The Twins were whooping, already fashioning small, powdery snowballs they collected from the ground. Terry joined them, the boys yelling and laughing, flicking snow at one another, trying to shove ice into one another’s clothes while Hipshot barked and ran in circles among them, his tail wagging merrily as if they were all at Christmas camp.
Where were Piranha and Sonia? Then Kendra saw them: they were slightly off to the side, near the crater left by the explosion at the gas pumps, holding each other. Kissing. She’d never seen them kiss like that—the way her parents used to kiss, never caring who was watching, ignoring Kendra’s Ewwwwwws before she understood what a gift they were giving her. Seeing Piranha and Sonia filled her with unspeakable peace.
Love could survive, even if it was only one night at a time.
Ursalina’s ghostly face was framed in the bus window, her palm pressed against the unbroken pane of glass as she stared out at them, watching her new world unfold; laughter, love, sparkle, and moonlight. And just maybe, one day, healing.
Kendra wished she were an artist instead of a writer. She wanted to capture it.
It might have been the most beautiful night of her life.
TWENTY-ONE
December 18
A shallow heap of snow resisted Terry as he opened the door. He gave an extra nudge. Cold air woke up his pores. In all directions an endless mantle of white dappled with a few fir branches and corners of buildings. A new world, Terry thought.
He just hoped the road was navigable.
No one was waiting outside. Dean and Darius walked behind him, always wired. The cold had finally driven Ursalina inside with the rest of them overnight, and Piranha and Sonia had traded their shift from the warmth of the inside windows.
“Lookie here,” Darius said, pointing. “We had company.”
Out at the edge of the road, a few yards from the door, they found a large cluster of human footprints and herringbone motorcycle tracks in the snow. Not good.
Piranha bounded from behind them. “No way! I didn’t see anybody.”
Maybe Piranha or Sonia had fallen asleep at the window, or maybe it had been too dark to see outside. Terry had learned long ago not to waste time and energy trying to assign blame, unless a situation could be fixed. Piranha and Sonia often ended up on night watch because Terry, Darius, and Dean spent so much time driving, but usually watchers got long naps during the day on the bus. No one had a nap yesterday.
Piranha glared at Hipshot, who was sniffing at the footprints. “Great job—as usual,” Piranha said, chucking a snowball at the dog. Snow puffed across Hippy’s coat. He yelped, then shook it off, tongue lolling happily. “Dog stew for dinner.”
Hippy whimpered as if he’d understood him. Hell, maybe he had.
“Quit it,” Sonia said.
“Anyone hear engines last night?” Terry said. “There’s bike tracks.”
Everyone’s heads wagged. Kendra and Ursalina emerged from the cabin last, both looking like sleepwalkers. But Kendra’s eyes were brighter, more alive.
“Knew I should’ve stayed on the bus,” Ursalina said, and for the first time she seemed genuinely engaged. She carried her rifle at port arms. “Eyes open, people.”
They followed Ursalina’s lead, bringing out their weapons. They fanned out a few feet from one another, scanning the area around the bus and cabin. Dean peeked around the corner nearest the woods sniper-style, hiding except for a dart of his head, his rifle resting against his shoulder. Ursalina crept toward the trees.
“Sneaky SOBs,” Darius said, studying the trail. He pointed near the bus, where the snow was crisscrossed with wide swaths of a wiping pattern. “Tried to cover their trail with a branch or something.”
“Snow was falling pretty hard ’til after midnight,” Piranha said. “One, two, even. They must’ve come after that, or the snow would’ve covered it all.” He stamped his foot, frustrated. “Damn. How’d I miss them?”
“Let’s deal with it now,” Terry said.
How many had come? It was hard to tell from the footsteps, but there had been more than one or two. Maybe as many as five or six—grown men, by the size of their feet. At least one of them in boots. These hadn’t been freaks. Pirates could have burned them out, finishing the job someone had started before the bus arrived.
“They didn’t want us to know they were here, that’s for sure,” Terry said. “Walked their bikes up, walked them out. Tried to hide the tracks and footprints.”
