Against my better judgment, I passed the exit and continued on the shoulder, weaving between people, cars, and zombies, and hoping my tires would hold out for another twenty miles. I wasn't normally a pushover; as a matter of fact, most who knew me thought I could be fairly difficult. But the one person I was always able to depend on was Bryce, and in that moment, I needed to believe I wasn't the only one who could make a sensible decision.
Growing up, with my dad always working, and mom preoccupied with new ways to get his attention, I felt like the only grown-up in the house. Ashley leaned on Mom so much that there wasn't really an opportunity for me to be coddled. Ashley was so delicate. She had inherited that trait from my mother. Every obstacle was a tragedy, every struggle a death sentence. I could never understand why they were so susceptible to stress, and I eventually decided that my dad had accepted long ago that it was just part of his wife's personality. He thought it was better if we kept Mom and Ashley from getting even remotely overwhelmed. We let them believe that no matter what came along, together Dad and I had it under control. Dad would manage Mom. I would handle Ashley. Now that Mom was remarried, the endless reassurances and heroic displays of patience were Rick's responsibility--keeping Ashley's emotional meltdowns in check was still mine. I was better at it some days than others, but when our parents shocked us with the news of the divorce, it seemed right that Ashley had their attention. She was the one who needed them most.
When Bryce and I decided we were more than friends, it just felt natural--and a little bit of a relief--to rely on him. Most times I felt he was more my family than my parents, or even Ashley. But even so, it wasn't that romantic sort of love that Ashley and Cooper had. Ours was a friendship, first. We almost treated our relationship like a duty, and I liked it that way. I guess Bryce did, too.
"We can exit at Anderson," Bryce said, trying not to see the stranded people on the side of the road.
Chapter Seven
Scarlet
WE WALKED CAREFULLY ALONG THE river once again, this time on the other side of the bridge, making our way to a large, familiar tree. Just as I had said, there was a rope hanging from a thick branch. The rope was tattered and looked frail. We wouldn't know how frail until we were swinging above the cold river water. The streetlights on each side of the bridge fell just short of where we stood. Good for hiding from soldiers--bad for swimming. With just a half-moon above, the water wasn't just dirty, it was black like the night had settled inside of it. As if that wasn't frightening enough, shufflers didn't need to breathe, I imagined. That was probably why the soldiers were shooting at floating corpses, just to make sure they didn't reanimate and crawl onto the shore and into town.
I shivered.
"You're freezing," Tobin said, removing his jacket. "Take this." He held it out. I just watched him for a moment until he shook it once. It was covered in mud, but it was lined with wool. It would still help to fend off the cold. "Take it."
Tobin huffed, clearly annoyed with my hesitation, and then draped the jacket around my shoulders.
"Thank you," I said, hoping it was loud enough for him to hear. I slipped my arms into the sleeves, and then rolled them up so they didn't swallow my hands. I would need them for the trip across the night.
With Tobin's help, I crawled up the bark. The initial climb was tougher than I remembered. Back then climbing a tree was nothing. I hadn't climbed anything in years. Tobin's breath skipped while he struggled to keep his balance underneath me. I made it to the first branch, and then used the rest as a ladder until I reached the one just under the branch with the rope.
Tobin was breathing a bit harder than he had a few minutes before.
"Really?" I said. "I'm not that heavy."
"No, ma'am." He put his hands on his hips while he caught his breath. "You're not. I'm just out of shape, and it's been a long-ass day."
I nodded. "That it has. Have you ever done this before?"
Tobin shook his head. His short cornrows moved with the motion, making it a little easier to gauge his nonverbal responses in the dark.
"Just pull in the rope and get a good grip," I said, showing him as I spoke. The next part I couldn't act out. "Lean back, and then step off. Let your bodyweight take you across. When you see land below, let go. It's fairly easy from what I remember, but if you hesitate you'll end up swinging back, and either in the water or hanging above it. The point is not to end up in the water. At least not tonight."
"Okay. But, uh . . . how am I going to see land if it's dark?"
