by Anna Abner
“We can’t leave her here,” Pollard grumbled. “Not again. It’s not healthy to spend so much time alone.”
I didn’t mention that I’d spent two weeks in a bunker the exact size of our kitchen pantry. And not only had I stayed sane—no small task—but I’d grown to enjoy the solitude.
“If she wants to stay,” I said, “it’s her choice, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know anymore.” He groaned as he gathered up the dirty dishes for washing. “I can’t force her.”
“She’ll be okay.”
Hunny scurried away from the table. “I’m going to have dessert.”
I watched her scamper into the store area. Was I a curse like Simone had said? Was Hunny safer with me or far, far away?
“Is that your new bedroom?” Pollard nodded toward the tent in the corner.
“Yes.”
“Why do you do that?” he asked. “Isolate yourself like that?”
I blew out a long breath. “After my dad left, I was alone in a panic room for two weeks.” Even that time was fading away into memory as if it had happened to another girl. “Sleeping all locked up helps me feel safe.” I stacked Hunny’s plate on top of mine.
“I get that.” He took the plates from me and piled them atop his and Simone’s. “I feel safer in groups. I always have.”
Still peeved, Simone came in from the bathroom and settled onto her bench, pulling a thin blanket around her shoulders. “I’m beat,” she said, yawning noisily.
“Memorial for Russell first,” Pollard said. “Then we’ll all go to bed early.”
Simone grumbled under her breath, but got up. Quietly, we shuffled through the kitchen door and huddled against the outside wall. The sun had set and the humidity had eased to more manageable levels.
“It seems like we’re doing these things too often,” Pollard said sadly as he set up the first candle.
“I hate funerals now more than ever,” Simone agreed, picking a bunch of wildflowers from a patch of grass at the edge of the parking lot.
Russell was only fifteen. My brother had been a year younger when he’d blown a hole right through our family. He’d be seventeen, if he were still alive, the same as me.
“I’ll start.” Pollard held Hunny close to his side. “Russell was a great kid. He could eat more than anyone I’ve ever met, and he took his responsibilities seriously. I’ll miss him a lot.”
“I won’t ever forget him, or his sister Shelly,” Simone added.
There were only four of us left. And Ben. How many others huddled in hiding places, struggling to survive on their own? The woman on my street who’d turned me away. The hunter guarding what was left of his neighborhood. Were there more?
A hole opened up inside me. The end to all of this isolation and struggle seemed so far away. A dream that might never come true. While I held on to hope, my brother was gone. My dad was gone. And now Russell.
“Anyone else want to say anything?” Pollard asked.
There was no one left to say nice things about Dad. Or Mason. Not me. I loved my brother, just as I had written to him, because I sort of had to. He was my brother. But kind words? I had none.
If I opened my mouth, I was afraid out would flow my guilt and fear. So I shook my head, and Pollard blew out the boy’s candle.
“Rest in peace,” I signed, close to my chest. Not just for Russell, though. For Mason and my parents, too.
Chapter Four
After the memorial service for Russell, everyone got quiet and, in the warm glow of lantern light, lay down on their separate pallets. Even Simone was solemn. No more snarky comments, no more arguments.
Even though I wasn’t the least bit tired, I lay within my nylon dome for a long time, practicing chords on an invisible guitar. A. D. And then just to keep my fingers loose, B minor. Finally, Pollard turned off the light and slid into his bed. But still I didn’t move until I was positive the others were asleep.
The questions I had for Ben were private.
I climbed out of the tent, holding my photograph in my hand like a weapon, and crept through the freezer door. Ben didn’t look surprised to see me, and I had the unsettling feeling he’d heard me coming long before I stepped inside his cell.
“Go away,” he said, his voice dark and guttural.
“Where did you get this picture?” I flashed him the photo, and an unidentifiable expression crossed his face.
My brother had committed an unspeakable act against our mother, but he was still my brother. I didn’t wish bad things for him. I’d rather he be alive than zombie food.
“That’s mine.”
