Please come home. She broke down again, crying for a few minutes in the dark. Maybe if she stayed in the closet, the Virus wouldn’t find her. She glanced to her left at the M-16 leaning against the wall. Being that close to a loaded firearm added another layer of fear. Unfortunately, Zoe’s loft bedroom had nowhere else to hide. The bed sat right on the floor without a frame, and both of the white dresser cabinets touched the wall so she couldn’t get behind them. Despite the presence of the weapon, the closet offered the greatest sense of security.
She pressed her right shoulder into the wall, even another millimeter more space between her and the rifle felt like a good idea.
A sudden buzzing noise outside almost released her bladder, but the sound sputtered off into the recognizable chop of a small ethanol-powered motor… probably some manner of handheld farm tool.
Not a drone.
She let go of the bear with one hand long enough to pull a pink and white child’s T-shirt over her bare feet. It looked too small even for Zoe to wear, though Isla might be able to squeeze into it.
The closet door swung open.
Abby stifled a scream into the bear’s head.
Zoe, in her favorite denim dress, leaned back with her eyebrows up. She lifted and dropped her toes a few times while her expression changed from surprise to confusion and at last, to sympathy.
Abby blushed, trembling.
“It’s okay,” said Zoe in a half-whisper. She crept closer and sat on the floor, her legs curled to her left. “I used to hide in here too when I was scared.”
“The drones are coming.” Abby wiped at her face. She cringed inside, waiting for Zoe to make fun of her for holding a teddy bear.
The younger girl tucked a lock of blonde behind her ear. After watching her shiver for a little while in silence, Zoe scooted closer and put an arm around her. “I used to be scared all the time, too. An’ mad. I was mad at my dad for puttin’ me on that bus alone. After Bill took me here, I’d spend all day in this closet, thinkin’ Infected were gonna come in.”
Abby relaxed a little, letting her feet slide forward until her legs lay flat. Head bowed, she mumbled at the bear. “Why did they have to go? I’m so scared they won’t come back.”
Zoe stuck her hand in the pile of old clothes and fished out a six-inch tall action figure that resembled a furry man with a bear’s head and a drill sergeant hat. “This is Bear Ranger. He used to protect Fuzz.” She pointed at the stuffed bear in Abby’s grip. “Fuzz was always scared.”
Abby picked at the matted brown fur in her hands. “That one’s smaller. He’s not even half as tall as Fuzz.”
Zoe held the plastic bear-man up and smiled. “But he’s tougher.” She tapped it with a fingertip. “He’s not very good for hugging, but he’s brave. Sometimes big people are scareder than little ones.”
“You’re making that up, aren’t you?” Abby sighed. “You’re littler than me and I’m acting like a big baby.”
“Fuzz was scared longer than me.” Zoe bit her lip and put the plastic figure down. She took hold of the M-16, but kept it pointed straight up. “Would you shoot a bad person?”
Abby shied away from the weapon. “Do you have to hold it? What if it goes off?” She squirmed. “I don’t wanna shoot anyone.”
Zoe put the rifle back against the wall. “Guess you’re like Fuzz then.”
The nine-year-old’s voice held no trace of mockery. Abby looked at her. Despite having a two-year lead in age, she didn’t have half the other girl’s nerve. Zoe had shot people. For real.
“H-have you killed anyone?” whispered Abby.
“No. Killing’s not nice. I shoot the bandits in the leg so they can’t hurt us. Sometimes they call me mean names.”
Abby tapped her feet together, thinking for a moment. “How often do they come?”
Zoe grinned, adoration sparkled in her blue eyes. “Used’ta be like every two weeks, but Kev an’ Tris beat a whole group of ’em. Been pretty quiet a while now. I like it better not bein’ shot at.” She looked down and picked at a toenail. “Ann always gets upset when there’s shooting.”
“She doesn’t want you to get hurt. You should hide.” Abby relaxed a little more and shifted to put her back to the wall, facing Zoe.
