Tom’s smile doesn’t help with the hormones, and I curse Mitch for reminding me he’s attractive. I probably would’ve gotten there on my own, but I’m blaming her. “Better the devil you know,” I say. “You could’ve been ambushed by a basket carrier.”
A deep laugh breaks from Tom’s chest. “To answer your question, it’s funny because Clara and I ended up here anyway.”
“Is this a nice way of telling me to shut up more?”
He lifts the bucket, dumps it, and then faces me, his gaze both intense and earnest. I wear sunglasses, but it makes me feel exposed all the same. “It’s my way of saying I’m glad we did. Thank you for being here for Clara and for welcoming us the way you have.”
Heat suffuses my cheeks, the blasted blush that gives me away every time. “Of course.”
Tom dips the bucket. After a minute that lasts a year, I give up racking my brain for something to say. It’s easy to blather on when you don’t care what the person thinks of you. And the fact that I care this much is beginning to worry me.
Just hormones, I tell myself. My sex life was non-existent in the months before zombies, mostly because I couldn’t bring myself to let Ethan touch me when I was so damn angry. Tom, now, he could touch me. With those arms, he could lift me against a wall and—
“Hello?” a man’s voice calls from the street. Tom and I stare at each other in shock before we take off for where the kids stand motionless on the patio. Inside the house, Willa barks and throws herself against the back door until Holly lets her out and lifts her in her arms.
“Hello?” the stranger calls again. There’s a knock on the wood fence. “Anyone here?”
Pop and Mitch stride down the grass from the RV. “Tom and I will get on the truck,” Pop says. “You stay behind us.”
Though I feel I should argue on the grounds of gender equality, the fact is that two big men will be received differently than a woman. We follow them around the house and down the grass. Tom jumps into the bed of the truck and then gives Pop a hand up.
“Who’s there?” Tom asks before he ventures closer to the fence. The deep, firm tone of his voice is not one I would mess with sight unseen.
“We’re from the Safe Zone at the fairgrounds. Is this the Winter residence?”
Tom peers over the fence. Pop does the same. “We went by the fairgrounds and couldn’t get close,” Pop says, not answering the man’s question.
“We cleared out the streets and built an outer boundary.” The voice says this as though we know there’s an inner boundary. Or live people. “Sir, we’re taking all survivors to the Safe Zone while we can.”
I climb into the truck and step onto the edge of the bed. A large van sits on the road outside the gate, with a Eugene Police SUV idling behind it. Five people stand on the asphalt. Three are in the far lane, weapons pointed toward the surrounding trees. Two men watch the fence. One is a decade older than me at most, with a short ponytail of wavy brown hair and a lined face that’s spent many years tanning in the sun, giving him a rugged cowboy appearance. The other is more of a kid dressed in fatigues, with buzzed blond hair and two big dimples.
The kid starts to speak, but the older man cuts him off, “Are you Rose? Rose Winter?”
I nod hesitantly. A smile splits his face—the smile of someone excited to share glad tidings. “He said you had red hair. Ethan sent us. He’s at the fairgrounds. Are your kids here?”
Thank God Ethan’s alive is my first, weak-kneed thought. Oh shit, Ethan’s alive is my second. The third is no clear thought, only a confusing mixture of the first two. My head buzzes so loudly that I barely hear Holly’s squeal of joy from the ground.
“Everyone’s fine,” Pop says. “I’m Rose’s dad. Why didn’t he come with you?”
“You must be Sam,” the man says. “I’m Barry Wright. We’re only letting military and law enforcement out at this time, since we weren’t sure how the streets would be. You might’ve seen we got rid of a good bit of the Lexers yesterday, passed right by here. Ethan’s going to be a very happy man.”
Barry twists his head, searching for a threat. “We’d rather not be out here any longer than necessary. We’d appreciate it if you’d let us inside while you pack your things, then we’ll get on the road.”
I stare at him, the wood pickets digging into my hands. Pop touches my arm, says my name, but I don’t answer. Ethan, whom I’ve written off as dead, is alive. Ethan is alive.
