“Yes,” everyone groans. No one needs to hear that story again. It’s almost as gross as zombies.
“I’ll wait with you,” Lance says. “We can meet them up there.”
I shake my head. “No way. No one splits up. We’ll find a truck and get it ready this afternoon, and then we’ll leave in the morning.”
It kills me to be this close and stop, but they stuck by me even when they probably shouldn’t have. That’s how this works. It’s how you stay alive.
The others murmur agreement. Gabe exhales, his eyes bright with tears. “Thanks, Cherry. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” I say. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
It’s the truth.
The truck is ready in the morning, and so are we. Thank God Oregonians love their pickups—it was easy to find one yesterday, and easy to siphon gas from a garaged car that was overlooked. We start up a network of small roads and the occasional easement, working our way north. After yesterday, I’ve concluded that there’s never a point where you don’t need luck. If there are zombies, you need all the luck you can get.
We narrowly miss an immense group of them to the west and manage (we hope) to infect a few stragglers with mold spores, then come into the South Hills on back roads. I’m convinced luck is on our side until we turn onto Rose’s road, where my Zen leaves me high and dry. Or, more truthfully, wet. Soaked with sweat now that the moment of truth has arrived.
We pass empty houses, some still in decent shape though empty, then close in on Rose’s house. At first, I’m confused—Rose’s short fence is now a tall privacy fence. But her blue house is visible at the top of the rise, as is the roof of Sam’s RV under the trees.
They built it after zombies. They were alive. Troy slows at my knock on the rear window, then pulls close enough to the fence for me to peer over. I release my breath at the sight of intact windows and closed front door.
I knock on the fence. The sound carries in the silence and should bring anyone inside to investigate, but nothing stirs. The new fence has posts set behind each panel for extra support against pushing bodies, and they fashioned a wood closure for the gate, but it’s vertical. Unlocked. I get to the grass, keeping an eye on the empty road, and walk for the gate. It’s been closed from the outside with thick wire. I lift the wire and swing it open.
The whole place feels uninhabited—a feeling I’ve come to recognize—but I walk the incline and step through the unlocked front door. It smells like Rose and Holly and Jesse, and nothing like decomposition. “Hello?” I call.
My boots echo on the wood floors. The kitchen is barren of food. Not a thing in the cabinets except some herbal tea bags and many spices. A half-full water container sits beside the sink—a replacement faucet when the water went out. Dishes line the dish drainer, waiting to be put away.
I head down the hall to Rose’s bedroom. Drawers are closed half-assedly, and a small suitcase is on the bed along with a few items of clothing. Mitch’s phone—I recognize the green case—rests on a bedside table. I make a joyful noise that’s loud in the silence. Mitch was here, just as I hoped.
Holly’s and Jesse’s rooms look as though someone hurriedly packed, though not frantically, and I head out the back door to check the RV. The well shaft is surrounded by five-gallon buckets, and a long piece of PVC pipe sits in the overgrown grass, a rope connected to its top. They had water. And they were here for a while—that much is obvious by the new fence and water system.
Sam’s RV is unlocked. The cabinets hold a bag of popcorn kernels, some packaged food, and a few large cans of dried food. Clean pots and pans sit on the stove. They weren’t starving when they left, either, if they left this behind. I smile at the strand of auburn hair on the kitchen counter. Holly and Rose both shed like dogs.
I leave for where my new friends wait in the truck. “They were okay for a while. It looks like they left, but not in a big hurry.”
“The fairgrounds?” Lana asks.
“I hope so,” I say, and cross my fingers for the trip downtown.
70
Tom
Rose left Ethan. She was quiet, puffy-eyed last night, after she took Holly and Jesse to an undisclosed location and returned alone. She said Holly didn’t take it well, and then she went to bed. I read a book late into the night, listening for sounds from her space, but she didn’t make a peep.
She was up early for her breakfast shift. I can see her inside the food truck from where Clara, Jesse, and I eat at an outdoor table. “How’re you doing?” I ask Jesse.
“Fine.” Jesse watches his bowl, one shoulder rising. “It was coming for a while.”
