by Lori Whitwam
I didn’t break eye contact, refusing to feel any shame. Ty wasn’t shaming me, not at all. But I swallowed down the shame I had never quite managed to purge from my own soul. “Yes. It was.”
I turned and started toward the house at a brisk pace, Ty following in my wake. He caught up with me just as we reached the porch. Before we parted ways to seek our respective beds for what remained of the night, he brushed his knuckles along my jaw and said, “Thank you, Ellen. Thanks for telling me, and for trusting me.”
He climbed the porch steps, then turned and gave me a small smile and nod before disappearing inside.
Thanks…for trusting him? Did I? I was more than a little surprised when the voice inside me informed me that I did.
***
I doubted anyone got much more sleep that night. As soon as dawn began to make an appearance, we were all up and loading in for the next leg of our journey. Jocelyn dished up portions of trail mix in the kitchen, and the earliest arrivals were able to enjoy theirs with a bit of fresh goat milk. I downed my breakfast quickly, then took my pack to be stowed in the van before heading to the barn to see if Melissa needed any help.
I found her coaxing Wilhelm from the top of a huge stack of hay bales. “How’d he get up there?”
She shrugged. “He’s a goat.”
“Wasn’t he in one of the stalls?”
“Yeah. He’s a clever one.”
Just what we needed, an evil genius goat.
Wilhelm descended from his perch, and Melissa led him toward the truck. “I’m glad we were able to unload the animals. Depending on where we stop at night, we might have to take them out to feed them, then put them right back in.”
I hadn’t thought about it, but could see her point. Plus, less stuff to muck out of the truck if they spent the night somewhere else. I peered into the back of the vehicle. “Is that everybody?”
Melissa shook her head. “Cats are still on the porch.” She latched the back of the truck and gestured toward the barn. “I saw a really big dog kennel in there. I was thinking we could use that instead of the little cat carriers. They can all go in one, and we can put a sandbox in the back.”
I followed her back into the barn. We located the kennel and dragged it to the screen porch where the cats had spent the night. The house had emptied out, everyone in the last stages of loading their gear and preparing to depart. Melissa and I loaded the cats into their more spacious accommodations and started the laborious task of hauling the crate loaded with four good-sized, squirming cats across the yard.
We set the cats down for a moment to rest our arms, and I glanced over toward the pump. Ty was there, splashing water on his face, his damp hair streaming down over his shoulders. He shook his head like Skip after a bath, then proceeded to secure his hair with a cord he pulled from his pocket. He looked up and saw us, then hurried in our direction.
“Morning, ladies. Need a hand?”
“Yes, please,” Melissa said, giving him a look that suggested she appreciated more than his offer of assistance. I couldn’t disagree.
An extra pair of hands allowed us to load the cats without further delay. As I secured the back of the truck for the final time, accompanied by a bleat of disapproval from Wilhelm, Marcus called to everyone to gather around for pre-departure instructions.
He turned his head to take in the assembled team. “Slight change of plans today, folks.” He held up a page torn from an old AAA road atlas. “Anybody notice something unusual since we’ve been on the road?”
There was a moment of silence before Rebecca spoke up. “Direction. The clusters aren’t moving the way I expected them to.”
“Exactly, Shaw,” Marcus said. “Give me a couple minutes to talk to our escorts. They know this region better than the rest of us, and I want to run an idea by them. Stay put.”
Beside me, Ty nudged me and whispered, “What’s he mean? What’s different about how the dead are moving?”
I leaned on the side of the supply truck. “Being so isolated, you probably didn’t see the migration patterns the way we did closer to the cities.”
Rebecca joined us. “More people in the cities meant more zombies in the beginning, and more survivors for them to eat,” she said, rolling up the cuff of her work shirt. “As people got smarter—or deader—the zombies started moving outward from the cities.”
“Makes sense,” Ty said with a nod.
