Year One

basics.”

He leaned in, kissed the top of her head. “You’re happy.”

“Yes. Aren’t you? Sheriff?”

With a laughing shake of his head, Max pulled back. “I think we’ll pin that one on Mike.” From where they stood on the front porch, he scanned the street, the buildings. “Strange times, Lana.”

“You’ll write again. You’ll write about strange times. People need stories, Max, and the ones who tell them. So I’m going to set you up an office.”

“So far, it sounds like your day’s going to be busier than mine.”

The door at the far end of the porch opened. Joe dashed out to greet Max and Lana. Eddie sauntered after. “Howdy, neighbors.”

“You’re set?” Max asked him.

Eddie tapped his backpack, shifted the rifle over his shoulder. “Yep. Poe and Kim are right behind me. Speaking of.”

Lana gave Joe another rub as Poe and Kim came out. A good thing, she thought, out of all the tragic. They’d found each other, and seemed to fit so well.

“Anything you need for the apartments?” she asked them. “Bill Anderson said he’d help with that.”

“Joe and me are all good.”

“We figured to live with it awhile.” Kim glanced up at Poe. “If this ends up being home base, I wouldn’t mind slapping some paint on the walls. And there’s some really ugly wallpaper that just needs to go.”

“No argument on that. We want to get a better feel,” Poe added. “No complaints so far. Who’s this Aaron we’re going out with? We met Jonah. Do they know their shit, Max?”

“It’s clear Jonah does, and since he suggested Aaron, I’d say yes to both.”

He spotted Jonah walking up the street with another man. A bit younger, slighter, moved like a dancer, Max thought. “You can get acquainted. Be safe.”

“Could use some more Milk-Bones,” Eddie said.

“We’ll see what we can do. Anything on your wish list?” Kim asked.

“Actually, if you come across a decent set of kitchen knives.”

“Like the ones you had in the mountains?”

“Anything remotely close to those would be great. In fact, any decent kitchen tools.”

“We’re on it.” Poe nudged Kim’s arm. “Let’s go shopping.”

“I’ll go scoop up Flynn and … Shit, there he is. You never know when that dude’s going to show up.”

Flynn stood, silent as smoke, in the middle of the street, Lupa beside him. Joe let out a happy bark, flew down to have a morning tumble with the wolf.

“Ready to rock and roll?” Eddie called out.

Flynn nodded, then smiled. “I’m driving.”

“Hell.” Eddie pulled off his ball cap, scratched at his mass of hair, replaced it. “We’ll be back if he don’t run us into a tree. Elves can’t drive for shit,” he added before he strolled down.

“That must be my group.”

“Good luck.” Lana lifted her face for another kiss. “Be safe.”

“Don’t overdo it,” he warned.

She watched the three groups merge, then walk to the lot beside the school.

She told herself not to worry. Worry didn’t help. And Max had gotten them all here. Through storms, through raiding parties, through roads washed out by spring floods. He’d led, she thought, because someone had to. Because one by one, those who’d joined them had looked to him, trusted him.

And he’d done it while grieving for a brother who’d gone mad with power.

* * *

Yes, she’d set up an office for him, she decided as she added a haze of light, began to unplug cords. They both had to take back at least a part of who they’d been. He’d become a leader, a man of authority through circumstances. A witch whose power had grown with every mile of the journey.

And he was a writer. He was someone who could write about what had happened in the world and to it, who was left and how they fought to rebuild even while others still fought to tear down.

He needed to write, to take that time for himself. And wouldn’t it help him with the grief he still carried?

Just as she needed to make her place in this strange new reality. To make a home for their child, to find work—not just that had to be done, but that satisfied her needs.

So she’d organize a kitchen. She’d cook. It’s what she did best.

He’d asked if she was happy, and she was. Happy to have a chance to make a place for herself, for him, for the baby. If part of her wondered whether she would forever miss New York, the life she’d known, she understood she had to put it aside.

That life was the fairy tale now.