Clara bites her lip. Holly is conspicuously absent, though I don’t ask where she is. Already there are whispers in the fairgrounds—people love their drama, and in the absence of afternoon television, they’re eating this up. I’ve heard more discussion of Ethan and Rose than of the zombies outside who want to eat us, which only bolsters my belief that people are idiots.
Jesse checks his watch. “I have to go.”
“Reporting for boot camp?” I ask.
“I guess so.”
“They giving you a haircut?”
Jesse flips his hair theatrically. “They’re not getting anywhere near this luxurious mane.” Clara snort-laughs, and Jesse finally cracks a smile. “See you later, Clary. If you see my sister, tell her I want to talk.”
“Okay. Have fun.”
After he leaves, Clara spoons oatmeal into her mouth. It seems there’s more oatmeal in the world than anything else, and the powers that be are hell-bent on feeding us every last ounce of it. At least they added dried fruit and nuts this time, along with some shredded coconut. It’s a suspiciously Rose thing to do.
“Where’s Holly?” I ask Clara.
“She came to bed late and left early. I think she might be hiding somewhere in the Pavilion. I’ll look after breakfast before work.”
“She’s pretty upset, then.”
Clara stares across the lot. “Yeah. I think Rose should have told her more than she did, but she didn’t. She told Jesse he couldn’t, either.”
“How do you mean?”
“It wasn’t just drugs, Dad.” Clara meets my gaze, and she looks so grown-up that I feel a hundred years old. “Ethan was treating Rose like shit for a while now. Saying mean things and accusing her of stuff like cheating on him. Jesse told me.”
I absorb that calmly—on the outside. Inside, I’m stunned. I can attest to Rose’s loyalty, and I’ve only known her well less than two months. Ethan is a damn fool. “Sounds like she made the right decision.”
“She deserves someone better. Someone who knows how great she is.”
Clara’s expression, though an attempt at guileless, still holds enough mischief to make my face heat. Not only has she given me implicit permission; she’s attempting to play matchmaker. But I have Sheila’s memory to contend with, not just my daughter’s approval. I nod once and change the subject. “Are you coming to my class later?”
It started two days ago, and there’s been a decent turn-out so far. I even got a few of the Army guys to volunteer to be beat on. Rose hasn’t attended, and I haven’t asked again.
“I’ll miss the beginning, but I’ll get there for the second half.” Clara cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t I know it all already?”
“You got the slimmed-down version. I think you’d learn better now.”
Our past relationship didn’t leave much room for either teacher or student to be at our best, though I don’t want to say so. Clara finishes her oatmeal, smiling as if she understands. “Okay. I’ll be there, ready for you to teach me to kick some ass.”
“Defend yourself.”
“Whatever.” She gets to her feet. “Love you, Dad.”
This is new, and I choke up a little. “I love you, Clare-bear.”
I watch her leave, noting the soldiers who also watch. I’ll have to get them to volunteer for class so I can give them a good knocki
ng. After I finish my breakfast, I sit at my table and tell myself I’m not waiting for Rose, which is a lie. I run with it anyway.
Rose steps out of the food truck thirty minutes later, when the tables are almost empty, and pulls her clip from her hair. She starts forward and spots me, then veers to my table. Her eyes are rimmed with pink, but she smiles. I motion for her to sit. “How are you?”
She sets an elbow on the table and rests her chin in her hand. “I’m okay. Tired of being stared at, but okay.” I nod, unsure of what to say. Rose’s eyes skim the fairgrounds and return to me. “Is that offer for private self-defense lessons still on the table?”
“Expired yesterday,” I say, and she smiles like she’s too tired to laugh. “Of course it’s on the table.”
“Okay. Just so you know, I want to punch someone, and the Fuck You playlist isn’t cutting it. I promise I’ll go easy on you.”
I laugh, though it wouldn’t surprise me if Rose turns out to be ferocious. The quiet ones often are. “Today? I’m free until class in the afternoon. Have gate duty tonight, though.”
“How about tomorrow? I need to hide from the world today. My plan is to resurface at dinner, unless it’s salmon.”
