than trapped by them.

  Better safe than dinner, she thought.

  Whatever it takes to be safe.

  After a few minutes, Helen added: “I think they’re going to need a new barrier.”

  “Oh yeah,” Christie said.

  * * *

  Miles down the road, Christie caught Helen as she turned and looked at the backseat.

  In the rearview mirror, Christie could see Kate, eyes closed.

  Still exhausted?

  Simon played with some of his toys that he had rescued that morning.

  Then Helen looked at her.

  “You okay? Driving?”

  “Sure. Still hurt like hell, probably will for weeks.”

  A look at the woman beside her.

  “It’ll get better.”

  Sounding more like a hope than a belief.

  “I wanted to ask you about something.”

  Her voice lowered. Quiet. Two adults talking about boring stuff.

  At least that’s what Christie imagined it would sound like to Simon as he lost himself in play.

  “Those others. In that camp. Something I don’t understand. Were they Can Heads?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You said—”

  Even lower.

  “—they captured people. That—” A hesitation. “They—”

  “Right,” Christie said quickly, not wanting the next words.

  For herself,
for Simon?

  For all of us.

  “That’s what they did.”

  Helen shook her head. “And yet—they had a fence—”

  “Two of them.”

  “And guards, guns. To keep the Can Heads out.”

  “You got it.”

  Christie feeling annoyed now.

  Why all these questions?

  “Then—” A pause, as if Helen knew she was digging too deep. “So—were they Can Heads too?”

  A look to the mirror. Simon still playing, oblivious. Kate not stirring. Then a glance at Helen.

  Flatly.

  “I don’t know.”

  Then nothing for a few minutes. But the woman’s questions had stirred something.

  “Maybe this thing is changing, whatever is turning people into these things, these animals.”

  “Changing?” Helen said, with a shake of her head. “Or spreading.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, I used to talk about this with my husband. He was no scientist. Just a retired grunt. But he went online. He said it could have been all those foods, genetically modified foods they called them—”

  “Supposedly safe.”

  “Supposedly. Like a lot of things. But I mean, what he found on the Internet is that they were creating new genetically modified organisms. Called GMOs. He thought … maybe that’s what did it.”

  “I don’t know.”

  Christie wished she would stop talking about this.

  “I thought … maybe it was the droughts, the shortages,” Christie said. “All that was some kind of trigger.”

  “Maybe. But here’s the thing: why some people, not others? Why not you or me, your kids? Climate change? Holes in the ozone? Who got it, and who didn’t?”

  “Helen—”

  “Okay. I’ll stop.”

  “No. It’s okay. I don’t mind—”

  “It’s just that I haven’t really had someone to talk to in quite a while.”

  Christie gave her a look. A half smile.

  “It’s okay. Really.”

  Then, her eyes back on the road …

  “I never got a chance to ask Jack what he thought. About those supposedly normal people in Paterville. There was no time. And afterward—I didn’t think about it. But now, listening, talking to you … were they any different?”

  “The ones inside the fence, not outside?”

  “Yeah. Is what happened at Paterville something—I don’t know—rare? Were we just unlucky. Or—”