CHAPTER TWENTY

Jonah navigated the road, weaving through abandoned cars.

“We’ve already passed some houses,” Kim pointed out. “Abandoned houses almost always have something useful.”

“We can hit some on the way back. Medical supplies are priority. There’s a hospital about ten exits up. We got what we could about six weeks ago. We need more.”

Poe scanned the road, the scatter of houses. “We’ll have room for more in this UPS truck, but if we run into trouble, it’s sure not going to burn up the road.”

Jonah had weighed that in before deciding on the big box truck. “We need to avoid trouble. A couple of gas stations at the interchange up ahead. We might be able to fill the tank and the ten-gallon cans we brought. On the way back.”

Kim leaned up in her seat, gestured. “Is that a mall?”

“Yeah. Indoor/outdoor place. Kind of an outlet.”

“Could be handy. Have you hit it yet?”

Now Aaron turned slightly in his seat. “We tried a few weeks ago. Another group had claimed it. They weren’t friendly.”

“You’ll find Aaron has a tendency to … underplay,” Jonah decided. “They started shooting at us before we’d even turned into the parking lot. About, what, twenty of them?”

Aaron moved his shoulders. “About. What they lacked in strategy, they made up for in firepower. If they’d waited until we’d gone into the lot, they might have picked us off.”

“It’s worth another look, right? Twenty people probably didn’t strip it,” Poe pointed out. “And maybe they’ve moved on. I mean, why live in a mall when there are houses?”

Jonah sent Aaron—who said nothing—a sidelong look. Sighed. “Aaron’s mentioned that, a few damn times. We’ll circle back after the hospital.”

* * *

As Jonah’s group turned off toward the hospital, Eddie stared out the side window of the scouting pickup. “There should be more people. And yeah, I know I’ve said that before, but, man, there should be more people. How far have we gone?”

“Twelve miles. Not far.”

“Maybe another ten, then we should check out some of the side roads. Maybe we’ll find another settlement like ours, get some word of what the fuck from anybody who’s come up from the south.”

Before Eddie had finished the sentence, Flynn whipped the wheel right, rattled the truck onto a skinny road that immediately curved hard right.

“Jesus, Flynn! I said—”

“Engines.” He pulled the truck off the road, stopped it where the curve and the trees blocked it from the main road. “Wait.”

Flynn jogged over a hillock, then—and though he’d seen it plenty now, Eddie still gaped when Flynn simply merged into one of the trees.

Sort of … became the tree. A weird-ass, and, hell, pretty damn cool elf thing.

But it still gave him the way-out willies to watch it happen.

“Just hold on, boys. Stay,” Eddie ordered Lupa and Joe as he eased out of the truck, crouching beside it with his rifle ready.

He heard the engines now, bikes mostly to his ear. That deep, throaty roar. Coming hard, coming fast. By the tree—in the frigging tree—Flynn would have an unobstructed view of the road.

Eddie hoped he wouldn’t have to use the rifle; was resigned to using it. He’d shot a man—a big, burly Raider—during an attack on their group south of Charles Town, West Virginia.

It wasn’t a moment he’d ever forget. It wasn’t an act he wanted to repeat.

But …

The roaring built, blasted, then began to fade. On a shaky breath, Eddie pushed to his feet.

Flynn slid out of the tree. “Raiders.”

“You sure?”

“Five motorcycles—three of them doubled with women riding pillion. A truck, four inside, two in the bed. A camper. I could only see two in it. Skull and crossbones painted on the side. They had a naked man strapped to the roof of the camper. Dead.”

“Christ. Just when you think the world can’t get more fucked-up. Good ears, dude.”

Elf ears, Eddie thought, which meant he might not have to kill anybody today.

“They’re heading away from New Hope, so that’s something.” Relieved, Eddie looked back toward the truck. “Might as well keep on this road, right? No point taking a chance of them turning around. No point taking on that many.”

“We should walk first.”

“Because?”