Someone tugs at my shirt from behind. Holly is in the truck bed with a glowing face. “Dad’s okay!” She laughs. “Mom, let them in!”
I snap from my daze. Force a smile so wide my lips hurt. “I guess I just…”
Holly laughs again. I hug her close, gladdened by her happiness, though I’m more than a little disturbed about my lack of it.
40
Tom
I don’t have much to pack. It’s all in a bag within two minutes, and then I wait in the living room with Barry and the blond kid, Dalton, while the others run around. Rose waves me into the kitchen. Willa, who views the proceedings anxiously, follows at my heels. They said she can come—Ethan already warned them about the dog—as long as she has her own food.
When I reach the sink, Rose says quietly, “You can stay here, if you want. We have to go. I have to go with the kids, but…”
“They’re taking our food.” The food is being requisitioned, according to Barry, who seemed apologetic. Big fucking whoop. Barry’s apologies won’t feed us if we have to leave the fairgrounds.
Rose’s eyes cut toward the living room. “How can they take it if you stay?” She leans in closer. As grave as this conversation is, I can’t help noticing she smells good. Not like roses, as would be fitting, but like the lavender Sheila planted in the yard. “You’d have the RV,” she whispers.
Half the food is in the large storage compartments under the living space—what Sam calls the basement—and everyone has kept their mouths shut about it. It’s our insurance, our getaway plan. I shake my head. “Clara and I won’t stay without all of you.”
Rose is in a state, as my mom used to say—lips deathly pale, hands trembling, eyes roaming like a prisoner in search of escape. The best way to counter that is to act calm even if I don’t feel it inside.
“It’s a bad idea,” she murmurs. “I don’t like it. He said there are over five hundred people. All crammed into one space in the center of town.”
I don’t like it any more than she does. But that pack of zombies the other day made it clear this might be the wrong choice as well. The military and secure fencing—an outer boundary—is likely better than a jerry-rigged wood fence. There’s no way to know, and we don’t seem to have much of a choice in the matter, anyway. Ethan is waiting for them.
“Why didn’t they just bring Ethan…” Rose’s voice fades on the last bit.
“I’m sure Ethan has a good reason. It must be safe there.” He’d better have a damn good reason, I don’t say.
Rose turns her attention to the hall and rakes a hand through her hair. “Okay. Thanks for your help, Tom.”
She says it like we’ve just concluded a business call, then treads in the direction of her bedroom. Willa follows with a whine. Good God, the woman is in a state. It has to be Ethan. If the thought of seeing him has her this worked up, I am not looking forward to our arrival at the fairgrounds. I’m not looking forward to our arrival anyway, for a multitude of reasons I have yet to fully parse. All I know is that the prospect has left me with an empty feeling in my stomach. This isn’t my house and I haven’t lost anyone else, but it almost feels as though I have. Or will.
I return to the living room as the other three soldiers enter. “Where can we find the food?” one asks. She’s about Clara’s age, with brown hair that just grazes her shoulders, and she seems friendly when she sticks out her hand. “Hi. I’m Nora.”
“Tom.” I shake her hand and don’t say pleased to meet you when I plainly am not. “Food’s in the kitchen. Some stuff is in the fri
dge. For storage. It’s not cold.”
They head in that direction. The kid, Dalton, smiles at me. He has to be older than Clara by a few years, but he gives off a naïve vibe. This is not a guy I would arm and send into a pack of zombies. His superiors must know something about him I don’t.
“Sorry,” Dalton says, dimples deepening in apology. “We have to take the food.”
I grunt. My size and demeanor are usually helpful in these types of situations, even if at times I feel like the gangly kid I once was. “Why the fairgrounds?” I ask.
Barry perches on the arm of the couch. He’s an inch or two taller than me and broader to boot, and his choice of seat makes him resemble a trained bear on a kid’s tricycle. “It was the only fenced place big enough in the middle of town. When they started rounding up survivors, it was easiest to bring them somewhere close by. Or have them get there themselves. We’ve been surrounded on and off until yesterday. The alternate location, Autzen Stadium, has only the one access road, and it’s been blocked since the first night.”
