Red Hill (13 page)

When the room finally came into focus, feelings of both relief and dread came over me. The dread overpowered the relief without effort. We were running for our lives. Jill was either dead or would be soon, my wife was gone, and Zoe and I were on the run.

To my right were the old couple, Walter and Joy. Walter was asleep in his recliner, snoring. He would suck air in through his nose, and then blow it out from his mouth, the air building up until it escaped from his lips. Joy was awake, watching me with a smile.

“He's always done that,” she said quietly. “Used to drive me nuts. Now it's relaxing.”

I sat up, careful not to wake Zoe. The sun lit up the room from the small rectangular windows near the ceiling. The television was on, but muted.

“I don't think the news is going to come back on, but at least we still have electricity.”

I nodded, folding my arms across my chest. “Wonder if you'll get a bill?”

Joy laughed once. “I doubt it. I saw my postman walk by yesterday afternoon.”

That struck me as funny, even though it was morbid as hell, and I couldn't stop the laughter that bubbled to the service. Joy began to giggle, too. We were trying not to wake Walter and Zoe, so our laughter consisted of breathing and shuddering. Joy's eyes began to water, and then she stood. “I'm going to make a cup of coffee. Want one?”

I nodded. “I better go with you.”

I made sure Zoe was still snugly tucked into the blanket, and then I followed Joy upstairs. She started a pot in silence, and I checked outside. There were no broken windows or open doors, and I didn't see any of the sick, either. I stepped onto the porch. In the distance, I could barely make out the sound of the alarm from the highway. It was still going off. Skeeter, Jill, and even Aubrey crossed my mind: where they were, if they were safe, if they got any rest the night before. Other people from my life flooded my thoughts as well. My boss, who was a huge asshole, but his wife and children were very sweet; my cousin Brandon and his six kids; our neighbors; Mrs. Grace, my second grade teacher. It was possible that almost everyone I'd ever known was dead. Or . . . a version of dead.

Joy was just pouring the steaming, dark coffee into a mug when I returned to the kitchen. “I meant what I said last night,” she said, encouraging me to sit. “You and Zoe are welcome here for as long as you like.”

I added creamer and sugar to my cup and swirled it around with a spoon. “I appreciate that. But don't you think it's dangerous to try to see this through in town? We just came from Fairview. We were inside the church with several other people. The sick were trying to tear it apart. I left with Zoe because it's only a matter of time before they got in.”

“I couldn't imagine leaving here. I don't know where we'd go.”

“Do you know anyone with some land near here? Out of the way? That's what I was hoping we would come across.”

Joy thought for a minute. Instead of answering, she took a sip of coffee. Her eyes were kind, the light blue in her irises even more pronounced bordered by her silver hair, but they also gave her away. She was holding something back. I didn't know these people, but if I had a chance of learning whatever it was that she was keeping from me, it was in that moment, while I had Joy alone.

“I understand. You don't know me or Zoe. I didn't mean to pry.”

Joy frowned, clearly conflicted. “Oh, it's not that, Nathan. I'm just not sure.”

“Sure of what?”

The basement door opened. “Your little girl is awake, Nathan. I tried talking to her, but I think she's confused. You might get down there before she gets too upset,” Walter said. “Bring her up for some breakfast. We'll try to keep her mind off things.”

I nodded with an appreciative smile, and then left the table, hoping that wasn't my only chance.

Chapter Fourteen

Scarlet

THE FRIDGE HAD AN ENTIRE
case of bottled water inside. I took the first bottle, unscrewed the lid, and chugged it. Just two days before it would have taken an entire morning at work for me to finish that amount, but I felt like I hadn't had anything to drink in weeks. I opened another, and sucked the water down until only a quarter was left in the bottle.

It had taken me most of the morning to dig one hole, I still had one more to dig, and a dozen other things to do before I could rest. It had been more than twenty-four hours since I'd slept. I was physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted.

I trudged back to the backyard, staring at the bodies of Dr. Hayes and his girlfriend, Leah, lying side by side. Dragging him up the stairs was almost the hardest thing I'd ever done, second only to giving birth. At the halfway point on the stairs, I paused to rest and nearly let him go. The only thing that kept me going was weighing the alternative: to dismember him and carry the smaller bits upstairs. Easier, yes, but a whole hell of a lot messier.

I leaned against the tree, feeling lightheaded. My body was screaming for rest. Before I was passed out and vulnerable outside, my sense of self-preservation told me to retreat inside the house. With only one objective in mind, I stumbled into the laundry room, descended the stairs, and shut myself in the basement, pulling the old loveseat against the door with the last bit of my energy. My body collapsed onto the scratchy cushions, and before I could have another thought, I lost consciousness.

• • •

WHEN I FIRST PEELED MY
eyes open, I saw tan, soiled carpet and the adjacent wall going in and out of focus. Everything was devoid of sound, even the air. My line of sight followed the carpet until the chunky remnants from the tussle with the doctor and Leah came into view.