Zoe’s expression melted to a look of distant detachment. Her voice came monotone. “Infected kicked and tossed me inna suitcase. They almost got me. I’m not afraid of normal people.”
“Sorry.” Abby looked down.
“It’s okay.” Her eeriness dissipated as fast as it had set in. She grinned. “Kev and Tris are too tough for those Omclave shits. They’ll come back.”
Abby blushed. “My dad said kids shouldn’t say those words. ’Specially little girls.”
Zoe gave her a meek look. “Sorry if words make you sad, but sometimes a girl just needs to say shit.” A mischievous smile played across her face. “Ann really doesn’t like it if I say f―”
“Zoe?” yelled Ann. “Abby? Come downstairs. It’s time to eat.”
Abby gawked at her.
Zoe stuck her tongue out. “Flock.”
Abby furrowed her brows. Is she teasing me, or does she think that’s a dirty word?
“’Mon.” Zoe leapt to her feet and dragged Abby by the hand to the edge of the loft.
Zoe ambled down the steep wooden ladder facing forward. Merely watching her sent a twinge of unease up Abby’s spine. She turned her back and climbed down. By the time her foot touched the hallway floor, Zoe had already taken a seat in the kitchen. She bounced, swinging her legs.
“Come on Abby,” said Ann.
“I’m here.” She hurried down the hall and took the chair catty-corner to Zoe.
Ann set a plate in front of each of them. Two sandwiches each contained three small slabs of pan-fried meat. Abby lifted the top piece of bread and examined the strips laid across the sandwich, browned and seasoned. She couldn’t tell if she looked at fish or chicken. Ann returned to the counter, sliced two more pieces of bread off the loaf before covering it with a towel, and sat across the table from the kids with her lunch.
“It’s rattlesnake,” said Ann.
Zoe tore into it without hesitation.
Smells okay. After a test nibble confirmed it tasty, if not a bit tough, she took a real bite.
They ate in relative quiet for a little while.
Around the time she had half a sandwich left, Abby glanced at Zoe. “Do I have to join the militia too? Will they make me carry a gun?”
Zoe shook her head. “Only if you want to.”
Abby stared worry into her lunch.
“No one is forced to join the militia,” said Ann. “When you’re fourteen or so, you’ll be expected to do some kind of work though. ’Til then, only school is required. Your parents aren’t farmers, so you probably won’t have to work before that.”
Zoe, still holding her food in two hands, brushed her leg with a foot under the table. “It’s okay if you’re scared. You’re just a little girl.”
Abby smirked. “I’m older than you.”
Zoe shrugged. “If you say so.”
“Ooh.” Abby stuck her tongue out.
Zoe giggled.
Abby looked down. “I don’t wanna shoot people.”
“Okay.” Zoe winked. “I’ll shoot ’em for you.”
Ann bit her lip, worry clear in her eyes.
Without much else in the way of conversation, they finished eating a few minutes later. Ann shooed the girls upstairs, offering to deal with cleanup herself so they could play. Zoe started to race off to the ladder, but Abby lingered.
“I’ll help. It’s okay. You’re letting me stay here ’til…” Ann called them my parents. A lump swelled in her throat.
“Oh, it’s all right dear.” Ann squeezed her shoulder. “You’ve a lot on your mind. Go on and be a child for a bit longer. This world is sad enough without rushing into being all grown up.”
Abby started to nod, but froze at the thump of boots on the porch.
Someone knocked, firm, but not the pounding of threat or warning.
Ann went over to answer. Abby backed into the countertop, ready to run.
“Yes?” asked Ann.
“Mornin’, ma’am,” said a man. “Mayor Wade’s called a town meeting. Askin’ everyone to head down by the circle. Jes’ be a few minutes.”
“All right.” Ann left the door open and walked closer to the inner hallway. “Zoe? Come here please.”
Again, the little blonde sprite raced down the ladder like a stairwell. Abby looked away, imaginary pain twinged in the bones she expected to break from falling if she ever tried that.
“There’s a town meeting.” Ann took each girl by the hand.
