by Abner, Anna
Going somewhere? Absolutely. As quickly as possible. “Yes. Raleigh.” If I didn’t leave soon I was afraid I never would.
“Bad idea,” Russell said, slouching into a booth. “It’s crawling with Reds.”
“We’re safer here,” Simone said. “We’re protected.”
“I know, but—”
Pollard spoke over me. “You’re hurt. Wait a day or two until you’re stronger. If you go out there now you’ll be like a wounded kitten in front of a pack of wild dogs.”
“Nice imagery.” I put weight on my right knee and winced. I didn’t want to stay and get stuck, but I wasn’t suicidal, either.
“You can sleep here tonight,” Pollard continued. “Eat. Rest. Take whatever you need.”
The truth was I was hungry and dehydrated. The cuts on my arms and legs stung. My sprained knee throbbed. And Hunny still hadn’t brushed her hair. A decent meal and a good night’s sleep could make the difference between reaching my dad’s lab and failing.
“Okay,” I conceded. “One night.”
“Good.” Pollard exhaled. “Then let me show you around. Maybe I can convince you to stay longer.”
Unless he had a 212R antiserum of his own tucked behind the cookie display, I couldn’t stay.
He stretched out a hand, and it was on the tip of my tongue to say, No, thank you. I didn’t know anything about him except he was a wannabe soldier, a crap shot, and he grew up in Durham.
But he stood there staring at me with soft blue eyes, looking young and kind. Normal. Safe. He’d kept his gun holstered. He’d fixed my cuts. He’d welcomed us into his makeshift fortress.
“Sure.” I accepted his hand and followed him down a short, shadowy hallway leading to bathrooms and a utility closet. At the end, he kicked open a step ladder and climbed through a panel in the ceiling.
For a moment he disappeared onto the roof, and I leaned uncertainly against the wall. If he expected me to scamper after him, he was out of luck. My bad knee stranded me on the ground floor.
Maybe he could describe whatever was up there?
But like a good little soldier, Pollard had a plan. He reached both hands toward me. “I’ve got you,” he assured.
Sucking in a deep breath, I stepped up on my good leg and clasped his hands. As if I weighed no more than a sleeping bag, he pulled me up beside him.
It took me a second to get my footing, but when I did I needed a little space to breathe. He was too close. Too tall. Too male. Pretending a fascination with a satellite dish, I put distance between us.
“I wanted you to see what a perfect location we’ve got here.” Pollard pointed to the trees around the rear of the truck stop property. “It’s a lot sweeter than it looks from the inside. There are plenty of animals in the woods to hunt. There’s a stream about three-quarters of a mile that way.” He looked north toward Raleigh. “There are enough businesses and residences within walking distance to stock our storeroom. We’re close to the highway to siphon fuel from parked cars. And we’ve put a lot of work into securing the ground floor. If we’re quiet and keep the windows covered the Reds walk right past us.” He glanced at me. “You and Hunny will be safe here.”
Not me. I wasn’t staying. Besides, my home was on Cherry Blossom Court and nowhere else. “Hunny will love it,” I agreed. “But I have to keep moving.”
His brows drew together. “Maya, I’m trying to restore the old world here,” he said, and his eyes shone with determination. “You could be part of that.”
I poked at the satellite dish, and it wobbled on its stand. “You miss the old world,” I guessed.
Pollard chuckled in surprise. “Don’t you?”
“Yeah, of course.” Sometimes I felt like I might drown in the feelings of loss I had for my former life. I ached inside for my family and my home and all the people we’d lost. It wasn’t a lack of emotion that was my problem. If anything, it was the opposite. Depression had kept me in my home when I probably should have traveled to Raleigh sooner.
I wandered further away. Pollard’s group hadn’t simply redecorated downstairs. They’d changed things up there too. A pop-up canopy shaded a couple camping chairs. It was a lot cooler under the canvas than inside the building. Maybe they spent hot afternoons in the shade, enjoying cool breezes and warm sodas. It sounded a lot nicer than crouching in my panic room, sweating through my clothes, alone and thirsty. Maybe Pollard and his groupies were on to something.
