“Hey, how’re you feeling?” I asked while I wiped her arm with an alcohol swab.
“Okay. Tired, but I guess that’s what happens when you don’t sleep much.”
“You should take a nap after we’re finished. You might be sore for a bit, but it’ll pass.” We talked for a couple minutes after I finished administering the vaccination, and then she excused herself. I smiled as she waved and exited through the swinging doors.
Sarah was my next patient. Dread was painted all over her face; she hated needles and turned green just thinking about getting a shot.
“It’s okay—it’ll only prick a tiny bit, and then it’s over.” I tried to reassure her with a promising smile.
“It always hurts. I especially hate when I have to rip the Band-aid off. It always pulls the hairs on my arm and stings.”
“Sarah, I promise I’ll—Oh, hey Biggs!” As she looked behind her, I stuck the needle in her upper arm.
“Ow! Zoe! That’s a mean trick.” Her eyes narrowed, and she stuck out her bottom lip.
Knowing it was mean, I mirrored her expression. “Sorry, I was only trying to help.” I couldn’t help but laugh as I wiped the injection site. “It wasn’t that bad, was it? Look, I’ll even leave the bandage off for you.”
She sighed. “I guess not, but still.”
“You’re just upset that he wasn’t really standing there,” I mused. She tried to repress her smile, but I could feel her happiness at the thought of him. I wish everyone was this easy to read. “You love him,” I said in a sing-song voice.
Sarah hopped down from the table. “Now that would just be silly, wouldn’t it,” she said dryly.
“And why’s that?”
“We’ve only known each other for a week or so.” She was trying to rationalize her feelings, but there was no denying the intoxication they felt around one another.
“Yeah, well silliness is all we have now, isn’t it? Rationality went out the window the moment the world started falling apart. I think it’s safe to say you should follow your instincts.”
Sarah’s face seemed to brighten at my encouragement, and she gave me a quick hug. “Thanks, Zoe.” She practically skipped out the door, leaving me with an amused grin as Clara walked in. Although she smiled, my mood immediately soured.
“Hi,” she cooed as she sat on the table.
“Hi.” Strange girl. “You’re not afraid of needles too, are you?” I began disinfecting her skin with an alcohol wipe.
She laughed sadistically, sending a rush of chills down my spine.
“I’ll take that as a no, then.”
Clara didn’t flinch or blink an eye as the needle pierced her skin—instead she simply stared at me. What a creeper. At that moment I was both afraid and curious to know what she was thinking. I didn’t have to wonder for long.
“What’s going on with you and Jake?” she blurted quietly. Her jealousy was apparent.
“Excuse me?” I choked out as she glowered at me.
Suddenly, her lethal gaze melted, and her demure smile returned. “It’s just that he and I have a special…friendship, and I want to make sure you’re aware of it, that’s all.”
A switch flipped inside me, and I suddenly didn’t care how much Clara unnerved me. “Well if that’s the case, then I’m sure you have nothing to worry about.” I put on a fake, condescending smile, slapped a bandage on her arm, and called out, “Next!”
Her eyes narrowed in consideration, but right when she opened her mouth to speak, Jake strolled in. I felt the heat of his stare and glanced at him, Clara’s eyes following suit. “Jake,” she purred. “We were just talking about you.”
“Really?” He looked amused. That’s twice in one day. His eyes swept back over to me.
Clara’s face tensed with animosity as she followed his line of sight. I tried not to let my blank expression waver.
“You’re over there.” I pointed Jake toward Harper’s table, and he kept moving.
Obviously dismayed that she couldn’t provoke me, Clara folded her arms and stomped away. Psycho.
29
DANI
I‘d finally woken in the small patch of woods behind Grams’s house the previous afternoon with only a few hours of daylight left. I hadn’t known why I’d blacked out nor where everyone had gone, but I had known my continued survival depended on finding more food. Luckily, I’d successfully scavenged some nearby homes and managed to avoid further contact with people—both known and unknown—before returning to the ranch.