"It's not that dark."
"It's pretty dark."
"Listen for me. I'll tell you when."
Tobin nodded, and I leaned back. My heart began to pound as I silently prayed, to whatever god might still be watching over us, that the two dozen things that could go wrong didn't. "I want to raise my babies," I whispered. "Please help me get across." As I leaned forward, I stepped off the branch and held on tightly. Within seconds I was almost above the opposite shore. The only problem was the rope was at the end of its pendulum and was beginning to start its return. I let go, and my feet hit hard against the ground at the edge of the short cliff above the water.
Quietly as I could, I called to Tobin. "I'm over! Really lean back, it's farther than I thought!"
A second later, I heard another vehicle, and I kneeled down in the tall reeds. I glanced over to see where Tobin was, and at the same time, saw that he was coming my way on the rope.
"Drop!" I said as loudly as I could without the soldiers hearing.
Tobin made a clumsy departure from the rope and fell to his knees. The spotlight danced over the water, and then highlighted the swinging rope. Voices shouted to each other, and doors slammed. They were going to search the area.
I scrambled to my feet, bringing Tobin with me. "We have to go," I whispered. "C'mon!"
Tobin limped into the trees, and then we crawled on our bellies until we reached the border of where the streetlights touched the woods. A house stood maybe twenty yards away with a makeshift fence. I tried to remember who lived there, and if they had dogs. They probably did. Everyone in this town had a fucking dog. Most of them tied up outside so their owners could ignore them.
A muffled sound came from Tobin's throat.
"You hurt?" I asked.
"If I said I might've hurt my ankle when I fell, would you leave me here to die?"
"Yes."
"Then no, I'm fine."
I smiled and helped Tobin to his feet. "Where does your sister live?"
"I've never come into town from this way. I'm not sure how to get there from here."
"Do you know what street?"
"Padon. I think."
"East or West?"
"I'm not sure, I . . ."
I sighed. "Tell me how you get there from the other side of town, and I'll guess."
"Just come in on the main road, see," he said, talking with his hands, "and then turn right at that old armory, and then I go until I get to her street and take a left, and then I usually hit a stoplight right there. I'm not sure why there's a stoplight. Ain't no traffic in this damn town."
"Tobin . . ."
He nodded once. "Right. I'm sorry. I go through the light and pass a grocery store, and she's the second house on the right."
"Weird."
"Why?"
"That's right next to my grandparents' house."
"Really?"
"Yes. We're going to go straight down this street about five blocks and then hang a left. I'm going to drop you off at your sister's, check on my grandparents, and then I'm going to get my daughters."
"And then where are you going?"
"Red Hill Ranch."
Nathan
JILL WAS CRUMPLED AGAINST SKEETER, holding her bleeding, mangled arm up against her chest. She had it bent at the elbow, so I couldn't tell exactly how bad her injuries were. Glass had broken just before she screamed, so I hoped over and over that she had just been cut and not bitten. Everything we knew about th
e walking dead told us that a bite was fatal.
Zoe had a hard time keeping up with Skeeter's pace, so I pulled her up into my arms. Her little legs bounced as I chased Skeeter and Jill across the street and down the block to the First Baptist church. Its wooden exterior was in need of another coat of white paint. I couldn't imagine why it hadn't been done; the church was the size of Skeeter's house.
"Heads up!" Skeeter said, raising his rifle.
A woman was walking toward Zoe and me. I wasn't sure what to do. I was holding Zoe with both hands, and called out to Skeeter, running as fast as my legs could move. He stood still for a moment so he could let go of Jill long enough to aim and fire, and then he wrapped his arm around his wife again. I didn't wait to see if Skeeter had hit his target. I didn't have to. I'd never seen the man miss. After one more glance around, he took off into a sprint for the backside of the church.
Several of those things were following us, and the fear and adrenaline made me feel I could jump to the roof with Zoe in my arms if I had to.
