by D. J. Molles
The gates had been so heavily fortified that they’d had to reinforce the hinges. Two gallons of gas into a big Honda generator, and some creative welding yielded a clumsy but workable sliding gate. It took some effort and made all kinds of noise to get the gate open, but at least it held. He saw two yellow ponchos at the front gate, looking in his direction with rifles raised. They’d also mounted a scavenged M2 .50-caliber machine gun into the bed of a defunct pickup truck that was parked by the gate, but they only had a spare one hundred rounds for it.
At first, the guards seemed comfortable with the pickup truck, recognizing Hughes and Lee, but when they saw the MATVs following, they exchanged a quick glance, shouted some things, and one of the guards jumped into the broken pickup and manned the mounted M2. Up on the Camp Ryder building, Lee saw a flicker of movement. The guard up there settled onto the abutment of the wall, his scoped rifle clearly aimed in the direction of the incoming convoy.
Hughes pulled to a stop directly in front of the gate. Lee opened his own window and leaned out. The rain pelted him, hard and heavy. He squinted at the narrow slot across the gate where one of the guards in the yellow ponchos looked out at him with suspicion.
“We’re good,” Lee called loudly, then threw a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re with us.”
Lee watched the guard—he hadn’t yet seen enough of his face to recognize him—as the man leaned, peering past Lee at the bulky military vehicles. Probably wondering to himself what the hell they were. Civilians knew about Humvees, but the MATV wasn’t so ubiquitous as to be readily recognizable just yet. After another few plumes of hot breath into cold air, the guard nodded and began hauling the heavy gate open. The sniper on the roof and the guard on the M2 continued to track the small convoy as they slowly began moving forward into the camp.
Lee was okay with the caution. It was what they had trained to do.
When the gate was wide enough for the pickup to clear, Hughes rolled. The expanse of gravel parking lot had turned into a river delta in miniature, with dozens of tiny streams carving out pathways through the dirt and rock and gathering into giant puddles that trickled off into other steams. The tires of the pickup obliterated them and created its own wide swath through the mud, pulling off the right, partially in front of the Camp Ryder building.
On the front steps, Lee could see someone at the doors. Another guard perhaps. It was difficult to tell, because most everyone walked around with a rifle. Whoever it was looked hard at Lee and the two MATVs as they pulled in next to the pickup. Then the person turned, opened the front door, and looked like he was yelling something inside.
Lee opened the door and stepped out, flipping the hood of his parka up. Deuce came down after him, a little hesitant as the first few heavy drops hit him, but then getting his gumption up and jumping down into the mud and water. He stepped lightly for a few paces, and then trotted over to the fence. He stuck his nose through a small gap and huffed the air a few times, testing it for the smells of danger.
When Deuce seemed satisfied, he lifted his leg and pissed on the fence.
Lee walked to the front of the pickup truck and looked to his left, where the two military vehicles were parked. Marines were sliding out of the two trucks. At first Lee had an insane thought that they were about to start assaulting the Camp Ryder building, but once the men were free of the vehicles, they simply stretched their legs and shrugged their shoulders against the rain, their rifles hanging loosely in their arms. They spread out, creating some containment. Two of them stayed close to the MATV that had been directly behind Lee’s pickup, and from this Colonel Staley emerged.
He had donned an olive drab slicker. The older man stepped out of the MATV and looked skyward with an accusing glance, his teeth bared as though he might bark an order at the clouds and they would listen if they knew what was good for them. But he remained silent, and instead brought his gaze back down to Lee. When they had eye contact, Lee knew something was wrong.
Staley approached, hands on his hips. “Captain Harden, I just got a call from my command. They’ve been updated by my man Sergeant Kensey, who is with one of your groups. The one up near Eden, I believe. Harper’s group?”
Lee nodded, stiffly.
Staley pointed to the building. “Can we talk out of the rain?”
Lee felt the weight of the words on his chest. He turned without comment and started walking toward the building, motioning Staley to follow. The two Marines walked with their commanding officer, and Old Man Hughes stayed with Lee while the others jogged ahead to get out of the downpour.
Ahead of them, Lee watched the doors to the building come open and Angela emerged. She was followed closely by Marie, and two people that Lee did not recognize—a man and a woman. The fact that they were strangers to him hovered around the periphery of his thoughts. Mainly they were focused on Harper, and he kept thinking, What happened? What happened?
Lee, Hughes, and the colonel with his two Marines jogged up the couple of steps to the recessed door. Angela stood there, out of the rain.
“Is that…?” Angela trailed off.
“Colonel Staley,” Lee said, eyeing the two people he didn’t know. He put a light hand on her shoulder and nodded toward the open doors. The group filed into the entryway. It was dimly lit by a couple of kerosene lanterns. The linoleum tile floor squeaked loudly underneath their feet and Lee could see the muddy, watery prints of the dozens of others that had come into the building recently.
Once inside, Lee shook the rain from his parka and looked out of the entryway into the Camp Ryder building and the main floor where the tables had been erected. It was crowded inside. In fact, much more crowded than it should have been. And there were more faces there that Lee didn’t recognize, and they all belonged to wet, miserable-looking people.