“No,” I corrected, uneasy with his possessive tone. “I mailed this picture to my brother after he was sent to the Dogwood Juvenile Detention Center in Raleigh. See, I signed the back.” I showed him. It read: “Mason, I can’t forgive you, but I still love you. Maya.” There was no doubt in my mind, none, that this was my picture.
So, how had it ended up in Ben’s pocket?
“You painted the same message on the parking lot outside for me,” I said. “Do you remember doing that?”
“I want it back,” he said.
Being this close to him, hearing his voice, seeing the pain in his eyes… My breath puffed out of me in short, shallow gasps.
“Did you know Mason? Or did you steal it off his body?” My stomach twisted painfully. I couldn’t continue the conversation. I no longer had any hope my brother or dad were still alive, but I wanted to know they’d died, if not peacefully, then painlessly.
If Ben told me he’d killed Mason, I didn’t know if I could handle it.
He didn’t say anything at all.
I slipped the picture into my back pocket and folded my arms. “Where did you get it?”
He stared at me, and I stared right back. His red irises weren’t creepy anymore. In fact, the deep ruby color struck me as beautiful.
“We’re leaving in the morning for Camp Carson,” I blurted into the awkward silence. “They might have people who can help you and recreate my dad’s cure.”
He still didn’t respond, and I got angry before I realized it was late in the day. He’d been shot, bitten, and suffered both a high fever and a seizure. Plus he’d been punched in the face. Three times.
“How are you feeling?”
“I’m not going.”
“To Camp Carson?”
“I’m not going.”
“You have to,” I stuttered. “You have a cure for the red virus in your bloodstream. You have an obligation to all the sick people in the world,” I added, gaining momentum, “because you can help them.”
“I’m not going.”
“You have to.” I didn’t know what else to say. “You made the choice to inject it into yourself. Now, there are consequences.” Maybe he had a plan of his own. I was willing to negotiate. “Is there somewhere you want to go? Something you need to do? I’ll take you. I’ll help.”
His brow scrunched as if I had surprised him. “Why?” He inhaled deeply. “Would you?”
“Because we’re friends.” My face overheated. Were we? Did his following me and leaving me notes and bringing me water count as a friendship? “And I care about you.” Lame. “I care about what happens to you.” Better.
Grimacing, Ben shifted enough to rattle the shelves. The tape holding him in place stretched to the very edge of ripping.
“Yes,” he said, settling down with a heavy sigh. “I’ll go.”
“Really?” I couldn’t keep from smiling. “Thank you. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you’re safe.” I took a step toward him, and he stiffened from head to toe, his hands fisting at his sides.
“Stay. Away.”
I froze. “Why?” No answer. “Is it the smell thing again?” I sniffed at my armpit. “I washed after dinner. It’s not a shower like in the old days, but I used soap and I know I don’t—”
“I can smell your skin,” he growled, pulling at the duct tape. The screws in the shelves squealed. “An
d your blood. I can taste you.”
“I don’t— I’m…” I stumbled backwards, grabbing for the freezer door. “I’ll see you in the morning.” I left so fast I stumbled at the threshold and banged into the wall.
I scrambled into my tent and zipped it up loudly without thinking. Oops. I had announced to the entire room I’d been out of my bed.
“Maya?” Pollard called quietly. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I answered.
A pitter-patter of footsteps, and then someone unzipped the tent flap.
“I said I’m fine,” I hissed.
Hunny poked her face through the hatch. “I’m scared to sleep by myself,” she said, climbing far into my personal space. “Wasn’t it fun sleeping together last night?”
Fun wasn’t a word I’d use. Suffocating maybe.
She closed the flap, wiggled under the covers, turned, and jabbed me in the side with her bony elbow.
With no recourse, I lay down and closed my tired eyes. Because the truth was I needed her at that moment. The warmth in her little body calmed my racing pulse. She was safe and normal. I needed normal.
My heartbeat a snare drum in my ears, I fell asleep beside Hunny, dreaming unsettling visions of boys with wary red eyes.