Skeeter beat on the door with the side of his fist, and it immediately opened. A short man with white hair and matching complexion stepped to the side so we could file in, and then he shut it tight, and turned the bolt lock. Another man, bald and wearing a blue leisure suit, helped him pull a solid wood pulpit in front of the door before they turned to Skeeter.
Skeeter nodded his head to the short man. "Reverend Mathis." He looked to the other, and his eyebrows pulled in. "Where's Esther?" The man just looked to the floor, and it was then that I noticed a boy about eleven or twelve standing behind him.
Reverend Mathis put his hand on the man's shoulder. "Bob and Evan tried to get to her. They had to leave her behind."
Evan, the young boy behind Bob, sniffed and wiped his cheek, but kept his eyes on the floor. He was so still, as if moving would mean what was happening was real.
Skeeter offered a small smile. "You got your grandson here safe, Bob. Esther would be glad for that."
Someone was hammering away in the next room, the knocking echoing throughout the building.
A few people Skeeter and Jill seemed to be familiar with were gathered together, all wide-eyed and as frightened as we were. The room we stood in was obviously a kitchen, albeit a small one. Canary-yellow paint complemented the dated speckled countertops and metal cabinets. The seats and springs of the faucet were just one more thing that needed to be repaired in this place, made obvious by the steady drip of water from the spout. The only thing not some shade of yellow was the faded blue carpet; at least it was until Jill started bleeding all over it.
"Christ almighty, Jill, what happened to you?" a woman said, helping Skeeter to sit his wife in a folding chair.
Jill sniffed. "I was getting a few changes of clothes for me and Skeeter. I heard something outside, so I opened the curtain and Shawn Burgess was standing right next to the window. He didn't seem right, Doris." Tears fell down her cheek while Doris wrapped her arm with a damp towel. "Next thing I know, he's charging me like a bull. He broke through the window and less than a second later he had me on the ground."
"Shawn Burgess? Denise's son?" Doris said, looking to Skeeter. When Skeeter didn't respond, she pulled back the towel to reveal a large gouge in Jill's arm. I was expecting a set of bite marks, like a toddler might leave, but an entire section of her skin and muscle had been ripped away. "Oh my Lord, honey. You're going to need stitches."
"More like a skin graft," Evan said. He was staring at Jill's arm like it was on fire.
Doris shot a threatening look in his direction. "And a slew of antibiotics, I imagine. We're going to have to get to Dr. Brown's."
"Aunt Jill!" Zoe said, ducking under Jill's good arm. Jill hugged Zoe to her side and kissed her forehead.
The white-haired man spoke. "You think we'll get lucky and he'll come here with supplies?"
"No," Skeeter said. "I saw him chasing Jim Miller earlier when I brought Barb."
Skeeter watched Doris fuss over Jill's wound. A darkness had fallen over his face. He knew as well as I did that he was going to lose his wife today. Maybe tomorrow. If anything anyone had ever said about zombies was true, it wouldn't take long. By the subdued fear in Jill's eyes, she knew it, too.
Skeeter blinked. "Where is Barb and Ms. Kay?"
Doris nodded toward the doorway. "In the sanctuary. Prayin'. Gary and Eric are boarding up the windows."
"Good plan," Jill said. "They definitely don't have a problem with windows."
Skeeter kneeled in front of his wife. "I'm going to talk to the guys, Jillybean. Make sure they allow spaces for me to fit my rifles through. I'll be right back, and then we're going to get you fixed up." Jill nodded as Skeeter kissed her cheek.
"Can you stay here with Aunt Jill?" I said to Zoe. She leaned against Jill, the smallest tinge of sadness in her eyes. I wondered if she knew, but I wouldn't ask. Maybe she was just missing her mother.
I followed Skeeter into the sanctuary. It smelled like old people and mildew, and I began to wonder why in the hell Skeeter had thought this rickety building was our best option. Two men were working on opposite sides of the room, furiously nailing boards to the stained glass windows. There were three on each wall, and they had only one on each side left to cover. A hand flattened against the glass, making a clumsy attempt to get inside. I jumped, on edge from our desperate run to the church.
