The power had concerned Paul since that first day. After she helped him confirm a rough shape of the strange safe zone the farm occupied, they’d spent most of the following days getting ready.
There were several greenhouses behind the farmhouse. The Metzes kept them watered on timed pumps that drew from the well pump in the cellar. The old-style hand pump surrounded by landscaping in the front yard still worked, Paul informed her, but the new well out back went much deeper underground, and the water it drew was clear with a hint of chill. For Molly, there was a bit of an odor and a slight aftertaste to the water, but she was beginning to reach the point where she didn’t notice it. The other pump, he said, would still pull water, but, “that stuff isn’t fit for the grass.”
Most of the work they’d done out back consisted of consolidating the contents of several greenhouses down into one and shutting off the network of spigots save for the lone holdout. Before, Paul and Anne had sold their produce at a market across the county line.
The mental aspects weren’t quite as difficult. Even when they were working, the old farmer never stopped trying to teach her the ins and outs of his calling. Molly found it all fascinating, and completely out of bounds with what she’d known in her own life.
“We could make do with a small garden,” one lesson had gone. “We’re not going to grow all this to feed ourselves now. We can the excess to get us through the winter.”
“I thought the whole idea of a greenhouse was to allow you to grow in colder weather?” A subject that might have bored her to tears a few weeks ago became immensely interesting when it involved actual survival.
“It is,” Paul agreed. “And we usually heat these in the winter, to keep things going. Somehow, I don’t think the propane truck is going to show up anytime soon. So we’re going to heat the house—or a small part of it—with that bottled gas and hope it lasts the winter. Next spring, we’ll pull the gas log out of the fireplace, set it up to burn wood again.” He flashed a grin. “Then we add choppin’ to the chore list.”
Yeah, it was safe to say that she liked the Metz family. Even little Hatcher was starting to grow on her. Molly settled onto the top step of the farmhouse’s back deck and sighed. Her body ached from head to toe, but the sensation also held the satisfying sense of productivity. It was sort of the way she felt after a good effort in practice, or when she dropped into the zone in the second half.
She pumped the can of pineapple rings in her right hand once, then again—a fruit-powered bicep curl. Shaking her head at her own whimsy, she opened the pop-top and took a sip of the lukewarm fruit juice. Molly shuddered a bit at the sugar rush and plucked the top ring out of the can. She ate it with slow and delicate bites, savoring the treat.
Once they’d finished work on the greenhouses, Paul turned their focus to the interior of the safe zone. She’d always viewed the countryside out of town as some sort of vast, empty place, but there were more homes than she’d imagined. The process of visiting changed a bit after everything fell apart. Even with people he knew personally, Paul stopped his truck well away from the homes they visited and advanced slowly on foot.
Three of the homes remained occupied. Small families lived in two of the houses, while a grizzled man decades younger than Paul with a prodigious beer gut and a beard to match lived in the third. The Dayton and Whipker families were friendly enough. Despite that, neither had any interest in Paul’s suggestion of pooling their resources in a common area. He didn’t extend the offer to Bob Chandler, and for that Molly was glad. Something about the way he’d looked at her when she’d walked up his drive with Paul made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. She hadn’t said anything on their way back, not knowing how well her host knew the other man, but she’d been very glad for the pistol Paul kept tucked away on his person whenever they left the farm.
Another half-dozen homes in the safe area were empty, for whatever reason. Paul didn’t speculate, though the possibilities came easily enough to Molly. Leave the house for work, get caught up in the chaos and never make it home. Or simply choose the wrong time and place to run an errand.
One thing she’d been initially uncomfortable with was the breaking and entering Paul had done on the two houses closest to his own homestead. While she’d been reluctant at first, she shook off the guilt at what amounted to grand larceny and joined in.