“Tomorrow it is.”
“Where?” Rose takes stock of our surroundings. “The museum? No one ever goes in there, the uncultured schmucks.”
“Sounds good.”
Two older women pass by, openly gawking, and Rose murmurs, “Yup, it’s the lady who ditched her husband, sitting at a table. I hope you got a hair in your oatmeal.” She stands. “That’s my cue to hide.”
I make sure to conceal my disappointment. I wanted to talk longer, offer some sort of consolation. “Be gentle with yourself,” I say, which were her words to me not that long ago.
“Trying. But it’s hard when one of your kids won’t speak to you.” Rose takes a step, then peers over her shoulder. “Do you want to come? I can’t promise laughs or even halfway decent conversation, but you’re welcome to join me in our Expo Hall. Not that you have to be invited to your own living area. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. If you want—”
“Yes,” I say. I don’t care what the offer is or where we’re going, my answer is yes. I throw my bowl in the nearby washing tub and join her.
On our way across the lot, Rose frowns. “You know what’s pissing me off?”
“What?”
“Right now, there are thousands of ripe strawberries going to waste all over Eugene. I love fresh strawberries. I used to go to the farmer’s market early in the spring to get the first ones. They were always sold out by ten.”
“That’s what’s pissing you off?”
“Everything’s pissing me off.” She side-eyes me with a sly smile. “Well, not you. Not yet, anyway.”
“I’ll do my best to stay on your good side.”
She grins, then focuses her attention on the ice rink. “Something’s happening.”
A group of people wearing large packs stands outside the building’s entrance. We watch them as we near our hall. A big guy is doing most of the talking. More like arguing, with the way he throws his arms around.
A petite woman drops her pack at her feet, then sits on it. A guy joins her and swivels to take in the fairgrounds. The cloudy sky reflects in his eyeglasses, rendering the lenses opaque before he turns around. Rose comes to a halt with a gasp. “That kind of looks like Craig. It can’t be Craig. Can it?”
Mitch and Rose have mentioned Craig, but I have no idea what he looks like. From what I’ve heard of him, it’s doubtful he’s managed to travel all this way, but I say, “Let’s go see.”
We move across the asphalt. Closer in, Rose takes my arm with tight fingers. “Holy shit, I really think that’s Craig. What if it’s not? I can’t run over and jump on a stranger.”
She drags me past our hall. The man faces the other way. He’s tall, with tan skin and wavy brown hair. His jeans are baggy and filthy, and a good-sized revolver hangs from his shoulder in a holster. When we’re fifteen feet away, Rose calls out, “Craig?”
The man turns. His face is as filthy as the rest of him. When he sees Rose, he blinks a few times behind black-framed glasses. “Am I going crazy or is that really you?”
Rose runs forward with an ear-piercing shriek. The man—who, apparently, is Craig—spins her around while they both talk at once. After a minute, he sets Rose down, where she beams up at him, her cheeks wet with happy tears.
“The kids?” Craig asks.
“Everyone’s here. The kids and Mitch and Pop. And Ethan.”
“Thank God.” He hugs her again, then pulls away shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”
“Of course I’m here. It’s three miles from my house.” Rose jabs his chest with a finger. “How the hell did you get here?”
Craig’s shoulders quake. He pulls off his glasses and rubs his eyes instead of answering. Rose wraps her arms around him and pulls him close while he sobs into her neck. Eventually, he lets her go, using his shirt to wipe his face.
Rose digs a tissue from her bra. Craig takes it and blows his nose without a word. When he’s finished, he shakes his head mournfully. “I can’t believe I just used your boob tissue. That’s how dire things are.”
I laugh—I’ve been there. Rose kisses Craig’s cheek, then pulls him over to me. “This is Tom. Tom, this is Craig.”
“Hi, Tom.” Craig shifts his eyes to Rose. Barely moving his lips, he says, “Who is Tom? Why am I being introduced to him?”
It’s all murmured at a normal volume so I can hear, and I chuckle. Rose takes it in stride, as if this is par for the course. “Tom is a friend. You know Holly’s friend, Clara? This is her dad.”