On the other side of a large metal structure someone had printed “SOS” in huge letters across the roof in white paint. I craned my neck to see the crystalline blue sky above. Not a cloud in sight, let alone an aircraft. Who did he think would see his plea for help?
A little further exploration uncovered four identical backpacks lined up under an AC unit along with a blue plastic tub and four gallons of fresh water. The furthest pack had the name “POLLARD” drawn on it in black Sharpie.
I nudged his backpack with the toe of my sneaker. “Pollard, huh? How did you get that name?”
He squinted as if he saw right through my evasion, sighed, and then joined me at the edge of the SOS message. “My dad loved everything about the military. Twenty years in the army wasn’t enough. He spent two weekends a month with Civil War re-enactors and named me after the hero Captain Jessup Pollard of the 101st Illinois Cavalry,” he recited.
“Were you related to the guy?”
“Distant cousins.”
As far as I knew my name hadn’t held any great significance for my parents. They’d loved the way it sounded, but now that I thought about it, maybe I was lucky my dad hadn’t named me Galadriel.
“Ever go by Paul or anything like that?” Pollard was a heavy name to pin on a little kid. I wasn’t sure I could have handled it.
“My dad wouldn’t let me have a nickname. He said it was disrespectful.” He shrugged. “Now, I can’t imagine going by any other name.”
“Your dad sounds like a tough guy.”
Pollard kicked at leaves and debris as he fiddled with a vent on the AC unit. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to. I got the gist.
“How long have you been here?” I asked, unzipping the first backpack. It was a mishmash of matches, cooking oil, and water purification tablets. My emergency backpack would be organized way differently. In my opinion, a can of chili was more important than all the corn oil in the world. And where was his can opener?
“Weeks.” He shooed me away and zipped the bag closed. “Like I said, you’ll be safe here. We want to build up our numbers and then take over an even larger area. A whole strip mall maybe. Or a hotel. Gather more survivors and make the place as close to what it used to be as we can.”
Something in the distance, something near the gas pumps, caught my eye. A figure. I crossed the roof to see it more clearly.
Ben stood, chest heaving, between two abandoned semi-trucks looking exactly as I remembered him. Navy blue work clothes. Heavy leather boots. Dirty black hair. He must have run for miles to catch up to us.
As if sensing me, he lifted his red eyes to mine.
“Do you know that guy?” Pollard asked, his elbow bumping my arm.
I tensed, feeling protective of Ben. He’d saved me once, and I owed him.
“No.” Hunny hadn’t either or she would have said so a long time ago. She couldn’t keep a secret to save her life. “Maybe he knows me, though.” It might explain why he continued to follow us. He could’ve gone to my high school or lived in my subdivision. It was impossible to tell while he was in his currently filthy, zombified state. But he didn’t look familiar.
“How long has he been tracking you?”
“More than a day.”
Pollard’s voice jumped an octave. “He’s been hunting you for a whole day?”
If Ben had been hunting me he would have killed me already. I thought of his hands on the tree branch beside my feet. And his rough fingers on my arm. A hunter didn’t behave that way with its prey.
“He’s not h
unting me. He just watches.” I turned on Pollard. “Promise me you won’t shoot him.” He could probably hit Ben from the roof with a rifle, though the way Pollard shot, maybe not. “Please.”
“Why do you care so much?”
Was he serious? “Because he didn’t hurt us.” Even when it was in his best interest. “He’s not being aggressive.”
Pollard opened his mouth, closed it, and finally shook his head. “I can’t promise that.”
Unacceptable. Re-building the human civilization had to include Reds, too. Ben was just as much a person as I was. “You talk about protecting people. What makes him any different?”
His expression hardened. “He’s not a real person. He’s dangerous.”
“He’s sick.”
“Holy crap, you’ve really got a soft spot for that thing, don’t you?” He tossed up both hands. “Okay. I give up. As long as he stays over there I won’t shoot him.”
“Thank you.” I laid my hand on his bicep, warm and firm beneath his green tee, and then blushed because I couldn’t believe I’d touched him at all.