No TV signal on any of the channels and a week of empty skies had clarified the situation for her a bit. That first night, she’d allowed herself to hope that this was something bad in her town, or at worst her state. Any disbelief she held at Paul’s statements on the outbreak being everywhere soon shattered in the face of the mounting evidence. The world was different now. If she didn’t help Paul steal—scavenge—supplies, someone else would come along and do it.
While the safe area gave them some sense of security, they still took their time as they went through the houses. This was to make sure both that they didn’t miss anything that might be useful later or stumble upon a hidden infected. As far as the latter, they’d found none, but their meticulous searches had turned up a few unexpected items that served to raise Paul’s spirits. One such discovery was the solar panel kit they’d spent the afternoon wiring into the well pump. Without electricity, there was no way to refill the pressure vessel in the cellar. Watering the greenhouse, cooking, and a few inopportune toilet flushes dropped the water pressure down to zero. The elation she’d felt at the sound of rushing water once she’d helped him complete the job had been better than acing a test or hitting a game-winning shot because it actually meant something.
Molly ate another pineapple ring. The one thing they hadn’t found much of was food. That wasn’t all that surprising, given most people she knew went to the Wal-Mart Supercenter in Potosi at least once a week, but it was still disheartening. The pantry in the Metz farmhouse was a sight to behold, even before they started hauling in salvaged dry and canned goods, but she’d always been good at math. Four mouths to feed and no more easy trips to the store meant that even a closet overflowing with food was a finite resource.
Paul had wondered aloud about expanding their search area. There were a few houses that seemed to straddle or were just over the safe line. Searching them had the potential to further extend their supplies, and if they were in the danger zone, the zombies might act as a deterrent to keep any other survivors away. “First freeze, we’ll give it try,” he proclaimed one night at dinner. “Surely that will slow the things down a bit. The truck will be next to useless, without plows out to keep the roads clear, but I’ve got a four-wheel drive Gator with a bed we can use. It won’t hold as much as the truck, but we’ll make it work.”
It wasn’t exactly what Molly planned for her senior year of high school. Considering the alternative, she couldn’t complain. She tipped the can up to get a little more of the juice out, and then she saw it.
The western sky still had a bit of glow as the sun dipped down beyond the horizon, though the thick forest to the west did plenty to contribute to the encroaching darkness. Taum Sauk was a black, humped shadow against the brighter sky—save for close to the top, where she could make out lights through the foliage.
Molly got up from the stairs to raise her perspective. The angle didn’t change enough for her to make out any more details. She moved to the French doors leading into the house. Paul and Anne sat at the kitchen table, he with a pad of paper and she with a paperback novel. Without any other source of illumination, the antique oil lamp sitting between them was almost too bright, though the sputtering light was quite a bit different from the consistent glow of an electric bulb.
“Guys,” Molly whispered. “Come look at this.”
The two adults got to their feet and joined her on the deck. No explanation was necessary. The unmoving lights spoke for themselves in the endless sea of the night.
“What are they?” Anne said, finally.
“That’s up around the overlook,” Paul said. “Somebody camping? Or—” He cl
osed his mouth with a soft pop and let out an annoyed grunt. “That’s right about where they were building the radar station.”
“Could people from the government be up there?” Molly wondered. “Can we, I don’t know, radio for help?”
“Don’t know what frequency they’d even be on, even if it is the government.” Paul gave his wife an intent look, then said, “All right, nothing we can do about it tonight. We’d best turn in.”
Molly wanted to protest, but something in the senior citizen’s tone told her not to. “Okay,” she nodded.
Chapter Ten
May 17, 2026
Cabot Straight, near Nova Scotia
Z-Day + 3,133
A strong sense of claustrophobia gripped Miles for the first hours of their trip after they boarded the USS Detroit. The interior of the ship was tighter than its impressive size would have led him to expect. Once they got into the quarters set aside for them, he was able to force himself to relax.
