“I see a small stove in here, some more food, and some extra propane,” Cody reports. “A few flashlights, too, with extra batteries. What’s in your bag?”
“Clothes,” I say. “Lots of them.”
I wade through an assortment of pants, shirts, and undergarments. I’m surprised—but probably shouldn’t be—to find a few things that might fit. I decide on a black tank-top, a pair of jeans, a belt, and some undergarments. Unfortunately, I’m out of luck for shoes—I only see a pair of boots that is way too big. In any case, the outfit is certainly better than my scuzzy rags. Inside the bag, I also find a towel and a brush. I put my new outfit in one of the smaller backpacks, while Cody checks behind the rear seats, finding the can of gas, some road flares, and a toolbox.
“I think that’s everything,” he calls over. “We certainly have more in the bus than I’d had outside, trapped with the wandering stricken.”
“Ready to head to the brook?” I ask.
“I’ll keep watch while you clean up.”
“Sounds good.”
Cody waits respectfully behind a tree while I head down to the water with my backpack, containing my new clothes, my towel, and brush, and the other items. A breeze ripples the top of the water, which flows with a gentle current through a maze of rocks. In one section, a fallen limb protrudes into the water. Startled by my presence, a turtle slides from the top, disappearing beneath the surface and swimming to parts unknown. Thick foliage sprouts between the trees on the opposite bank. Digging my new outfit from the bag, I set down my crowbar, undress, and quickly wade into the brook, carrying only the hairbrush.
Lowering myself into the knee-high water, I splash my face, sluicing away what feels like endless layers of dirt. I look over my body. Several new scars line my arms and legs; I’ve got scratches and bruises everywhere. A large scab on my ankle denotes one of many injuries I can’t remember. Not only that, but I’m skinny—skinnier than I’ve ever been in my life. I hold up my bony wrists, unable to reconcile the strange body I inhabit. It feels as if I’m living in a delirium.
My nails are a nasty wreck and, as I bite them, I take another inventory. Every scratch or scar reminds me of my missing time. Where have I been? How did I get here? What happened to me? It feels as if some strange person possessed me for the past year. God only knows what I’ve done, though I have plenty of horrible guesses. It feels as if I stepped out of my old life and into someone else’s skin. And my eyes…
Looking down at my reflection, I see how gaunt my face has become, and how pale, without all the dirt on it. My hair is in even worse shape. Knots and tangles accompany nearly every inch. A few parts are uneven and clumped together, matted, while other strands are different lengths, as if they’ve been ripped off. The longest parts hang several inches lower than I last remember, reaching well past my shoulders. With effort and patience, I brush it out, straightening it as best as I can. While I’m cleaning up, I think of Mom and Jared, putting all my positive energy into their survival. If they’re alive, I’ll find them, no matter where they are.
“Everything okay?” Cody calls down, as I finish up.
I look up the bank, noticing that he’s still behind the tree, afraid to look. I towel myself off, smiling at his good manners.
“I’m fine,” I call back. “Heading up in a minute.”
I wade back to the bank. My new clothes are way looser than I expected. Of course, the size I remember wearing doesn’t fit me anymore. Still, they’re good enough. I pull the belt a notch tighter and take one last look around at the bubbling brook, grateful for my refreshing bath.
It is then that I notice the person just across the narrow water, watching me from the woods.
10
The Stranger
I immediately backpedal away from the stranger. My heart jolts. A man peers out from the foliage at the other side of the brook. A mane of frizzy hair frames his face; his large eyes protrude from over the top of his bulbous nose. He looks at least seventy years old. Or maybe it’s the dense layer of filth, making him appear more aged than he is. A thin, dirty jacket hangs over his gaunt shoulders; his pants are ripped and cuffed above his boots.
Breaking the uncomfortable silence, he waves a bony hand and calls, “Hallo!”
I spin at movement behind me. Cody is no longer behind the tree but sliding down the bank to my side. He skids to a stop, standing shoulder to shoulder with me, aiming his gun at the unexpected visitor.