“Come on,” he said, nodding toward the hatch. “It’s almost dinner time.” At the access panel, Pollard offered both his hands. When I hesitated, he said, “Trust me.”
I wanted to.
I placed my hands in his.
As soon as my feet were back on solid ground I rushed through the hallway and toward the sound of people. Hunny slouched on a booth beside an open bag of nacho flavored chips, her belly round and distended from all the junk she’d inhaled. Russell was whispering to Simone near the cash register, but hushed when he spotted me.
“Will you help me with dinner?” Pollard asked, appearing right behind me.
I frowned. “Uh.” I didn’t want to be rude, but I needed a breather.
Pollard got off on being the boss. I hadn’t had anyone in charge of me for a while, and I wasn’t looking for a new guardian.
“I want to show you how we do things,” Pollard added.
I wouldn’t mind more of the grand tour, just to see how other survivors handled the new challenges of a post-plague world. My dad hadn’t exactly left me with a lot of survival knowledge.
“Okay.”
The truck stop kitchen was big and full of modern appliances, now mostly useless. What good was an industrial-sized fryer when the electricity was off?
Pollard had gone caveman on the place and built a fire pit in the big sink and topped it with a rigged spit and a BBQ grill. Wood, newspaper, and lighter fluid were piled on the floor. Six fuzzy, ground squirrels slumped on the stainless steel counter.
I hadn’t seen fresh meat in so long my eyes popped. I was no hunter. A gatherer, for sure, but not once a hunter. “Where did you get these?”
“I caught them.”
“How?”
“I made snares.” He wiped sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “I told you the woods are full of animals.”
He glanced once at my bad leg and pulled a chair over, gesturing for me to sit.
“Can you show me how?” I asked, sinking gratefully into the seat.
“Sure. In the morning?”
“No. Now.” I smiled at his look of confusion. “If it’s okay. I want to try to catch some by morning.”
Reds craved meat. Even Reds following my trail to save my skin from a hungry pack. If that Red ate an animal it might curb his appetite for larger prey. Namely, me.
“What about your knee?”
“It’s better,” I fibbed. If anything, it hurt worse, but I refused to let it stop me.
“If you’re sure.” He tossed a towel on top of the six skinny corpses. “I’ll fix these later. Let’s go now before it gets too late.”
I grinned in anticipation. I’d never learned any survival tricks beyond opening cans of tuna with a crank and rationing supplies. Not once had Dad mentioned what to do if I ventured out into the world in search of fresh meat or clean water.
“We’ll head into the forest,” Pollard said, quickly packing a bag. “I have traps not too far from here I can show you.”
On our way through the dining room I snapped my fingers at Hunny and then finger-spelled, “B-e b-a-c-k s-o-o-n.”
She rolled her eyes at me, but close to her belly she signed, “O-K.”
Pollard unlocked the front door, checked that the parking lot was clear, and then led the way outside into almost unbearable heat. I missed air conditioning. And swimming pools. And ice cream cones. I was sweating through my shirt by the time I’d hobbled through the automobile barrier.
Without saying a word, Pollard pulled me tight to his side, taking some of my weight and making it easier to walk. His proximity made me even hotter and stickier, though. I walked easier, but I wasn’t sure it was worth the increased body temp. Pressed up against him, I tried to ignore how tall and solid he was.
The forest loomed darkly ahead, and I got a bad feeling in my stomach. My instincts warned me to stay away from the woods. Dangerous animals lurked between the trees.
“Ever see any wild dogs out here?” I asked, checking over my shoulder. “Or other carnivores?”
“Every once in a while. But if I fire into the air they run away. So far, they’ve never bothered me.”
“It’s weird.” I was chattering, but couldn’t stop. “It doesn’t seem like 212R infected animals, but they’ve gone wild anyway. Same difference, I guess. They still want to kill us.”
Pollard frowned at me. “Did you have a bad experience with an animal?”
“Dogs chased us this morning. They didn’t actually bite us, but it was close.”
“Don’t worry,” he assured with a confident smile. “I’ll keep you safe.”