He couldn’t help but wonder if Charlie slept in the same room on his own trip, but that was a melancholy path Miles didn’t want to stumble down. Given the company, keeping his spirits up wasn’t too difficult. Trina hadn’t stopped bouncing from sheer excitement since they’d boarded the ship. Once they’d passed into the ocean and gotten the all clear to venture out on deck, she’d practically dragged Miles and Tish out onto the ship’s bow.
Miles must not have been the only one feeling crowded. Sandy and his family came along as well, while Pete and the woman named Guglik who’d joined their group stayed behind working on their plans for when they reached their destination.
Tish eyed the lines of steel cables serving as deck railing and said, sharply, “Trina Matthews, if you so much as put a foot on one of those wires, I will tan your hide.”
The only response they got was a thumbs up, but Trina seemed to have listened. She craned her head over the top wire to stare down into the white froth gushing by on either side of the bow, but she kept both feet planted on the deck.
Patrick was a bit meeker, but he eventually tip-toed forward under the watchful eyes of his parents and took a position next to the older child. Suddenly, she squealed in excitement. “Dolphins! There are dolphins!” He jumped, startled by her sudden outburst, but he followed her pointing finger and cried out himself.
“Look, daddy! Look at that!”
Sandy came closer to see what his son had to show him. When he turned away, he was wiping tears from his eyes. Miles had a lump in his throat, himself. When he was a kid, the ocean was special, but in many ways, it was just another place. In the back of his mind, he’d always known that there was a possibility that a beach could be in his future this vacation or the next. One way or another, it was always there.
Trina—and presumably Patrick—had grown up with the very real sense that the only life they’d ever live was one surrounded by walls. Travel was out of the question, and while they had relics from the past in the form of movies and television shows, those weren’t the same. Not when you didn’t have the memory context of the crisp smell of salt in the air or the feel of sand between your toes.
He was meeting an obligation in making this trip, but if Miles looked at it from every angle, his compensation far outweighed the personal cost. Not many people could say they were taking a vacation these days. Maybe, just maybe they could pull the world back to some semblance of normalcy. And Trina’s kids could roll their eyes at their mother’s stories of the bad old days. Miles leaned on the top wire and laughed, luxuriating in the feel of salt mist against his skin.
A voice interrupted his trance. “Mr. and Mrs. Matthews?”
He opened his eyes and turned. A solidly-built Naval officer of average height with steel gray hair showing under his baseball cap extended a hand in greeting. “Captain David Pross. I thought I’d take a moment to introduce myself.”
He shook the older man’s hand. “Call me Miles. This is my wife, Trina.”
“Captain Pross,” she smiled. “Your ship is breathtaking.”
The captain beamed, and it made him look a decade younger. He’d probably been nearing the end of his career on Z-Day, Miles judged, only now there was no real retirement option available. Despite that, his movements were energetic and he studied the visitors on the deck of his ship with keen-eyed insight. “Much appreciated, ma’am. I wish the trip came under happier circumstances.” He glanced at Miles. “Your uncle told me that Charlie was a friend of yours. I’m sorry for your loss. I didn’t spend much time with him, but he struck me as a solid sort.”
“Thanks,” Miles said. “To be honest, I don’t know what we’re going to do without him. He was a real lynch-pin. When you needed something done right, talk to Charlie.” He shook his head.
“Damn zulu,” Pross muttered.
“I heard that,” Miles agreed. “You have any issues along the river? Pete herded us inside, he didn’t want us out on deck until we were actually out at sea.”
“They try something new about every time,” the captain agreed. “Thankfully, their only real opportunity is when we pass under the Peace Bridge near Buffalo. Every trip, we usually end up with a zulu or two on deck. At this point, we’ve got cleanup down to a science. And it’s not like they can pound their way in through a watertight steel hatch, either.” He gave Tish a comforting smile. “The ship is completely safe, I assure you.”
She shrugged. “I can handle myself, Captain. I’m not worried.”
