Skeeter kneeled down, put his gun on the floor behind him, and held out his arms. "I went to school with Amy. You must be Connor. C'mere, buddy. I know you're scared, but you're safe here."
Connor shook his head quickly. He held his knees against his chest, and his chin was resting on his knees as he rocked back and forth.
"Is Annabelle his aunt?" I asked.
Skeeter shook his head. "Annabelle's the first grade teacher at the elementary school."
"She saved me," Connor whispered, "from my mom." His breath caught, and then he let out a sob.
Skeeter scooped him up into his arms. "Sssh, buddy. You're safe now. You're safe, I promise."
Skeeter walked to the window, opened it further, and then stepped out onto the roof. I followed him. From what I could see, the entire church was surrounded.
"A lot of them followed us here," Connor said.
Skeeter nodded, noticing the drag marks along the roof and the windowsill, and the trail of blood on the sidewalk leading up to the church. "Annabelle bled out. We'll probably have them coming from all over town."
"At least we know they can't climb," I said, pointing to the group lifting their arms and scratching at the church's outside walls.
Connor sniffed. "Annabelle was already on the roof. She saw me running and climbed back down."
Skeeter gave Connor a squeeze. "She was a sweet lady."
Connor peaked over Skeeter's shoulder at the rug covering Annabelle, and then shut his eyes tight.
"We can't stay here," I said.
"We can't leave. Give it a couple of days, Nate. They'll move on."
"What if they don't? We'll be trapped here."
Skeeter sighed, pulling the toothpick out of his mouth with his free hand and throwing it down to the growing crowd of undead below. "I can't move Jill."
My eyebrows pushed together. "What if she gets worse? What if she turns into one of those things?"
Skeeter looked down, and then back at me, resolute. "You should go. Get Zoe some place safe. She shouldn't be here when Jill . . . but, I can't leave, brother. I wouldn't have anything to live for, anyway."
My stomach dropped, and goose bumps formed on my arms. Skeeter was going to die in this church, with his wife.
"I've gotta get Zoe out of here."
"I know."
Skeeter crawled back inside carefully with Connor still in his arms. He walked past Eric and Gary, but stopped in the doorway. "Board up the door."
"But," Eric said, pointing to the sheet, "they can't climb, and Annabelle's dead."
"In case she comes back as one of them," I said, nodding to the window.
Gary frowned. "Maybe we should roll her off the roof. She'll start stinkin' before long."
"No!" Connor cried.
Skeeter patted his back. "The smell might help cover ours. Leave her be. Board the door."
Gary and Eric nodded, and Skeeter and I walked back downstairs to the kitchen, joining Bob and Evan, Reverend Mathis, and Doris. They had made Jill a pallet on the floor with a rolled-up dish towel for a pillow.
"Oh my Lord in Heaven! Connor Nicholson! Are you all right, sweetheart?" Doris said, taking him from Skeeter.
Connor hugged Doris tight, wildly sobbing all over again. They obviously knew each other, but I wasn't sure how.
Doris blanched, looking up at Skeeter. "Where is Amy?"
"She's outside. Annabelle Stephens helped him up to the roof."
"Well . . . ?" she said, looking past Skeeter. "Where is she?"
Skeeter shook his head. "Upstairs. She didn't make it."
About that time the hammering began. Doris held Connor while he cried. Reverend Mathis went to the sanctuary to check on Barb and Ms. Kay, and Skeeter sat on the floor next to his wife. Jill was unconscious, her bloodshot eyes barely visible between the two thin slits of her eyelids. She was nearly panting, and a thin sheen of sweat covered her paling skin.
Zoe was standing in the doorway, her eyes fixed on her aunt Jill. I kneeled beside my daughter and pulled her against my side. There wasn't really anything I could say; no point in asking if she was all right. None of us were.
Skeeter bent down to speak soft, comforting words to Jill. Unable to watch, I walked into the sanctuary. Broken glass lined the carpet next to all three walls. The townspeople of Fairview were clawing and batting at the boards Eric and Gary had nailed across the windows. The boards wouldn't last forever, just like the small amounts of food Skeeter and a few others had thought to bring along with them.