“Those patterns stayed pretty consistent for well over a year,” I added. “And they still are, if you know where the bigger settlements are, because something, sound or sight, draws them there.”
“And where the main cleared travel routes are,” Rebecca said. “After a while you get a sense for where they’re likely to be, where you’ll see more or less activity. They follow us if they see or hear us, keep moving in the same direction unless something else sends them another way. But I’ve been watching, and on the road yesterday, the herds we saw were coming from different directions, and a couple were crossing the road and going into the forest.”
Ty’s brow furrowed as he processed the information. “Come to think of it, I did know they don’t tend to like hills, kind of going with the path of least resistance. But the ones that attacked us the first night out of the village, they might’ve come down that ravine, and I saw a couple from a distance going up some pretty steep slopes. But I never gave it much thought.”
The more I thought about it, the less I liked it. “Feels like something is stirring them up, something away from the roads.”
“And more than one thing,” Rebecca said, scowling.
“In different directions.” No, I didn’t like this at all. What was hiding in the heavily wooded hills, drawing the zombies from their usual wandering patterns?
“Listen up,” Marcus called. “Based on the directions of the groups we saw yesterday, and the one we had come through overnight, we’re makin’ a route adjustment for today.”
Since none of us knew where we were going in the first place, I didn’t find this necessary information, but was glad Marcus and the escorts seemed to be processing and evaluating the dangers and reassessing to keep us as safe as possible.
Marcus told us the direction for the first leg of today’s journey, and told us be ready to go in five minutes. Everyone boarded the vehicles they’d been in the previous day, with a few exceptions. Not so surprisingly, Ty chose to ride in the van Melissa and I were in. Patrick was riding with his uncle in the livestock truck—much to Melissa’s dismay—and Gil Traynor was in the rear seat of our van staring daggers at the back of Ty’s head. He’d better not let Marcus see him looking so hostile, or he’d find himself shut down in short order.
I sat in front of Ty, and he leaned over the back of my seat to talk. In sharp contrast to last night’s heavy conversation, he kept the topics light and casual for a while, and I enjoyed his company while Skip snored at my feet.
Against my better judgment, I eventually realized I wanted to know more about him, despite the risk of venturing into uncertain territory. I decided since he’d asked me what I’d done before the outbreak, it was probably safe to ask about his job. “How did you end up a blacksmith? I don’t remember a booth for that at high school career day.”
One corner of his mouth pulled up, but the earlier sparkle in his eyes dimmed a fraction. “My dad was a smith.”
Oh, shit—past tense. But pretty much everybody and everything in our lives before the outbreak was well and truly past. What did I expect? Could I salvage this conversation? “Followed in his…hoofsteps?” Lame, but it made him grin a little bit.
“More or less.” He gestured the ambiguity with work-callused hands. “We had a small farm, boarded some horses, and I worked with Dad in the summers when I was in school. Thought I might want to be an equine vet someday, but my second year of college, Dad had a heart attack.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Sorry about his dad, and sorry I’d opened this can of worms.
My dismay must have shown o
n my face, because Ty shook his head. “No, no, he didn’t die…not then. He was laid up a while, though, and I came home to help out. My brother lived in Memphis with his wife and little boy, working his ass off trying to get their restaurant off the ground, so it was on me.” He shrugged. “Turned out okay. I love the work, the horses, and a guy at one of the farms we did work for was in SCA. He got me interested in the group and taught me some other metal-working, making the weapons and decorative pieces. When Dad got better, I realized I was where I wanted to be, and stayed.”
I started to respond, but the van lurched and I jolted, bumping my head against the window. “What the hell?”
Everyone craned to see out the windows. Being in the first vehicle behind the lead SUV, we were in position to see a large mass of zombies crossing the road in front of us. They were only three or four bodies wide, but the parade extended out of sight into the woods on both sides of the road. After an initial hesitation, the SUV’s brake lights went out and it began to pick up speed.
“Hold on, looks like we’re gonna just punch through,” Javier called over his shoulder from the driver’s seat.