He laughed. “Glad to hear it. I wanted to take the time to invite you to dinner tonight. Pete and his crew were on and off so fast last time we didn’t get the opportunity. Now that we’ve got a bit longer sail ahead, I’d like to make up for that oversight.”
“We’d be glad to,” Miles agreed. “All of us, though? You’re sure about the kids?” He had no idea what sort of military protocol governed such an invitation, and he could hardly imagine that a preteen counted as a plus-one.
Pross took a long look at Trina and Patrick, and when he answered, his voice was a little distant. “I don’t think anyone will mind, Miles. We’ve been married to the boat and to the mission all these years, but we all left something behind. Honestly, I think it’d do my heart some good to hear some laughter.”
Miles glanced at Trina. He supposed he should have consulted Sandy, but he and Kendra crouched on either side of Patrick, oohing and aahing as he marveled at waves, birds, and every other thing that he saw.
It’s not like our dance card is overflowing. He smiled and said, “Of course, Captain. We look forward to it.”
October 27, 2017
Outside of Ironton, Missouri
Z-Day + 9
Molly woke with a start as the sun angled between the curtains and onto her face. She instinctively grabbed for her cell phone to check the time before she remembered that it was long gone. She wasn’t even entirely sure where she’d lost it. The antique wind-up clock on the bedside table still ticked reassuringly, and she shot out of bed as she read the hands.
Nine o’clock! She couldn’t believe David or Anne hadn’t gotten her out of bed. She’d never been one to get up early without a fight, but without electric power, they needed to make use of every possible bit of daylight. Pulling on yesterday’s jeans along with a fresh T-shirt, she stumbled out of the guest room into the living room and headed for the kitchen. She could hear Anne’s soft voice, though she was too quiet for Molly to make out her words, along with Hatcher’s louder giggles.
When Molly rounded the corner, Anne raised her head from the coloring book she and her grandson were working on and smiled warmly. “Good morning, dear. Did you sleep all right?”
“I’m sorry,” Molly stammered. “Is David out working already?” She knew in her head that he’d told her she’d have a place with them. Her gut told her that shirking her responsibilities was a great way to push that sentiment out of their minds.
“Relax, Molly. He’s been gone for a few hours. There’s been a change of plans today.”
&
nbsp; She glanced out the window, but David’s truck was still parked in its usual spot next to the barn. “I don’t understand—he didn’t drive anywhere, did he?”
Anne sighed. “Have a seat. Let me get you some breakfast.” She abandoned Hatcher to his coloring and stepped over to the stove. The repast wasn’t anywhere near as large as it had been on that first day, but there were several serving dishes with towels over them sitting on the burners. The chirp of the serving spoon against the sides of the dishes punctuated the grandmother’s quiet story as she fixed Molly a plate.
“He went up Taum Sauk, to check on those lights.” Anne returned to the table and placed the plate in front of Molly. “He wanted to go alone, so we’re going to have a nice relaxing day, just the three of us.” The tension in her voice made it obvious that she was nervous about something.
Molly picked up her fork, then sat there, leaving it to hover over the plate of food. “You sound worried, Anne. What’s going on?”
The older woman sighed. “Did you hear anything about the radar station they started putting in, last summer?”
“Sure,” Molly said, remembering the day she’d come into the diner. “For weather or something, right?”
“That was the story going around, but a few of the locals, the folks who’ve lived around the mountain all their lives, and going back generations besides, made a bit of a stink. A lot of the park became off-limits almost overnight, parts where a radar station up on the peak shouldn’t have had anything to do with.
“Well, a few months go by, and one of the locals complains to a distant cousin of his—lawyer in town, nice boy, but I can’t remember his name off the top of my head—about what was going on, so he looked into it. For a while, anyway. The story we heard, someone from the government came and talked to the attorney, scared him fit to turn his hair white, and that was that. He told his cousin to leave it well enough alone, that when they finished the job most of the park would be back open to the public again.”
Z-Day (Book 3): A Place For War Page 11