It was then that my heart broke into a million pieces. I wasn't sure what time it was, or what day it was, but I knew I was in hell. My children were somewhere else where I couldn't protect them, and I was alone. It took longer that time to recover from mourning my situation, but I gave myself adequate time to cry, and then I went to the doctor's gun safe. It was one of many, but it was the only one open. A rifle stood out to me, and fit well in my hands, so it accompanied me upstairs.

The position of the sun confused me at first. It was higher in the eastern sky than it was when I decided to rest.
It's not possible,
I thought. But that I had slept the rest of my first day at the ranch and through the entire night was the only explanation.

The doctor's bloody shirt was damp with dew. The thought of being out for so long was disturbing, and a flood of emotions came over me. What had the girls been doing the day before and all night? Irrational feelings like the fear that they wouldn't survive if I hadn't worried about them every minute of every hour crept into my mind.

Unable to process any more, I rolled Leah into her grave, and grabbed the shovel to fill the hole. As I covered her with dirt, my hands began to burn and complain from the digging the day before. Leah lay face down, slowly disappearing beneath the soil. Once I filled one hole, I began to dig another. I was sure to make Dr. Hayes's hole a little wider, and a little deeper. I dug until the clay was too difficult, and then I rolled him into his hole, too. His leg managed to prop, so I had to bend it so he would lie right.

By noon, I had said a few words about my friends, made myself a sandwich, and found rope, twine, and Leah's stash of recycled cans. The plan was to line the perimeter with the cans so if any shufflers crossed the cans, the noise would be a warning. Not foolproof, but it kept me busy.

Two days passed before I saw the first shuffler. He was only wearing a robe, stumbling down the road unaccompanied. The barrel of my gun followed him until he was out of sight. Shooting him crossed my mind, but because I'd seen the shufflers react to the car alarm in Shallot, I was afraid the noise would attract more. I let him pass, praying my cowardice wasn't freeing him to attack someone else down the road.

Every day I watched the road for the girls. To pass the time I cleaned, rearranged, reorganized, and wrote down how the food and water should be rationed. The girls were coming, and I had to make sure there were plenty of supplies for them when they arrived, especially the mac and cheese for Halle, and the double butter popcorn for Jenna.

Day four was depressing. A part of me wanted to believe the girls would come straight to the ranch, but with each passing day it became obvious that wasn't going to happen. I wasn't sure why they hadn't come. Refusing to entertain the worst scenario, I told myself Andrew was taking his time to keep our children safe. Still, the waiting was agonizing. Before the outbreak, there was never enough time. Now, the days dragged on, and I felt more and more alone, wondering if I was the only person left alive. That led to more uneasy thoughts: If Christy leaving early had helped her and her daughter Kate find someplace safe, if David and his family were okay, if David had made it out of the hospital at all. If he was working Mrs. Sisney's code and she was attacking people outside . . . I shuddered, shaking the likely scene from my mind, only to think of other, less settling things. My mother was home alone, and so was my neighbor, Mrs. Chebesky. I wanted to call them to see if they were all right. I'd tried the doctor's landline the first evening and every day after, but an automated response turned into weird, incessant beeps, and then there was no dial tone at all.

The next day, I saw another shuffler. Part of me wanted to use her for target practice, but again I was afraid the noise would attract others. I hid inside the house and she passed, across the neighboring field, without event.

A sense of pride swelled inside of me that my theory had been right. The doctor's ranch was the perfect place to survive the end of the world. But it wasn't surviving unless my girls were there with me. So I watched the road, sometimes looking so hard I could almost see them.

But on Thursday morning, it wasn't on the road that I saw someone. It was over the hill.

Nathan

“
DADDY
!”
ZOE SAID
,
HALF AFRAID
, half angry. She was using her scolding voice, the one she used to parent Aubrey and me when we were breaking a rule. “You left me!” she said, her eyes already puffy and wet from tears. “You left me!”

“I didn't leave,” I said, rushing to my knees in front of her on the couch. I kept my voice calm and soothing. “I was just upstairs talking to Miss Joy.”

It was irresponsible of me to let Zoe wake up alone in a strange place. My daughter was sensitive to many things—fabric, noise, situations—and our routine had kept her calm for the most part. A year had almost passed since Zoe's last “episode,” as her school counselor called them, but I could always tell when she was working up to one.

Knowing we needed to be quiet to survive, Zoe couldn't release an overstimulation like she used to. I refused to make it a rule, though. Not before she found another outlet. “Zoe,” I said, letting my voice slide over the back of my tongue. Aubrey didn't have the patience for this, but she also didn't have a butter voice, as she called it. Zoe responded much better to the silky smooth tone I used for these moments.

Zoe balled up her fist and hit my shoulder. It didn't hurt. She didn't mean for it to, she was just releasing the overwhelming emotions she couldn't process any other way. “Never leave me!”

“I wouldn't. I would never leave you. I'm sorry you were afraid when you woke up. That's my fault.”

She used her other hand to hit my chest. “I was! I was afraid!”

“That's it,” I said, encouraging her. “Use your words.”

Zoe took a deep breath, always a good sign. “I was having a bad dream! I didn't know where I was! I thought you were dead!”

I nodded. Her eyes were wild and her body trembled, a signal that she wasn't quite on the down slope, but she was peaking.

“Never again!”