Reverend Mathis was praying with Barb and Ms. Kay, but paused to watch me approach the windows. I peeked through, trying to gauge how far my car was from the church. I didn't see any of the sick around Skeeter's house, or even between there and the church, but that didn't mean there weren't any. Still, the hardest part would be walking out the door.
I walked into the kitchen, pulling my car keys from my pocket. "I'm going to make a run for it with Zoe. I have a car down the block. We've got two, maybe three empty seats, but we're going to need a diversion to get outside."
"But I don't wanna leave Aunt Jill, Daddy," Zoe said.
Doris shook her head. "I'm not going out there."
Bob frowned. "Why don't you just stay here? It's as safe as anywhere."
I covered Zoe's ears and spoke softly. "Because Annabelle left a trail of blood leading to the church, and it's smeared on the west wall. Skeeter and I were just on the roof. The church is surrounded, and more are coming. Who knows when they'll go away, or if they ever will?"
Skeeter nodded. "You'll need a gun. Something light but with a lot of stopping power. Grab the AR out of my bag there. The two twenty-three. Don't forget the clips. I'll cover you."
A long, camouflage duffle bag holding nearly every gun Skeeter owned was tucked under the church's kitchen table. I crouched down to pull the nylon across the worn linoleum, and found a squat-barreled rifle that was smaller, but looked just as ferocious as anything else in the bag. "I've never shot a semiautomatic rifle, Skeeter. I'm not sure I can handle this."
Skeeter laughed once, but he couldn't quite smile. "Zoe could handle it. And you should let her practice when y'all get somewhere safe. Just in case."
The thought of something happening to me, and Zoe then being left alone made my world stop. She was so little, and if we left Skeeter and Jill, I would be all she had. "Maybe we should stay?" I said, my gaze floating to the sanctuary. The things outside were still trying to get in, pulling and banging against the boards.
Skeeter looked at his wife, and then back at me. "No. You shouldn't." I pulled a 9mm from the bag and a box of ammo. "Can I take this, too?" Skeeter's eyes touched on Zoe for just a moment. He knew why I wanted it. I couldn't leave her alone to fend for herself.
"Of course, brother."
I nodded in thanks, and then stood. "But we still need a distraction."
Doris set Connor in the chair that Jill was in. "Maybe we'll get lucky and someone will pass through town. Will they follow a car?"
Zoe tugged on my pant leg. "I don't want to go outside, Daddy."
I leaned down, looking her in the eyes. "I know you don't. It's scary out there, isn't it?"
Zoe nodded.
"But this isn't the safest place for us. We have to find somewhere else."
Zoe's lips formed a hard line, and a tiny indentation appeared between her eyebrows, but she didn't argue.
"You should take Connor and Evan," Skeeter said.
Evan looked to Bob with fear in his eyes. Connor shook his head and hid behind Doris.
Doris shook her head, too. "I can't stop him from taking his daughter, Skeeter, but I won't let him take these boys outside with those things."
"Connor," Skeeter said. "I think you should go with Nathan. We're going to work to keep those things out but I'm not sure that you'll be safe here, little man."
I could barely see Connor's head shake in protest as he stood behind Doris. I wasn't going to force him, and really, I couldn't blame
him after what he'd just been through.
"Bob?" Skeeter said. "You sure you don't want to give Evan a chance?"
Evan stared at Bob, his eyes pleading to stay. Bob patted the boy's shoulder, and then shook his head.
Barb located a plastic grocery sack, and I put a few boxes of bullets and five bottles of water inside, and then stuffed the 9mm in the waist of my pants. If someone were to tell me the day before that I would be doing anything close to this, I would have laughed them out of the office. I'd been hunting and shooting with Skeeter a handful of times, but owning a gun was not a priority for me, and I wasn't opposed to gun control.
Now that the undead had taken over the earth, I imagined any member of the NRA was doing better than most.
Just as I hooked the handles of the sack in the crook of my elbow, the sound of salvation echoed through the church: a car horn.