With at least a week’s worth of food stocked in the ranch house, I was free to focus on settling in. I had to stay somewhere in town, at least until I figured out what had happened to Grams, and the ranch was as good a place as any. Besides, the animals in residence needed someone to take care of them.
Since nobody had died in the house, the air was blissfully gag-free. The ranch house also had functioning plumbing, reliable electricity, two fireplaces, a working water heater, and Internet. Then again, there was no telling how long any of the amenities might last.
As I cleaned the front room and arranged the rustic furniture in a way that befit my survivor lifestyle—casting a large couch as my bed, a coffee table as my desk, and a bookshelf as my closet—I considered finding a way to email Zoe…for the thousandth time. My thoughts flashed to the confrontation I’d witnessed between my friends and Cece on Grams’s deck. I didn’t know how it had ended, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t in bloodshed. Unfortunately, one thing was certain—caring for me had almost cost Chris and Jason their lives.
Zoe’s better off without me. Everyone is.
By lunchtime, I ran out of things to do in the house. Though there were plenty of chores associated with maintaining the ranch and its dozens of animals, there was an off-site errand that was far more urgent. I needed to figure out what had happened to Grams and to Zoe’s dad. I’d made a promise to Zoe.
I rounded up Jack and donned my empty pack to once again sneak through the sparse woods and tall grasses surrounding the town. We made it to Grams’s garden without incident and carefully walked the perimeter—nobody was in sight, and there were no fresh human scents for Jack to follow. Jason and Chris were gone. I felt a sharp pang of disappointment in my chest, turning my relief to bitterness.
Feeling strangely empty, I snuck back into my childhood home. Jack and I quickly searched the interior, making absolutely sure the house was vacant. Certain of our solitude, we scoured every room, one-by-one; we found nothing but memories and dust. In the basement we ravaged Grams’s fabled food stores, stocking up on canned meats and a variety of homemade dried soups. The house was filled with remnants of the woman who’d raised me, yet Grams herself wasn’t there. Where are you, Grams?
We finally ended up in the kitchen, the hope of finding any sign of her whereabouts hanging by a thread. As I searched around the room, I spotted a plain white envelope stuck to the fridge. The hand-made magnet holding it up was one of the few presentable items I’d created in the many art classes Zoe had coerced me into taking. It consisted of a thin circle of clay etched with a perfect Celtic knot representing the love between a mother and daughter, or in our case, a grandmother and granddaughter. It had taken me five weeks and four attempts to get it right, but my efforts had been more than justified by the tears in Grams’s eyes when I’d given it to her on her sixty-fifth birthday.
Removing the magnet and envelope from the fridge, I recalled my many failed attempts to replicate Grams’s distinctive old-fashioned penmanship. I ran my fingers over the single word written on the front: Dani-girl. My dwindling hope swelled. She might be alive!
In a haze of eagerness, I shoved the magnet and envelope into my jacket pocket and rushed back to the ranch. I set the sealed envelope on the coffee table, sneaking glances at it as I scurried back and forth between the kitchen and front room to make tea.
Finally, steaming mug in hand, I snuggled into a blanket on the couch and stared at the beckoning envelope. What’s in
it? A letter? When did she write it? Is it good news?
With shaking fingers, I set down my cup of tea and picked up the envelope. As I opened it, a torn photograph and an antique iron key plunked onto the coffee table’s unfinished oak surface. A young Zoe and Jason peered up at me from the faded image, captivating me, but I knew the partial photo couldn’t provide the answers I sought. Instead, I focused on the folded letter that was still partially encased in the envelope.
I gingerly pulled it out and immediately recognized the note’s flowery stationary. According to the date, it had been written a couple of weeks ago. As I began to read, I both savored and feared each successive word.
December 9, 2012
Dani-girl, my dearest granddaughter,
I hope you know that you have always been more than a granddaughter to me. You have been a daughter, and one for which I am eternally grateful. I lost my Ceara, but I gained you. You were worth it.