“They can hear engines, too. And some of these plants?” Flynn gestured to the small grove of trees. “The wildflowers and weeds? They can be useful. We should dig some up.”

“Supposed to be scouting, not gardening.” But Eddie signaled to the dogs so they leaped out of the bed of the truck as Flynn moved into the trees. “Gotta be some houses back through here,” he continued as Flynn crouched down to dig with his knife. “Not on scavenging either, but it doesn’t hurt to look. Somebody might be holed up. It ain’t right nobody’s nowhere.”

Lupa let out a soft, warning growl that had Flynn rearing up, stumbling back as the girl flashed out of a tree, knife slicing.

Eddie lifted his rifle, lowered it as Flynn danced back a second time. “Uh-uh, just no. I’m not shooting at some kid!”

“She’s old enough to slice me open,” Flynn snapped back.

Lupa solved the problem by leaping up, knocking the girl back, standing on her shoulders while she sucked in the air the fall had stolen.

Flynn moved fast enough to blur, wrenched the knife out of her hand before she could jab it at Lupa.

“He won’t hurt you. We won’t hurt you.”

She aimed a fierce look at Flynn out of golden brown eyes. “Don’t touch me. If you do, I’ll hurt you.”

“Nobody’s touching nobody.” Eddie swung the rifle back over his shoulder, held both hands up. “Everybody chill, okay?”

Joe bellied over to her, licked her face. Her lips trembled as she closed her eyes.

Flynn sheathed his knife, stuck hers in his belt. He crouched, put a hand on Lupa’s head.

And spoke to the girl’s mind.

I’m like you.

Her eyes flew open. Lies, lies.

No. I’m like you. I’m Flynn. Eddie isn’t like us, but he’s with us. We’re not like the ones who went by on the road.

“Come on, Flynn, call Lupa off. Let the kid up.”

“We’re talking.”

“You’re … Oh. Okay, cool.”

You don’t have to run. But if you need to, we won’t chase you. We have some food in our packs. You can have it.

“Is she hungry? She’s pretty skinny.” Skinny, dirty, and pretty damn pissed to Eddie’s eye. “You want some food, kid?”

Flynn smiled. “You see? He’s with us. She’s thirsty,” he said, pulling off his pack and drawing the bottle of water from the side pouch. “It’s all right, Lupa.”

The wolf backed off, sat.

“Don’t touch me.”

Saying nothing, Flynn set the water beside her, rose, and stepped back.

“Look, she’s, like, twelve. We can’t just leave her out here by herself.”

“Fourteen,” Flynn said, reading her thoughts.

“Whatever. It ain’t safe, man.”

“She can take care of herself. But there’s no need to be alone,” Flynn continued as she snatched up the water, drank. “Unless you want alone. We have people, good people.”

“Girls,” Eddie said. “It’s not just guys and stuff. You ought to come with us.”

“I don’t know you.”

“Yeah, stranger danger, but still. Out here alone ain’t safe.”

“We won’t hurt you. You’d know that if you look.”

She watched Flynn as she drank again. “I don’t know how. I don’t know why I can hear you in my head.”

“Or become the tree, the rock?” He smiled at her again. “It’s what we are. I can help you learn. We won’t make you come, but you should.”

“Maybe you got lost?” Eddie suggested. “If you’ve got people, we can help you find them.”

“They’re dead. All dead!”

Flynn took her knife out, laid it on the ground. “The rest of us have to live. We’re going to walk to the houses nearby, see if anyone is alive and needs help. If no one is, we’ll take supplies if we can find them. Come with us. There are more like us where we live now. More like Eddie, too.”

She grabbed the knife, got to her feet. Her hair, nearly the same color as Flynn’s, nearly the same color as the bark of the tree, hung in matted tangles. Her eyes, big and dark, projected belligerence more than fear.

“I can leave when I want.”

“Okay.” Flynn turned and started to walk. Though it made him nervous to have some wild girl with a knife behind him, Eddie fell into step with Flynn.