“Hannah! Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I call, relieved to see him.
Cody trains his weapon and I hold my crowbar, eyeing the old man, who steps carefully forward out of the woods across the bank, holding up his hands in a peaceful gesture.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He smiles, displaying a row of stained, chipped teeth. His lips are red and chapped enough that we can see their condition from here.
Taking no chances, Cody keeps his gun on the interloper. “Stay right where you are.”
The man nods, making no effort to cross the brook. How long has he been standing there, watching? I shudder, folding one arm across my chest. My eyes roam to the dirty, old clothes in a pile at my feet.
Answering my unspoken question, the man says, “I wasn’t spying on you. I promise.” He smiles wider, revealing a missing tooth. I clench my crowbar, hoping he’s telling the truth. The old man gestures toward the bus in the distance.
“I saw you pull in a little while ago. My name’s Ted.”
Cody and I nod, but we don’t introduce ourselves. Instead, Cody asks, “What do you want?”
“I was hoping for a little help.”
Cody and I exchange a wary glance.
“I’m starving.” Ted places his hands on his thin stomach, making a face. “I haven’t eaten in days. I was hoping maybe you had some food to spare.”
“We don’t have any extra,” Cody says carefully.
The man lowers his head, dejected. “I was hoping you’d be more generous.”
I look Ted up and down, searching for a weapon I can’t see. He appears unarmed; in fact, it looks like he doesn’t have much of anything.
Glancing from our faces to the pile of dirty clothes at my feet, he says, “I didn’t mean to trouble you. It looks like you’ve had a rough go of it.”
“We were just leaving,” Cody says, reaching for my arm, backing with me up the hill.
The old man nods disappointedly. He doesn’t move or follow us. We’re halfway up the hill when he calls out, “Pine Grove Community Center.”
Cody and I stop.
Ted waves toward the bus. “I recognize that place. My mother used to go there for card games. That was before the world collapsed…before she died…” The old man wipes at his watering eyes with a trembling hand.
“You know where it is?” Cody asks, surprised.
Ted nods. “I took her there every Wednesday. Occasionally, one of these buses picked her up. They took day trips to Enfield Mall, where she’d look for gifts for her friends. She didn’t survive long after the virus hit.” He gestures vaguely about, his face bunching up with grief. “By the time I went to her house, it was too late—those things found her first. Maybe it was an act of mercy. I don’t know how she’d get along in this world.”
“I’m sorry,” I say reflexively.
Blotting his eyes, Ted shuffles away. “My story isn’t any different from anyone else’s. In any case, I’m sorry I bothered you.”
Ted heads deeper into the foliage.
Watching him go, I think of Sarah and Ian, bending over me and helping me back into the world. I recall the way they sat by my side, giving me a drink.
Before he gets too far, I say, “Wait.”
“What are you doing?” Cody hisses.
Watching Ted pause, head hanging, I sigh. “Think of what Ian and Sarah did for us. Without them, we’d still be infected. Hell, we might even be dead. When we needed help, they were there for us, and l
ook at what they sacrificed? Maybe we should repay the favor.”
“We don’t know when we’ll get more food,” Cody says realistically.
“But it will be harder for him. Look at him. He can hardly even walk.” I can’t help but feel sympathy for the old, crippled man. Or maybe it is the fact that he’s the first person we’ve seen that hasn’t tried eating us. “Besides,” I add, “he might have information for us. Something we can use.”
Cody watches me intently. “You’ve got a point.”
Ted keeps his head bowed, respectfully waiting for us to finish our private conversation.
Finally, I call over, “We can spare a can.”
Ted looks up, his face lit with hope. He limps down to the bank again, favoring his leg. “You don’t know how much I appreciate this,” he says gratefully. “I don’t know how I’ll repay you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say.
Ted looks along the brook. Farther down, the water takes a sharp turn, heading in another direction. Realizing it would take time to circle around—and clearly eager for his meal—he holds out his arms, balancing his way across.