“And they would have gotten away with it too,” Darius said, “if not for us meddling kids.” No one smiled at his Scooby-Doo riff. “Plus, they didn’t factor in the deadly tracking skills of an actual Suquamish Indian.”
“Yeah. That, and sunlight,” Piranha said. In the sun, the fresh coat of snow sparkled like miniature diamonds, making the footprints obvious from a distance. “Don’t get carried away, Squanto.”
“Let’s see, bro,” Darius said. “My great-great-grandfather was busy killing white people. What was yours doing?”
Ursalina let out a frustrated huff of air, disgusted with them already. “Hope nobody messed with the bus, or we’re screwed.”
The bus! The Blue Beauty was their lifeline.
Through the frosty windows, Terry could see the boxes still piled in the rear, but they spent the next five minutes examining their vehicle from top to bottom. No slit tires, no hidden GPS tracker, no lurking ninjas. Terry didn’t think the intruders had broken any windows or tried to open the door. Maybe they hadn’t wanted to risk the noise.
Sonia whistled them over to the rear luggage compartment. “Was this lock nicked yesterday?”
“Crap,” Terry said, and crouched to look more carefully. Hair-thin scrapes covered the lock. Someone’s attempt to force it open? Or maybe the locks had been scratched at the armory, during the mad dash to load the boxes while they raced to beat the freak army. He wished he knew for sure.
Terry flipped out his keys and opened the compartment’s lock. Everything inside seemed fine, except that some of the stacks had fallen in the bumpy ride.
But everything wasn’t fine. Someone—a group of someones—had caught them sleeping last night, lurked around, decided not to say hello, but had tried to erase signs of their presence. The scratches might mean nothing, or they might be more evidence that they had used up the day’s ration of luck. And they weren’t even on the road yet.
After a more thorough check of the surrounding woods and a search for likely hiding places, they spent twenty minutes slipping the snow chains onto the tires.
Afterward, Terry walked out into the middle of I-5, looking both ways. Snow over asphalt. He didn’t see any tracks in either direction, which was comforting in one way, but troubling in another—where were they? Hiding in the woods?
Slowly, Terry let himself relax into the whitewashed morning. In another world, at another time, the snowplows would have been busy. Once upon a time the I-5 had been one of the world’s busiest stretches of freeway; early commuter traffic would have heated and plowed the road by itself. How long had it been since this stretch of road had seemed so pure, so pristine? Probably never. Had this grand interstate once been a wagon road? Back in the nineteenth or early twentieth centuries? Horses? Footpaths? Had Lewis and Clark come this way, led by Sacajawea?
Everything was so quiet now, so pure. Beautiful. Whatever values humanity had added to the world, Terry suspected that beauty wasn’t among them.
He heard footsteps crunching in the show behind him, and hoped it was Kendra.
“What now?”
Not Kendra. Dean. Terry had learned that the easiest way to tell the Twins apart was by their voices. Dean’s was a focused whisper, no energy to waste on volume. Not since his visit home. He still hadn’t talked about it, not once. Terry hoped he’d told Darius, at least.
“You guys good with the snow?” Terry said.
“On the bikes? Hell, no. Not a good idea.”
“Maybe we could find some more chains.” The t
iny convenience store portion of the gas station had been raided of food items and gas cans, but there might be some road gear left in the rubble if they looked.
“I’ve never seen chains for bikes. Too unstable.”
“Our visitors had bikes,” Terry said.
“Yeah, and they probably ditched the road first chance they got after the snow started,” Darius said. “Unless they were crazy. That’s why there’re no tracks here.”
Terry sighed. No bikes meant more weight strapped to the bus. No scouts. Slower progress. Another long day.
“Then we better move,” Terry said. “I want to make it across the Siskiyou Pass tonight, before the snow gets worse.”
His father had driven his family through the Siskiyous once, back when he had a real family. He’d been eight or nine, and he and Lisa had shrieked on the winding road like they were on an amusement park ride. He could almost hear Lisa’s phantom echo. Nothing about that ride would be amusing now, especially with so much snow.