“You know I can't make promises, Zoe.”

“No, you promise!” she screamed.

I nodded. “What I can promise is to never leave without telling you again. You'll always know where I am. Deal?”

Zoe took in a staggering breath, and then breathed out. She blinked a few times, and then her eyes relaxed. I held out my arms for her to hug me. She wouldn't have allowed me to before she was ready, anyway. I'd learned over the years to just offer and wait.

When her tiny body was nuzzled up against mine, I wrapped my arms around her. “I'm sorry, baby. I'm here. You're safe and loved. Safe and loved.”

Zoe melted against me and whimpered. It was exhausting and frightening for her when she lost control, and if she hadn't just woke up, she probably would have lied down for a nap. I wiped her eyes and took her hand.

“Miss Joy made breakfast.”

I led her up the stairs, unable to ignore the looks from Walter and Joy. I had become accustomed to them. People who happened to be around during an episode were usually either annoyed or sympathetic, with no in-between. A woman at the mall once approached Aubrey to advise us that Zoe just needed a good spanking. It seemed like everyone who didn't understand always knew how to parent Zoe better than we did. Even if they didn't say it, they let us know with their expressions. Zoe never seemed to notice. I hoped she never would.

“Here you go, Zoe. I hope you like cinnamon rolls.”

“Oh, I do,” Zoe said, her eyes big and her smile wide. She followed the plate until it was in front of her, and didn't hesitate to pick one up with both hands and shove it into her mouth.

Joy smiled. “I didn't figure she'd want a fork.”

“Nope,” I said. “I can't thank you enough.”

“Daddy? Where's Mommy?” Zoe asked through a mouthful of bread.

“She's uh . . .” I stuttered, looking to Joy. “She went on a trip.”

“Is she coming back? How will she find us?”

My mouth pulled to the side. “I don't know, baby.”

Zoe looked down at her cinnamon roll, clearly trying to process the news.

A small dog began to yap. Just a few times at first, and then consistently. Joy smiled. “That's Princess. She belongs to the Carsons next door. I've been feeding her and letting her out in the backyard. Would you like to help me feed Princess, Zoe?”

Zoe nodded emphatically, shoving the rest of the cinnamon roll in her mouth as she pushed her chair away from the table. The chair screeched against the floor as she did so, and I closed one eye tight, recoiling from the noise.

Walter smiled. “This floor has survived three grandchildren, two of 'em boys. I think it can stand up to Zoe.”

We spent the rest of the day talking and watching the road. After she and Zoe returned from feeding Princess, Joy found a few board games and some cards, and played Go Fish with Zoe. It was quiet, but once in a while, someone from Shallot would shuffle by, their eyes milky white, and always with a wound. I wondered if people that had been bitten were slowly turning and making their way out to the road.

Walter and I returned to the porch to sit in twin wooden rockers after the last dead person wandered by. Joy brought us sandwiches and apple slices. I thanked her, wondering when my next chance would come to ask her about what she didn't say that morning.

“That was Jesse Biggins,” Walter said, biting off a piece of apple. He shook his head. “He's a big hunter. Has quite a few guns at his place. Maybe we should visit?”

“Does he have any family?”

Walter shook his head. “His wife died several years back. His kids moved to the city. It'd be a worth a try.”

I nodded. “Maybe we should hit a couple of places for supplies?”

“We just have the one general store. Not much a store, really, but it's all we got. I don't know who else isn't sick. Maybe everything is already gone.”

“How many people live here? Just a ballpark figure.”

Walter breathed from his nose while he thought. “A hundred. That's a generous number.”

“Gauging from the group on the road, I'd say less than half are left.”

Walter nodded and his eyes fell. “That's what I was afraid of.”

After I spoke to Zoe at length about where we were going and why, and exactly what time we would return, Walter and I decided to set out on foot carrying several empty bags and two gas cans. Joy stood behind Zoe with her hands on her shoulders as Zoe waved good-bye. The store was only a few blocks away, and Jesse's house a few more, so we assumed it would be a quick trip.

Just as I suspected, the general store was nearly stocked full of supplies, but empty of anyone else. Keeping the sick's attraction to noise in mind, Walter and I brought our guns—his shotgun and my semi-automatic—as a last resort. Walter had a couple of hatchets in his shed, and we both carried one with us for protection.

Walter went straight to the coffee aisle. I put as many bottles of water in my bag as I could carry and some nonperishable foods. Matches, every lighter they had, flashlights, batteries, pantyhose, and maxi pads.

Walter gave me a look.

“The hose are good for tie-offs, filters, you name it. The pads stick to you, and they're absorbent. Good for wounds.”

Walter nodded. “I thought maybe you were a cross dresser,” he said, and then picked up a couple of first-aid kits. “I'm not that creative. I'll stick to these.”

I smiled. My bags were nearly full, and we hadn't been to Jesse's. “Maybe we should head back to the house? Drop these off and then get the guns, or make the trip tomorrow.”

“It's just up the street there. Let's just get it over with.”

“Famous last words. Have you ever seen a zombie movie? What you said would be a clear signal that something bad was going to happen if the characters continued on. My mind is made up. We're going back.”