In the morning I woke in a rush, scared for no reason, and sticky with sweat.
My knee pulsed in pain.
During the night Hunny’s once comforting body heat had become a smothering blanket.
I disentangled myself and limped into the dining room, taking a few minutes to stretch the sore muscles in my right leg.
“Morning,” Pollard greeted, approaching with a mug of coffee. He handed me the steaming drink. “We’re all packed up. We can leave whenever you’re ready.”
I’d never drunk coffee before, but since clean fluids were scarce I was grateful for it and slurped.
“I’ve been thinking,” Pollard said. “Simone doesn’t want to leave and the trip is too dangerous for Hunny.”
I sensed where he was going with this, and it didn’t fill me with glee. I’d gotten used to the little sneak.
“I don’t think Simone will be a good guardian for Hunny,” I said. “And Hunny will never agree to be separated from you.”
Though if Simone was right and I was a curse, maybe the best thing to do was leave Hunny behind in the truck stop. The open road was the least safe place in the world.
“Simone’s a good person,” Pollard assured. “She’s upset right now, but she’s usually better. I think it’s our best plan. It keeps them both secure.”
“I don’t know.”
“We can’t take a kid to Virginia,” he argued. “With a red zombie? What if Ben turns on us?”
He was right. Ben was about as unpredictable as any person I’d ever met. I thought I’d known him, but I didn’t.
“Fine,” I said, “but you have to tell her. She’ll never listen to me.”
The moment the eight-year-old stepped out of the bathroom in fresh clothes and with her blonde ringlets brushed smooth, Pollard called her over to the dining room.
I hung back, working out what I’d say if she begged me to come along.
“Hunny?” Pollard sat and gestured for her to stand in front of him. “There’s something important I need you to do.”
She looked suspicious already. “What?”
“This truck stop is our home. We can’t leave it undefended. So, while Maya and I take her zombie pet to Virginia, I need you and Simone to stay here and protect our home.”
Hunny’s eyes filled with tears. “Don’t leave me here. You have to take care of me.” She embraced him hard.
“I’m not leaving you,” he assured, rubbing her narrow shoulders. “I’m giving you an important assignment. If you and Simone don’t protect the truck stop, Reds will break in and take over.”
“I don’t want to stay!” She burst into irregular sobs, broken only by the occasional cough.
“It’s temporary. You’re a tough girl, and you can handle a few days with Simone.” Pollard pried her off him a few inches at a time. “I need you to do this for me.”
Though Pollard did his best to end the conversation there, Hunny clung to him. If she’d given us a few minutes of privacy, I would have told Pollard I was okay with taking the girl. She knew when to hide and be quiet. She was stronger than she looked. And she made the journey more fun.
But she didn’t give us any privacy to talk, and I supposed it really was safer for her to stay with Simone.
“I need to check on Ben,” I blurted out, desperate to escape the fear and frustration in Hunny’s eyes.
“Not without me.” He strapped on his gun and hurried to open the freezer door for me.
The sight of the holstered firearm made me jumpy, so I focused on choosing a proper breakfast for Ben. A box of butter crackers, a pouch of tuna, and two small bottles of water. But I left any medicine or thermometers outside this time.
Ben was still taped to the empty shelves inside. I’d left him like that, all night, without so much as a pillow or a blanket to keep off a chill. And after he’d agreed to go to Camp Carson.
I was failing as a nurse.
“Morning,” I mumbled.
Shadowy bruises had formed around his eyes, which were even more sunken than yesterday. He didn’t look like he’d slept all night.
I felt even guiltier.
“I brought you food.” I offered him the crackers and tuna fish.
“Stay back,” he warned.
Pollard grumbled something, took the food and water from me, and sat them near Ben’s left knee. “Look, buddy, if you’re polite I’ll untie you and let you eat. Deal?”
I didn’t like the way Pollard talked to Ben, but I understood his anxiety about having him around. He’d already nearly choked Pollard out. There wasn’t a lot of trust on either side.