“A hundred miles,” Dean said. “We haven’t been making that kind of time.”
“I want to try. I want out of Oregon. I feel like we’ve outstayed our welcome.”
Dean shrugged. “No argument there.”
Terry turned to see the others, who were streaming out of the cabin after finishing breakfast. And now they were seven. After yesterday’s meltdown, Terry felt more responsible for them all—even Ursalina, because her hope in them had cost her.
They were supposed to have a Council vote, he remembered. But it was getting late, and clouds drifting east meant more snow. They’d save the vote for the bus.
“Load up!” Terry called. “We’re heading back to Cali.”
As the bus chugged and rattled down the road at seven a.m., everyone voted to go to Threadville—even Kendra knew she couldn’t offer an alternative, so they all agreed.
Except Ursalina. She was the sole “nay” vote.
“You’re fools,” Ursalina said. “You know how many stories I’ve heard from people who followed a radio signal? Those places are freak magnets. Or traps.”
The radio signal brightened, as if to make their argument for them: “… remember the days of civilized society? When people had jobs and children went to school? It’s NOT a fantasy. It’s NOT a dream. Everyday Americans, hardworking, scared people like you, are seeing the threads that bind us, the threads that can rebuild us…”
Ursalina clicked her teeth. “Yeah, right.”
“Somebody’s gonna figure it out,” Terry said. “Maybe he’s done it.”
“Estúpido,” Ursalina said. “It’s a miracle you guys survived a week.”
“Just let us know, and we can drop you off anytime,” Piranha said with a polite smile. Kendra understood why Piranha was sick of Ursalina’s voice of gloom and doom; it was hard enough to believe in something without the constant nattering.
Ursalina suddenly stood up, and everyone tensed. She had her pistol, as she always did, as she lurched to Piranha’s seat and stood over him.
“What the…” Terry muttered. Kendra saw his eyes go to his bus mirror. She hoped he wouldn’t drive them off the road.
“Easy, mamí,” Piranha said.
“Ursalina—sit,” Sonia said, as if addressing Hipshot. Sonia was reaching for her belt; she might shoot Ursalina faster than Piranha would.
Kendra clung to the seat in front of her, wondering if she would need to duck. Thankfully, Ursalina kept her pistol down, her arm at her side. She leaned over Piranha, her face close enough to kiss him. Piranha’s jaw pinched. At close range, her pistol was less useful than his right cross.
“That’s okay, bro,” Ursalina said, voice so low and heavy with pain and anger that she barely sounded human. “I’ll ride this bus as far as it goes, gracias. And then when you guys die, one by one—and believe me, you will—I’ll catch the next ride. Don’t get used to your happy little familia, ’cuz guess what? That ain’t the way it works. It won’t matter where you go. It always ends the same.”
Kendra’s eyes filled with tears, and her knees shook the way they had when she’d sat beside Grandpa Joe in his truck, waiting for him to turn. Ursalina had clawed into her mind to voice her own deepest belief, the one she’d buried. It was stupid to hope. She knew it too, deep down. Maybe they all did.
When Ursalina went back to her seat in the rear, a dead silence hung over them.
Only the radio played. The voice sounded like happy lies.
Soon, the bus had to slow to push a VW van out of the way. Next, a Ford truck.
The truck was the worst. Something still moved inside the cab, something that had once been human. It thrashed feebly inside the car, moaning and pressing its palms against the windows. The glass was cracked, as if it had battered its head against the glass until it was almost broken, but it had done so much damage to itself that it was unable to continue.
When Terry pushed their snowplow against it and pushed it off an incline, Kendra was able to see the face more clearly. Once, the thing had been a woman. Its nose was smashed, exposing sinus cavities foamed red with fungus. The face was a savage parody of human physiognomy. Certainly it felt nothing, knew nothing except the urge to bite. Did it realize it was about to tumble off the edge of the world?