“Do I need the rifle?” asked Zoe.
“No. It’s a meeting, not a muster.” Ann shot her a pointed look. “And you are not militia yet, sweetie. You’re only nine. You have to be at least sixteen.”
Zoe whined. “But, Gran’ma… Emma’s only thirteen.”
“Emma’s an exception… and one your father won’t ask for.” Ann shook her head muttering in Spanish.
Abby caught enough to grasp the woman wanted Jesús to talk some sense into the child. She twisted back to look at the loft ladder; her moccasins remained upstairs. She opened her mouth to ask if she had time to go get them as Ann pulled her out onto the porch. Neither she nor Zoe wore shoes either. Not wanting to be a whiner, she kept quiet and followed.
She kept her gaze on the ground as they walked along the road for a little while. At the din of numerous voices murmuring up ahead, Abby looked up at something on the order of two hundred people milling around a wide intersection. A pathetic little traffic circle, barely twelve feet (if that) across stood at the front of the crowd. A middle-aged white guy in a beige dress shirt and jeans stood on top of a folding table facing the crowd, with a few older people around him, though not on the table. Zara sat on the table facing the crowd, and Crystal, the woman Tris referred to has her ‘boss,’ waved at the crowd in an effort to quiet them and get them to pay attention.
Abby’s brain shut down at the size of the crowd. She clung to Ann’s side, trying to hide her face. Already, she imagined everyone turning to stare at her with accusing glares, wondering if she’d bring the Virus down on them. Would they all think her sick too?
Ann paused to look at her. “It’s all right, Abby. Come on now. You’re too big for me to carry.”
She relaxed her grip and walked a little faster, though still kept her head down. When they finally stopped near the back edge of the crowd, she stood behind Ann so no one could see her. Zoe tugged on the belt of a man in militia camo at her right.
He looked back and down. “Hello, Zoe.”
“I can’t see back here. Can I go up?” She reached toward him as if asking to be lifted.
After a nod of assent from Ann, the militiaman crouched and let Zoe climb up to sit on his shoulders. He stood, and Zoe waved at Zara, who smiled.
Abby closed her eyes and pressed her forehead into Ann’s back. Only the fear of being seen and yelled at kept her from running off back to her room in her parents’ house.
A short while later, a man called out, “Thank you everyone for assembling on short notice. I’ll be as brief as I can. As some of you may know already, Nederland has likely become a target for the Enclave. We strongly doubt that this will result in any manner of direct assault from individuals like those who attempted to raid us several months ago. If they decide to attack us, it will be by drone.”
“What the flyin’ shit is a drone?” yelled a woman somewhere to the left.
Mayor Wade waited for an upwelling of murmuring to die down. “I’m getting to that. A drone is an automated flying machine like this.”
The crinkle of a tarp brought silence to the assembly. Abby’s knuckles widened, clutching the back of Ann’s dress. Gasps swept over the crowd.
“This is a mockup of a reconnaissance drone,” said Zara, loud but not shouting. “Little Zoe managed to shoot one like this down about a half mile away from Nederland. It’s unlikely the operator spotted anything before the drone crashed, but they will probably send more to find out why they lost one.”
“Why’d you bring the goddamned thing into town? Isn’t it gonna kill us?” yelled a man.
“This is only painted wood to give everyone an idea what they look like,” said Zara. “However… if anyone sees anything that looks like this flying around, shoot it down.”
Mayor Wade cleared his throat. “On that point. Until or unless the drone threat is proven to be gone, I am hereby asking all residents of Nederland twelve years of age and older to carry a firearm at all times. Preferably a rifle. Anything in the air not recognized as a bird, take it down. Also, if anyone manages to down one… do not go near it.”
Abby, trembling with dread, peered around Ann.
Zara lifted herself up to stand on the table. “That’s my job. The dangerous part of the drones is if they are carrying the viral agent. I’m inoculated against it, so I cannot get sick. Please, if anyone sees any suspicious broken bottles, stay away from them. Don’t touch any green slime or broken glass lying out in the open. If you see anything like it, hold your breath and get away as fast as possible.”
