by Unknown
Sandy, Hector, Simon, Marcia, Anabel and Donna stood by the side entrance of the RV while Donna inserted the key. The door was located toward the middle, several feet behind the passenger's seat.
Before opening the door, Donna called quietly, "It's me, Harold! Everything's okay!"
She waited for an answer. When she didn't receive one, she gave the others a worried glance and opened the door. Sandy felt a surge of fear as she recalled other times she'd entered a room or a building, unwittingly rousing a group of creatures. She knew the door had been locked. And the RV didn't appear to have been compromised.
Still…
A whiff of something awful floated out to them. Sandy covered her mouth and nose at the recognizable odor of blood. She watched as Donna mounted the stairs, disappearing into the dark interior. When she'd reached the landing, Donna turned and waved them up.
"It's okay," she whispered. "Harold's in here."
Despite Donna's reassurances, Sandy and Simon crept up the stairs cautiously, wielding their guns in anticipation of an attack.
New odors washed over Sandy as she reached the landing. She smelled rotten food, mold, and people's sweat. She envisioned Donna and Harold holed up in the RV, afraid to leave, trapped with the remnants of the people who used to live there. She'd been in similar situations in St. Matthews. They were never ideal.
As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw a couch, an eating area, and several curtained windows on the right-hand wall. A wall of cabinets and appliances—including a stove and a mounted television—were on the left. The room was dark. She drew her attention toward the back of the RV. Past a small section in the middle, which seemed to contain a bathroom, she saw a bed with a man in it. He wasn't moving.
Donna gasped as ran toward the back of the RV and took his side.
"Harold?" she called frantically. "Harold! Please talk to me!" Donna wailed and knelt by her husband, frantically trying to rouse him, but he didn't stir.
Sandy and Simon reached her side, carrying the medical supplies they'd brought from the minivan, trying to get a closer look, while Hector, Marcia, and Anabel hung by the side door.
Donna pressed her fingers to his neck. "He has no pulse!" She looked at them, as if someone might be playing a cruel trick on her.
"See if he's breathing," Sandy tried, leaning down next to him. Her hope was to hear a thin rasp, something to give them hope. The man was lifeless.
"Can we open the curtains?" Hector asked.
"Yes," Donna said, reaching over the bed and drawing up a curtain. "I was keeping them closed to avoid notice."
The new light revealed a man much older than sixty. Or maybe it was the result of his wounded condition. He wasn't moving. He wasn't speaking. His eyes were dim and sightless, and he stared at a spot on the ceiling, his lips blue. His shirt was soaked with blood, and several towels were laid over him, pressed over what must be the wound in his stomach.
Sandy lowered the medical supplies as she and the others realized the man was past saving.
"I'm sorry," Sandy said.
"No!" Donna said, looking around wildly. She shook Harold, as if he might wake up and speak with her, but the man was silent and still. "Harold, please wake up!"
Sandy, Simon, and Hector watched her with a grave expression. Donna's insistent words segued into mournful moans as she realized what the others already had. Harold was dead. Looking behind her, Sandy saw Marcia leading Anabel out the side door of the RV, forcing the girl to look away.
Sandy lowered her head, praying Harold's death was the last casualty she'd have to witness.
"We'd been waiting for years to travel," Donna said, drying her tears as Sandy sat next to her on the couch. "I can't believe this. He wanted to show me the world. And now that will never happen."
"I'm sorry," Sandy said, patting the woman's knee.
Simon and Hector covered up the body with a sheet while Marcia and Anabel waited outside.
Sensing Donna needed distraction, Sandy asked, "He retired recently?"
"Yes. He was a travel agent for forty years," Donna said, smiling through her tears. "You'd think we would've gotten out more. But we only got to see a few places he booked trips to. He was so busy working, you know. Things got harder with the Internet. But Harold never gave up. That's how he was. He was dedicated to his business; he ran it for forty years. A few months ago, he retired and told me he'd take me around the world. He was going to make up for all the time we'd lost."