Kendra was sure it didn’t, but still felt something cold and terrible. This wasn’t some dead thing clawed from the grave, like in a movie. It was still alive. Was now, or had, until recently, been a fellow human being. If some miracle occurred, some marvelous cure, it… she… might have even been saved.
All of them might be saved.
Kendra watched as the truck reached the guardrail, glancing between the truck and Terry’s face in the mirror. Terry was completely focused, biting his bottom lip. He needed only to push the car to the side, but he went on, nudging it toward the guardrail. Tires squealed, sliding against the slippery snow. The truck slammed against the rail. The wheels of the bus spun, and the guardrail bent, split, and the truck tumbled over, down into the gorge. Gone.
They all craned to watch as the truck disappeared. It slid, tumbled, and groaned out of sight with a final crack of twisting steel and fractured glass.
Then, silence.
Hipshot whined. The pooch had rested his chin on her seat, and she tangled her fingers in the long hair at the ruff of his neck.
“I know,” Kendra whispered. “I know.”
She remembered her notebook and decided to test a few words. It took a long time for words to come, and when they did, they were few.
We’re on our way to Threadville, she wrote. And if that doesn’t work, maybe Devil’s Wake. We’re trying to believe in something, but some of us believe more than others. I don’t know what I believe yet, or if believing matters. Maybe there are no schools, no safety, no such thing as family anymore. All I know is that I want to survive. Every morning when I open my eyes and feel my heart beating and oxygen in my lungs, I know I can believe in that.
TWENTY-TWO
For ten minutes after Ursalina returned to her seat, Sonia’s fingers were shaking with the memory of how close she had come to shooting her first human being. Shooting freaks was nothing—they were target practice, and she was doing them a favor—but a fever had gripped her when the new girl leaned over Piranha.
With the freaks, the adrenaline that pumped through her was driven by fear; this time, she’d felt only simple rage. How dare Ursalina! After all they’d done for her, all they’d risked for her, who did she think she was?
For one moment of blind anger, it hadn’t mattered to Sonia if the girl’s gun was up or down, if she planned to hurt Piranha or not. Only one thought had blotted her mind, like the snow driving against her window: Get the hell away from him, bitch.
Sonia had never felt anything like it, and it scared her to her bones.
The snow was falling hard now, as if nature had saved the last of the sunshine for the flatlands and now that they were ascending into the Siskiyou Mountains, it was time for cold fu
ry. Snow-dusted evergreens stood around them like a Christmas display. They had driven into what felt like a blizzard. Terry had the heavy-duty windshield wipers blitzing at full power, and he crawled at no faster than ten miles per hour. The rattling chains on the bus’s wheels sounded like Blue Beauty was trying to break free.
Sonia thought of the truck Terry had knocked off the ravine and felt dizzy.
She had told herself that she wouldn’t go to Piranha’s seat—she didn’t want to seem like an insecure high schooler staking her territory—but she quickly scooted across the aisle to sit with him. She pressed against his meaty arm, which radiated its familiar heat. Safety.
Was she imagining the daggers of Ursalina’s eyes on the back of her neck? The desire to hurt the woman coursed through Sonia again. When she whipped her head around, she found the soldier staring out of her window.
“You’re shivering,” Piranha said. He didn’t call her baby or boo the way he did when they were in the dark together, but he hadn’t pulled away. And he sounded concerned in a way he usually didn’t when the others were watching. He grabbed the old camp blanket draped across the seat in front of him and wrapped it around her. “Better?”
She nodded, although it was his arm and the sound of his voice that made her better, not the ratty old blanket.
“It’s like a meat locker in here,” she said. And it was true. She’d been so unnerved by how much she wanted to shoot Ursalina that she hadn’t noticed how the temperature had dropped since the snow started falling, turning the sky gray. Despite the need to save gas, Terry had turned on the heater full blast, drying her throat, but the heat wasn’t doing its job.
“Don’t trip,” Piranha said, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the cold. He’d seen how she turned her head, knew where she’d been looking. He took her hand beneath the blanket, squeezed. “We’ve got bigger issues.”
“The snow?”
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