"They just started doing that," Eric said, gesturing to the window. "It's like they know we're in here."
When he started hammering again, shadows of the people outside darkened the glass portraits of Jesus and angels. They wanted to get inside, and I wondered how long it would be until they did.
"The noise is probably drawing them here," I said, running my fingers through my hair. Aubrey was always making snide comments about my shaggy hair and how bad I needed a haircut. I wondered if the world would ever calm down long enough for me to miss her bitching.
"Don't really have a choice. They'll have that glass broke before long." Skeeter walked over to two frail-looking women sitting next to each other on a wooden pew. "You ladies still doin' okay?" Skeeter said, putting a hand on the one woman's shoulder. She reached up and patted his hand, but did not stop her quiet prayer. Their mouths were moving, but I couldn't hear them.
"You think you could send one up for Jill?" Skeeter asked, his voice threatening to break.
One woman continued to pray as if she didn't hear, the other looked up. "Is she okay?"
"She's hurt. She's in the kitchen . . . all right for now."
"Jesus will take care of her."
I rolled my eyes. Jesus wasn't taking care of much of anything at the moment.
Skeeter started to return to the kitchen, but I motioned for him to join me in the corner of the room, away from listening ears.
"I know what you're going to say," he said. His eyebrows pulled together. "But don't."
I nodded, and then watched Skeeter return to his wife.
Chapter Eight
Nathan
I LOWERED MY CHIN TO PEEK from a slit in the boards Gary had left for Skeeter. The sun was a little lower in the sky. Before too long, it would be dark. That thought scared me. We would need to sleep some time, but they wouldn't. Those things would be walking around, just on the other side of these walls, waiting to pull our flesh from our bones with their teeth.
Skeeter grabbed my shoulder; the sudden movement made me jump two inches off my chair.
"Whoa! It's just me, Nate. Calm down."
I settled back into my seat, trying to play off my fear. Watching a movie about zombies is one thing. Watching zombies outside your window was another. The movies didn't talk about that. Well . . . maybe they did, but they didn't drive home how terrifying each moment truly was. I tried not to think about tomorrow, or that we would still be fighting for our lives every day from now on. I glanced back at Zoe, and choked back the sadness welling up in my throat. I didn't want her to grow up in a world like this.
 
; A combination of fear, anger, and utter depression fully engulfed me.
Skeeter squeezed my shoulder. I sat still, letting his fingers sink into my tense muscle. "It's going to be okay."
"Is it?" I asked, looking back out the window. "Is Jill?"
Skeeter sighed. "I don't know. I'm hoping the movies got it all wrong, and a bite is just a bite."
"What if it's not?"
"I don't know. I don't really wanna think about it."
I nodded, catching a glimpse of an elderly man shuffling by the window. His neck was half eaten away, and his dress shirt was saturated in blood. "We can't stay here. We're going to have to keep moving. Get into the country."
"Damn, brother, I thought I was in the country."
"I mean away from any town."
Skeeter took a moment to respond. "I know, but I can't move Jill. And we can't risk putting her in a car with Zoe until we know if she's going to get better."
I closed my eyes tight, trying to squint away the visual. Another one of those things ambled by. She was wearing a nametag and a long skirt. I couldn't read the nametag even if it was closer. It was covered in blood and what might be torn muscle lying over the top.
"Jesus Christ, that's Birdie," Skeeter said, disgusted. "She works at the bank."
A dog was barking at her, keeping just enough distance that it wasn't grabbed and eaten. Looking out at what could be seen through the boards, I watched whoever lumbered by, studying them, trying to notice whatever I could.
They were slow. Not as slow as I thought they might be, but they were slow enough that if we had to head out on foot, as long as we didn't let one get too close, or get surrounded, we could make it. Some of them that had more extensive injuries moved slower than others. One guy's foot was completely gone, but he continued walking on a bloody stub. They weren't distracted by pain.
"I wonder if you can really only kill them by obliterating the brain," I thought aloud.