“Be careful,” I warn, watching him limp past the submerged rocks. The water rises to his wobbly knees, soaking the lower half of his pants, but he doesn’t notice or complain. Soon he’s on our side of the brook.
Ted smiles, keeping a respectful distance from us. On closer inspection, it looks as if he might be in his early sixties, rather than seventy. Dirt fills the grooves in his sun-darkened face. Curly white hair protrudes from beneath the stretched collar of his t-shirt.
Looking between Cody and me, he says, “The last people I found spit at me. A can of food feels too good to be true.”
“So there are more people around here?” Cody asks.
“I’ve run into a few survivors,” Ted responds, waving a hand across the bank from where he came. “Like I said, they weren’t as nice.”
His words give me hope that Mom and Jared are still alive, scrapping it out, avoiding death. Maybe they’re even still at home, waiting for me to return. The thought fills me with hope.
Waiting patiently for his meal, Ted catches his breath, while I unsling my backpack. I sift through the cans of food inside, settling on some sliced beets. I’ve never enjoyed their bitter, earthy taste, but I doubt Ted is picky. I hold up the can for Ted, and he nods agreeably.
“I’ve got a knife to open it…somewhere…” he says, furrowing his brow and patting his pants.
“I’ve got it,” I offer, pulling out the can opener and opening the can for him. I pause, taking a tentative step.
“You can set it down there, if it makes you feel safer,” he says humbly, pointing to a spot away from both of us.
Grateful for his suggestion, I take a few steps toward him and set it a few feet away, backing up again. I feel like I’m approaching a stray dog. Ted waits until I’m at Cody’s side before he shuffles over and retrieves it. He hungrily appraises his take, holding it up and feigning a toast.
“I can’t thank you enough,” he says, dipping two fingers into the purple liquid, spearing a beet. Watching him stuff a bite in his mouth, I wonder when he last ate. “I’ll never forget your kindness.”
“No problem,” Cody says. “Someone helped us. We figured we’d pay it forward.”
Ted eats a few more bites before asking, “Have you both eaten?”
I look at Cody, feeling a sudden pang of hunger. In the frenzy of my wakeup—and the events since—I hadn’t thought about eating. I glance back into the bag, spotting a can of chickpeas. They look bland enough that they might agree with an empty stomach.
“Maybe we can eat together?” Ted suggests. “Unless you have somewhere to go.”
A feeling of normalcy washes over me. I’m clean, relatively safe, and with a meal to spare. The prospect of eating together seems strangely comforting.
“I’d like that,” I say.
Perched on the tail end of the bus, Ted happily slurps his food, while I open the can of chickpeas for Cody and me.
“Are you sure you’re up to eating?” Cody whispers, watching me fold back the top.
I glance down at my stomach. My nausea has receded. Yet I can still hear Ian’s words.
Don’t go too fast. You don’t want to get sick again.
“I’ll try a couple of bites to start,” I tell Cody quietly.
“Just go slow,” he warns as I pluck out a bean. I pop the vegetable in my mouth, chewing slowly. The small taste incites a long-forgotten hunger. My stomach snarls. A few beans later, I force myself to stop and hand Cody the can. He takes it appreciatively.
“Where are you from?” Cody asks Ted while he eats.
“Guess you could say the world is my home,” Ted says with a sad smile, adjusting on the edge of the bumper, while we stand across from him on the grass. “It seems no one has a solid place anymore. At least, not a permanent one. I came from Bloomfield, originally. But I don’t know if it matters now.”
“Bloomfield?” Cody perks up. “That’s where we were a few days ago.”
“The world really is a small place,” Ted says nostalgically. “I had a nice home there. I stayed for as long as I could, but you know how that goes. Eventually, the Roamers kept returning and I had to abandon it.”
I envision the stricken wandering through the wreckage on the bridge, aimlessly searching. Roamers. Ted’s term is oddly appropriate.
“There are a lot of…Roamers in that area,” Cody says, eating more beans. “It’s not safe.”