“Does the dog have a name?” she asked.

“He’s Joe. He’s a great dog,” Eddie said. “And Lupa’s a good dog, too, for a wolf.”

Flynn didn’t bother to glance back. “Do you have a name?”

When she laid an unsteady hand on Joe’s head, the dog sent her a happy, tongue-lolling grin. Her lips nearly curved, nearly smiled for the first time in weeks.

“Starr. I’m Starr.”

* * *

Using the back entrance of the hospital—out of sight from the road—they loaded up the truck. Kim kept watch in the front of the building.

Since the last trip someone else had gone through. Someone more interested in opiates and morphine than sutures and bandages and antibiotics. Jonah loaded in an EKG machine, a fetal monitor, and—remembering the twins’ delivery—scavenged all he could from the NICU. Poe rolled out more on a gurney, and Aaron followed with more, including an autoclave.

As before, Jonah ignored the dried blood spatters on walls, on doors. At least this time there were no bodies to be carried out and burned in a mass pyre.

But the stench of death took a long time to fade.

“It’s a good haul,” Jonah decided once they’d loaded the box truck. “Poe, can you drive this?”

“Sure.”

“Aaron, let’s see about taking an ambulance. It wouldn’t hurt to have one, and whatever we can load inside from the rest of the fleet.”

Poe pulled around the front. “They’re trying for an ambulance.”

“Smart.” Kim hopped in.

“Yeah. I’m feeling better about them.”

“Max trusts them, and that goes a long way. I want to hit that mall, Poe. It’s too good an opportunity to miss. How much room have we got back there?”

“Enough, especially if they can get … And here they come. Nice.” He shot Kim a smile, pulled out behind the ambulance.

* * *

Max stood in a room full of computers, switches, and monitors while the man and woman with him—armed with flashlights—talked about grids, junction boxes, amps, transformers, overhead and underground cables.

He understood them less, he thought, than they understood him. And for the most part that was not at all. They had tools, and obviously knew how to use them, and ignored him while they did.

Chuck, in his new version of a basement, sat muttering to himself while he performed surgery on the guts of a computer. The gist of the muttering, as far as Max could tell, involved getting the computer running on a jury-rigged battery long enough for him to hack into the system.

Things were fried, compromised, undermined. A shutdown, as far as Max could discern, that had rolled like a wave, killing the power not only in the station but across that grid, burning out every transformer.

Max didn’t know about watts or amps or outdated cables, but he knew about power. About how power could be used to ignite.

He ignored the talk about going down to the bowels again, fusing something, clamping off something else, and studied the board in front of him.

He held out a hand, imagined transferring power. Flipping a switch, lighting a light. Too much, too big, he realized, and narrowed the point. A step, he thought, one candle in the dark.

He hesitated a moment, another moment. What if this push of power destroyed what progress skill and technology had managed so far? Knowing how to light a light was far from knowing how the light actually worked.

He narrowed a bit more. Starting an engine, he thought—he didn’t know how to build one, but he knew how to use what he had to bring one to life.

Faith, he thought. Believe. Accept. Open.

The monitor he faced blinked on.

The discussion—not an argument, but a tech-heavy discussion—rolled on. Max tapped Chuck’s shoulder, gestured to the monitor.

“Can you work with that?”

“What? Huh? Whoa, baby.”

Chuck shot his rolling chair down the counter. His fingers dived toward a keyboard, stopped an inch away. “Man, it’s the first time I’ve ever been nervous with tech. Hold on to your hats, boys. And girl.”

Drake Manning gave Chuck a punch in the arm. “How’d you get it on?”

“I didn’t.” Chuck took a hand off the board long enough to wag a thumb at Max.

“You wooed it on?”

“You could say that.”

“Son of a bitch.” Manning—his belt showing worn notches from steady weight loss, his graying hair in tufts under a Phillies ball cap—let out a cackle. “How long will it hold, Mr. Wizard?”