"He sounds like a hardworking person."
Donna exhaled a shuddering breath. "He was. I just wish I'd been able to help him."
"You did your best," Sandy affirmed. "That's all any of us can do."
"I tried moving him a few times, hoping we could go somewhere and find help. But he wasn't up for it. If those things came, or those men returned, they would've run us down, especially in his condition."
Sandy lowered her head. The guilt Donna was feeling reminded her of the guilt she felt for Ben. She couldn't count how many times she'd relived her brother's last moments, wishing that things had gone differently.
Hector and Simon joined Sandy and Donna on the couch, uttering condolences. Donna thanked them. The smell in the RV seemed to be getting worse, and Sandy had the pressing urge to get out. She suddenly felt trapped, claustrophobic. She stood, looking back at the body lying on the bed. Donna followed her gaze.
"Can we bury him?" Donna asked numbly.
After a pause, Simon said, "We have two shovels in the trunk."
"I'll help dig," Hector offered.
Chapter Thirty-Three
They located a spot in the woods a hundred yards from the RV where the dirt was soft enough to unearth. Using the shovels they'd taken from the elementary school, Simon and Hector scooped dirt into a pile. Marcia and Anabel remained on the other side of the RV, away from the gory scene. Sandy comforted Donna, trying to remain stoic as she watched Harold's motionless body.
Sweat rolled down Simon's forehead. Neither he nor Hector spoke as they finished digging, wiping sweat from their brows and laying their shovels on the forest floor. When they were finished, they took hold of Harold's arms and legs and gently placed him in the makeshift grave. They paused, listening to the chirping birds and watching a swooping hawk search for prey. Sunlight poured through the thick boughs of the overhanging trees.
Donna knelt down next to Harold, but couldn't seem to manage any words.
"I'll say a prayer, if you'd like," Simon offered, quietly.
Donna nodded, wiping her eyes. Simon recited a prayer that sounded familiar, but she couldn't be sure. Sandy barely registered the meaning of those phrases, and yet they somehow gave her a measure of comfort. When Simon finished, he leaned on his shovel and watched Donna.
"Take all the time you need," he said quietly as he turned away. "We'll cover him when you're done."
Donna cried quietly for a few minutes on her knees. She dabbed at the tears on her face, which seemed never-ending. Finally, her expression grew hard. "I hope the bastards who did this rot in hell." She reached out for Simon's shovel. "I need to do this."
Simon nodded and gave it to her. Donna scooped dirt over her husband while the others watched, sweating, as if the exertion might distract her from her grief. When she was finished, she patted the ground and stepped back. Her face softened into a wave of emotion. She knelt back down.
"You were my best friend for forty-five years, Harold. I couldn't have asked for a better soul mate. I hope you rest in peace. Wherever you are, I'm sure it's better than here."
Before she could break down again, Donna turned and walked away.
Sandy, Hector, and Simon followed Donna through the trees, sympathy on their faces. The RV stood silent and still, a monument to Harold. The forest had turned preternaturally quiet, as if the animals were respectfully mourning his death. Sandy looked above them. Was God watching them, or had He already forsaken them? She didn't know what to believe anymore. She'd seen too much death.
She
thought back to the families she'd seen in the beginning of the infection, sticking together as the carnage unfolded around them. She'd seen people fall, people carried, and people left behind. Inevitably, families had been separated.
The death of Donna's husband was a grim reminder of that.
They walked in silence, their footsteps the only sound as they approached the RV. Donna's occasional sniffle broke the quiet. They were halfway to the RV when Sandy realized the quiet was deeper than it should've been.
Something was missing.
"Where are Marcia and Anabel?" she asked.
"Marcia?" Hector called, frowning as he increased his pace.
Sandy, Simon, and Donna joined in, calling them.
"Marcia? Anabel?"
Past the RV, the minivan sat on the dirt road, idle and empty. Sandy, Hector, and Simon raised their guns. The forest suddenly felt menacing and sinister, as if it'd come to life and snatched Marcia and Anabel away. They'd been right on the other side of the RV a few moments ago. Sandy was sure of it. She'd heard them. At least, she thought she had.