Scarlet
MOST HOUSES WERE DARK, LETTING the streetlights cast ominous shadows over everything. The army was on patrol, and Tobin and I had to leap behind bushes or into the shadows once in a while, slowing down our pace. In addition Tobin's injured ankle slowed us down. I wondered if anyone was still in their homes, or if the army had taken them all somewhere. That thought was pushed out by sheer will; that would mean my girls would be in a place nearly impossible to reach, with murderous armed guards.
Refusing to believe that, I pulled Tobin along, pushing back when his limp forced more of his bodyweight on me. I tried to encourage him through the pain. His ankle was swollen, and getting more so by the minute. The walking wasn't helping. He needed ibuprofen and an ice pack at the very least.
"It's not far now," I said.
Tobin had been holding his breath with each step for the last three or four blocks, but he didn't complain.
"You think she's there?" he said.
"I hope so."
"Doesn't look like anyone's home. Is there a public shelter around here? Maybe they were all moved there?"
"It's possible. Maybe the hospital, or the elementary school. It has an old fallout shelter."
"She has a little boy, did I tell you that?"
I smiled up at him. "You said she was a single mom. What's her name?"
"Tavia. And my nephew's name is Tobin."
"Wow. Namesake."
"Yeah," he said, beaming with pride even though his face was dripping with sweat. "He's a good kid, too. Athletic. Polite. She's done a helluva job. I don't think I've ever told her that."
"You will," I said, praying it was true.
An army Humvee turned the corner, and I pulled Tobin to the dark side of the closest house. A small pop came from Tobin's ankle. He grimaced and let out a small grunt.
Tobin tried to keep his labored breathing quiet. "They're armed, too. I don't get it. Why would . . . why would they be patrolling the streets if they're just trying to keep--what do you call 'em?"
"Shufflers."
"Yeah, shufflers. Why patrol inside the city limits if they're just trying to keep shufflers out? Maybe they're looking for survivors? Maybe they're just gathering people to take to a shelter?"
"I don't know that we should walk out and ask them for help," I said, pulling him along once the Humvee passed.
"A black man can get shot sneaking around in the dark, that's what I know."
I offered a half smile. "C'mon. We're almost there."
Tobin's limp became more pronounced. A block away from Tavia's, he was in agony. He moaned and groaned through the pain; every step was torture.
"If you don't quit making that noise, someone is going to think you're a shuffler and shoot us from their window."
"I'm sorry," Tobin said, genuinely regretful.
"I'm kidding. You want to rest?"
He shook his head. "No. You need to get to your girls." He looked at his sister's house, just three houses away. "I wish I could return the favor. I wish I could help you find them." His large hand that was cupped over my shoulder squeezed gently into my skin, and I hugged him back.
We stopped at Tavia's front steps. Her house had a screened porch and a rickety screen door. Tobin's voice was barely over a whisper. "Tavia! It's Tobin! You in there?" He paused, waiting for a response. "Tavia!"
I pointed to my grandparents'. "I'll be right next door. Holler if you need me."
Tobin laughed. "You've done enough. Thank you, Scarlet."
I nodded to him, and then crossed the yard to my grandparents' drive. The grass was just beginning to turn green, and it was half soft, half crunchy under my shoes. My footsteps sounded loud amid the quiet night. Muffled noises Tobin was making next door were barely audible, but I felt like my every breath was picked up by a megaphone.
I pulled on the screen door, and it whined as it opened. I turned the knob, half expecting it to be locked, but it wasn't. I walked in, trying to see through the darkness. "Mema?" My voice was as soft and nonthreatening as I could manage. My grandparents were getting older. If they weren't obsessed with the news, they could have been completely oblivious to the outbreak. "Mema, it's me, Scarlet." I crossed the living room to the hall, and turned toward their bedroom. Pictures of our family lined the walls, and I stopped in front of one 8 x 10, noticing it was a picture of Andrew and me with the girls in happier days. No, that was a lie. We were never happy.
When I called my mother to tell her I was leaving Andrew, she scolded me. "You don't know how good you have it, Scarlet," she would say. "He's not an alcoholic like your father. He's not on that dope. He doesn't beat you."
"He doesn't love me," I told her. "He's never home. He's always working. And when he is home, all he does is yell at me and the kids. He acts like he hates us."