“Every day we survive is a miracle,” Ted agrees. Finishing his beets, he tilts the can to his lips, sucks down the juice, and wipes off his face with a dirty sleeve. He wasn’t kidding about his hunger. Watching him finish his meal, I feel as if I’ve done the right thing in sharing.
Noticing me watching him, Ted sets down the can and smiles. “And where did you come from?” he asks.
“I’m from Wheaton,” I say automatically. My thoughts wander immediately back to Mom and Jared. “I live there—lived there—with my mom and brother.”
“How long has it been since you woke up?” His question takes me by surprise.
I glance at Cody. He looks at me back.
Picking up on Cody’s hesitation, I ask, “What do you mean?”
Ted points to his normal eyes, indicating that he’d noticed our yellowed ones. An uncomfortable pause follows.
Ted watches us for a long moment, his face reddening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insult you.” He shifts awkwardly, clearly recovering from what feels like impolite conversation. “I’m going to hit the bathroom.”
Cody and I nod, passing the can back and forth, while Ted hobbles toward the tree line. To my surprise, he doesn’t go far before unzipping his pants. Apparently, not all the world’s social graces have survived.
“We should probably get going,” Cody says under his breath.
I agree. As soon as we’re in the bus, we’ll head to Wheaton. I can’t wait any longer; we need to move.
Finished with the beans, Cody puts away the empty can. It’s then that we notice Ted hobbling away from our vehicle, toward the far side of the parking lot. Cody furrows his brow.
“What’s he doing?”
Ted looks back at us, and then away quickly. He waves a hand toward the top of the hill.
“I don’t know,” I say, “but I don’t like it.”
Without warning, two pickup trucks roll out from behind some trees at the top of the parking lot, blocking off the road leading to where we’re parked. They rev their engines, exhaust pluming from oversized tailpipes. Cody drops the chickpeas, putting two hands on his gun.
Ted looks back at us and smiles, flashing his missing tooth.
11
Tainted
“Cody!”
Before we can react, one of the trucks barrels down the hill, kicking up pebbles and sand.
“Get inside the bus!” Cody shouts.
Throwing my bag ove
r my shoulder, I race down the passenger’s side toward the front doors, Cody panting behind me. From the other side of the bus, Ted hollers words we can’t hear. His predatory whoops confirm we’ve made a mistake in trusting him. I reach the double doors first, tugging them, as the incoming truck gets closer. The doors are locked. Of course. We secured them before heading to the brook.
Cody cries: “Hurry, Hannah!”
I pull out the key just as the first truck whips around the side of the bus. A bearded man hangs out the window, pointing a rifle at our heads.
“Watch out!”
A slug glances off the side of the bus. Then another.
Escape our only thought, we book it around the back of the bus, the truck rolling after us. Another round pings off the rear bumper. Reaching for the back door, Cody finds it locked and curses.
“Keep going, Hannah!”
We run around the driver’s side.
My eyes rivet to the top of the hill, where Ted has leapt inside the second truck, looking far too spry for a man with a limp; likely energized by his canned beets. Metal glints in his hands; he has a gun, too. He yells something to the driver, and the second pickup careens down the hill, heading straight for us. Locked out of the bus and unmoored, we bolt past the vehicle, in the direction of the road cutting between the pond and soccer field. The first pickup reverses, whipping backward at us from the passenger’s side of the bus; we narrowly avoid its rear bumper.
I study the road ahead, which spills into a bigger parking lot. A tipped port-a-potty lays sideways on the asphalt. Farther, the walking path leads up the hill to the playground, the pool, and the baseball field. We’ll never make it that far. Our only hope is to veer left and circle the pond. Transitioning from the road to the grass, we squish around the pond’s sopping bank, trampling over moss and inches thick geese droppings, while bullets tear up the grass by our feet. Our attacker’s shouts echo in my ears. Turning, I see the first truck on our tail, the bearded man hanging out the window, the driver gunning it. We’ll never make it. Not before—
Alive Again | Book 1 Page 5