He looked to his right where Angela and Marie were standing, along with the two strangers. They had the same gaunt, waterlogged look as the rest of the strangers. He gave Angela a look that said, I sure would like to know who these people are. But instead he turned and gestured to Staley, who was standing close by.
“Angela, this is Colonel Staley. Colonel, this is Angela. She kind of runs things around here.”
Staley patted his hand dry on the inside of his jacket and then extended it. “Good to meet you, ma’am. You’re the one in charge?”
Angela shook her head and accepted his hand. “For now, anyway. Pleased to meet you.”
Lee had a very blank-looking smile on his face, but his eyes still showed some edge. “Hughes, would you mind taking the colonel and his men up to the office? I’ll be up in just a second.”
Hughes nodded and motioned for them to follow. Jared and Noah did so. Lee wasn’t sure if he really wanted the two younger men to be standing around in the office while Lee and Staley talked about sensitive matters, but he let it slide for now. He had too many things going on in his head, and his worry for the news about Harper was tweaking at him.
“Angela, have you heard anything at all from Harper’s group?”
“No, but…”
Lee raised an eyebrow.
Angela seemed to be judging how Lee would take it, then decided to push on. “I haven’t really been in the office.”
Lee wanted to swear, but honestly, there wasn’t much he could be mad about. He’d been gone for several hours, not days at a time, and if he wanted the radios monitored during the short time he was gone, he should have assigned someone to sit and listen, rather than assuming Angela was going to kick her heels up in the office until he was back.
“Sorry, I didn’t even think about it.”
Lee shook his head. “Not your fault. Who are these people?”
“Just a group that came knocking about an hour ago.” Angela gestured to the man and woman that stood beside Marie.
As she gestured, the man stepped forward and introduced himself. “Mac. You are…?”
“Lee.”
The woman introduced herself as Georgia.
&
nbsp; Her name didn’t mean anything to Lee, but the name “Mac” rattled around in the back of his head and set off a muted little warning bell. But he had nothing to put it to. No facts or memories to connect with it. Nothing concrete to substantiate the feeling with.
“We’ll earn our keep,” Mac said. “For however long it takes.”
“How long is that?” Lee asked.
Mac pursed his lips. “Until the rain clears out. Maybe sooner.”
Lee’s eyebrows went up. “That’s not real long. Why the rush?”
Mac’s face stretched into something that could have been a smile, or could have been a grimace. Lee wasn’t sure. “Bad things coming this way.”
Lee stared at the other man for a few beats. “Yeah. It sure seems that way.”
Then Lee made for the stairs, motioning for Angela to follow him. They stepped up to about the halfway point, and then Lee stopped, looking behind him. Mac and Georgia and Marie were involved in some conversation. None of them were paying attention.
“Is everything okay?” Angela asked.
Lee just shrugged. “I don’t know. Just keep an eye on those guys, okay?”
Angela nodded. “Oh, I’ve had a detailed conversation with them. I’m already on it.”
“Okay. Good.” He pointed upstairs. “Are you going to join us?”
She looked at the door upstairs, then gave a negative look—something that looked like distaste. “No, I’m going to pay attention to our guests down here. You can fill me in later.” She pointed a finger up at him. “Don’t introduce me as the leader, by the way. I’m not.”
Lee just sighed and nodded. Heavy with decisions and the sickness of anticipation and worry. He didn’t really feel like squabbling about titles just now. “Well, you’re the closest thing we have until everyone votes, but…”
“No.” Angela started down the stairs. “That’s you.”
TWENTY-FIVE
CAT’S OUT
SAM SAT WITH ABBY in the back corner of the Camp Ryder building. No one had ever taught Sam that the corner was the best place to watch everyone in the room at the same time—it was just something he had learned on his own. The world was a good teacher, if you were smart enough to pay attention to the lessons.
Sam was seated on top of the table, with his feet on the bench and his rifle in his lap. Abby was seated similarly next to him, but instead of a rifle, she had a bowl of food—rice and some canned vegetables and maybe a little meat mixed in, he couldn’t quite tell. He thought the meat was canned as well.
Abby didn’t seem terribly interested in it.
Sam tapped the edge of her bowl with his finger. “You need to eat more than that, Abby.”
She just huffed. Then brought an oversized spoonful to her mouth and chewed loudly while staring at him.
He smiled back at her and then turned to the crowd. Across the room, Angela was near the metal stairs, talking with the man and woman who led these newcomers. Ms. Marie was over there as well. The way that the four of them stood with each other and spoke awkwardly, Sam could tell that they were edgy with each other.
Months ago, Sam would not have understood.
But now it made perfect sense. Angela and Marie would never have let these strangers into their camp had certain things not been made clear. And if Sam had an ounce of common sense in him, and he liked to believe he was fairly sharp for his age, there had been very explicit threats made so that the newcomers knew exactly where they stood as guests.
Come in and eat our food, but don’t look at me sidewise or I’ll kill you.
“I’m full,” Abby announced.
Sam eyed the bowl. She had polished off a good third of it, but it had been a small portion. She hadn’t seemed very hungry lately. But that was fine. Her appetite seemed to come and go every couple of weeks. He reached over and took the bowl from her.