As you requested, I looked for Zoe’s father. I found him. Tom was sitting against a tree on a bluff overlooking the ocean, dead. He had a key on a string and a torn photograph of Zoe and Jason clutched in his hand, both of which are in this envelope. Please give these things to Zoe or Jason if either of them survives…if you survive.
You must know and accept this: I am sick and dying. I’m too old to recover from something killing even the young and healthy. I’m going into the forest for my eternal rest. Don’t roll your eyes at me, Dani-girl, it’s the only way to guarantee my return to nature with so few people around to take care of the bodies. DO NOT go looking for my body, Dani-girl. I don’t want you to remember me that way. I mean it—if you care for me at all, you will leave my body be. I pray that you will one day read this, for then you have survived.
I’ll love you always, my Dani-girl,
Grams
With a handful of sentences, my whole world came to a crashing halt.
Grams…she’s dead.
She’d stepped in and raised me after my mother died in childbirth, had molded my teenage temper into a tool to be used by a grown woman, and had instilled in me the importance of embracing my heritage by teaching me her native language and traditions. She’s dead. How can she be dead?
I craved the release of tears, but my body denied me. Numbness saturated me as part of myself seemed to dissolve—Grams was gone. Time passed in my suddenly empty and meaningless world, and I eventually succumbed to the exhausting fog of depression. My eyelids felt swollen with the unfulfilled need to cry. Seeking temporary relief, I closed my eyes and let sleep claim me.
I became aware of the dream only after he arrived, like his presence awakened my conscious mind without disturbing my sleep. Dreams were normal—incomprehensible and forgettable—until MG arrived. He gave them substance and matter. With his involvement, I felt like I was living in two different worlds.
I was huddled on the ground staring at the bodies of Grams and Tom. They looked so perfect, like they might wake up at any moment, but I knew better.
They were gone. Dead.
As my conscious mind merged with my dreaming self, I let out a low, keening moan.
Grams was dead.
Gently, MG crouched in front of me and lifted my face with gentle, graceful fingers. “Dani? What happened?”
Through a barrage of sobs, gasps, and incoherent words, I told him about my discovery…about Grams. I finished with, “Everyone’s dead. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“Not everyone,” he said softly and took me into his arms. “You can always go to Colorado, to the Colony. You wouldn’t be alone there.”
Shaking my head against his shoulder, I whispered, “I don’t know. I just don’t know. I…I don’t think I can handle working on this tonight. You should probably go visit your other people.”
He held me close. “They can wait.”
30
ZOE
The hospital off-base was desolate—an empty labyrinth completely deserted by its former inhabitants. Where are all the sick…dead people? Harper’s practiced footsteps were barely audible as he advanced down a linoleum hallway—I couldn’t say the same for mine. As we rounded a corner, he scanned the area with his assault rifle, prepared for whatever vile thing we might encounter. Given his usually playful disposition, it was easy to forget he was trained to kill. As we combed through the potentially dangerous building, his training gave me solace.
“Stay close behind me,” he whispered, concentrating on the dark corridors ahead.
I shivered. Searching the facility for supplies was a really bad idea; every raised hair on my body confirmed it. “Don’t you think we’ve found enough stuff?” I waited for Harper to answer, but he didn’t, so I prattled on, “We can only take so much with us when we leave anyway.” I readjusted the canvas duffel bag strap crossing my chest. “Besides, this place is huge. It can’t be safe to—”
“We’ll argue later,” Harper said, dismissing my concerns as he continued down the hall. “Be quiet.”
I followed him, my eyes darting around as I tried to focus on anything besides my racing heartbeat. An empty nurses’ station was cluttered with medical books and files, and stray papers littered the floor like a rogue whirlwind had swept through the space. Some of the doors lining the hallway were shut, and I couldn’t suppress my morbid curiosity. What’s behind them?