Autzen has thick walls and few entrances. It’s a better spot, maybe, but if the zombies come calling, nowhere is a good spot. “What’d you call the zombies before?”
“Lexers. Apparently, a bunch of the Guard down in California started calling them that. For the LX in Bornavirus LX.”
“What’s happening in the rest of the country?” Sam asks from the dining area. A big army-type pack rests by his feet. I’ve been waiting to ask for more until we’re in their vehicles, since our visitors have been close-mouthed on the subject and time is of the essence.
“I’ll tell you what I know,” Barry says. “There’s a rumor they first found it in Vietnam a month before the big outbreak. They swept it under the rug, as anyone would.” He shrugs. “Then it popped up again in Vietnam, but also all over Europe and Asia. It hit California and the Midwest right after. They closed down a section of Chicago real fast, said there was a bomb threat and ongoing police investigation, but it was Bornavirus.”
Sam and I nod. I vaguely recall a news story about that, but it quickly faded from consciousness when it didn’t develop into more.
“Down in California, there was a rash of bite marks in the hospitals,” Barry continues. “A dozen people all over the state went to different ERs and urgent cares to get checked out. No one put two and two together because no one knew there was anything to put together. Most were sent home. And the rest, as they say, is history.”
“Damn,” Sam says.
Barry nods soberly. “The word on the rest of the country—world—is that there’s no word. Our last official contact with anyone off the West Coast was in April. They said the virus had spread everywhere, communications were failing, but that we were sixty to ninety days from all Lexers expiring and to expect what was left of the government around then. They said hang on, so we’re hanging on.”
It’s what I suspected, what I knew, but the confirmation still takes my breath away. The virus is everywhere. Every country. How many pockets of people are alive like us, waiting for this to end? Hoping to survive until it does. I don’t buy that new story of sixty to ninety days. It sounds like more of the same: a lie to keep the masses calm.
“Now they say sixty to ninety days?” Mitch asks from behind me.
She stands in the dining room with her arms folded over her chest, barely moving to let the three soldiers pass, and she gives their armfuls of food the evil eye. I didn’t like her at first, but I do now. Mitch is straight with you. It was what she thought of me at first that I disliked, and I’ve come to agree with her assessment of that guy.
“You have to account for the people who were infected later,” Barry counters. “We were told they lowballed it.”
“Who’s we and they, anyway? Why would they tell you the truth?”
“We is the National Guard and police who were at the scene from day one. I used to be Army, long time ago. We lost a lot of people the first weekend, and I unofficially signed up again.”
Mitch waves an arm at the windows. “Do you see any of them dropping like flies? I don’t. Not one.”
Sam coughs into his fist, smiling. Barry looks to me for backup, and I lift my shoulders. “Sixty to ninety is the revised timeline,” he says, and is stared down by Mitch until he looks away.
“Hey, they can’t live forever,” Dalton says. “I’d bet a year or two at the most.”
“And this is good news how?” Mitch asks.
Dalton’s smile falters. “Because it’s not forever?”
Mitch closes her eyes as though marveling at his logic, then laughs. “All right, kid, I’ll give you that.”
I catch a brief smile on Barry before he resumes the seriousness of before. “There are more of you here than we thought. Any chance of using that truck down by the gate so we can bring the food and your gear? If it sweetens the deal any, we’ll gas her up.”
Though it’s the neighbor’s truck, Sam looks as enthusiastic as I feel about that idea. “We get to keep the keys,” he says. “You can have the spare set in case you have to move it.”
“All right. But don’t say anything about the keys to anyone else.”
“They saw how fast the virus moved here,” I say. “Why didn’t they do more to stop it?”
“Between California and the Midwest, the Guard was stretched thin, local law enforcement, too. It was too late when it hit the East Coast; they said New York City was going down hard, and that was the last we heard. They didn’t come right out and say how bad the virus was so as to avoid a panic.”
My laugh is mirthless. “And instead they got a slaughter.”