Ben didn’t respond, and I thought Pollard was going to wait him out, but finally, he muttered something unintelligible under his breath and cut Ben free. Then he steered me out of the freezer by my arm.
“Give him a few minutes,” Pollard said. “Help me pack up the RV, okay?”
Whatever we’d packed for the first trip had to be doubled. At the very least. Camp Carson was in Virginia, southwest of Washington, D.C. It would’ve taken, before the infection, a whole day to drive there on the interstate. Now, it would be days. Maybe longer, if we had to walk.
Pollard collected the last of his gas reserves, filled up the RV, and secured three five-gallon containers of fuel in the vehicle’s storage area. Who knew when we might find more? Abandoned vehicles were huge assets, but they weren’t always available or accessible.
I didn’t spot Hunny as we packed the RV. She must have been sulking somewhere. Either that or stuffing her face with junk food in a corner of the convenience store.
Pollard noticed me worrying by the door. “She’s pouting,” he said. “She’ll be okay in a little bit.”
So, I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye to Hunny Green. I hoped I survived long enough to see her again and make it up to her.
“Maya. You hop up front. I’m going to get the zombie, and I don’t want you anywhere near him.” Pollard marched away, and I climbed into the RV’s driver’s seat.
Near him? No worries there. Ben could no longer stand the sight—or smell—of me.
Even so, I strained to see the truck stop’s entrance for the first signs of Pollard and Ben.
Finally, the door opened and Ben walked out first, his hands bound behind his back. He looked awful—filthy hair falling into his eyes, tattered navy work clothes, and dried splotches of blood from head to toe. My heart went out to him.
“Upsy-daisy,” Pollard said, waving his handgun. “In you go.”
“I’ll help,” I announced, but Pollard was faster.
“Don’t even think about it,” he warned me before grabbing Ben and basically throwing him face down into the RV.
Grunting in pain, Ben sat up and lea
ned against the mini range. “Thanks,” he said. Sarcasm. I wasn’t expecting that, and I smiled.
“Fire it up, Maya.” Pollard slammed the door shut, rattling the dinnerware in the cupboards. “Let’s get outta here.” He didn’t aim his gun at Ben, but he kept it visible as it dangled loosely from his right hand. His message was clear. Mess with me and I’ll use it.
The weapon, and everything it represented, made me queasy. My brother had used a gun just like it once. Guns hurt people, sometimes people I loved. Since the world went topsy-turvy, and after losing Russell, I was more tolerant, but I wasn’t completely cured of my distaste for them.
Swallowing bile, I slumped into the driver’s seat and said, “Put the gun away. Please? He’s tied up. He’s not going to do anything.”
“I don’t trust him,” Pollard said. Like my feelings didn’t matter. Maybe the three of us on an extended road trip was a bad idea.
Ben leaned around Pollard to see me more clearly. “Mason was your brother,” he said slowly, as if piecing his memories together. “He shot his mom.”
My throat closed up. “She was my mom, too,” I whispered.
Chapter Five
My mom had been a beautiful, raven-haired art history professor who loved French fries and never hurt anyone in her whole life.
“You hate guns,” Ben deduced. He glared at Pollard. “Put it away.” The tone of his voice left no room for argument.
Pollard had never understood my fear of firearms, but Ben had figured it out in two seconds flat. And it felt nice to have someone understand me.
After a brief hesitation, Pollard slid the muzzle through his belt. He glanced from me to Ben and back. “Maya,” he said softly, crouching beside me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I won’t pull it out again unless I have to.”
I’d told him about my mom. If he hadn’t gleaned the reason I hated guns, then he hadn’t been listening.
He wrapped his arms around me for an apologetic embrace, but it felt awkward with Ben watching, and I pulled away.
“Hold on to something,” I said, trying to cover my reaction. “I never got my driver’s license.” And my practice car had been a tiny Honda, not an oversized behemoth bigger than some school buses. I sideswiped a car before I got the hang of steering.