Our vehicles were all modified for just such a situation, with additional screens across the front and curved metal plates to push obstacles out of the way, whether they be road debris or animated corpses. The zombies were strung out, in the process of passing from the woods on one side of the road to the other, so we only had to clear a few who were actually in the roadway. But by my count, there were at least three or four dozen remaining, and they all began walking after us as we passed. I hoped we planned to turn onto another route as soon as we were out of range of their keen hearing.
With a collective sigh, we settled back in our seats as our journey continued, relatively uninterrupted. Skip jumped up onto my lap, roused from his nap but too late to see what all the fuss had been about.
Ty reached over the seat and gave the disappointed beagle a scratch under the chin. Then, to my surprise, he picked up the conversation where we’d left off, as if we hadn’t just reduced a few former people to mush on the cracked pavement, and weren’t being pursued by their buddies. “It was a great five years,” he began. “Working with Dad, going from farm to farm, spending the days outside and weekends with the SCA group. I was making a nice extra income selling the stuff I made too. But then…”
I sighed. “There’s always a ‘but then’ in our stories now, isn’t there?”
“’Fraid so,” he conceded. “When everything hit, Mom and Dad were down in Memphis with my brother. He and my sister-in-law had just had baby number three, and Mom couldn’t wait to get her hands on her.” He paused and swallowed. “They never came back.”
I tried to think what to say. Maybe they were still alive, surviving somewhere like we were, but the reality of being in a city with the population density of Memphis didn’t make that very likely.
I was saved from blurting something inane when Cody moved from where he was seated near Gil—who was still looking fairly unpleasant—and plopped next to Ty. “Hey,” he began bashfully, “I wanted to ask you about your spear.”
Ty turned to him with a smile. “Sure, what do you want to know? You do some metal work, don’t you?”
Cody dipped his head, his sandy hair falling across his eyes before he brushed it away. “Yeah, some, but nothing like this.” He lifted the spear from the floorboard where it rested at Ty’s feet. “Do you think you could show me how to do some of this when we get where we’re going?”
Ty looked at Cody with approval showing on his face. I wondered if he was thinking of his lost apprentice, Tim. “Sure. I mean…if y’all let me stay.”
I heard a snort and a grumble from the back of the van, but Cody continued, oblivious. “I know Marcus will want you to stay. Everybody will. Now, how’d you get this textured pattern here, if you didn’t use an electric grinder?”
The conversation between the two men drifted into the technical details of making pointy, stabby things out of metal, including something called a halberd Ty had been forced to leave behind when he fled his village, and I let my attention wander.
It didn’t wander long, though. As we rounded a bend, the van slammed to a stop, pitching me forward in my seat and spilling Skip from my lap and onto the floor. I scooped him up and placed him on the seat beside me, then looked to see what was wrong.
Everyone angled for a view out the front of the van, and I saw we had come dangerously close to rear-ending Marcus and John in the SUV. Beyond that, I could make out two vehicles that had apparently met head-on and now rested diagonally, blocking most of the road ahead. I had no doubt one of them had flown around the turn at an unsafe speed and out of its own lane. It was common on these rural roads, especially since the number of functioning vehicles—and people to drive them—had been so greatly diminished. This was precisely why we were always so careful. We never traveled at dangerous speeds, despite the open roads. It was far too reckless to risk disabling your only form of transportation these days. You couldn’t exactly call a tow truck.
I processed all this in a matter of seconds, before Javier’s walkie-talkie crackled. After a moment of listening and giving replies I couldn’t quite hear, he turned to us. “Just keep your seats. Looks like there’s room to get around.”
We sat, but there were skeptical looks on more than one face. “I don’t know,” Cody muttered. “But I guess we don’t have much choice.”
I thought he seemed a bit more pessimistic than the situation called for, until I realized what he meant. “Oh, shit.”
Cody nodded and looked anxiously toward the back of the van. The cargo truck was directly behind us, blocking any useful view, but I knew.