Murmurs of alarm rose in the crowd.
“How d’we know if we dead?” asked an older man.
Zara’s expression hinted at a smartass remark wanting out. “Depending on the wind conditions, a ruptured capsule can be infectious at anywhere from ten feet to hundreds of yards in a narrow path if there’s a stiff breeze. The agent must make contact with your eyes, open wounds, or be inhaled to set in. If anyone sees a smashed glass capsule with green liquid, stay upwind of it and get away as fast as you can. Cover your mouth and nose.”
The crowd’s silence fanned the fires of Abby’s terror.
“I realize that some of you may not be entirely comfortable with so many weapons being out and about, but it is only for the time being.” Mayor Wade held up his hands in a placating gesture. “The militia will still be responsible for the primary defense of Nederland, and we are in the midst of constructing more elevated positions to allow for a greater range of engagement. If anyone sees anything suspicious on the ground, get away and notify the militia immediately. Thank you. Any questions?”
Many hands went up.
Abby struggled not to let her rattlesnake sandwich slither back up her throat. Fear made her sick. At her trembling, Ann turned and embraced her. She whispered soothing things into the top of her head, though none had meaning more than comforting sounds and warm breath in her hair. Abby stared transfixed at the black oblong shape of a fake drone sitting on a wheeled cart next to the table. Its elongated airframe resembled a motorcycle without handlebars or wheels. Four ‘fan shrouds’ about the size of car tires stuck out from the corners, front and back. She thought back to the other day when Zoe had fired off more than twenty bullets before the drone went down.
Image after image of broken capsules on the streets of Amarillo played a slideshow in a waking nightmare. The air in her lungs grew heavy; sweat rolled down her back under her dress. All the voices in the crowd trading questions with Zara and the Mayor became a terrifying roar she had to escape. She pushed at Ann, squirming, trying to run.
Find a hiding place.
Get out of sight.
Stop breathing.
Abby shrieked and squirmed. When she couldn’t get away from Ann, her legs gave out and she collapsed in place, curled in a ball.
I’m gonna die… I’m gonna die… Mommy!
A blur of Ann’s face swept past her vision as the world spun into a smear of color.
Everything went black.
Abby came to on the sofa of Ann’s house, a warm blanket wrapped around her to the waist. She lay sideways with her back against Ann’s chest, and the woman’s arms around her. Zoe sat cross-legged on the floor nearby working on a jigsaw puzzle in the middle of the living room. The light outside remain
ed strong, though she felt like she’d slept for a whole day.
“You’re safe, Abby.” Ann stroked her hair, peering down at her with an expression of concern and relief. “You fainted.”
“I’m sorry.” Abby couldn’t summon the urge to move.
Ann rocked her. “Nothing for you to be sorry about. Pobrecilla. You shouldn’t have had to see the things you’ve seen.”
Zoe jammed a piece of the puzzle in. Abby looked at her.
Ann chuckled. “She’s angry because the militia won’t let her patrol.”
“I’m a good shot!” yelled Zoe. “I killed that drone when it was way far away!”
“You’re nine.” Ann sighed at her. “No one wants you getting hurt.”
Zoe leapt to her feet and stomped, making puzzle bits bounce. “Drones not gonna shoot at me ’cause I got a gun. They just fly. I don’t wanna let stupid Omclave kill us! I’m gonna watch on the roof and you can’t stop me.”
The little one ran off to the loft.
Ann shivered. “Zoe! Come back here right now. Don’t you dare put me through that worry.”
“Aww, Gran’ma…” The girl stopped halfway up the ladder. Head hung, she trudged back to the living room and fell seated by the puzzle.
Abby squirmed.
Ann pulled the blanket snug around her. “Don’t be afraid, Abby. The militia will keep us safe.”
“Amarillo had soldiers too.” She looked up, her expression and tone blank. “They didn’t help.”
The Roadhouse Chronicles (Book 3): Dead Man's Number Page 23