Hector called out again with no response. They were within twenty yards of the RV, walking faster. Marcia had a gun. If something had happened, they would've heard it.
When they rounded the corner, they saw the reason for the silence. Marcia stood trembling on the other side of the RV, her hands raised, her gun on the ground.
Thirty feet away from her, staring at them with violent, angry eyes, Reginald pointed a gun at the side of Anabel's head and shouted, "Take a step and I blow her head off!"
PART THREE: CLING TO THE EDGE
Chapter Thirty-Four
"Let my daughter go!" Hector cried, prompting Reginald to tighten his grip around Anabel's neck and take a step backward with her.
Marcia sobbed and held up her hands. "Please!"
Sandy, Simon, and Hector lowered their guns, terrified they'd make a wrong move that would cause the little girl's death. Donna gasped and watched Reginald. Reginald's eyes blazed as he looked over all of them. He looked confused, angry. His hands shook. In one, he held a pistol to Anabel's temple. In the other, he held a rifle, his arm snaked around the little girl's neck. His face was cut and scratched, as if he'd been involved in a struggle or a fight.
Sandy tried to determine how things had gone so wrong, so quickly. Where had Reginald come from? Why was he here? There wasn't time to speculate.
"Everyone put your guns on the ground! Now!" he snarled.
Sandy bent down and set her pistol on the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Simon and Hector doing the same. They backed away from the weapons.
"Get your hands on the RV!"
With Anabel's life at stake, they had no choice but to comply. Sandy walked over and placed her hands on the vehicle's exterior, fearful that the next sound she heard would be a bullet. She kept her eyes on the RV and said a silent prayer. Behind her, she heard Reginald bend down and pick up the guns. He backed up, keeping a tight grip on Anabel, collecting them in a pile by his feet.
"Who has the keys to the van?" he demanded.
After a second of silence, Sandy said, "I do." She pulled them slowly from her pocket and tossed them behind her. She listened to Reginald slide them backward with his foot. Anabel whimpered as Reginald bent down and grabbed them from the dirt.
"Listen, this doesn't have to go any further," Hector said.
"The hell it doesn't," Reginald snarled, looking at each of them. "I knew I couldn't trust you. You left the lumberyard. You took the supplies and you left."
The group remained silent. After a brief pause, Simon said calmly, "The lumberyard was overrun by those things."
"Bullshit," Reginald snarled. "You took everything and you left."
"That's not the way it happened. If you'll listen, I'll explain."
"Shut up." Reginald fell quiet for a moment, seeming to notice Donna for the first time. "Who's this?"
"They helped me," Donna spoke up, her voice wavering as she turned to look over her shoulder. "My husband died. They helped me bury him."
Sandy took a peek back at Reginald. His face was expressionless, as if he didn't register emotion. His gaze drifted back to the others.
"Where are Billy and Tom?" Simon asked.
A flicker of confusion went through Reginald's face as he recalled something. "They're dead."
"What happened to them?"
"Does it matter? Now, where is it?"
Simon was unable to hide his confusion. "Where's what?"
Reginald squeezed Anabel's neck harder, eliciting a cry of pain. "Where is it?" he shouted. "I know you took it!"
"Please!" Sandy said. "If you're looking for the food and water, it's in the minivan. You can take all of it, if you need to, but let Anabel go."
"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" Reginald shouted, growing enraged.
Somewhere in the distant trees, an animal skittered to safety, causing Reginald to turn wildly in all directions. He blinked a line of sweat from his eyes and adjusted his grip on Anabel. He stared at the minivan. For a moment, Sandy considered running at him, grabbing the gun, and wrenching Anabel from his arms. But the idea was as foolish as it was impossible.
She looked down at her waist, catching sight of the knife protruding from her pants. The others had knives, too, but they'd be no match for a gun. In any case, it didn't look like Reginald hadn't noticed. She hoped it stayed that way.