“You’re good. I’ll finish it for you.”
“Garbage Can,” she dubbed him.
“I could eat everybody’s food,” he said, shoveling some into his mouth.
“Why don’t you go back for seconds? I’m sure they’d give you some. Everybody likes you.”
Sam nodded toward the line. There was still a dozen people waiting for food. “Not everyone has gotten food yet. Going back for seconds would be selfish. Besides, not everybody likes me.”
“Well…” She rolled her eyes. “The adults do. Screw the stupid kids.”
Sam shot her a look. “Don’t say that word.”
“Screw?” She grinned. “But you say it all the time.”
“Yeah, but Angela would kill me if she found out you learned it from me.”
“What’s another bad word?” Abby looked at him slyly. She was in a mood. She liked to press him like this sometimes, try to get under his skin. It never really worked. Sam was patient with her, where he was short-tempered with some of the other kids. In fact, that was part of the reason why they sat alone on the table and no one dared join them.
Shortly after the assault on Camp Ryder, Sam had still been trying to wrap his head around the man he had killed with his rifle. It still bothered him, made him sick when he thought about it. And then Caleb, the kid with the freckles and the annoying buck teeth, started talking about it. Honestly, Sam couldn’t even remember what Caleb had said that made him angry. One minute he was sitting there thinking about how he shouldn’t beat the hell out of that kid, and the next he was on top of him, trying to knock one of those buck teeth out of Caleb’s mouth.
Now Sam and Abby ate alone, played alone, and generally were ostracized. Caleb, the little prick that he was, made dirty eyes at them from across the yard outside and whispered things about them to his friends. Sam had learned just to stare back with his hands draped over his rifle. Best to act like he didn’t care.
The kids were annoying, and the adults weren’t much better. They kept treating him weirdly. Like they thought he was going to be all broken up about the guy that he’d shot. He wondered if he should have been. And sometimes when he thought about it, his heart would start racing. But he didn’t want the adults to think that he was incapable of taking care of himself.
Resented it, in fact.
“I bet I know a bad word,” Abby said, testingly.
“Don’t.”
She looked around to make sure no adults were in earshot. “Fuck.”
Sam sighed.
“I heard someone say that the other day,” she said, matter-of-factly. “What’s it mean?”
Sam shook his head. “I’m not telling you what it means.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because.”
“Because what?”
“Abby,” he said, irritation growing in his voice.
She gave him an elaborate sigh and hung her shoulders, but she knew that she had pushed as far as Sam was willing to go. “Fine,” she said, under her breath. “I’ll just ask one of the other kids.”
“Fine. You do that.” Sam finished what was left in the bowl and set it down.
A boy that Sam didn’t recognize walked up and stood in front of them awkwardly, his own bowl of steaming food in his hand. He held it to his chest like a poor man held gold and Sam guessed from his thin face and his manner that the boy didn’t get a chance to eat a hot meal very often. Sam felt bad for him. Felt bad about every time he had complained about the food here at Camp Ryder—it was more than most had, he knew.
“Can I sit with you?” The boy was looking at Sam. He had an extreme southern accent, and a clipped rhythm of speech. Something that Sam’s father used to call “white trash.”
But the boy standing before him just looked like another half-starved boy, maybe a year or two younger than Sam, and his face was open and honest. He seemed like a straightforward person, and Sam typically got along with straightforward people.
The boy spoke again: “You like a guard or somethin’?”
“No,” Sam said.
; “Well, you got a rifle.” He said it like raffle.
Sam shifted his feet. “You gonna stand there and ask a buncha questions or you gonna sit down and eat before your food gets cold?”
The boy shrugged, then took a seat on the other side of Abby. “Name’s Bo.”
“Bow?” Abby tapped her feet on the bench. “Like a bow and arrow?”
“No, just Bo. Bee-Oh.” He took a bite of food and spoke around a full mouth of food, a little bit dribbling out onto the table. “What’s y’all’s names?”
“I’m Sam, this is Abby.”
Abby leaned forward, her hands buried in her coat pockets. “Hey, Bo.”
“Hey,” he replied with a half smile.
“Fuck,” she said, testingly.
Bo looked at her and then Sam with a question in his eyes.
“Abby.” Sam took one of her shoulders and pushed her back out of Bo’s face. “Quit it.”
“What’s that mean, Bo?” she demanded. “You know what it means?”
“Well, I think it has somethin’ to do with sex.”
Abby laughed uproariously, clearly with no idea what Bo was talking about.
Sam just gave an exasperated sound and shook his head at Bo. “Don’t tell her anything else. She’s gonna start using it and then I’m gonna get in trouble.”
Bo smiled. “I had a brother like that.” His smile faltered and he went back to his food.
“Where are you guys from?” Sam questioned.
“Up north.” More speaking around a full mouth. “My mom and I came from outta Chatham up in Virginia. Then we met the rest a’these people in Danville. We stayed there for a while, and then we had to run because there was a bunch of infected comin’ after us. Like, thousands and thousands of ’em.”
“Yeah, we sent some people up to check that out,” Sam said.