As I tried to mimic Harper’s quiet steps, I replayed the training scenarios he’d taught me. I practiced the different maneuvers over and over in my head to make sure I would remember them. Just in case…
Just as I was wondering when we would reconvene with Jake and Sanchez, the sound of static startled me. “Harper,” Sanchez said, interrupting our radio silence. “Get down to the ER. There’s something you need to see.” Her ominous tone filled me with dread, and I had the sudden urge to run away, screaming.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Harper said, reaching back to squeeze my hand. No shit. “Move fast and keep close.”
I hurried behind him as we turned left, right, and then left again before finding a stairway door—an emergency exit. He pushed the heavy door open and walked through, but I hesitated; I didn’t want to be immersed in the pitch-blackness. I held the door open with sweaty palms while Harper did a quick sweep of the stairwell. Returning to the door, he looked at me, nodded once, and then motioned for me to follow him. Taking a deep breath, I shadowed him down the stairs.
When Harper reached the first-floor landing, he glanced back at me once more before flinging the metal door open. Again, he scanned the area with his rifle, and I sighed with relief when he found no reason to pull the trigger. Turning to the left, Harper advanced down the hallway.
“How do you know where to go?” I asked in a quiet rush of words.
He pointed the muzzle of his rifle toward a sign that read “EMERGENCY” and had a long, red arrow pointing in the direction we were moving. Oh…duh. Feeling stupid, I shook my head.
The first floor was much like the upper floors, only it was brighter and everything seemed less intimidating. Picture windows lined the walls, letting in daylight and providing a clear view of the parking lot and the roiling storm clouds. I stopped in front of a window, mesmerized by the bone-chilling sight of countless abandoned cars.
While I stared out the window with mounting fear, Harper kept moving. When I turned and found him disappearing around a corner, I ran after him, afraid of being left alone. Rounding the same corner, I slammed into his tensed, motionless body. I staggered back.
Jake and Sanchez were standing beside him, equally still and staring outside through a wall of windows. I followed the direction of their eyes to the courtyard, and my body stiffened in horror. I dropped my bag on the floor.
A mountain of decomposing bodies filled the space. There were hundreds of them, maybe thousands, haphazardly piled on top of each other like an enormous mound of garbage. Before I could look away, I spotted a pair of milky, glazed over eyes. I couldn’t stop myself from staring, from memorizing the rest o
f the face—the dry, decaying skin and the purple, crusty sores clustered around the lips. It was more than I could bear.
“Oh my God,” I gasped and turned away, flinging myself at the nearest person—Jake. Unexpectedly, his protective concern blanketed me. Afraid to open my eyes again, I ignored my pride and awkwardness as I buried my face in his jacket.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he whispered near my ear, wrapping his free arm around me.
“Looks like some of the fresher ones have bullet wounds, and a lot of them are wearing fatigues,” Harper said.
“Who—” Sanchez cleared her throat. “Who stacked them like that?” It was the first time I’d heard fear in her voice.
“We need to get out of here,” Harper said.
Suddenly, my mind was flooded with uncontrollable aggression. Images of blood-spattered walls and mangled bodies inundated my thoughts. I shook my head frantically, trying to dispel the scenes from my mind, but compulsive hostility and insatiable anger overwhelmed my control. I couldn’t escape.
When I realized the onslaught of images and feelings weren’t coming from Jake, I peered up at him, confused. His imploring eyes met mine as a stronger wave engulfed me, and I struggled to keep the emotions and memories separate from my own. The room seemed to swirl around me, and my eyelids became too heavy to keep open. Only partially aware, I felt my body weaken and my knees give out. Jake’s arms tightened around me and the sound of gunshots rang throughout the hospital as I lost consciousness.
When I opened my eyes again, a tree was bouncing past me, and I could hear heavy breathing. I blinked, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. It took me a moment to realize I was the one bouncing, not the tree—Jake was carrying me while he ran.
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