"Turn around!" Reginald yelled, noticing Sandy peering over her shoulder.
"Whatever you're looking for, we'll help you find it," Hector said.
"Keep your backs turned, I said!"
Reginald pulled Anabel back and forth to the van, bringing the weapons with him. "I'll find what I'm looking for myself. You better hope it's in there, for the little girl's sake."
"Please!" Marcia called over her shoulder.
Reginald ignored her. He opened the van and transferred the weapons from the ground to the passenger's seat. Then he started rummaging through the vehicle's interior. His frustration found its way into curses as he didn't find what he was looking for. Sandy looked desperately at Hector, Marcia, Donna, and Simon, hoping someone might have a desperate solution. She glanced at her knife again.
"If we try anything, he'll kill us," Hector replied, noticing Sandy's gaze.
"Don't tempt him. Please," Marcia added.
"Does anyone know what he's looking for?" Simon asked.
They shook their heads.
Without warning, Donna seemed to decide on something, turning around and taking a step.
"Donna, where are you going?" Marcia hissed.
Donna ignored her. "You don't need to do this," Donna called over to Reginald, holding her hands in the air and walking toward the minivan. "There's no need for violence."
"Stay the fuck back!" Reginald warned. Sandy looked over her shoulder, her heart thrumming in her chest.
"I just lost my husband. We don't need to put another family through that," Donna continued. "These are good people."
"Donna, please!" Marcia whispered. "Get back here!"
Donna continued, "My husband died because a group of violent men. They took everything we had. They stabbed Harold. I couldn't take care of him, and he died. That's when these people stopped to help me. If they hadn't, I might've died up here, too."
Reginald raised his gun. "Why do you think I give a shit about your husband? And why do you think I give a shit about you?"
"Donna!" Marcia cried. "Please get back here!"
Reginald fired.
Donna screamed in pain as a bullet struck her in the leg, dropping her to the ground. The world descended into chaos as people turned, pleaded, and tried to help her up. Reginald warned them to stay back. He waved his guns until they scurried back to the RV.
"Get your hands on the wall!"
Reginald walked over and tried to force Donna to stand, but she only screamed in pain, holding her leg.
"Where is it?" he shouted a
t all of them, growing even more infuriated.
"We don't know!" Marcia said earnestly. "If you let us know what you're looking for, we can help you!"
The campsite went quiet except for the frantic breathing of the people against the RV and Donna's sobbing. For a moment, Sandy was sure Reginald would fire at each of them in turn, ending all their lives.
Without a word, he strode back to the minivan.
A cold pit grew in Sandy's stomach. Sandy caught Marcia's eyes, which were wide and coated with fear. For a second time, she considered running at Reginald with her knife.
"As soon as he doesn't find what he's looking for, he's going to kill her!" Hector whispered.
Reginald's cursing and swearing floated over from the minivan as he rifled through the interior. Sandy gave a cautious glance over her shoulder. She saw him searching under the seats, checking the glove compartment, keeping Anabel close enough to harm her if they tried anything.
Donna had settled into a low wail of pain as she clutched her leg. Hopelessness and desperation washed over Sandy. She looked around, thinking she'd see another vehicle—Reginald's—but she saw nothing but forest.
Each bang from the minivan brought Reginald closer to a rage that they couldn't calm. After a few more minutes of searching, he slammed the door and dragged Anabel back over to the RV. This time he planted himself behind Simon, placing a gun to the back of his head.
"I'm done with the bullshit. You took my shit, traitor," he said, giving no room for argument. "You found what I had in the lumberyard, and you took it. I'm going to give you one chance to tell me where it is, and then I'm going to shoot you. And then I'll shoot each one of you until someone answers."
Simon remained quiet. Sandy watched Simon's expression as he stood next to her. The look of fear and uncertainty in his eyes showed that he was just as clueless as the rest of them. He opened his mouth, preparing what might be the last response of his life.
Something moved behind Reginald.
It was Donna.