We’d passed a shit-load of zombies just a few minutes ago. Any delays were dangerous as we worked to get out of their hearing range and change course, and attempting to turn our two larger vehicles on the narrow, two-lane road was a potential disaster. Best case scenario, if we did manage to turn successfully, was we’d have to pass back through a zombie herd which had undoubtedly grown and converged on the roadway since we’d passed.
Worst case scenario, we wouldn’t be able to get past the wrecked cars and the dead would catch up with us while we were unable to move forward or back.
I would’ve taken bets, but I didn’t like the odds.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The road had curved to the right, and the wrecked vehicles were just beyond the apex of the turn. It was a miracle Marcus had been able to stop in time to avoid a collision. The blockage rested slightly more to the left side of the road, so any attempts at passage would have to be on the right, on the inside of the bend.
Monte, the escort riding atop the SUV, jumped down to assess the situation. After a few moments, he stepped away to report to Marcus, then came back and stuck his head in the window to talk to Javier.
“Marcus is gonna try to nudge the wreckage a little bit farther left, but he probably won’t be able to move it much.” His voice was flat but carried a hint of warning.
Javier’s shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. “Not surprised, two big vehicles like that.”
Monte shook his head. “That’s not the main problem. They must’ve been carrying a lot of extra fuel, because they didn’t just burn. They fused together, and it looks like they melted some of the pavement, and most likely they’re stuck hard.”
I’d noticed the bit of the scene I could see looked scorched, but I was at the wrong angle to see it in its entirety. This was not good news.
Behind me, Ty moved across to a seat on the right side and looked out the window, studying the ground ahead of us. “I don’t like it. The pavement is cracked and seems brittle, and I can’t imagine the heat of a bunch of burning fuel did it any favors farther up.”
Monte overheard him. “Talked about that with Marcus, but turning the supply and livestock trucks ain’t gonna happen. No shoulder, and they’d get hung up in the ditch for sure if they tried.”
“And we’d just be headed back into a swarm…a big one,” Javier agreed, somewhat reluctantly.
“It’s dry, so even if the bigger trucks get right side wheels off the road, as long as they keep momentum, they should make it through,” Monte concluded.
There really weren’t any good choices in the matter, and Monte went back to inform the other four drivers.
So, we had a plan—sort of.
Marcus tried to edge the wreckage a little more out of the way, but it wasn’t budging. Finally, he gave up and drove ahead. He passed the twisted metal safely, without as much as a bump. But the two SUVs, located at the front and rear, were the smallest vehicles in our convoy. The two twelve-passenger vans were bigger and heavier, though the supply and livestock trucks would be the biggest risk.
We were next, and Javier leaned forward in his seat as he drove, perhaps to get a better view of the pavement’s edge or in the instinctual, if incorrect, gesture that implied leaning ahead would get you there faster. We reached the tightest inside part of the turn, and I felt the van shift slightly and heard a gravelly sound. I feared the edge of the road was giving way beneath our tires, sending us into the deep ditch.
Javier increased our speed to counter the slight decrease in forward motion, and we kept rolling. As we passed the burned out wreck, I couldn’t help but glance, and was sure part of the blackened debris I saw were the charred remains of one driver, forever positioned behind the steering wheel. I repressed a shudder then heaved a sigh of relief when we pulled up behind the front SUV, safely on the other side.
Immediately behind us, Cooper Merriweather, the cargo truck’s driver, had his work cut out for him. The long trailer containing vital supplies would have had to take the turn wide to make it safely even with a clear road. As it stood, he was going to have to maneuver carefully, without losing momentum and allowing the massive weight of the trailer to rest too long on the fragile pavement. My stomach was in knots, and all eyes were focused out our rear window, watching the truck’s progress. I noticed Rebecca sitting rigidly in the passenger seat, and I knew how much she had to be hating not being in control, letting her safety rest in someone else’s hands.