"Maybe if you were easier to live with he would want to be home."
Standing in the hall, in front of that picture, I held my fist to my heart in an effort to stave off that years-old hurt. When I chose to leave him, he had the support of his family--and mine. To them, it was a badge of honor to wear his ring. But he was an angry, sometimes cruel man. Of course, I was no doormat, but refusing to let him bully our children only led to louder arguments. The yelling. Christ, the yelling. Our former home was full of words and noise and tears. No, he wasn't a drunk, or an addict, nor did he beat me, but living in misery is not so different.
I stayed as long as I did to protect the girls. The only person that stood between them and Andrew during one of his rages was me. When he would chase Jenna up the stairs and scream in her face, I would chase after him. I would hold him back, out of her room. His anger would be redirected at me so Jenna wouldn't have to be afraid in her own home.
But he didn't beat me. No, he did not.
Sometimes I wished that he had, so at least that was something I could offer my mother. A tangible sacrifice to lay at her feet so she could see that selfishness or something as shallow as boredom didn't influence my decision. She might allow me that excuse instead of taking Andrew's side and commiserating with him about what a horrible person I was to live with, and how they had that in common.
Our home was so quiet now, and the slamming doors and screaming were replaced with laughter and yes, persistent arguing between the girls. But in the next hour they would be snuggling on the couch. Their home was a safe haven. I owed that to them after what Andrew and I had put them through.
I put my hand on the knob and turned, unsure of what to expect. Mema, my mother's mother, was refreshingly neutral. She simply nodded when I told her my marriage had ended, and said that Jesus loved me, and to keep the girls in church. Nothing else really mattered to her.
The door moved slowly. Part of me braced for something to jump out from the shadows, and the other prepared my heart to see something awful. But when the door opened to reveal their tiny bedroom, with their four-post bed and dated wallpaper, I let out the breath I'd been holding. The bed was made. They hadn't been in it, yet.
Just as quickly as the relief washed over me, it left. They would've been in bed by now. They weren't home. That meant
they had been collected, and if it was by the soldiers, the girls were more than likely not at Andrew's, either. A sob caught in my throat. I refused to cry until there was something to cry about.
The picture in the hall grabbed my attention. The Jeep waiting for me on the outskirts of town didn't have the same wallet-size photo of my daughters that the Suburban did. It didn't have their drawings and school papers littering the floorboard. I reached up and grabbed the frame, and then threw it on the ground, letting it crash. Quickly pulling the picture from beneath the shards of glass, I folded it twice, and slid it snugly into my bra. Every photo album we had was sitting in a hutch cabinet at home. Their baby pictures, snapshots of birthdays and of them playing outside. It was all left behind. The picture poking into my skin might be all I had left.
I bolted from the house and let the screen door slam as I ran into the street. Tobin was standing on Tavia's steps, holding himself up with her door.
I stared at him, and he stared back. She wasn't home, either, and neither was little Tobin. "I'll try to come back and get you."
Tobin offered a small, understanding smile. "No you won't. And you shouldn't, anyway. I'd just slow you down."
I watched him for a moment, seeing no judgment in his eyes. "My grandparents have a lot of meds in their bathroom. Ibuprofen, painkillers, Ex-Lax. The door is open. You're welcome to it."
Tobin managed a small laugh. "Thank you. I hope you find your girls."
"I will," I said, turning and breaking into a sprint. The next block was Main Street. It was well lit, the main road of Anderson, and boasted the only four stoplights in town. A four lane with room to spare on each side for parking, the road was wide, and didn't offer much in the way of cover. I had so much momentum going when the streetlamp on the corner revealed my presence like an escaped convict, I just kept going, hoping I was lucky enough that no one would see. I flew across the street and the sidewalk, and cut across the funeral parlor's back parking lot, shooting down the alley. A broken chair was right around the corner, and before I even thought to jump, my legs were already pushing me up and over.
My tennis shoes and scrubs were wet and weighed down with mud, but knowing my girls were just a few miles away, my legs carried me like I was weightless.
Tobin called to me from blocks away. "Go, Scarlet! You will find them! You will! Go!"