By the time we trudged past the gas pumps my clothes stuck to me with sweaty glue.
Movement near the abandoned semi-trucks caught my eye. Ben shuffled three steps in our direction. My free arm gripped Pollard’s waist tight to prevent him from doing anything stupid.
I shook my head at Ben, sending him a silent plea with my eyes to wait and not follow us.
Pollard had promised me on the truck stop roof to show restraint, despite carrying a gun on his hip, but I still didn’t trust him not to hurt Ben.
The Red paused beside a Mack truck and stayed there. Pollard guided me into the dense pines beyond the parking lot, and I lost sight of Ben.
We crunched through dry grass and weaved around scrub brush, but the temperature was more manageable in the shade of the trees, and I slipped out from under Pollard’s arm. Off balance, he faltered in a nest of dry pine needles, but caught himself and then threw me an exasperated look.
“Anyway,” he said. “The trick, or what my dad taught me, is to set up the snare so it breaks the animal’s neck as it gets yanked into the air.” He hopped over a fallen tree and held out his hand to help me. Without thinking, I accepted it.
Holding hands. Skin to skin contact. My dad would’ve had a fit.
A narrow grassy clearing appeared between the pines.
“This is one of the places I set traps.” He knelt beside a scraggly tree.
Only when I hunched down beside him did I see a noose attached to a stick in the ground, its tip tied to a branch above it with silver wire.
“It’s all about tension,” Pollard said, coming close to touching the trap, but not quite. “Have you ever killed an animal?”
I shook my head. I’d never killed anything. All my life my food had come from the grocery store or a restaurant. For the past two weeks I’d been living off canned and bagged food. My outdoor survival knowledge was nil.
“We don’t have much time before it gets dark.” Pollard unpacked his little bag and lined up a rubber mallet, a knife, a handheld saw, and a coil of what looked like piano wire.
I picked up the line and tested its weight. Very light, but strong. “Where did you get all this?”
“It took a while.” He broke a branch off a nearby tree. “But I knew I’d eat if I set snares. Here.” He hande
d me the gnarled branch. “You have to saw it in half.”
I pressed hard, and the saw chewed into the fresh wood. It didn’t match his at all.
“Make the notches like this.” He guided my strokes with his long, rough fingers, demonstrating how to dig the saw’s teeth into the hard wood and create linking indentations on each half of the branch. When he released me I nervously wiped both palms down my thighs.
My first attempt at an animal trap was way amateur, but he didn’t laugh. Instead, he fixed the notches with a couple slashes of his pocketknife so they interlocked. Then he tied the wire, buried one end of the stick, and planted the snare in the dark, sandy soil a few feet from his.
It wouldn’t be pretty, but I’d be able to set one by myself if I had to.
“We’ll check for animals in the morning. I usually have something for dinner every day.”
“Your dad taught you how to hunt?” It astounded me that people still knew how to do things like that. My family—for generations—and I had been thoroughly citified. Before tonight, I couldn’t have trapped an animal if I had a month and an arsenal.
“He was real outdoorsy,” Pollard said. He shouldered his bag and then slipped an arm around my waist to help ease the pain in my right leg. “Your dad wasn’t?”
I couldn’t control a snort of laughter. He talked for hours about Tolkien’s style and themes and sources, but he didn’t know a snare from a jump rope. In fact, he was more likely to get caught in a snare than to build one.
“Not at all,” I assured. “He was a PhD. A nerd.”
“My dad was a survivalist nut. He was always afraid of the government collapsing so he learned to live off the land.” Pollard gazed into the distance at his truck stop citadel. “I guess, in a way, he was right.”
“Well,” I said, “it’s a good thing he showed you as much as he did, huh?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t sound too grateful. “Lucky.”
As we passed the gas pumps in the lavender dusk my gaze shifted automatically to the last spot I’d seen Ben. He hadn’t moved. Astonishing. What had interested him so strongly he couldn’t walk away from it? There was nothing here for him besides living flesh, which he could get in a hundred other places around town. So, why was he here?