“Sure did.” Barry blows out a breath. “Listen, I know you don’t want to come. I get it—you’ve got a good thing going here. But we’ve got water and power. The city reservoirs hold enough water for three days of normal usage. We’re running at less than one percent of the population, and we’ve shut it off to most of Eugene. Even accounting for leaks, it’ll last past the ninety days.”
“Do you think they’ll be gone in ninety days?” Sam asks. He’s taken the words out of my mouth.
“Down at the fairgrounds, we say yes.”
Mitch releases a scornful grunt. “He asked what you think.”
Barry squares his shoulders defensively, then exhales as though he’s tired of keeping up the pretense. “We’ve also heard, from unofficial sources, that it could be much longer. I’m not sure what to believe. Not all is lost, though. There are Safe Zones in Salem and Portland. We haven’t heard from them in a week, but it could be they lost power. There are a bunch in Washington, too. Last we heard, they were holding a chunk of Seattle.”
“Seattle?” Sam asks in disbelief. “How’re they doing that?”
“A lot of guns. They said if Seattle goes, they’ll move to the islands there once they’ve cleared them out. There was another Safe Zone at Timberline Lodge.”
Barry’s referred to most places in past tense, which doesn’t inspire much confidence in our Safe Zone. “How about east?” I ask.
“We don’t know about Bend and Sisters, but there are some ranches doing okay. They’re used to being self-sufficient.” Barry lifts his big hands. “My first instinct was to leave, too, but wouldn’t you rather be with people? Once the Lexers go, we’ll have to get this city running again.”
Rose appears with the kids. All three wear packs we got at Always Ready, and Rose also rolls two suitcases. She appears calmer, though still pale. “Part of this is for Ethan. I thought he might want some of his things.”
“Good idea.” Barry gets to his feet. “I’ll help with the food. C’mon, Dalton.”
If he expects us to join in, he doesn’t mention it. When the five soldiers make their next trip to the kitchen, Jesse straightens from the wall he leans against. “Nora?”
The girl who introduced herself to me stops. “Holy shit, Jesse?” She grins and goes in for a half-hug. “I thought you went to school in Washington.”
“Did
. I was home for break.”
“I didn’t realize this was your house or Ethan was your dad.” Nora moves out of the way of the other soldiers, already departing with fresh loads of food, then does a double take at Holly. “Hey, Holly. It’s good to see you.”
Holly’s smile is tight-lipped. “Hi.”
“That’s Holly’s friend, Clara,” Jesse says. “My mom, Rose, and my grandpa, Sam. And Mitch and Tom.”
Nora nods at us. “Nice to meet you.”
“Why are you out here?” Jesse asks. “I thought no one could leave.”
“Army Reserve,” Nora says. “I knew I might be deployed before I graduated, but I didn’t think it’d be here. I was home for break and ended up at the fairgrounds. After I told them I was Reserve, they put me to work.”
“What’s it like at the fairgrounds?” Clara asks.
“It’s all right. They have us in different buildings. You don’t want to be in the Events Center building if you can help it. It’s dark. Try for the Expo Halls, they have windows. Oh, I think your dad’s in there, so that’s probably where you’ll be.” The two guys with Nora file past again, and both fix her with very obvious looks of annoyance. “I have to help, but we can talk more later. It’s good to see you.”
“I’ll give you a hand.” Jesse ignores Holly’s scowl and leaves for the kitchen, appearing with a box of freeze-dried food a minute later. When she scowls again, he says, “It’s all going anyway. Don’t you want to get down to Dad?”
Holly watches his back as he leaves with Nora, then marches into the kitchen and lifts a box. Clara follows, giving me a what-are-you-gonna-do? look as she passes. Rose sighs once the girls are out the door. “Might as well dig our own graves.”
Sam gets a chuckle out of that before he follows Rose in. Mitch shrugs at me, I shrug back, and we head for the boxes.
Ten minutes later, the seven of us ride in the van while we peer out tinted windows. Clara sits beside me on a bench seat, leg bouncing. “You all right?” I ask.
“Yeah. I just hope it’s okay.”
The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed Page 37