Craig sticks out a filthy hand. “Nice to meet you. I love Clara.”
“Me, too,” I say while we shake. The guy is nutty, but I like him.
“We need to find Mitch,” Rose says. “She’s on dishes. Did they say if you have to go in the rink before you can come in?”
“Is figure skating a requirement?” Craig asks. “Because I’ll tell you right now I’m failing that test.”
Rose cackles and throws an arm around him, eyes shining with a joy that’s mirrored in Craig’s smile. Four of the six people he came in with, all equally dirty, join us. The two younger guys, one with an impressive head of dreads, continue speaking with a soldier.
“Hey there,” says the man who was waving his arms, his voice marked with a subtle drawl. “Craig, they’re saying we can have a hot shower. They wanted our guns, but I told them where to stick that idea.”
“I’m sure you did.” Craig squeezes Rose closer to his side. “This is Rose. Rose, these are the people who got me here. Troy, Lana, Francis, and Daisy. They saved my life.”
Lana, a woman around my age, smiles warmly. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”
Rose goes straight for a hug, wrapping her arms around Lana like she’s known her for years. “Thank you for bringing him home.”
Lana returns the hug, smiling. “I’m not sure you want to hug me. We’re really dirty.”
“I don’t care.” Rose embraces Francis on her tiptoes, engulfs the petite Daisy in her arms, then goes for Troy, who hugs her so tight her feet leave the ground. “Thank you.”
“Don’t listen to Cherry,” Troy says with a wink. “He saved us right back.”
“Cherry?” she asks.
Craig smiles. “Long story.”
Rose presses his hand to her cheek, glowing with pleasure. “I can’t wait to hear it. What’s California like?”
“It’s fucked,” Troy says. “We’re fucked. We met someone who knows that for a fact. The Lexers aren’t dying. No one knows how long they’ll live, but it could be years. Could be decades.”
“You’re sure?” I ask.
The five of them nod. It’s what we suspected, but my stomach clenches to hear it verified. The future in which I’ll have to keep Clara safe, keep Rose and her family alive, can
now be measured in years instead of weeks or months—maybe even a lifetime.
“There are at least a quarter-million coming up I-5 now,” Troy says. “We’re thinking they’ll catch up with us in three days.”
While the first part wasn’t a surprise, his second announcement makes my blood run cold.
The meeting they call is short and sweet. All hands needed on deck, both to build up defenses and acquire as much food as possible. There’s a chance the quarter-million zombies won’t come into Eugene, but there’s a good chance some of them will. One percent is twenty-five hundred, ten percent is twenty-five thousand. We have to prepare for a siege.
A few soldiers are heading upriver to the power plant, both to restock and warn the power plant operators. If the power goes, life will be more difficult than it already is. If the water goes, life will be impossible.
Boone reads off the list of required duties, then eyes us, his audience, with doubt. Barry steps forward. “Thank you for your help,” he says. “I know this is scary, but we’ll make it through. In addition to everything we’ve spoken about, we’re sending a team outside Eugene to a safe location. If we’re surrounded, they’ve volunteered to try to lead them away for the rest of us. We thank them, and we thank you.”
He and Boone step from the stage, stopping to answer questions. The people who have young children leave to retrieve them, since they weren’t invited to this meeting, and others head for a clipboard-filled table to sign up for what needs doing. There’s been no mention of how long the zombies are expected to live. I figure they’re saving that gem for after they’ve dealt with the current threat.
“Let’s wait for the line to die down before we sign up,” Sam says.
Rose, standing beside him, wraps her arms around her waist. “Maybe we should leave. We might be able to find somewhere far enough in a few days. We can go to Always Ready and then head east or north to…wherever.”
We discussed it briefly and haven’t come up with a good plan, though as the minutes tick down, it’s sounding better and better. Rose’s house is out of the question; that many zombies versus a wooden fence will not end in our favor. And if we can’t find a safe destination, a worse fate may wait outside the fairgrounds.
The Cascadia Series (Book 1): World Departed Page 69
